#again playing rogue helps it's slowly becoming my comfort game and i try to take some time off and enjoy it
Text
Roll for Initiative, a Rumbelle D&D Fic
Summary: Tales of the Enchanted Forest was the hottest online D&D game, in part for its charismatic players, in part for the twisted turns of the DM's mind and in part because of the outrageous chemistry between its greatest OTP, the party's beautiful bard and the Dark One, an anti-hero side-character who is there to provide information and uncomfortable levels of UST. Mr Gold thinks it's a harmless flirtation that could never become anything else, just like his silly little crush on the town librarian, Belle French.
He's wrong.
Rating: Explicit.
Author’s Note: Surprise, @argoslight, it is I, your Gifter! Sorry to make you wait till near the end but I just had way more banter to write in me than I thought. I hope you enjoy your gift. I’m so sorry to not be able to add more D&D elements but since I don’t play I don’t have a lot of idea of what could be done. Also I apologise for any mistakes! And thanks so much to @little-inkstone for her help and D&D knowledge.
The castle was quiet when she entered, her steps echoing against the stone. It was gloomy inside, curtains obscured and decor sparse and sombre, the castle living up to its name. But there were flowers on the table, moon lilies, her favourite flower. They bloomed only in the Eastern Mountains past the Old Wall, but she had long since suspected he grew some on one of his enchanted hothouses, with the excuse of using them for potions.
“Where’s the rest of your pretty little troop of do-gooders, dearie?”
The voice came out of nowhere, echoing around the empty halls of the castle. Thankfully she did not need directions, knowing exactly when to turn and where to go. Soon she found herself in a vast room, with a table on the centre and curios filled with oddities and the like. Some others were displayed on pedestals, including a rather fearsome sword and a nasty-looking crown made of thorns. None of the artefacts were what she sought, but she was not there to bargain for an item, but rather for information.
“Off on their own quests, taking care of other things that need doing.”
The voice tsked, seeming not to approve.
“They let you enter the lair of the beast alone? Some heroes.”
The woman lowered the hood of her cloak and walked towards the unlit chimney. Immediately a fire blazed to life, as if the castle itself was trying to cater to her comfort. The fire provided much-needed light as well, revealing the profile of a man in the shadows. Or something that looked like a man, at least, if not for the reflective scales that covered his body and its strange eyes: gold irises around catlike pupils.
“I asked to come alone. I felt like we could talk more openly this way.”
She removed her cloak, ostensibly to drape it across a chair near the fire and let it dry. The creature, however, seemed to read more into the gesture, tsking again.
“You come here all alone, a pretty little lamb, and take off the only real bit of protection you have. Reckless, dearie, most reckless.”
The creature stood up, walking slowly towards the light, revealing more of its form as it approached her. Leather pants and a long, reptilian-looking vest and coat. It wasn’t particularly tall but power emanated from it in suffocating waves. She closed her eyes, finding his cloying presence strangely comforting. Then again, she had always been odd.
“Once again your pitiful little party of friends needs my help. How they weigh you down, Beauty.”
He stepped fully into the light then, revealing a being more creature than man, the reptilian skin and claws as off-putting as his unnatural eyes. She should’ve taken a step back, should’ve gone for her blade or the dagger tucked into her left boot, but she didn’t. As much as she knew she shouldn't, she felt at ease in his presence. Well, perhaps not quite. She certainly felt a strange sort of anxiousness in his presence, a fluttery sort of feeling that she attributed to being particularly attuned to his magic. None of the other members of her party felt that way. If anything, he repulsed them, which wasn’t something she could understand. To her he was… magnetic.
“Are you in the mood for dealing or not? I can trade for information.”
He snorted.
“With what? Your little band of misfits is dirt poor. That idiotic paladin of yours ruined your last mission. You really should think about ditching the man. All brawn, no brains. At least your rogue is a smart woman.”
His gaze left her briefly, running down the length of her clothing: sturdy black boots, a nicely-cut dress that stopped around the knees and a sturdy belt with a few pockets for her spells. But the clothing, as well-made as it was, was dated, old. Looked worn and was signed and stained in places, and it left a lot of her frail human skin exposed. She had not been able to afford an upgrade in a while, preferring to spend her coin in what could benefit the group.
His moue of distaste disappeared once his eyes fell on her cloak. Well, his cloak, since he had been the one to make it. It was a lovely thing in varied shades of green, shot through with golden thread, his trademark. She had bought it off him a long time ago, a simple thing to keep her warm during cold nights and dry when it rained. Miraculously, though, it also did not sustain damage, looking exactly the same as when she had first put it on.
“I’m glad at least my protection is serving you well.”
He ran a claw along the seams of the cloak, making it glitter, like to like, magic calling for its own. He looked smug, as if pleased she was wearing something he had made.
“It does more than we bargained for. I’ve been blasted with magic strong enough to burn through most fabric but it has not even frayed. How strange of you, Rumplestiltskin, to lose out on a deal.”
He shivered when she said his name, walking behind her to the safety of the shadow she cast next to the fire.
“Can’t help it if my magic is just that powerful, my dear. I’m glad you are a happy customer. Always thought that cloak was a nice bit of magic. Can’t fault you for always wearing it.”
She felt him close in on her from behind, to the point that it almost felt like they were touching.
“It smells like you. That’s why I wear it all the time.”
The noise he made behind her was inhuman, a cross between a whimper and a growl. His claws scrapped against the back of her dress, the feeling muted by her stays, but she could feel his breath against the back of her neck and that alone was-
“Hey, this is a decent stream! Keep it PG for the kids, you weirdos.”
“Damn it, Grumpy, I wanted to see how long it would take them to snap out of it!”
“Sorry, Snow, but I ate a big dinner and I aim to keep it down.”
The messages in the chatroom wheezed by, mostly disgruntled complaints about their OTP never catching a break. The other participants in the stream were mostly silent, their mics muted likely to hide the amused snickers. There was no video feed on any of the members of the party, all of them represented instead by artwork to preserve their anonymity. Once upon a time that had been a fanciful choice, and perhaps a way to stay safe when interacting with strangers on the internet. Now it was mostly to keep their private lives from being overtaken by the popularity of their stream. “Tales of the Enchanted Forest” was shaping up to be one of the hottest D&D online streaming shows, already on its third campaign and counting.
“Beauty is just trying to get us some answers, Grumpy. We can’t just go stumbling about hoping to run into some fairy wand by chance.”
“Oh, it’s that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Enough! Can we get back to the campaign already? It took me weeks to plan and it kinda hinges a bit on the Dark One helping, which needs to happen today.”
“Fine by me, dearie, if the dwarf can curtail his temper.”
The party was composed of five characters, a paladin, a cleric, a bard, a rogue and a thief, which along with the Dungeon Master made up the regular cast of every weekly stream. But given the popularity of the show, and the amount of time they had been playing, they had managed to amass a good amount of side-characters, guests invited every now and then to help the campaign move along and keep the interest of the audience. And by far the most popular of those guests was the Dark One, a wizard of unknown lineage and tremendous power that served both as an antagonist and a pseudo-ally depending on the situation.
His presence was likely the reason why the livestream’s numbers looked so robust. He had amassed quite a fanbase, due in part to the commitment the player put on the character (the voice-acting was above and beyond what anyone could’ve expected from an amateur performer, and the backstory was quite complex, revealed in bits and pieces fans had meticulously assembled together) and in part to the chemistry he had managed to develop with the group’s bard, a half-human named Beauty.
“Okay, let’s all go back to what we were doing.” The DM’s voice was authoritative, though also more than a bit pissed off. “Okay, Beauty, you were about to try and cajole the Dark One to sell you the information you needed in return for a vial of water from Lake Nostos. Though the water is valuable, it’s not guaranteed to be enough to tempt the wizard. You have to roll at least a 13 in persuasion to make the trade. Roll when you’re ready.”
...
Rumford Gold stretched within the confines of the small backroom of his shop, where he had his computer stuff set up. Initially he’d bought the computer to better conduct his online business. His laptop at home wasn’t cutting it and it was better to photograph the antiques, update the website and handle the deliveries from his place of business. He had bought a good camera, some light fixtures and, on a whim, a microphone, for instances where he might need to virtually communicate with clients. It was something that was happening more and more, especially because a lot of his clientele was European. The internet had truly turned his antiquing- more of a hobby than a profession originally- into a profitable business.
He had gotten into watching D&D while waiting late at night for a client to become available in Austria. He had played as a lad, one of the few happy moments he could remember from his childhood in Glasgow, but had given it up once he had met Milah. And after they were over he had been too involved in making something of himself to remember past childhood enjoyments. But apparently D&D had evolved with the times and he had gotten into the habit of searching for and watching online D&D campaigns in his spare time. From that to actually being a side-character in one of them took almost no time. It was frightfully easy to go back to that frame of mind of playing make-believe, only now he had a distaste for the clean-cut heroic types and more of an affinity for the morally-grey, shady characters.
So he had auditioned for the role of evil-wizard when there had been an opening for a side-character in his favourite D&D stream, The Enchanted Forest. And though the DM had written what he considered to be a very flat, uninteresting character, he had been able to give it his own spin. He knew the DM hated him for it, hated when he deviated from what was expected of him, but people loved him. It was half the fun, pissing the DM off.
The other half, he had to admit, was Beauty. The one with the brains in the group, clearly, a half-human, half-fairy bard with an uncanny ability to think ahead, and arm herself with knowledge. Most of the other members of her party were more apt to try and decapitate something than negotiate with it, or even befriend it. Beauty prided herself on more of a gentle approach, which sometimes got her treated as the “fragile” one. He thought it just made her all the more interesting.
Their flirting had just kinda happened. He was half into it before he realised it had begun at all and by the time he had grown conscious- and self-conscious- of it fans were lapping it up and loving it. Even the DM, as loath as he was to admit it, found the banter engaging, even as if stole the spotlight from his story and where he wanted it to go. So every now and then he got invited into a stream, sometimes to interact with the whole party and sometimes, like the session he had just finished, to speak only to Beauty. And what was supposed to be a brief conversation before the party moved to greener pastures became a whole session, with the chatroom full of engagement and the view count off the charts.
But the DM had had a short tolerance span tonight, and had nipped things in the bud much sooner than usual. He felt… unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. Itchy, almost, in a way. So he was more than happy when he received an email from Beauty, who seemed to share his dislike of how the session had played out. They had started doing that more often, sharing emails after a session, even when he did not participate in it. It was harmless, he thought. Just an innocent online flirtation that could never realistically turn into anything. Not that his more in-person romantic overtures could ever pan out. He was in his third year of being completely smitten by the local town librarian, and in his second year of being able to put two words together in front of her without the help from Scotch, something he was perhaps a bit too proud of. And though he had decided very early on that the whole thing was utterly hopeless he had not been able to steer his thoughts or affections away. Realistically he was perhaps more in love with the idea of Belle French than the reality itself, given how little he had personally interacted with the woman. But he knew just enough to fill in the blanks and create a beautiful picture of how he imagined her to be: bookish- an easy assumption given how many times he had caught her in public places absorbed in a book-, kind, generous and delightfully able to hold a grudge and enact revenge when the time came. A bit reckless, and sometimes quick to form opinions, but also quick to revise them. A tactile person, with a great sense of fashion and a carelessness about what was expected of her.
He saw her in his head as clear as day, but little of that image was based on any personal knowledge of her. So, perhaps, he had found in Beauty a fictional substitute, someone he could talk to, and flirt with, without consequences, adopting the persona of someone more confident, more at ease with that sort of thing. The Dark One was comfortable in his skin in a way that he could only pretend to be sometimes. All the money and power he had accumulated over the years had helped him evolve from the spineless, cowardly lad he had once been, but when it came to certain situations, especially those that necessitated a level of vulnerability, he was still hopeless.
Perhaps, he wondered, it was better to think about his online liaison with Beauty as the real thing. They wrote to each other often, in and out of character, and over the course of their correspondence he had confided in her more than he had in any other person alive. Small things at first, every day peeves and details. Nothing that could identify them, certainly, but surprisingly intimate nevertheless. And over time it had grown to stuttering confessions and barings of the soul on both sides. She had told him of her teenage years in a mental asylum, the product of an overwrought widowed father trying to do right by his grieving daughter. He had had a few choice words to say about that, uncharitable thoughts about her father prompting his own willing sharing of the sad story of his childhood, neglectful father and all. It had felt nice, to confide in someone, someone he trusted.
He glanced at her email, where she lamented how their scene had not been as long or as satisfying as she had wanted, and saw she was proposing to meet later in a private stream to finish it the way they had both wanted. She had proposed something similar once or twice before and he had politely declined but now he wondered why not take her up on her offer. What was stopping him? His imaginary idea of Belle French, who in reality had never given him more than a polite smile in passing? Too young, too good, too beautiful to ever see him as anything other than an old cripple? Whatever he had built with Beauty felt infinitely more real, and attainable. A relationship without ever meeting in person seemed ideal in many aspects and, perhaps, if and when it came to meeting in the real world, his physical shortcomings would not be relevant, nor would it his rather uncharitable reputation.
He sent her a quick reply to arrange a meeting, feeling like a bit of roleplaying was, in the end, quite harmless. And if it were to lead to something a bit more meaningful, well, perhaps it was about time.
…
“Water from Lake Nostos. A key ingredient in most powerful potions and even some spells. I’m sure it could prove useful to you.”
The bard showed him the glowing crystal vial hanging from a long chain around her neck, with the glowing milky-white water from the cursed lake in it. He made a move to get closer to inspect it but the woman took a step back, tucking the vial back inside her bodice. The wizard’s eyes lingered there, hiz gaze growing intense. The bard felt her skin flush in response, something that felt a bit like fear but wasn’t running down her spine.
“And I’m sure a new wardrobe could prove useful to you, dearie. You’re practically wearing rags.” Rumplestiltskin made a show of running his eyes up and down her form with just enough disgust in his face to make it seem as if he was only noticing the rather sad state of her dress.
“It’s my best gown, I’d thank you not to insult it.”
He made a moue of disapproval, shaking his head for good measure.
“You’re far from your days as a princess. I hope seeing the world is worth putting up with your band of idiots that waste most of the gold they earn with your wit in pointless goose chases that you know will lead nowhere.”
Beauty didn’t respond. There was nothing she could say to contradict what he thought of her party, none of which was charitable to say the least. And she also knew that he was aware that all of it was worth the freedom she had won when she had left her life in her father’s castle behind. She did miss one or two things, perhaps. Her mother’s vast library being one and, perhaps, some of the fashions. Not so much the silhouettes- she had never liked how the sea of petticoats she was always forced to wear restricted her movement- but the fabrics and colours, certainly. And the shoes.
“I’m here to make a deal, Dark One. Are you doing business today or not?”
Lesser creatures would’ve rather bitten off their tongues that throw cheek at the Dark One, but Beauty did not even bat an eye, lips curling in a defiant little smile that had the wizard smirking, something like admiration blooming in his chest. It’s what he loved most about his little bard, her spine of steel. And perhaps her blue eyes, but that was neither here nor there.
“I don’t do business with raggedy urchins, dearie. If you want to sit down and negotiate you’ll need a bath.” He made a face, as if he could smell her across the room. “And a change of dress, while I put your current outfit to wash… Or set it on fire, I haven’t decided yet.”
She could tell that he was pulling his punches, that he was playing at being repulsed by her state of dress and hygiene just bad enough that she would see he did not really mean it, not in any real way. She would’ve been able to tell either way, but it was nice that he thought it important to spare her feelings. And she couldn’t deny that a bath sounded heavenly after so many weeks on the road, sleeping out in the open and washing in freezing-cold creeks whenever possible.
“Well, if you insist…”
He took her to a well-lit and spacious bathing chamber, with the biggest copper tub she had ever seen, already filled with warm, soapy water that smelled of vanilla. She wasted no time after the door closed behind him, stripping quickly, careless of her worn and mended garments, and slipping into the tub. It was heaven on her tired muscles, and her dirty skin, and though she would’ve stayed there for hours she knew that every minute spent bathing was a minute less with the Dark One. Their time was limited. If she didn’t return to camp in the morning her party would venture into the castle, likely thinking the most dreadful scenarios. She could picture Charming attempting to kick the front gate open and getting hurt for his troubles. She could not let them worry for her, or risk the rapport she had developed with the Dark One by coming in unannounced.
She got out of the tub with only a bit of reluctance and found a towel that she was convinced was enchanted to dry her faster than possible. She found clothing laid out in the adjoining dressing room, the undergarments soft and made of pale cream fabric and the dress of a lovely velvety, forest-green fabric, with a belt embroidered in small pearls that matched the detail about the neckline. She put it on gladly, twisting every which way to lace it up at her back. Living a less princessy life had made her acquire a number of small skills, including the ability to dress up mostly by herself even in gowns that did not lace up at the front, like most of her travelling clothes.
She did not spot her mauve travelling dress or her boots, but she was sure that Rumplestiltskin had whisked them away and would subtly mend them with magic, though she was sure he would deny it if she were to point it out. The green dress was accompanied by matching slippers, butter-soft and silent as they touched the stone floor. She made sure to dry her hair out, noticing how it shone red-gold in the flattering light of the candles, and took her time brushing it and styling it out of her face, so it fell flatteringly down her back. Her neck and most of her upper torso was bare but for the chain keeping the vial of water tucked safely against her breasts, the wide neckline of the dress dipping low enough to leave her collarbones bare, but she didn’t mind it. She was inside the Dark Castle, with the Dark One. She was safe there. On the road she always had to think about not attracting unwanted male attention. Here she rather felt like the opposite.
It was a silly infatuation, and many would argue any interest or desire on her part was due to the wizard’s power, which some would say was an aphrodisiac potent enough to make some look past the Dark One’s rather unfortunate exterior. No one would ever believe her if she confessed she rather… liked his appearance. The green-gold skin, the wild hair, the talons, but also the exquisitely-tailored pants and vests, the frothy cravats, the slim coats. A beast and a gentleman. A rather enticing combination, she had found.
She went downstairs into the trophy room once more, where two massive chairs were pulled up next to the roaring fireplace, the main source of light. The Dark One was sitting in one of them, a snifter gingerly held by a clawed hand, containing some sort of brown-gold liquid. He glanced at her the moment she entered the room, unwilling or unable to hide his appreciation for what he saw. He had removed his coat, leaving only his high-collared vest and one of his open shirts to cover his upper body, no forty cravat in sight. He seemed less guarded, more adventurous than he usually was when it came to matters of intimacy.
“You clean up well, dearie. Wish I could say the same for your dress. A wash will only do so much for it, but I refrained from throwing it into the fireplace. You’re welcome.”
“Good, as it’s not your property to destroy.” Beauty sat down, with a poise that betrayed her royal upbringing, and primly crossed her legs at the ankles. “So, Dark One, are you prepared to deal with me now?”
She had dealt with him dozens of times before, she had no idea why it all sounded so much like innuendo now. She couldn’t say she minded it.
“Of course, my dear. I’ve had time to think about our deal whilst you were splashing about in the tub.” His sing-songy voice broke, getting suddenly deeper for a second or two, as if he was struggling to retain his composure. “The vial is certainly a good start, but perhaps not quite enough. Now, I’m prepared to be generous given our long and fruitful history of dealmaking together, but I must also keep up certain appearances. So I thought I would also demand… an evening of your time.”
He tried to make it sound sinister, but she was past getting scared of him. At least in the traditional way. She raised an eyebrow, adopting a rather coquettish expression.
“And what would an evening of my time entail exactly?”
“Oh, well, you know. Companionship, perhaps a game of chess, some good wine, conversation and the like.”
She made a show of thinking it over before offering her hand, which he shook without delay.
“It’s a deal.”
Several hours later she had won two games of chess, one game of checkers, and was sipping from her third coupe of sparkling wine as she listened intently to a story about a deal the Dark One had once made with a king from a distant land. He was a gifted storyteller, engaging and funny, knowing exactly when to pause or gesticulate to keep the flow of the story just right. The king in his tale was rather unfortunate, in the sense that his hubris and arrogance had led him to make a deal with the Dark One that he did not understand. Most of Rumplestiltskin’s deals seemed to be like that, Beauty thought. And when he came to collect people dared be indignant that he demanded what they promised in the first place.
“The king was furious. Never let go of the grudge. Hired several assassins to try and kill me. A waste of gold, of course.”
He let out a trilling laugh, which soon proved to be contagious. Somehow, over time, it felt like their chairs had moved closer, because if she stretched out a hand she could easily touch him. Odd.
“Serves him right, for making such an open-ended deal. What a rookie mistake.”
She didn’t recall removing her slippers but she must have, because her feet were enjoying being pressed against the soft cushion of the chair. He made a gesture for her to lean close, which was a bit of a balancing feat, but she managed. Her heart skipped a bit when he leaned close too, almost pressing his mouth against her ear.
“You have no room to talk, sweet. You struck a very vague deal yourself, committing to an evening of conversation, chess ‘and the like’. That little turn of phrase is an invitation to all manner of sins, even the darkest and most decadent of debaucheries.”
He hissed the last part, making her shiver. Not content with letting him have the upper hand she turned her head so their lips were inches apart.
“That’s what I was hoping for.”
She could tell she had shocked him into inaction. Cocky Dark One, always in control of the conversation, always one step ahead of everyone else. It was nice to see him floundering, to catch him unprepared. Finally he gulped and put a little distance between them.
“Aren’t you the bravest little poppet.”
“My mother always said ‘Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.’ I’m a firm believer of the principle.”
Slowly, almost painfully so, both his hands clutched at the armrests of her chair, effectively pinning her to it. She knew she was supposed to be scared but she felt nothing but excitement, a buzzing just beneath the skin that made her strangely needy for something. Touch, perhaps, or more. The feeling was so overwhelming she did not realise at first that the laces of her dress were coming undone, as if invisible hands were painstakingly pulling them loose. She tried to make eye contact, but he ducked his head, pressing his face against the base of her neck, where it met her shoulder. She sighed, noticing how gentle he was, his touch feather-light, and discovering that she would not mind a rougher treatment. He was restraining himself, she realised, trying to be a gentleman. Sweet, but not what she wanted from him at that moment. Feeling bold Beauty carded a hand through his hair, pressing his face more firmly against her skin.
“Please, Rumple.”
Those two words seemed to have a magic of their own, producing a sudden and radical change in him. He moved too fast for her to see, wrapping her up in his arms and depositing her on the long dining table on the other side of the room. She did not know whether he used magic or simply moved inhumanly fast, but either possibility excited her, reminded her of the power of the creature looming over her, claws tugging at the unlaced bodice of her dress, dragging the velvet down to expose her undergarments. She was wearing the underbust corset he had provided over the snowy linen shift he had also left for her, so it was easy for him to simply tug the shift down a bit to expose her breasts. He leaned forward, nuzzling the space between her breasts, making a sort of satisfied purring noise as he sniffed up her clavicles and down her throat. Then, once he was happy with the level of squirming she was doing, he finally gave her what she wanted, closing his mouth, with all of its sharp teeth, around one of her rosy nipples. It was a strange feeling at first, more unfamiliar than pleasant, but when he began to suck it changed completely, little shocks of pleasure running from her nipple to between her legs. It was amazing, more than she had ever achieved with her own hands whenever she could get some privacy at night, and the feeling doubled when he grasped her untouched breast, his long claws estimulating the other nipple.
She sunk both her hands in his hair, fisting it in an effort to keep herself from squirming too much, feeling both aroused and impatient. She kept waiting for him to tire of her chest and move further down but when he was finally done sucking her nipples his head moved north, his lips blinding searching for hers till they were kissing. It wasn’t anything like any kiss she had experienced before, not even the unpleasant smack her former fiance had forced on her. Though it was just as forceful there was a wild quality to it, one she had never associated with the affectionate gesture. It was heavenly, the release of passion, far from cooling her down, setting her on fire, stoking her need for him till it felt like she would explode if he didn’t give her relief.
He must have sensed it, her desperation calling to him like a siren song, because at some point he let go of her mouth to travel south, past her aching chest, and velvet-covered belly to where the skirts of her long gown kept her modestly covered. He wasted no time dragging the heavy fabric up, letting it pool around her hips along with the white linen of her shift. She did not have any other undergarments, having not been provided with any, so she was completely exposed to his gaze, from her milky things to her round hips. She squirmed, trying to picture what he must be looking at, the trim thatch of chestnut curls at the apex of her legs, obscenely drenched by this point and making a poor show of trying to hide the pink, glistening flesh beneath.
“What a lovely cunt you have.” His voice was dark, guttural, a monster trying to speak like a man. It thrilled her. “Let me drink from it, precious.”
He didn’t wait for her reply, choosing instead to simply bury his head against her flesh, his tongue rough and wide as it lapped at her field parting them to seek out the bundle of nerves that was throwing for attention. She arched her back, feeling like it was only her firm grip on her thigh and hip what kept her anchored to the table. She fell into a rhythm of sorts, her body seeking out something she could not find but his mouth striving to compensate, to give her what she needed. It was heavenly and seemed to last an eternity, the sensations building up till everything but them faded away, all sensations muted. She felt him move to, thrusting his hips against the edge of the table, making it rattle in a way that spoke of his sheer brute force. It was heady to have someone like Rumplestiltskin, who had always strived to don the mask of a gentleman around her, be so unhinged, so animalistic. More than anything it was that complete loss of control what drove her over the edge. She cried out, feeling her inner muscles coil and her senses spiral out of control, her orgasm leaving her dizzy. It seemed to last forever and not nearly long enough. She laid there for a while after the feeling passed, feeling satisfied and wanting at the same time. A few seconds later he also keened, slumping against her still-parted legs, his hair tickling the soft skin of her inner thighs.
They lay that way for what seemed like ages, while they scrambled to try and collect themselves. The afterglow did not feel awkward or uncomfortable, and it loosened up her tongue enough to venture out that she had hoped for an even more intimate act, a joining that was even deeper than what they had done.
“A deal for such a prize would have to involve all my deepest secrets, my most valuable truths.” He paused, pressing his forehead against the silky inside of her thigh, like a penitent would. “One day, perhaps.”
...
“Do you want to meet? I think it’s time.”
The orgasm had mellowed him out, otherwise he was sure he would’ve at least panicked a little bit. But in the afterglow of what they had just shared, albeit virtually, a meeting did not seem like such a bad idea. In hushed voices they arranged the time and place, tomorrow at a café and bistro in Boston. Nice and public, for both their safety. They knew both lived near Boston, so it seemed natural to pick the city. The drive wasn’t too bad, and he hoped it wasn’t a great inconvenience to her either.
Reluctantly they said their goodbyes, both trying to prolong the moment a bit more till they were both close to nodding off. With a final, reluctant goodbye they both disconnected, leaving Gold to clean himself up and make his way home. With his rumpled suit, disheveled hair and five o’clock shadow it must have looked like the walk of shame. It certainly didn’t feel that way.
...
He woke up in a happy mood, perhaps the best in a long time. Far from feeling stupid or embarrassed about his little bit of roleplaying-turned-porn-session he felt smug, empowered by the notion that he had made a smart, desirable woman come with only his voice and imagination. He felt like he was on the brink of something, as if an exciting possibility was opening up for him.
He went about his day with a bit of a spring in his step, though most citizens of Storybrooke would be pressed to notice. It was only when he saw the book on gardening he was due to return to the library that afternoon- his two Moth orchids had developed small water-soaked spots on the leaves and he had wanted to consult some verified sources instead of relying exclusively on Google search results- that his mood dampened somewhat. As nice as last night had been- bloody fantastic rather- it did make him sad, somewhat, to give up his crush on Belle French. However unattainable it was still nice to have it, that bit of feeling that did not need to be reciprocated to be real. It had been nice to feel something for someone for a change, to look forward to each smile and each small conversation. But it wouldn’t be right, and what he had now was more valuable in any case. Perhaps, with time, he would grow out of his infatuation with the librarian and they could be friends. That would be rather lovely.
He crossed the street towards the library around three o’clock, wanting to beat the rush caused by children being let off school, a busy time for one of the only kid-friendly places in Storybrooke. There were some patrons about, and the afternoon light made the library look truly beautiful. Miss French truly worked miracles with her limited budget.
He found her easily, shelving a few books in the poetry section, and tried not to preen when she smiled widely at him.
“Mr Gold, hi! Always a pleasure. Here to return a book?”
The librarian was always sunny and welcoming, but she looked even happier that day, an excited sort of energy practically rolling off of her in waves. Thank goodness he had decided to give up on his silly little crush, otherwise he might have buckled under the power of her brightness.
“Yes. And you look particularly happy today, Miss French, if I might say so.”
The librarian smiled even more, if possible, and leaned close, as if to tell him a secret.
“I have a date tonight.”
It hurt, the slightest bit, the shock making him take a step back, but less than it would have yesterday. And perhaps, he reasoned, this would be good. This would put them both in the path of becoming friends, allowing him to leave his crush behind much faster. He forced himself to enquire politely after the lucky man, listening as she talked about someone she had been flirting with for a long time now, and it seemed like the relationship was finally ready for the next step.
“I’m really happy. And very nervous. It feels like such a risk, after all this time building something that could easily fizzle out with a first date. But I’ve always believed in doing the brave thing, and bravery will follow. It’s what my mother always said.”
She had turned back to shelve a book as she finished the last sentence, so thankfully she did not see his jaw drop and his eyes widen, his surprise so visible no one could’ve missed it. His heart lurched in his chest, sheer and sudden panic making it difficult to breathe. Fuck. Fuck. It wasn’t possible. Belle was Beauty. Belle was Beauty. He tried to contradict the notion in his head but he had known Beauty’s British accent was passable but fake, and it made sense for him not to have identified her voice when she usually spoke with her natural Australian drawl, something he associated so closely with her. Everything else he had ever found out about Beauty, in and out of the D&D setting, coincided with what he knew, or thought he knew, about the librarian, one of the reasons why he had developed a crush on her in the first place.
The initial shock was followed by a spike of elation and then a sinking feeling of dread. He needed to cancel. She would be disappointed, but more disappointed if he didn’t and she realised her crush was a man a good deal older than her that was known for being the town monster. It would be awkward and she would not be able to escape him after it, both doomed to meet each other often, given the small size of the town. He could not put her through that.
He stopped himself then, noticing the familiar dark turn of his thoughts, dipped in so much self-loathing it was almost stifling. And he wondered if he really was thinking about Belle or about himself. Being a coward, taking the easy way out. He thought about how he had woken up, the world full of promise and the future bright with the possibility of something great on the horizon. And how he had felt brave last night, to leap into something that had been so worth it. Perhaps it was time to be brave more often. Do something, however small. Put the ball in her court, somehow.
“I wish you the best of luck, then. Perhaps some other time, if you’re not too busy, you could pop into my shop. I have a few antique books I feel you would appreciate.”
It was a nice recovery, and he was happy to see her smile, apparently welcoming the proposition. Everyone knew Mr Gold’s shop was only to be entered when making deals. He didn’t really allow idle perusal of his stock and no one had the money or interest to buy his antiques. His business was conducted mostly with people from major cities on the East Coast.
“Wow, an open invitation to traipse into Mr Gold’s shop, that’s not something one sees everyday. What do you want in return? I hear only deals can grant you access to the shop.”
She made sure to make it clear she was joking, something he appreciated. Feeling emboldened by her kind gesture he adopted a slightly higher pitch and replied:
“Oh, nothing much. Companionship, perhaps a game of chess, some good wine, conversation and the like.”
Being close enough he got to see as it dawned on her, as her brain quickly processed what he had said and where she had heard it before. And he knew, knew because of the way she looked at him, as if she did not recognise him, as if he was a brand new person to her, that she understood the implication, what he had meant to tell her without actually telling her.
“Hope to see you soon, then. Good luck with the date.”
He turned around before he could second-guess himself, feeling terrified by what he had exposed but satisfied at the same time. This way it was Belle’s choice to show up. For all she knew he had no idea that she was Beauty. She could make up an excuse and simply not meet her, and their worlds would never merge. If she did not want to pursue anything between them all she had to do is cancel the date, or not show up. He would respect her decision and never push for anything, or acknowledge their online relationship in the real world.
He sent her an email just as he was about to get into his car, letting her know that he understood that this meeting was a bit of a risk and he would understand if she backed out at the last minute. There were other things he could do in Boston, and he was not adverse to having dinner by himself. And they could still be friends, no matter what she decided. He was halfway to Boston when he heard his cell phone ping, letting him know he had a new email. As he expected, it was from Beauty:
“I’m on my way. Can’t wait to meet you! See you soon.”
He smiled.
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
WIP For The Inquisition
I was tagged by @scungilliwoman and @adelaidedrubman thank you, lovelies!!!
Tagging: @water-writings @strafethesesinners @simonxriley @playstationmademe @fadedjacket @minilev @theknifegame @chyrstis @iamnotyourmusebitch @geronimo-11 @glowwormsmith @smithandrogers @shellibisshe @ohfaiths @athenalillystar @foxyb0xes but no pressure, of course!
This is just Evune asking Dorian to teach her to play chess to impress Cullen. I haven’t been writing a whole lot, just things here and there for the good ol’ serotonin. (Yes this one is a bit long, I just really think it’s cute, you know?)
Dorian threw me a look—one that obviously showed he thought I was crazy—as I sat on the fencing that helped prevent falling down from the tower. Every time I leaned back, hanging to look down as Solas worked below, he would make a noise, and his stress level would increase. I’ve heard him mutter “absolutely insane” under his breath a few times now, and I only waited for him to finally demand that I go and give someone else a heart attack, but it didn’t come as he continued to peruse the bookshelves.
“I’m going to have to speak to your cousin on the matter regarding the state in which your library lies.” He offered, his back to me as I sat back up after the blood rushed to my head and having been caught by the mage below us. I was too far up to really tell, but I imagined Solas’ brow raised and the head rush had become too much, so I decided to study the back of Dorian’s armor instead of the top of Solas’ head.
“Not up to Tevinter standards, Dorian?” I asked jokingly as I shifted, leaning against the pillar as I rested my foot along the railing. There, far more comfortable and gave me a view from below and above. He looked over his shoulder as I placed my arm on my knee, throwing him a smirk as he assessed me.
“It’s in a horrendous state of disarray. You can’t find a bloody thing with this disorganization.”
I hummed as I played with the leather strap on my boot. “Well, the Dalish aren’t exactly known for keeping thoroughly organized libraries.” Dorian sighed then, whether in exasperation of my joke or from the state of chaos he had found himself in, I wasn’t entirely sure. “If you’re wanting to speak to Athera about the library, you’ll have to wait. I believe she’s with Leliana currently and then Vivienne asked for her time afterwards. Solas is waiting too, he stopped me and asked when one of the cooks delivered his tea.” Leaning just a bit, I glanced back down, watching as Solas sat at his desk, pulling yet another book from the stack that was brought to him. “Though, I’m not sure if he likes it or not, he hasn’t really touched it.”
“Would not surprise me if his taste in tea matches the taste he has in wardrobe.” Dorian commented as he pulled a book from its place, glancing it over. “Why on earth is this placed here?” Turning back towards me, he slammed the book shut, making me jump only slightly, but enough to make me cling to the railing a bit tighter as I whipped around and looked at him. “If you fall from there, you will have to have that hedge mage heal you, because I refuse to help you. Perhaps I could bring you back from the dead if you decide to not survive it.”
“Yes, mother.” I muttered as I glared at him. “I’m not going to fall, I’m fine.”
“Mhmm. Yes, that is often what is said before disaster strikes.” I rolled my eyes as he placed the book somewhere else on the shelf, running his fingers along the spines as he returned to his search. My mouth goes to open, to throw another remark in the fun little verbal spar we had found ourselves in, but whatever words I had died on my tongue as I spot the blonde hair and dark fur. I straighten just a bit as Cullen walked around, barely nodding to Fiona as he passed her, his attention on the paper in his hand. My heart lurches just a bit at the solemn expression on his face, I could only imagine what the report said, but it couldn’t have been good. “Honestly, is there a bet between you and Sera that I needn’t be aware of? One that encourages reckless behavior to see who will slip first? I hope you’re not the one assisting in the pranks. Solas found lizards in his bed.” His words didn’t particularly register with me, however, as Cullen’s eyes met mine by happen chance—a quick glance to check where he was going, and I felt pinned in place as he slowed just slightly, his shoulders losing a bit of tension as the stormy expression cleared only a tad.
“Maybe.” I mumbled, a half assed response as I tried to pay attention but failed.
“Though, perhaps I could use your skills to return the favor.” Dorian mused as I glanced away, suddenly more interested in my boot as I fought the blush on my cheeks. “That is, if the need were to ever arise. Can never be too careful with overly enthusiastic rogues wandering about unsupervised.” I shifted just a bit as Cullen approached, Dorian still carrying on. “I find your skills useful, little wolf. If you don’t fall to your death, we could make a great team—oh, hello Commander.” Dorian shifted smoothly in conversation as he noticed Cullen, turning to him after the blonde’s light cough to clear his throat. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Dorian. I hope you are finding your place well here.” Cullen replied formally, almost as if it was rehearsed, and nodded towards the pile of books he was slowly accumulating.
Dorian smirked just a bit as he motioned towards the bookshelf in turn. “Attempting to make sense of this. It is turning into the most formidable opponent, I’m sure you can imagine.”
“I will have to take your word for it.” Cullen gave a half smile, making the scar more prominent on his lip, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. As if picking up on it, Dorian shifted gears.
“Yes, well after me and my trusted accompany are quite done with this, perhaps we can fancy ourselves a game of chess? Hmm?”
Cullen raised a brow, a bit taken off guard by the proposal, but he nodded, nonetheless. “Yes, perhaps we can manage that.” His gaze found mine again, and I managed to only glance away for a light second. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…Lady Lavellan.” I blinked in shock at the form of address, and I wasn’t sure if I should correct him or not, but I didn’t know how to.
“Commander.” My face stayed neutral while I internally felt like I would surely implode right there as he gave another nod and continued on his way. I fought the urge to turn and watch him walk away as I tried to gather myself. Dorian eyed me with a knowing smirk.
“Well now…that’s an interesting turn of events, Lady Lavellan.”
“Shut up, Dorian.” I muttered as I glared at my boot, trying to ignore him as Cullen came down the steps, the greeting to Solas echoing slightly against the stone walls.
“So the Commander seems to have taken a cute interest in you, no harm done at all, my dear friend. In fact, I say it’s quite exciting. Aha!” Dorian exclaimed as he pulled a tome from the shelf, seemingly excited about his find. “Truly, we could use some good romance around here. Let the servants go atwitter with gossip. I find that it’s good for the soul.”
I bit my lip as I hesitated, contemplating a bit just as Cullen glanced up, stopping for just a second before disappearing. The sound of the door shutting indicated he had made his leave, part of me was a bit disappointed. There was stray fabric that I began to pick at nervously as I shyly glanced at Dorian, watching as he calmly thumbed through the pages of whatever prize he had stumbled upon. Clearing my throat, I softly called to him. “Hey Dorian?”
“Hmm?”
“Can uh…” I trailed off, and finally finding some courage, I decided to just ask rather than beat around it. When have I ever not been straightforward? It was foolish. “Can you, maybe, teach me how to play chess?”
Dorian looked at me once more, his gaze curious and burning into me as I pointedly ignored it. I could feel his smirk, the knowingness his eyes held, the amusement and such. It was more than I could bear. The shift was almost as obvious as he gently closed the book. “Chess, you say? Not as familiar with it as you are with Wicked Grace?”
“The key to Wicked Grace is cheating, and I’m pretty quick-handed. I can’t really cheat at a game to win if I don’t really…know it.” I mumbled, feeling a bit more unsure by the minute. “I don’t think…maybe it’s better if I give it…an honest try.”
“Well, my dear, you couldn’t have asked anyone better. Trust me.” There was a slight clearing of someone’s throat from below, and Dorian blinked, still smiling, as he ignored it. “I would be honored to help you impress…certain people with your logical prowess on the chessboard.”
#oc: evune lavellan#dorian pavus#cullen rutherford#my ocs#my writing#tag game#dragon age inquisition
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 5
Warnings: None
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Zuko/OC
Summary: “You have everything you’ve ever wanted.” “No.” He said softly. “Not everything…” His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. “I guess not.” She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes.
My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T
"Admiral Zhao is not allowing ships in or out of this area." A soldier from Commander Zhao's fleet had stepped into Team Zuko's. He had basically barged in an demanded that the prince hand over all information in regards of the Avatar.
And here Iroh the ever optimistic thought they were here for a game of Pai Sho.
"I've got nothing to report to Zhao," Zuko stated coldly as he looked at the floor and then glared at the soldiers that stood before him. "Now off my ship!" He roared casting Tsai to jump slightly as he pointed them out.
'Who is this Zhao?'
Tsai knew that it wasn't hard to get under Zuko's skin, but there was something about this man that seemed to really irritate him. Or maybe it was the fact they had been sailing northeast without a single sighting in the past couple of days. Not knowing much about the war or its generals or commanders she remained clueless to his man's identity, but would he would he have to crawl over her dead body if she was just going to let somebody take her destiny of bringing peace to the Fire Nation world. Approaching the table she read over a wanted poster that some of the soldiers were looking at.
"It says here that the Avatar can create tornadoes and run faster than the wind," one of the soldiers read aloud in awe. "Pretty amazing!" Another said.
Tsai blinked twice taken aback when an image of a boy no older than twelve which was painted on the poster. He was just a child, a bald child with eager eyes and a tattooed arrow pointing down the middle of his forehead. "But he's just a child," she gaped in surprise. All this time she had been imagining a very old man. But if he was a child- why on Earth hadn't Zuko been able to capture him?
She didn't know much about air benders. No one did, after all they had been extinct for the past one hundred years. Part of her wished the ship had a library where she could research information about the Avatar, but wait maybe there was something she could do...
"Tsai, care to join us for a game of Pai Sho? I think they are getting better," Iroh called. "I'll pass for now. I have to write to my family," it wasn't a complete lie. "Good luck gentleman," she smiled sweetly at the men making some of them swoon.
Xxx
'Brother,
I hope you are well. I know I have been gone less than a week. I hope you don't miss me too much. I also wish I could tell you where I am, but it is hard to pin point. We are presently sailing northwest hot on the Avatar's trail. Can you believe it?
Iroh has been a most gracious host. I enjoy spending time with him, he really reminds me of grandpa, and the prince well- tell mother not to get too excited, but he does have some redeeming qualities (and a terrible temper as well).
Mecha, I need to ask you yet another favor. Please send me all information you might have on air benders or air bending. Turns out the Avatar is only a child! A slippery one that is if he's had Prince Zuko chasing him all over the world with no success.
Lots of love to the family,
- Your Sister Tsai'
Tsai came down from the commander tower after having sent out a fire hawk home to her brother. Coming down she encountered a fire show of the prince angrily kicking and punching bold strokes of dangerous fire in all directions. He even appeared to be radiating anger.
"Hey, you O.K.?" She found herself asking once again. She put her hands on her waist as she eyed him carefully barely dodging a fire blast which headed in her direction. Part of her suspected that had not been an accident. He wore a maroon training tunic that showed off his toned arms.
"Perfectly fine," he grumbled. Obviously not pleased. "Is it because of that man Zhao?" She pressed on. "We can't give up yet! We can still find the Avatar before him," she said in a determined tone.
"We?"He scoffed incredulously.
As far as he knew Tsai brought nothing to table except for maybe tea and Pai Sho. She nodded holding a fist to her chest a determined glint in her honey brown eyes. "I know we can do it!"
"She's right Prince Zuko," Iroh suddenly appeared. "I was becoming worried when you hadn't ordered your men in the past hour."
"How? With Zhao's resources, it's just a matter of time before he captures the Avatar," he stated upset. He turned and lowered his voice into almost a whisper, "My honor, my throne, my country... I'm about to lose them all." A somber gust of wind passed by.
Seeing him like this. Seeing anybody like this broke the girl's mushy heart. She looked at him sadly.
"But you have something Zhao doesn't have!" She said animatedly.
Both Iroh and Zuko turned to look at her with expecting eyes. "Something worth fighting for!"
His fists clenched at his sides in fury. "That's absolutely useless!" He roared in frustration. She flinched a little at his tone. I mean she was only trying to help...
"Prince Zuko, a word from Zhao's men. Apparently the Admiral has the Avatar on his compound grounds."
Tsai closed her eyes not wanting to witness the volcano that was about to explode in front of her. 'Talk about bad timing.' Her hair was whipped wildly by several heat waves.
Shutting her eyes even tighter she set her mind to it, she was determined to do something about this. If Zhao had the Avatar that meant that the odds of her having a chance at achieving her grandfather's dream would be destroyed.
Xxx
It was already the evening. Zuko braced himself for the battle that he would encounter tonight. He put his twin blades on his back and shed his princely identity becoming a Blue Spirit of the night. He was ready to sneak out when a gentle knock made him freeze on the spot.
"H-Hey," a voice said softly.
It was Tsai.
"I'm really sorry about today. Just know I'm going to try my best to help out more from now on. I understand if you're still upset. Well, have a good night then." He hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath all of this time. He slowly released it when he heard her foot steps trail off.
Meanwhile Tsai tip toed around the ship until she reached the deck where some of the soldier's were currently lounging keeping their night guard.
"Gentleman," she coed in a soft voice.
Their jaws dropped at the sight. One wolf whistled inappropriately. They were basically salivating at the sight of the lady before them. Her eyes were coated with cleverly applied dark make up, more than she usually wore. Perfect for an evening look. Her lips were rogue and her features had been professionally contoured. Crimson hair cascaded down her back in full waves. "Anybody feel like taking me ashore?" She popped her hip to the side dramatically batting her eyelashes.
A few moments later Tsai was ashore standing outside the gates of the Pohuai Stronghold She noted the way it was heavily armed and had no trouble batting her eyelashes getting inside. One of the few advantages of war was that these men hadn't seen a woman in ages.
xxx
"Tell me, how does it feel to be the only airbender left?" Zhao taunted the Avatar as he rounded him in a chamber. "Do you miss your people?" He pressed on leaning maliciously close towards the boy.
Taking in a massive breath the Avatar blew the man hard against the metal door making him lose his balance and ungracefully fall on his face. "Blow all the wind you want. Your situation is futile. There is no escaping this fortress and nobodyis coming to rescue you." He scowled.
"Admiral Zhao," a soldier suddenly entered the chamber. "You better come quick Sir." he urged, "Y-You've got an important guest," he adjusted his helmet his face slightly turning scarlet.
Zhao raised an eyebrow with intrigue. He had not been expecting anybody. Could it have been that Fire Lord Ozai had sent a personal gift to him? He ran a hand through his hair combing it down in a narcissistic matter.
Xxx
Tsai had been brought to a waiting room which wasn't nearly as elegant as the one in her home. She sat comfortably with a relaxed expression on her features, her poise and feet had been placed in a strategic way which she knew highlighted her best features. (She had also stuffed her bra with two apples although she would never confess that to anyone). She wore a flattering emerald green kimono dress that fit her in all the right places a jade butterfly clip held half of her hair up elegantly.
"I wasn't expecting any company tonight." A man whom Tsai assumed to be Admiral Zhao walked in. He air of arrogance seemed to follow him. He was a middle-aged military man with dark gray hair and sharp sideburns that made his features appear more angular. A smug smirk twisted on his lips. "Ms. Haru of Hu Xin," his eyes scanned her body tracing every curve and inch of her visible skin.
"I had heard tales of the man, the myth, the legend-"
Tsai almost threw up in her mouth. She could not believe she had just said that. It was official she had been reading way too many cheesy plays. As disgusting as this was, she had a plan, and a part to play if she wanted to succeed. She rose to her feet slightly draping one of the sleeves down to display a bare shoulder. "Had to come see it myself. Meet the infamous Admiral Zhao." She spoke as she rounded him. His eyes followed her, enjoying every minute of having his ego stroked. "Congrats on the promotion," she spoke lowly in an attempt to sound both older and more mature. How old was he anyways?
"How old are you Haru?" He said with an edge of suspicion raising up an eyebrow. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to ask a lady for her age?" She let out a throaty chuckle as she flirted. "I'm almost twenty," she lied with skill tossing him back a look.
Tsai lied through her teeth the entire night. She had managed to convince a high ranking military officer, an admiral, that she was around town visiting her cousin and upon hearing the news that the now 'famed' admiral was in town, well she just had to visit. It was such an absurd lie and Zhao appeared to be such an ego maniac that he totally ate it up. The two were currently sitting on one of the sofa seats. Both were drinking some wine that the admiral had been reserving for a special occasion. With every minute that passed he inched closer and closer to her wanting more than just hand holding or gentle strokes. Tsai's ruse was beginning to collapse. She had to get out of here and fast. She chuckled nervously as the man stroked her waist and slowly inched his hand lower and lower. He was also leaning in closer-
"Ah-I'm-Um.. I need to use the restroom!" She declared jumping to her feet. The Admiral collapsed on the sofa and turned to look at her with an elbow propped holding his head up. "Don't be long," he purred.
Knowing him he probably found his intimidation to be 'endearing' or something twisted amongst those lines.
The girl tiptoed out in to the hallway and let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding once she was out of his sight. Great- now she had to find the Avatar. If she was Zhao were would he keep the Avatar? Probably close by, tall in this tower. She rushed up the stairs running as fast as she could. She really had no time to waste.
Xxx
The Blue Spirit had successfully infiltrated Zhao's compound base. He snuck in floor by floor until he reached the top of the tower. However, he was surprised when he did not encounter any soldiers. Only evidence of a conflict. Abandoned helmets rolled down the empty hallways. Marks of conflicts, stains of blood and slashes had scarred the walls of the military compound.
There was also water in the floor and a wooden bucket which had been smashed to bits and pieces.
'Just- what happened here?' Zuko thought to himself. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Somebody had beat him to it. There was somebody else here.
xxx
Aang heard what sounded like punched being thrown followed by painful screams. He brazed himself and kept his eyes focused on the steel door that was across from him. It was then that the door opened and a beautiful woman walked in. She exhaled sharply quickly running her hands through her wavy red colored hair combing it back into place. His jaw dropped as she ran towards him. Her emerald dressing robes fluttering behind as she did.
"There's no time," she stood before him and upon closeness Aang realized she was only a teenager. One in a very poor disguise. "Who are y-" He began to ask.
"No time," she hissed glaring and pulled an apple from the inside of her robe slamming it against his open mouth silencing him. She appeared to be picking at the locks with the back of her hair pin. It was then that the door behind the two was once again shut.
xxx
Both Aang and Tsai couldn't believe what they were seeing an individual wearing black with a Blue Spirit theater mask entered the room. Aang bit the apple hard the fruit collapsing on the floor as he swallowed almost choking on the piece of apple.
Xxx
Zuko blinked twice, shook to his core. He was thankful for the mask for it hid his expression of shock and disbelief. Was he hallucinating?
'How had- there was no way- but- it had to be.'
Pulling out his twin blades be began an elaborate display of mastery over the blades. The Avatar let out a loud scream. The lady wearing the emerald dress kimono stood before him pushing him behind, shielding him with her body.
"Shh!!" She hissed as the Avatar screeched for his life. The masked individual came closer and evenly sliced the Avatar's hand restrains. Aang felt his arms drop as the blood rush back to them. The Avatar and his lovely savior looked at the masked individual in shock.
Xxx
Zuko stood mere inches away from her. Now he was more certain than ever. It was most definitely her. It was Tsai and she appeared to be wearing some type of disguise. Regardless, she looked-
He shook his head. He snapped back to reality realizing that both his uncle's royal guest and the Avatar were starring at him with their eyes the size of golf balls. He lowered his weapons also freeing the Avatar's feet. Tsai and Aang exchanged a look as Zuko walked towards the door. "What's going on?"
The red-headed beauty slowly walked over to the Blue Spirit. Her light brown eyes were focused on him. Friend or foe? She measured her opponent. There was something familiar about his stance, about his posture, something that she couldn't put her finger on.
It was impossible. Zuko remained in shock. Not a single hair out of place, her clothes remained impeccable with no signs of struggle. He looked at her hands both resting at her sides without a weapon.
Also- how on Earth had she even gotten of the ship?
"I think he's here to save you," she spoke after making a decision. Sticking a hand into her dress she pulled out an apple from her chest, her expression serious.
"Listen here," She reached for the spirit's dark shirt and fisted it pulling the mask close to her face. She paused for a moment attempting to catch a glimpse of any notable feature underneath the mask. "I have important things to do, places to be-" she hissed out. Her grip becoming tighter.
Zuko had never seen her like this, had never seen her eyes hold such darkness in them.
"I'm entrusting you with the Avatar Blue Spirit and I've got news for you. If anything happens to him. If there is a scratch on his bald head, a broken limb, if any harm comes to him-" Her hand trembled slightly before the apple she had been holding in her hand was crushed into a juice mash just with her grip strength. The message was loud and clear. "Got that?" She finished menacingly before letting go pushing the masked individual slightly.
"Wait!" Aang called out. "Who are you?!"
It was too late. She was gone.
xxxxx
FIRST https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621142853126602752/sunburn-prince-zuko-1
NEXT https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621233046237184000/sunburn-prince-zuko-6
PREV https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621143805670948864/sunburn-prince-zuko-4
CHAPTER MASTERLIST
#prince zuko#prince Zuko fanfic#prince Zuko x oc#zuko#oc#Zuko x oc#Zuko x reader#avatar fanfic#atla#avatar#katara#sokka#fluff#fanfic#fanfiction#avatar fanfiction#wattpad
123 notes
·
View notes
Text
Never Far Away; Chapter Nine: Only Love Can Break Your Heart
Word count: 3,346
Summary: Tamako finds herself feeling very lonely and unsure of what the future might hold for her. She meets up with Itachi, who shares some devastating news. This sparks a new flame in Tamako.
Warnings: Slight NSFW content
Masterlist
Tamako is tired when she and the other women arrive in the new village. It’s shiny, bright and the lights are very attractive. Tsunade wanted to come here because of the casino, Shizune just wanted to get somewhere to stay the night, and Tamako was just following because she had nowhere else to go.
She often thinks about how her encounter with Itachi had gone miserably, and how it didn’t go according to how she had planned it. She wanted to see him again and maybe try to explain to him how she was feeling, but she knew he’d probably just send her away again. Tamako was starting to believe that Itachi’s feelings for her had diminished or dissipated long ago.
Her heart ached as Tsunade finally led them into the beautiful and luxurious inn. This was such a better looking inn than the last one they had stayed in. Tamako is wondering how they’ll be able to manage to stay here, but Tsunade knows her way around people. She’s got a few tricks up her sleeves.
“C’mon, kiddo. Let me show you how to get a free night stay,” Tsunade coaxes, and Tamako follows her inside. Shizune trails behind them, a little unsure.
Inside, the host is a stuffy older man who looks to be about Tsunade’s real age. He seems a little snooty, but Tsunade doesn’t let that stop her from following through with her plan. Tamako watches her saunter over to the counter, and she tries to mimic her actions.
“Hi there,” Tsunade says in a sultry voice. Tamako almost starts laughing, but manages to keep it together.
“What can I do for you?” the older man asks. He seems a little weary of the three women, but he tries to stay professional.
“We’d like a room… but, we’ve got a bit of a predicament,” Tsunade says as she starts to push out her chest. Her large breasts sit on top of the counter. Tamako looks down at her own breasts, which aren’t Tsunade’s size, but they are growing well.
“I can’t help you then. You need money to rent a room.” The older man warns, pointing towards a sign that reads “No money, no room”.
Tsunade throws her hair back a little, then she slowly undoes her shirt to reveal her tits to the older man. He takes in the sight for a moment, then turns away from all the women. Shizune and Tamako share a confused look.
When the man turns around, he’s holding a rag up to his nose and a room key in the other hand. He hands the key to Tsunade, who blows him a kiss after she’s adjusted her shirt. Tsunade then guides the other two towards the hallway, laughing slightly.
“Wow, that’s a great trick!” Tamako exclaims as they begin climbing the steps towards their room.
Tsunade smirks, “It’s only too bad it works mostly on just men. I’ve had it work on a few women, but they mostly aren’t too impressed.” She then looks over to Tamako’s chest. “You could probably do this as well, if you’d like. You’re not as flat chested as I thought.”
Tamako blushes and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s not often that people make comments about her body, and especially not since she’s become a young woman. Sasuke had made a few dumb comments once when they had gone swimming one day, and he had accidentally seen her breasts. Tamako thinks that maybe that was the first time he’s ever seen a woman’s chest.
“Lady Tsunade, I think that’s enough for tonight. You might be making Tamako a little uncomfortable,” Shizune pipes up as Tsunade finds their room.
“Awhh, let me have fun. Tamako isn’t bothered, right?” Tsunade looks over at Tamako.
“Oh, yeah I’m alright!” Tamako shakes off her uncomfortableness, realizing she needs to get used to this kind of life. She’s a rogue ninja now, and there will be times where she’s going to meet all kinds of crazy people like Tsunade.
When Tsunade opens the room, Tamako is in awe. It is gorgeous, roomy and lush. The carpets are a pastel pink color, while the walls are cream. There’s a large window that showcases the view of the whole town. Tamako has never stayed anywhere this fancy, and this place was even better looking than her room back at home…
‘Oh...home. I’ll probably never stay in that room again.’
Tamako felt so crushed for a moment, standing in the entryway as Shizune and Tsunade inspected the room. Shizune turns towards Tamako, giving her a small smile. Tamako takes a second to take a deep breath, then she starts to look at the luxurious furniture in the room.
“I’m glad you have that trick, Tsunade. I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice,” Tamako says briefly.
“Yeah, it definitely has its perks!” Tsunade explains, jiggling her breasts. She snorts for a moment before turning to Shizune, “get it? Perks!? ‘Cause my tits are so perky?”
Tamako giggles while Shizune groans and rolls her eyes, but Tamako notices a smile on her face. The women look around the bathroom and the bedroom, noticing it’s nice and roomy everywhere.
“I think I’m going to turn in for tonight, Lady Tsunade.” Shizune explains, but Tsunade is a little upset.
“No way! We just got here! C’mon, let’s go have a drink!” Tsunade cheers, pulling Shizune by the arm. Tsunade begins dancing with her, but Shizune just kind of stands there awkwardly.
“Please, Lady Tsunade. I’m tired, and I would like to make use of that bathtub.” Shizune pleads, and Tsunade narrows her eyes at her.
“Alright, but only because I’ve got Tamako here with me.” Tsunade says, wiggling her hips as she walks over to Tamako. Tamako laughs.
“Fine, but I cannot get drunk like last time. I’m still kind of a lightweight,” Tamako says, scratching the back of her head nervously.
“Ohhh, come now. You’re Takani’s daughter, it shouldn’t take you too long to start drinking like she used to.”
At the bar, Tsunade orders them a bottle of sake. They use some of the winnings from the last card game they played to pay for the liquor. Tsunade explains how using the boob trick a lot can make it lose its appeal to some people.
They sit in the corner table, watching for drunk or naive men to pass by. Tamako is dressed in a rather tight kimono, which stops just under her ass. She’s never really worn anything this revealing before, but she knows that Tsunade talked her into it so that the men might give them money or buy them booze.
“You really do look like her,” Tsunade slurs, already a little buzzed.
“Like my mother? Everyone says that. Yumiko favors my father, to be honest.” Tamako explains, leaning her chin on her palms.
“Yeah, she did. She’s flat chested and has a stick up her ass just like he did!” Tsunade says, laughing loudly. She hiccups and then blushes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
Tamako just chuckles, “don’t worry, I know how Yumiko can be. She’s tough as nails and she had to grow up fast, so she didn’t always have the most time for fun.”
Tsunade pours them both another drink, and she realizes the bottle is empty. She gets up on shaky legs to get them another bottle. Tamako watches her from the table, wondering if she’s always been this dumb. Her heart hurts as she thinks about Itachi. There’s probably a good chance that he’s fallen out of love with her long ago, and here she was, ruining her life to chase after him.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Tsunade says as she places another bottle of sake on the table.
“I think I’m making a big mistake.” Tamako confesses, covering her face with her hands.
Tsunade places a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing soothingly as she allows Tamako to wallow in her own self-pity. Tsunade knows how that feels, and she’s definitely felt this kind of pain before. Sure, it’s not quite the same kind of situation, but the pain is a similar one.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Tsunade says as she pours them another drink. She passes one of the drinks to Tamako, then Tsunade downs her own.
“It’s just, I didn’t expect Itachi to trick me. I really thought he loved me,” Tamako begins. “I know it’s been some time since we’ve seen each other, but love can’t dissipate that fast, can it?”
Tsunade thinks for a moment before laughing, “Hey, let me just say one thing. There was this guy on my team when I was younger, and he has never stopped loving me.”
Tamako looks at her in shock, “Orochimaru?!”
Tsunade bursts out laughing even harder, making lots of the patrons in the bar start staring at them. Tamako isn’t sure how to react. Orochimaru wasn’t a good person, and for him to continue loving Tsunade forever, maybe it meant something good for Tamako and Itachi.
“Oh, kiddo...you crack me up. I meant Jiraiya, but I do think that maybe Orochimaru had the hots for me too. Most people think of me that way,” Tsunade says confidently. Tamako sighs a breath of relief.
“Let’s just say, Itachi probably didn’t stop loving you. If anything, he might be trying to protect you. But besides that,” Tsunade leans over to get closer to Tamako. “What are you going to do about your sister? She’ll never stop chasing you, you know?”
Tamako frowns and downs her drink, “I know. I’m hoping she’ll just stop eventually from sheer exhaustion, but I’d also hate that for her. I still love her so much, but she needs to let me become my own person.”
Tsunade eyes her for a moment, “you need to live your own life, kiddo. She’s your sister and she’ll always try to protect you, but you need to make your own decisions.”
Hours after leaving the bar, Tamako lays in bed staring at the empty ceiling. She couldn’t shake the anxiety her conversation with Tsunade gave her. She hates this guilty feeling that’s rising within her, building up in her stomach and making her feel like she’s going to vomit...or cry.
Tamako gets up quietly, and she grabs a jacket and her shoes. She needs to go outside and clear her mind. Being in this lush room doesn’t really help her understand her true feelings. The moon is large and bright, and the stars are calling to her.
Once she’s outside of the inn, she starts walking down one road, which leads to some beaten down path to the outskirts of the town. It's a quiet night, except for a few lovers who are walking about. It makes Tamako long for her own companionship. There’s a part of her that thinks maybe she should have stayed in the village, and maybe she could have waited for Sasuke to grow up a little...then maybe they could have gotten together. Sasuke isn’t her first choice, but he is reliable and familiar. He’s still a kid though.
Tamako barely pays attention to what she’s doing, though her ears are trained to listen for small noises that could mean an enemy. When she hears the call of a crow, her heart stops beating for a moment. She hopes it’s Itachi, but she figures it’s really just wishful thinking.
Those thoughts are swept away when she sees him standing in front of her. He’s got a stern look written on his face, but his eyes are telling a different story. Within them, there is sadness, love and a touch of guilt.
“Tamako, you didn’t listen to me.” Itachi says, and Tamako stops right in front of him.
“Why should I? We don’t even know each other anymore,” Tamako retorts coldly. Itachi can feel a sadness invade his mind when he hears her tone.
“You need to listen to me. Have I ever steered you in the wrong direction? I’ve always tried to guide you properly, and so has Yumiko.” Itachi argues, walking over to her. He’s hesitant to touch her, but he can’t help himself. He brushes back a few stray hairs, and he cups her cheek.
Tamako wants to be angry and yell, but she melts right into his touch. It’s been so long since he’s given her attention like this. Even if it’s momentary, she’s going to enjoy it as much as she can. Itachi looks deeply into her eyes, and she can tell he’s fighting back tears.
“Even if you were to come with me,” Itachi starts. “It’s not like I have much longer.”
Tamako pulls away, staring at him in disbelief. She’s not even sure what he’s talking about, but she really doubts this has anything to do with enemies or a bounty. Itachi has done good to keep himself stronger than most and mostly well-liked, despite slaughtering his clan.
“What are you talking about?” Tamako asks. Itachi sighs, and he can tell he’s already told her too much.
“I am ill, Tamako. It’s not something I can cure, but I can treat it. Even with the best treatments, my life is diminishing quickly.” Tamako can barely concentrate on his words. She doesn’t want to think about what this actually means.
“You mean...you’re going to die?” Tamako asks. Her breath hitches in her throat as she clings to him. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close and kissing the top of her head.
“This is partly why I didn’t want you to follow me. I thought by the time I would perish, you would have moved on to someone else. I would have hoped that your teammate would have charmed you enough, but as luck would have it, your feelings are strong just like my own.” Itachi explains, tears falling from his eyes. He can’t help it.
Tamako sobs into his chest, crying out and repeating “no” over and over again. She can’t handle this right now. It’s just too much information to take in. Her heart breaks as Itachi tries to comfort her as much as he can.
“What if I tried to find a cure? I could do that for you,” Tamako looks up at him with tears in her eyes. Most of them have spilled over, but she looks so pitiful this way. It’s really making Itachi weak.
“Tamako, love...please, don’t ever do that. I need you to understand that your life has so much more potential than mine. You cannot dedicate your life to mine, alright?” Itachi says sternly. “Besides, I do not want you to watch me die.”
The words hang heavy between them. Tamako wants him to take her away and live a quiet life in the forest together. Itachi would love to be that selfish and do the same, but he cannot. He can’t bring himself to ask that of Tamako. He loves her dearly, and he’d never be able to die peacefully if she made it her life’s duty to watch him die.
“Let me learn medical ninjutsu, and I’ll cure you. I know I could, if you just let me try,” Tamako pleads.
Itachi shushes her quietly, placing a tender kiss to her forehead. Without thinking about it, Tamako leans up and kisses Itachi softly. He holds her closely, feeling the tears in his eyes well up once again. He wants her, and only her, but this cannot be her life.
While she’s not paying attention, he places her under another short genjutsu so he can return her to the room in the inn.
Tamako is in the kitchen, cooking dinner with Mikoto while they wait for Sasuke, Itachi and Fugaku to return home. Mikoto is going on and on about how Itachi was becoming a very skilled policeman just like his father, and Tamako is gushing over this as well.
Tamako and Itachi have just gotten engaged, and soon the wedding bells will ring. It’s going to be such a blessed and happy day in summer when those two finally wed. It had almost been decided since they were children. Mikoto and Takani got pregnant roughly around the same time, and the two women bonded over that. Itachi and Tamako grew up together, and as they got older, they fell in love with one another.
The door slides open, and Tamako and Mikoto hear Sasuke announcing his presence. Behind him is Itachi and Fugaku. They all enter the kitchen, and Fugaku kisses Mikoto.
Itachi walks over to Tamako and wraps his arms around her. He presses a kiss to her temple before whispering, “I’ll always love you.”
Tamako snaps out of the genjutsu a little quicker this time. It’s left her so heartbroken, but so much more determined than she’s ever felt in her life. When morning comes, she’s resolved to ask Tsunade to take her on as another apprentice.
Tamako needs to learn medical ninjutsu so she can figure out the cure for Itachi’s illness. Tamako knows that there are so many cures for illnesses, and even though some of them are hard to find, she will make it her life’s duty to find it.
Nothing could take that away from her, and nobody will talk her out of it. Even if it takes longer than she’d like it to, she will continue to strive for that cure. Just know that Itachi still loves her after all these years has spurred her on.
When morning finally arrives, Tamako is basically bursting with excitement. While her heart aches for Itachi and she worries about him even more, she knows she can do something for him. Tamako has been wanting to train under the legendary Tsunade forever, and now this is her chance.
“You’re looking different, kiddo. What happened to you?” Tsunade asks as she gets ready for the day.
“Lady Tsunade, would you teach me medical ninjutsu?” Tamako asks, and Tsunade laughs. It’s not the first time she’s heard this, and memories of Shizune come to mind.
Shizune was so young when she asked Tsunade to teach her ninjutsu, but also they had a bond seeing as Shizune is Dan’s niece. Tsunade felt a little bit of an obligation with Shizune, but now the same situation was kind of presenting itself.
Tsunade sighs for a second, mulling it over. She had been planning this shinobi sabbatical for quite some time, and she wondered if it were even a good idea to teach Tamako something so important. Besides, what had happened to Tamako that made her so eager to want to learn this?
“This is pretty tough stuff to learn. Are you sure you’re willing to listen to me no matter what?” Tsunade quizzes, and Tamako nods. Tsunade studies Tamako’s reaction, and it makes her realize that maybe Tamako has found out about something that’s making her want to learn medical ninjutsu.
“Of course, I am completely ready.” Tamako is practically bouncing up and down, making Tsunade chuckle.
Tsunade smiles, “alright kiddo. I’ll train you.”
She’s a little worried about how much of this training Tamako can take, but she knows that Tamako is strong. She is Takani’s daughter after all, and while Tsunade is mostly known around these parts, Takani was such a force to be reckoned with. Tamako had definitely inherited that from her mother as well as her beauty, but Tsunade could see that determination that Nakachi had.
Tsunade has a good feeling about it, despite a few reservations she did have. It seemed like a good plan for Tamako, and besides, it could keep her out of trouble. Tsunade decides to take on Tamako as her student, and with that, she decides to send Hiruzen a message that Tamako is not a rogue ninja, she is just looking for some guidance outside of the village.
Maybe, this will keep Tamako away from Itachi for some time. Tsunade knows that will be her end goal anyways, but if she can distract her for some time, it may change.
#naruto fanfiction#itachi uchiha#itachi uchiha x oc#kakashi hatake#kakashi hatake x oc#tsunade senju#shizune#tonton#tamako shorihibana
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rest easy love, I’ll be there soon!
Pairing: John Price x Liz Walker
Summary: When Price loses his better half on the battlefield, he’s left with grief, guilt and two children to take care of. And the only thing that keeps him going beside the two kids he shares with her, is knowing he’ll see her again soon.
Words: 2,572
Warnings: Angst
A/N: After @3sleepycats mentioned this after reading my one-shot ‘I Love You And I’m Sorry’ about doing something similar for Price and Liz, I had to do write this. And don’t worry it’s not as bad as the other...or is it? I hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated.
Death became a part of Price’s life, he commanded people and some of those people died. He’s lost recruits, fellow soldiers under his command and friends, it was almost normal for him in a messed up way. But her, he wasn’t supposed to lose her. She was the one thing he was supposed to protect and he failed.
He shut the door behind him, and locked it. The room was dark and quiet, not a soul in sight. He sighed and went to the kitchen to grab himself a beer from the fridge, then made it back to the living room to sit in his favorite armchair. With a blind eye, he turned on the lamp next to him, illuminating the room in some light.
Price twisted the cap of his beer off, placing it on the table next to him and took a long drink of it. As he reclined in his chair, with a drink in hand, he looked around the room, seeing toys and stuffed animals laying on the floor, specifically though, he was looking at the pictures on the wall.
His eyes darted to the one of Liz holding a swaddled newborn Johnny in her hands with him behind her, looking over her shoulder down at him. One of the few pictures that were taken by a professional.
That day he’ll always remember, not only because of how exhausting it was, but because Liz was so self conscious. How she complained she didn’t look good in anything and how he had to remind her that she looked beautiful in everything. To her it sounded like a lie just to get her ready for the picture, but it wasn’t, not even close.
He turned his head to look at the family picture of all four of them, taken only two weeks after Emilia was born. All of them looked so happy and in love!
Price sighed and took another sip of his beer before getting up from his chair. He walked back into the kitchen, standing over the sink to dump the rest of the beer down the drain and then set the empty bottle on the counter and headed upstairs.
He came to Johnny’s room first, quietly and slowly opening his door to check on him. He left it open, leaning against the doorway to watch him for a bit.
Little Johnny, not so little anymore. Nine and wilder than ever. Everyone keeps saying that he’s a carbon copy of himself, but he would always disagree. Yes Johnny did look a lot like him, yet he could pinpoint what he got from Liz. Like his mouth and nose and his recklessness.
Price was thankful he had a job that kept him in shape so he could keep up with two wild kids that inherited their mothers’ recklessness. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.
He was about to close the door and go check on Emilia when he saw something was on the floor, which looked like a photo. As quietly as he could he walked over and picked it up, seeing it was the photo of him and his mom. Price looked down at Johnny with a small, sad smile on his face and set the photo back on his nightstand, thinking he must have been looking at it when he fell asleep.
He brushed some of his Johnny’s hair out of his face as he leaned down to kiss his head, whispering. “I miss her too!”
After fixing the comforter around him, he left the room to check on Emilia.
As he neared her room he could see a glimmer of light from underneath, which indicated she was awake. He slowly opened the door as to not startle her - seeing her sitting cross legged on her bed looking down at something.
“Hey princess it’s late, what are you doing up?”
“Why did she have to die daddy?” She looked up at him, brown eyes glistening.
His voice got caught in his throat as he made his way over to her bed to sit down next to her, that’s when he saw she was looking at the photo album she kept by her bed.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question since the day she died. And I wish I could give you the answer, but I can’t.” He let out a deep sigh as he met her gaze. “I do know is that she misses you just as much as you miss her.”
Emilia’s face softened and a small smile started to spread across her face. “She does?”
Price chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Of course she does, you and your brother meant the world to her! You two were the only reason she retired, because she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you.”
“Then why did she?”
He gulped and tensed in her gaze. The one thing that’s been eating at him for the past nine months was about to come to life and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. But he couldn’t lie to her, even if she was only seven.
“That was my fault, I asked her to come. We needed one more person for that mission.”
As Emilia’s face broke into pieces, so did his heart. He watched her bottom lip quiver and tears well in her eyes, yet when he reached out to her she backed away. Which broke him even more.
“You said you would protect her.” She sobbed out. “Why didn’t you protect her?”
“I did.”
“That’s not true, if you did she would still be here.” She curled in on herself, crying harder than before.
He moved closer to her, reaching his hand out to her. She looked up red faced and tear stained and uncurled herself. “No!”
She quickly got up and ran out of the room. Price looked down at the picture and sighed, looking at the one with Liz and Emilia playing a board game in the kitchen, both with a smile on their faces.
“I’m sorry love, I’m so sorry!”
He got up from the bed and went after Emilia, luckily he knew where’d she be. There was only one place she goes too when she’s upset and that’s the little nook in the pantry.
He went back downstairs and into the kitchen, flipping the switch to engulf the room in light. “Emilia, please come out.”
“No, go away.”
Price exhaled a breath and walked into the pantry to see her exactly where he expected her to be. He knelt down in front of her, giving her a small smile. “Emmy, please come out.”
She didn’t say anything, just turned away from him and laid her head against the wall and cried some more.
He re-positioned himself on his butt and gently grabbed her arm, pulling her to his lap to hold hug her tight. She fought to get away, shoving at his chest, which only seemed to hurt him more. But he deserved it, he was the reason Liz wasn’t here right now, all because he needed her help.
“I’m sorry Emmy, I’m so sorry. I know it’s my fault your mum’s not here and I would do everything I could to go back to that day and make things different. I can’t and I’m sorry.”
Emilia stopped her fighting and grabbed his shirt to sob into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him and slowly rocked her. As her body trembled in his arms he closed his eyes to push back the tears in his own. If only he never asked for her help, she would be alive right now, not rotting in the ground. She deserved to be alive, but she isn’t because of him.
Eventually Emilia’s crying ceased and she just stayed in his lap fiddling with his shirt.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
She wiped her eyes and got off from his lap and headed out of the kitchen. He sighed through his nose and got up, following after her - flicking the lights off as he exited the room.
Walking back up the stairs and to her room, she was already in bed under the covers with her back to the door. He walked in, leaning down to kiss her head before shutting off the light. “I love you Emmy!”
In the dimness of her room he saw her grabbed her teddy bear and hug it, then let out a long sigh. A few seconds later she turned to him, wiping the last few tears from her eyes. “I love you too daddy!”
He gave her smile and kissed her forehead, moving some strands of brown hair off her face. “That’s good to hear. Now get some sleep you have school in the morning.”
She groaned and turned over, closing her eyes. And that was his cue to leave her room for his.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he entered the room him and Liz use to share. How he can still picture her laying in bed on her phone or snuggled up next to him. All the talks and laughs, the amazing sex. All the things he would love to get back.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, he looked over at his nightstand, seeing the unopened letter from Liz. He found it a week after she passed when he was going through her nightstand for a hair tie for Emilia. And even though it’s been months, he still hasn’t opened it.
There will never be a right time to open, so he grabbed it from the nightstand and opened it, unfolding the piece of paper to read it.
“John, my sweetheart, you know I’m not good with words so I decided to see if writing them down was better and since it’s our anniversary why not now?.
I never truly thanked you for what you did for me all those years ago, how you got me out of a bad situation and let me have a life I’ve always dreamed of. When I joined Bravo Team I never realized how much my life was going to change for the better. At that time I saw you as someone I owed a life debt, a debt I would never be able to pay off. Little did I know two years later I would be calling you my husband and we have a child together.
Becoming your wife was one of the best days of my life, when I became Elizabeth Price I felt reborn. I was no longer a part of a family who emotionally abused me and neglected me, I was no longer linked to them and it felt like a breath of fresh air.
When we met, I was just a nineteen year old gone rogue, angry at the world and trying to put herself in the ground. At that time I didn’t think I deserved to be saved, why would anyone want to help me? The disappointment. The lost cause. But you did, you saw past the recklessness, the anger, the attitude and saw a young woman crying out for help. All I wanted was for my family to love me, even if it was a lost cause. Instead I got a new one all thanks to you, both in the figurative and literal sense of the word. And it changed me for the better.
So much has happened in the seven years we’ve been married, two kids, countless missions, creating Task Force one-four-one. We weren’t just a good team on the field, we were a good team off of it as well. And once Johnny came along you were already on board with letting me semi-retire, knowing I would rather be home with him than out there. And thanks to that I went back to school to get that degree I always wanted.
As much as I loved being out there with you killing the bad guys, the one thing I enjoyed the most was when we were all home, just the four of us, as a family. Watching our children play in the backyard, or taking them to one of the horse races, those will be the memories I’ll always hold dear.
Alright enough of me rambling. Thank you John, for everything! For being the best husband I could ask for and the best father our children could ask for. Love was always a touchy subject because I never knew what it was like, until you. You showed me what it was like to be loved for who I was, flaws and all and that meant more to me than gift you could buy me.
I love you John, forever and always!”
He wiped the tears from his eyes and sniffled, setting the letter down on the bed. He stood up walking to the closet to grab the present that was hidden behind some of her sweaters and sat back down.
Liz never was good at hiding presents and that made him laugh. They would have to hide the kids presents at Mac’s home or they would find them.
Price looked down at the present in his hands and began to rip the wrapping paper off of it to reveal a box. He set the wrapping paper aside and opened it - moving the tissue paper to see there was a boonie hat inside of it. He laughed and took it out of the box to inspect it, noticing there was a card below.
Setting the box down next to him and the hate in his lap, he opened the card. All it said was ‘We hope you like your new hat and Emmy said you need to wear it all the time’ love Liz, Johnny and Emilia!
He placed the card on the nightstand and looked over his new hat. It was navy blue and matched the rest of his. Now he was certain he would never wear another hat in his life, this was the last thing he received from her and it’ll stay with him for the rest of his days.
After he cleaned up his mess and changed he got into bed, running his hand over the spot Liz used to lay every night. He can still picture her and he hopes her face will never fade from his memory.
He turned over, placing his hat on top of his clock and looked at the photo of him and Liz on his nightstand. “Goodnight love, and thank you!”
xXx
The next morning after dropping the kids off at school, he stopped by a flower shop for some flowers to put on her grave.
He zipped up his jacket some more as a cool autumn breeze flew by him. He’s been standing by her grave for a good hour now, catching her up on all that has been going on in recent weeks and apologizing for not coming as often as he would like and how it took him nine months to open his present. He could picture her laughing and saying it was okay, he has the children to worry about and that gave him peace.
Eventually he needed to head to work, so he took a few steps forward, placing his hand on her tombstone then leaned down to kiss it.
“Rest easy love. I’ll be there soon!”
54 notes
·
View notes
Link
Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.
Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.
Chapter Summary: Sting and Rogue talk about their wedding. Gray gets in trouble and Sting tries his best to help.
Chapters (19/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Gray Fullbuster & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia
Additional Tags: modern au, childhood friends, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, child abuse, alcoholism, drug use, recovery
*cw for some blood (not abuse-related) and discussion of abuse
*this chapter runs parallel with chapters 15 & 16 of how to become a wildfire
-----
em·pa·thy | \ ˈem-pə-thē
noun
: the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner
.
xix
fall
age twenty-four
.
Uncle Wes is right, and all Sting can do is hope.
He keeps visiting the restaurant, trying his best to make Gray comfortable each time he’s there. Rogue comes with him a few times, and when he manages to coax a shy smile out of Gray, it warms something in Sting’s chest.
Cool spring days turn quickly to muggy summer afternoons, and when Sting’s not working, he and Rogue spend their afternoons at the beach, or helping Uncle Wes with his garden.
“What kind of flowers do you want for the wedding?” Sting asks Rogue one afternoon when they’re both kneeling in the dirt and pulling weeds. Rogue’s hair is pulled back in a messy bun, but strands of it have escaped and are curling around his face. His cheeks are pink from the summer heat, and Sting thinks he’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
Continue reading on AO3
Rogue doesn’t answer right away. He tosses the handful of weeds into a bucket, then pushes himself back until he’s sitting cross-legged in the grass and looks up at the bright blue sky. A bumblebee zigzags through the patch of clover behind him, then takes off into the heat of the afternoon.
“Dandelions,” Rogue says eventually, and when Sting raises an eyebrow, he laughs. “I know it’s a bit unconventional. They just always remind me of you.” He leans back and runs his hand over a small patch that they’d left unmowed just for the bees. “Everyone says they’re weeds, but I like them. They’re stubborn.” He looks up at Sting and smiles. “Like you.”
“I resent that,” Sting says, grinning as he wipes his dirty hands on his shorts and leans in for a kiss. “I prefer ‘determined.’” He rubs his nose against Rogue’s, then nudges him to lie down and shuffles so they’re side-by-side, holding hands and staring up at the cloudless sky.
“We could have it in the back yard,” Rogue suggests, slipping his fingers between Sting’s. “The wedding, I mean.”
“That sounds perfect,” Sting says. They’d only moved in a few weeks ago, and it’s still a bit strange to think of the house as theirs. Sting tips his head onto Rogue’s shoulder and hums happily when Rogue kisses his hair, then closes his eyes as they both bask in the warmth of a perfect summer afternoon.
~
Three days before Halloween, everything changes.
“We’ve got a bar fight called in over at the Iron Horse,” the dispatcher says over Sting’s radio. “You wanna check it out? Kim and Janson are on their way, but you look like you’re close by.”
Sting sighs. Janson’s one of his least favorite officers, and Sting has been tempted to report him on more than one occasion. He’s rude and abrasive, and something about him reminds Sting of his father.
“On my way.” Sting doesn’t bother with the lights until he’s right outside the bar and sees the other cruiser parked near the door. As soon as he gets out of the car and heads over to the other officers, he can hear shouting from inside.
“This place is always full of idiots,” Janson mutters, rolling his eyes as they move toward the door. “But what do you expect from this kind of neighborhood?”
Sting bristles at the words, irritation tightening a knot in his stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, keeping his voice even as he stares down Janson.
“Oh, lighten up, Eucliffe,” Janson says, rolling his eyes as he pushes the door open. “You’re always such a hardass.”
Sting doesn’t have time to argue with him once they step inside. Two men are staring each other down at the bar, one with blood dripping from his nose. The one who isn’t bleeding looks familiar in the dim light, and when Sting steps closer, he realizes it’s Joel. Gray is standing nearby, looking at Joel desperately and cradling his arm against his chest. Sting’s stomach drops when he realizes Gray is bleeding.
“You got these two?” he asks Kim, who nods as she moves forward to cuff Joel and the other man. Sting ducks though the crowd, avoiding Joel, and makes his way over to Gray. Sting hasn’t seen him in over a month – not since Natsu had called him in tears and told him that it wasn’t safe for him to visit Gray anymore.
“Hey,” Sting says gently, reaching out and touching Gray’s elbow. Gray blinks, dragging his gaze from Joel’s retreating back to stare blankly at Sting. He looks awful – pale and exhausted – and blood from the deep cut in his hand drips down onto the floor. “You’re hurt.”
Gray shakes his head, then stumbles and immediately leans forward and throws up on the floor.
“Son of a—” Sting grabs Gray’s arm to steady him, then looks over at the bartender. “I need a first aid kit – quick.”
The bartender nods and Sting takes Gray’s shoulders, guiding him carefully over to a chair and helping him sit down. Gray squeezes his eyes shut and makes a quiet sound of pain. The red and blue of Sting’s cruiser lights flash across his face, highlighting the deep lines of exhaustion.
Let me help you, Sting thinks as he crouches down in front of Gray and sets a comforting hand on his knee. He can feel Gray trembling under his touch and he desperately wants to comfort him. Everything about him is a painful reminder of Sting’s own past, and he has to hold himself back from pulling Gray into a hug.
“Here.” The bartender reappears, holding out an ice pack wrapped in a towel. Sting takes it, nodding in thanks, then places it carefully against the back of Gray’s neck.
“Take some deep breaths,” he says, but Gray doesn’t answer, just keeps his eyes shut and shivers. A woman appears with a first aid kit and digs through it for a bandage. When she touches Gray’s arm to press the gauze to his wound, he flinches, and his eyes fly open.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Sting keeps his voice gentle as he takes the gauze from the woman and carefully wraps it around Gray’s hand. Gray’s wrist is bruised, and the bruises look like fingerprints, and Sting wants to strangle Joel with his bare hands. “You’re bleeding pretty badly,” he says, trying to focus on the present.
“’m fine,” Gray mumbles, but Sting shakes his head. Gray frowns, then looks down at the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage.
“I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay?” Sting says, squeezing his knee. They need to get out of here – out of the heat and stink of alcohol and sweat, somewhere Gray won’t feel so scared and overwhelmed. “C’mon.”
He carefully takes Gray’s elbow and helps him to his feet, nodding his thanks to the woman with the first aid kit as they move toward the door. “Careful,” he murmurs as Gray sways unsteadily. “I’ve got you.”
“What’s gonna happen to him?” Gray asks softly when they get to the cruiser. Sting opens the door and helps Gray in carefully, passing him the seatbelt and making sure he’s buckled in before having him put pressure on the bandage on his hand.
“They’ll keep him for twenty-four hours until he sobers up,” Sting says as Gray shuts his eyes and tips his head back against the seat. “After that, we’ll see.”
He makes his way around to his seat, flicking the lights off as soon as he gets in the car. The quiet inside the cruiser is a relief from the din of the bar, and he watches as the tense lines on Gray’s forehead slowly relax.
“Why don’t we just get you taken care of for now, okay?”
~
Gray throws up again when they get to the hospital, but Sting manages to get him through triage without running into anyone else. When a sweet-looking nurse comes to take Gray away, Sting almost insists on coming with him. His heart breaks at the slump of Gray’s shoulders; the way he curls in on himself like everything is a threat.
“You’ll be okay,” Sting says, squeezing Gray’s arm. Gray doesn’t answer, just follows the nurse down the hallway, gaze never leaving the floor.
The next few hours are a blur of paperwork and processing. Sting avoids the holding cell at the precinct – he’s not sure he can refrain from punching Joel in the face. When the officers at lockup refuse to release Gray’s belongings, Sting sighs and heads back to the hospital.
Waiting for Gray leaves Sting anxious. Even though it’s been thirteen years, being here still makes him feel small and scared. He spends the time playing games on his phone until he can barely see the screen.
“Hey,” he says softly when the nurse brings Gray back to the waiting area. Gray’s hand is bandaged, and he cradles it against his chest, fingers running absently over the edge of the gauze. Sting feels the pull to hug him again, but instead asks, “How’re you feeling?”
Gray shrugs.
“The painkillers might have made him sleepy,” Doris says, touching Gray’s elbow gently. She’s a sweet woman with kind eyes, and Sting can see the concern in them when she looks at Gray. “He’s got a nasty concussion and he shouldn’t be alone for a bit.”
Sting nods. “I’ve got it,” he says, and she gives Gray another sad look as she squeezes his arm, then walks away.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Sting asks, even though he already knows the answer. Gray doesn’t say anything, just stares at the floor. “Gray? You with me?”
Gray blinks, looking up at him slowly. His pupils are still dilated, and he looks like a lost, scared little boy.
“Do you have your keys?” Sting asks. Gray shakes his head and Sting sighs, chewing on his lip. Technically he shouldn’t offer, but there’s no way he’s sending Gray to a shelter after what happened. “Would you feel okay staying with me overnight?” he asks. “As a friend, not a cop. I’m off duty now, and I’ve got a guest bedroom. Rogue’s asleep but he won’t mind.”
Gray looks like he might say no, but eventually just nods, staring down at the floor again.
“Okay,” Sting says, breathing out a sigh of relief and gesturing to the parking lot. “C’mon, you need to get some sleep.”
~
It’s raining on the drive home. Sting watches the water make patterns across the windshield before they’re quickly wiped away, keeping an eye on Gray out of the corner of his eye. He’s curled up against the passenger door, head on the window, gaze vacant as he stares out at the rain.
It had been raining when Uncle Wes had driven Sting home from the hospital, too. He can feel himself in Gray’s place – rough fabric under his fingers, cool glass on his forehead, a dull, aching pain in his arm and his heart and his head. Gray looks so small and alone, and eventually, Sting can’t take it anymore.
“I’ve only been a cop for a few years,” he says softly. His voice feels out of place in the dark of the night, but Gray looks over at him, so Sting keeps going. “My dad was one, and I always wanted to be just like him.”
A knot curls in Sting’s stomach and he breathes through it, counting the inhales and exhales, in and out. This isn’t the same as telling Natsu while he struggled through withdrawal, or how he told Rogue, in pieces in the dark. This feels raw and so, so real, because Gray knows.
Gray knows, and Sting wishes to hell that he didn’t.
“He wasn’t a very good cop, though.” The words stick in his throat, but he forces himself to keep going, to keep telling the story no matter how much it hurts. Gray needs to know that he’s not alone.
Sting talks about his dad, about people trying to help him, about loving his dad and trying not to make him angry. Eventually Gray starts to cry and Sting bites back his own tears.
“I know how hard it is,” he says eventually. “I know what it’s like to love someone so much that you want them to be the best thing for you, even when they aren’t.” A quiet sob breaks out of Gray’s chest. “And I know you don’t want help right now, and that’s okay, just… none if it’s your fault.”
He knows Gray blames himself – he can almost hear the thoughts that he’s sure are going through Gray’s mind. It’s not always like this. He loves me. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made him mad.
“Nobody should be hurting you,” Sting says, hoping the words make a dent in the armor of shame Gray’s been wearing for so long. “No matter what. And if ever do decide you want help, there are people who will believe you, and who will be there for you.”
For a moment there’s no sound in the car but the swish of the windshield wipers and Gray’s quiet crying. “I…” Gray manages after a moment. “I d-don’t… I can’t…”
“I know,” Sting says gently. “It’s been a long night.”
~
By the time they get back to Sting’s house, it’s clear that Gray’s too worked up to be on his own. Sting spends the next hour or so sitting on the couch with him until he finally falls asleep with Frosche curled up on his chest and purring happily. Sting grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Gray, heart aching as he tries not to look at the bruises on Gray’s wrists. Part of him is tempted to stay here, stay up, make sure Gray’s safe because even though there’s no way anything could happen, the fear’s still there.
He ends up stumbling up the stairs and settling onto the bed next to Rogue, who’s lying on his back, fast asleep with his arm across the pillow. Sting watches him for a while – takes in the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair spreads across the blanket, the freckles over the bridge of his nose. When Sting rests his fingertips lightly across Rogue’s wrist, the soft heartbeat he finds there helps loosen the knot in his chest.
It’s not enough, though, and now he knows how to ask for help.
“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb across Rogue’s cheek. Rogue mumbles something, blinking slowly awake and frowning at Sting.
“Hey, love,” he says softly, looking over at the clock. It’s nearly four in the morning already. “What’s wrong?”
Sting shakes his head. The words are stuck in his throat, and when he tries to push through, a sob breaks out instead. Rogue’s up immediately, arms wrapped around Sting as he holds him close and kisses his temple.
“It’s… it was…” Sting swallows, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. He’s so, so tired, and everything is blurry and sort of not real. “I was at the hospital. With Gray.”
Rogue’s fingers tighten on Sting’s arm and he pulls back, brow furrowed in concern.
“He’s on the couch,” Sting says softly, reaching out and rubbing the fabric of Rogue’s sleep shirt between his fingers. “I couldn’t—he didn’t have anywhere to go. I wanted to call Natsu, but I can’t, and Gray was hurt, and—”
“Hey,” Rogue interrupts, running his thumb across Sting’s cheekbone. “You don’t have to explain. It’s okay. Are you okay?”
Sting shakes his head, letting the mixed-up feelings he’s been holding inside all night spill out as tears. “No,” he whispers. “I’m so—I feel like shit. I’m so... I’m sad, and a-angry, and I can’t stop thinking about my dad.”
Rogue pulls gently on Sting’s shoulder until they’re lying on the bed together and Sting’s head is resting on his chest. Sting wraps an arm around Rogue, holding him tight as Rogue combs his fingers through Sting’s hair.
“I want to help him so badly.” Sting sniffles, pressing his face into Rogue’s chest. “I just wanna kill that asshole, and I know that’s not—it wouldn’t help, a-and I know Gray’s not ready. I just feel so useless.”
Rogue makes a sad sound and holds Sting closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re the farthest thing from useless, love,” he says. “You’re doing everything you can.”
“It’s not enough,” Sting insists. “I wish we could just keep him here, or call Natsu, or—something. I’m so scared for him.”
“I know.” Rogue sounds like he’s on the edge of tears, too. “I am, too.”
They lie together for a long time, listening to the rain patter against the window until Sting stops crying and his breathing comes back to normal. Lector, who had been sleeping on the foot of the bed, wakes up and stretches with a quiet mrowl, then saunters up and curls up between them, purring happily when Sting pets his head.
When Sting finally falls asleep, he’s warm and safe in Rogue’s arms, wishing desperately that Gray could feel the same way.
#fairy tail#stingue#sting eucliffe#rogue cheney#gratsu#gray fullbuster#natsu dragneel#ft fanfic#fanfic#angst#hurt/comfort#emotional hurt/comfort#update#new chapter#my fic
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Quiet Night - Dick Grayson x Reader - Part Two
Part One
Requested by Anon - a part two to A Quiet Night, maybe where Dick is Nightwing
***
Dick soared through the air, flipping around to fire his grapple gun and land on a nearby rooftop. Once he rolled to his feet, Dick stretched his shoulders. His new Nightwing suit was a little tight, but it would be stretched out by the end of his patrol. Bludhaven was quiet for this time of night.
Of course, Dick had taken down Blockbuster just last week. He smirked at the idea that he had made enough of a reputation in this town to discourage criminals from trying anything.
Just when Dick was about to swing toward his apartment, the police scanner in his mask beeped.
“Alarm triggered at Illuminate Jewelers on Twenty third and Sullivan's north,” the operator reported. Dick frowned, remembering the store. The place was only around the corner from the bar he worked at.
“I guess I’ll check it out,” Dick muttered to himself when no officers responded to the call. He snorted, wondering if all the cops were just hanging out in the bar and not bothering to even have their radios on. Running and flipping into the air, Dick fired his grapple gun and soared toward the jewelry store.
When he landed on the roof opposite of the jewelry store, Dick frowned when he saw a lone figure slipping out of the upstairs window and crawling onto the roof. The figure almost lost their balance on the edge of the roof, but they caught themselves. Dick raised an eyebrow, something about the figure’s movements reminded him of someone, but something was off.
You secured the loot bag to your belt, sighing in relief. The jewels you have should be enough to pay your expenses for the next month if you were careful. Hopefully, the gangster you were going to try to sell them to would actually pay you this time instead of trying to kill you.
Dick silently leaped across the gap between the roofs before creeping up behind the figure. He leaned against the wall and cleared his throat.
***
Your shoulder ached from the bullet wound you got when you tried to sell your goods last time. Hunger gnawed at your stomach as you thought about the food you hoped you would be able to buy. However, all these thoughts vanished when someone cleared their throat behind you.
Moving at a speed even the Flash would be impressed by, you grabbed your whip from your belt and snapped it behind you. Before it could crack against your visitor, they caught it in their hand and stopped it cold.
“You know I’m usually okay with whips in the bedroom, but tonight I’m not so into it,” a familiar voice said with a teasing tone. You could feel it in your bones. You knew him.
“Robin,” you said shortly, spinning around to face him. His jaw dropped as he recognized you too. You placed a hand on your hip, pushing the hunger and pain aside to be coy and playful like was expected. “Or should I say Nightwing? My, you have grown.”
“Kitten,” Dick gasped, checking you out. You were still as beautiful as he remember, but something seemed off. “It’s been a long time.”
You laughed, eyeing him carefully. “Yeah, I think we were both sidekicks when we were together last.” He took a step toward you, but you took a step back in response. “I heard you left Batman and went off your own.”
Dick nodded, letting go of your whip. You flicked your wrist, rolling the whip to your side and hooking it onto your belt. “I heard you and Catwoman had a falling out.” You swallowed hard, shivering slightly.
Selina joined the other members in Batman’s rogues gallery in an attempt to destroy Gotham, but you couldn’t follow her. She threw you out with only the clothes on your back when she found out you spilled the beans to Batman. From then on, everything had been a struggle, but that was something Nightwing couldn’t know.
“Yeah, but that’s in the past.” You studied him. “I suppose you want me to return my loot?”
Dick grinned, sensing the game you were playing. “Yes, I would like that, but I suppose you aren’t going to do that?”
In one quick motion, you threw your last smoke pellet onto the ground and started to run. “You’ll have to catch me first, boy wonder.” Dick gave chase with a chuckle.
You laughed, quickly become out of breath as you jumped over roof tops and swung over the dark streets below. The last meal you had was two days ago, and you couldn’t remember the one before that. You started to feel lightheaded, woozy. Your legs threatened to give out, but you pushed on. You needed the loot in your bag and allowing Dick to catch you would mean returning it.
Dick knew something was wrong. You were slower than you used to be, clumsier. Yes, it had been a while since he last chased you, but you couldn’t still be in the game and not be in top shape. He knew Selina had similar rules to Bruce’s, rules that he still followed today.
He skidded to a stop when you reached the harbor. You almost toppled over the edge, but Dick caught your arm to stop you. He frowned deeply when he saw how ill you looked. “Hey, you don’t look so good.”
You panted, black swarmed your vision, but you blinked it away. “Let go.” You jerked away from him, stumbling to the ground. Exhaustion hung onto your body, making it hard to move. You felt Dick take the loot bag from your belt. “No!” You reached out to snatch it back blindly. Dick held it away from you.
“I have to return this, (Y/N). You know how this works,” Dick said. He studied your body language. You were at the point of collapse. He knelt down beside you. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, (Y/N).”
As you drifted back to consciousness, you quickly realized you were on a soft surface that didn’t match the floor you usually slept on. You slowly opened your eyes, finding yourself in a barely decorated bedroom. Confusion clouded your mind until you saw the Flying Graysons poster on the wall.
You sighed, trying to sit up. The black took your vision completely. “I guess you win, boy wonder,” you mumbled before passing out cold. Dick caught you before you face planted onto the roof. His heart skipped a beat, worry plaguing his mind. He checked your pulse before scooping you up in his arms. The loot bag was left behind, forgotten in Dick’s haste to get you help.
***
“Damn it,” you swore under your breath. You got to your feet only to fall to the floor with a wave of dizziness. Taking a slow breath, you attempt to clear your vision of the black. You stared down at your bare legs as it dawned on you that you were only wearing your underwear and a shirt that smelled of a certain boy wonder.
Dick entered the room with a tray of food. He froze when he saw you on the floor before hurrying to your side. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he scolded, setting the tray on the floor before helping you back into bed.
“What am I doing here? This is your apartment, isn’t it?” You allowed Dick to get you back into bed as you were too dizzy to go anywhere else.
“Yes, it’s my apartment.” Dick tucked you back in before grabbing the tray to lay in front of you. “Eat.”
The food on the tray made your mouth water. Your stomach rumbled loudly at all the food. You noticed the food came from the local diner after seeing the logo on the drink container. “I’m surprised you didn’t take me to jail.”
Dick sat on the edge of the bed, watching you dig into the food. He frowned at how starved you looked. “I wouldn’t do that to you, especially when you’re sick.” He was quiet for a moment. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
You froze mid-bite, blinking at him. Slowly, you set your fork down. “I don’t know if I should. I don’t want your sympathy.”
“(Y/N), come on. It’s me. You were my first kiss, my first everything. Please tell me,” Dick insisted, taking your hand. You eyed him carefully before sighing.
“Alright, okay.” You squeezed his hand before letting go. “When Selina kicked me out for refusing to destroy Gotham with her, I didn’t have anything. I didn’t have anywhere to go.” You laid back against the pillows, closing your eyes. Your appetite disappeared as a rock formed in your throat. Dick’s hand rested on your thigh, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth.
“I had enough money in my account to support myself for a while, but I couldn’t get a real job even through I tried everything.” You swallowed hard. Dick’s hand took yours again. His warmth leaked through his hand. It was comforting. Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I had to go back to stealing despite everything I tried to get away from it, but I didn’t have enough for a place to live or food.” Your voice broke as a tear slipped down your cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Dick whispered, reaching to brush away your tear. You missed so much of him. “I should have stayed in contact.”
You shrugged. “It’s okay, Dick. You had your own problems.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “I was homeless for a while. I traveled around for a long time until I ended up here. Bludhaven is known for having a lot of abandoned buildings that still have water and electricity, so I came here.”
Dick frowned deeply. “Which building are you living in?”
“The old hospital on Queen Street North.” You flinched when Dick gasped.
“That place is full of drug dealers, (Y/N). You’re lucky you aren’t in a worse condition,” Dick scolded.
“Calm down, Dick. I don’t see the dealers, they only stay on the first two floors. I made my home on the fourth floor and only leave through the window. It’s not much, but I made it work.” You shivered, pulling the blankets around you. “I mean it can get kinda cold, but it’s good until I can get back on my feet.”
“No, it’s not. You’re starving to death.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not letting you live there.”
You stiffened. “Excuse me, you’re not letting me live there? Since when are you the boss of me?”
“This is not a joke, (Y/N). You’re sick,” Dick exploded, getting to his feet. “You scared me to death when you collapsed. I thought I lost you.”
You rolled your eyes, remember that this was a typical thing of Dick to do. He was always overprotective of you. It was oddly reassuring that he was still acting the same way. “What are you going to do, Dick? Are you going to let me live here?” you asked sarcastically.
Dick stopped in his tracks. He stared at you in wonder. The sight of you in his bed made his heart skip a beat. It felt right, like you belonged there. “Yes, you can live here. You can recover and I’ll help you find a honest job. Once you have enough saved up, you can start helping me with the bills.”
“That’s insane, Dick. You don’t need me around. Besides, won’t that mess up your single boy image that you always try to keep up,” you retorted, tightening the blanket around you. The tiny spark of hope burned in your heart. You didn’t want to believe his offer to be true. Not when everything can be taken away so easily.
“(Y/N), I’m serious about this.” Dick sat back down on the edge of the bed and moved the tray to the nightstand. He took both of your hands. “I want you to live here with me. I can sleep on the foldout couch if you’re don’t want to share the bed or we can get a second bed and sleep like we’re on a TV show from the fifties. Please (Y/N).”
You blinked, looking into his beautiful blue eyes. Eyes you knew so well, even after all this time. A tiny smile grew onto your lips. “Since when have we ever done anything that would make you think we could act like a couple from a fifties TV show. Dick, we have been making out and more since you lost the panties.”
Dick snorted. “You always have to bring up the panties.” He leaned forward to place a chaste kiss onto your lips. You gave him a funny look at the innocent kiss. Dick gave you a smirk. “We’ll kiss how we normally would once you’re recovered and completely moved in.”
“Tease.” You leaned back down on the bed, exhausted. His bed felt like a warm, fluffy cloud underneath you.
“Go to sleep. I’ll swing by the hospital and get your stuff,” Dick promised, kissing your forehead as you struggled to keep your eyes open.
“I only have a cardboard box and a red backpack. They’re hidden in the ceiling tile. You can leave the blanket I slept on and anything else,” you mumbled. Dick nodded, humming in response.
“I’ll get them.” Dick waited for you to drift off to sleep before picking up the tray and carrying it back to the kitchen. You opened one eye to watch him leave. Once he was gone, you closed your eyes and relaxed. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were home.
#dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson imagine#richard grayson#richard grayson imagine#richard grayson x reader#nightwing#nightwing x reader#nightwing imagine#dc comics imagines#dc reader insert
505 notes
·
View notes
Text
Intimacy
Hi I wrote a fic that took all fucking month please read it. Here’s the ao3 link.
Rating: Explicit
Warning: it’s trans sting so theres some mentions of dysphoria and other trans-related issues
Rogue helps Sting realize he’s not broken, and overcome his issues with intimacy.
Sting’s never been good with intimacy. He wishes he was; he wants to be good with it. Sometimes he dreams about it: cuddling on the couch, holding hands while walking down the street, touching himself and his partner without fear. He loves the idea of intimacy. But he hates himself too much to go through with it.
Him and Rogue have been officially dating for six months. Honestly, not a whole lot has changed. They’ve lived together since they were children, slept in the same bed, and always told each other everything. Rogue was the first person Sting came out to, even if it was more out of necessity, since Rogue had seen him naked. They would have let it go if Sting wasn’t ready to say anything, but still. Sting owed them some kind of explanation. They trust each other with everything.
But for some reason, Sting can’t trust them with this.
They’re sitting on the couch, movie playing forgotten on their lacrima TV, and they’re kissing. This, Sting is fine with. He loves kissing. He loves Rogue’s hand in his hair, loves the way Rogue laughs when Sting’s stubble tickles their chin, loves the way it makes him feel warm and fuzzy down to his toes.
It’s when Rogue moans and accidentally rubs against his thigh that Sting tenses up.
Rogue must notice. They pull back, looking at Sting with a mix of confusion and concern, “Sting…? Everything ok?”
Sting nods quickly, the words coming out too fast to be convincing, “Yup! Yea! Totally fine!”
Rogue gives him one of their expasterated don’t lie to me looks. Sting suddenly becomes fascinated with a stain on the couch. Maybe Rogue spilled some wine at some point- it’s red and kinda circular but not enough to look purposeful-
“Sting.” A soft hand cups his cheek, Rogue’s voice equally soft and soothing. “Talk to me, love.”
Sting can’t help but press into the touch. Everything about Rogue is calming; they’ve always shined like a lighthouse in the stormy sea of life. Sting knows he can tell them anything without judgement or ridicule.
But still, Sting stammers, struggling to sort his fears into words, “I...I don’t… I know you...want me but I, uh…”
Rogue tries to keep their face neutral, purely a listener, but Sting sees the flash of hurt in their eyes. “You don’t want me?”
“No! No that’s not it,” Sting says quickly. He grabs Rogue’s hands, holding them tight. “I do want you, Rogue. I want you more than anything. I love… I love cuddling with you and kissing you and holding your hand and just being with you but…” He blushes, nodding down to the part of Rogue that was just grinding against his leg. “I don’t know if I can...do that…”
Sting isn’t really sure if Rogue understood- he hopes they did. He doesn’t really want to go further into it right now in fear of spiraling into a hateful hole of dysphoria. Luckily Rogue’s face turns bright red and they look down at themselves sheepily.
“Ah…” they clear their throat, “W-Well I… I didn’t mean to… pressure you into anything. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, or aren’t ready for. But I...must admit I’m a little confused.”
Sting tilts his head, “Confused?”
Rogue nods. They’re blushing furiously now- it’s fucking adorable. “I just… thought maybe this might be something you want. You’ve been...doing stuff in your sleep.”
Sting’s eyes widen, face red as a tomato. He has no doubt he looks like a fish with his mouth opening and closing, struggling to form words.
Rogue’s not wrong. Sting’s been incredibly sexually frustrated lately, and it doesn’t help that Rogue likes to go shirtless around the house in the summer with that damn ponytail. Unable to do anything about it while awake, all that frustration has manifested itself in his dreams. Almost every night he has a dream about Rogue touching him, or vice versa. He’ll have a dream where Rogue fucks him into the mattress, whispering all kinds of lewd things in his ear, then wake up wet and uncomfortable and hating himself.
It’s easier in dreams. He doesn’t have the wrong body in his dreams.
Sting’s decided he really doesn’t want to have this conversation anymore. He’s about to get up and hide out somewhere when Rogue grabs his wrist. “Sting, wait!”
Sting has half a mind to pull away from Rogue and keep walking, but he’s never been able to do that in his life and he’s not going to start now. Especially not when Rogue sounds so frantic.
“If this is about your body, you know I don’t care about that,” Rogue says, “I don’t care what parts you have or don’t have. All I care about is you-”
“I care!” Sting whirls around to face Rogue, face red and splotchy with the effort of holding back tears. “I care, Rogue! I know we’ve seen each other naked and you think it’s not a big deal but it is! This-” he gestures to himself, “isn’t me! I can’t do anything a regular guy can do! I don’t…”
Rogue suddenly pulls Sting into a tight, bone-crushing hug. Sting sinks into it immediately, Rogue’s arms a barrier of comfort and warmth against his insecurities. He knows Rogue’s love is unconditional; all they’ve ever wanted was to make Sting feel loved. But this… there’s so many things that can go wrong with this. Sex and small, casual moments of intimacy are two totally different ball games. Sting can’t lie to himself, he does want it, but he isn’t sure if he can handle it when he’s broken like this.
“I love you, Sting,” Rogue murmurs softly in his ear. “I won’t pressure you into anything. Just know if this is something you want… I’ll give you anything. We can go as fast or as slow as you need, my love. You have always been a man. Having sex won’t change that.”
Their hands rub his back in soothing circles. Sting lets out a shaky breath; Rogue always knows exactly what he’s afraid of, if they hadn’t known each other for so long Sting would think they’re a mind reader.
“Are you sure…?” Sting whispers, because he has to be sure. It’s not only their first time, it’s the first time Sting would let Rogue touch him in a sexual way, the first time anyone-himself included- has touched him. He has to be sure it won’t change the image of the man he sees in Rogue’s eyes- the man he strives to be.
“Yes.” Though there’s still tears in the corner of their eyes, Rogue’s gaze is steady. It calms Sting in a way he almost can’t understand. It wasn’t a dismissive “of course” or “I’m sure.” It was a strong, unarguable yes.
Yes. I will always love you. I will always accept you.
Yes, I can only love you more.
Sting isn’t actually sure who moved first. He thinks it was him. (He’d like to believe it was him, when this is all over and they’re cuddled in bed. He would like to think he was brave enough to move after that.) They’re kissing again, arms wrapped around each other, hands gripping hips and tangling in hair, as if afraid the other might disappear and their touch was the only thing holding them there. Despite the desperation in their hands, the kiss is soft, questioning, treading waters yet unexplored.
Rogue moans and grinds against Sting, and this time he lets them. In fact, Sting grinds right back, moaning in surprise at the jolt of heat that spears through his belly.
Rogue pulls back for one agonizing second, and Sting whines, trying to chase after their lips. Rogue laughs and gently puts a hand on his face to hold him back.
“Shhh, love. Bed.”
“Oh...Oh right!” Sting grins sheepishly and takes Rogue back into their bedroom, Rogue refusing to let go of his hand the whole time.
Once the door closes behind them, it’s as if the whole atmosphere changes. Sting’s palms start sweating, hands shaking, heart beating a mile a minute. It’s the same as the day he officially took over as guild master- that feeling of the world sitting on his shoulders. What if he messes this up? What if he isn’t any good? What if Rogue hates it or they see him with his clothes off and change their mind-
“Sunshine?” Rogue’s calm voice penetrates through his anxious thoughts. “You’re thinking too much again.”
Sting just laughs nervously, looking down at his bare feet.
A gentle hand tips his chin back up, and Sting sees the loving, patient smile on Rogue’s face. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. We’re going at your pace. You’re in charge, my love.”
“I hate being in charge,” Sting mumbles.
“But being in charge here doesn’t mean paperwork or meetings,” Rogue chuckles and pulls Sting into another kiss. Sting laughs into the kiss, less nervous and more genuine.
“Seriously,” Rogue continues, “anything you want. If you want me to just touch you, that’s fine. We can touch each other at the same time. If you don’t want to be touched at all… well, I’ll feel a little bad about it, but that’s fine too.”
Sting hides his laugh in Rogue’s shoulder, arms wrapping around their waist, “You’re too giving…”
“No,” Rogue says, kissing Sting’s temple, “You just deserve the world.”
Sting isn’t sure if he believes that, but he knows Rogue does wholeheartedly, and they’ve always been the smart one.
They stand in the middle of the room for a moment, arms wrapped around each other, Rogue offering comfort as Sting thinks. They don’t push or shove or try to rush him, and Sting appreciates that immensely. Honestly, he has no idea what he wants, or where this night is going to lead, but there is something he’s always wanted to try…
“Sit on the bed…?” Sting asks.
Rogue nods, making sure to keep a hand interlocked with Sting’s as they sit on the edge of the bed, looking at him with so much love and patience Sting has trouble breathing for a minute.
Sting takes a deep breath and slowly gets down on his knees in front of Rogue. He isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing, but he’s read a little bit about it, and of course there’s what he’s heard from the older members of the guild. Almost everyone does it at some point; it can’t be that hard, right?
Rogue’s breath hitches when Sting pulls down their sweatpants and boxers, taking their cock in his hand. He tries to mask the uncertainty in his movements as he strokes the shaft. He doesn’t do a great job, apparently.
“Ahh, Sting, like this…” Rogue covers Sting’s hand with their own, showing him what to do until their cock hardens in his hand. “Y-Yea, like that,” they moan, hand falling away.
Sting plays with the head of their cock, fingers moving like Rogue showed him. He watches their face- their skin is flushed a pretty pink, red eyes half-lidded and blown with lust, turning the color even darker, like black raspberries. They’re watching Sting with a heated gaze that sets his skin on fire.
“Rogue, I wanna…” Sting trails off. He isn’t exactly sure how to tell a person hey, I really wanna suck your dick without sounding weird. Not to mention the fact he doesn’t know how to suck dick. Maybe he’s getting too ahead of himself. He should just keep doing this, Rogue seems to enjoy it anyways. Yea, this is fine-
“Sting,” Rogue groans, “You’re doing it again.”
Sting blushes, realizes his hand stopped moving, and speeds up again. “S-Sorry…”
Rogue grabs his wrist. “Sting, if you don’t want to do this-”
“I do,” Sting quickly cuts them off. “I do want to do this! I just...dammit. Fuck-” Annoyed at his inability to speak, Sting takes action instead. He drops his hand and licks a hot, messy stripe up Rogue’s cock.
“O-Oh shit-!” Rogue gasps. They have to grip the side of the bed to keep from falling off of it. “S-Sting wait…!”
Sting doesn’t listen, worried that if he stops now he’ll lose all courage. Going off what little knowledge he has, he sucks on the head of their cock, feeling it twitch in his mouth.
A hand buries in Sting’s hair, and they both moan. The air is hot and thick, the smell of sex and sweat filling the room. Sting’s surprised with how much he likes this- having Rogue’s cock in his mouth, feeling it twitch on his tongue, hearing their moans above him. The pleasured response encourages him. He sucks down more of their cock- only to choke and have to pull back with a cough.
“S-Sting…!” Rogue’s voice fills with concern, their hands coming up to cup his face, “Are you ok?”
Sting nods quickly, though in actuality his throat is burning and his jaw hurts. How the hell is this so difficult? Trying to fit it all in his mouth and keeping his damn teeth out of the way- He hears people talk about it all the time at the guild; did they have such a rough first time too? Or is he just doing this completely wrong?
Rogue’s fingers gently weave through his hair, stroke down his cheek and rub over the soreness in his jaw. “Let’s slow down a bit, ok…? Take it one step at a time.”
“But…” Sting bites his lip, and Rogue pulls him up so they can kiss it.
“Shhh, no buts...unless it’s your butt.”
Sting laughs, “Yea yea, ok.” He wraps his hands back around Rogue’s cock exactly the way they showed him earlier. Their skin burns against his hand, their moans echoing through the room, and when they finally cum their voice is a melodious symphony of ecstasy.
“O-oh...oh Sting…” They gasp and shiver in Sting’s hold. He watches, enraptured with the way Rogue’s face is flushed pink, their mouth open in a soft o, their breathing coming in short pants before slowly evening out as their orgasm subsides.
Beautiful…
Rogue looks down at Sting and there’s so much love in that look it takes Sting’s breath away. A small, fond smile spreads across their face, tipped with post-orgasmic bliss. “I love you…”
Sting blushes, about to answer when Rogue’s smile turns nervous, “Um, Sting… can I…” They chew on their lip- Sting has trouble concentrating on anything else. “Can I...feel free to say no. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I just… can I touch you too…?”
There’s a long moment where Sting doesn’t answer. He tries to picture Rogue touching him like that- their hand around his cock, or maybe even their mouth if they wanted. The thought makes him shiver: he wants that.
But when he looks down at himself, he’s reminded he can’t have it. He doesn’t have a dick- or, at least, not one big enough Rogue can put their hand around it. He’s been on hormones for two and a half years now. There’s been a lot of changes and a lot of growth that have made him so happy, growing into the man he’s always dreamed of being has made him the most confident he’s ever been in his life, but it’s still not right. And it will never be exactly right without the surgery.
But he can’t afford both bottom surgery and top surgery. Hoping for both- at least anytime soon- is unrealistic. Not to mention the complications that go along with it. He may never have the chance for bottom surgery. Is he really going to live a life of goddamn celibacy just because he got stuck with the wrong parts at birth?
He hates himself, and it’ll be a long, hard road to lessen that hate, but maybe… If Rogue can accept him like this, then he can learn to accept himself to.
“I...yes…” Sting’s voice is barely above a whisper. He looks at Rogue, anxious and unsure, but still with love. Always with love.
Rogue kisses the scar over Sting’s eyebrow, then his lips, so Sting can taste their smile.
“Thank you, sunshine,” Rogue whispers, reverent, as if thanking a god who just bared them a gift.
It makes Sting blush. He keeps kissing Rogue even as they lay him down on his back. Their hands wander over his body, mapping uncharted territory with a wonder and softness that makes Sting shiver. They stay clear from the binder still covering his chest, and Sting can’t appreciate them enough for it.
Their hands are replaced with their mouth, kissing over Sting’s jaw, his shoulders and down his arms. They kiss each of his fingers, and it takes Sting a moment to realize they’re whispering words into his hands.
“I love you- for staying with me.”
“For saving me.”
“For protecting me.”
“For being the only person who could make me laugh.”
“For loving me.”
Sting only stares, speechless, as Rogue continues kissing down his body. He hadn’t been expecting this...intensity at all. He had thought Rogue would be shy and careful in touching him, afraid he might snap. But no, they’re… they’re practically worshiping his body.
Fuck.
There are tears on Sting’s face, and his chest is so tight and full of love he feels like he might explode. He has no idea what he’s done to deserve any of this.
“R-Rogue…”
They kiss down his stomach, pressing a kiss to each of his hips, then pause at his boxers. They look up at Sting, red eyes questioning, asking is this still ok?
Several breaths later, Sting nods.
Rogue tugs his boxers off, throws them to the floor, then turns to at Sting. Their breath catches in their throat; Sting is shaking under them, a blush on his tear-stained cheeks, his hair a mess of blond curls, totally naked except for the binder covering his chest.
“Beautiful…” Rogue breathes.
“W-What?”
“You,” Rogue repeats, “are beautiful.” They trace the curves of his body with their palms as if committing every nook and cranny, every perfection and imperfection, to memory.
“Don’t say stuff like that,” Sting whispers, his blush growing more pronounced.
“Why not?” Rogue looks in his eyes with a kind smile. “It’s the truth. Aren’t you the one always saying the truth deserves to be said?”
“Don’t throw my own words back at me!”
Rogue laughs, “Sorry, sorry.” Their hands trail up Sting’s thighs, making him shiver, when they pause and Sting sees the first sign of uncertainty they’ve shown since this started in the furrow of their brow. “Um…”
“What?” Sting asks.
“It’s...um…” Rogue blushes, and if Sting wasn’t so nervous he would call them cute. They look down and away, tugging their lip between their teeth. “I’m...not sure what I should do.”
Oh. Right. Rogue’s been so sure of themselves through this Sting forgot this is their first time too. That...makes this a little awkward.
“Oh fuck, this is embarrassing,” Sting groans and grabs a pillow to put over his head.
He hears Rogue laugh nervously, “I did kinda kill the mood a bit, didn’t I? Sorry, should I…?”
Sting tugs the pillow down enough so he can see Rogue over it. They’re looking at him again; Sting can still see the wonder in his eyes. It almost makes him pull the pillow back up. “No, it’s...fine. Maybe just...um...just touch me? And I can uh, tell you what feels good? Or what doesn’t?”
Rogue nods. A second later Sting feels their hands on his thighs start moving again, then a soft touch against his labia, making him gasp.
It feels...good? Sting isn’t sure. But Rogue’s running two fingers up and down his slit, making him shiver. They keep one hand anchored on his thigh, kneading gently, and then a finger dips in and touches his cock and- oh yes.
“Oh Rogue,” Sting gasps, “It’s- there. That felt good. Keep touching there.”
“Fuck…” Rogue strokes a finger up and down Sting’s small cock. They can’t take their eyes off his face, mesmerized as his mouth opens on a moan, his eyes flutter shut, and his blush spreads all the way to that stupid pillow he’s holding over his chest. “It really feels that good…?”
“Yes,” Sting breathes. Neither one of them really know what they’re doing, but it still feels like someone’s lit tiny fireworks under Sting’s skin. He can’t seem to hold still, squirming on the bed and wrapping his legs around Rogue’s waist.
And then Rogue adds another finger, stroking and squeezing his cock, and Sting sees stars.
“Rogue Rogue Rogue-” Sting gasps and moans, voice high and breathy, climbing higher and higher until suddenly the world explodes around him in a fraction of light.
Rogue pulls their hand away as Sting comes back down. He shudders under them, breathing hard, thighs sticky, feeling like a bomb of pleasure just exploded inside him.
“Fuck…”
Rogue’s voice filters through the fog in his mind, “-ing. Sting, you ok?”
Sting nods weakly, opening watery eyes to look at Rogue. Maybe it’s the trick of the light, or he’s just seeing things, but it looks like Rogue’s glowing-
Wait, no.
He’s glowing.
He raises a shaking hand to see a faint white glow around his fingers, trailing down his arm. It’s faint enough not to blind anyone, but bright enough to reflect the light across Rogue’s features, as if they’re sharing his light.
“You’re glowing, love,” Rogue whispers softly. Their hand is gently stroking Sting’s jaw, the touch filled with wonder.
“Haha…” Sting slowly lowers his hand back down, blushing. “This...happens when I get really happy sometimes…”
Rogue’s smile is bright enough to rival Sting’s magic. “So you are happy, then?”
“Yea...Yea I am.” Sting smiles softly, because it’s true. One of the reasons he was so hesitant to do this was because he was scared he’d go into a dysphoria-driven panic attack as soon as it’s over, but now that it’s done he doesn’t feel weird. He feels closer to Rogue then ever. He feels happy.
Rogue kisses him softly. “I love you, sunshine.” They pause, then suddenly they’re laughing, “Huh, guess now you’re a literal ball of sunshine!”
“Oh shut up!” Sting laughs and wacks Rogue with the pillow he had been holding to his chest the whole time.
Rogue only catches it, tossing it aside. “Well, was that as good as your dreams?”
“Better than my dreams.”
Rogue laughs, and Sting swoops in to kiss them again.
“Alright, alright. Sting-” Rogue’s still giggling as they gently push Sting away. “Come on, we should go get cleaned up.”
Sting nods, and Rogue pulls him to his feet. They both pause on the way to the bathroom. Sting traces his fingers around the edge of the binder, but eventually shakes his head and takes it off. He’s with Rogue, who has shown their love for him as strongly as they can over and over. Sting may hate his body, but Rogue loves him. He has nothing to hide here.
Rogue says nothing, just smiles and squeezes Sting’s hand. They climb into the too-small bath together, two bodies folded into each other like missing puzzle pieces. They wash each other’s hair, laughing when Sting starts purring, then frantically grabbing a washcloth when soap gets in the others eye, small intimate moments that are worth a lifetime.
It’s messy and clumsy and not quite right, but it’s still them. It’s still Rogue, who cries over romance novels and gets overprotective over the stupidest things. And it’s still Sting, who gives his all for his guild and expects nothing in return, who constantly forgets to wear his contacts and who believes in the five second rule when food falls on the floor. It’s still two people who have gone through hardships unimaginable, and come out hand-in-hand stronger than ever.
And because it’s them, it’s perfect.
#my fic#fairy tail#fairy tail fanfic#stingue#sting x rogue#sting eucliffe#rogue cheney#trans sting#nonbinary rogue#techinically#it isnt stated but they use they/them pronouns cause i cant use he for rogue anymore
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
Loyalty
Sweet Pea x Reader
Part 2
Synopsis: an alternative point of view to Athletes in which Reader is the boss Serpent Jrs and she has eyes for Sweet Pea but he had eyes for a cheerleader who only dates athletes.
A//N: not sure about this storyline or if it will have a second part, let me know if you like it. It's quite long and the time line is over many weeks if not months.
----------------------------------------
“I hear she only dates Athletes SP”
“So an athlete I will be Fangs”
“Oh god, I don't think they take delinquents on their prissy basketball team Sweet Potato”
“A bit of positivity ynn-ie, please" you rolled your eyes at your best friend who was ogling at the cheerleader across the quad. And not you.
“It's neeeever going to wooork” your voice teasingly taunted as you slipped off the table you were perched on and sauntered off to your locker.
“Dude I thought you were crazy about yn?”
“I am but she's...I don't know it's complicated”
“Hmm a girl in our gang who we all love and respect, who can handle herself and is smarter and handier with ammunition than any of us combined likes you back, wow you are the definition of tragedy pretty boy” Sweet Pea shoved him off his end of the bench and he went laughing.
“No it's more complicated than that, she's our superior and she's...ugh it's easier if I just leave it and besides, Sarah over there will make a nice distraction”
~
Sweet Pea went to tryouts, dragging Fangs along. You and Toni sat on the bleachers watching them run up and down, doing all of the things that was required of them and it wasn't just your interest that was peaking. Sarah was enthralled by your bad boy basketball best friend.
Coach announced that same day that both boys made it onto the team. You being the first to see the list with their names.
“Pea!” You called happily to him running down the hall to meet him, seemingly forgetting his reasons for joining in the first place. You went to take him in a hug but instead you almost skidded into the back of a cheer uniform.
“Names Sarah Weatherbee, vice cheer captain, congratulations on making the team. C’mon, walk with me” you looked her up and down from behind before going to say something, being cut off by Sweet Peas goofy grin. She linked her arm through his and hauled him off. Toni joining your side with Fangs.
“Well, he's joined the darkside...oh and congrats on making the team Fangs” your somber tone was not lost on your friends as you slipped off to be alone.
~
You and Toni attended every basketball game you could, with Serpent work getting in the way sometimes. At first the change in Sweet Pea was subtle but then he asked Sarah out and she began changing him entirely. He no longer wore his Serpent gear unless at meetings, his hair was different, he didn't drive his bike opting for his car instead however the most significant change was he was simply never around anymore. At the start you’d all always go get dinner after games, now you were lucky to get a goodbye from him. This hadn't gone unnoticed by any of you.
“I wonder how he plays basketball with that stick stuck up his ass”
“Easy ynn you know he's just going for the girl”
“Yeah well he's got her and she's changed him into Malibu Ken” the three of you watched him, now on the other side of the quad, eating lunch with her.
“You still have me, I've not gone rogue”
“If only” Fangs threw a ketchup packet at you in rebuttal, the three of you laughing which seemed to catch Sweet Peas attention, if only for a second before it was dragged back by Sarah.
After lunch, Sweet Pea dug around his locker and you threw yourself against the one alongside his.
“Hey Sweet Potato we have a job tonight so cocktails at Buckingham Palace will have to wait till tomorrow”
“I have this family garden dinner thing at Sarah's so I can't"
“You can and you will” your tone went from playfully to blunt. Cutthroat, angry with anything that moves kind of blunt. He stood up to look you in the eyes for the first times in weeks. He really looked different, more polished.
“Is that a threat?”
“I'm sure you wouldn't want to find out. 8pm. Docks.” You pushed off the locker moving to leave but he caught your forearm before you could.
“Yn. I can't, I have this thing wit-”
“With the Serpents? Yeah it's called loyalty, remember that? Now I know you think a look out job is below your ranks and it's certainly below mine as your boss but I'm doing this to help YOU get back in good with the Seniors because they're not happy with your recent...alliances and besides, I can't do look out by myself” you pulled your arm from his grip, your voice dripping cold, you were over his ignorance and as you walked away he attempted the last dig.
“Can't do a little watch job by yourself?”
“Not that I can't, I shouldn't have to” the last dig was yours and you delivered it to him with you back turned. He knew the rules, no Serpent no matter their ranking was allowed do lookout by themselves, there's always strength in numbers. As soon as those thoughts entered his mind, they left it as Sarah made her appearance. He was falling for this girl who was honestly a witch and he didn't know how to break it to her that he couldn't go to her family's outdoor dinner.
~
~
Sweet Pea POV
I just had to go to that dinner. I did. Sarah wanted me there, I didn't have a choice. Yn will understand...I mean she might be a little annoyed I turned my phone off on her but she'll get over it.
“Sweet Pea!” Fangs came running into the private gardens, Serpent gear and all, what is he trying to do?! He's going to embarrass me!!
“Dude! Get out of here before someone sees you"
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”
“It means keep your voice down and unless it's important, leave” yes I was harsh but I was around important people and I didn't want to make a show of myself.
“Yeah? Well YNs car was ambushed and because of you she was there alone and now she's in the hospital so is that important enough for you Mr. Wall Street?” I thought I was going to be sick and Sarah being Sarah, chose the wrong time to come over and ask Fangs to leave.
~
Third Person.
You sat up in the hospital bed, it's cold steel frame burying in your back. A bandage over your forehead, eye threatening to close, lip crusted in uncleaned blood, a forcibly broken arm in a cast. Your one good eye focused on the wall and you jumped when your the door violently swung open and your body howled in pain for the movement. Sweet Pea put a hand to his mouth and seemingly stumbled to your bedside, collapsing on his knees to the floor next to you. His Serpent jacket gracing his shoulders for the first time in weeks
“Y-yn”
“Save it”
“No yn I have to apologise”
“Well apologizing isn't going to transport us back in time to before I was beaten with a metal bar now is it?” you cocked your head to one side sarcastically and tried not to show the pain the movement caused.
“I...I brought you this teddy, it's dressed like a nurse and-”
“A FUCKING STUFFED ANIMAL?! I WANT YOUR FUCKING LOYALTY NOT THIS” you took it from him with your slightly better hand and tossed it to your feet.
“Okay there's no need for all the swearing I know you're hurt but-”
“NO! NO FUCKING BUTS! YOU HAD AN OBLIGATION TO THE GANG TO BE THERE! You had an obligation to me!” Tears began to threaten your cheeks.
“They could have killed me tonight Sweet Pea, I've got internal bleeding and a cracked rib to name some of the stuff you can't see but you know what?! You not being there for me hurt way more than that beast breaking my arm over his knee. Just fucking leave me alone, you're so good at that" Sweet Pea stood slowly biting the inside of his cheek and moving for the door.
“You know yn, I will live with the guilt of what happened tonight for the entirety of my life and I hope I do because it's the least i deserve and I'm going to find the people who did this to you.”
“Alright Liam Neeson, take your special set of skills somewhere else” you went back to showing your anger instead of hurt.
“What can I do to help fix this yn, what can I do to being to fix this?”
“Go back to being the old Sweet Pea” you looking him in the eye for the first time since he came in. And although he was kind of blurry, you held as much focus as you could.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means go back to the Sweet Pea who cared about his friends and his family and didn't try to reprimand me for fucking swearing. Go back to the Sweet Pea who had not only my back, but everyone's”
“what you mean break up with Sarah?"
“I never said Sarah. You came up with that one on your own” your naturally blunt tone was easily a match for his new forced one, even that had become a struggle in his new change and because timing was not her strong suit, in she came.
“Sweeties come on, I'm sick of waiting in the car can we just go alre-oh yn, umm you look umm...hi yn” you just narrowed your eyes at her before waving her off and sinking back down into the bed. Sarah didn't seem phased and caught Sweet Peas hand to pull him out.
“Oh wait Sweeties” you called after him sarcastically and he turned quickly, naively thinking you had a change for heart.
“Leave your jacket, you won't be needing it” once again you got the last dig in. He grunted as he tugged off the jacket and threw it on the hospital chair, Sarah then achieving in taking him away. You let yourself cry then, no longer able to keep up the idea of being strong. Soon you found yourself teary but in the arms of Toni and Fangs who got into the bed next to you to comfort you. Sweet Pea had once again left you but you always had them.
---------------------------
Part 2
Share if you like it Xx
#riverdale headcanons#riverdale gif#riverdale cw#riverdale#riverdalexreader#riverdale x reader fluff#riverdale x oc#riverdale x reader#riverdale x you#sweet pea imagine#sweet pea x oc#sweet pea gif#sweetpea imagine#sweetpea x reader#sweetpeaxreader#sweet pea x reader#sweet pea x you#sweet pea#sweet pea fic#southside gif#riverdale southside#southside serpent x reader#southside serpents
717 notes
·
View notes
Text
Retrouvailles
Chapter 2 Prompt: Comfort
Summary: Only when it was darkest could Minerva be her true self. Her wandering eyes finding what she wanted to see the least, them. Things had developed between the celestial mage and shadow slayer while she was gone. She wanted it to go back the way it was before. Yukino and Minerva, with side Rokino.
Characters: Minerva Orlando, Yukino Aguria
Rating: M
Words: 4,760
Retrouvailles - French word for the joy of reuniting with someone after a long separation; separated peoples (couple or not) to find each other
It was their last night in the endless halls of the ever silent mansion. Minerva was on her shift for the night -one more night, she thought. Never getting the chance to have a meaningful conversation with Yukino, she wished their stay would never end.
They truly lived like queens for the week. Luxurious beds, humongous bath tubs that were coupled with the most amazing showers, and a high end kitchen with the latest technologies. All the work she put into her dishes wasn’t taken for granted; Yukino fawning over Minerva for her culinary expertise. It made her heart ache every time the celestial mage smiled while waiting for the dish to be served.
How she wished she could see that white beam shine toward her everyday. Minerva sighed at the thought, checking the time. It was almost Yukino’s turn to take over. The territory mage started toward where she saw the younger mage last, the library. The silver-blue haired girl could always curl up anywhere and read for hours on end, it truly fascinated her. She never had the attention span to sit down for more than a hour to do something so… boring. But if Yukino enjoyed it, she would try to as well.
Her cape brushed against the floor as she walked, stroking the floor in the softest manner. Occasionally she forgot about the soft swishing noise it made, somewhat elevating her senses -making her think someone else was in her presence.
Once to the library, curtly she entered and glanced around the fire lit room. Stepping farther in, she could see the soft head of white hair on the floor. Minerva smiled but her happiness faded when she heard the faint whimpers from the girl. Yukino’s body was sprawled out on the floor, a trembling mess.
Cringing, her first thought was to walk away -like she could help the celestial maiden. Minerva was silent as she inched toward the girl; her heart and mind playing a game of tug-of-war. Couldn’t she get over herself for just one second?
Yukino’s whimpering slowly turning into a wave of crying, body now curled in on itself. Quaking and shivering as leaves do in the winter, the young girl falling from her grace. Minerva bit her lip, her nails digging into her palms as she neared closer to her love. Looking down upon her body, she had not an inkling of an idea; not one sliver of information of what to do.
Hazel eyes looking around frantically for something to help her, she was sure that there wasn’t a book written on these types of things. If there was, it would probably be titled, “Dear lord help me out, my soon-to-be girlfriend is having a night terror.” Something spastic such as that would get a million sales. The thought brought a small smirk to her face and she soon frowned, what was she doing smiling at a time like this?
Another quick glance and she saw the small throw-away blanket on a plush and lavish armchair. Frenzied, Minerva grabbed the scratchy wool fabric and sat next to Yukino, laying the blanket over her trembling frame. As soon as the small comforter was nestled into her, the girl’s shivering ceased.
The fire still danced, snickering at Minerva’s attempt of comfort. She was not going to ruin her chance, never again would she put shame on Yukino.
Not sure of what to do next, she timidly smoothed her hand down the celestial mage’s back. The fabric soft under her fingers, gently circling her fingertips up and down the Sabertooth mage’s body. Previously, she would have thought Yukino to be weak for a situation such as this but things were different. They had both changed, growing to become better women in the end.
Internally, the territory mage was proud to see the valiance the celestial maiden displayed on a daily basis. From her standing in the bar, to her small mess-ups on missions, Yukino was truly glorious. Minerva never knew what the girl saw in her to begin with. He three most powerful words from the most heart-wrenching memory slipped into her mind.
I love you…
Three simple words that in return gave a lifetime of fathomless self-hatred. A wave of new and seemingly endless thoughts berating her mind.Her hand paused for a moment as it danced soothingly around Yukino’s back. What if this just meant she was never capable of being loved? Minerva’s previous formed frown deepened at the question -it was true.
The young maiden cried out again, startling Minerva. Her slim fingers traveled the expanse of her back, Yukino settling right back down. She continued her soft ministrations for a while, travelling higher and higher until her hands were feathering her hair. These movements kept the girl stable; all she needed was some comfort. The silver-haired girl sighed in content, her lips moving as if she was going to say something; she had already screamed some of the Tartaros’ demons names, coupled with Rogue…
Why would Rogue’s name come out of her mouth? When she pondered on it, it was perplexing but she wouldn’t think too much about it now. Even if it was Yukino’s turn to keep watch, she couldn’t bear to wake the girl up.
Minerva slowly opened her mouth, putting her hand up to her mouth, a cry of fatigue coming out. The sandman had finally cast his spell over her, blinking slowly to blot out her bleariness. Sleep was singing a siren’s call, heeding the Sabertooth mage.
Pulling her arms from her lucious coat, she tossed the flimsy fabric onto the couch; laying next to her one and only. The flames of the fire dimming, softly outlining Yukino’s features. Her face was soft and round; refined as she grew older. The celestial mage was absolutely breathtaking after missing her appearance for those long months.
Minerva pulled the celestial maiden into her embrace, wrapping her arms tightly are her waist -she never wanted to let go. Once she saw Yukino again, she realized she had missed too much, especially because of her newfound relationship with Rogue. That was a development she never expected, and yet it happened. The universe works in the most mysterious ways, and she had forgone too much.
The whole guild had grown in power, her dearest friends almost matched her in strength. She had to get stronger not only for Yukino, but for the rest of them. No one would come into harm’s way again, unless her demonic side was possessing her spirit. She could do nothing about her, the demon who had taken over her form.
The demon resided deep within in her and although she was good at controlling it, there were the smallest moments it would get in the way. Like what happened before they left the guild, guilt ringing in her ears. Minerva pushed her face into the back of Yukino, failing to notice the steady breathing of the young girl.
The territory mage was consumed by the tempting hours of night, her hold on Yukino never ceasing. A soft smile coming from the celestial maiden, swaddled in the arms of a past love.
The couple lay on love’s bed, the fire slowly burning down; time cutting it down with each passing minute.
When Yukino woke, she was cold. A blanket of uncertainty wrapped around her still frame as she laid on the beast of a rug. Her back ached from laying on the floor, but her pain came from the empty space behind her.
Frowning, she tried to rid herself of Minerva’s sinful intrusion – she had a loyal boyfriend. The territory mage had long ago passed being unforgivable, yet somehow she still stood on the threshold of Yukino’s heart. What was wrong with her? Minerva’s homecoming overwhelmed her unconscious mind, she was sure she was over her.
But no, the moment she passed through those guild doors severely injured her heart swooned. A beating heart brought back to life with the sight of Minerva’s presence, it made her question everything and still did. She loved Rogue, he was her anchor.
A rock that kept her down to earthland, sure, they weren't perfect but no couple was. Every relationship has its flaws, including the small affair between herself and Minerva had all those years ago. It didn’t last long due to the small imperfections. Nothing corrupt of sin would turn out for the best -sex never led to a healthy relationship.
And that was how it ended, with her pleading for love and a sickening silence was given in return. All she could do was run and as far away as possible. It resulted her in losing the battle against Kagura, she was worthless. Jiemma never let her redeem herself and she ran even more, to the authority opposite of guild and then behind the counter of Sabertooth.
At the mercy of her emotions constantly, it was all she could do to hide from them. Run and run and run, colliding with them at every turn; never stopping when there was a red light. An accident resulting from her sensitivity to others, the feelings that were always abound and mischievous always coming after her. They taunted Yukino and egged her on and she was entangled in the webs of heartbreak every single time. All because she couldn't resist the temptation.
Getting up from the floor, a small tray full of breakfast delights sat with a note. It wasn’t the most alluring piece of paper but it was left by her -the bold letters of her signature profound: Minerva Orlando. Seeing the name made her heart jump, singing the soft tune of love.
Plucking the letter, her eyes roved over it. Far from a confession, it (with little detail) described where she was and when she would come back. Minerva had gone to pick up their reward from the maid serving the house and would return as soon as possible. The territory mage had also left her breakfast, her heart still beating a mile a minute. Knowing that Minerva had made her a lavish meal made her heart flutter, although she wasn’t so stoked about her chicken scratch.
The dark-haired mage’s handwriting was always scrawled so quickly that it was almost impossible to read but the letter was left with her well-being in mind. Her stomach rumbled and she put down the letter, that was her cue to eat. Scooting closer to the dark wooden table, the tray of food held: a china teapot with accompanying plateware, delightful little danish pastries, and small sausages.
Yukino felt a little guilty about the situation, she should have gotten up early to help Minerva. It was the least she could do, but she knew the culinary arts brought joy to the territory mage’s heart. Seeing how much detail put into the small sweet puff delicacies was astounding. The soft edges were folded in on itself, a jewel of jam placed so proportionally in the middle of the folds was perfect. The jelly substance an explosion of tart sweetness in her mouth; she didn’t know whether to love the danish tart for it’s overwhelming perfection or Minerva for making them. The verdict was both, she shook her head -platonic love for the dark-haired woman.
The tea, sausage and tea were all coupled together well in terms of flavor. The earthy seasoning of the sausage coupling well with the tartness of the pastry as well as the smooth and rich essence of the tea. Yukino couldn’t exactly put her finger on what the true flavor was but it was brewed with excellency.
She tended to the platter with reverence, appreciating the food until she was full. Yukino was so deep in her musings, she failed to notice the faint rapping on the library’s door.
Cool hands covered her eyes, and her vision went dark. Surprised, Yukino dropped the danish delight she was working on, “Minerva?”
A soft chuckle was given in response, the hands fleeting from her vision. A playful voice followed, “I never thought you would guess.” The territory mage retreated to the other side of the tabe, kneeling down as she partook of her creation. Minerva was already dressed for the day, showing her usual amount of cleavage.
The celestial mage smiled at Minerva’s presence, “You did a really great job -no. Amazing job with breakfast today. It was my favorite of this week.”
Her hazel eyes twinkled with triumph, gaining a small smile in return but she was never so modest. “I thought the blueberry and banana pancakes were your favorite, just like every other day was,” Minerva began to mimic Yukino, “I loved every meal you have made for me this week, and I’m too afraid to admit it.” Minerva laughed some more, not playing the part of Yukino anymore. “It’s ok to say you liked all of it.”
Yukino joined in her laughter, enjoying the territory mage’s rendition of herself. Not trying to show the woman in glory she spoke, “It was all good but I can still have my favorites. It just happened that they changed from day to day. The pastries you made were absolutely perfect.”
The woman basked in the complement, still nibbling on the last of the small delicacies. “I made them, of course they are.” She could never be humble, but her personality was refreshing to Yukino. It wasn’t like Rogue’s or Sting’s, but then again that’s what made everyone so different. She missed being around the territory mage so often.
“Oh stop,” she lightly chided, sipping at her tea. It’s richness filled her insides, a splendid end to her meal. This gained a grin from Minerva, as she stood and took the tray with her.
“Then don’t praise me at all, Yuki.” She felt her cheeks heat up at the small nickname, Minerva had always called her that since they were little. “I’ll be back.”
Her exit was more grand than her entrance, the woman leaving Yukino speechless. Her words an endless torment to her being, how she wished things had turned out differently. But she had moved on now, she couldn’t worry about Minerva anymore.
Yukino got up, following the territory mage, she didn’t want to be left alone again. “Minerva, wait,” she called out, padding her feet against the plush rug. Chasing after her like always, it was like events were on replay from before.
Minerva continued, never waiting for Yukino. Through the stairwell and corridors of the mansion she chased, ending up in the kitchen. “I see you’ve finally caught up,” Minerva remarked, her voice cascading from the far end of the room.
The celestial mage pouted, why couldn’t she just wait. “I suggest that you get dressed Yukino, we’re supposed to leave soon. I left an outfit on the bed for you, the rest of our stuff is by the door.”
Yukino was baffled, Minerva had done so much more than she thought while she was slumbering. Either she Minerva let her sleep in or she was just plain fast. Most likely the latter, they had to leave early so they could get to Sabertooth before dark. Or there was the possibility of the Sabertooth mage to be an early bird - then it dawned on her.
Minerva was always awake before she was; never once was she able to gaze upon her sleeping face. Minerva went to sleep after her and woke up before her -it was the way things worked. Cringing, she clenched her fists -she shouldn’t be thinking about the past. They weren’t a couple, just friends.
“You could have woken me up earlier, Minerva. I should have gotten our stuff packed while you cooked us breakfast. It would have made it faster for us to get out of here,” Yukino claimed, becoming flustered. It was hard for her to accept that Minerva did all of this so selflessly.
Minerva tutted as she washed the dishes, how come she didn’t leave them for the maids to do? “Don’t worry about it, just go get dressed. I’ll be waiting by the front door.”
Her tone made the words final and the celestial maiden complied with her wishes. Yukino parted from the kitchen, making the trek back to the room she inhabited for the short span of their mission. It was lush and fit for a queen, she hoped dearly that someday she could live like this. Rogue would love it too, she smiled at the thought.
Walking over to the bed, she was astonished by Minerva’s choice of clothing. It was her own clothing but accompanied by the dark haired woman’s cherished jacket! Never before was Yukino able to wear it before, what changed? It was just like Rogue’s cloak, he never let anyone touch it, not even her. Although she did see Sting messing around with it on a couple occasions.
The rest of the outfit was simple, a purple tube top with ripped white jeans. The clothing was a little revealing but the jacket helped keep the modesty; Minerva’s favorite biker jacket. The leather rough and worn from her long years of wearing the thing. It even had a small purple patch on one of the elbows, she really did love the thing.
Quickly looking at herself in a standing mirror, she combed her fingers through her hair -making it look presentable. Now she was good to go.
Once down stairs, she never made a comment about the clothing choice to Minerva. Yukino could feel the situation becoming ever more complicated and it was not what she wanted. It was obvious to her that Minerva still held feelings for her, it was easier to act oblivious to it.
Yukino sat across from Minerva in their affordable carriage, resting her back against the foam seat. Her face was animated and joyous as they spoke throughout the trip. They were going to stay in a neat little tavern, since they wouldn’t be able to get to Sabertooth tonight. A road block had left them sweltering in the cabin for hours, but the coolness of the night was now leaving them in a happier mood. Everything was going according to plan, they would be in Crocus in due time.
The bright lights of the city were shining from where they were, the august jewel of Fiore. A true beauty in every spectacle, from it’s garden to architecture; everything has it purpose.
For most of their journey home it was small talk, never crossing one another’s boundaries until Minerva asked the question she was dying to inquire. “So how’s your relationship with Rogue?”
At the mention of it, Yukino turned her face down. Her white locks were now a mask of her hesitance to the question, the soft neon lights of the city coloring her hair. It hung in the air, “Well? I never said to go into detail.” Minerva nudged her with curt words, pushing the girl over the edge.
“Let’s not get into my personal life right now, okay?” Yukino’s brown eyes bore into her, a wall going right up. She had made the wrong move, stepped over the wrong line. Shit.
The demon in her was ready to go, roaring for the opportunity to push it a little more. She resisted, never again would she be tempted to be that type of person; the truly ugly kind. She couldn't be that person again - venomous to others and apathetic to their problems. The territory mage wanted to be better for the sake of both Yukino and the guild.
But the sinful being got the best of her. “You’re making it sound like it’s a bad relationship. Come on, Yuki,” the girl eased with the nickname.”I’m your best friend.” Dammit, it should have been a simple okay.
The celestial mage bit a small portion of her lower lip, belaying her response. Minerva’s previous statement already failed because Sting was Yukino’s best friend, not her. The temptation further intensified as Minerva encountered Yukino's indecision. “Let it all out, you can trust me.”
Those words were to key to unlocking the small girl. “Things have just been very stressful lately. We’ve been in two separate places for the past couple months, so it’s hard to see one another,” Yukino stated timidly, not so sure of herself. Minerva felt guilty at her statement, she certainly wasn’t expecting that type of answer but she was the one who had set things in motion.
“So before we decided to go on this mission I was excited to spend the night with him, but then he just left.” A sniffle escaping from her mouth, this was far from what she expected. “It feels like all he wants to be with is Sting.” The guild master’s name rolled off her tongue spitefully. All the alarms were going off inside her, the territory mage couldn’t comfort Yukino about this. Not like she did last night, or at least she couldn’t imagine it, but seeing the maiden begin to cry tore her into pieces.
Yukino continued, “All I want is for it to work out in the end…” her voice was doubtful, Yukino’s body trembling much like it did last night. “It doesn’t seem like that’s the end goal. Everything seems to be crumbling into pieces, Min-Min.” Her name was dragged out by another sob of emotional pain.
Hesitantly, Minerva grabbed the younger mage’s frail hand, “Forgive me, Yukino.” The least she could ask from her but she still motioned the idea of their relationship. “I didn’t know it was that much of a… bad topic for you. I shouldn’t have pushed.” The pads of her fingers delicately tilted the girl’s head up, giving her a warm smile. The demon wouldn’t ruin this for her, “I’m sure everything will work out fine.”
Minerva’s comment was a comfort to the girl, Yukino relaxing into her hand. “Don’t be sorry, I know how much you care for me.” Even if the motive was selfish, she would accept any form of care. Minerva was always the one to take advantage of this trait.
Greed had fuelled most of Minerva’s interests but it was never in the name of money. More like wants and desires she could never have, or were nearly impossible to attain. Strength and Yukino were the two main things she desired, but she really needed to drop the celestial mage. She would let the fair haired mage deny the pull they had between themselves. If Yukino wanted to work things out with Rogue, Minerva would respect her decision, but she had to know it was her true intention.
The Sabertooth mage brushed a strand of Yukino’s hair behind her ear, looking at her with fierce resolve. “I didn’t mean to make your predicament any more confusing. It’s time that I put my feelings to the side and help you out in the best way possible.” Honesty was the best policy, right?
Brown eyes were filled with surprise from her response, their carriage coming to a slow stop. There was no inquiry to Minerva’s statement just another prolonged silence as Yukino carefully planned an answer.
“Minerva…” she said, her tone softer than it was before, “I already gave you my confession and you rejected it. Whatever you’re planning needs to stop.” Yukino saw right through her, the tigress’ heart with her words. “I love you, but only as a friend,” these words were shaky, but who was she to say anything about it.
As a way to reassure her, Minerva spoke honestly, “I didn’t come on this mission to woo you. My only objective was to make up for lost time, I’m sorry that it came off as something different than what I intended it to be. This wasn’t some big scheme,” which was true for the most part. Minerva had planned everything in a quick ten minutes, no scheming whatsoever.
Grabbing the door handle, she pulled and let herself out. With proper manners, she helped Yukino out. “I trust your words, Minerva.” That was the end to their conversation, and Minerva had managed to pull everything together.
Little did they know of the small camera flashes, Yukino caught in Minerva’s jacket. The both of them caught together so late in the night.
Outside was the lesser known Honey Bone Inn, made famous when Fairy Tail inhabited it during the x791 Grand Magic Games. This was a sore subject for Minerva, since Sorcery Weekly paparazzi and journalists were constantly around the lively place. Gossip flowed in and out of the Honey Bone’s doors, everyone wanted to get their scoop.
Out of place would be fair description her and Yukino’s presence there. Over the past couple years, mages went out of their way to stay at the tavern. Now it was the duo’s turn to get a glimpse of the small bar’s culture.
After they settled into their room, Minerva begged Yukino to go down to the bar with her. She needed a drink, and the celestial mage would watch over her.
Now here they were.
People had been eyeing the two since they came in, some more sneaking pictures taken while they enjoyed the bar’s life. The crowd was split between the pool tables and bar area where the two of them resided.
Yukino had made a small comment at the territory mage’s drinking habits and she smacked her hand against the bar counter. “You’re so funny, Yuki,” Minerva cooed, taking a sip from her cup of ale. Sure she could have bought something more expensive, but this was always perfect for her tastes and she ordered one too many.
Minerva never stopped with the pointless comments directed at Yukino, each one making her laughter more and more boisterous. She wasn’t even done and the celestial mage was a blushing mess, trying to snag the drink from the tigress.
“I think it’s time that we head to bed, you’re causing a scene.” At her comment, Minerva lazily looked over her shoulder. Not many were staring, but it was enough to make herself wary. The celestial maiden was being overly cautious with her original statement, they were far from causing a scene. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea,” Yukino sighed.
Clearing her throat she grabbed the girl’s pale hand, taking it into her own. “Don’t worry about them, it’s just us.” Some of the words were slurred, but her point surprised Yukino.
Hesitantly Yukino’s slim fingers wrapped around her own. Another shot taken. “If you want to stay down here, no more drinking. There’s plenty of other things to do that will bring enjoyment.” Like you, her inner demon thought, and Minerva cringed. The white haired mage caught this, frowning,”I will leave if you can’t agree.”
This alarmed her and quickly she replied, “This will be my last drink, I swear. You can have some if you want. Loosen up a little.” Taking a long gulp, the warm liquid trickled down her throat and burned her insides. She slid the cold glass mug over to Yukino.
She looked at the glass and took her hand away from Minerva’s, wrapping it around the handle. Smiling, Yukino took a fast swig, her face scrunching up. “I don’t understand how you can all drink, this stuff is gross.” She stuck her tongue out and put the pint down, her face twisting with disgust.
“I only offered, you’re the one who took it.” Minerva laughed some more, the whole situation amusing her. She stood, taking Yukino’s hand back in her own. “Let’s go play a game of billiards.” Standing, she felt light-headed and took a step toward the tables.
In one second, she went from standing to on the floor a smaller body falling onto her. Minerva hissed, “What the…” A brown eyes of a brightly pink stained face met her own. Click. Click. Click. She had pulled Yukino down with her.
“Minerva…” the celestial mage warned, “I think it’s time for us to go back to our room.” Now she agreed with Yukino. Without making more contact than needed, Yukino pulled herself off of Minerva and stared down at her figure. “Come on,” she looked like an angel under the lights. “I’ll help you.” Cheerful as always.
Taking Yukino’s hand in her own, the world spun and she leaned into her. She was the tether to reality, the two slowly but surely heading up the stairs to their room.
The night wasn’t young but they sure were. And the universe held no bounds for their soon-to-be future.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Violet Blue (8/15)
summary: General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones. Make love. Howl often. Clarissa Pinkola Estes
or
being moms is hard, being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder. (read here on ao3)
May.
1.
The first of may is warm and the park is busy because of it, just barely hitting that seventies range and after a month of fifties and those barely sixties you revel in that short sleeve weather. The wind tugs, a bit cold when the sun dips behind the clouds as it begins its descent in the west, but it's nothing if not refreshing against the heat of your skin.
Clarke likes it too. If the way you catch her watching you is any indication. On the sidelines, keeping tabs on Lily and Madi as they play off to the side of the bleachers in the grass. It’s the last practice before the kids’ first game on saturday, and despite perhaps your teams’ tendency to get distracted, you think you might be ready. Or ready as you’ll ever be.
You pack up with the last few rays of sun, handing out the supplied team jerseys to your group of tiny players. Half of them wear it like dresses, but are excited at the concept, and you’ve grown to like each of them in your own way. Charlie still likes her flowers and Katie lacks the skill but more than makes up for it in enthusiasm. There’s even another ‘aiden’ but he’s so far from your own son that you have a little trouble calling him by name.
By the time all the uniforms are distributed (Danny proudly displaying her lucky number 7) and the last few parents make their way back to the parking lot, not much remains. There’s stragglers, runners after work taking advantage of the last few moments of nice weather, and couples strolling the paths that bisect the park, lingering by the pond and the ducks. They keep to themselves and so do you.
Clarke meets you out by the diamond, leaning into you and kissing the curve of your jaw, sneaking a hand under the loose fabric of your henley. She brushes her thumb over your hip and you can feel the cold press of her ring against your warm skin.
You lean to the side to kiss her cheek, keeping your eyes ahead as Danny does a lap around plates in her new shirt. With no one else in the near vicinity, the other four are quick to join and you and Clarke stand on the sidelines and regard the game of tag unfolding out before you with barely restrained amusement.
Madi trips somewhere between homebase and the pitcher’s mound, nearly face first into the dirt with a thump, hands splayed to catch herself instead of latching onto Danny’s shirt as she intended. Your immediate instinct is to check on her, but you don’t even make it half a foot before Clarke reels you back in.
“She’s fine,” Clarke says, and you watch as your youngest shakes herself off before bracing her hands firmly on the ground, planting her feet flat, and then hauls herself up like nothing happened. She’s back in the fray not seconds later. “See?”
That doesn’t completely get rid of the bits of worry still present in your gut. “Yesterday she hit her head on the kitchen table and she cried for twenty minutes.”
“That’s a gross over exaggeration,” Clarke says, pinching the skin at your hip and you turn to look at her, eyebrow quirked and practically asking for trouble. She moves to stand in front of you, drapes her arms over your shoulders and you sigh when she leans in to touch her nose to yours. “It was five tops.”
It’s soft and quick, which is good, you guess in the long run, because you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket and you have to let her go to answer it. You see Anya’s name, but before you pick up the call you dip to press a kiss to Clarke’s cheek.
“Am I interrupting something?” comes Anya’s voice as you turn away, looking out towards the parking lot. Clarke smirks at you before focusing her attention towards the kids.
“Yes,” you say, monotone. The wind picks up, tugging at your hair, and you run your hand through it, pulling it over your shoulder and out of your face.
“We need your help,” she says, and there’s something in Anya’s voice you don’t like.
2.
“Around four thirty yesterday, a couple stumbled across three bodies in an alley near Cadbury.” Anya tells you the next morning as she plops down a manila file down onto your desk. You glance up at her, holding her stare for a brief second before reaching out to open the file.
What you see first is a picture of a man, close cropped hair, beard, and then the evidence photos of the scene paperclipped together with a typed-up report. You skim it as Anya continues her debrief.
“Two women and a man. Multiple puncture wounds, dumped by the looks of it. So far they appear unrelated, but identification will take some time. Our culprit here made sure any identifying aspects were removed.”
“Is that what you need me for?” you begin. “Identification?”
‘We--” and Anya stops. Starts again, “I have reason to believe it’s a rogue.”
You look up at that. “A rogue?”
“Recent most likely.” She points to one of the photos, documentation of the bodies and the injuries sustained. “Most of the inflicted wounds are from a knife or sharp object, but here,” and she points, “and here… The only possible explanation is teeth and no human can do that.”
“Are they working alone?”
“As of right now, it’s unclear.”
You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose, and you gather your thoughts together before they escape you. You can only hope you’re ready for what follows.
--
“Please be careful, Lexa, that’s all I’m asking.”
You purse your lips, tugging off your undershirt shirt and folding it neatly. You place it over the button up folded across your desk chair, followed by your bra, and then scrounge about for a t-shirt in the top right drawer of your dresser. It’s an old Uni tee, one that Clarke wears more often than you do now, but that’s part of the comfort. Threadbare and soft, it drapes loosely, and you pull your hair free, shaking it out.
“When am I not?” you ask, turning to face Clarke with this sly little smile, hoping to dissuade the tension. She stands behind you, already ready for bed, arms crossed and her hip cocked, but she doesn’t rise to take the bait.
Clarke shakes her head, uncrossing her arms as she takes those few steps forward into your space. She reaches out for your hair, cards her fingers gently through the strands and braids, untangling knots as she goes. She clicks her tongue when you try to kiss her, leaning back just out of your reach, focused, and your resign yourself to the attention. You study the crease in her brow and the tension she holds in her jaw and think this is one of the many reasons why you love her.
“I will be,” you say softly. “I promise. But I won’t stand idly by if there’s something I can do to help. Neither would you.”
Clarke’s hands still, and you watch her inhale slowly and hold it for a beat too long before it all escapes in a rush. She knows you’re right, there are just certain times where she hates to admit it. Her lips purse, hands now fiddling with the bent collar of your t-shirt.
When you lean in to kiss her this time she lets you.
3.
The place Anya drags you too first is some corner store at the edge of the city. She grabs a coffee for herself and an iced one for you, but it spends more time in the cupholder of the cruiser than it does in your hand as the streets steadily become abundant and busier. Morning rush has past, and while the roads are still lively it's easily traversed. You make it to your destination around ten o’clock
The scene is still sectioned off, the abandoned apartment of the alleged suspect, and there’s only one other man you recognize. You don’t know his name, but Anya addresses him as you bypass them into the space, ducking under the caution tape. You hear them discuss updates from the forensic team about the dump where they found the bodies, and it’s nothing more than what you told them yesterday.
In your opinion, everything reeks, but it's part of the job. There’s trash in the sink and the table is covered with dishes caked in leftover food probably a week old. Clothes litter the floor, ripped up newspapers, and when you finally make it into the living room you don’t need your heightened sense of smell or even your sight to know that’s blood stained into the carpet. Your nose does tell you other things, however.
It’s a mix, and when Anya wanders over to you after finishing up with her subordinate, you glance at her to make sure you have her attention before speaking. “It’s not alone,” you say, soft enough where your tone doesn’t draw extra attention. You gesture to the blood. “Or at least it wasn’t.”
Anya quirks a brow, but you see her mouth settle into a grin. “We’d save so much time and money if you’d just come back full time, you realize that right?”
“I’m a family woman, you know that.” The smile doesn’t fade, and before Anya has the chance to tease you about how bad Clarke and the kids have you wrapped around their fingers (like you’d have it any other way) you cut her off. “This was supposed to be my month with the kids.”
Anya’s face falls, but you see it for only a fraction of a second. You know in spite of her insistent teasing, Anya recognizes and acknowledges the entire world comes in second to your family.
Though that doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy your job. There’s a certain satisfaction only it can bring.
“Well,” Anya says, “The sooner we’re done the better.”
4.
On friday you go in late. You wake up with Clarke and the kids, though it's more along the lines of rousing disorientated the second Clarke leaves the circle of your arms, pulling away from your grasp. You groan halfheartedly, your nose no longer buried among the mess of her hair and you miss the scent immediately.
There’s the quiet part of your morning where you make breakfast hip to hip in the kitchen with Clarke. After you get ready and join her downstairs with your shirt untucked and half-buttoned. Clarke scrambles the eggs and you mix up the batter for pancakes and she fixes you up in the lull between.
Aden is the first into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and bumping into his chair before climbing up into it. He’s just following his nose, you’re sure, eyes still half closed, sleep clinging stubbornly to him.
It’s another ten or so before you hear the noises stir upstairs. You pile the pancakes onto a plate, depositing it onto the table as you pass, ruffling Aden’s hair. Halfway upstairs you hear the bathroom door squeak open and Jack greets you with a yawn. He grins this toothy smile when he notices you--giggles as you lumber closer to kiss his cheek and forehead.
His footsteps patter away as he makes his way downstairs. You nudge open Lily and Madi’s bedroom door and Lily picks her head up at the sound, looking for you. Her hair’s a rats nest, sticking this way and that, but the cuteness outweighs the inevitable herculean task of combing it out later.
By nine, all of you are situated around the table. You finish up your cup of coffee, going over notes on your phone while Clarke finishes eating he last of her pancakes drenched in syrup. She’s in the hall with you when you go to leave, the kids’ chatter quiet from the kitchen. She pulls you in by the hips, kisses you soundly there in the space all by yourselves and it leaves you dazed.
It’s certainly one of the better mornings this week.
5.
You take saturday off thanks to the big game and Anya doesn’t say a word about it. Danny is a jittery mess in the backseat of the car for the duration of the drive, and you have to stop yourself from checking the rearview mirror every few seconds just so you can see her in her seat with her hat and her shirt tucked into her cute white baseball pants and her glove already permanently attached to her hand.
She’s out of her seat the second you unbuckle her, though, making a beeline for the field and your not quick enough to snag her. She doesn’t respond when you call her, and your’re lucky you’re early and the parking lot isn’t busy yet. You dart off to catch her just as Clarke looks up from her task of unbuckling the rest of the kids from their booster seats.
You close the distance quickly, grabbing a fistful of Danny’s jersey, and then escort her back to the car while reiterating proper parking lot behavior. You know she’s just excited, but you tell her that’s no excuse not to be careful. Danny has at least the decency to look guilty.
The rest of the team shows up thirty or so minutes later. Luke is last and decidedly alone. He smiles at you, waves to Clarke and the kids, and Charlie rushes to join the circle that’s already formed by home plate. When the other team arrives as well, you can’t help the slight prideful puff of your chest as you regard your group of toddlers lined up and ready near the benches.
You’re not one to brag, but you’re pretty sure you have the best team in the league. Or at the very least in the downtown area.
You also know that winning isn’t everything, especially not at this age. It’s about laughter and participation in whatever form--about encouragement and having fun. Danny excels in it, and while there aren’t many, any pop-up that’s within twenty feet is an easy catch. By the fifth inning, bits of her hair escape from the cap, tickling her cheek, her jersey practically untucked as she darts back and forth out in the field no matter if she gets the ball or not. The others avoid her and Jack watches with a mix of confusion and curiosity. It doesn’t stop her from trying.
“You have to give the other kids a chance to catch the ball, Danny,” you tell her when she comes in at the end of the inning, crouching down in front of her. She doesn’t really listen, glancing longingly back over her shoulder as the other team takes the outfield.
“I can catch it really good though, momma,” she says when she turns around again and you can’t help but smile a bit because it's true.
“Just because you can make it to home plate from the outfield doesn’t mean you should.”
She pouts, pursing her lips and scrunching her brows. You ruffle her hair, kiss her cheek, and the giggles that bubble forth are music to your ears.
6.
You hop down from the backseat of the cruiser and try to ignore the wide eyed double-takes from the pedestrians walking by as you shake out the kinks in your muscles. The backseat always seems cramped in this form, no matter how you decide to sit.
The only thing that saves you from prolonged staring is the bandana tied around your neck, signifying the ‘k-9’ unit of south county police department. You hate the thing, but it’s better than a collar and leash. And at least you don’t have to worry anymore about the rookies shooting you by accident. You stick close to Anya’s side anyway, a buffer to the enquiring eyes as you go about your job.
There’s a lot of smells to sift through, especially one that’s nearly six days old, but you’re the best at what you do for a reason. The station had received a tip concerning a couple of shady individuals not far from the recent site and it’s a simple thing to match two and two together.
“Find anything?” Anya asks as you trot by and you give a whole shake your head with a huff. You continue your search near the mouth of the alley, nose to the ground.
It takes a moment or two, but you manage to pick up a scent not entirely human and you take one more lap around the area just to be sure there wasn’t something you missed. You’re relieved to find there isn’t.
The scent appears to lead down park avenue, and from what you know from experience is essentially a straight shot to a stretch of woods that spreads out west. But with the smell as faint as it is, the likelihood of following it to the source is closer to zero, especially with the scent of rain close on the horizon.
You take off in the direction anyway, practically hearing Anya’s eye roll, but the muffled, exasperated ‘wolves,’ comes in loud and clear. You pick up the pace just for her.
7.
The house is dark when you get home from a late night at the station and you’re frustration only amplifies when you somehow managed to stub your pinky toe on the first stair. To your credit, none of the swears are above a whisper, clutching at your foot until the pain subsides, but it leaves you in a bitter mood as you climb the steps up to the second floor and then down the hall to your room.
Clarke is already in bed, bundled up in an excess of blankets despite the oncoming heat of May. The window is open, the breeze a breath of fresh air, and you only bother with your pants and socks and jacket, tossing them aside, before crawling into bed with her. She rolls over at the disturbance, facing towards you, but she doesn’t open her eyes.
You tangle your legs with hers, scooting closer until your foreheads touch and Clarke hums low in her throat. You kiss the tip of her nose, her lips, the apple of her cheek and you’re not surprised by how fast the bitterness subsides.
“Lexa... Lexa,” Clarke mumbles under her breath, face scrunching. “Lexa, I’m trying to sleep.”
So you stop, exhaling softly in the darkness and letting the tension ease its way through your system. Of all the dead-ends and setbacks and failures.
Clarke finds your arm, pulls lazily it over her hip. “You stopped,” she says, voice barely above of whisper, but she seems more awake now, closing the distance between you until not much remains.
“You told me to.”
Her hand finds the fabric of your blouse and holds fast. “I changed my mind.”
You duck your head, pressing your lips to her temple, and the last thing you see before you close your eyes is the small, satisfied curl to Clarke’s lips.
8.
You get to the field just after six and you park right next to a very familiar suv. You make your way out to the diamond, but you can hear the laughter from the parking lot. You can’t help but feel a bit too dressed up for this, and though your blazer is folded over your arm, your badge is still clipped to your belt. The rest of parents over by the bleachers are a group of jeans and t-shirts and yoga pants, and they look at you somewhat curiously. Clarke herself is in joggers and one of your light sweaters, but the subtle lift of her brow when she spots you is a sure sign she enjoys what she sees.
“Welcome,” she says, looking down at you from her seat at the edge of the bleachers. When you’re within reach she dips low for a kiss you’re happy to give. “Glad you could make it, coach.”
“Did I miss much?” you ask, handing her your blazer so you can roll up your sleeves.
“They just started.” You hear a solid thwack as a bat collides with a ball and sends it sailing and you turn to watch Jack giddily run the bases in a victory lap, Luke (and Charlie by his heels) making sure he runs the bases the right direction this time. “They’re practicing their swings.”
“Thank you for bringing the equipment.”
Clarke shrugs, smiles. “Pleasure’s all mine.” She props her elbow on her knee, rests her chin in the palm of her hand. “Another kiss would be nice, though.”
9.
“Clarke--”
“When will we see you?”
You turn away, leaning against the doorframe and away from the breakroom. The sound of Anya as she goes about fiddling with the company coffee machine builds behind you. You’re not sure how much a cup of coffee will do you this late but you’ll take what you can get.
“Probably not until sometime tomorrow afternoon. We have a good lead and if everything goes as planned… it’ll be over.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She inhales quietly and the exhale follows shortly afterward. “Okay.”
10.
You remember in bits in pieces. That sudden sharp sting of pain when the knife slips deep into your side during the scuffle. The funny thing is that it disappears almost instantly--the pain--and you continue the chase as if nothing happened. Clarke says you have a one-track mind sometimes and you know you do. You’re not here to take your time, you’re here to get work done, to make the world a better place for your family, your children. You just weren’t expecting it. Rogue’s are impulsive and rash and in that way predictable, quick to use their teeth, so when it hits you, it does so all at once.
You remember the ground. The sudden rush of it when you stumble, limbs tangled. The way your nose and the side of your face scrapes the ground. You remember the moment you took to breathe, so fleeting in a sense, how the shift back happens unconsciously, the earth warm and rough against your cheek.
And you remember Clarke. First just the white of her fur a blur from far away. The cold touch of her nose, the insistent scared whines. But then... soft hands and her worried face.
You blink. “Clarke.”
“Don’t,” she says, voice high and trembling even as she gently cups your cheeks in her hands, swipes her thumbs over the smudges and scrapes. Her hair is windswept and golden in the early morning rays and there’s nothing you want more than to dig your fingers deep into the softness there.
“I can’t--” She fusses, talking mostly to herself as she moves her hand from your cheek to your side and holds it there. Somewhere off in the distance you hear shouts, anya’s voice among others... “--on my goddamn birthday Lexa, you absolute piece of--”
“Clarke.” And she looks up, brows pinched in concern and dirt on her chin. “I’m fine.”
She tries not to laugh and it comes out watery and strained and you can tell she’ll be mad about this for awhile.
It probably serves you right.
--
You wake up later in a small hospital room. Sparse with white walls and curtains. The breeze comes in through the open windows and it’s a breath of fresh air you greedily inhale until the pain in your side flares violently. You groan, attempting to shift to alleviate some of the discomfort only to stop immediately the second Clarke pushes her way into the room.
You don’t say anything, figuring it safer to wait. Clarke catches you watching though, holds your stare as she plops down into the chair next to your bed. She scoots closer though. “I’m mad at you right now.”
“I know.”
“I told you to be careful.”
You exhale, somewhat painstakingly, and lean back against the pillow, breathing as deep as your side will allow. You’re intimately aware of the way your skin stretches and pulls and the itch of the stitches. Clarke holds out her hand for you and you don’t hesitate to take it.
“Anya called me,” Clarke says and you can tell by the sound of her voice that she doesn’t like the memory. “Told me they had lost you somewhere out near Levy Park chasing some rogue, that you might have been wounded and--” She rubs her other hand across her forehead, pushes back her hair with a shaky inhale. You still see the dirt smudged on the underside of her chin. “I was scared I wouldn’t be able to find you.”
“You did.” You squeeze her hand, clearing your throat. “You always do.”
She smiles this small thing, hangs her head and her shoulders droop.
“The kids?”
“Gustus. Though Mrs. Jefferson was kind enough to watch them until he was able to get there.” She exhales, wipes the palm of her hand across her eyes. “Remind me to get her something nice as a thank you.”
You watch her, tired but unwilling to close your eyes, and her grip goes tight on your hand for a second, releases. You pull it close, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and she leans over to rest her head lightly on your shoulder.
--
Gustus greets you later that day when you finally make it home. He has this big smile and at the sound of the door and your voices, the kids come hurtling from around the corner of the kitchen. Gustus manages to block most of them from launching themselves at you, but Madi is small and able to squeeze past and jump at you. You catch her, like always, and there’s nothing you can do about the pain but grin and bear it.
“Hello to you too.” You kiss her cheek and she giggles. Clarke is quick to pull her away though, settling the unruly toddler on her hip instead.
“Still alive I see,” Gustus says, grinning.
“It’s just a scratch.”
Gustus glances at Clarke, who rolls her eyes and moves past, shooing the kids back into the kitchen. There’s some of Gustus’ trademark venison stew in a pot on the stove, the rich smell a welcome change from the staleness of the hospital, although it leaves you a little queasy. Gustus stays for dinner, his large frame an anomaly at your kitchen table but you’re grateful for the stability his presence brings.
The kids can’t convince him to stay for dessert, no matter how hard Jack pleas, but he tells you not to hesitate to call should the need arise.
They don’t know, or at least don’t understand the severity of the circumstances. You’re not sure what Clarke told them this morning, but you catch Aden watching you almost worried like after dinner while Gustus says his goodbyes. His little hands fidget with the hem of his shirt, wrings and tugs, and it’s like you can see the swirl of his thoughts behind his eyes. You pull him aside in the hallway, crouching down to be eye to eye, smiling softly.
“Y-you’re o-okay right, momma?” he asks, and he seems to be fighting back the urge to cry. He insistently wipes the back of his hands across his eyes and it's the moment he realizes he can’t keep up with the tears that he breaks down.
It’s not loud, but it’s kind of unnerving even for you. He has trouble controlling his breathing and he stutters and shakes and you pull him into the circle of your arms. He holds you tight, presses his face into the t-shirt Clarke had brought to the hospital for you to change into and stays there.
“I’m okay. I promise,” you say, ignoring the sting in your side and bumping your heads together. “Sometimes I just work too hard.”
Out of the corner of your eye you catch Clarke just around the corner. She holds your stare, eyes tired, but she smiles a tiny bit and it’s like being able to breathe.
--
You inhale through your teeth at the sharp stab of pain as Clarke helps you out of your shirt later that night, you seated at the edge of your bed with Clarke knelt between your knees. Her fingers are gentle, skating along the edges of the gauze and the still tender skin, but you can’t help the wince when she presses a little too hard and she looks up at the sound of the bitten back whimper that escapes you.
She toys with the edge of the bandage, the part of her that is very much Abby’s daughter evident in the gesture, but she stops herself and rests her hands on your hips.
“Happy birthday,” you say softly. She glances up at you, just for a second, and smiles something small and quiet and you think you see tears her eyes, but you can’t be sure.
She takes a deep breath and gives a small shake of her head. “How are you?”
“Sore,” you reply and it’s meant in all seriousness. You watch as she stands and pulls off her own shirt, steps out of her pants. She leaves the clothes in a pile on the floor, urging you back and under the covers, before turning off the bedside lamp and joining you in bed.
Clarke’s attentive and far too gentle that it drives you a little insane. You’re not dying, but you know saying that outloud would make things worse. Clarke feels things deeply, and if you’re being honest with yourself, if you had found Clarke in a state similar to your own this morning you’d be much more of a mess than her.
“I’m sorry,” you say and Clarke sighs. You feel her breath, the warmth of her cheek where she presses it to your back and listens. The touch of her skin against yours makes you calm.
“You don’t have to apologize, Lexa.”
You know it's the same for her, too.
11.
“Lexa, if I see you with even one foot out of bed i’m going to murder you myself.”
You feel a bit out of it to be honest, left to wonder what exactly was in those painkillers Abby managed to secure for you. Though a little doped up, you still know better than to test Clarke when she takes that tone with you.
“With love?” You relax again, leaning back until you feel the comforting give of your pillow.
“Yes, with love. Now please just... relax. Today. For me.”
Your eyes follow her as she moves about your room, making things easy for you. You’re not incapacitated. You can move and walk around with minor stress on your injury if you take your time. In fact, if you’re not fully healed by Monday, you’d be surprised. But you realize the sentiment.
“I hate lying in bed,” you say, and Clarke chuckles as she returns to your beside.
“Well, if you were more careful maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” She kisses you softly and then pulls away. “I’m going to check on the kids. Stay put.”
You doze off not too long later, resigned to your recooperation, stretched out over your bed. There’s a breeze from outside that drifts pleasantly into your space, keeps you cool and comfortable and you drift in and out of consciousness for the better part of what feels like hours. it's a welcome change of pace then when you rouse to huffs and quiet giggles as your children clamber up onto the bed. Danny launches herself, scrambles up and over the side, while Aden and Lily take the softer approach.
“They wanted to see you,” Clarke says from the door. You turn your head to look at her before returning your attention to the kids.
“You smell like peanut butter,” you tell Jack who snuggles up on your left, rubbing his face against your shirt. Clarke has to help Madi up onto the bed, who tugs at your sheets but lacks the strength and dexterity to pull herself up. The moment you see her face, chubby cheeks and the remnants of her sandwich, your lips split into a wide smile.
Clarke joins after a moment, squeezing in between the kids so she can situate herself carefully on your injured side. She sighs when her head finds your shoulder, tugging up Madi who bumbles over your legs trying to find a spot to curl up and nap like the rest of her siblings.
On that calm friday afternoon you all find a little bit of peace.
12.
“How are you feeling?”
“Clarke.”
“Answer the question please.”
“I’m--” and she shoots you this look and you shut your mouth. You think through you’re response before continuing. “--doing better.”
You place the last of the snacks in the cooler for the game, some juice boxes and chopped fruit and bottles of water. When you turn back Clarke’s still waiting. “You can handle it?”
“I appreciate your concern, love...” You reach out for her, snaking a hand around her waist to pull her close. “But I’m more than capable of handling of group of human children, Clarke, injured or not.”
“Uh huh,” she says with this little smirk, running her hand over your side and you try your best to mask the wince. “I’ve seen you on the sidelines, coach,” Clarke mutters and you kiss her before she has the chance to say anything else.
13.
“Mom...? Dad? What’re you doing here?” You hear Clarke say as your make your way downstairs, cinching the buckle of your belt. You make it to the bottom just as Clarke sets down Madi onto the floor and your youngest is off the second her feet touch hardwood, making a beeline for Abby’s arms.
“Lexa told us you needed a babysitter,” Abby says, scooping up her granddaughter in one swoop and planting kisses over red cheeks.
“But we don’t--”
“Grampy!” Jack yells, giggling like mad as he hurtles past Clarke and into his grandfather’s waiting arms.
Jake laughs, catching Jack under the arms and swinging upward, Jack’s screams a mixture of elation and excitement. Jake places him back down gently, but just one liftoff isn’t enough to satisfy and your son pesters for more.
“I’m pretty sure you need one,” Jake says above the noise, giving you a wink once you’ve made it downstairs, and it takes a moment but Clarke’s head swivels and her eyes lock with yours.
Your smile is this soft tilt of your lips as you watch the bob in Clarke’s throat as she swallows, her eyes lingering on your mouth, stumbling down the exposed line of your neck to the dip of your loose blouse and where it’s tucked into snug black jeans. You know it’s the pair Clarke loves if only because of the way her eyes get stuck on your hips, the way her cheeks flush this pretty pink.
Abby and Jake round up the kids for a trip to Friendly’s for milkshakes and fries and maybe some real food, followed by a movie night over at the grandparents.
“What’s all this for?” Clarke asks as she gets ready, slipping on this cute jean jacket over a floral print sundress that flares gently over her waist.
“I love you.”
“I know you do,” Clarke says, looking up at you and your chest feels tight. “I love you, too.”
She trials her hands down your sides, gentle, fingers twisting into the space between your belt and the loops of your jeans and tugs. You let out this breathy little hum when your stomachs touch and the only thing that keeps you from kissing her senseless right here and now is that you have all night.
And you’re looking to make the most of it.
--
You take her to this nice restaurant you pass everyday for work. It’s rustic, brick walls and candles and tall champagne glasses--different kinds of spoons that you and Clarke pretend to know when and how to use. The food is good, but you don’t remember much of it once it’s gone.
The two of you take a walk along the strip afterward, hip to hip and stealing kisses in the darkness between the street lamps. You buy her a drink at a pub down the road that you take turns sipping while sitting as close as you can get without have to share a seat. Your knees knock together and you lean in until your foreheads touch so you can talk to her over the sound of the band.
You take an uber back home, stumble up the steps of the porch like teenagers. Clarke presses up behind you, kissing the slope of your shoulder while you attempt to unlock the front door with impatient hands. She kicks it closed behind her once you’re both inside, stripping herself of her jacket and it crumples to the floor. You turn and cup her cheeks in your hands and kiss her like you wanted to hours ago. You smile through most of it and Clarke laughs into your mouth, giving your butt a brief squeeze.
“Are you going to take me to bed or…?” Clarke says against your mouth and your lips tilt up into a grin.
She pushes you back towards the stairs and you dip to reach for her thighs, lifting them up and around your waist. You kick off your shoes and her arms wrap around your neck and you nearly trip walking up the steps when she nips at the line of your jaw, dull and only the hint of teeth but a promise nonetheless. She laughs.
You stumble into your room, setting Clarke on her feet so you can tug at the hem of her dress, bunching the fabric in your hands near her waist and Clarke gets the memo and raises her arms. Your fingertips trail along her ribs, up and up until you’ve tugged the dress over and off.
She kicks off her flats and you back her up till the back of her knees hit the bed and she falls back among the sheets, dragging you with her. You catch yourself before the collapse, hands on either side of her head, and you chase her skin and the sound of her laughter. When your lips find the underside of her chin, she tilts her head back and sighs. It takes a moment for her to come back, but the second she does her fingers clumsily reach to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one until it hangs open and she can curl her arm around your waist, tugging you soundly against her. The gasp you let out at the pain is involuntary.
“Clarke,” you exhale, your voice dissolving into a soft growl as her left hand moves from your side to your ass, fingers dipping into the back pocket of your jeans.
“Sorry,” she says, apologetic but amused, and you get stuck on the curl of her lips as she stares up at you. “You were saying?”
You pull away, sitting back, and Clarke smiles and your stomach does flips. It’s the way your mouth goes just a bit slack and Clarke laughs and your chest fills with warmth and you dip blindly for her lips.
Clarke pushes you over easily, her hands this gentle pressure on your shoulders until she’s sure you won’t move. She undoes the button of your jeans and you lift your hips without being told, allowing her to slip them off. You can see her clearly above you even in the darkness, hair in disarray, but her eyes are open and full of love.
“Have I told you that I love this shirt on you?” she says and you let out this soft whine, grabbing her hips as she fiddles distractedly with your open blouse.
Clarke knows you like the back of her hand and it doesn’t take much to get you to fall apart. With the kids, time is precious, but she grabs your hand in hers Her breath is warm, her face tucked into your neck and you savor the sensation of your stomach and hers pressed together as your breathing steadies. Every so often she presses her lips to your neck and you shiver, your hands flexing at her sides and when the world comes back you use your hips, angling just so until she loses her control and tips.
Though you’re willing to bet it’s more like she lets you, still a little high on the feeling of you. You take the time to reacquaint yourself her skin, your lips and the softness of her belly and the swell of her breasts. You make love to her slowly, until she’s trembling and flushed and the only sounds you hear are breathy sighs and gasps of your name.
And then you go again.
29.
The moon tugs at the corners of your mind as the sun sets and it’s something inherent in your bones and all the muscle and sinew. It’s a part of you just like everything else. A little wild, maybe, but still you.
You don’t know anything else, after all. You were born like this, like your kids, and your parents taught you what they knew before they weren’t. That you were a powerful thing, that you had stars in your blood and the strength to move mountains. But also to not always follow your nose and that home was where you made it.
It’s not like the movies. You feel a pull, a tug somewhere deep in your gut and you know not to fight it. Not tonight. You let it consume and it's vaguely like being submerged and holding your breath.
There’s pain, though brief and dull with time, and impulses when you resurface, but experience is all it takes to control it. It happens too fast for the pups to fear it, and in the moon’s silver light it’s more of a blessing to be all parts of themselves. They yip and howl, safe enough away from the suburban life you’ve built for them, you and Clarke a comfortable distance behind.
She bumps into you, footsteps soft among the leaves and branches, and you nip at her neck. Barely teeth, but she pushes against you again, playful, and you nudge her back before darting off deeper into the woods.
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
[41] Glitch in the System - Running Forward
By E.
A discussion of coping happens.
The blaring sound of an alarm pulled Sombra out of a deep, dreamless sleep into a very confusing and loud reality.
“Widow,” she said, rolling over and blearily smacking at the other woman’s face. “Widow.”
The spider looked at her through her sharp golden eyes. “I am awake, Sombra.”
“Alarm’s going off.”
“Yes,” she replied. “That is what woke me up.”
“Oh,” Sombra said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Widow woke up with such clarity, in stark contrast to Sombra who emphatically did not, and it always took her an embarrassing few moments to catch up.
“Gabe?” she yawned, speaking through her internal connection to the Talon network. “Why is everything terrible?”
“Gas leak,” came the response from a voice that was decidedly not Gabriel’s. The soft brogue in Moira’s voice sounded strained, like a wire stretched too tight. “Please exit the building.”
“What did you do, Moira?” Sombra asked, fatigue fleeing her body at the potential of there being an actual threat at hand.
“There was a mishap,” she replied, voice flat. “In the lab.”
“A mishap?”
“Please exit the building, Sombra,” was Moira’s deadpan response, and the connection was broken.
“Explain?” Widowmaker said, already out of bed and getting dressed.
“Get the cat and meet me on the roof,” she said. “Moira broke something.”
It was chilly outside, and Sombra made liberal use of the thermal heating upgrades Widow had installed in her jacket for the holidays. Toulouse seemed fine swaddled in blankets in his carrier, and Widowmaker was the same sentient icicle as always.
“Not cold?” Sombra asked, just to make sure.
“I don’t even feel it,” was Widowmaker’s casual reply. Sombra rolled her eyes, setting Toulouse down in an alcove out of the light breeze before placing herself beside him, cross-legged on the cold stone.
“I wonder what happened?” Widow mused, sniffing at the air. She peered over the edge of the roof to see Akande frantically waving at someone on the inside, and they heard the sounds of windows being opened one by one.
“Probably some horrific experiment. Here’s hoping the building doesn’t blow up,” Sombra groaned.
“Coming to the roof was your idea,” Widowmaker said, crossing her arms.
“Yeah, well, I’ll risk considerable physical injury to avoid having to deal with Moira while she’s flustered.” She patted the space beside her. “C’mere. Check this out,” she said, pulling her hands apart such that long, string-like slivers of light stretched out between her fingertips, flashing purple in the dwindling light. Twisting her fingers, she flipped her hands around, manipulating them like physical objects until she turned the strands of light into what looked like a small, much less detailed replica of the Eiffel Tower.
“Are you playing string games with hard light?” Widowmaker asked, amusement edging her voice.
“Come here,” she said again, gesturing with her head. Widowmaker obliged, sitting down beside her and looking in her direction quizzically.
“Take ‘em,” she said, holding it out.
“Where?” Widow asked, confounded at the request.
Sombra rolled her eyes. The sniper’s occasional befuddlement at the simplest of things was a constant source of amusement for her. “Here. Right in the center,” she said, and four of the strings flashed brightly. “Pinch them.”
Widowmaker, reached out daintily, stopping just short of committing. “These?”
“Didn’t you play string games as a kid?” Sombra asked, laughing.
“I did not play games,” she said, frowning. Leaning forward slowly, she closed her fingers against the light.
“Of course you didn’t,” Sombra sighed. “Now - pull.”
Widowmaker did as she was told, and when she opened her hands, the light created a latticework ladder between her hands. She frowned, holding it above her head, peering beneath the glowing strands as if to locate some trap or mystery she couldn’t see from the top.
“What did you do?” she asked, flexing her hands. The light danced whimsically.
“Nothing, araña. It’s just clever manipulation of patterns.” Leaning forward, she pressed a finger against the center of the lattice. “Boop,” she said, and the light vanished into a shower of painless sparks. “I used to do this for the street kids, before I disappeared. They loved it. Thought I was some sort of magician.”
“It would not be too far from the truth,” Widowmaker replied, watching the remnants of the shattered light waft in the air until it flickered out.
“No magic, only tech,” Sombra replied, shrugging. “Frankly I felt more magical before all the upgrades. Back then was like pulling digital rabbits out of other people's’ hats. Now I’m the hat, and people just kind of give me their rabbits without realizing it.” She didn’t think back on her early years very often, although the memories were still sharp as knives.
“It is strange to think of you entertaining children,” Widow said, leaning back on her elbows and looking at the hacker.
Sombra laughed. “I love kids. Blank slates.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
“Also capable of accepting more than most adults. Kids are malleable, less judgemental, and bounce back faster. Especially kids who’ve seen some shit.” She shrugged. “I guess I empathize with that flexibility. I had to embrace it a lot myself.”
Widowmaker looked away, those golden eyes intense as always as she stared into space at some unknown point on the horizon. “You do not speak much about your childhood.”
“There’s not much to know”
“I find that unlikely.” Widowmaker paused, and Sombra could tell there was a knot of words sticking in her throat that she was doing her best to untangle before speaking them. “It is just that there is this large blank spot that I do not know about you.” She turned her head, her expression neutral, positing a request Sombra hadn’t prepared herself for. “I would like to, perhaps.”
“Oh,” Sombra replied, the lighthearted nature of their rooftop getaway fizzling like dust in a breeze before her. “It’s a common enough story: young girl watches parents be murdered by rogue omnics, survives with a wild band of other orphans until city gang notes her talents and takes her in.” She held her hands up as though displaying a billboard. “You know - the usual stuff.”
Widowmaker chuckled lightly. “There is nothing normal about you, cherie,” she said, kissing the top of her head.
“You’re so sweet,” Sombra said, grinning back.
“Do you, ah,” Widow continued, stretching her legs out restlessly before her, “remember your parents?”
Sombra tilted her head slightly. “Of course. In vivid detail. My mother used to sing me lullabies to help me sleep. I always had trouble, you know - too many thoughts, not enough time to get them out during the day.” Laughing, she pressed herself closer to Widowmaker, nuzzling her cheek into her shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder if she’d be proud of who I’ve become.”
Widowmaker looked at her expectantly, not offering an opinion in the matter.
“Probably not,” Sombra eventually followed up on her own. “She was terrified of technology. Ironic, really, considering how she and dad died.” She felt her voice falter a bit as she spoke, a wave of unexpected emotion pressing against her throat unbidden.
“You sound as though you miss them,” the sniper said, sounding a trifle awkward as she picked her words.
Sombra shrugged. “Of course I miss them. I - their death stayed with me for so long. Weighed on me like a lead blanket; kept me warm on cold nights spent huddled on the streets with the other orphans. We’d all lost so much, you know?” She looked up at the sky, the sun shining out from behind a cloud, basking them in its warmth even as the air around them was chilled. “Some of us let it destroy us,” she said, running a hand idly through her hair. “A lot of my friends just sort of dried up slowly.”
“Not you, though,” Widow said, brushing her fingertips lightly against the back of Sombra’s arm.
Sombra shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I just figured, if my life was going to be destroyed, then I wanted to rebuild it how I wanted. I needed something to control, and the only thing I really could reliably was myself. I let the loss drive me; push me forward until I was running.”
Reaching over, she undid the lock from Toulouse’s carrier. Widow made a halfhearted attempt at stopping her, but the big tom pushed his way out of the crate and directly into Sombra’s lap with little resistance. Sombra ran her hand along his fur, feeling the comforting rumble of his chest against her palm. “At first it felt a lot like I was running away from the past, but at some point I realized I’d started running towards the future.” It was a thing she’d not given much thought to over the years, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how true it was.. “I guess I haven’t really stopped running yet.”
“I am...sorry,” Widow said, reaching a tentative hand out to comfort her. Sombra felt her palm settle between her shoulder blades and smiled.
“It’s not a big deal. I like being in motion.”
Widowmaker stared at her, struggling with something. “You do not seem to be a creature of struggle,” she said, then blanched slightly. “I did not mean that as...I do not mean to dismiss your experiences.” She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed as she sought out the proper words for what she was trying to say. Sombra waited, patient as ever, for her to settle on them. “I just mean that you do not wear your trauma. Not the way Gabriel and...I do.”
Sombra looked curiously up at Widow, seeing her in a new sort of light. She’d always struggled to understand how Widowmaker couldn’t use her experiences as fuel to push herself forward, to forge a way for herself in the world despite her pain. Now she considered that, while she’d started running to cope, Widowmaker had simply stood still.
“I wear it everyday, Widow. My trauma shaped me, sure - they’re experiences that made me who I am today. But I’m not my trauma, you know?” she said. “I was just there for it; I grew from it. It will always be a part of who I am, but,” she considered her words carefully for a long time. “But it informs who I am, not the other way around.”
“How do you reconcile your loss?” Widow asked, pointedly, and through the veil of some muted agony. “To press onward despite all that was done to you?”
Sombra frowned, thoughtfully, letting her mind wander back to some of the memories she had held onto over the years. “I had a cat, once, when I was very young. My father got him for me as a birthday present.” She reached down and scratched behind Toulouse’s ears, smiling as he pressed his head against her palm. “I loved that cat more than anything else in my life. More than my computer, more than my friends, hell,” she looked up, “more than my parents sometimes, it felt like.”
“The start to this story makes me very nervous,” Widowmaker said, using one finger to scritch Toulouse under his chin. He purred louder and lifted his chin up, eyes closed.
Sombra smirked. “A year after I got him, he escaped the house and got hit by a car, right in front of my eyes. I was a wreck - inconsolable for days after. I wouldn’t let anyone in my room and I barely ate.”
Widowmaker squeezed her hand underneath Toulouse’s rumbling belly. “What happened?” she asked gently.
“Well, eventually I’d cried myself into silence, and stopped treating my parents like the bad guys. My dad came in with my favorite meal -”
“- sugary cereal?” Widowmaker interjected.
“Tamales, jerk,” Sombra laughed, bumping against her with her shoulder. “He brought me fresh tamales, set them down next to me, and said ‘Olivia, you will miss Manzanita for the rest of your life,’ and I looked at him like he was crazy until he continued. ‘But love is what gives loss its sting, which means that you will always have that love for him, too.’” Chuckling to herself, she shook her head. “I think that’s what really got me through it all, you know? The knowledge that, while I have lost more than most, it also means that I have loved more than most.”
Widowmaker watched her, mired in a deep silence that lasted well over a minute. Sombra couldn’t imagine what it was she was thinking - when it came to emotions, Widowmaker was either a fountain of confusion or a tight-lipped vault. Right now, though, she mostly seemed thoughtful, contemplative and, perhaps, a little sad.
“I am happy you had that solace,” she said, finally, raising a hand to brush her knuckles against Sombra’s cheek. “And I am pleased at the woman you have become.”
“Thanks spider,” she replied, grinning like an idiot.
“I do have to ask you something, though.”
“Shoot.”
Taking a deep breath, Widowmaker closed her eyes for one long, exasperated moment. “You named your cat Little Apple?”
Sombra laughed, shoving her playfully, interrupting Toulouse’s snooze. “Jerk,” she said. “Now hug me, I made myself sad.”
“I am here, cherie,” the sniper murmured against her ear, wrapping her arms around her and the black and white ball of fur in her lap. Listening to the occasional loud outburst from the yard below, they settled for a quiet afternoon of watching the clouds pass by until the mansion was ready for them to return.
*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.
#spiderbyte#sombramaker#widowsombra#sombra x widowmaker#widowmaker x sombra#sombra#olivia colomar#widowmaker#amélie lacroix#amelie lacroix#overwatch#overwatch fanfic#overwatch fandom#overwatch fic#glitch in the system#glitchfic
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
We were joking about this again last night and I didn’t want to work on research was bored so here’s a relatively unpolished thing of the Game Over kids coming up with a (in hindsight) blindingly obvious solution to their problem. I remain stupefied by this apparent oversight.
Starring Nepeta, because she’s earned it.
After what you've been through, the silence of the dream bubbles is comforting. You sit still and hug your knees. It's nice to be just you, in your own skin, with nothing else in the way.
"I'm going to be sick," says the human you were imprisoned with, and he is. Nothing comes up.
You can't blame him. It had been suffocating, and he'd been throwing a fit for most of it. You'd kept quiet, but not because you didn't care. You didn't see the point of screaming when it didn't help. Instead you waited, watched, and at the right moment finally struggled just hard enough that the entity that you'd become hesitated as the Furthest Ring cracked apart and the growing void sucked you in. At least your ghosts woke up here, instead of being trapped in the singularity forever.
Wherever you are now, the black hole hasn't eaten it. The darkness is still illuminated by glittering cracks, but the surface beneath you is whole. There's no sign of Lord English, or the army. Is anyone nearby?
You didn't need to learn much about Heart during your session. Your existing combat skills were enough. Once you'd been out here for a while, you started to think it was about souls. About who people are, deep down. Maybe that's why you can handle a place where you're stripped down to your Self with a thousand others vying for the title. Maybe that's why you're recovering faster from being crushed beneath some other consciousness and buried under an aggregate of other lives. You know who you are. You're the Rogue of Heart, and here, you are useful.
There's a cluster of bright sparks in your inner vision. Souls, glowing with the dim luminescence of the dreaming dead. Part of you would love some solitude, but you also want to interact with people as yourself, to hear people call you by your name. It'll help you settle more firmly back into your skin.
"I feel some spirits not far away," you say. "I think they're friends." Dave doesn't look at you at first. Maybe you should just leave, but you feel some level of loyalty after what you've been through. "Want to come?"
It takes him a few tries to stand, but he does.
You see Karkat and Kanaya with a cluster of the humans. You shouldn't know all their names, but the entity that possessed you rifled through the memories of all Nepetas everywhen, picking whatever scraps it felt like plastering onto itself in an off-key impression. The remnants had been left scattered through your thinkpan, and so you vaguely remember being a sprite in their session. Terezi is there too, sitting next to Vriska. They're leaning into each other's shoulders. Equius isn’t there. He must still be mixed with that AI who does most of the talking. You don’t see Gamzee either, for which you are grateful.
When you approach, Jade grabs Dave by the shirt and starts asking questions about her brother that you know from your time together he can't answer. Kanaya approaches you a little more slowly. "Nepeta," she says. "It's good to see you again. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."
"Yeah." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ears, a nervous habit you fall back on sometimes during conversation. It’s been a while since you’ve seen these people. They’re older than you now. "It's not so bad for me, but I thought you guys might win. I'm sorry you didn’t."
"Have you seen Rose out there?" she asks.
You remember Rose, the human who'd been nice enough to let you talk to her cat-lusus. It would've been hard to miss her, considering her brother screaming "That's my sister, leave her alone, don't touch her" what felt like right into your auditory sponge. "She was like us," you say. "Made into a sprite, and then prototyped too many times. So... she's still alive. Sort of.”
"She's trapped," says Dave, smoothing out the front of his shirt. He looks relieved to be able to change the subject. "And she must be pissed as hell. It's like some Lovecraftian nightmare with a sugar high sets up shop in your brain to make a mockery of everything you hold dear. Thank god none of you saw us, I'd never live it down. Figuratively."
"Then we have to get her out," Kanaya says firmly.
"Hey, I'd be right behind you," Dirk says. The others have drifted over to listen in. It’s not like there’s much else to do – this part of the bubbles doesn’t have much in the way of scenery. "I could yank her soul out and everything; that's a thing I can do. Problem is, our mobility is limited due to us all being fucking dead."
Jake scratches his head. "Ghosts can come back. That Aranea did."
"The ring," Vriska says, looking up from whatever quiet communion she and Terezi had been locked in. "She stole the ring of life from John somehow."
"That piece of shit?" Dave exchanges a look with Jade. "Did you know about that?"
"I didn't know it was magic," she says. "I just thought it was something he'd found somewhere. He didn't like to talk about it." She frowns. "He didn't talk to me a lot that last year."
"Well, there's only one of those," Karkat snaps. "So that's not very useful, unless we want to elect an ambassador to the world of the living or draw up a schedule."
"Roxy might be able to make more..." Jade says slowly. "Where is she, anyway?"
You shrug. You would have looked for her, you like Roxy, but you didn't see much of the new session, and you don't have many memories of what went wrong in the old one.
"She's alive," Terezi says. "Her and John. I saw them before I died. They were going to fix things."
The other Dave, the one that traveled on the meteor, looks around at the shattered dreamscape, the crowd of ghosts. "Not to criticize, but things don't look fixed."
"They're setting things right in a new timeline," she explains. "We're stuck here as rejects from the old one."
"A new timeline," Kanaya repeats. "Going how far back?"
"Our problems really kicked in as soon as your crew arrived," Jake says. "Although I suppose we could have dealt with things if only that troll hadn't gotten her mitts on the ring. That's the crucial moment that truly sealed our fates. As long as you stop that, I’m sure we could manage."
Terezi shakes her head. "Think further. I told them to save Vriska."
Even Vriska looks confused by that. Karkat is the first to speak. "You undid whole sweeps of our lives? Why the fuck would you do that?"
Terezi spreads her hands out. "Look, maybe it wasn't the most rational decision in hindsight, but it's not like you've never made calls based on some sort of emotional impulse."
"And look how that turned out." He shakes his head. "We should've talked to you about that guilt complex earlier so you didn't change the entire universe just to try to deal with it."
"Yeah," meteor-Dave deadpans. "If you'd sat backwards on a chair earlier this could've all been avoided."
"Shut the fuck up," he says without real rancor. "Well, good luck to those poor bastards."
"I'm right here," Vriska says.
"I notice you haven't actually disagreed."
"No.” She shakes her head, and her long braids – unraveling at the end – shudder. “I met the new me. She's a bitch."
"Good. We're all on the same page here. I'm almost glad I'm dead."
"You know..." you say.
Terezi glances at you and then away again to continue their squabble. They've never taken you seriously because you were the silly shy girl, who spent her time having fun and playing games while the others made important decisions. But you have memories of time spent with a Life player, and you'd know that color scheme anywhere. "You know," you say again, louder. "I don't think you need a ring to come back to life."
"What do you mean?" That's Dirk. He might not know you well, but he looks desperate enough to look anywhere for input.
"Well...." You shrug. "You've got a Life player right there."
The Life player in question stares at you for a moment and then down at the symbol on her chest, like she’s checking to make sure it’s still there. "You mean...?"
"That can't work, can it?" Jake asks. "It would be too easy."
"Feferi helped us once," Karkat says. "A dead one from a doomed timeline. Her powers still worked. I don't know why I didn't remember sooner."
Jane looks down at her hands. "With a body, I know I could do it. But with a ghost... I don’t know. I guess I could try."
"Just a moment," Kanaya interrupts. "I wasn't convinced by your threats earlier that Life abilities could harm the undead, but if that principle does hold, you might hurt us instead of helping."
"I volunteer," Dirk says immediately.
Jane sighs. "Dirk, really."
"I'm serious. I glitched myself into fucking pixels and I'm still here. I'm indestructible. Do your worst."
"Well in that case…” It takes Jane a moment to catch up with herself. “Wait. You did what? Are you saying the way you got here... you did it to yourself?"
Before Dirk can respond, Terezi interjects. "Save that for later. As the Seer here, I say you give it your best shot. It's a good idea."
"We're not through talking about this," Jane growls. Then she points a blue-laced hand at Dirk and gives it her best shot.
"Well?" Kanaya asks after a moment. "Did it work?"
Dirk looks himself up and down. "I don't feel any different."
"We can't see through your shades, Strider," Jake says.
Dirk hesitates (whether out of reluctance or for theatrical effect you’re not sure) and then pushes the pointy glasses on his face up. You get a good look, as does everybody else. Orange. Humans have such strange eye colors.
"It worked," Jane breathes. “Isn't that something. Gather round, everyone. I'll fix us right up." She turns, looks at Karkat, and then her face changes. "Oh. Oh no."
"What?" Jade follows her gaze and then puts a hand to her mouth. "Ohhhh."
"What?" Karkat's voice rises. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I can only do this once," Jane says. "Once per person. And I've already done you."
"What are you talking about?" Terezi asks. "Karkat, are you telling me you got yourself killed that quickly? And I missed it?"
"Don't blame me!" He points at Jane, who takes a step back. "Blame her. Jade too, it was her idea. Crocker here was just the willing hand with the fork.”
"The two of them decided to demonstrate Jane's abilities," Kanaya explains. "They were following the Empress's orders at the time."
"That's right," Jade says quickly. "I was bad then. And." She bites her lip. "And I was angry."
"So we can't hold that against them, right?" Jake says, with a smile that looks unnaturally stiff. "Let bygones be bygones, right Jane? After all, I've already forgotten that little interaction in the jail cell. In fact, forget I mentioned it!"
"What did Jane do?" Dirk asks. Jane groans and covers her eyes. "What the hell are you all talking about?"
"That's what I want to know," meteor-Dave adds. "Jade, you killed someone because "you were mad"? What the fuck happened to you in the last three years?"
"What happened to you, defending the aliens?" Dave snaps back. "Since when are they really on our side? No offense," he adds, glancing over at you. "You seem ok, I guess."
You roll your eyes. "I appreciate it, human scum."
Meteor-Dave has ignored this aside. "I know you were off bleeding instead of being useful during our game, but they are on our side, you outdated fucking museum specimen."
"The tiara top," you hear Jane saying to no one in particular. "I was going to apologize and explain, we just didn't have time-"
"Will all of you shut up?" Karkat demands. "I'm a little more preoccupied with the pressing matter of my mortality than whatever hangups you've got with each other. You can all pile into the confession booth later if that'll make you happy."
"But Karkat," Terezi says, "it's like watching one of your memos in real life."
"Will you ever let the memos go?"
"Like I said," Vriska interrupts, "there's the ring."
You took a step back when she spoke - your last memories of her aren't great. But this one seems milder, though maybe that's the dreambubbles nipping at the edges of her soul, like they do to everyone eventually.
"That's right," Terezi says. "The ring. The Empress killed Aranea, I saw that much. So it might be up for grabs again. It likes to vanish and reappear."
"But where?" Dirk asks. "Do you think it would be near her ghost?"
Jake balls his hands up. "Are you saying we could go beat up that spider troll's ghost? Because I am ALL for a rematch. Don't bring me back yet, Jane. That way if she tries to kill me again she won't be able to."
"I could find her, maybe," Terezi says. "This place is made of memories, so if I follow her mind... With the ring so smashed up, there aren’t that many places to hide."
"How do we tell she's the right one?" Jade asks. She’s latched onto this new subject eagerly, probably to escape the last one. "We can't just jump on every version of this troll, can we?"
"I can tell," you say. You have a knack for that out here. You can strike up a conversation with one Tavros and later pick him out of a crowd of twenty, even if his outfit is different. Once you know a little bit about how the person has changed, they don't wear their face the same. This Aranea - what she did will show.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dirk says. “I like it."
"You'll have to sit this one out," Jane says. "You're mortal again, and I can only save you once. Perils of being the guinea pig, I'm afraid. And I am officially team leader. I think it's time I actually lived up to that. Metaphorically, if I must."
He scowls but doesn't argue.
Jade turns to Terezi. "You said there's a new timeline, right? Does that mean there’s a new group of all of us?"
"That's right. It's up to that set to win now."
"I doubt they'd like us crashing the party," Dirk says. "God knows I have enough problems fighting myself, and it looks like that's a family trait."
"Can't do it no matter what," says Dave. "The Furthest Ring is neutral territory, but once we're in the same Skaia-supervised universe, doomed double rules apply. We'll get picked off."
"Great, more complications." Karkat throws up his hands. "Then where do we go, even if we do come back?"
"It's a big multiverse," Kanaya says. "There must be somewhere."
"There must be somewhere," Jake agrees. "I'm not going to sit here in the dark for eternity because some troll got a bee in her bonnet about how our story was supposed to go. I was never that concerned about winning the game on its terms anyway, as long as we made it out ok. I don't even know what the victory state is supposed to be."
"Then it's agreed," Jane says. "We find Aranea, get that ring, I bring us all back, and we go somewhere. Somewhere better."
"And we find Rose," Kanaya adds.
"Definitely," says meteor-Dave. "We can call up John and Rose's mom too, see if they want to hang out with us losers or stick with the winning team. Maybe we can get shared custody."
“If we see other people…” You almost trail off, but they’re looking at you, so you complete the thought. “Maybe we should let them come too, if they want. It seems fair.”
Jane nods. “I’m willing to try. The one time rule might not count for different versions of the same person.”
"Can I come?" Vriska asks. You’re surprised she was polite enough to ask. She really has changed.
Terezi links arms with her. "Wouldn't have it any other way, sister."
"Hold on," Karkat says. "I’m still technically leader of the Alternian band of chucklefucks, which means I get to make that kind of decision. You're not going to try another megalomaniacal plot as soon as our backs are turned, are you? If I recall correctly, you got killed for a reason.”
She juts her chin forward, a bit of her old vigor returning to her voice. "I'm not like that anymore.”
"I guess we can keep an eye on you if you’re lying."
Terezi pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "Karkat, do you think you could be a little bit less of a dick if you really tried?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm a little on edge. I've been murdered."
"We've all been murdered," Kanaya says. "Or most of us, at least. Just establishing that for the record."
"And it sucks.”
"I don't blame him for not trusting me," Vriska says quietly, which shuts even Karkat up. You look her over. You don't know what she's been doing since you saw her last, but the person behind the face is different now. It makes you think of a drawing in that smudgy, formless state when you’re still working out the details. On its way to being something, but not there yet, tenuous enough that a stray line would ruin the entire picture. It’s the point where you have to make a decision about what the final product ought to be.
"Well," Terezi says at last. "That's settled, then. We'll get some vengeance, and then we'll figure out what to do next. How's that for a plan?"
"It's actually three quarters of a plan, because some leetspeaking weirdo wrote a four instead of an A, but otherwise it sounds good," says meteor-Dave. She sticks her tongue out at him.
Jane nods and uncaptchalogues an enormous fork. That’s right – she is an heiress, technically, and she handles the official weapon with ease. "It sounds good to me too. Let's go win this game on our terms."
#homestuck//#kat writes fic#bluh bluh huge bitching alert#i guess#AU#also I guess#you can't actually prove this didn't happen
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
Press Pause
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: Season 13 Spoilers, angst, wee bit of fluffy fluff, smoking?
A/N: I put a lot of effort into this, I don’t even know. Quite proud of it, hope you like it. I’d love your honest and genuine opinion on it (Good or bad, any justified and kindly phrased opinion is welcome!).
JOIN MY TAGLIST | MASTERLIST
Shit had hit the fan. So fast, so hard. Suddenly, Satan’s spawn was alive and in its late teens instead of being a 5-pound bundle of happiness with chubby cheeks and diapers. Everything was just… out of hand. Your best friend was gone, your boyfriend’s mother was stuck in an alternative universe with Lucifer himself, the most distrustful, yet most helpful person you had ever known had killed himself and suddenly you were back in 2007. Just you, the boys, and a huge problem you had no idea had to deal with, with no gaps to grasp or cracks to claw.
Your life had been torn to shreds in just one night.
Fuck, and you weren’t even taking the worst of it.
Jack had lost his mother before knowing what the word mother even means, had been brought to this world without a blueprint, only with an immense weight in his hands that he had no idea how to handle. Powers that no one could ever teach him how to control because no one had ever had them before. But also, he was given a choice. One of grave importance that would determine the world's fate.
Dean had just lost his best friend, his mother, his game plan. And after losing everything, he had also lost his faith and gone rogue, desperate to have a purpose. Whether that was a reasonable one or not. Currently, his target was to figure out how in hell’s name he could kill this monster, in his eyes, that was apparently a threat to humanity. Of course forgetting that that’s what they called his younger brother once too.
And then the younger Winchester came in the picture. Sam. Sam was left in the bottom, losing everything but his responsibilities, now, unintentionally, becoming the father figure of a boy he had not asked for, left trying to pick his older brother’s pieces, left trying to pick up his own pieces. And yet somehow he still kept his optimism and absolute, pure, brightly burning hope somewhat intact.
After all that, you could not say a word. Your weight and problems were nothing in comparison.
You sat cross-legged on the top of the hill, watching the clouds come and go, the sun move and the chilly breeze skate down your skin. Your old packet of cigarettes lay limply in the gap between your legs, fingers toying with the silver Zippo your father had once gifted you. It was by no means a habit of yours –smoking-, but when the times got rough, when the world started falling apart, it was your coping mechanism.
Smoke puffed from your lips and danced in the fading orange sunlight like a skillful dancer, a well-practiced choreograph. Your eyes followed it as it disappeared in the mist of fall that would surely bring you a cold if you didn’t wear a hoodie soon.
“You know, that’s not good for you” his voice was light with heavy, half-hearted teasing and your heart broke just listening to him trying. You didn’t move when he spoke, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, only patted the patch of grass to your right lightly. You heard him shuffle about before heavy fabric fell on your shoulders and his scent attacked you faster than the nicotine numbed your nerves, seeing as they yet again jumped and fluttered at his presence. Just like every other time. Just like the first time.
You rested under the heaviness as Sam’s wide and mile-long form dumped itself on the ground beside you. You realized he had given you his orange jacket, the one that was enforced with dark brown leather inside. The one that smelt of burnt chances, disappointment, loss and tear-jerking goodbyes. The one he had been wearing the day he said I’m sorry, thank you and goodbye to the people he loved-no, loves. Even if he didn’t believe they’d be gone forever. Even if he hoped he could say I’m sorry and thank you in front of them again, at least one more time. Even though he knew better.
You offered him the pack without looking at him, eyes still locked with the scenery in front of you. He looked at you, at your hand, at you again and after a second of hesitation and a short internal debate, he slipped his long fingers in the packet and pulled out a cigarette. You didn’t offer a lighter, knowing he probably won’t light it anyways.
The stress reliever dangled from your lips as you slipped your arms through the long sleeves that went well past your fingers and instantly created a barrier that shielded you from the cold bite of the breeze. You leaned your head against his shoulder and he kissed your hairline, intertwining his fingers with yours and pulling the cigarette up to his mouth. You didn’t react outwardly, even though the action surprised you. Instead, you offered him the Zippo. He leaned towards the fire, flashbacks of the past three days coming back in front of his irises, and lit it up with clenching eyelids, puffing out some smoke.
“We’ve been fucked over again, haven’t we.” You stated, instead of asking. Normally he would huff out a smile but he didn’t react. Not this time. Instead, he nodded with a sad hum and flexed his fingers around yours.
“Yes. Yes, we have.”
The reality of the statement hung heavily in the air like dead weight.
Comforting silence fell over the both of you for what could possibly be hours. You watched the sun set and the wind pick up as leaves fell all around you.
Suddenly the breeze simply stopped. Just froze, leaves pausing their fall mid-air. The grass stopped moving and stayed in a curved line that had been following the wind, the sun didn’t set, the clouds just stood still. The smoke you had just let out of your lungs froze in front of your face.
It was like someone pressed pause to the world.
“Sam.” He squeezed your hand in acknowledgment and you turned to him. His eyes were frantically moving, scanning his environment and attempting to understand what was happening. “Are you seeing this?”
“What the hell,” he muttered his response almost inaudibly. He exhaled lightly, eyebrows knitting up on his forehead. You gulped, instantly thinking of the worst possible explanations and consequences. In sync, Sam’s eyebrows and yours shot up in realization.
“Jack” you stated simply and your boyfriend nodded, lips pursing in a tight line briefly as he swallowed dryly.
“Fuck”
This seemed really, really bad for the first few seconds, until you slackened your shoulders and dropped your cigarette.
“Sammy?” You asked, a small smile playing on your lips. He tilted his head in confusion like a puppy at your sudden mood swing. Your eyes traveled through every single thing around you and stood, the corners of your mouth curving up in wonder. Sam followed your movement, still confused at why you were being so odd all of a sudden. You stepped closer to him and placed your hands on his chest lightly. His huge paws instinctively went to your waist.
“Look,” You breathed out a small laugh. The youngest Winchester, still clueless as to your sudden joy, followed your eyes. His face relaxed and his expression absolutely slackened. His cigarette hung immobile in his mouth. A small smile graced his face.
“It’s…” his eyes didn’t stop moving for one second, hands fitting more comfortably against your body. “It’s beautiful”
And it was. It was so fucking beautiful.
It felt like a three-dimensional picture. Everything was frozen mid-movement. Leaves were hovering, the trees were slightly bent, the surreally colored clouds stood above the two of you like cotton candy. It gave you time to truly observe the colors of the sunset. It gave you a moment to breathe easier, a moment of true peace. A moment where the world didn’t necessarily need you. A moment where nothing bad was happening anywhere at all.
You looked up at Sam. His eyes skimmed every surface, relishing the calmness and peace of a still moment. The cigarette was still hanging limply from his mouth. You reached for it, gently prying it from his lips and throwing it under your boot, putting it out and making a mental note to pick it back up when you leave.
Sam’s eyes fell on you at the action. You smiled softly, placing one of your hands against his cheek tenderly. He leaned into it, eyes closing for a second. When they opened, you offered a small smile and leaned up to kiss him gently. Your lips moved at a snail’s pace finding no reason to rush this, extending the moment as long as humanly possible. He tasted of cigarette smoke and you supposed you did too but you didn’t mind. One of Sam’s hands moved and was lightly placed against your cheek while his other pressed you closer to him by your lower back.
Suddenly, like a slap in the face, the breeze started back up again. The hovering leaves fell slowly and the sun began, once again, setting.
You gasped, not expecting it, and instantly Sam’s hands held you a little tighter. And then you started giggling, unsure of why. You grinned against his lips, small giggles falling out of your mouth and he smiled too because he loved seeing you happy.
You wrapped your arms around his neck in exaggerated motions and nuzzled your nose with his, the unexplainable feeling of happiness surging through you. Sam chased your lips and you pulled back a little, teasing him. You repeated the same dance for a couple long seconds until he growled and held your head still with his hand, caging your bottom lip between both of his with fervor.
When both of you pulled back, pleasantly gasping for breath, you moved your arms from around his neck to his waist and hugged him tightly, burying your nose in his jacket. He moved his arms to hug you appropriately, fitting his chin over your head comfortably. Your smile dropped as you exhaled in his clothes, the harsh reality coming to slap you in the face.
“We should go back” the mere idea of the action filled you with dread. Sam hummed, reluctantly pulling back and entangling his fingers with yours. Kissing your forehead, he squared his shoulders and stored this memory in a safe vault in his mind as you bent to pick up the blunt you had thrown down. He shook his head, squared his shoulders and exhaled, feeling his responsibilities crashing on him again, knowing your moment was over, knowing the world needed the both of you, once again.
Forevers <3:
@deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @deanssweetheart23 @easelweasel @nostalgic-uncertainty @twentyoneredsocks @dancerwithapen @mogaruke @superseejay721517 @blackcherrywhiskey @super-nerd-atural @andi-winchester
#Sam x Reader#sam winchester x reader#Press Pause#sam x reader angst#sam winchester x reader angst#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#spn#spn fanfiction#sam winchester#dean winchester#s.w.#sw#s13 spoilers#spn spoilers
69 notes
·
View notes
Link
Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.
Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.
Chapter Summary: Being back in Crocus is different than Sting expects, but it's made easier when he runs into someone very familiar.
Chapters (14/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia
Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia (Fairy Tail)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales
Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing
-----
re·union | \ (ˌ)rē-ˈyün-yən
noun
: the act of being brought together again
.
xii
summer
age twenty-one
.
Uncle Wes offers to let Sting stay with him in Saint Portage. His room is exactly the same as he’d left it, bed made neatly and window open to let in the warm summer breeze. A lump swells in Sting’s throat as the memories wash over him and he sits down hard on the edge of the bed, running his fingers across the blanket.
“I wanted it to be here for you,” Uncle Wes says quietly, sitting down next to Sting. “Just in case.”
Lector hops up as well, meowing and rubbing his head against Sting’s arm until he scratches behind Lector’s ears. “I wanted to come home,” Sting whispers, trying to tamp down the guilt that swells in his chest. “So badly, but…”
He focuses on the feel of Lector’s fur under his fingertips and exhales, letting his mind skip over the memories instead of delving deep into them.
Just fuckin’ hit me.
I would never hurt you.
You should.
No. Never.
Continue reading on AO3
He thinks about apologizing again, but he knows words alone aren’t enough. Instead he digs in his pocket for the letter. It’s crumpled and stained from where he’d dropped it on the porch, but it’s still legible, and he hands it to Uncle Wes.
“I can’t stay here,” he says softly. “I’m trying to be better.”
Uncle Wes’ eyes widen as they scan the page, and by the time he reaches the bottom, his entire face has transformed into the warm, sunny smile that Sting remembers so well.
“You’re going to be amazing,” Uncle Wes says, eyes wet with tears.
“You don’t think…” Sting trails off, teeth worrying at his lower lip.
Uncle Wes shakes his head, setting the letter back down on the bed and taking both of Sting’s hands in his own. “You’re an incredible young man,” he says gently. “And you are nothing like your father.”
~
Being in Crocus is strange, and a little bit overwhelming.
Rufus, Sting’s new roommate, is quiet and kind, but he isn’t Natsu. They Facetime as much as possible, but once Sting starts his courses at the academy, they only get to talk once or twice a week.
Uncle Wes being back in his life is new, too. At first Sting wants to see him every day, to make up for all the time they’ve lost. But he’d nearly had a panic attack the second time they’d seen each other, and Sting’s new therapist had suggested reintegrating into each other’s lives a little slower.
After a month, Sting starts to think about drinking.
“I found a meeting here,” he tells Natsu on the phone that night. “It’ll be weird to go without you.” He sighs, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Little constellations of glow in the dark stars are stuck to the ceiling, and they bring back gentle memories of nights in the tree fort with Rogue, staring up at the stars.
“You can do it,” Natsu says, and Sting believes him.
The meeting is the same as every other one he’s been to. Even in a new city with new faces, nothing changes, and it’s comforting in a way. When he stands up and says, “I’m Sting and I’m an alcoholic,” everyone welcomes him warmly, and he feels the tension in his chest start to fade away.
It’s easier to say, now. The first few meetings in Danston, he’d refused to speak. Natsu had encouraged him, but he’d stayed hidden in the back, watching everyone else talk about their life while he tried to convince himself that he didn’t belong there.
He hadn’t wanted to admit that he’d turned out just like the person he hated most.
“I’ve been sober for just over two years,” Sting says, playing with the beads of the bracelet he holds between his fingers. It’s not a rosary – Natsu had called them mala beads, something monks used to help them focus and meditate. He had given them to Sting a week after he’d left the hospital, and Sting hasn’t taken them off since.
“I just moved back here,” he continues, glancing up at the group. The unfamiliar faces are overwhelming, but he forces himself to smile. “I had a lot of trauma here… shitty stuff with my family. It really messed me up, so I’m gonna be here a lot.”
The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur of new faces and other people’s stories. Usually Sting’s good at paying attention, good at connecting with people, but it’s hard to focus tonight.
He closes his eyes, breathing slowly as he runs the beads between his fingers and counts backward from fifty. Being back here is a good thing – he’s doing it for the right reasons. He’s a better man that his dad ever was, and he’s going to prove it.
The meeting is almost over when a very familiar voice starts to speak.
“I’m Gajeel, and, uh…” There’s a pause. “I’m an addict, I guess. This is my first meeting.”
Sting’s eyes snap open and he stares across the room at the man sitting with his elbows on his knees. His hair is longer, and he’s got more piercings than Sting remembers, but it’s definitely Gajeel.
Sting’s chest tightens as a million memories come flooding back to him – afternoons with Rogue watching Gajeel’s football games, Gajeel teasing the two of them when they stood in line for the newest Harry Potter book, Gajeel driving them to movies when he got his license.
Then Sting’s gaze slips past Gajeel to the man sitting beside him, and Sting stops breathing.
It’s Rogue.
Sting stares, eyes wide and heart pounding. Rogue’s hair is long, almost to the middle of his back, and it’s pulled back in a messy ponytail. He’s got his ears pierced, and his face is leaner now – he’s not a little boy anymore, and something in Sting’s chest splinters.
There’s something wrong with Abbey.
She’s gonna hate me.
I promised I wouldn’t tell.
Sting doesn’t realize he’s crying until the woman next to him touches his knee and hands him a tissue. He wipes at his face quickly, trying to breathe around the tightness in his chest. So many feelings are warring inside him right now – hope, anger, betrayal, regret. Love.
“Fuck,” he whispers, swallowing hard and pushing his chair back.
Rogue looks up at him.
Sting freezes, then realizes that Rogue’s already seen him and doesn’t recognize him. It’s not surprising – Sting looks nothing like eleven-year-old Abbey, but there’s a part of him that wishes Rogue could see past all that to his best friend.
Chairs start to scrape along the floor around Sting and he blinks, realizing the meeting is over. He stands up slowly, trying desperately to decide whether to run away or walk over.
Fuck it, he thinks. There’s been too much trauma and anger and regret in his life already, and if Rogue’s here, there’s no way Sting’s going to lose him again.
He walks over before he can change his mind, and when Rogue looks at him curiously, Sting reaches out and touches his arm.
“Hey,” he says, hand trembling against Rogue’s sweater. “I, uh…��
There’s nothing Sting can say to describe how he’s feeling. If this is a dream, he doesn’t want to wake up, but he’s pretty sure it’s real. Rogue is real. Rogue is here, alive and breathing and frowning as he searches Sting’s face.
“I’m sorry, do I—” Rogue freezes mid-sentence, eyes widening in realization. “Abbey?”
A silence hangs between them, heavy and uncertain, and then Rogue grabs Sting’s arms and pulls him into a hug.
“Holy shit,” Rogue whispers as he holds Sting tight against him, pressing his face into Sting’s shoulder. Sting can feel Rogue shaking, heart picking up as he starts to cry. “I never thought—fuck, I’m…” He leans back, reaching up and touching Sting’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean… I just—”
“It’s okay,” Sting says, tipping his face into Rogue’s hand. “It wasn’t your fault, none of it, and I wanted to—I didn’t get to say goodbye, I…”
Sting trails off, tears running down his cheeks and over their hands. Nothing else exists except this moment – the rest of the conversations around them are just dull, background noise to the heavy slamming of Sting’s heart.
“I missed you so much,” Rogue says, voice breaking as he runs his thumb across Sting’s cheek. He pulls Sting close, pressing their foreheads together, then kissing Sting’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I was so scared, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“I know,” Sting says, pulling Rogue close again and holding him tight. He can’t let go or the moment will end and he’s so scared that this isn’t real. “I know, and it wasn’t your fault.”
Rogue digs his fingers into Sting’s shoulders like he’s keeping him from floating away. Every time he starts to say something, the words dissolve into tears again, and neither of them can do anything but hold each other through wave after wave of emotions.
Eventually Gajeel coughs awkwardly next to them, and Sting reluctantly lets go of Rogue’s arms.
“Hey,” Sting says weakly. “It’s, uh… me. Abbey. Well, Sting, now. It’s been a while.” He wipes his cheeks and forces himself to make eye contact with Gajeel. There’s a familiar, haunted look behind Gajeel’s eyes, and before Sting can stop himself, he pulls Gajeel into a hug too. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” Gajeel says, voice rough and uncertain as he pats Sting back. “Same.”
The three of them stand there for a moment, then Gajeel gives Rogue a knowing look and nods toward the door. “I’m gonna get Jeff to gimme a ride home,” he says. “You two’ve got a lot to talk about.”
~
Sting grips Rogue’s hand tightly as they step out of the building and into the night. It’s warm and muggy, and the air smells like lilacs.
“C’mon,” Rogue says, tugging on Sting’s hand and nodding down the street.
The treehouse is still standing in Rogue’s parent’s backyard, and they sneak up into it together, shuffling awkwardly until they’re lying in the same place they did when they were little. Their legs are a little too long, but neither of them complain as Rogue pulls Sting close and kisses the top of his head.
It’s like Sting never left.
“Sting.” Rogue says his name curiously, testing out the sound. “I knew, y’know. I mean, I didn’t know what to call it—that it was thing, that you could be a boy, but I knew.”
“I know,” Sting says, resting his head against Rogue’s shoulder. He feels so surreal, like he’s existing simultaneously as a child and his adult self, and both of them are safe and warm and loved. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Rogue doesn’t say anything, just runs his fingers up and down Sting’s arm with a slow, purposeful tenderness that makes Sting feel so alive. There aren’t many stars above them – the lights pollute the sky and hide them, but Sting knows they’re there, dancing in constellations behind the fake city brightness.
“I tried to find you,” Rogue says. “It makes sense that I couldn’t – you changed your name. But mom and dad tried so hard. They went to the hospital – they’d called the police, they wanted to make sure you were okay, but nobody would tell them anything. All they’d say is that you were safe, and you were leaving.”
Sting sighs, closing his eyes and cuddling closer to Rogue. “It was bad,” he says softly. “I was angry for a long time—I thought that things would have been okay if you hadn’t told your parents, but it was really bad.” He flexes his fingers, thinking of the cast he’d worn for weeks. “He broke my arm.”
“Oh my god,” Rogue says, turning until he can pull Sting closer and wrap both arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t want to admit that he was hurting me,” Sting says, swallowing back tears. “But he…” Sting lets out a shaky breath. “He could have killed me. You saved my life.” He presses himself as close to Rogue as he can, shivering as a cool breeze tickles the hair on the back of his neck. “I just wanted him to love me.”
Rogue’s quiet for a minute. Then he whispers, “I love you.” The words sink into Sting, filling the cold, lonely places inside of him. “I always have.”
A warm glow flows through Sting, heating his cheeks and making him feel dizzy. He leans back, pushing himself up on his elbow and brushing a stray hair out of Rogue’s face with shaky fingers. This feels so right. All the broken pieces in Sting are shifting, putting themselves back together with each gentle touch. Rogue’s eyes shine in the dim light of the moon, filled with tears, and Sting knows, now, why he has to keep going. Why he has to be better, stay sober, keep trying.
“I love you, too,” he says again, then leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Rogue’s lips.
#fairy tail#ft fanfic#fairy tail fanfiction#stingue#sting eucliffe#rogue cheney#angst#hurt/comfort#it's getting happy now#rogue's in this chapter finally!#new chapter#update#my fic
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
My 2016 - videogames played
In 2016, I kept a record of what media I consumed, with a short record of my thoughts about some of them (one or two sentences only).
This is every videogame I played for longer than 30 minutes, and some of the games I spent less than that with.
This is part five of my 2016 retrospective. The other parts:
games I made
books I read
podcasts I listened to
films/TV I watched
videogames I played
boardgames I played
January
Imbroglio (beta)
Ushered in the new year by playing this until 4am.
Patchmania
Cute presentation but I'm never going to sit through hundreds of easy levels to get to the interesting ones.
Kaodoku
Just as mind-numbing as normal Sodoku, and that's not a compliment.
Streamline (beta)
Initially seems samey but there's a nice combination of mechanics here.
Land Sliders
Nice UI, but unexciting game.
Divide By Sheep
Seems like a puzzle game that doesn't take forever to get interesting?! Shame about the linear level structure and inability to queue moves up, but overall this was really enjoyable.
Go To Gold 2
The puzzles themselves seem like decent Sokoban-with-pressure-plates levels. But the controls are really bad, which exacerbates the tediousness of Sokoban.
Inch By Inch
Nice idea, but the controls give no feedback for when you can move, which feels awful. Also a very ungenerous F2P lives system.
Does Not Commute
Fun and full of flavour.
Luminare
Surprisingly interesting for a short while, but quickly becomes samey.
Churchill Solitaire
It's solitaire.
The Witness
It's a shame that the most impressive part of this game is not also the most interesting. Overall I had a good time with this game, but towards the end my feelings soured somewhat.
February
CLARC [first three levels]
Nice graphics but terrible writing and I don't have confidence that the puzzles will get interesting.
These Robotic Hearts of Mine [my own game]
The damning problem with this is that finding optimal solutions is so encouraged, but largely uninteresting and a waste of time. If you ignore that part it might be okay as a storygame though?
At Dawn, Pistols
Now that I think about it, I realise that the turnips/pumpkin controller doesn't fit the framing of this game at all.
Worlds Fastest Pizza
Did a good job of making me not sure how much stuff there is to do.
The Greatest Voice of All
A well-scoped jam game. Has some niggles, but overall it's fun.
DANCE DOOM
Without strafing, this is really awkward. Entertaining to watch though.
Snow Cones
Ridiculously cute.
Killing Time at Lightspeed
Great concept! Not much resolution at the end though.
Skorpulac
Ugh, it has a lives system :(
Swing Copters 2
I played for 15 minutes and didn't score higher than 1.
Arrowance
Fairly standard play-indefinitely-to-score-higher game. Doesn't seem to get any harder over time.
Induction (beta)
Smart time travel puzzle game! Sometimes hard to reason about, but worth playing.
Tomb of the Mask
This would be great if it didn't have a permanent global points multiplier that makes scores meaningless.
PUSER TOH
Nice idea.
March
Rust Bucket
New levels introduce some interesting enemy types but could do with more checkpoints. Roguelike mode seems mostly unchanged in the early stages, which is maybe a shame.
Blackbox: think outside the box
Seemed like an okay implementation of the "every puzzle is a different system to work out" thing, but I never felt compelled to go back to it after a very brief play.
Tacoma (beta)
Main takeaway: it's cool to watch conversations split/rejoin. I've not played either, but it felt very much in the vein of Gone Home/Firewatch.
20something
Hard to tell how close the fiction is to being autobiography, but it doesn't really matter. The end result is something that feels very real.
Unnamed Pokemon-like game from unnamed team (preview)
Lotsa numbers, not really my thing.
Discharge
Looks great for a jam game. Level design wasn't great at teaching what you're trying to do a lot of the time though.
BBTAN
I played this for about 10 seconds before putting it down in disgust.
Semispheres (preview)
Metareal (preview)
PSHNGGG!
This is really great but I uncontrollably grip the controller so hard that it's physically painful to play more than a few games in a row. This is the only game that has caused this problem, and I think is a sign of how engaging it is.
Knittens
Armed and gelatinous
Lazy Village
Planetary capacity
It's spring again
Wibble wobble
Orchids to dust
Lumini
Very pleasant.
Please stand by
So dumb and so entertaining.
Hello, operator!
Linelight
Octobo
Rotator
Planet licker
Palimseste
Threadsteading
A strategy game played on an embroidery machine, in theory about claiming tiles but in practice more about denying them to your opponent. One of my best GDC anecdotes was the cliffhanger when the machine ran out of thread in the middle of sewing the scores.
Disc jockey jockey
Wiz
Dobotone
Von Neumann personality test
Mr Heart Loves You Very Much
Nice mechanic.
Redder
Good level design, a solid exploration of toggle switches and one-way systems.
Decodoku
West of Loathing (beta)
Journey of 1000 stars
Dungeon of the Endless
Seemed to be easing me into it gently, up until I tried to move on to level 2 and got massacred on the journey there. Not my kind of thing.
Abzorb
I want it to control like Helix, and the fact that it doesn't apparently makes this kinda unplayable for me.
Two Interviewees
Not very subtle, but that helps get its message across I guess.
April
Mario Kart 64
I haven't really enjoyed dipping into any of the more recent Mario Karts, but this was enjoyable enough. One big difference is that less focus on drifting makes for a much more accessible game.
forget-me-not
I gather from hearsay that playing well is all about grinding, but I found that kinda awkward with touch controls.
No Pineapple Left Behind
Say When
DivCircle
Dolfin Trash
Four Horsemen
Get Lost!
Telefrag
Niña Nueve
Some "wait around for something to move slowly to the right place" tedium, but otherwise fairly stylish.
Pretender to the Crown
Lots of puzzles! And nice graphical touches
Clickmazes BoxUp
Nice idea, but maybe a bit too prone to "just do the only thing that doesn't make things unsolvable" syndrome.
Net
I wouldn't want to do a larger size, but with edge-wrap even a 5x5 grid is surprisingly challenging.
Isles of Color
Nice concept but ends up being more focused on backtracking than hard puzzles. Worth looking at as an example of exploring the intersection of mechanics.
Craequ
I guess I can't ever relive the experience of playing it for the first time. Still neat, but short; I can't help but wish for harder puzzles.
Helix
This game is crack to me. Everything about it just feels right.
Mammoth Monkey Mole
Levels are too big, controls are too awkward.
Slayaway Camp (beta)
Lovely theming of an otherwise not particularly novel game, but then it ruins it with "tap the grave for coins". Hopefully that'll be removed for the actual release.
PRISM
Feels a bit like a more abstract/geometrical The Room. Satisfying, but not very challenging so far.
PROMESST
Would be much more comfortable with a better map. When the midpoint hits, it hits hard and intimidatingly; I don't think I got much past that point the first time I played either.
Wobble Yoga
Nice QWOP-like, though the shape detection could have been better.
shapeshit
Really hard! That shape in the top left really doesn't want to be hit.
Stephen's Sausage Roll
Even the tutorial area would be a great game on its own, and then it just keeps asking more and more and more of you.
Hanano Puzzle
The less-well-known fiendishly hard game from the creator of Jelly No Puzzle. After a rough first level it's not so bad so far though (up to level 25).
Jelly No Puzzle
Also not that bad!
Fish Fillets NG
I just bounce straight off this level design: too-big levels, too-fiddly object shuffling. I remember trying it before but I'm not any more likely to stick with it second time round.
Chairs
This is based on some chemistry principle but it didn't succeed in teaching me anything.
Tripad
Anamorphine
Sec9
100ft Robot Golf
Loud on Planet X
Ape Out
Bound
Swing Star VR
Not Everything is Flammable
Yesteryear
Marble Madness 2
May
Budget Cuts
Only having one checkpoint felt punishing but it probably wouldn't have been that bad if I was playing in a home context. Really nice UI.
Robot Heist
Nice ending.
Quick drop
Block swap
Cupkins
Balloon buoyancy
Sky rogue
Uh oh love comes to town
Hue
Windowframe
One of the best puzzle platformer twists that's happened for a long while. Shame it has to use fake windows though, and I'm way more into the puzzley side than the action side.
ᗢ
Cute! 1.5 years after playing I'll hear from the creator that some of my games inspired it, which is cool.
SHRUBNAUT
Cavern of Flight
Some people will go "nope nope nope" because of the enemies, but they're pretty well done. I didn't get far due to the unforgiving time-pressure platforming.
There is no game
I've played this before, but it's really well done.
June
A Rose for Icy Heart
The Maître D'
This is fantastic themeing, good art and sounds, pretty solid work for a jam. Unfortunately it's let down by level design, there's too many levels and they're all kinda samey.
Size Matters
Not sure how far I got, I bounced off an execution challenge level that felt way too finnicky.
Morphblade
Experiment 26
Incredibly disjointed, it gets slightly less so towards the end but probably not enough so for me to recommend. I think it could have done with more application of "yes and".
Time machine VR [first two missions]
underwhelming to be promised time travel but then get the second mission be indistinguishable from the first
Lands end [first two chapters]
soothing, not hard but I didn't really mind
Audioshield
Does what you want it to.
The Lab
The robot repair demo was significantly shorter than I was expecting.
pico park
Quasi
Dark Souls
I think this caused longterm damage to my hands, and yet I can't entirely regret my time with it.
July
The Temple of No
Leap Day
One Last Cup (preview)
Ridiculously ambitious.
39 Days to Mars (preview)
Modulus
August
Duck Roll
Decent mechanics, but the difficulty curve is basically flat and it has a move counter :( Touchscreen controls aren't great either, but I still played most of the way through.
Overcooked
Puzzlepops
Good thinky puzzle game.
Spaceplan
First idle game I've played in ages, probably the last in a while too but it was fun enough. Nice aesthetic design.
Pole riders
Vacuum
Really neat interconnected-world puzzle game! Lovely theming and attention to detail.
September
Fathom
4fourths
Multibowl
Super hexagon
Samurai gunn
Wibble wobble
October
Game Title
A nice interconnected puzzle.
Life is Strange
Lows: some time travel inconsistencies, not being able to rewind to mid-conversation, some really tedious filler content. Highs: overall good pacing and cliffhangers, good characters, I'm glad I got around to playing it.
Circles (beta)
Shadow Bug Rush
Not my kind of thing.
Really Bad Chess
I wish this didn't take so long to calculate AI moves, it makes it kinda unplayable on my old iPad.
Mallow Drops (beta)
Too samey for my tastes
Game Title: Lost Levels
Really neat interconnected puzzle about exploiting glitches.
The Trials
Short and simple puzzle game.
Disorient on the murder express
Redirection
Four floors of doors (preview)
Snake pass (preview)
Mordheim
Sure footing
November
So Broken
min!
Not my kind of thing.
Spider's Hollow
Solid PuzzleScript game.
Integer Snake
Not my kind of thing.
Knot Fun
Nice enough idea, not much there though.
Sara Is Missing
December
Lara Croft GO
Prettier than Hitman GO, and thankfully gets rid of "do it in x moves" challenges. Not as hard as I'd like, but enjoyable enough to keep playing.
WitchWay (beta)
Cute, neat, wish the secrets were more puzzley though.
Blocky XMAS
Decent version of the "Sokoban + things stick together" genre
Rose
Induction (beta)
Klocki
Slooooow start which was very tedious, but gets more interesting.
Nest (watched)
I can't tell if there's something I'm missing or if it's really just asking you to do what it seems like it's asking you to do.
The Last Guardian (watched)
Blarp!
Xortex
Firewatch (watched)
Beautiful world, but plot didn't really come together for me.
Boats Cars & Trains
Noleap
Hanano Puzzle 2
Good set of levels for a game I already liked.
Tiny Heist
Really solid stealth roguelike. Happily rung in the new year while playing it.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
adas-trashheap
trashy fanart :)
blackladisdestrcz
My personal mix
apelcat
aokolad shlenka
undeademoprincess
Queens & Dragons
qiyan-agula
"Not to me. Not if it's you."