#also i hadn’t heard it had ended!!! rip you beautiful monster
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every single word of this feels like it was pulled out of a bingo machine
#also i hadn’t heard it had ended!!! rip you beautiful monster#if anyone’s capable of explaining this to me PLEASE do so i am fascinated#riverdale
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Another Love
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!reader
Summary: You meet Wanda at a grief group, as she’s struggling to heal after Vision’s death. Will you help her heal? Will your friendship grow into something more?
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: grief
Theme: Angst, Fluff
A/N: I have been working on this one all day, and I think it’s alright! It’s my first oneshot on this account, so please go easy on me! I hope you enjoy!
(Shoutout to @theloveclub-18 for the idea! I super appreciate it!)
“Thank you all for being so open this evening. I hope to see you all next week. Let the healing continue.”
As various people mumbled back “let the healing continue,” Wanda fought the urge to roll her eyes.
It had been six months since Vision’s death, and four months since she had started attending a grief group recommended by Bucky. She had tried to insist to him that it was useless but he begged her to try it out. Now, here she was, four months later, still feeling as broken as she had the day she watched the love of her life be killed. Twice. One might ask why she continued to attend the sessions weekly when she felt she hadn’t made any progress. Why had she spent 16 of her Wednesday nights at a grief group when she felt it was pointless? The answer is simple: the food.
The session always had a table full of freshly baked goods from Sugar, Butter, Flour, a bakery just down the road from the community center holding the sessions. Every week, Wanda would sit through listening to people talk about their heartbreak, and, when pushed to confront her own trauma, reluctantly share just enough to satisfy the facilitator. And she did it all just to have a few moments of sheer joy, letting whatever delicious creation the bakery had provided that week wash over her taste buds and temporarily take her away from this cruel world that had ripped her love from her.
Wanda grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the table full of goodies. She had been running late today, so she didn’t get a chance to grab anything before the session, leaving her options limited. There was only one cookie left, but as she reached for it, her hand brushed against someone else’s, causing her to pull her hand back quickly.
“I’m sorry-”
“No it’s fine, I shouldn’t have-”
“Please it’s all yours-”
You cleared your throat and shot her a sheepish smile before extending your hand to her.
“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”
Wanda looks at your hand skeptically and you awkwardly retract it when you realize she won’t be shaking it.
“I’m Wanda,” she says hesitantly, her eyes flashing to the cookie, and then the exit.
You tried again. “So you like the cookies here too?”
She meets your Y/E/C eyes impatiently before sighing.
“Yeah, I’ll just grab one next week, though, I really gotta go,” she says, starting towards the exit.
You watch her leave, intrigued by the girl, before you snap back to reality.
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Wanda is almost to her car when she hears footsteps behind her and quickly turns around, her eyes glowing red.
You stare at her, wide-eyed, the remaining cookie in your hand.
“Shit, Wanda, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I just wanted to give you this.”
Wanda sighs, her eyes returning to their normal color. She pinches the bridge of her nose. Remorse fills her face. Her grief had caused her to be angrier than usual, leading to her powers flaring up accidentally. And now she had frightened this woman who was just trying to give her a damn cookie.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. Thank you for the cookie. I promise I’m not always scary I just, I-”
You stopped her. “Hey, it’s fine. If I heard someone running at me in a parking lot in the middle of the night, I would be on edge too. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. Plus, you’re...well...here,” you paused, gesturing to the community center the two of you had just come from, before continuing, “so I think it’s safe to assume you aren’t having the best time. I get it. If there’s any way I can help, please let me know.”
Wanda was at a loss for words. She had nearly struck you with her powers and here you were, looking at her with a gentle smile and no fear on your face whatsoever.
After a few minutes of silence, you awkwardly placed the napkin-wrapped cookie on the hood of her car, before stepping back and smiling at her yet again.
“I’ll see you next week, Wanda. Have a good night,” you say, waving at her before you walk out of the parking lot and down the block.
*****************************************************************************************************
Only, you didn’t see her in Group the following week.
After leaving the community center, you were about to head down the block when you noticed her car in the parking lot, with her in it. You gently approached her car, tapping on the window quietly in an attempt to not startle her.
She looked up at you with puffy, red-rimmed eyes, before rolling down her window.
“May I help you?”
Her tone was much harsher than she intended, and she winced at it, but you merely smiled at her, unaffected, before digging through your bag and pulling out a tupperware container of chocolate chip cookies.
“They had leftovers tonight, you want some?”
And you had shocked Wanda yet again.
“Sure.”
You reached forward to hand the cookies to her through the window when Wanda decided to take a leap of faith.
“You can come sit in here and share them with me, I wouldn’t mind some company,” She says quietly before adding, “I’ll warn you, though, I’m a bit of a trainwreck right now.”
You laughed softly before opening the door to the passenger side of her car and sliding in. You looked at her with soft eyes.
“Trainwrecks unite.”
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Wanda told you everything that night. She told you about Vision, about her love for him, and his for her. About how he was the first since her brother died to look at her like a person, and not a monster. She told you all about the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the desperate need for it to end.
And you listened. You watched her intently the whole time. You held her hand comfortingly as her body wracked with sobs. You were there. And that night, you didn’t know why, but you made a promise to always be there for the beautiful redhead with the lost hope.
That night was the first time since Vision’s death that Wanda slept soundly through the night. No nightmares. No suffering.
It had been three months since that night. Since then, it became a habit for the two of you to spend Wednesday nights following group sessions in her car, chatting about anything and everything. And Wanda had to admit, she was okay. For the first time since Vision’s death, she didn’t wish she could join him. She didn’t want to stay isolated in her room. She wanted to live. She wanted to show people the kindness you’d shown her. She woke every Wednesday with a smile, and you on her mind.
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This Wednesday, you appeared nervous as you got into the passenger side of Wanda’s car.
Wanda noticed this right off the bat.
“Y/N, are you okay?”
You start fidgeting with your fingers and look down at your lap as you respond.
“Yeah, I just...I have to tell you something. Promise you won’t get mad.”
Wanda looks at you with a gentle smile.
“Y/N, you’re my best friend, I could never get mad at you. What is it?”
You took a deep breath and looked up at Wanda, before asking the question.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Wanda’s eyes widened and she froze.
You tried to dig yourself out of the hole.
“Nevermind, forget I said anything, I never should’ve-”
“No.” Wanda said quietly.
“What?”
“No. I can’t. God, I could never love you.”
You felt your heart shatter in your chest.
Wanda quickly realized the weight of her words, and tried to fix them, “Y/N, no, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I-”
“It’s fine, Wanda. I have to go.”
With that, you scrambled out of the car and walked out of the parking lot and down the block, with tears streaming down your face, and your heart broken.
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Wanda couldn’t believe she had said that. The truth is, she didn’t know if she had room in her heart for more than one love. She had loved Vision. He was everything to her. Could she also love you?
For the rest of the week, Wanda was beyond conflicted. She knew she had to apologize to you, but she didn’t want to do so until she had sorted out her own feelings. You deserved a solid answer.
It was Tuesday night. She would see you again tomorrow. And she still didn’t know. She tossed and turned that night for hours before she finally fell asleep, you and Vision occupying her mind, per usual.
She was in a field of flowers. It was beautiful. She thought about how she might like to show it to you. And then she heard someone. Someone she thought she would never hear from or see again.
“Wanda, darling.”
“Vision?” She spun around, and there he was, smiling at her.
“It’s okay, you know,” He said. Wanda was confused. He continued, “The feelings that you’re feeling. For her. It’s okay.”
She laughed, “You always did know me better than I knew myself.”
Vision smiled softly at her.
“Vision, I love you. I love you so much. I can’t let you go.”
“Wanda, no one is asking you to. You can move on without letting my memory slip away from you.”
Wanda nods softly, thinking intently about what he said.
“Tell me about her,” he encourages.
Wanda smiles.
“She’s so gentle. And so stubborn. I almost hurt her when we first met but she didn’t cower. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t look at me like a monster. She made me laugh for the first time since you...you know. She fidgets with her fingers when she’s nervous. She does this adorable head tilt when she’s listening intently. She’s patient. She’s kind. She’s...she’s everything,” Wanda realizes, awestruck.
Vision approaches her.
“You love her.”
She looks at him, concerned. “Is that okay?”
He merely smiles. “Darling, of course it’s okay. She sounds wonderful. You deserve her. You deserve love, even if it isn’t with me. You deserve happiness.”
Wanda grabs his hands. “Thank you, Vision. For your love. I think it will always be a part of me. But I’m ready to move on. I love her. I’m ready.”
Vision squeezes her hands gently. “That you are, Wanda. I’ll always love you. Now go. Go to her.”
*****************************************************************************************************
Wanda shot up, breathing deeply. This time, she only had one person on her mind: you. “I love her,” she whispers softly to herself. She smiles, but it quickly fades when she remembers the words she said to you last week. She had to make this right.
*****************************************************************************************************
She arrived at Group early, noticing with a frown that the snack table was empty. She knew she would need some baked goods to give her the courage to approach you, so she approached the facilitator, Mindy, and cleared her throat to get Mindy’s attention.
“Um, hello, ma’am, I was just wondering where the goodies are? They’re usually here by now,” she said.
Mindy smiled at the girl. “I’m sorry, dear, but there won’t be any baked goods today. Y/N called me earlier, and told me she wouldn’t be able to make it.”
“Y/N? What does she have to do with-” Wanda pauses. Holy shit. You were the owner of Sugar, Butter, Flour. You had been the one making the goodies that fueled her to keep attending the group. You had been the provider of her temporary escape from the world. You did that. It truly was always you. She had to find you.
“Are you alright, dear?” Mindy asked.
Wanda shook her head. “No, there’s something I need to do. Thank you for your help, ma’am.” And with that, she sprinted out the door, got into her car, and pulled out of the parking lot.
*****************************************************************************************************
Wanda didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she had to find you. And then it started raining. No, not just raining. Pouring. This made it incredibly hard for Wanda to see where she was going, but she was determined.
As she drove, she realized something. She had told you everything about herself. You had listened, asked questions. But she never once asked about you. Hell, she didn’t even know you baked for a living until 15 minutes ago. She didn’t even know why you attended the grief group.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize she had driven all the way to the park at the edge of town, until she saw you. You were sitting on a bench, in the pouring rain, sobbing and shaking. Her heart broke at the sight. She quietly got out of her car.
“Y/N?” She called your name softly, approaching you with caution.
Your head snapped up.
“Wanda?”
She smiled weakly at you, and suddenly your eyes filled with more tears as you began to shake again.
“I tried to go to Group and act like everything was normal, I really tried, Wanda, but I just couldn’t, I’m sorry, I’m so-”
Wanda rushed over to you, engulfing you in a hug, holding you tightly as you sobbed.
“It’s okay, malyshka, it’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. Breathe, sweet girl. I’m here. I’m right here, I promise.”
She continued to hold you and speak comforting words to you for what felt like hours, until your sobs eventually died down, and you pulled away, sniffling. You looked up at the sky as if just remembering it was pouring, before standing up from the bench.
“Sorry about that. We should probably go inside, it’s pouring, and I don’t want you to-”
“I love you,” Wanda blurted out, leaving you speechless. She stood up and took your hands, mentally breathing a sigh of relief when you don't pull away. “I’m in love with you. I’m so sorry for not admitting it to myself, or you, sooner. Me saying that I could never love you? That was the grief speaking. I shouldn’t have let it control me like that. And I’m done. I’m done letting it control me. The truth is, anyone would be lucky to love you. And I do. I love you. I love your smile, I love your kind heart. I love your baked treats, which, by the way, I just learned were yours about an hour ago,” She says, and you let out a wet laugh. “I shouldn’t have said those things,” She continued, “It was wrong. I’m in love with you. And I understand if you don’t want to give me a second chance, because-”
You cut her off by smashing your lips against hers, and without hesitation, she kissed back, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. The two of you only pulled away when you let out a violent shiver because of the rain. She looked at you concerned, but you merely laughed, pulling her in for another kiss.
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“Detka, I’m home!” Wanda called out, wondering where you were. Her questions were answered when a delicious smell hit her. She walked into the kitchen and smiled adoringly at you. You were moving around the kitchen, flour in your hair, and batter all over your clothes, completely in your own little world.
“Detka,” Wanda tries again, and you spin around, holding a spatula out in front of you as a form of defense.
“Shit, Wanda, sorry, you scared me!” You said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“My how the tables have turned,” she says teasingly, before removing the spatula from your hand and licking it.
“Wanda,” you pouted, “I was using that! Now I have to wash it!”
Wanda kissed the pout off of your face, before smiling at you triumphantly at doing so.
“Or, you could stop baking for the night and come cuddle with me and watch Bewitched,” she suggested, giving you those adorable puppy dog eyes.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “You know I can’t resist that face. Okay. Give me 10 minutes to get showered and then I’ll join you on the couch.”
“I’ll be counting!” She called as you made your way to the bathroom.
It had been 5 years since that night in the rain, and as she sat down on the couch, gazing down at the wedding band that adorned her left hand, she still couldn’t believe how she had gotten so lucky to find another love. You were beautiful, kind, and patient, and she loved you with every ounce of her heart.
“What are you thinking about, pretty girl?” You asked with a smile, before settling down next to her on the couch and curling into her side.
“You. It’s always you,” she replied, kissing your temple.
You smile lovingly at her. “I love you, Wanda.”
“And I love you, beautiful girl.”
And as the two of you sat there, snuggled up, and watched Bewitched, both of you were so grateful that Wanda had made room for another love.
#wanda maximoff x fem reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff x reader#marvel imagine#marvel one shot#wanda maximoff#wanda#wanda x reader#wanda x y/n#wanda imagine#marvel#wandavision#angst#fluff#wanda maximoff fluff#wanda maximoff angst
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A Failed Betrothal (4)
Am I doing this right? I mostly do write this when I am between the state of sleep and awareness. Hope you enjoy this.
[Masterlist]
(Part 1) (Part 3)
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PART 4
Marinette came to a dungeon cell with two other prisoners. One of them was awake and he looked vaguely familiar. The other had an ugly red helmet that didn’t help with the headache she had.
“Do you know where we are?” She asked the handsome stranger with beautiful green eyes, her throat a little dry.
Wait. Handsome?
No bad Marinette. Don’t fall for fellow prisoners, no matter how cute he looks. Oh Kwamis, she was already screwed.
He still hadn’t replied. Maybe he didn’t understand French. She tried to ask again in another language before her enhanced hearing picked up the sound of footsteps. She faked unconsciousness. Later, she heard the iron door open. She looked through the tiniest slits of her eyes she could muster while the two held a staring/glaring match. Oh shit, that’s the fame Talia Al Ghul, daughter of Ra’s, head of the League of Shadows, and the boy she was glaring at had some resemblance to her, so he must be her son, Dennis? Daniel? Damon?
"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."
Ohh..Damian. Where had she heard that name before?
"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"
Ouch, that hurts. Well, Damian, just because I forgot your name does not mean you can call me a little girl. I can also kill you very easily and painfully.
“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”
“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Red Helmet, Jason, is officially not going on her hit list for his atrocious fashion choices. But that red monstrosity still needs to go.
"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."
Marinette felt her hair being yanked. A little pain was expected but the really sharp claws digging into her scalp was not. Making her cry and tear up.
”I am so sorry, kit.” Plagg whispered in the kwami language, loosening his claws.
"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Damian growled out.
Geez, thanks for the compliment, it’s not like you ever had a tiny cat dig its claws into your scalp out of surprise. (Damian once had a kitten thrown at his head and if he knew about Plagg, he would have been sympathetic.) Marinette started begging for mercy, hoping they would buy the helpless girl out of the suit that is ill-suited for the job she had been chosen for and had no idea on how to escape.
“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.”
Oh kwamis, what did she ever do to have such a picky groom? The more he insults her, the less she wants to be married to him.
"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection."
Great, another reason to stop her mother from killing a senile old man.
"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."
So that’s where she heard it from. The boy was the son of the daughter of a guy who leads a secret order of assassins and a man that owns a multi-million business. How even did a billionaire meet an assassin, ends up in bed with her and lives? Something to think about for later. She quieted down her sobs, (beat that acting, Rossi) kept her voice low to hatch out a plan with Plagg in the kwami language while the mother-son duo bickered.
“Hey, Plagg before you go, you think I can do that thing, the one which your one of your past holders from Japan can do.”
“You have a lot of potential for destruction but you have not used the ring for a long time yet so I am not sure.”
“I will give it a go anyways. Nothing to lose after all. See you later, Plagg.” Marinette smiled, one that drove fear into the hearts of even the bravest of people. Plagg returned it, already loving the new Guardian before zipping out of the cell to do some scouting. Using the enhanced strength the French superheroine got from prolonged use of the Miraculous, she yanked the chains of the walls and wrapped them around Talia’s neck, cutting off her air supply.
The League of Assassins thought that they could kidnap her and get away with it. But they were no match for the daughter of Sabine Cheng, the deadly Blue Reaper. A high ranking member from the group of assassins and mercenaries called the Guild of Night, who had semi-retired. Kidnapping her was a bad move to make as it meant they had declared war on the Guild, despite the reason behind her abduction having a completely different intention.
She whispered as such to the older woman in her tight grip, making sure the League would know how much they had fucked up. After dropping the limp body, she took a deep breath and tried channeling some of her energy for what she was about to do.
Well, here goes nothing.
She breathed out on the shackles, turning it to rust.
Success!
She introduced herself as Lady and concentrated the energy from before into her hand, forming inky black orbs of destruction in order to free her fellow captives. She felt a little drained from doing magic out of the suit and tried not to show it. Plagg returned, informing her of where the Ra’s and the Pits were. She grinned at the thought of showing old Ra’s who the boss is and made sure he regretted ever messing with her. She explained about Plagg as vaguely as she can, no need to let anyone know about the miraculous than necessary. Sure her plan sounds insane but the boys don’t know who they were with.
She would worry about that curse after she got out of Nanda Parbat. Although she could probably find something in the grimoire to reverse it, she was still an amateur at magic so it was best to have a professional to take care of it. Marinette didn’t want to be with such an asshole, no matter how striking he looks in those regal robes.
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Picking off the League assassins, one by one was easy especially in her transformed state. She hadn’t appraised her suit properly but from what she had seen, it wasn’t like Chat Noir’s leather get-up. She was armoured in vital areas and her colour scheme was mainly black with green accents. There were vials that were probably poisons and pouches which she decided to look at later. She still had a long braid as a tail from her brief stint as Lady Noire and she wondered why her suit was different. While hiding in a niche she found, she called the bakery via the comm in one of her various pouches.
“Hello?”
“Papa, it’s me, Marinette. Do you know where Maman is?”
“She went out of Paris, talking about how this League must pay. I think she is meeting up with several of her old friends. Are you alright, my little blossom? I know you can take care of yourself but I worry.” The relief in Tom’s voice was palpable. However, she was right and the Guild was going to war against the League. Marinette was adored by nearly everyone in the Guild due to her strangely bubbly and cheery personality in the harsh and brutal lifestyle.
“I am fine, Papa. Did Maman use the Horse to leave? And how are my friends?” She knew they might be in a panic after her disappearance.
“I think she did. I didn’t see Kalki when I went to feed the kwamis. Your friends panicked when they found out you were kidnapped. But they are fine now, mostly worried about you. Took care of some akumas and senti monsters by themselves. I think your fencer friend, Kagami, knows more about the League than she lets on.” Of course, she does. Her mother was a member of the Guild before being blinded due to a mission. Kagami and her actually first met during a reunion party of sorts.
“Thank you, Papa. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She hung up and dialed the personal phone number her mother uses that only Marinette and her father knows about. She waited for the call to connect, trying to think of ways to stop her mother from storming into the League’s base of operation.
“Maman, it’s me. I know you want to attack the League right this minute. But I have a better plan. Can you get Tikki’s earrings from Alix? We can use them and the ring to destroy the Lazarus Pits. Make them really angry.” She peeked out of the niche she was hiding in. She had been there for a while and needed to move to gain some grounds.
“Where are you? And are you okay?” Panic and worry filled her usually composed mother’s voice.
“I am somewhere in Nanda Parbat and I am fine. I was nearly married off to Talia’s son but I am not now. I think.” Marinette replied. Better to rip that band-aid off before she showed up with her would-have-been-husband. She jumped out of the niche and looked
“Kalki, Full Gallop. Okay, we will talk about the ‘nearly married’ part later. What was this plan to destroy the Lazarus Pits?” Sabine thought she was already used to Marinette’s brand of craziness that was her normal but apparently, not.
“I am currently on my way there. Plagg said we need Tikki to get rid of them. Since the League pissed me off and by extension you and the rest of the Guild, I thought our first move against them is to destroy the Pits and a trail of bodies. By the way, can you get some cheese for Plagg?” Marinette ran through the halls, knocking out some poor sod with a whack on the head.
Silence. She thought Sabine had hung up when-
“Voyage. Alix, where are you? We need Tikki for one of Marinette’s insane plans. And Marinette, stay safe, sweety, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”
“Bye, Maman. See you there.”
Marinette turned another corner, the last one before the path that leads to the entrance where the Lazarus Pits were. She only managed to find it with Plagg’s voice in her head, whispering directions and Tikki’s luck. Unfortunately, the luck ran out because the entrance had a lot of guards who had spotted her.
Crap.
She hoped her mother would get here soon. Thankfully, being transformed gave her a boost and would help her to hold her ground for a while.
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Damian and Red Hood followed the trail of unconscious bodies and sounds of fights, trying to find Lady. Damian was impressed at the level of her skills to defeat many of the League’s assassins although he could probably do better. They relied on his memory to find the Lazarus Pits which was their best bet to finding her as she claimed to be able to destroy them. If Lady possessed such powers, they must find out whether she is a threat to the world or not. And also break the infernal curse they have.
Red Hood was silent mostly. He made a few jabs about how kick ass his ‘bride’ was and how the current Robin should not let her get away. Damian tried really hard not to just maim his adopted brother and also ignore that little fluttering in his chest that happened every time they saw an unconscious assassin left behind by Lady. The sounds of fighting got louder as they got nearer to the entrance. They turned the final corner to see Lady fighting against the guards who outnumbered her. But she seemed to be doing fine against them. Mostly.
One had slipped through her defenses and nearly stabbed her in the back if it weren’t for Damian grabbing one of Red Hood’s guns and shooting a rubber bullet to the neck. He jumped into the fight, grabbing the fallen assassin’s sword and taking out the knife he got from his mother. Jason joined in too, not going to let the two teens have all the fun.
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“Thanks for the save, Al Ghul but I don’t know why you bothered when me being dead would solve your curse problem.” Lady said as the guards laid around them and they tried to catch their breath.
“It’s Wayne. I go by Wayne these days. Being an Al Ghul is not something I learned to be proud of. And as much as I don’t want this curse, your death is not worth that price.” he replied, “Although, I have to wonder why you would choose to die rather than live.”
She chuckled, “Okay, Wayne, to answer your question. Petty teenage drama makes death much more preferable. On top of that, I have responsibilities that I was practically forced into for doing one little act of kindness.” Her tone was joking but there was a touch of bitterness in it. It made Damian want to find out what caused it. Red Hood looked at her in concern. Lady went down the stairs, ignoring their reactions to her words. They followed her, not wanting to lose sight of her again.
The Lazarus Pits emitted a green glow that lit up the cave and cast strange shadows on the walls. At the edge of the glowing toxic green waters was a woman in dark blue clothing and strangely enough wearing sunglasses. Strapped to her sides were two Dao, ancient Chinese swords. She wore a vindictive expression on her face as she stood staring at the green lake, likely to kill anyone who gets in her way. Damian didn’t recognize the woman as part of the League but taking no chances, he got into a fighting stance and Hood did the same. Lady calmly approached the woman. He reached out to grab her to stop her suicidal nature when she shocked him by speaking to the blue-clad assassin in French,
“Hey, Maman, sorry I am late. I had a little trouble with the guards upstairs. You have Tikki?”
Lady’s mother rushed to hug her, “灵儿 (líng er), I am just glad you are alright. I knew you could handle yourself.”
How the hell did Lady’s mother get to the Lazarus Pits faster than them and snuck past several vigilant guards? Before Damian could question further, a red blur appeared and went to Lady’s face, hugging her cheek. It appeared to be the same size as Plagg but was red, looked like a bug and had a black dot on its forehead.
“Oh, Marinette, you are alright. I was so worried when your mother showed up, saying you were kidnapped and needed my earrings to escape.” Unlike Plagg’s nasally voice, her voice was sweet and shrill.
So, my bride’s name is Marinette. Such a unique name for an intriguing girl.
Wait what?
Wayne, stop thinking such ridiculous notions. That is probably the curse working. Resist against it. He will not be ensnared in the traps of such magic. He hoped that the curse will be reversed before he turns and act like those fools in Grayson’s idiotic shows or Todd’s ‘secret’ romance novels.
“I am fine now. See,” reassured Lady, “We actually need you and Plagg to reverse the Lazarus Pits to what it was before someone made the wish that resulted in them in the first place. Oh, I almost forgot. Plagg, claws in.”
Green light flashed, leaving Lady in her wedding robes (which actually flatter her body. Shit. Think of something else. Drake with a smug superior smile that needs to be wiped off his face. Grayson and his plans for ‘family bonding’) and Plagg to reappear.
“Cheese.” whined the cat-like kwami(?) to which the older woman held out a brown bag that smelled and made Plagg perk up in delight. He proceeded to open the bag, taking out a slice of stinky cheese, muttering about the greatness of camembert.
Todd cleared his throat and asked in English, “Umm...Pixie as much as your reunion is touching. Who’s the new lady?”
“Oh Right, sorry. Well, Red Hood, this is my mother, the Blue Reaper of the Guild of Night. Maman, this is Red Hood and the one next to him is my husband-to-be and Talia’s Spawn, Damian Wayne.”
Lady introduced them, also in English. Damian stilled in fear, recognizing the name. The Blue Reaper nearly became his mother-in-law. She was famous for her efficiency and ruthlessness. And gained her nickname from the blue clothing she often wore as she killed her targets. His eyes also widened at how his grandfather had gone a little too far now by kidnapping the Reaper’s daughter. There were other organizations that could possibly take down the League if it weren’t for the somewhat truce between Ra’s and the other leaders. The Guild was one of them and having the Lazarus Pits to revive their soldiers made the League a little more powerful. But if what the mother-daughter duo were planning succeeded, then the League was going to have one of its most deadly wars in its history and would probably never recover from.
“Tikki, Plagg, you guys ready?” asked Lady.
“Yes, Guardian.” They both replied and emitted a blinding red and green light which Damian shielded his eyes from. When it died down, the Lazarus Pits no longer glowed a toxic green and looked… like normal hot spring water.
“Oh. I wished I could see Ra’s face when he finds out.” Lady laughed. Plagg and Todd joined in.
“Pixie, I am beginning to like you.”
“Voyage. That being said, it’s time to go home, Marinette. Your father must be worried sick about us by now. I hope you boys can find your own way back.” A portal opened up, showing a cozy living room. Damian grabbed Lady’s wrist as she moved towards it.
“Wait, let us come with you. We need to contact someone to get rid of the curse on both of us. And we can also call our father to send us tickets for a ride home wherever you live.”
“Curse? Marinette, you never mentioned a curse in your call.” Blue Reaper said, raising her eyebrow.
“I will explain later. They can come with us and I am pretty sure Ra’s knows that we have escaped by now.” Lady grabbed the two brothers and dragged them through the portal.
She then threw herself onto the couch after releasing her hold on them and the two pocket gods went to comfort her after her ordeal. The Blue Reaper stood where the other portal was and fed a floating tiny gray horse, that must be the same species as Tikki or Plagg, some sugarcubes.
“You boys must be tired but the showers are upstairs and we might have some clothes your size. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You can stay the night if you want. Welcome to Paris.”
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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe. @tonicxworld, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @frieddonutsweets, @local-witch-of-mn, @lady-bee-fechin, @iglowinggemma28, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @k-tea-and-coffee, @jayjayspixiepop, @all-mights-asscheeks, @idk-j-go-with-it , @loysydark, @thenillabean, @lolieg, @zalladane, @silvergold-swirl
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(Part 5)
#damian x marinette#mlb x dc#daminette#maribat#Betrothal AU: take 2#A Failed Betrothal#assassin marinette#sort of#assassin sabine cheng#definitely#Jason is just here for a ride#marinette is a little petty
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Of Wolves and Witches
Pairing: Werewolf!Bishop Losa x Witch!Reader
Word Count: 3088
For: covers the monster square for @adarafaelbarba 's moodboard fall bingo
TW: violence and accidental death via a nightmare/flashback sequence, brief mentions of mental, emotion, and physical abuse, PTSD, and covering up a crime scene
Author's Notes: The Mayans Werewolf AU that no one asked for, but i wrote it anyway. It starts out dark, but ends with fluff, I promise. This is my first time writing for Bishop, so please go easy on me... a big thank you to @itsjustmyfantasyroom for letting me run this idea by her and reassuring me that it wasn't crazy, and for encouraging me to write it.
Tags: @madamsnape921; @prurientpuddlejumper; @thatesqcrush; @welcometothemxdhouse; @raulesparza4eva; @teamsladsandgents; @rosequcrtz
He stormed into your living room, rage storming in his eyes. His aura was a swirling void of red and black. He shouldn’t have been able to break the locks on your front door, he shouldn’t have been able to walk right through your magical wards, but here he was. You straightened your posture and stood your ground, determined to not let him see how terrified you were.
“How did you get in here?”
“Really?” He pulled a glowing amulet from out of his shirt. “Not that hard when you have a little help. Benefits of having hunters for friends.”
Your eyes went wide as you realized what you were looking at. It was an enchanted amulet, one strong enough to get through your warding. You could only hope that it wasn’t strong enough to dampen your powers.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he smirked. “I know what you are. Makes me a wonder what else you haven’t been telling me.”
“Alex, get out! I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
“You little bitch!” he spat back. “You think you can just break up me? You think you can just walk away?
“I can and I did. We’re done, Alex, it’s over. You don’t get to hurt me anymore. It’s not my fault that your fragile, insecure male ego can’t take a fucking hint.”
“Bitch, I’ll fucking hurt you whenever I fucking want to! And I don’t see your little biker friends here to protect you.…”
Then he charged, and suddenly you were on the ground with his hands around your throat.
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!”
You could feel the murderous intent radiating off him, and put your hands on his chest, trying to push him off you, but then you felt the release of kinetic energy through your palms, and Alex was flying across the room. He hit the wall, and you prayed to whatever goddess was listening that the sickening crack you heard was just the drywall breaking behind him. But then his eyes rolled back in his head, and his head lolled to one side, at what could only be described as an “unhealthy looking” angle. His lower body twitched a few times before going limp. He hung there for a moment, suspended in the air, pinned to the wall by your invisible force. Still shaking in terror, you finally lowered your hands, and Alex’s lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud.
*********************
“No!” you cried out, sitting bolt upright on your couch. You were covered in a cold sweat and your whole body was shaking. Your lungs gasped for air and your eyes darted around the room, searching for Alex, but he wasn’t there. You weren’t even in your old house anymore. You held your hand in your hands and took deep breaths. You were in your apartment, in Santo Padre, Alex was dead, and you were safe. The Saturday afternoon sun streamed in through the window, and the TV was still on, a marathon of Guy’s Grocery Games playing at a low volume.
“I must have fallen asleep,” you said softly to yourself, “it was only a nightmare.”
You grabbed your phone off the coffee table and checked the time. It was only 3:30, plenty of time to shower and freshen up before Bishop would pick you up at 6. You stood, and after checking your locks and wards, made your way to the bathroom.
***********************
Despite your best efforts to push them down, the memories of what happened next came flooding back as you stood under the warm shower spray. You had been in shock, understandably so, but you were now exposed as a witch, and had to protect yourself. The logical side of your brain kicked in and you got to work. After verifying that Alex was dead, you had used your telekinetic abilities to rip the amulet off his neck. A quick examination verified that it had only been enchanted enough to allow Alex to breach your magical wards without getting zapped, but not enough to block your own powers. The enchantment was also crude and amateurish, probably done in haste by someone with limited knowledge of witchcraft. He had mentioned having hunters for friends, and you cursed yourself for not sensing that sooner. He hadn’t been one himself. You would have read that in his aura the moment you met him, but you also hadn’t sensed his dark side. The mentally and emotionally abusive and manipulative side, the one that turned violent during an argument when you had tried to call him out on his bullshit and break up with him the first time. You had ended up in the hospital, and when you confronted him the second time, you had friends with you to back you up. And after destroying the amulet, those were the friends you called on for help with your predicament.
The Blood Moon Motorcycle Club was a found family werewolf pack, led by Jack Reynard, a fearsome and intimidating Alpha. But Jack was fiercely protective of his friends and allies and didn’t hesitate to show up with four of his most trusted lieutenants when you called and tearfully explained your situation. They got to work cleaning up the scene and going through Alex’s phone and wallet. They found a business card for an elite and dangerous organization of hunters, and the contact’s name and number on the card matched up with one of the contacts in Alex’s phone. Jack told you to start packing your bags and to make sure that you included any magical artifacts that you had. You would spend the night at their clubhouse under round-the-clock security, and in the morning, they would get you out of town. Anything that couldn’t be packed that night would be shipped to you once you were settled elsewhere. They would dispose of the body; it wasn’t the first time they’d had to do so.
Jack had called Bishop Losa, president of the Mayans Motorcycle Club in Santo Padre, California. Jack and Bishop had served together in the Marines in their younger days, and the Mayans and the Blood Moons were allies as a result of that friendship. The Mayans were another found family werewolf pack and protected Santo Padre alongside the Galindo Pack. The town was a safe haven for all supernatural beings and the humans who lived there were none the wiser.
And now you had been here for six months. You worked in a bookshop owned by another a witch, Matilda, and lived in the apartment above it. In addition to the books, you also sold your homemade herbal teas and did Tarot card readings in the shop. 2-3 times a week you would bake cookies and muffins and sell those in the shop. Your teas were so popular that you now did tea making demonstrations on Saturday mornings. You were thriving but were still plagued by nightmares and PTSD and attended therapy once a week to help you work through your struggles.
And then there was Bishop. At first, the Mayan president and Alpha had been your friend and protector. You had been too traumatized to even think about pursuing a relationship, and so you both denied the unquestionable and inexplicable attraction. The more you got to know each other, the more you were drawn to each other. Two months ago, he finally made a move while the two of you had been outside getting some air at a party at the Mayans clubhouse, asking if he could kiss you. You’d been a couple ever since.
*********************
You had just finished lacing up your boots when you heard the sound of a familiar motorcycle pull up to your building. You ran to the window and looked down to the street. You saw Bishop getting off his bike and removing his helmet. You exited your apartment and ran down the stairs, meeting him at the entrance at the side of the building. You threw your arms around his neck and kissed his lips. His arms encircled your waist and pulled you close.
“Hola Querida, you look beautiful.”
“Thanks, you’re not too bad, yourself, handsome.”
That got a chuckle from the Alpha. He removed one of his arms from around your back, revealing the bouquet of roses in his hand. “These are for you.”
“Bish, they’re gorgeous, thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
“And pass up the opportunity to surprise you? Not a chance.”
“Come on up. I’ll put these in water, grab a few things, then I’ll be ready to go.”
Bishop nodded and held onto your hand as he followed you up the stairs.
************************
You held onto Bishop as the two of you went speeding down the back roads, away from Santo Padre. You loved dates like this: just you and Bishop on the bike, heading somewhere unknown, away from all the stress and bullshit of the day-to-day. His torso felt warm, sturdy, and safe. You could feel the vibrations from bike rattling through your body as you watched the scenery fly by. You’d been on the road for at least half an hour now.
“Almost there, Querida,” Bishop called back. “You’re gonna love this spot, I promise.”
After a few more minutes he pulled off the road and the motorcycle slowed to a stop. Bishop turned off the engine and stored the keys in his pocket. You both got off and removed your helmets. You looked around at the small, wooded area and smiled, breathing in the fresh air.
“This is nice, babe.”
“Oh, this isn’t the spot, “he told you, unlatching the soft fleece blanket and cooler from the back of his bike. He handed you the blanket. He took the cooler in one hand and grabbed your free hand with his other, interlacing his fingers with yours. “It’s this way.”
You walked for a few minutes down a short path before finally arriving at a grassy clearing. The view was breathtaking. You could see everything from your elevated perched; Santo Padre, the valley, green leafy trees swaying in the breeze, fields of wildflowers. A sense of calm settled over you that you hadn’t felt in months. You didn’t jump when Bishop came up behind you and slid his arms around your mid-section, instead relaxing into his touch and leaning against his sturdy frame. Bishop softly kissed your shoulder.
“You okay, baby?”
“Yeah,” you sighed, “this is perfect, this place in perfect. The energy here is so peaceful, and so alive. I love it.”
“I’m glad. I was thinking we could eat dinner, watch the sunset? And wait until the stars come out…You can show me all the constellations?”
You turned and slid your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his.
“You would have thought that you were such a romantic?”
“Just don’t tell anyone, okay? Gotta maintain my tough guy image, you know?”
“Mmm…your secret is safe with me.” You pecked his lips once, twice, three times, each kiss lasting a bit longer than the rest. When you finally pulled your head away you noticed that the blanket was laid out on the ground with cooler sitting on top.
“Come on,” said Bishop, directing you over to it. You both sat down, and Bishop opened the cooler and started setting out its contents: sandwiches from the local deli, fresh strawberries from the farmer’s market, giant cupcakes from the gourmet bakery, a bottle of beer for each of you, and bottled water. He popped the caps off the beer bottles and handed you one. “Cheers.”
The two of you sat and ate, completely at ease with each other, and the conversation flowed easily. Bishop told you about the day’s antics down at the scrapyard, and you told him about the business plan you and Matilda were working on to expand the bookshop into the empty café next door.
“The theory is, that having a space to sell food and drinks will drum up more business. I can sell my tea and baked goods and do my demonstrations there. We would obviously need to hire some extra people to help, but I think we can make it work. We can’t tear down the wall between the buildings and expand without the proper permits.”
“I’m sure the town will approve whatever permits you need. They’re not going to say to ‘no’ to something that will bring more business into Santo Padre.”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the sunsets,” you said, gazing at the red, orange, and purple hues of the evening sky. “How did you find this place?”
Bishop laid down on the blanket and you stretched out next him, placing your head on his chest.
“Me and the guys had just come back from a run,” he began, “Things didn’t go so well, and I was pissed, needed to blow off some steam so I just rode around for a while. Next thing I knew, I was here. I shifted, ran around for a while until my head was clear. I come back whenever I need to get away from everything.”
You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “Thank you for bringing me here. I needed this.”
Bishop caressed your cheek with his fingers. “You’re welcome, Querida. I’ll bring you up here whenever you want.”
“Bish, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Of course, Querida, you can ask me anything,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Can I see you in your wolf form sometime? There’s no pressure, only if you want to…”
Bishop mulled the question over in his head. You had caught him off guard with the query. None of the women he’d ever been with had asked to see his wolf form, not even his ex-wife. These days, he only shifted when it was absolutely necessary. There were advantages to being an older and more experienced wolf. He could shift at will and didn’t have to worry about losing control. But what if you didn’t like what you saw? What if he scared you away? He’d never forgive himself if that happened. Your soft, sweet voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Bish, I’m sorry, forget I said anything- “
“No, it’s okay,” he kissed your forehead, “I just wasn’t expecting that question. I’ll do it if you want me to, but just be prepared, okay? I promise I won’t hurt you, but it might not be what you’re expecting.”
“I trust you completely, and I promise, I won’t be scared.” You looked at his aura and saw the hesitancy there. He was scared. “You’re not going to lose me.”
He cupped your face with his hand and his lips found purchase with yours. He had a way of kissing you that made your mind go blank and get lost in the moment, and you loved every minute of it. You kissed him back with equal fervor, hoping that somehow you were able to convey the trust and faith you had in him. The smile on his face when you broke away seemed to indicate that you’d been successful.
Bishop rose and walked a few feet away.
“What are you doing?” you asked, confused by his actions.
“Shifting is a lot easier without clothes on,” he replied with a wink, beginning to undress.
“I’ll close my eyes and give you some privacy then,” you giggled, shutting your eyes, but occasionally cracking one open to steal glimpses of his increasingly naked form; and damn if you didn’t like what you saw!
Bishop finished disrobing and crouched down on the soft grass. He breathed deeply and cleared his mind, focusing his intention. He felt his muscle start to ripple and his joints and bones shift. It didn’t hurt at his age; it was just slightly uncomfortable. All his senses sharpened. Body hair became fur, his hands and feet morphed into oversize paws with razor sharp claws. Even his teeth changed shaped, becoming longer and more pointed. A few moments later, he stretched and shook out his fur. He looked over towards you, still sitting there with your eyes closed, and cautiously padded toward you.
************************
You could hear the footfalls of his paws, and then felt his large wet nose nudging your arm. You opened your eyes and saw a massive wolf standing before you. His fur was brown and black, with specks of gray in various places. His legs were strong, and his paws appeared large enough to take out a person with one blow. But his eyes, his eyes were gentle, and you would know them anywhere.
“Oh, Bishop, you’re beautiful!”
He sat and cocked his head to one side, appearing confused.
“Yes, you heard me correctly. May I?” You held out your arms to him. Bishop bowed his head and leaned forward, allowing you to embrace him and bury your face in his fur. “Your fur is so soft!”
He put his head on your shoulder and let out a contented groan when your fingers began to massage the spot right between his ears. You giggled at that. “I take it you like that, huh?” Bishop lifted his head and licked your face in response, making you laugh even harder. You massaged his head for a little while longer before resting your forehead against his. “Thank you for letting me see you like this. I love you, Bishop.”
There was suddenly a very naked, human man in your arms. Bishop’s hands cupped your face, his eyes scanning it for any indication that he might have misheard you.
“Bish- “
“Say that again, Querida.”
“I said, I love you, Obispo Losa.”
Bishop pulled you into his lap and pressed his lips to yours, kissing you with more intensity and tenderness than he ever had before. Any doubts that you may have had about him not feeling the same quickly melted away. It went on for what felt like forever before the two of you had to pull away and come up for air.
“I love you, too, mi reina.”
You held onto one another like that for while before Bishop got dressed and rejoined you on the blanket. You spent the rest of the evening wrapped in each other’s arms and gazing at the night sky. And when a shooting star passed overhead, you made a wish that you could stay this way forever. No more looking over your shoulder, no more nightmares; just you and Bishop, ready to take on whatever the future might hold.
#adarafaelbarbaseptmeberbingo#bishop losa x reader#bishop losa#mayans#mayans mc#mayans fandom#mayans fanfic#bishop losa imagines#werewolf au#my writing
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atlas
Alex Chen × Steph Gingrich fluffy comfort one-shot
(I was talking to a friend about the game and we were discussing how Alex is probably still carrying a lot of trauma. And even after everything that happened at the mines we still don't see her really grieve for the whole situation and herself. So- I had to write it, you know?)
Enjoy!
TW: mentions of suicide, death and mental health issues.
It's two months into their relationship now, and they are somewhere in a Californian town, living in a tiny apartment close to the beach. They play together in small venues and underground clubs. Alex bartends and Steph referees for DND campaigns at a nerd bar they found by chance on their first week there.
They're happy. As happy as Alex remembers being since she was- well, maybe nine.
Every day, it's a little like waking up into a dream. Living in an apartment with her first girlfriend, listening to music as they cooked dinner together. Getting to kiss her just because Alex felt like it. Because her heart went a little loopy inside her chest when she smiled. Because she knew Steph would hold on to her waist and make her feel like she was full of electricity.
The 'falling in love' business felt overrated before Steph.
But Being in the middle of it now, Alex doesn't think there's anything better.
Although a part of her still felt quite numb - she guesses it's not something that will go away that easily - and day by day, Alex felt a little bit more like she could breathe... like she was finally letting herself go, at least a little bit.
****
Now that she could comprehend and use her powers, it also seemed as if she'd started to become even more of a magnet for all sorts of emotion around her. And apparently Alex could do it in her sleep too.
The nightmares came in clusters most of the time, a badly cut-together mess of voices and feelings. The lady that lived under them, who lost her son when he was little. The couple from down the street, who were going through a hard time in their relationship. Even the little girl from upstairs, who had terrible night terrors of sharp-teethed monsters reaching from under her bed.
They all mixed inside her head until she woke up gasping for air and sizzling with emotion.
It was rare that she'd have a full dream, one that made sense and completed itself, but when she did they were always about Gabe. About sitting together at the rooftop of the Lantern and sharing a beer. Or climbing trees, like they used to do when they were little.
It was a relief from the usual doom.
And that dream was supposed to be nothing different. Or at least she thought it wasn't.
****
In it, they were at the ravine. A world of twinkling stars shining above their heads. The Colorado mountains all around them creating a landscape that was just as beautiful as it was bittersweet. Alex could see the log she'd crossed, still standing between her and the tiny outcrop of stone Ethan had been stranded on.
She hadn't dreamed of the ravine since leaving Haven Springs, but while she was there, Alex dreamt of it every night. She would see it when her eyes were closed. She could hear it, - the sirens, the terrible, deafening rumble of the ground splitting beneath them. The panic, pounding into her ears.
But this is different. Because when she looks around, Alex realizes she's standing over the elevated plateau, tied to the waist and leaning all her weight against a sturdy piece of rock.
Looking at her from below is Gabe. Lying on the cold ground. A cheesy smile spread across his face.
"Why are we switched?" Alex asks because that's all she can think of asking, as she stares at the rope that anchored her to the ground... to Gabe.
"Beats me. This is all your brain, not mine." He says, and Alex huffs in annoyance, "you know what's going to happen, but you keep coming here."
"I don't have a choice."
"Hmmm..." Gabe hums, but there's some humor in his expression as he stares intently back at her, "and that's exactly why... I'm here because I should say goodbye."
A coldness spreads over Alex's limbs. Around her, the very fabric of the dream dims into darkness as a strong breeze blows past them. She suddenly feels like throwing up.
"What- what does that mean?" It's a stupid question. This is her dream. Alex knows what it means.
Deep down, she knew she'd been conjuring him up for her own sake. Trying to bring back any morsel of relief into the giant hole he'd left inside her heart. However, Alex also knew at some point he'd be gone- she just didn't expect-
"You don't need me anymore, Alex." He says. As if it's that simple. As if she'd ever-
"I'll always need you, Gabe. Of course I need you." The words stumble out of her mouth, and she can feel the hot, angry tears falling down her face.
It feels like a hot iron pressed to the very top of her chest.
Like lava, boiling up into her bloodstream until Alex wants to punch something. The steam that prickles from under her skin, fighting to break free.
Anger always comes first when people feel cornered. It's something she noticed a while back. Out of all the emotions Alex had dealt with the past few months, that, at least, hadn't changed.
"Shit, Gabe. When you died I needed you more than ever."
"But we can't fix that, can we?" He asks, and another wave of anger rips through her. She looks anywhere but him, because Alex feels that if she does, she'll tackle and kill him all over again. But when he says nothing and they're left in the same pocket of silence - the one right before the whole world collapsed - her eyes eventually fall back to her brother. Tied to her and laid on the ground beneath. Looking at her like just as much the goofy asshole she missed so much.
Anger always felt urgent and fast, like a flash going through her body and leaving everything inside it in disarray. It demanded to be completely felt, but only for the moment it took for Alex to decide it wasn't worth launching the nearest object at a window.
Or trying to kill her dead brother.
"You might have needed Gabe. But you don't need this Gabe anymore, Alex. You can do it on your own now."
The fear and sadness that came after? They were usually much, much worse.
"But this is the only Gabe I have."
Those emotions, when mixed, turned into a horrible harmony that paralyzed her lungs and darkened the sides of her vision. They felt just as urgent as anger, but complacent. A beast staring at her from the very bottom of a pit. Tied to her by the waist and trying to lure her down into the abyss.
And, for Alex, the abyss was as deep as a ventilation shaft for a Colorado mining site.
"No, it's not. You'll always have me, Alex. And you know that." Not in the way that matters. Alex wants to say, but it's so redundant. He's the ghost. He should already know that. "And you have Ryan now, and Eleanor, Riley, Charlotte, Ethan... Steph..." he gives her a cheesy smile in the last name, wiggling his eyebrows back at her teasingly.
"Oh, God, way to ruin the moment." Alex can't help but chuckle a little through her tears. Is she blushing? You can't blame her for blushing, right? God, she feels like Diane.
"Hey. Let me have it. One of my only regrets is that I never got to tease the hell out of Steph for dating my little sister... and for being whipped as hell."
"That would have been so funny."
"I knew she'd get along with you but I guess I didn't expect... that. Shame on me. Should've had more artistic vision."
Alex chuckles as more tears run down her face. It's so bittersweet it hurts from the very inside of herself.
"All jokes aside. I'm glad you have her, and that she has you. She's good. Just make sure you tell her I'll haunt her from the grave if her dumb ass breaks your heart, okay?" Alex nods, and her body starts shaking with strangled sobs. So much emotion she just can't let go of. Because if she does, Alex is afraid there'll be nothing left.
"Hey. Don't cry. You can do this, Alex. You know how to live life now."
"I don't want to lose you again, Gabe."
"You'll never lose me. You'll just have to look a little harder." He smiles up at her, pulling jokingly on the rope, "now play your part - or is it my part? You get it."
And then- too soon. (Same as it was that night.) The sirens blast through the mountains, and somewhere above them, a giant explosion blows her eardrums, and boulders the size of cars come tumbling down the mountain.
She barely has time to blink. Barely has time to breathe one last time. Seen as she's Gabe, when she looks up all she sees is the giant rock, flying towards her, hitting her across the torso so hard, before she knows, she's flying way above the ravine, and one last glimpse of the stars catches hold over the veil of her memory before everything turns black.
****
She wakes up in bed, desperately clawing at the top of her chest as she gasps for air. Her lungs feel like they're made of lead, and all around her, she can feel the weight of the rocks, the explosion, the debris, weighing down her body.
Alex pats across the mattress for Steph, who is not there. Another wave of panic washes over her. So strong her mouth turns dry and her head aches as she tries to breathe in, but her lungs can only handle tiny, torturous gasps of half-breath.
Alex dispels a world of curses towards herself inside. Willing her own body to just calm down. In the bathroom, she can hear Steph singing softly to herself- she must have come home late from the DND tournament. Alex told her she'd swing by, but she'd had a long shift and ended up just passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Alex hadn't had an incident like this in very long. She could control it now. Most times. It wasn't easy, with being on the road and constantly surrounded by people. Sometimes, she still got more than she could bargain. When she walked across a depressed person on the sidewalk, or heard one of their multiple neighbors yelling at each other through the walls, and suddenly she felt as if the world blended out of focus into a tsunami of feeling.
Feeling that wasn't hers but still felt so much like it was.
Steph helped whenever it happened. For a sarcastic punk rock mess, she was surprisingly stable and so very reassuring.
Just the fact that she can hear her voice. That Steph is there in the apartment with her, is enough to calm some of her nerves, and while Alex still can't keep herself from pulling in gasps of air as she tries to hold in any kind of oxygen, she at least has a plan.
Water. Water will make her feel better, right?
Almost as soon as the idea crosses her mind, Alex's half-delirious brain commands her to get up, but her body feels so very heavy. Like she's really been trampled over by a wave of giant boulders. And as soon as her feet touch the ground, her legs give up under the weight, and she falls onto the hard floor with a loud, heavy thud.
The girl's hands fly up to hold her weight against the bed, and thankfully that means she doesn't face plant the ground, but it sends her heart into a neck-breaking pace, and all air Alex'd been able to gather so far escapes her in a single huff until she's hyperventilating again, hot, angry tears running down her face.
You're so weak. You're such a fucking idiot. Of course, you had to go and lose Gabe twice, who the fuck would want to stay with such a mess-
"Alex, are you okay?" Steph's voice comes, as she opens the door to find her girlfriend sitting on the ground, looking like she might pass out from just trying to get her lungs to work, "Alex!"
In a second she's crossed their room and kneeled by her, both hands going up to her cheeks on instinct, smearing away her tears.
"Breathe with me, okay? We've done this before, you can do it." She always gets just a tiny bit of a scared aura around her when Alex gets like this, never for long enough that she can read it, but it's still there, the tiny flutter of fear, "come on, breathe."
Her eyes go up to find Steph's, her strong, glittering green gaze. Alex might be the one with superpowers, but it was Steph who could so easily reach in and soften her edges like it was nothing. It was Steph who could just lean in and hold Alex's hand against her chest, letting her feel the determined rise of her lungs. Strong. Stable. Even Alex couldn't possibly understand how she did that.
How she always made Alex's breathing slowly come to shaky, deep breaths, crawling painfully out of her dry throat, but still better than gasping like a fish. Inside her, Alex feels the furious hurricane of emotion, twisting itself into the bottom of her lungs, taking hold of every bit of her until she felt like she could throw up.
"Wait here, I'll get you water," Steph says, and Alex wants to complain, she doesn't want to be alone, even for a second.
But before she can, Steph has left their bedroom for the kitchen, and Alex feels as if she's stable enough to crawl into bed, so she does so at a glacial pace. She grabs Shu-Shu, holding her close to her chest as she sits and waits for Steph.
She eventually comes back in with a glass full and Alex gulps it down in silence, unsure if whatever dam of emotion that has taken place inside of her will break if she tries to speak. So she sets the glass back and lies her head down on the pillow, facing away from Steph and the rest of the room as she tries to reel herself back in.
She can hear Steph taking off her boots and climbing into bed, one arm winding around her waist as she pulls Alex in closer.
"Was it the lady from upstairs?" Steph asks, eventually, after they sit in a few long minutes of silence.
"No." She replies, and it comes out so strangled, so broken, a few more tears run down her face. Steph pulls her even closer, a tight, steady pressure.
"The couple again? I swear to God I'll call the police on that asshole this time."
"No." Alex says, and she detaches herself from Steph just enough so she can turn around and look at her, "I had a dream about Gabe." Simply saying his name makes her whole body shake. Steph is looking at her so intensely, Alex has to close her eyes, holding on to the fabric of her shirt with all she had not to explode in whatever terrifying, dizzying bomb of emotion she could feel brewing inside herself.
Alex felt so much from other people it overwhelmed her multiple times a day, and even then, it was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to how much sheer strength it took from her not to let it blow.
It scared her. More than anything.
"He wanted to say goodbye." She says eventually, "it was- I don't know. This- I- this isn't coming from anyone- How do I get rid of it? It's like it's all inside of me and it's taking up so much space and I don't know how to fix it" The words come tumbling out before she can stop them, and she's rambling through tears.
Steph sighs. And Alex can feel the love and sadness mixed together, blowing from her in waves as she holds Alex's chin, bringing her up so they can look at each other.
"Baby..." there are tears in her eyes now, as she pulls her closer until their foreheads are touching, and they are so close Alex can smell her lemongrass shampoo, "This is all yours."
And such simple words shouldn't hit her this fucking hard.
But it all suddenly makes so much sense-
Alex was numb after her dad left. She felt nothing for months. It was one of the most terrifying feelings in the world, a deep and powerful depression that threatened to overtake her at any given point.
Like her whole body was nothing but dead weight and her brain was way too tired to even try and keep up.
Young as she was, Alex guesses she never realized the first time she felt anything at all after that was when she discovered her powers. The day a boy came to the orphanage and he was so angry it blew her across the hallway. Ever since then, everything around her was a cacophony of feeling. Coming from every direction. Every street corner, every store, every park.
Every moment of her life since she was eleven, Alex could only feel for others.
"I- I forgot." She realizes, half surprise and half so much sadness another sob breaks through her throat.
Now it made sense, the anger, the sadness, the fear, a hurricane of emotion so very powerful it made her ears ring.
"I'm scared." She admits. Because for someone who had been so focused on learning how to exist among other people's feelings, Alex had no clue how to handle herself, "what do I do with all of this? How do I fix it?"
"Alex. Look at me." Steph brings her face upwards until they are so close, Alex can see the speckles of blue in her eyes, "Gabe died just four months ago, and you were there to see everything- then you got shot and thrown down God knows how many stories into a dark abyss that you somehow walked out of, but not before also finding out about your dad's tragic death - and I haven't seen you cry, actually cry, for yourself, even once."
"I- I can't, it's too much. I don't know how, Steph." Alex had learned her lesson. She'd seen her life as it was and survived it. Deep down she knew it wasn't her responsibility anymore - that it never was her responsibility, to begin with - to hold herself together for others. She knows.
But old habits die hard, and Alex guesses it'll take a while before she starts feeling it too.
Because right now, it still felt like the world might collapse if she wasn't there to hold it together.
"Just- give it to me. Everything you have, I can carry it for you." Steph says, with such determination, Alex actually believes her, but she takes her eyes away, trying to avoid the bubbling of tears threatening to jump out through her throat "Let it go, please, Alex. I can't watch you carry it alone anymore."
At that moment, Alex glances at her again, and there's so much pain, so much love in her eyes, that inside Alex, the dam finally breaks and she's choking on sobs. Tears start running down her cheeks as Steph leans in and pulls her closer, one arm around her shoulder and one on her hip, squeezing tight in reassurance.
If she didn't know better, Alex would've guessed Steph was the one with the superpowers, with the way she coaxes wave after wave of emotion out of her with nothing but her steady presence and quick, light kisses she leaves on Alex's head and hair as she holds on to her shirt for dear life.
It overwhelmed her more than anything she'd experienced so far, and for what feels like hours, she just sobs as Steph holds her.
She cries for her mom. Dead before her time, trying to hold them together to the very end. She cries for her dad, dying a slow death deep underground, a picture of the two children he'd never see again dangling around his neck. She cries for Gabe, for the time they'd never have, for the time they did have.
Above all, for the first time, Alex cried for herself. For being the last out of all of them. For the little girl that had to love and lose every single one of them in succession.
And in the middle of all of it, like a speckle of golden light hidden under all the darkness, for the first time, she feels that it could all start to feel alright.
#send me chenrich prompts#i dare you#chenrich#chengrich#alex chen#steph gingrich#life is strange true colors#long post#chenrich fanfic#chenrich fic#alex chen × steph gingrich
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First things First | Jack Kline & Peter Parker
Summary; Peter sees his ex back in town. Last time she was with her brothers, but this time, she has another companion. His name is Jack Kline, and he is her current boyfriend.
Warnings; some angst, jealousy, a bit of trash talk, smidge of violence, one swear word
“You’re back then.” Peter noticed, following you as you walked through the school halls, your head down as you attempted to ignore him. But however, you knew that you couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there forever, and so you softly sighed.
Last time, you hadn’t been in town too long, only a few weeks, cases were sprouting up left right and centre in Queens, and that was enough time for a relationship to briefly brew between the pair of you.
However, when the entourage of hunts came to an end, it had only been fair to cut sweet Peter loose, you hadn’t planned to return in any soon time. And here you were, a year in a half later, back in his hometown.
“You’re eyes are quite inquisitive, Parker, or do you need to ask me to put rock salt on my skin to prove that I’m not a ghost?” You barked back, which earnt yourself a confused frown.
“What?” He asked in reply, confused by your wording.
“Never mind, you wouldn’t get it.” You dismissed, having already had the intel and advice from your brothers that two different worlds didn’t mix.
Peter was but a boy, a smart one, but for all that you were aware, he lived a mundane life. He was bullied at school, but he had a couple of friends, Ned and MJ.
MJ. She had liked Peter before you had disappeared in the impala, it wouldn’t be a surprise if the pair were together now. He had wanted to forget you, for causing him so much pain, he deserved to move on, as you had.
“What I got was that you told me you loved me, and then you went with the wind, and didn’t look back, not once.” He bit back, his statement making your body feel heavy.
It was guilt, a familiar feeling for a hunter. It often came when a life was lost by the life of a monster, and this time, it had been the same. You had taken away the happiness from your own life, you were the beast that ripped out someone’s heart.
“I did, but that doesn’t matter anymore Pete, I’m in love with somebody else. There’s nothing that I am entailed from hiding from him, no secrets, I can be myself with him.” You pursed your lips, relieved that you had got that off your chest.
“You never had to have secrets! Your family business is what dragged us down in the first place, you feel the need to follow your brothers around the world, and for what? To end up alone and unloved?”
“I love her.” Jack entered the hallway, he had been at the front office, asking about the plumbing, he said he heard a noise. It was what the victim had said before he died, and so the spawn of Lucifer was now questioning it.
Sam and Dean were downtown, at some bar, it had been where the victim had been, with a fake id, before his body had been found in the school bathroom. This left the group of you spread out, and operating around the city, wanting to find the creature that had ended the boy’s life.
Jack’s voice had been friendly, as though he were informing Peter of your relationship status. Neither of them knew each other, so he found no harm in letting the public know of your intimate bond.
The nephilim was most often than not a free speaker, he found no foul in letting his mouth run. He was so innocent, so pure, and perfect, you were pleased that you hadn’t tainted him nor gained his spite like you had with Peter.
“Jack, this is Peter. I met him last time I was around here. Peter, this is Jack, my boyfriend.” It was an awkward introduction, you held your hands together, watching as Jack held out his hand for your ex to shake.
Peter hesitantly shook Jack’s hand, lightly glaring at the boy. “It’s nice to meet a friend of y/n’s, not many that she has are her age.”
“Thanks for that Jack.” You laughed lightly, holding sweetly onto his arm, as to ensure him that he had done nothing wrong.
“We’re not friends.” Peter corrected him, squinting at you. “She doesn’t like the idea of any relationship with me, so she can pass on friendship.” He gave you one last look, before he walked away.
“Hi.” Jack saw your ‘friend’ in the hall, whilst you were questioning some other students. Peter reluctantly turned, going face to face with your boyfriend and partner in justifying crime.
“Hey.” His head briefly leant back, curious as to why the new boy was speaking to him. “Jack, right?”
“Yes, that is my name.” Jack nodded with a smile, the adorable gap in his teeth presenting itself clearly. “Have you felt any cold spots here recently, or smelt sulphur by any change?”
His question made Peter frown, he gulped and thought before he decided to answer. “I don’t know why your going around asking questions, but I also do not know why you’re dating y/n. She’ll break your heart, it’s what she does.”
“The two of you don’t sound like very good friends.” He speculated, tilting his head like a puppy dog, his bright eyes filled with curiosity.
“We weren’t just friends Jack, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about me. Maybe there was a reason for that, you should ask her.” Peter crossed his arms, taking note of how he seemed to have angered the other boy.
The son of Lucifer was inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils, he was attempting to remain calm. But he couldn’t, his eyes seared with their golden pigment, and upon witnessing, Peter’s eyes widened and he was fast to sling webbing towards the mutant.
But it had no affect, not as Jack’s mouth opened, and a scream on another wavelength , which happened to throw the spider man backwards into the row of lockers. This was not normal, and Peter worried for the reason that you had the company of such a creature.
“What the hell are you?” Peter asked, wanting an answer so he could figure out a way to defeat him.
“I’m someone that loves y/n very much. Don’t worry, we won’t be in town much longer.” And with that, the strange and peculiar being walked away, leaving Peter stunned. For once, he wasn’t sure how he would improvise.
“You know the boy’s toilets are for guys, right?” Peter asked later in the day, as he watched you, whom was drenched in water, leave said restroom.
“I am more than aware, thankyou for that reminder Peter.” Each footstep dripped water upon the floor. That ghost had been a bitch to send off, but to your relief, you had done so.
“What are you doing here, really?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m going to be leaving tonight, I’ll be all out of your hair.” You spoke, trying to remain calm with your previous partner. “Have you seen Jack?”
“About that...” he noticed how you furrowed your brow with his words, and realised it would be better to get straight to the point. “He’s not normal, there’s something different about him. He’s dangerous.”
“I guess you witnessed something... supernatural?” He slowly nodded his head, thinking about how it could be considered as such. “Jack, he’s a nephilim, half angel, half human. That’s why I can’t stick around, my life is messy, and I have a duty to save people, you understand that, right?”
“Why would I understand that?” He hesitated, his voice stepping over his words in a worried stutter. “Angels?!” He repeated.
“Yeah, not every takes lightly to the news, and a bit of information; the majority are dicks.” You laughed, shoving your hands in your soggy pockets. “You really think I didn’t have a clue that I was dating a spiderman? I investigate abnormal occurrences for a living, it was quite easy to notice something was different about you.”
“So you look into things like cold spots and sulphur smells?” He remembered that was what Jack had mentioned earlier. Perhaps the possibility of angels wasn’t half crazy, the universe was expanding. It was certainly out there, but so was a talking, moving tree that enjoyed digital games and was experiencing puberty.
“Exactly.” You smiled, looking into his deep brown eyes, and finding some kind of peace between the pair of you.
“I think I saw Jack in the library.” He scratched the back of his neck, deciding to be a bigger person and give into the planet’s order.
“Thanks, see ya around Parker.” That expression you gave him shouldn’t have made him feel so giddy, he knew that this was another goodbye you were sending him. But the relief on your faces was beautiful.
You walked momentarily backwards, and he raised his hand in a signalled send off. He hoped that one day, he would see you again, maybe even with Blade as he killed vampires. Who knew?
One thing he was aware of was that you were happy with Jack, and that the two of you shared a life. You had an even amount of knowledge between you, and as much as Peter hated to admit it, you weren’t bound to leave the nephilim any time soon.
#peter parker x reader#jack kline x reader#spn x reader#marvel x reader#marvel x y/n#supernatural x you#supernatural crossover#jack x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker oneshot#peter parker x you#jack kline x y/n#jack kline x you#jack kline x winchester!reader#supernatural x winchester reader#marvel x you#tom holland x reader#alexander calvert x reader#imagines#imagine#xreader#marvel crossover#spn x you#spn x y/n#spn fanfiction#marvel fanfiction
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Blood and Boos
Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre - Haunted House OneShot
Lorcan gets roped into doing a Haunted House. Elide tries her best, but she isn't a fan of jump-scares. What could go wrong?
Masterlist | Read on Ao3
Warnings: Language
2348 words
*******
"No. Absolutely not.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“No way, I'm not doing that.” Lorcan wasn't going to budge. There was no way he was giving in to their stupid request.
“If I can do it, you can do it.” Rowan took a sip of his beer and leveled a look at him over the rim of the bottle.
Snorting, Lorcan shot back, “Just because your girlfriend’s got you wrapped around her finger, doesn't mean I'm going to do it.”
Rowan raised a brow at him, “And yours doesn't?”
It was Fenrys’ turn to snort. He grabbed his own beer and hopped up onto the counter. “Lorcan, Elide’s got you more whipped than Whitethorn over here.” He motioned to a smirking Rowan.
Rolling his eyes, Lorcan just repeated, “I’m not doing it.”
Sighing, Rowan asked, “Even if Elide asked you to? You’d still say no?”
“It doesn't matter what I would do—” Of course he would do it if she asked, albeit begrudgingly and full of complaints, but he’d do it. “Because she didn't ask me to. Aelin asked you to help out with this one.” he nodded at Fenrys.
The blond grinned at him. “Come on Lorcan, it’ll be fun.”
“Fun?” He seriously doubted that. The last thing he wanted to do was put on a ridiculous costume and watch teenagers pretend they weren't scared just to impress their friends.
“It's a Haunted House, Lorcan,” Rowan tried again, “We’re not asking you to hand out candy to trick-or-treaters”
“Yeah,” Fenrys chimed in, jumping down from the counter, “You’ll get to scare people for three hours. And get paid. You already do that for free just walking down the street with that scowl.”
Lorcan’s response was the aforementioned scowl and a simple one-fingered salute.
“Ha. Ha. My answer is still no. You won't get me in an absurd costume and I won't be doing your stupid haunted house.”
Rowan was interrupted from responding by Lorcan’s phone ringing. Neither had noticed Fenrys subtly typing away on his own phone beneath the counter.
He recognized his girlfriend's ringtone and toned down the irritation that was seeping into this voice.
“El,” Rowan and Fenrys perked up at the sound of her name, trying to listen to his conversation. He waved them off and walked into his room. “Hey, what's up?”
He could hear her laughing at something said in the background and then her voice ran through his speaker, “Hey Lor! I was just talking with Aelin and she was telling me about this awesome—”
“Is this about the haunted house?” He cut her off, already groaning.
“How’d you know?” She sounded surprised...almost too surprised…
“I’ll let you guess what I was just talking about with Rowan and Fenrys. And before you ask—” He rushed on, knowing that once she did, there’d be no way he could say no to her, “I am not going to dress up and play monster all night just because you think it would be so fun.”
He heard his girlfriend groan exasperatedly at his insistence, “Oh, come on, Lor. It really would be so fun! You guys would be in the haunted house and Aelin and I could keep coming through all night to keep you company. And just think,” She lowered her voice, he guessed so she wouldn't be overheard, “there will be lots of dark corners that we could sneak off to.”
He let out a long sigh. Gods, this woman had some magic power over him.
“...Fine.”
“Oh yay!” He could hear the smile in her voice and it made the scowl he wore soften a little. “This is great! Go let the guys know, I’ll tell Aelin. And babe?”
“Yeah, El?”
“I know you’re not super excited, so as a reward for stepping out of your comfort zone, I promise to make the night exciting.” He could picture her winking at him through the phone.
Chuckling, he ran a hand through his hair, “I’ll hold you to that, babe.”
“Love you, Lor! Bye!”
He said a quick “Love you, too.” before she hung up.
With one more resigned sigh, he walked back out to see Rowan and Fenrys muttering to each other. They both turned to look at him expectantly.
“…what time should I be there?”
***
Elide wasn't exactly sure why she agreed to convince Lorcan to do the haunted house. She had been out with Aelin when Fenrys texted her telling her that she needed to get Lorcan to agree. Aelin caught the text over Elide's shoulder and insisted she call Lorcan.
“Ooh, that'll be great! Your grumpy boyfriend can keep mine company. And hey,” Aelin beamed at her, feeling satisfied at how things were coming together, “knowing that it's the guys who are dressed up and not some rando, you don't have to be so scared about going!”
That was why Elide couldn't figure out how she’d agreed to both getting Lorcan to do the Haunted house, and also to going through it herself.
Elide loved Halloween...the cute, fun, wholesome parts of Halloween like carving pumpkins and watching cheesy Halloween movies, and wandering through corn mazes. She didn't love the over-the-top scary, ‘you're going to be so terrified you’ll wet yourself’ parts of Halloween.
But she could put on her big-girl pants and get through one night of terror. And, maybe Aelin was right. Maybe knowing that the ax murderer jumping out at her was one of her friends or her boyfriend, would make it less scary.
That's what she tried to tell herself as she and Aelin waited in line for the haunted house two days later.
Lorcan had refused to tell what his costume was, but she knew Rowan was some kind of zombie, and Fenrys was going to be, yup, an insane ax murderer.
She and Aelin would go in, find the guys, maybe hang out and watch them scare people for a bit, and then they’d leave. Elide knew Aelin wanted to come through a second time later on, and she promised Lorcan she would find him and take advantage of one of the dark corners she mentioned before.
Two times through the haunted house, she could do this.
***
She couldn't do this.
Elide let out another piercing shriek as a hand jerked out of the cobwebs to grab onto her arm. She spun, ripping her arm out of their grasp, only to hear a dark laugh and another hand brush the back of her head.
Whipping back around she saw Aelin pull her hand back, grinning.
“Ae, I love you, but I’m going to kill you.” She was jumpy, ready for something else to pop out at her. “I am going to murder you for making me come here, and no one is going to help you or find your body because they’ll all think you’re just some prop for this gods-awful house.”
“Oh El, I’m sorry,” but Aelin was grinning through the fake blood splatter on her face making Elide roll her eyes and huff. “Let's go find our big, strong boyfriends, and they can make us feel better.”
It should have sounded comforting, but Aelin wiggled her eyebrows at the end, and Elide chuckled lightly.
“That doesn't sound like you, Ae—the last bit, sure—but not the first.”
Tossing her head back to laugh as she draped an arm over the shorter girl’s shoulder’s Aelin laughed.
“Please, they just like to feel useful.” She winked, but Elide could see the fondness on Alein’s face as she thought about Rowan. “Let’s keep going.”
All Elide did was groan.
***
Lorcan was tired of this. He’d been stuck wearing a mask with a supposedly scary face on it, but besides that, he was just wearing his normal all-black attire. Black jeans, black hoodie, black boots.
According to Fenrys, Lorcan was already scary enough.
At least he didn't have to wear the zombie get-up Rowan had on. Lorcan didn't want to know how long it had taken him to put all the green undead-looking make-up on—something he was sure Galathynius was responsible for.
Lorcan wasn't about to admit it, but he was having a little fun scaring people. He had positioned himself in a corner, just behind a turn in the hall. He could hear when people walked by him, but they couldn't see him until he wanted them to.
All he had to do was take one step, say “boo” in his deep, deadpan voice, and watch as the victims screamed, jumped, or ran away. One guy had let out such a high-pitched wail that Lorcan thought the glass on the window might break.
He’d been there for almost an hour; apparently, Elide and Aelin took longer to get there than planned because they hadn’t come through yet. He was getting a little grumpy, having been promised alone time with his girlfriend somewhere private when she made her way through.
Another group of teenagers walked by. Another “boo.” Another shriek. Another herd of footsteps running down the hall away from him, but unknowingly towards the enthusiastic ax murderer.
He settled back into his corner and waited some more.
He heard a pair—no, two pairs—of footsteps getting closer to him. Maybe he’d have some fun with these people; he wouldn't half-ass his attempt this time. As they turned the corner, Lorcan took a breath and leaped out in front of them.
Several things happened one after the other.
Lorcan roared “Boo!” Not the scariest thing to say, but his size, stance, and volume made up for it.
The pair, two women, screamed. One severely louder than the other.
In less than a moment, he recognized his beautiful, terrified girlfriend.
Elide, letting out her shriek, and unable to see Lorcan’s face beneath the mask, moved instinctually letting her body take over instead of thinking.
She drew her arm back and punched him in the face.
Lorcan’s head flew backward, not expecting the impact.
“Elide!” Aelin gaped at her friend, but Elide was still screaming, partly because of the heart attack she knew she was having and partly because her hand immediately began to hurt once she made impact with the masked man’s face.
Lorcan grunted, bringing his hand up to hold his definitely broken nose. He could feel the blood already dripping down behind the mask.
“Fuck!” He groaned, managing to pull the mask off his swelling face.
The moment the mask was off and his face was recognizable, both ladies’ eyes went wide.
“Lorcan?” Elide screeched, moving toward him, her face caught between disbelief and guilt. “Oh, my gods, Lorcan! I’m so sorry!” She tried to touch his face but he winced as she brushed his nose.
Devastation crossed her face as she took in the very real blood and bruising on her boyfriend’s face, all caused by her.
Alternatively, Aelin found it all hysterical. She was bent over, cackling, tears streaming down her face. She was laughing so hard that soon she wasn't making any sound, just clapping her hands together so she could continue to show her amusement.
“Oh, Lor—”
“I’b okay,” he muttered.
Elide sighed dejectedly, “When you say I’b instead of I’m it means you’re not okay. Gods, I can't believe I punched you.”
“You punched him!” Aelin got out between laughs. “This is one of my favorite moments, ever.”
“Oh hush Ae.” But her lips tugged up at the corner.
“I saw ‘at” Lorcan said, his words getting clogged by the swelling of his nose and the blood dripping down, and letting Elide fuss over him.
“Saw what?” She asked innocently, trying not to hurt him and she turned his face from side to side.
“ ‘at little sbile” That little smile.
She gave him a light kiss on the tip of his nose, careful not to put pressure on the broken part. “You’re the one who jumped out and scared me, you should be proud that my instinct when being attacked is to punch my attacker.”
He rolled his eyes. “But it's be,” But it's me. He gestured to himself.
“Yeah, but you had a mask on, and I was already on edge after someone,” she glared at Aelin who had finally calmed down, “made me walk through this entire monstrosity of a setup.”
Elide gave him another kiss, this time on the corner of his mouth.
“It’s by nose ‘ats broken, not by lips.” He pointed out when she pulled away.
She laughed, and her smile almost made his broken face worth it—almost.
“Come on, let's get you to the hospital,” She cringed thinking about having to explain to the doctors how this happened, “and when they give you the all-clear, I’ll give you all the kisses you want.”
“You two go,” Aelin told them and tossed Elide the keys to her car, “call me later. I’m gonna go find Ro and Fen and tell them all about this.”
Elide rolled her eyes as Lorcan flipped Aelin off and Aelin waved cheerfully back before practically skipping down the hall.
“I’ll give it to you, ‘at was a damn good punch.” Lorcan grabbed her hand, pulling her into his side as his other hand kept a firm hold on his face.
She smiled up at him, but he could still see the guilt on her face. “Well, I did learn from the best. Now, please use your hulking body and bloody face to scare off any more characters as we leave.”
He laughed as best he could and pulled her tighter against him. “I t’ink ‘hey should be more scared of you.”
Luckily they didn't run into any more jump-scares on their way out.
Once they were in the car—Elide forcing Lorcan into the passenger seat after pushing it all the way back for him and climbing into the driver's seat herself—they left the grounds and started driving towards the hospital.
“You know,” Lorcan said, glancing over at his brilliant, violent girlfriend, “when you said you’b promise to make the night exciting, this is nob what I had in mind.”
Okay, so maybe her smile did make his bloody face worth it.
***
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#elide lochan#lorcan salvaterre#elorcan#elide x lorcan#lorcan x elide#elide and lorcan#lorcan and elide#elorcan fic#au#throne of glass#tog#fanfic#fanfiction#elorcan fluff#elide#lorcan#halloween#halloween au#haunted house#oneshot#minor rowaelin#aelin#Rowan#fenrys#rowaelin
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Through Fire and Ice Chapter 8
(Technoblade x Reader)
Chapter 8
<Prev Chapter | Next Chapter>
~~~~~~
Techno and Ranboo were hard at work on the mine to the library in the stronghold. It had been two weeks since you had requested Techno to come help you out of your panic. When the two of you talked more on the subject, you were careful with your words. He could tell you weren’t trying to offend him when it came to Phil, but Techno picked up on your fear of Philza almost immediately. He wanted you to be comfortable around Phil, but that was obviously going to need some time.
Even so, when Phil expressed that he wanted to apologize formally, Techno had shaken his head, saying it wasn’t the right time yet. Techno didn’t need to say anything else for Phil to get it. Though he still had a sad look in his eyes. The both of them had seen wars, and what they do to people. They had seen what can throw those people over the edge, and sometimes it wasn’t the war, but the aftermath when the war was branded into their minds. They wouldn’t push you, not until you were ready.
Ranboo had a satchel attached to his side, and every once in a while, Techno would watch him fiddle with it when the bag had gotten in his way. Raising his eyebrow, Techno said nothing, only kept swinging away with his pickaxe. He listened to Ranboo talk, easily throwing his thoughts in here and there. Ranboo was extremely easy to get along with. For that, Techno was grateful.
“Let me just check our coords.” Ranboo pulled the flap of the satchel up searching around the bag. The thing that caught Techno’s attention was the rough texture of the black egg sitting inside the satchel.
“Uhhhh, Ranboo?” Techno set the end of the pickaxe down and let some of his weight rest on the handle. “Why are you carrying the egg around?” Ranboo stopped, he nervously grinned, gauging Techno’s reaction.
“Well, um… You see…” Ranboo fumbled over his words. “This egg,” he hesitated, “likes to follow me?” The piglin hybrid cocked his head to the side, his golden eyes showing confusion.
“Alright, I believe it.” Techno used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead away. “You’re always finding out something weird about yourself, so this isn’t really that surprising.” Ranboo’s tail swished behind him, and he visibly relaxed.
“Wanna see?” Ranboo asked looking eager. “I haven’t been able to show Phil yet, he’s been too busy.”
Techno nodded, his eyes watching as Ranboo placed the egg down on the ground and went to walk away from the egg. It didn’t take too long before the sound of an enderman teleporting ripped its way through the strip mine, echoing off the walls. There sitting before Ranboo was the egg. Ranboo’s eyes twinkled as he looked back toward Techno. He carefully picked the egg up from the ground, stowing it back into his satchel. The action made Techno chuckle.
“Ranboo, you remind me of one of those parents who carries their baby in a harness strapped to their chest.” Techno snickered.
“What can I say, parenthood has snuck up on me.” Ranboo laughed with Techno. It wasn’t too long before they were back at work on the tunnel. They weren’t even halfway to the strong hold. It was going to take a while before they were going to be there. Especially since Phil wanted the library under wraps. They didn’t need anyone trying to sabotage anything.
Techno let his mind wander back to you, the way you felt in his arms, your scent. Everything about you was alluring to him and he couldn’t understand it. But… He also saw the way you looked at Dream, he heard your giggles to Dreams jokes. He could pretend he didn’t see the light touches the two of you would share. He set his jaw, putting more into his swings of his pickaxe. This had to be some cruel joke on him.
He rarely liked the company of others, always telling himself to be more social when people were around. Some even snubbed him when he tried. There were a few people that were good to him, he couldn’t deny that. He was fine being alone.
Techno still lost in his thoughts, kept going, hitting harder and harder with his pickaxe. Ranboo was now looking over at him curiously, the sight making him worry for Techno. He didn’t know how to even approach it. Techno kept mining forward, his breathing becoming labored. He only stopped when his pickaxe had broken, crumbling in his hands. He stood there for just a second heavily breathing, his hands clenched. Why was he so tense?
“You alright, Tech?” Ranboo leaned in beside Techno. Techno wiped the sweat from his face, his mind flashing to you, your face twisted like the others when they saw him. He hated it. If Dream had his way that’s how it would be. Maybe it was time to put his violent ways to rest? The voices be damned. He didn’t want you to see him as a monster. There was no need to fight anymore, he wanted to settle down.
--
Phil grinned at his invention for the ever-growing residential area of The Burrow. His arm was all healed up, after many persuaded him to take a health potion from the doctor. This left him able to do his projects. He had installed multiple elevators so that the people building their houses up high could easily reach ground level. His hands rested on his hips triumphantly as he watched some children playing with the elevators, with their parents watching. Phil tested his invention out one last time, going to the very top of the cavern that was eye level with some of the glowstone hanging down. His elytra hung from his shoulders like a cape.
This was something that he had been wanting to do for a while. He climbed over the railing of the landing that led into people’s homes.
He allowed himself to look at the ground, his hands grasping the railing. It was a long way down but having flown across a void this was nothing to him. He let himself fall forward, feeling his fingers slip away from the railing, he fell, and he glided through the cavern toward the beacon on the other end. The wind on his face, the excitement in his chest, his emotions were heightened. He let out a triumphant laugh, as the structures around him started whizzing by. People were cheering for him as he zipped past them.
When he had gotten to the beacon, he let his feet touch down, the adrenaline still pumping. What he wouldn’t give to find a gigantic cave and fly through it. This cavern was only a taste of it. But cavern’s like that were rare. His eyes scanned the area of people busy at work.
His eyes landed on the newest addition of the cave; a hospital carved into the wall right next to where the old med bay had been just two weeks prior. Wilbur was put in charge of the building plans for this, and it turned out beautiful. It was mostly made of quartz from the nether, and it was nicely accentuated with bricks. The inside was very nice as well, with plenty of room for everyone who needed care. A voice broke him out of his thoughts.
“Ey Philza! Big man!” Schlatt approached Phil. “How ya been?” The goat hybrid stopped a few feet away from him. He was acting like he hadn’t called Phil out two weeks ago. “I had something I wanted to talk to ya about.” Phil sighed in irritation.
Before two weeks ago he hadn’t minded Schlatt, now he was just a pain, because people were still treating Phil as a traitor, and those that spewed that hate usually expressed how they wanted Schlatt as the head of The Burrow. Phil would gladly step down, but he never received any official answer from Schlatt. Phil didn’t want the stress, but he was thrust upon this role, he would take the role until someone else wanted to step in. He kind of hoped it would be Schlatt.
“So,” Schlatt grinned at Phil. “I’ve been noticing people’s morale around here is plummeting and I am here to talk business.” He clapped his hands together. “So… I propose, a sort of… arena.” He stood up straight his arms fall behind his back. “We need some sort of entertainment, so why not let people beat the shit out of other people for the amusement of others.” Phil gave him a dead pan look.
“An… Arena?” Phil sighed. “I do have my concerns Schlatt,” Phil looked at Schlatt uneasily.
“Oh, I know you do, Phil. That’s why I’m here to tell you… That there will be rules, to abide by, legal forms and all that.” He waved his hand at the mention of the legalities. “This could really be the start we need for the economy.” Schlatt’s goat eyes peered down at Phil almost expectantly.
“Economy?” Phil felt his face twist up in confusion. “What are you on about Schlatt?”
“Well, you see Philza. I’m glad you asked because I have a shiny new currency, just ready to be used.” He fished around his pocket, pulling a gold coin engraved with an s out. “Introducing, the Schlatt coin!” He gave Phil a huge smile. Phil quirked up an eyebrow at him.
“Sounds like a waste of gold mate.” Phil crossed his arms and shrugged. “Emeralds are a good currency to use.” Phil’s words caused Schlatt’s smile to falter. Phil inwardly sighed, would he really give this man leadership if he asked for it? Maybe… But he was scared that Schlatt would use up resources for meaningless things like the Schlatt coin. “I’ll tell you what Schlatt, you can run your arena. You can allow gambling, you can sell Schlatt coins for gambling purposes, but outside your arena they are worthless.”
“So, what you’re sayin’ is my Schlatt coins are nothing more than poker chips.” Schlatt gave a grimace pocketing his coin.
“Take the deal or not. Emeralds have higher value than gold.” Schlatt pondered over his words. “Not to mention it wouldn’t be hard to fake a Schlatt coin. There’s so much gold in the nether.” Schlatt rubbed his chin, pondering.
“Alright Phil, you do have some good points. This might also allow me to expand into other business ventures.” Schlatt had his smile back on. “Did you know I always wanted to be a landlord?” Phil shook his head. The conversation went on, about Schlatt’s wants in life. This conversation revealed more of Schlatt as a person, than of the businessman. Schlatt was about to turn and walk away when he stopped and faced toward Phil once more. “Ey, tell Technoblade, that if he wants to come fight in The Pit, I would be more than happy to make some money off of him.” With that he chuckled and walked away.
Phil let out a sigh of relief. What an… Odd conversation. He couldn’t deny the people needed somewhere to let their frustrations out, whether it was actually fighting in the pit or gambling their money away. Having an economy would hopefully serve this place well. Services couldn’t be free forever, and trading when there was already lack of resources was proving hard.
Phil started walking toward the new hospital to check on everything. He had a lot to think about, and hopefully this was a step in the right direction for everyone here.
--
You had earned yourself a good gig working for Niki. She gave you a place to sleep, and she fed you well, in order for your services. This was the least you could do for her. You did not want to make someone feel as if you were using them. You wanted to give back. The last two weeks you had healed nicely, due to a health potion Niki had scrounged up for you. You were running deliveries out to people; they were mostly deliveries of rations to everyone around The Burrow. Techno enjoyed walking with you on your deliveries every night.
For whatever reason Techno was late today, he mentioned something about mining earlier. You shrugged it off when you didn’t see him waiting for you at Niki’s door. Making your way to the small cart that Dream had made for you, you start loading it up with the boxes of food Niki had prepared. You lingered for a second, your eyes scanning the area for Techno. Disappointment set in when you didn’t see your friend, biting the inside of your cheek you sigh. You really enjoyed walking with him.
“Want some help tonight?” You recognized Dream’s voice; he had approached you while you were checking the wheels on the cart. A smile pulled at your lips at the sight of him.
“Sure, thanks Dream.” Well at least you had a friend with you during tonight’s delivery run. “I appreciate it!”
“Heh,” Dream chuckled, “It’s not a problem at all. You shouldn’t be pulling carts by yourself anyway.” His fingers lightly grazed your cheek. “How are you feeling?” His voice soothed your soul.
“I’m alright,” You subconsciously leaned into his touch, feeling your heart flutter. “It feels good to be doing things again.” You let out a sigh of content. This cave was beautiful in comparison to the unfinished room you currently slept in. Techno was slowly but surely working to add a second story to the bakery, and to finish off what needed to be done in the main bakery. The second story would serve as Niki’s home.
“I bet,” Dream hummed, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” The two of you talked, as you started your route. People were starting to get used to seeing you, and you pretended not to notice how they would look at Techno when he towered over them. You could smell their fear, you wished they could see the being that Techno was to you. It was a different story when Dream was with you. People greeted you more as well as Dream, people didn’t act scared of Dream like they did with Techno. The thought made you sad.
You and Dream had just gotten done with the residential part of your route, on your way back to the bakery to collect more food from Niki. Your eyes looked around at everyone’s houses most of them were in the walls of the cave, but some were log cabins adorning the makeshift streets. What caught your attention, was a blank cave wall, ready to be mined out and built in. You stopped and looked at the wall.
“You want a house of your own?” Dream asked as he peered back at you when you stopped. You bit your lip and nodded. Having your own space would be amazing. “We can do that for you.” Dream slapped a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close, you could feel the heat from his body. “Command me to move the world, and I will do it for you.” You could see his smile behind his mask.
“Cheesy.” You let out a laugh. He laughed with you, his grip tightening on your shoulder.
“I know you like it.” He teased, “But seriously, Sapnap and I can help you with your house. I’d say George too… But… I can almost guarantee that he’ll be off sleeping somewhere.”
“Well at least you know your friend well enough,” You giggled. Dream sighed happily at your laughter. He let go of your shoulder, and you found yourself missing his touch. He returned to his earlier position pulling the cart.
“We should get back and do the rest of the route.” You could hear the smile in his voice, and you nodded walking by his side. Your chest felt warm having him by your side. You hadn’t felt anything like this in a very long time. You dared to let your hand pull the cart with him, he only chuckled and you felt the weight of his hand on yours the rest of the trip back to Niki’s bakery.
You still missed Techno, but you had failed to see him when you were immersed in conversation with Dream. Techno saw Dream’s hand on yours and he saw how happy you were talking with him; he couldn’t bring himself to do or say anything. He just stumbled back and gained his composure, his eyes flicked from you to Dream. He couldn’t ignore your smile, the way you laughed. He shook his head and headed back to Phil’s house.
Maybe you were better off with Dream.
#technoblade x reader#technoblade/reader#c!techno x reader#techno fanfic#c!techno#angst#dream x reader#dream mcyt#through fire and ice#mcyt x reader
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Three Firsts
Day 2 of Jeankasa Week 2021: First Kiss
Ao3
There are different types of first kisses: The one at the beginning of a relationship. The one to seal a relationship forever. The one to welcome a new life into a relationship.
Another nightmare. Three years, and they haunted him at least thrice a week –the faces of his fallen comrades, the millions of children stomped into the ground, the thousands of families left without a home to return to. He faced them in his nightmares; they accused him of not having seen the signs in Eren earlier, they accused him for not running after him the day he’d left, for not forcing him to tell Mikasa -once and for all- how he felt about her.
Perhaps this was why he’d become so dead set with Armin’s ideals of peace. He wanted to help the world and the island, yes, but above all, Jean wanted absolution.
“Jean,” a voice called, and in the crowd of millions pointing fingers at him, Jean recognized it immediately. His friends’ voices anchored him to sanity, but this particular voice was also anchored in his heart. “Jean, wake up.”
Jean came back onto his senses. He’d fallen asleep at his study table in the royal library, where most of them spent their time now that the negotiations had started. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and stretched against the chair; budgeting wasn’t his forte…nor was it to try and convince a rich western president to spare scraps for the refugees. But Armin had trusted him with the tasks and Jean couldn’t let him down. Besides, he didn’t have the heart to leave all the work to his negotiations partner, who had surprised them all with her abilities with numbers.
“Hey,” Mikasa said to his right, reaching out to graze his arm with the palm of her hand. Jean jolted in his seat, confused at the sight of her. Mikasa drew her hand away and recoiled, and he wanted to slap himself in the face for his stupid reaction. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“No, I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice.” He hurried to say. Mikasa’s lips formed an O and nodded, looking more relieved that he hadn’t been terrified of seeing her. Jean smiled, noticing her rucksack lying on the table…and the empty tables around. “What time is it?”
“Midnight, almost.”
“Huh?” Jean said, rubbing his eyes. “What are you doing here? Wasn’t Armin leaving at six today?”
Mikasa shook her head. “He left at five,” she corrected, giving him a sideways glance. “I was waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t want you to walk back alone.”
Jean’s heart leaped in his chest, and he pictured a small rabbit bouncing inside his torso. He shouldn’t be surprised, his mind reminded his heart. They’d exchanged letters before his arrival, they’d been comrades at arms in the battlefield, they’d stopped the end of the world together. Of course, she would be concerned about him. That didn’t mean she felt anything special for him.
Friendship love was still love. He didn’t aspire to anything else. Five months had passed since their arrival, and he was content with just spending time by her side, seeing her smile come onto her more and more naturally.
“Buses aren’t running anymore, are they?” Jean guessed.
“Last one must be leaving now. Historia took the last royal car about an hour ago,” Mikasa said, looking at the pocket watch Armin had brought for her from the continent. “It’s going to be a long walk back.”
Jean sighed and gave her an apologetic look. Historia had given them rooms in one of the newest buildings in the district, with beautiful views of the countryside and rivers and only a fifteen minute drive away from her own residence…and a whole hour walk away from the royal palace. “I’m sorry, Mikasa. You shouldn’t have waited for me.”
“It’s alright.” Mikasa replied, coming to her feet, grabbing the pink cardigan she’d laid out on her table. “We need to get going, though, before all the drunk people come out of the pubs.”
“Allow me,” he said, standing from his chair and taking the cardigan from her hands. She blinked up at him, almost startled, and Jean had to chuckle. “Turn around, please.”
She did as he requested, and Jean helped her put her arms into the sleeves, then flattened the wrinkled fabric on her shoulders. Mikasa looked at him over her shoulder, locking her eyes with his for a moment that stretched an eternity. “Thank you,” she whispered, her low voice creating a pocket universe around them even in the empty room.
“We need to get going,” Jean said, clearing his throat and reaching out to grab her backpack from the table. He focused on the books he’d laid out and began stuffing them in her bag. “Can I put these books in here? I’ll carry it for you. Mine’s already full.”
“I can carry it.”
Jean shook his head. “No, let me. I’m the one that’s taking all these books home.”
“We’re both working the budgets, Jean, I can carry my own backpack.”
“I can do it.”
Mikasa pressed her hand against the paper he’d been about to stash away, stopping him midmotion, narrowing her eyes as if examining a new life organism. “Are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Not a ghost, but the outlines of his desire for her, which he’d worked so hard to suppress the past months. The impulse of kissing her overcame him whenever they did their runs to Historia’s orphanages, whenever he saw her smile and play with little Ymir and her friends (who loved clinging to her three at a time, since they knew she was the strongest around), when she was focused doing calculations he was too dumb to understand…when she spoke to him.
She’d grown so talkative the past month. At first, it had only been with him and Armin. But the more time passed, the more he noticed her opening to people. The other night, he’d seen her having dinner with Pieck, Hitch, and Annie. From their table, he and Armin had heard her laugh alongside for something Pieck had said about Annie. Later that very night, she’d walked back to their apartments with him, talking about the littlest matters and court gossip Historia filtered down to them whenever she felt bored.
Being her friend was his most precious treasure, and Jean didn’t want to ruin it by putting his romantic love for her first.
“I’m fine,” Jean replied, turning to look at her after a deep breath, counting to ten as he always did whenever he felt the urge to kiss her. The curiosity in her deep eyes pierced through him, and in the enclosed space, Jean’s almost felt as if an invisible force drew his body to hers. He straightened before he got any closer, clearing his throat yet again, ignoring the pink tint of her cheeks. “We need to get going.”
_________________________________
In the end, she hadn’t let him carry her backpack for her. He seemed tired enough as things were, and a couple of extra pounds on his back would do nothing to help his health. He ate well enough, but he never got many hours of sleep, and it concerned Mikasa. She wanted to wake him up before, at eleven, when Historia had sent her errand boys to let her know the last car was leaving the royal library…but he’d looked so cozy on the chair, she hadn’t had the heart to wake him. She’d decided to wake him until the nightmares started, certain they would catch the night bus.
Not that she didn’t enjoy walking the whole way back with him. They’d done it plenty of times these months, when their work extended long hours into the night. In most occasions, they’d walked back in a group, accompanied by the banter of Pieck and Reiner, or by Connie’s longing remarks for his girlfriend at the continent.
Besides, she’d taken a liking to dinner with Annie, Pieck and Hitch the past couple of days.
All in all, it had been a while since the last time it’d been the two of them alone on the road home. She liked being alone around Jean; his presence gave her reassurance. At first, it had been like a firm, sturdy ship that had pulled her out of a sea of monsters and terribly high waves crawling with corpses. But now he was a tree; a tall tree overflowing with beautiful ripe fruit, perfect words for any situation, with astonishingly wide branches to cover her from the searing pain of guilt and grief.
It had taken a while for his roots to take hold in her heart. But they were there, growing deeper with each day, cementing themselves further and further into her soul.
She’d felt this before, when her first home had been ripped away from her, when that little boy with the green eyes had reached out to her and offered her a new one. Back then, they’d been surrounded by so much horror that she hadn’t figured out exactly what the boy with the green eyes had meant for her. Now she was an adult, however, well past her first heartbreak, her first lost love. And she recognized the same warmth in her heart whenever she looked into the hazel speckled eyes of the man walking by her side.
“The moon,” she said, pointing at the sky. “It’s really pretty tonight, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Jean said, looking at her instead of the sky. “Are you cold? Do you need my sweater?”
“I’m fine,” Mikasa shook her head and rubbed her hands together. “We just need to walk quicker.”
“I can carry that for you.”
“Jean.”
He hunched his shoulders. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you carry it,” he said with a kind smile. “But if your back is sore tomorrow, don’t blame me.”
“I won’t.”
“Because I’ll tell them the truth, Ackerman,” Jean said, chuckling as she turned to look at him with her brow furrowed. “I’ll tell them you’re as stubborn as the will of kings, three times more stubborn than the queen of Paradis itself…I know, I know what you’re going to say. ‘You’re an idiot, Kirstein’.”
“You are. And you’ve learned from the best,” Mikasa quipped back. “I mean Connie.”
Jean laughed, his voice mingling with the echoes and faint music coming from the pubs around them. Mikasa covered her mouth to laugh; she’d never thought anyone would ever consider her funny…no, she had never thought she would ever feel compelled to tell a joke, or just act her age, ever again.
Her friendship to Jean was her most precious treasure after those three years. Her love for Armin had not wavered, he was still the only family from her past she had left, but Armin would have his own family soon, at the continent. And she couldn’t blame him or force him to stay. She wanted him to move on from the pain, even if that meant leaving her behind.
The thing was, Mikasa didn’t want Jean to leave her behind.
“You look thoughtful.” He pointed out as they passed another pub.
“I’m thinking about Armin,” she replied. “About the wedding.”
“Are you excited about it?”
“Not more than he is.” Mikasa said. “I’m just shocked.”
“Shocked?”
She nodded. “We fought so much against them, the Marley warriors, the titan shifters. And now we’re dining with them, and Armin is marrying Annie.”
“Strange turn of events?”
“It’s weird how life doesn’t go as you imagine it,” Mikasa replied, tilting her head back to look at the moon, its surface rough and damaged, and still the most beautiful sight in the sky. “If you’d asked me five years ago how I imagined my life, I would’ve told you…”
Her voice disappeared gradually as she realized she’d almost mentioned Eren. Jean didn’t mind talking about him; in fact, that’s all they had done the first couple of weeks, reminisce about the past, about their time as soldiers. However, the more time they spent together, the less she liked bringing him in conversation. Why, she didn’t understand. He’d been Eren’s friend, after all.
“You would’ve said you wanted to spend the rest of Eren’s years by his side.” Jean finished saying. “You don’t need to be ashamed to say it. You love him.”
“I loved him.” She corrected, not wanting to look at Jean. Her love for Eren was there, of course, but there was only so much love she could give a dead man. “And you’re right. That’s what I would’ve said…and I would’ve had no idea of what to do afterwards. That would’ve been the end of the line for me. I never thought I’d be alive after Eren’s death.”
“What do you think you’d say now?” Jean asked. There was no hidden message in his words, just genuine interest for her wellbeing, for assurance that she would not drown in grief again, as they’d found her upon their return. “If someone asked you how you imagine your future now, what would you say?”
“I’d say I want to keep living,” she said, with much more certainty than what she’d expected. “I want to keep living with you guys. I want to see little Ymir at school. I want to be at Armin’s wedding, and at Connie’s wedding. I want to keep hearing Hitch’s jokes. I want to keep walking home with you after work and make dinner together.”
“I wanna keep making dinner with you too.” Jean replied, with the longing look she’d come to recognize so well the past few weeks.
Mikasa brought her hands up to her face to blow hot air into her palms, hoping the gesture would cover the color in her cheeks, thinking perhaps she could blame the cold, if he asked, or if he stared too much –he did tend to stare at her every now and then.
“Hey. The skin in your fingers is cracking,” Jean said. He grabbed her hands to examine them, stopping in front of another pub. “I know you’re saying you want to keep living, but catching a cold isn’t precisely going in that direction.”
“Are you going to scold me like a kid for forgetting my gloves?” Mikasa asked, her gaze threatening to turn into a glare.
Jean gave her a playful smile. He brought out a set of bandages from his pockets and began wrapping her fingers with the soft fabric. “Exactly. Papa doesn’t like when children forget their winter clothes, especially when it’s starting to snow.”
Mikasa snorted again. “You’re such an idiot. Please don’t call yourself papa.”
Jean laughed, and they wrapped themselves once again in their little universe. It happened often, when they cooked, gossiped about the court or simple when they worked their budgeting books in the library. One look from either of the two, and they became separate entities from the reality around them, with their attention solely on the other. It was a nice little trick they had; it was what had turned this friendship of theirs into her treasure.
“Put my gloves on, please,” he said, putting them in her hands. “I don’t want you hurt.”
“Jean, a cold isn’t deadly.”
“Still.” He said, his face growing serious. “I don’t want to see you hurting.”
Mikasa opened her mouth to say something, but the crowd coming from the pub to their right was louder. A group of twenty people or so, all their age, surrounded them in a circle of drunken laughter and cheers, their voices too loud for her liking, their faces red and bodies oblivious to the snow that had started falling from the sky. A man older than the rest had a violin in his hands, and despite his efforts to play the cheery little melody, Mikasa and Jean cringed at the dissonant sound from his strings.
“We need to get home. They’re not dangerous, but they’re too loud.” She told him, huddling closer to him. Jean put a hand on the back of her head and the other to her waist, as if to shield her from the crowd. A group of girls pulled the violinist to an empty stretch of street. The man, emboldened by being in front of the crowd, stood on a bench near him and played even more passionately.
Jean turned to look at her, laughing. “He’s really bad, isn’t he?”
Mikasa felt her chest moving in laughter. She closed her eyes as another set of high notes pierced the night. “He’s awful,” she laughed, huddling closer as two couples began to jump nearby. She opened her eyes, cringing still. “Take me home, please.”
Her eyes met the hazel in his; he was staring at her again. There were snowflakes on his hair and face, and his cheeks were more blushed than the cheeks from the people around them. She felt herself relax in his arms and the stupid little tune from the violin became muffled in her ears. “You have snowflakes,” she pointed out, lifting herself up on the tip of her toes to run her thumb along his eyebrows.
She traced a line with her finger down his jawline, wondering when he’d grown into such manly shapes. He leaned in, barely half a centimeter, and her body took that as all the invitation she needed. Mikasa grabbed his face with both hands and touched his lips with hers, moving them in an awkward, simple motion she’d seen other people her age do.
She thought he would push her away that second he held his breath; she thought he would reject her advance, tell her he saw her as nothing more than a friend –a possibility that, she was shocked to realize, made her feel as if an iron fist squeezed the blood out of her heart.
But after that moment of initial shock, Jean wrapped her waist with his arms and lifted her in the air, kissing her as a longtime lover. Whoops and cheers surrounded them, and the violinist stopped playing for the blessed seconds their lips moved against each other.
He put her on the ground and pressed his forehead against hers once they’d finished, catching his breath while the drunken crowd clapped and cheered. He closed her eyes and so did Mikasa, both at a loss for words of what they’d done.
“Oi!” the violinist shouted, and the crowd quieted around him. “Aren’t you the Ackerman girl? The titan-killer? Stronger than a thousand men?”
Mikasa tensed in his arms; she was accustomed to being antagonized by some groups in the island, but she’d hoped the alcohol would keep them from recognizing her. She didn’t like the idea of getting into trouble with Jean there.
“Yes,” Mikasa said, lowering Jean’s arm, which he’d begun wrapping around her protectively. If this was going to be an argument, she didn’t want them to antagonize Jean. “I am. Why?”
The violinist smiled, playing an out-of-tune chord in excitement. “I knew I recognized ya! I didn’t know you had a sweetheart!” he shouted happily. “I saw you in Trost! You saved our lives and you were just a little teenage kid! I never thought I’d see the day I’d see you happy and married.”
“Oh,” Mikasa said, relaxing. “We’re not married yet.”
“Yet?” Jean asked suddenly.
“That’s a lovely sweetheart you’ve got there, boy. Take good care of her or she might as well will rip your balls off,” the violinist half-shouted, half-laughed, putting his instrument under his chin and bowing in their direction. “For the happy couple.”
“For the happy couple!” the crowd cheered on. The violinist resumed playing –or rather, he resumed murdering the song— and the crowd resumed their celebration, forgetting about them as soon as another couple began kissing. Mikasa pulled him by the shirt, leading him into an emptier street. They stood under the shadow of a tall building, away from the crowd but near enough to still hear the violin, although this time the song didn’t sound quite as bad.
“They didn’t take anything from your backpack, did they?” she said, clutching on the floor to inspect hers.
“Did-did you say yet?” Jean managed to stammer. Mikasa looked up at him, and a smile came to her at his shocked expression. It was just so easy to smile when he was around. “Did you say we’re not married yet?”
“You’re going to get a nosebleed, Kirstein.”
Jean laughed and dropped his backpack next to hers; he clutched, close enough that she smelled his cologne. He inspected the contents of his bag for a brief second and then gave her another look. “Can I kiss you again?”
“Do you want to?” Mikasa said.
“I’ve wanted to for a whole month now. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, though, Mikasa. Just tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy.” He said in an urgent whisper. The raw intent of his words took her breath away; he’d grown into such a good man, he’d become such a good friend. She couldn’t deny him another kiss. No. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deny him a kiss.
She just wanted another kiss. From him. Not anyone else. “You’re not.” Mikasa said, cradling his face with both of her hands. “Your kiss did wonders to cheer up the night.”
_________________________________
Mikasa waited for the music to begin while tapping her slipper on the cobblestones, ripping another flower petal off the bouget to rob its soft surface. At this point, she’d walk in with nothing but skinny branches in her hands. She fanned herself with the bouquet, thinking should’ve cut her hair beforehand; It was late spring, but the heatwaves were already upon them. Her dress was light enough, but Mikasa guessed the nerves were playing against her.
He liked her hair long, though. And she loved feeling his hands running through it.
“Are they ready yet?” she asked Armin the moment he walked around the corner.
“Historia’s ready,” Armin said, then scratched the back of his head. “Jasper is tuning the instrument.”
“We’re just signing those documents,” Mikasa said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her back against the wall. “None of this has to be this grand…he can just play that silly little tune of his and be done with it.”
“Weren’t you the one who got insisted on getting this violinist guy? You went all the way into the inner districts to find him. Something about it being special?” Armin said, arching an eyebrow. Mikasa gave him an icy look, but that didn’t erase the knowing smile on his face. “You’re going to get your dress stained against that wall.”
She straightened and turned around, allowing Armin to shake the dust of the back of it, her eyes set on the birds flying overhead. “Was he nervous?”
“He had to change his suit twice from sweating so much.”
Mikasa lowered her head to snort. “I’m not surprised.”
“Turn around,” Armin asked. Mikasa did as he requested and allowed him to wrap her up in an embrace; she leaned her face against his shoulder and took a deep breath, steadying herself. Her feet had been trembling in anticipation for a good hour. “I’m so happy you get to smile like this.”
“Me too.” She said, coming apart from him, tucking her hair behind her ears. Soft, mellow notes drifted to them from inside the greenhouse Historia had provided for them and Armin gave her an excited smile.
Mikasa sighed in relief; the violinist had assured her he was good when sober and she hadn’t doubted him, and she was glad Connie had kept him from any pubs until the ceremony. She wouldn’t have minded to hear the same stupid tune from their first night together, but the prospect of queen Historia officiating a wedding ceremony with a drunken violinist…Connie aand Reiner would’ve found it hilarious, to be fair.
“Are you ready?” Armin asked, offering her his arm. Mikasa looked at the birds once more before focusing on her childhood friend.
“Yes.” She said, intertwining her arm with his. Armin kissed her cheek and looked away to wipe a stray tear from his cheek against his shoulder, Mikasa guessed. “Thank you, Armin. I love you.”
It was so easy to tell the people she loved that she loved them. He’d done that for her; he had managed to open her constricted heart by just being there with her. He’d saved her from herself in such a kind, gentle way, and it was something she would forever be grateful for. It was one of the many thousand reasons why she’d fallen in love with him.
She felt like a giddy schoolgirl by seeing him at the end of the hallway, hands clasped in front of him, staring at her with tears in his eyes. The feeling grew as her friends turned to look at her, all smiling, even Levi. And while she knew her head ought to have focused on happiness, Mikasa was reminded of all the horrible things they’d seen together as Armin walked her down the aisle. All the people that were missing in that crowd of friends, people they would never see again.
It made her wonder. what was it about her that was so special? What was it about her existence that had given her the right to keep living, make new friends, fall in love with this wonderful, perfect man waiting for her at the altar…why was her heart so full of happiness now. Why couldn’t she share this happiness and her love for Jean with Sasha, Hange, Mina, Marco, Eren?
“Hey,” Jean whispered as Armin let go of her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
“What’s the matter?”
Mikasa lowered her head. “Not everyone’s here to celebrate with us.”
“They are here.” Jean said. “They’re all watching over us.”
He took her arm in his gently, not to lead her to the altar, but to hold her steady. He’d noticed her change of expression, a change not even Armin at her side had seen. And, putting his own desires aside -as always when it came to her-, he spoke in the low, caring voice she adored so much. “We don’t have to do this right now, Mika.”
“I want to.”
“Are you sure?” Jean asked. “If you want to call it off—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. Her hand went up to caress his cheek. “I love you.”
He smiled at her, looking as charming as the princes from little Ymir’s fairytales, awakening that childish giddiness in her heart that had escaped her so quickly at the thought of her fallen comrades. “I love you too, Mika. But I mean it, if you don’t feel—”
She kissed him in the lips for a long couple of seconds, uncaring about the curious gazes from their friends on the seats. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. It’s been like that for a while. It’ll be like that forever,” she whispered in between kisses. “It’s time we make it official.”
Historia cleared her throat from the other side of the altar, and she and Jean turned to look at her serious gaze. A childish giggle echoed across the place, and Mikasa guessed that was little Ymir, delighted to see someone other than herself had gotten in trouble with her mother. “You’re not supposed to have your first wedding kiss yet.”
“Let’s go,” Jean whispered. “She’s gonna bring firing squads back.”
“I heard that.” Historia replied, not without a hint of annoyance. Mikasa giggled, intertwining her arm with Jean.
“Are you sure?” he asked her in a low voice as they finish making their way to the altar.
“I told you before, haven’t I?” she said without looking at him. “Your kissing works wonders.”
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Jean knew he shouldn’t have left for the coastal towns with the welcoming party for the Hizuru commission at this point. But she’d insisted. And she was as stubborn as the will of kings.
Luckily, the little influence he had had gotten him an overnight train ride. And then, he’d found a horse. Few people used horses at the island anymore, but it’d been the quickest way to avoid the traffic of the newly built roads. And since he couldn’t take a horse into the grounds of the royal hospital, Jean had had to run.
He stumbled into the hospital room with sweat running down his forehead, hair sticking to the nape of his neck despite his ponytail, out of breath, but just in time. Armin was at her bedside, his face purple due to the pain of having his hand being squeezed by her.
“You’re here!” Mikasa sighed at the sight of him, then looked at Armin. “Make room for him.”
“I’ll let your mom know you’re here, Jean.” Armin informed him, running out of the room. Something in Jean suspected he was just relieved to have the chance to get some ice for his hand.
He ran to her bedside, brushing hair away from her flushed face. “How much longer?” he asked, his chest aching from seeing her twisting on the bed from the pain.
Mikasa cringed as another contraction came over. “You came just in time.”
He kissed her forehead. “Is it bad?”
“I could say I’ve felt worse,” Mikasa said, closing her eyes as her pain increased. “But I’d be lying.”
“You’re perfect,” he said, kissing her forehead one more time. “I wish I could do this for you.”
“You’d be crying like a baby by now, Kirstein, you and I know that.” She teased, and Jean laughed in relief. If she had energy to give him snarky, serious remarks, she would be fine.
“Ah, this is dad?” a woman he guessed was a physician asked, coming in the room escorted by two young nurses. Mikasa nodded, and the doctor acknowledged Jean with a polite nod. “You made it just in time, sir, she’s all ready to push.”
Jean swallowed hard, exchanging a look with Mikasa, noticing fear in her face for the first time in a long time. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “You can do it.”
“I know I can,” Mikasa said, taking a breath through her mouth. “Just hold my hand through it.”
He took her hand into his and suppressed his squeal of pain when she began pushing, thinking he would look like a complete dumbass if he complained from some hand squeezing when his wife was giving birth right in front of his eyes. Despite her quiet nature, it didn’t take long for her to start screaming as their child came out of her, and Jean could only whisper encouraging, love-filled words to her as she brought forth the life they’d created. The life she’d grown and carried for a whole nine months.
Jean had never thought his love for her could grow larger, but he’d clearly been mistaken, he thought as Mikasa crumbled back onto her chair and tiny little squeals filled the room. The physician and two nurses began cleaning their child, and Jean fell to his knees at the side of her bed. “Are you okay?” he asked, kissing the hand that had almost broken his just a moment ago.
Mikasa nodded, kissing him once on the lips. “And our baby?”
“She’s fine! A perfect, healthy baby girl!” the doctor announced, bringing her over to them wrapped in a yellow-colored blanket. “Want to hold her first, dad?”
“Let mom have the honors,” Jean replied, staring in awe at the tiny human crying in the doctor’s arms. “She just did all the work, didn’t she?”
The doctor placed their baby in Mikasa’s arms, who grabbed one of her tiny hands and kissed it while making shooshing noises. Jean stared, mouth wide open, at the sight of his wife and his child. Two perfect beings living comfortably in a peaceful world; his family, all he’d ever wanted. He swallowed hard, wondering what he’d done to deserve such a beautiful, perfect sight, what he’d done to deserve to be loved back by her.
Jean looked away, wiping the tears spilling down his eyes with the back of his hand as their daughter fell asleep at the sound of Mikasa’s voice. “Hey, dad,” she called gently. “Come see her, don’t cry.”
He leaned forward on the bed, and Mikasa kissed his cheek, using one of her hands to wipe his eyes. “She’s so beautiful. Look, she has your black hair,” he whimpered, running a careful finger across her soft arm. She gave him another smile, the type of smile he’d grown so accustomed to see these past years, a smile that people had doubted it even existed during their years at war. “Mikasa, I love you two so much.”
“I love you too,” she whispered while kissing his neck. “I love you so very fucking much.”
“Hey, language,” he said, kissing her lips and then grabbing their baby’s tiny hand again, speaking with a silly, childish tone of voice he’d heard other fathers use with their newborns. “We’re gonna need to get a swear jar or something. Mom and uncle Levi will fill that one up nicely.”
“Want to give her a kiss?” Mikasa asked.
Jean nodded eagerly, leaning forward to give her a small peck on the top of her tiny forehead; their baby stirred in her sleep, and it didn’t take long for her to begin crying. “It’s okay, Jean. Don’t be scared. Do you want hold her?”
“I’m fucking shaking here, I’ll drop her.”
“Language, Kirstein.” She reminded him, faking that serious expression from her teenage years. “Give her another kiss, come on.”
“She’s going to cry.”
“Just do it?” Mikasa said. “I want to see something.”
Jean sighed and leaned in to place a peck on her daughter’s cheeks, copying Mikasa’s shooshing noises as he neared her. Soon after his lips touched her, their baby quieted down again, closing her eyes as she settled against her mother’s breast. “Hey, how did you know that was going to happen?”
“She’s just like her mom,” Mikasa said, setting her eyes on the baby girl they’d created, the baby girl they would pour their love onto for the rest of their lives. “Your kisses do wonders to cheer up the women in this family. Remember that.”
#jeankasa#Jean x Mikasa#Mikasa Ackerman#Jean Kirstein#JeanMika#Jeankasa Week 2021#Jeankasa Week#mikasa x jean#fanfic#ao3#escritos#shingeki no kyojin fanfiction#JeankasaWeek2021
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Greek Myth Series: Eros and Psyche Part One
Eret x afab! reader
trigger warnings: yelling, mentions of pregnancy
premise: so the story of Eros and Psyche is kinda complicated, and no that many people know it, if you want to find out about it in a different context you can here or if you want to go into this blind, go ahead.
list of Greek Gods/characters for this work
Eros- Eret
Aphrodite- Puffy
Zephyrus- Philza
Zeus- Dream
Pan- Tubbo
{I tried to keep this gender neutral, but in the myth Psyche does end up pregnant, and its kind of a big plot point, I'm sorry.}
{also I forgot how long this story is, so I'm going to split it in two, on one hand so that I don't leave yall without content, and two because it'll be easier for me that way}
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There was a city state, long ago, near the sea, that was known for its beautiful royal family. The eldest daughters of the king had been considered the most beautiful in all of the land, until the youngest child, (y/n), came of age.
It is said that their beauty surpassed that of everyone in the kingdom, and where ever they went the people flocked, eager to earn their favor.
(y/n) knew of their beauty, but they did not look upon themself in vain, but they did know that this beauty caused jealousy among many, especially their sisters.
What they did not expect of this, was when the people of their kingdom began to worship them, as if they were the goddess of beauty, Puffy herself.
Now this was never something that (y/n) wanted, all they had wanted was to live a normal life, but now they had to stay shut up in their chambers, trying to ignore the cries from outside.
They were admired by all, yet wanted by none.
And as Puffy grew jealous, and planned with Eret to exact her revenge, (y/n)'s father sought help from the good oracle of Delphi, what was he to do if everyone in the land loved their looks, but no one wanted their hand in marriage.
As the months passed, and their chambers seemed to become even more like a prison and their sisters married other monarchs, (y/n) began to loath their beauty, wishing there was some way to be rid of it.
Having returned from his journey to Delphi, the king entered their chambers, "My child," Said he, "I have sought an answer, and answer, the oracle has given."
"And what answer is that?" (y/n) asked.
"In three days time we will hold your wedding," He took a shaky breath, "You are to be wedded to a dreadful monster, and in three days time, we will take you to the rock spire, at the edge of our kingdom, and leave you to him."
A gasp rippled through (y/n)'s throat, and they fell to their knees, "Father please don't leave me to die!"
He shook his head, "It is already done."
The three days passed in quick succession, and soon, (y/n) found themselves being led through the kingdom, dressed in a blackened wedding gown.
As their parents wept, they held their head high, having resigned to their fate.
Upon reaching the top of the spire, their family tearfully departed, leaving (y/n), wind whipping through their hair, dreadfully alone. Slowly, they inched closer to the edge, staring down to the rocky shore from which the pillar had grown.
A partially strong gust of wind caught them in the back, unexpected, and as they toppled over the side a scream ripped through their throat.
It took them a moment to realize that they had not made impact with the ground, that rather, they were floating, flying, being carried across the lands.
"Fear not," A disembodied voice assured them, "I am Philza, the west wind. No harm shall come to you."
(y/n) remained terrified until they were at last gently set upon the soft grass of a meadow.
"Go now, explore your new home." Philza urged.
Slowly, (y/n) moved forward, gaping as a huge villa came into view at the other end of the valley. As they drew further up the path, more disembodied voices greeted them.
"What is this place?" They asked softly, looking around in amazement.
"Why do you wonder so much of this finery? It is your own, do go inside, and rest and bath, and then there shall be a great feast." A soft, breezy voice returned.
Hesitantly, they did, enjoying a fresh bath, and much food and entertainment, but slowly, as night began to fall, the gayety died away, and they were urged to get ready for bed.
Having changed into night clothes, and climbed into bed, the lights were dimed by unseen servants, and they were told, "Rest now dear, your husband shall arrive soon."
"My husband?" They asked, confused, but there came no answer.
They laid awake, anxiously, until footsteps sounded on the floor.
"Who are you?" They demanded.
There was a soft chuckle, "Worry not, sweet (y/n), I am not here to hurt you. A husband should never have such intentions with his betrothed."
"Who are you?" They asked again, shuffling away as a weight settled on the other side of the bed.
"Your wife," she repeated, "I must admit, I didn't think of the consequence you might have faced upon hearing that dreadful fake of a prophecy. My dear, I am sorry, but could find no other way to take you away from the prying eyes of some."
Slowly, he retold the story, of how he had fallen in love with them, for the way that they had carried their burden, and when she had heard the plans of many, that they had to get them away.
"Alas, my sweet, you may not know my name, nor may you ever be permitted to see me, for it might tear us apart. For that, I am sorry."
There was a note of sadness in his voice, enough to tug at something in (y/n)s chest.
~~
He had away-ed at dawn, long before (y/n) awoke, leaving them to their thoughts of what had happened that night.
The following days seemed to follow the same pattern, until soon a week had passed, and then the weeks began to blend into months.
Back in the kingdom, in which (y/n) had lived, word had reached their sisters of what had happened, and each day they began to gather at the spire, calling for them, wishing they hadn't disappeared.
But, their husband warned them, that even though (y/n) could hear there voices, they must never call back, and the sisters may never be allowed into the valley.
For some time, (y/n) worked to comply, but hearing the despair in their sisters voice wore them down slowly, to the point where even when they were remind of how cruel the women could be, they did not care, and only wanted to see them again.
It got to a point, where one day, after their husband had left, they slowly crept from the villa, and dashing across the valley, called to Philza, begging him to take their sisters to the valley.
"Are you sure, (y/n)?" He asked.
"Yes, please, I'd do anything to see them again!" They begged.
Reluctantly, Philza's winds carried the sisters to the valley, where (y/n) embraced them, "My sisters! Don't weep! I'm safe!"
They hugged them back just as tightly, before letting go and looking around at the valley, and the villa.
"You live here?" The eldest asked.
"Yes, it is my husbands villa." They replied with a smile, "Come, I'll give you the tour, and then we may walk the gardens."
As the siblings moved from room to room, and (y/n) gave their tour, the sisters became increasingly jealous.
They had been married to old men, hardly holding onto their titles as king, why should their little sibling get all of this?
Soon, they were seated in the garden, nibbling on the food the servants had prepared.
"You certainly live in luxury (y/n)." The middle sister remarked.
They nodded, "Yes, I suppose I do."
"How does your husband afford all this? What does he do?" The elder asked.
"Well..." They trailed off, thinking, "I'm not sure."
"You mean you don't know?"
Slowly, (y/n) explained what had happened, and their husbands conditions of never being seen.
"Oh (y/n), honey," she pulled a sympathetic face, "He's clearly hiding something from you, and such a shame, you being pregnant with his child."
They glanced down at their stomach, they weren't showing that much, were they?
"It might turn out to be a monster, for all you know. You've never even seen him."
"No! He's not a monster!" They insited.
The sisters continued to build up the idea of their husband lying, or disguising himself, both in a subtle agreement to ruin everything (y/n) had.
"he's not!"
Frowning, one sister leaned forward and patted her hand, "Maybe, but you don't know. Just to be sure, when he has gone to sleep tonight, light a lantern, and look at him, just to be sure."
"I think you should go." (y/n)s voice was hard, and soon Philza was returning them to the kingdom from which they had came.
Night returned, and along with it, their husband.
She had fallen quickly to sleep, though (y/n) lay awake, their sisters voices filling their mind.
What if they were married to a monster?
Slowly, shakily, they rose, and finding a lamp, carefully lit it, before turning to their wife's side of the bed.
In the flickering lantern light, (y/n) beheld their husband for the first time, dark brown hair falling in curls about their head, and large feathered flings pooling at her back.
They gasped in amazement, turning to find a set of quiver and arrows at the foot of the bed, suddenly it made sense. The bow, the inhuman beauty- they had wed the god of desire, Eret.
Some how, all at once, they fell in love, toppling over the metaphorical cliff they had stood near for sometime, as the lamp suddenly felt to heavy for their hands.
Shaking, they moved to set it down, but not before a drop of oil spilled, landing on the gods shoulder.
In a cry of pain, she awoke, and looked up at (y/n) with wide eyes.
Without another word, they stood, gathered their things and began to leave, as they had come flying through the open windows.
"No! Please don't leave! I love you!" (y/n) cried, seizing his arm.
"You fool!" He roared, dragging them along with her, "I risked everything! I went I against mine own mother! She told me to punish you! and yet I fell in love! I created all this! All of this just to get you away from her prying eyes!
"Now the magic is fading you poor poor fool! She will find you now! You won't have much time! You- you listened to your sisters didn't you! They wanted this! I told you to not listen to them! You lie! Regard me as some beast to peak on in the night!" At last they shook (y/n) off, and they went tumbling to the ground.
"No love can exist with out trust."
With that they flew away, leaving (y/n)s cries for her to stay. And Leaving (y/n) alone, so terribly alone.
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Tag list: (send a request to be added, it will only be for this series)
@dreamslittlebitch
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It’s heaven in your arms - Chapter 2
Welcome back!
You guys, I was so nervous posting this and everyone’s been so lovely ;_;
I don’t know if anyone picked up on it, but my title has two meanings. One, because it’s a bed sharing trope and two, because Ace died in Luffy’s arms. I’m a monster, I know.
Summary: It may have been two years since Ace’s death but, for Luffy, sometimes it still felt like just yesterday.
Or, sometimes, something beautiful can blossom from a place of hurt.
Raining: K+
You can also find this on AO3 and FFN.
Enjoy!
It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
But when he’d shot her those excited puppy eyes and asked if they could have another sleepover, she’d found herself caving. Even more so when the thought cropped into her head that maybe he was asking because he was struggling. She’d rather know where he was if he was going to be upset than worry about him being all alone out on the deck.
She’d raised an eyebrow when Luffy had arrived with Zoro in tow but that had been quickly snuffed out when he’d smugly said, “A one-time thing, huh?”
From there on the second time turned into a third time and then a fourth and now she’d lost count of how many times this had happened. It wasn’t every night, mind you, as they all had watches and if one of them couldn’t be there, then it was an unspoken rule that the others would sleep separately. Although she couldn’t be sure that Luffy and Zoro didn’t in the men’s room, but she’d seen those bunks and they’d never mentioned it.
The point was, it’d turned into a routine that no one blinked an eye at, and she’d even got them bathing regularly because there was no way either of them were getting in without being clean.
She’d also never slept better than she did when she had those two in her bed, piled in whichever way they found themselves throughout the night. Luffy liked to be the big spoon, which was something she felt like she shouldn’t know but did, he almost insisted on it even as he climbed in first and took an end. It was a funny sight when Zoro ended up in the middle, his hulking figure being cuddled up to by Luffy. The person on the other end was hardly left out when he stretched his arm to curl around them. It was like he was trying to keep them all close.
When they weren’t being spooned by Luffy, another favourite was when Zoro would lay on his back, an arm thrown out either side and she’d naturally gravitate towards him until her head was on his chest or tucked into his shoulder. His beefiness made a nice pillow, something Luffy must have agreed with as he normally mirrored her on the other side.
She’d stopped being flustered by all of this long ago, it was easy to get over when they did it all the time and neither said anything about it.
She did, however, question whether it was right that she had a preferred sleeping preference with the both of them and that she was ranking them.
.
.
.
Nami was sunning herself on her lounger, it was a pleasant day with the sun out, the ocean still and the background noise of Luffy, Chopper and Usopp running around in the distance. Footsteps approaching caught her attention only to see Robin making her way over, two drinks in hand that must have come from Sanji and a third arm holding a book. She greeted the other woman silently, turning her head to smile at her before facing the sun again and closing her eyes to enjoy the warmth on her skin.
There truly was no better way to spend the day-
“My invitation to your little sleepovers must have got lost in the mail.”
Nami was ripped from her peace as she gaped, feeling heat flush through her body at this finally being acknowledged. She shot a nervous look at Zoro who was sleeping only a few feet away from her sun lounger against the railing. Just because he looked like he was asleep, didn’t mean he was, but when he didn’t move or twitch or give any indication that he might be awake, she let herself relax slightly.
And focus back on the woman next to her still staring her down for an answer. Even though it was a statement, she felt the need to explain herself.
“No- Robin! It isn’t… like that?” She could almost feel the ghost of Luffy’s breath against her skin and Zoro’s arm wrapped around waist, an unwelcome reminder to contrast her words.
Robin hummed, a look in her eye that told Nami she didn’t buy it. “You three looked adorable all cuddled up this morning.”
Of all the ways she thought she was going to die throughout her life, at the hands of Arlong, dropping from Skypiea or on Whole Cake Island to name a few, she never imagined this would be it. Embarrassed to death.
How was she going to explain that this had started with comforting Luffy and snowballed into whatever the hell they were doing now.
She didn’t have to either as Luffy came barrelling over with a chirp of “Nami!”, unaware of their conversation or her embarrassment only to make it worse by squeezing himself onto her sun lounger, ignoring how close they were or that he was practically laying over her. He chattered excitedly next to her, telling her about what him, Usopp and Chopper had been doing, at one point using her straw to take a long gulp from her drink and all the while she was very aware of Robin’s eyes on her the whole time.
“It’s sweet. I’m happy for you three,” Robin said as soon as Luffy bounded off after telling her his short story.
He was out of sight soon enough, but her eyes naturally trailed over to Zoro, only to find his eye trained on her already. She couldn’t be sure whether he’d heard what Robin had just said, but the smile he gave her before closing his eye again certainly didn’t help.
It was full of warmth.
.
.
.
‘It’s sweet. I’m happy for you three.’
Robin’s words replayed in her head, over and over.
The last couple of weeks washed over her. Robin’s words bringing to the forefront how Luffy and Zoro’s behaviour had changed.
Luffy was the first one up in the mornings, unable to wait for either of them to wake up as he heard Sanji bustling around the kitchen and the lure of food too strong that he’d hastily take off, plastering a hurried kiss on the cheek or forehead of whoever was closest. Sure, it’d stunned her at first, but he’d done it to Zoro too and the other man hadn’t even blinked, so she’d let it go. Even if it did take her by surprise each time.
Then it just left Nami and Zoro by themselves to wake up together. He was so casual as he stretched, murmuring out a “mornin’” as he removed his arm from wherever it was laying against her body and it lingered a second too long, brushing against her skin. It was more subtle than Luffy’s gesture, but this was Zoro. It might as well be the same act.
She felt like an elephant in the room needed to be addressed, yet neither of them acted like anything had changed.
Outside the bedroom it changed too.
Where she used to be alone in the library as she drew maps, Zoro would now be napping against her desk or on the sofa, saying how it was quieter in there and because she was so cranky, they wouldn’t be disturbed. Luffy would soon gravitate towards them, asking questions about her maps that he didn’t really listen to the answer to, or he’d go lay his head on Zoro’s lap whilst he slept, a rare moment of calm that would punish them later as he bounded around.
Luffy would find her more often too, clambering over her seat if she was sun lounging or bringing over things that he’d found and deemed ‘cool’. Kind of like how a cat would bring mice to its owner to impress them… not that she was Luffy’s owner.
They still hung out with their other friends, but instead there’d be Zoro’s arm casually thrown over the back of her chair and Luffy at her other side, a hand constantly finding a way to touch her or draw her into his chaos.
Small shifts, so subtle it had taken her this long to piece it together.
It was almost like…
Almost like they were in a relationship. The three of them.
It made her stomach churn, but she didn’t know if it was in a good or bad way, like how it did when she was dreading something or excited.
And then the final puzzle piece slotted into place.
Oh.
She was in a relationship with them. Or at least the early stages but it was all there, for everyone to see and she’d missed it every step of the way. Her thoughts were jumbled. Too many fighting to be at the forefront and how had she not figured this out sooner?
Her mind had been running for hours whilst she was squished between Zoro and Luffy, staring up at the ceiling. It was still dark outside and all she’d done all night was drift in and out of sleep. She had more hours left to sleep, but she couldn’t calm her mind enough for it.
She rolled onto her side to face Zoro, in his sleep Luffy sensed her movement and filled the slither of free space to spoon up behind her, his breath heavy against her neck. She studied Zoro’s profile, from the scar covering his eye, which when he slept like that she couldn’t tell if he was awake, to the strong line of his nose, the normal severe expression softened in his sleeping state. Even when he slept on the deck, he didn’t look that relaxed, this was something privy to her and Luffy.
There was no way around it. She was attracted to him, and she couldn’t deny looking down at his lips a few times recently as he spoke. They looked dry, like he needed a good slather of lip balm over them, but she it didn’t stop her from entertaining the thought of pressing her lips against his. Luffy’s on the other hand, looked softer and she wondered if the texture was the same as his skin, still soft like human skin but there was a hint of resistance, of elasticity there. She was attracted to Luffy too, his carefree grin and contagious enthusiasm. How weir-
What she wasn’t expecting was for Zoro to suddenly stretch and stir, making a noise of contentment before he rolled over to face her and she didn’t have the sense the clamp her eyes shut in time. She stared back into a lone grey eye.
“Y’alrigh’?” Zoro slurred out, still caught in the grasp of sleep as he settled into his new position.
“Yeah.” She sounded too awake for how early it was and too vacant, unsure, that it caught his attention.
“What’s wrong?” More coherent now.
“Zoro… is this not a bit weird?” Luffy’s arm tightened around her, and he snuggled further into her back.
Zoro had already turned to face her, his arm haphazardly thrown over her, but after her question she could feel the shift, how he was looking at her before but now she could tell she had his full attention. He stared at her, all the signs of sleep or tiredness from before gone from his face. His eye was trained on her and it felt like she was being accessed, that he was trying to look through her.
Another second passed until he answered with a shrug.
“I dunno, maybe, but when have we ever done anything by the book?”
He made a good point and when had she ever cared what others thought?
Her silence seemed to make him take a step back, second guessing the intention of her previous question, as he asked, “Do you want to stop doing this?” The arm over her waist lightened, like he was ready to remove it at a moment’s notice and if she thought she was being accessed before, it was nothing compared to now. His gaze scrutinizing, flittering around her face for any sign of discomfort.
She considered it for a second but the thought of going back to an empty bed permanently made her ache. There’d be no whispering as they tried to go off to sleep, no elbows digging her in the night, no snoring in her ears and it wouldn’t be like an oven all the time with their combined body heat. It’d be cold and silent.
It sounded awful.
“No,” she whispered and Zoro’s arm rested back over her body like before, palm splayed across her waist and squeezing slightly, like he was encouraging her to continue. “But what if- what if this…” ‘doesn’t work out’, She wanted to say.
It didn’t matter, he was on the same page. “This is Luffy we’re talking about. And it’s me.”
He was telling her to trust them. Trust that this would all be okay regardless of the outcome because it was them, and they’d been through hell and back with each other since the very beginning.
And she did, the instinct flaring up instantly to calm her down.
“Yeah, okay,” she agreed, body relaxing and mind going blissfully silent with that little piece of reassurance.
“Good, then go to sleep, you’re gunna wake up cranky otherwise.”
He was pushing his luck, but she’d let it slide right now mainly because one, she didn’t want to wake Luffy (he was almost as bad as a baby when woken) and because he’d just been very sweet just then, in his own gruff way. And she was feeling generous.
A moment after closing her eyes there were warm lips pressing against her forehead and she sensed a slight hesitation there before they were gone. She cracked her eye open to look at him, but his eye was clamped shut stubbornly, pretending that he hadn’t done anything. There was no mistaking the blush on his cheeks though.
In the morning, when Luffy performed his routine of frantically jumping out of the bed to chase Sanji to the kitchen, he placed his usual hurried kiss on her cheek but this time around, she leaned into it with a smile on her face.
.
.
.
Since that night, things had changed. Everything seemed easier, casual touches that she no longer overthought and, if anything, she leaned more into them.
All of it felt more natural but then maybe that was because she’d relaxed.
Like déjà vu, Nami was on her sun lounger the next day. The hot weather from the day had simmered down into a mild evening and she was making the most of the quiet before they did it all over again tomorrow. Robin was next to her too, reading with the little light naturally left, she’d be moving indoors soon to carry on.
Nami’s eyes stung a bit, from the lack of sleep the night before and she hadn’t napped, but she felt lighter after last night. So much so that she confessed, “I’m in a relationship with Luffy and Zoro.”
Robin stopped reading and turned to smile at her patiently. “It would appear you are, are you happy about it?”
“Yeah,” she said, feeling her cheeks go rosy. “We can make arrangements though, it’s your room too,” she added as an afterthought.
“As long as it stays pg, it doesn’t bother me at all.”
She spluttered, her previously rosy cheeks turning red as it spread hotly across her face and down her neck. She’d only just wrapped her head around the fact she was in a relationship with them, she couldn’t even think about that yet.
“Besides, I believe I have somewhere else to sleep tonight.”
Robin looked over her shoulder and Nami peered behind her to see Franky walking off to his workshop.
Oh.
Nami’s grin turned teasing, it was only fair with what she’d had to put up with recently, except her fun was interrupted by Luffy calling from the women’s room stopped her in her tracks, Zoro poking his head out of the frame to grunt at her. Honestly, as if it wasn’t her room.
“I believe you’re being called for by your boyfriends,” Robin teased, twinkle in her eye.
“This isn’t over!” Nami pointed her finger at her.
“I didn’t doubt it.”
She crossed the deck, on her way to her room when the thought from last night popped into the forefront of her mind and how she could actually act on it now.
Zoro’s mouth opened when she appeared in the doorway, no doubt something snarky about her being the last one present but she couldn’t hear it over the blood thumping in her ears.
She marched over to them on the bed, a woman on a mission and Luffy looked at her curiously until he yelped as her hands cupped his face and brought him into a kiss. He hesitated for a second until his hands gripped her arms and his lips responded in kind. Whilst it was clear he lacked experience, enthusiasm dripped from the kiss and it more than made up for it as his lips moved eagerly against hers. She angled her head, encouraging him to do that same and trying to keep up with the frantic pace he was setting, all the while batting down a smile. It was him all over, joyful and chaotic and she didn’t know if she’d ever get enough of it.
They pulled apart and there was a split second of relief in his eyes, like maybe he thought this moment was never coming, before it was trampled by his excitement, and he beamed at her.
“You want one too?” She teased, looking over at Zoro, eyebrow raised in challenge.
Zoro’s response was a heavy palm on the back of her neck that had them both leaning in, over Luffy, to meet in the middle for a kiss much different from hers with Luffy. Zoro’s pace was slower, more thorough as he took his time against her lips, yet it was firm. He had a bit more knowledge, he was surer in himself, and it showed as she sunk into the kiss, for once letting herself be led. She enjoyed it just as much and she knew she’d relish taking her time to pull apart the differences between them, savouring the way they both made her feel.
A daring swipe of her tongue across his bottom lip and then they broke apart, Luffy in the background demanding another kiss when Zoro smugly said, “Took you long enough.”
He wouldn’t look so smug when she pushed him off the bed tonight.
Luffy’s pleas weren’t ignored when Zoro said, “Captain,” to capture the other boy’s attention and tugged on his vest to kiss him and it made her feel warm, a flutter in her stomach because whilst she wasn’t a part of the kiss, she was a part of them. The three of them.
Luffy looked dazed and then elated when they broke apart, grin splitting his face and there was a glint in his eye that told her more kisses would be demanded before they went to sleep.
She’d get changed and brush her teeth before getting in bed, maybe check that both of them have done that already because she didn’t remember smelling or tasting mint on their breath, when something caught her eye.
There was a space in the middle for her already.
And she smiled; her boys.
-------------------------------------
It’s been a while since I’ve had a fic practically write itself, I’ve missed that.
Luffy and Zoro may be idiots most of the time, but they’re both emotionally smart, it’s been shown time and time again. Nami, on the other hand, is in some cases but she’s also a bit of a worrywart too. So yeah, they kinda eased Nami into what was developing because they didn’t want to freak her out.
As always, please excuse any errors.
If you got this far, thanks for reading, it means a lot.
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two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five
Surprise, I have not finished the date or any of the things for my 300 sleepover, but I have written this thing set seven years after Haley’s death. I absolutely hate it, it makes no sense and it’s not been proofread but I also want to sleep so... yeah, it’s fine. Not my finest work, but something.
Trigger Warnings: grief/mourning, depictions of violence and death, religious themes, graveyards, unhealthy thinking patterns, slight implications of suicidal thoughts and thoughts of death, lots and lots of survivors guilt
read on ao3!
The one constant thing in Aaron's life had been Haley.
It had always been Haley, from the moment they first set eyes on each other. It had been the last day of school when he truly saw her for the first time. And he had been so taken aback by her smile and innocence that he'd crashed into a pile of props, sending them all tumbling to the floor.
She had refused to let him clear it up alone, and when their eyes met, he could've sworn he saw the life he could have if he would just get over himself and speak to her properly. But then her friends had called her over and she ran away without another word.
When his father came home with flowers for his mother, he didn't even remember to be disgusted. Because when he looked at the flowers, he didn't see a false apology, or an attempt to keep up the facade that the Hotchners were a perfect family. He just saw Haley's beautiful and kind eyes in the ribbon they were tied with.
And when his father died, filling him with grief so consuming and painful, even in spite of everything that had happened, Haley held his hand. She held his hand as they lowered his casket. And she held his soul when he sobbed, not understanding why he missed the man that had done nothing but hurt him.
Then his mother died, a semester into his final year at law school, Haley fought for him to be given a break, saying that he needed time but could still do it and didn't need to drop out. She held his hand at the funeral, rubbing comforting circles that warmed his skin and reminded him he was alive.
She held his hand at every funeral they ever had to attend, grounding him, reminding him of the reasons he kept fighting. Even after Adrian Bale murdered six agents, she held his hand. She did it because she wanted to, not even realising just how much it helped him.
Haley was light and good. But she never once hesitated to touch Aaron, and that was the one thing that convinced him he wasn't a monster that would turn into his father and destroy everything he touched. Even when the divorce papers were signed, she never left him. She had left because he wasn't the man she needed, and she was not the woman he wanted, but she would love him till she died.
But she had always assumed that she would die when Jack had his own children and Aaron had retired from the FBI, having taken a job at the local college to lecture the future lawyers. She had assumed it would be in her sleep, when her hair was grey and her joints ached. She always assumed Aaron would go first.
It was morbid, but true. His family had a history of cancer and heart attacks. His job involved putting his life on the line every single day. Unsubs set off bombs that caused shrapnel to the leg and they fired guns and they burnt down buildings.
Her job involved teaching children that music was not just something that needed to be a hobby. Telling children that they were good enough to do whatever they wanted and they could not let people control their futures because at the end of the day, it was their life.
Two thousand, five hundred and fifty five days ago, Haley Hotchner Brooks was murdered by George Foyet. Erin Strauss told her ex-husband that the death was swift and painless.
She had lied. George Foyet shot her, but he deliberately missed striking anything that would be fatal because he wanted to drag it out. He wanted to watch as her blood stained the living room carpet, the red a terrible and ugly contrast to the neutral tones. He wanted to watch as life left her body and as she fought so valiantly to keep her eyes open for her ex-husband and son. He wanted to watch the fear settle in her eyes as she realised that Aaron wasn’t coming to save her. Nobody was. He wanted her to know she was dying. Know that there was no coming back from this one. That she was never going to hold her son or kiss Aaron ever again.
And then he had dragged her body up the stairs, into their old bedroom for him to find. Aaron hadn’t been able to convince himself she was sleeping. Her body was too posed, too still. Haley always smiled as she slept. Her face, when he found the body, was contorted with fear because she had known that this was her ending.
Because she was too good, too selfless, her final thoughts had not been of everything she hadn’t gotten to do. It was not of the dreams that had been ripped from her far too early. Nor had it been anger and hatred directed towards Aaron. She knew he had done his best, and she would not let herself die hating him.
Haley Brooks' last thoughts had been a desperate prayer to anyone that was listening. She prayed that Jack would be able to enjoy the fireworks that would be set off on Independence and New Years Day. She prayed that Aaron's grief would not consume him and he would accept that it was not his fault, that she had always loved him, and that he would let himself love again. But most of all, she prayed that he would be spared the truth, if only so he would keep himself alive. She prayed Jack would be the perfect combination of them. And that he would be enough to remind Aaron of the reason he kept fighting.
Jack hated Independence Day. He hated New Years. Those were the days that Hotch would play Anastasia louder than was safe for his hearing. The days they would make a pillow fort in the living room and sleep with the light on because sleeping in the bedroom felt too much like hiding in that box.
There had been a time when Aaron's grief had consumed him. Jack had been away at summer camp. He had been alone, with no cases and no son to keep him occupied. All he had were his thoughts and guilt. Derek had pulled him from the shower, fully clothed and trembling from the cold, just in time. He had gotten suspicious when Aaron didn't turn up for their run for the first time since Haley had left and thought of the last time they had waited.
It was that same week that Aaron started telling his therapist the truth. They couldn't help him unless he let them. And he was finally ready to do that. He still believed it was his fault, because there had been so many things he could have done differently, but he had always let himself love again. Him and Beth had been beautiful together, and some of her artwork was still hung up in his apartment. Even though they hadn't lasted, it was nice to know that his heart still worked.
Her final prayer had been answered. Erin Strauss had heard how much Aaron still loved Haley from each of his team members. That final phone call had been played for her as part of the investigation into his actions. She had seen the look on his face when he said that George Foyet would have gotten up, killed him and then his son. He wasn't making assumptions. He was repeating what had been said.
He was already so broken and distraught. There was no need for him to know the truth. So she had looked down at the file that contained all of the violent and graphic details in one final attempt to pull herself together. And then she had looked her subordinate in the eye and lied to him.
Maybe it made her a terrible person, but she hadn't felt any remorse. It kept him alive. It kept him fighting and with the BAU. That had to be better than the alternative.
That lie had been told exactly two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five days ago. Seven years. Haley Hotchner Brooks had died a brutal and painful death, but everyone that knew the truth had told Aaron Hotchner and Jessica Brooks that it had been quick and painless in order to keep them alive.
Aaron Hotchner woke up on the morning of the seventh anniversary of her death with a pit in his stomach. Jack had been quiet and withdrawn for the week leading up to it. He was some weird and imperfect combination of his mother and father, even though one had always been missing from the most formative years of his life. He grieved in the same way his father did and Aaron wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing.
He didn't want to face the day. He didn't want to think about the science behind cells or take Jack to the graveyard and ask him how he was. He didn't want to pretend that Haley could hear what they were saying because he didn't believe she was in a better place. He didn't want to face sympathetic glances from everyone they came into contact with, or phone Jack's school to say he would be absent today.
But Jack couldn't go alone, he was still too young. And he needed to be asked so he could break down or shout or just shrug and say he didn't quite know. Jack still believed that Haley was watching over them from heaven, and that whatever they said would reach her because he had faith in happy endings. He would hate the sympathy, but accept it with a slight smile.
He would love the stories people shared about his mother. It helped him cope. It reminded him of how similar they truly were and made him feel like a piece of her was still with them. He know his dad would find it difficult to do everything, so he climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen without making a sound.
Oatmeal was an easy meal for a child to make. Even one that wasn't even in high school yet. So Jack made two bowls that were far too full and took them to the bedroom.
Hotch had found it in him to sit up, even if he still hadn't made it out of bed.
"Look!" Jack exclaimed, with a wide grin. "It looks like the one you make!"
It didn't, not really, but Hotch forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah. Thank you buddy. How are you feeling?"
Jack hesitated, spoon halfway to his mouth, then shrugged. "Not sure. My stomach hurts. Do you think Mom's proud of me for making us breakfast without burning the apartment down?"
The lump that had been forming in Aaron's throat got larger. He swallowed. "Yeah buddy," he said, voice cracking slightly. "She's proud of you every minute of every day. Don't ever forget that, okay?"
"I won't," Jack promised, then ate his breakfast like it was any other day.
The florist gave them both a sad smile when they entered. She had made up their bouquets as soon as she had gotten in the shop, knowing exactly what they would want. The son always had a flower of each colour, tied together with a yellow ribbon. Even though it was unfair that he'd been forced to say goodbye at such a young age, making his bouquet always brought a smile to her face. He was still so innocent.
The father always asked for purple hyacinths. She wasn't stupid. She knew he was Aaron Hotchner with the BAU. She knew his ex-wife had been murdered by the same serial killer that had broken into his apartment and stabbed him. She wondered if it was a coincidence, or if he knew what they meant.
He did. It was why he picked them. Haley would laugh and call him an idiot if she knew, but she didn't so he carried on taking the same bouquet every time he went, no matter what time of year it was. They were always tied with white ribbon. It looked pretty.
Innocent. Pure. Like she had been until his obsession with the chase got her killed.
He handed his card to her without a word. She longed to ask if he needed anything, but didn't. It would be weird.
Jack waved her goodbye, and she smiled. Only when they were out of sight did she turn and wipe her eyes. Seven years they had been coming to her shop, and not once had the boy forgotten to say goodbye to her. Not once had the father left without saying thank you.
They both deserved better.
Hotch didn't let go of Jack's hand as they approached the grave. Jack set his flowers down with the utmost care, and then sat next to the headstone. Haley hadn't wanted anything fancy. In fact, her only request had been that it said Hotchner. Aaron remained a few feet away, wanting to give Jack some privacy, but also making sure that nothing bad happened.
He had always found something about graveyards morbidly peaceful. Even despite the tension that always accompanied a visit with Jack, he found himself admiring the other flowers, the trees and bushes that had been planted and the way the sun shone down on them.
The weather was so perfectly Haley that it caused him physical pain.
"Dad, you need to put your flowers down and talk too," Jack said, pulling him from his thoughts. Even though his features were completely Haley's, the look Jack got when he was being serious was purely Hotch's.
"Are you done talking?" he asked, trying to work out how long he had been thinking for.
Jack nodded. "Can I go and make sure the other people know that someone cares about them?" That soft and caring part of him, that demanded he save everyone, was both of his parents.
"Of course you can. Don't wander too far though," Hotch said. Jack rolled his eyes, as though his father was being the most unreasonable man in the world and, after blowing one last kiss to his mother, walked away, talking to himself as he went.
Hotch sighed, placed his own bouquet next to Jack's then stepped back. He didn't deserve to sit and be comfortable.
"It's been seven years," he whispered. "It's been two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five days, yet I still remember the day I met you perfectly. Is that weird? I like to think that you still remembered it."
When he looked back, Jack was busy talking to one of the other people that was visiting a grave. Aaron recognised who it was, so he turned back and allowed a few of his own tears to roll down his cheeks. For a few minutes, he could stop pretending that he was fine and just break.
"Haley, I don't know if you can hear me or if heaven is real, but I do know that I am so, so sorry that it was you and not me. And I hate that it was you. If there was a way to go back in time and make sure it was you standing here, I would take it in a heartbeat. You deserved so much better and I am sorry I could not give it to you. So, so sorry."
He had told Haley he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her because he had believed that he would not live long enough to do so, and that his death would be his final act of penance.He had believed that he would be able to save her.
"One day I will earn your forgiveness. One day you will laugh at me for saying all of this, but until that day comes, I will make sure Jack is just like you. Because you were as perfect as a single person could be. And I- I miss you, every single day. I hope, wherever you are, you're happy."
For seven years, he had been making some version of that speech. Only today, it felt different. More important. More painful. And suddenly, he needed to get away. From her grave, from the flowers, from everything.
He went over to Jack, apologised for cutting their conversation short and asked if he was ready to go home. Jack said yes, because that was what his father wanted to hear. The walk home was silent, and when they got back, Jack announced that he was going for a shower. Hotch knew why. He wasn't ready to watch one of the old videos either.
Only when the shower started running did Aaron bury his head in the pillow and sob.
Two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five days George Foyet touched him for the last time. The nine scars on his torso would always be there, serving as a permanent reminder of what his failure had caused, preventing him from ever being truly comfortable in his body. But seven years had passed since Foyet's hands had been on his body. Every single cell had been replaced. His touch no longer lingered like a bad smell. Aaron was finally free. Knowing that he had a body that Foyet had not ruined was an indescribable relief.
Foyet's touch had faded into nothing.
But so had Haley's. He could no longer cling to the comfort that knowing a part of her still lived in him provided. He could no longer look at Jack and say that Mom's last hug would forever be a part of him. It would always be in his memory, no matter how fuzzy it was. But it wouldn't be there in the way that counted. Jack would never be able to know what his mother's touch felt like and it was all his fault. Haley was longer part of their bodies.
The final piece of her that was easy to cling to had finally ceased to exist.
Hotch was not sure he could survive anymore. But then the shower stopped running, and Jack emerged in the Captain America pajamas that he still hasn't outgrown from the previous year. And Aaron rubbed his eyes, pretending he was just a little sleepy before following Jack into the living room.
Jack did not want to watch a video. So Hotch made them something light to eat, and then they built a pillow fort. It was then that he told the story of how they met, of how Haley always smiled at his jokes, of how she would make him smile. He told Jack that if he ever wanted to see what his mother's smile had been like, he just needed to look in the mirror.
The stories didn't stop until Jack fell asleep, with his legs dangling off the couch and his head in his father's lap. Aaron knew he would regret it, that his back couldn't handle doing this anymore, but his son looked so peaceful that he refused to move. Instead, he played with Jack's hair. The same way Haley had always played with his own locks.
Seven years was a long time. To Aaron, it passed in the blink of an eye. The day Haley had died, Jack had fallen asleep in his lap, much like he had now. Only then, he had been so small. Fragile. Aaron had been terrified. Now, he was growing into the kindest young man Aaron had ever known. And he was strong. Aaron was still terrified, for different reasons than he had been then.
Haley's touch would never find its way to either of them again. Aaron could accept it as his punishment for letting her get away. For letting her die. But maybe his own gentle touch would be enough for Jack to understand just how much he was loved. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe Jack would never wake up and blame him for his mother's death, instead choosing to be just as good as she had been.
Aaron fell asleep on the couch too. He fell asleep, disappointed and angry with himself for letting her die. But he fell asleep so proud of his son for not losing his softness or kindness. He fell asleep, finding some comfort in the knowledge that although Haley had died well before her time, it had been quick. Painless.
The next day, both father and son would regret sleeping the way they had.
But Jack would go to school and accept the comfort people tried to show him with a gracious smile. He would be secretly grateful that people still cared. And he would know that even if every cell in your body was replaced every seven years, it didn't matter because he still remembered the smell of his mom's perfume. He still remembered what her hugs felt like.
Aaron would return to work, tired and a little worse for the wear, but ready to be the hero his son still believed he was. He would let Penelope hug him for longer than was strictly necessary and find a way to thank Derek for doing his paperwork. And he would find some comfort in knowing that even if this body of his didn't know Haley, it also did not Foyet.
And the BAU would carry the truth of Haley's death to their own graves.
It was the only way forward.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#aaron hotchner#haley hotchner#aaron x haley#jack hotchner#hurt aaron hotchner#sad aaron hotchner#hotch whump#tw death#tw grief#tw religious themes#tw past suicidal thoughts#sumayyah writes cm
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Trouble
Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!
Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out.
Word Count: 7900
Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders
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Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.
Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.
Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.
Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.
The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.
All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.
“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”
Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.
He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.
“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”
“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.
Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”
“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”
“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”
Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.
Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.
It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.
“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.
The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.
“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”
“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”
Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.
“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.
“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”
“ Sorry to disappoint.”
“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”
Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .
They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.
Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.
Patton gets a five.
“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.
Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.
It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.
Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.
He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.
But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.
Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.
Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.
“Virgil?”
Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.
“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.
“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”
“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.
Oh. It was one of those days.
Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--
And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.
It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .
“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”
Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.
He cannot replace his best friend.
Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.
The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.
“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”
Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.
“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.
Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”
Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.
“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”
Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .
“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”
The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.
The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.
The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.
Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.
Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.
“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”
Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.
“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.
Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.
And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.
Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.
He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.
Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.
Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.
“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”
“Could what?”
Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.
Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.
“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”
Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”
“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”
“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”
“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”
Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”
Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”
“You don’t even remember, do you.”
“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”
“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.
“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”
“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”
Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.
“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”
Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.
“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”
Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.
“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”
Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.
“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”
“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”
Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”
Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?
Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.
Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.
Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.
I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.
“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”
Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.
Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.
Together. Us. We’ve got this.
“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”
Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.
“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.
He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.
He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.
That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.
Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.
***
Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.
The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.
He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.
He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”
Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.
Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.
Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.
She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.
After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.
He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.
He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.
Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.
“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.
“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.
Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.
Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.
Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.
Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.
“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”
Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.
It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--
And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.
“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.
Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”
“You like Disney, though.”
“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.
“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.
Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.
Together. We got this.
“Your mom?” He asks.
Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.
“But… Logan…”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”
Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.
Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”
“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.
“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.
“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”
Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.
Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”
Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”
“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.
They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.
“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”
“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”
Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.
Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.
Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.
“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.
“I won’t win.”
“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”
Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.
“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”
Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.
“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”
Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.
“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”
Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight
He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.
“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”
So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.
It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.
And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?
“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.
Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”
“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”
Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”
“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”
“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””
“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”
It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.
“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”
“Language.”
“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”
Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.
So full of hope.
The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.
He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.
“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”
And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.
“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.
“Pat?” Virgil says.
“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.
And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.
But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.
#sanders sides#board gaming#platonic moxiety#Analogical#Logan is the hottest side confirmed#Because everyone wants to date him#(Except Pat)#Me the author: what the fuck is hurt comfort#tw: cancer#I just like board games okay#maybe a little too much#I kNew YoU WeRe TrOuBlE WhEn YoU wAlKeD IN#virgil is a disaster gay#Patton really awesome#Hugs? Hugs.
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A Thirst Like Flames
Part 4/6 (1, 2, 3, - 5)
Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3
CW: (for this chapter only) canon-typical violence, animal death
Summary: There was an itch prickling over Dandelion’s skin, a constant ache in the pit of his stomach and his mind felt hazy at all hours of the day. He watched the sun creep behind the horizon, quill in hand, the long feather brushing against his cheek, willing for some kind of inspiration, anything to distract him from the never ending lust. He couldn’t help it, he was a young man in his prime and he’d spent the last few months in the wilderness with a rather gorgeous witcher.
Dandelion had forlornly watched Geralt leave the room, his afterglow sufficiently shattered even as Marie curled up next to him, her hands resting on his chest. He felt hollow. He hadn’t meant to say Geralt’s name, but the habit was hard to shake and, with the witcher watching him so intently, was he really to blame?
Dandelion sighed, his own fingers dancing along the length of Marie’s spine. She was beautiful and very talented at her profession. She hadn’t made any move to continue their activities once Geralt had left the room, which Dandelion was surprisingly grateful for. He wondered what Geralt had been thinking when he left. Did he resent Dandelion? Had he just ruined everything?
His adventures with the witcher were probably over before they’d even truly begun.
And yet, Geralt had reminded him of when they were due to meet. That had to mean something. He sighed dramatically and stared up at the ceiling. Sharing a whore had seemed like a great idea at the time but now he was really starting to wonder whether he’d irreparably damaged their budding friendship, he’d grown too greedy too fast.
“Why don’t you follow him?” Marie asked.
“Excuse me?” Dandelion stammered, blinking down at her. He hadn’t expected her to talk but he supposed he was being rather miserable company. Not at all up to his usual standards. He knew that whores talked, and he knew he had a reputation… and this really wasn’t it.
“Instead of moping in bed with me, why don’t you follow him?” Marie asked again, poking him in the chest.
“Ah, yes, well. I really don’t think that’s a good idea, my dear,” he sighed, eyes flickering back up to the ceiling. He scoffed haughtily and rolled over in the bed, turning his back on Marie. Yes, he was sulking but he was a poet and he was allowed to be dramatic, especially after he’d destroyed the best thing that had happened to him since he’d left Oxenfurt.
He heard Marie sigh behind him and that was the only warning he got before he was dumped unceremoniously on the floor. He squeaked as he landed with a thump, and he was sure he’d bruised his coccyx, he hoped that it wasn’t broken. He’d never broken a bone before but he was sure it couldn’t be more painful than this. He hissed and turned to glare at Marie who was smirking down at him, still looking as lovely as ever, and if he wasn’t so furious he would be tempted to go another round.
“Get out, poet,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for arguments.
“Well, excuse me?” he gaped at her. “I thought…”
“The witcher is waiting for you, we’re done. Get out, before I call for help.” Dandelion went to grab his clothes, quite adept at getting dressed quickly before climbing through the window, but Marie stopped him. “Out!”
“My clothes!” he whined, only just managing to swipe up his small clothes before he was booted out the door.
He stared, pouting at the door, one hand on his hips and the other running through the mess of curls on his head. The door stayed shut, despite his silent prayers and he really didn’t want to face the witcher with no clothes on. He’d humiliated himself enough for one day. Before he managed to turn and walk way, the door finally flew open and his poor, very expensive, clothes were flung from the room and he had to scramble to catch them.
“Oh bloody hell!”
It was only when he’d reached the street below the brothel that he realised his precious lute was still inside. With a pathetic whine he turned to head back inside but the window above him slammed open.
“You forgot something, bard,” Marie yelled down to him and his eyes widened as he saw his lute in her hands.
“No, no, no, my lute! Careful she’s fragile!” Dandelion cried, dropping his clothes and stumbling forwards to catch his darling instrument as it was dropped from the window. By some miracle she didn’t break and he cradled her in his arms until he noticed the strange looks he was getting from the surrounding villagers. “Oh, bugger off.”
He scooped up his clothes and darted into an alley to get dressed. The sun had set before he managed to flee the town, luckily avoiding the thugs that were lurking by the gates. Having mud covered clothes had probably helped, he looked much less like the noble he was born to be.
“Blasted whore,” he muttered as he tried his best to brush down his clothes but they were a lost cause.
Dandelion sighed, adjusting his hat on his head. It would need a new feather, but he would look for one in the next town. For now, he just needed to find Geralt… wherever he might be.
___________
The woods were dark and unforgiving, nothing like the warmth of the brothel, but it suited Geralt’s mood just fine. He stared into the fire, watching the flames dance, licking at the air and swirling into nothing. The heat prickled against his skin, a comforting feeling that kept him grounded as his emotions brewed into a storm in his chest.
Dandelion had wanted him.
And Geralt had left him.
Roached snorted from the edge of the camp, stomping at the ground. Sometimes Geralt wondered if she was more human than horse, she certainly seemed to have opinions on every choice he made in life. He rolled his eyes and cast her a withering look. “I know, I fucked up.”
Her tail flicked and she whinnied loudly.
“I know, I’ll wait for him, even give him until noon. Gods know he won’t be up at dawn,” he sighed and turned back to watch the fire once more.
Geralt wasn’t sure how long he watched it, but a familiar scream pulled him from his thoughts.
“Dandelion?” he jumped up and grabbed his swords, making sure Roach was secure before running towards the sound of the poet. His brain was supplying images of the very worst scenarios, Dandelion cold and bleeding out on the ground, bandits or monsters looming over him.
And it would all be Geralt’s fault. He hadn’t been there to protect his friend.
“Geralt!” the poet yelled again, “Geralt help me!”
The world sharpened around him as he focused his senses, the sounds and smells of the forest almost overwhelming but he was skilled at blocking out what he didn’t need. A familiar lavender and chamomile scent caught his attention and he turned his head towards the vibrations of Dandelion’s heartbeat, the sticks and leaves crunching underfoot as he tried to scramble away from his attacker. Geralt sniffed, picking out the scent of wet dog among the trees, a low rumbling of growls filling the air.
Wargs.
“Damn it!” he cursed as he ran, his steel sword ready to strike. Time slowed as he burst into the clearing. Dandelion was on the floor, his doublet covered in mud, tears ripping through the fabric but Geralt noticed with relief that there was no trace of the poet’s blood. The rips seemingly from his rush through the trees.
Geralt’s sword swung through the air just in time. The warg yelped as steel slashed through fur. Dark eyes met golden, snarling and growling as it bared its teeth. The witcher and the warg danced a lethal dance, sword versus brute force, steel versus claws. Geralt tried to ignore Dandelion’s whimpering, focussing on the task at hand. Pirouetting, dodging, lunging, a blur of white hair as the final blow hit. His sword buried into the creature’s brain, and the warg whined as it fell to the ground.
“Oh gods,” Dandelion groaned, arms wrapping around his stomach. His face had gone a ghostly pale white, resembling the wraiths that haunted the realm.
Geralt squatted down beside his friend, cupping his cheek and brushing the matted blond curls from off his face. “You’re safe, Dandelion.”
Dandelion just sobbed, gripping onto Geralt’s armour, his long fingers scratching at the leather. It was so rare to see his friend so distraught that Geralt wasn’t sure what to do. He tentatively wrapped his arms around the poet, closing his eyes as he let Dandelion cry himself dry. Witchers don’t feel, it was the thought that had been plaguing him ever since he’d met the poet. Witchers don’t feel, and yet Geralt’s heart felt like it was bleeding, aching for the fragile human that he held so close.
“My lute,” Dandelion whispered, his usually soothing tenor cracked and hoarse. “Oh gods, Geralt my lute.”
Geralt frowned, scanning the forest for the bard’s instrument, but he found nothing. That was strange, the lute was normally strung round Dandelion’s shoulders or tucked safely away in their room at inns. Geralt gripped the poet’s shoulder, tucking a finger under his chin so that watery cornflower blue eyes were shining up at him, his bottom lip quivering and looking every part the delicate flower that he played.
“What happened, Dandelion?” Geralt asked with a cock of his head.
“I- I- I tripped, when- when I first saw it,” Dandelion choked on his own sobs, stammering over the words where he would normally be streaming poetic nonsense with very little effort. “The wolf, monster, whatever the bloody hell it was!”
“Warg,” Geralt answered without thinking but Dandelion’s answering glare made him wince.
“Yes, thank you, my dear. That is not the point!” Dandelion snapped, wiping the snot from his nose.
“I know,” Geralt said softly, swiping his thumb along the poet’s cheekbone to brush away the tear that had fallen. “I’m sorry, your lute?”
“I fell on it, shattered by my own hand!”
“Where is it?”
“Oh, does it matter?” Dandelion whined, waving his arms wide.
“Yes, now show me.”
They walked cautiously through the trees, Dandelion hanging off Geralt’s arm, sniffing as he went, and the scent of his misery permeated the air. Geralt knew they were close when Dandelion let out a pitiful whine, and his fingers gripped tighter onto Geralt’s arm. The lute lay splintered on the ground, the neck only attached to the body by the strings.
Toruviel’s lute, broken beyond repair.
Unless…
Geralt gathered up the pieces in his arms, ignoring the whines and cries from his companion as they walked back to camp. The lute was tucked into Roach’s saddlebags and they settled down for the night. There was a chill in the air but not enough to warrant sharing a bedroll, and yet Dandelion curled up close to him. Neither of them questioned it, content to hold each other close after the long and emotional trials of the day.
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Reading that one post it makes me imagine Mari comforting her Mob Husband when he had those nights where he feels horribly guilty about those three deaths.
Nonnie....I kinda went off with this ngl. I didn’t really stick to your prompt but like...I went off with this. Hero is my favorite character and I love him so much in this AU and if you want to resend this and get bulletpoints or something then aok but I think you’ll like what I have. I’m...obsessed with it ngl. I’ve been working on it all day long, and I think it’s not half bad. But also ummm Huge fucking TW on this one guys.
TW: Death TW: Violence TW: Mafia TW: Knives
In his dreams, Hero always ends up back in that parlor.
It was an opulent room, extravagant to the point of garish. There was a tall ceiling with a simply enormous chandelier hanging down. The tiny crystals glittered in the light, sending dancing shadows along the walls. Along one wall was a bar with a gleaming gold rim. It was gilded with real gold, Hero knew on instinct. He had become an expert in finding the truth since he had taken his place at Mari’s side.
The only ordinary thing in the room was the knife. Just a straight butcher knife, polished clean. It sat on the table in front of the couch he sat at. Everything else was excellence, the best of the best. This one thing was average. The thing that Tommy “Hedonist” Barone was going to use to kill them was average. The irony would have been funny if it didn’t make Hero feel sick.
Those are the things that stick out to him- the glittering chandelier, the glowing bar, and the knife.
Hero knows it's a dream because he’s wearing his pajamas. Just a t-shirt and boxers, remarkably plain for everything in the room. That day he had been in a custom made suit, tailored to fit his exact frame. He had burned that suit, it no longer existed. It had been a beautiful thing, the fabric sinfully luxurious against his skin and light enough he barely noticed. Barone had apparently paid an italian seamstress thousands for each piece of the ensemble, just for the perfection of that night. Hero had hated every second of wearing it.
He knows its a dream, but he’s still terrified. He’s still shaking as he sits on the too soft cushions of the couch and waits alone in this too big room. There’s no point in trying the doors, he knows that right outside wait two burly guards. They are the same people who marched him here from the cell they had been holding him in. The cell Tommy Barone had tortured him in.
The cell where he had laughed about how he would kill Hero’s family. How he would rip apart his brothers, Aubrey, Mari, his father, even his mother though she had been dead for over a year. Over and over he had taunted Hero, cutting him and beating him and burning him, all in an effort to get him to scream. Hero had stayed silent.
The human part of Hero wants him to run and hide or pick up the knife and prepare to go down fighting. Hero keeps himself still and straight. He is the consigliere of the most powerful crime syndicate in the world. His wife is Don Migliore, a legend. Tommy Barone was nothing. He would not be what made Hero break. If he was going to die, he would die, but he wouldn’t be turned into a puppet for Barone to use against his family. The door opposite the one he came in opened, and in walked the Hedonist.
Tommy Barone was every stereotypical mobster- his greasy hair and his rotund belly. He hid himself under fancy shirts and fingers fat with rings, but Hero had known him most of his life. Hedonist was a slimeball who liked to pretend himself into being a capo. Hero hated that there was fear inside of him from this man, this pig of a man.
“Well well. You shine like a jewel. I dare say you didn’t even look this nice at your wedding Henry!” Hedonist taunted, the words forever branded into Hero’s mind. He would remember the exact words said to him that night for the rest of his days. Hero loathed being called Henry. Only his mother had ever gotten away with it, but that didn’t matter to Barone. Hero shot a harsh glare towards Barone but kept his mouth shut.
“Still not talking? And after all the trouble I went through to get you that suit.” Barone stepped further into the room and waddled his way over to the bar. He grabbed a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of amber, continuing to speak, “I have a little jewel myself- my own personal seamstress. Of course she lives in the old country, she would never want to leave, but I pay her well to be available whenever I need her. She handcrafts everything I wear. Isn’t her work magnificent?”
Hedonist turned from the bar and began to walk to the lounging area. He took a second to do a slow spin, turning to Hero with an expectant look. Hero bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A beat passed and Hedonist sighed, coming to sit on the couch directly opposite Hero.
“I’m fine with continuing to talk if you don’t want to, Henry. You were always a bit quieter though. Your brother, what a chatterbox!” Hero couldn’t help the slight jump in his shoulders when Hedonist mentioned Kel. Barone noticed this and jumped on it, continuing to ramble like the pathetic old man he was, “Even when you two were little you were always teaching him when to be quiet. You should hear him on the phone when your little wifey is arranging your safe return to her. I offered to send them a little piece of you when she tried to say I didn’t have you. Ha I think they had to drag him kicking and screaming from the room,”
Hero was going to kill him. Hero was going to fucking kill him. Barone had been a part of his father’s business, had watched him and Kel both grow up. Tommy Barone was one of his father’s bannermen, a staple of their organization, but Hero had never liked him. When Mari had taken over she and Hero had cleaned house. Hedonist had been one of the first to go, his methods too messy, his tastes too extravagant. Barone had always lived up to his nickname, and Mari hadn’t wanted to deal with his exorbitant costs. Hero didn’t see it as a waste, and now he knew it wasn’t.
Barone took a long slow sip of his drink, appraising Hero who continued to stare him down. Hedonist was forced to look away first, and his congenial attitude quickly soured, small blue eyes blown wide in fury.
“You should blame her for this, you know. Your precious Mari. Your family used to be powerful, one of the greats.” Barone sneered, downing the drink and slamming the glass down next to the knife. Hero jumped, his hands trying to pull away from one another. When had he been bound? Weren’t they free only a minute ago?
Hero looked down at the rope rubbing angry red bracelets onto his wrists. Barone was still going on, but Hero was able to ignore it in favor of looking down and trying to remember how he got this way. He had been forced to listen to Barone’s drabble on an endless loop for the three weeks since he had been taken from outside the Bakery. Hero couldn’t remember anything from before he got in this room, but he knew it had happened. He knew he had been taken, he knew what Tommy had done to him, but it all felt murky. The details existed, but they held no meaning. Barone, clearly done with being ignored, leaned up and grasped Hero’s shoulder, pulling him roughly forward.
“Now look at you, heir to nothing but being a bitch for some uppity woman who calls herself a Don.” Hedonist leered. Hero shook the man’s hands off of him, leaning back as far as he could. There were a thousand and one things right on the edge of his tongue, but he held himself back. He had gotten this far, he just had to keep playing the game.
Barone laughed at the boy’s fire, a twisted noise that Hero had always loathed. He had heard it more than he ever wanted in the last few weeks, as Tommy took his pleasure from doing everything he could to get him to buckle. Barone stood, walking towards the door Hero had come in.
“I hope I do get to hear you scream eventually, Henry. Maybe when Mari gets here,” Hero couldn’t help his quiet gasp. His heart beat a thunderous pattern, sick both with longing and fear. His girl couldn’t come here, not near this monster. Not for him. Hedonist saw that he had gotten a crack, and he chuckled again, “She’s coming herself to get you tonight. Mistress was finally willing to pay the price for her lost puppy back. I told her to come alone, but I’m sure she won’t. I’ll get the satisfaction of wiping your whole miserable family off the planet. At least the last time she sees you, you’ll look perfect. Aside from a few bumps and bruises.”
Barone locked the door, and Hero’s head spun. Mari was coming for him. He knew she had been looking for him, he knew that they had sent her pictures of the damage they had done, humiliating photos that Hero hoped Mari had destroyed before anyone else saw. He knew Mari would eventually come, but now that the reality was at his doorstep, Hero felt his control beginning to slip. Hedonist turned back around and with slow sloping steps began to get closer. Hero was never more aware of the knife in the room, the same knife that had given him the injuries that were still healing all over his body. They pulsed with a familiar wave of pain, and Hero tried to define the exact moment he had gotten so hurt. He didn’t understand, he hadn’t been hurt before. But he had? This was a dream. This wasn’t real. Why did it feel so real? Hedonist was speaking again.
“The silent treatment is getting boring kiddo, and you know what I’m like when I’m bored.” Hero knew. Hero knew all too well. He had the evidence written into his skin. Hero kept his mouth shut. Mari would be here soon. Mari would make everything okay. Mari would make sure that Tommy begged for mercy, and then she would deny him.
“Just a few more minutes… actually, I think I’ll kill you now. I was going to kill Mari first, just to get you to finally do something, but it would be more fun to throw your corpse down in front of her and see her lose it.” Barone’s face contorted in glee at the thought, and Hero’s stomach bottomed out. A few more minutes. Mari was coming. Mari would be here soon.
“You’re the reason she killed her daddy after all. So...maybe all of this is your fault then.” No that wasn’t their fault. That wasn’t Hero’s fault. That was Mari’s father. Mari’s father had made his choices, and forced their hand. Mari had killed him to protect Sunny, to save their families. It hadn’t just been for Hero. It couldn’t have been just for Hero. He couldn’t have been the reason behind everything. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Barone twisted the knife in his hands, throwing his final punch to Hero’s mind, “You’re the reason your family is nothing. You’re the reason your mother is dead.”
Hero breath began to quicken, and Hedonist jerked him up by an arm, pressing the knife tip against his throat, tracing it almost lovingly against his pulse point. Hero was nearly hyperventilating, his eyes up, staring at the chandelier shaking. Was it the chandelier? It looked fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t a chandelier at all. This was a dream? Why were his palms sweating? Why was he so terrified? If it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t be like this. He would wake up.
Please wake up. Please wake up.
“Any last words? Anything to say?” Even if Hero had any, he wouldn’t be able to speak. His mouth was a desert, his throat closed tight. There was no air. This wasn’t a dream. He was going to die. He was only eighteen, and he was about to have his throat slit by an ex-mobster in a parlor. They were using him to get to his wife. Hedonist was going to hurt his Mari. “How disappointing,”
A series of gunshots tore through the air, throwing them both out of synch. Hero took the two seconds that afforded him. He slammed his bound hands into the side of Tommy Barone’s head, taking all of the rage he had been storing up in the last 24 days and unleashing it. Barone stumbled back and Hero surged forward. He grabbed the blade end of the knife, wincing in pain as it cut into his palms. Hedonist’s grip was loose from disorientation, and that was enough for Hero to wrench it away, spin it around, and thrust it deep into Tommy Barone’s stomach.
All sound cut out. A high pitched whine was shrieking in his ears. The knife handle was sticky in his grip from the blood.
Tommy looked at him, confused as a lost child. Hero ripped the knife out of the other man’s gut and buried it in the side of his throat, joined hands holding fast to the black plastic handle. Hot blood sticky and disgusting sprayed out, staining Hero with it. The fabulous suit that Tommy had commissioned was destroyed, ripped from their scuffle and forever marked with red.
Hero pulled the knife out with a horrific squelching noise, and Tommy fell back. His pale fingers went up to his throat, trying to stem the bleeding. Sound cut back in, there were people yelling and shouting outside. Someone was banging on the door. Hero took two stumbling steps towards it, then paused.
He was panting from exertion, the feeling of the suit and the blood curdling in his stomach, but he wasn’t done. Not yet. Not after what Barone had done to him.
Hero turned back. Tommy was a lost cause, panic racing across his features as mortality flew towards him. Hero felt a cruel smile settling on his features, so unlike anything he had ever done before. His face felt like wax, molded and shaped by some unknown force. He practically slid over to where the dying Hedonist lay, tilting his head and staring down at the monster turned human. He stepped over the older man so one foot was on each side of him.
“You’re going to kill my wife?” Hero’s voice was shredded after so many days of keeping from speaking, but he kept going. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, “Kill my family? You want to hear me scream?”
Hero turned the knife so the point was directly above Barone’s heart. The man was making a horrific wheezing noise, and the stench of death hung in the air. Someone was rhythmically pounding against the door, clearly trying to break it. Hero ignored them. He had a job to do. He had to protect them from this monster. He had to do what had to be done
Hero fell to his knees, drove the knife deep into Barone’s chest, opened his mouth, and screamed.
Hero wakes up still screaming, the iron taste of Hedonist’s blood heavy on his tongue. He thrusts himself into a sitting position, pitching forward and letting his head smack down onto the mattress. A broken howl of agony heaved from his chest, and he continued to wail. His joined hands were pressed up against his chest, no longer bound to one another but stuck in the position all the same. Hero’s voice gives out on the fourth cry, and Mari’s hands are cool on his back as she runs her fingers along his spine and hushes him. She is speaking to him in soft whispers. He can’t hear her words, but the smell of her shampoo is strong in his nose. She is here. She is safe.
Hedonist is dead, his body burnt and ashes scattered in a dump. Hero is not bound, his injuries long scarred over. The horrible suit was destroyed. It was a dream. He was safe. He had saved his family. He had done what he had to, and it had broken him, but he had protected them.
Hero continues to cry out silently until the sun rises pale in the sky.
#Asks#anon#mafia au#omori hero#omori mari#heromari#omori kel#he's mentioned a bunch#Tw: death#tw: violence#tw: knives#TW: Mafia#This went.....so ham#I was not prepared#anyway#Mafia AU continues to haunt me#I might reblog this sometime tomorrow#So people can see it in the light of fay#I'm actually really proud of this one
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foul and fair - yandere! jimin x reader
happy (late) birthday to my wonderful mutual @jooniescupcakes! i hope ur day was blessed and i hope you enjoy this :)
Jeering and the feeling of rocks hitting his back were Jimin’s last memories of the village that he’d once called his home. Then, why was someone outside his door?
He’d been called a warlock, a demon and a foul spirit. Every crop he’d attended to wilted and every cattle he touched had collapsed within a matter of days. Girls would hear of these rumours and escalate into claiming he’d bewitched them too. Jimin was only ten at the time, but even his own parents had been sold into the mob mentality and cast him out of their home without a second thought to his wellbeing. The jeers of his former friends, the booming voice of the preacher declaring him to be wicked, the cries on young girls when they so much made eye contact with him - the sounds still rattled in his ears if he let himself gaze upon the town in the distance.
That had been fourteen years ago, and over that time he’d grown used to his own company.
Yet, despite this the woman stood outside his abode with an innocent expression intrigued him.
Thus he reluctantly opened the door a sliver, half of his face visible.
“Hi! I am new to Royal Gebolwl, my name is (Y/N). It is nice to meet you, what is your name?” She gave him an eager smile, offering him her hand as she spoke a million words at once. Jimin blinked, trying to process it and figure out how to respond when he hadn’t held a conversation in over a decade.
When he was unable to think of a response, he decided instead to get a proper look at her. Neatly dressed in clothes that seemed to show eloquence but also modesty and clutching a woven basket to her chest.
She caught him staring at the basket intensely and blushed, before dipping her hand inside and pulling out a small paper package.
“I know it is not much, but I wanted to bring you some bread that I baked. I have been working on my recipe so I hope that it tastes nice!” (Y/N) smiled, holding it out to him. His hand snaked out to take the package, their fingers brushing slightly.
The young woman watched him anxiously as he inspected the package with some suspicion.
Finally, when he decided it was safe he finally spoke.
“Thank you.”
She gave him a gracious nod and turned to walk away, before he spoke again.
“My name is Jimin.” He shut the door immediately afterwards, taking a few seconds to breathe and take in the situation.
“It is nice to meet you.” The words felt strange on his tongue. They lacked the honey-like sweetness of her voice, that was for sure.
The young man sat down at his makeshift kitchen table, unwrapping the brown paper to see a neat brown roll. He tore off a piece and held it to his lips. Paranoia flashed through his body. What if she was sent to kill him? What if the gift she gave him was in fact to euthanize him?
Even so, he put the gift in his mouth and chewed. Instantly he was on the verge of tears. He hadn’t tasted such a delicious treat in years, and suddenly the bread was in his hands and he was eating it as if he was starving.
Once it was all gone, he could only stare at his empty hands and wonder how he’d been so happy with his own company when he was missing out on people like her. And following that realisation, he was more hungry than ever.
◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦
Jimin had practiced many times in anticipation for their next meeting. He’d practiced talking in the mirror to rid himself of any hesitation, and even started to grow special, rare flowers in his garden so that he could make her an arrangement.
The weeks on end without seeing her were starting to wear on him. He’d wondered about wandering into the village to find her, but the thought of her seeing him be shooed away again was enough to stop him dead in his tracks.
(Y/N) had left him to stew for too long. Almost three weeks after their first meeting did she return, the same woven basket clutched to her chest as if it were glued there.
“Jimin, I do not mean to be an inconvenience but I saw that you have some onions in your garden and was wondering if you could spare a few?”
The young man wasn’t as composed as he’d thought himself to be. The euphoria of (Y/N) remembering his name and showing an interest in his horticultural products made his carefully composed words fall out of his mouth.
“Are you okay?” The young woman was immediately concerned by his pale face and lack of speech.
“Y-yes. Would you like to come in for some tea?” Jimin managed to choke out, heart pounding.
“Apologises but I am short on time, my daughter is sick and hungry. I need to feed her. Tomorrow, perhaps?” He nodded, heat flushing his face in humiliation as her words set in.
“Wonderful. Help yourself.” He said shortly before closing the door in her face and rushing to his bed. He collapsed immediately, face screwing up in frustration as he lashed out at whatever he could lay his hands on. Chairs were knocked over, bowls clattered to the floor, feathers fluttered out of his pillow.
How could she deceive him like this? Having a child, and most likely a husband? Jimin had been certain they were soulmates, that she’d reserved herself for him this whole time. Yet, here she was talking about her family, prioritising them over Jimin. Couldn’t she see that he’d dedicated all his time to her, but she couldn’t even give him a few minutes?
Enough is enough, he concluded. She couldn’t play with his feelings and drive him insane any longer. If her mind had wandered astray, he would set it back.
◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦
Jimin spent most of his time the next day in the chicken coop. They made excellent company: for one, they never judged him for being born wicked. But the added advantage was a near perfect view of the path to his cottage - as soon as she would approach he was ready.
He waited, and waited. Until it grew late and the sun retired from the sky, Jimin sat outside with his eyes dead set on the path and only his small array of feathery friends for company.
It was only when they too left him that Jimin realised she wasn’t coming.
A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of what was happening to her. What if the villagers that had once persecuted him had now set her as their next target? The idea of (Y/N) being maltreated felt like Jimin’s heart was being ripped out.
Love. That was the word for it. Jimin loves her, to the point of no return, and he was ready to fight for her to be in his arms. He hadn’t experienced the warm touch of another in years, but his yearning for her was much more than that.
Before he knew it, his feet were carrying him out of the chicken enclosure, into his house to put on a cloak and pack a small satchel and he was journeying far beyond his home before he was even aware of what he was doing.
The fear of being recognised, of being punished for stepping inside the village boundaries as he was forbidden from doing and worst of all being painted as a monster in front of (Y/N) was jarring. But he felt like there was some kind of string pulling him along, as he skulked through the night inspecting each house to deduct which one was hers.
Suddenly, from inside the house he’d stopped outside of he heard the faint sound of her angelic voice once again. With cautious steps he approached the building it was coming from, glancing in through a small gap in the wall that had not been filled in with stone..
He saw (Y/N) gently stroking the forehead of a young girl who looked almost identical to her mother, save for the stressed lines that creased (Y/N)’s forehead. (Y/N) was singing a sweet lullaby as she comforted her daughter, accompanied by some washed out ghost of a man who seemed to be her husband. The angel pressed a final kiss to her daughter’s forehead before rising from the young girl’s side and nearly collapsing into the man’s arms. Through the thin walls, Jimin could make out a conversation.
“They turned you away?”
“It’s far too expensive. More than a year’s wages. There’s nothing we can do.”
(Y/N) let out a loud sob.
Jimin’s heart throbbed hearing the beautiful (Y/N)’s wails of anguish, although he didn’t quite know the cause. But he did know that he had to save her from what was making her upset, and fast.
He continued to quietly observe as the family settled themselves down to sleep for the night. The fear was starting to set in that he’d get caught peeking. What if someone recognised him, what if he was publicly humiliated in front of (Y/N), what if she learnt that he did not love as an outcast voluntarily? Jimin could not bear to see hatred in those beautiful eyes, not towards him.
In his satchel, he’d brought a knife. Nestled in with some bread he’d tried to bake. He’d hoped she would enjoy his bread as he did hers, but evidently there was a more pressing issue at hand.
Using his knife, he’d broken open the simple wooden latch on their door and entered. Whilst he’d expected the heavy smell of hops, as many men of the village drank far too much, there was instead the pleasant smell of leftover broth. Whilst Jimin’s stomach was begging him to indulge in some of the homemade food, his heart was begging for some other relief.
When he entered the other room, his heart fell to his shoes. He saw (Y/N) cuddled up to her “husband”, her eyes still sore but her breathing slow and steady.
Jimin’s stomach churned, thinking about what he was going to do. What if he was caught in the act by (Y/N)?
But he had to do it, to save her and become the man that she needed in her life. The second her husband was gone, she’d turn to cry on his shoulder. Oh, how wonderful it would be to have a companion in his lonely world. She could love him for who he truly was, no matter how freakish, and surely her daughter would be delighted to have a new father?
With one final seed of doubt destroyed Jimin set to work. He gently turned the man on his back, separating his parasitic limbs from (Y/N). And, pressing a hand to his victim’s mouth, Jimin quickly slit his throat.
The man’s eyes shot open as a response to the pain, but all he could do was gargle blood pathetically, his strength being sapped away by the second. And within a minute it was all over.
He climbed off the dreaded man, not wanting contact with him to last a second longer. His eyes trailed lovingly to see (Y/N), still fast asleep only with a small bit of blood wetting her hair. He longed to take her back with him, but it would not be right. She had to realise herself that Jimin was the man she needed, not some corpse.
Then he saw the child. The poor, wretched child that had been the product of (Y/N)’s mistaken marriage. What was he to do with the child, if it would only remind her of her past pain?
There was only one thing to do. Jimin knelt next to the child, feeling her pulse. It was racing high, and her forehead was drenched in sweat.
The child had done nothing wrong. She deserved mercy, and Jimin felt at peace with himself as he resolved to give it to her. Placing a hand on her chest, muttering an incantation, and watching her quick breaths slow to a stop.
Jimin finally left the house, breathing in the fresh autumn breeze. And finally, for the first time in fourteen years, he smiled.
◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦
That afternoon, as he attended to his crops, Jimin spied the sight he’d been dreaming off. (Y/N).
She was clutching a black shawl around herself. As she got closer, he noticed her eyes were bloodshot and her face was caked with mud.
However, she didn’t even spare him a glance. Moreover, she walked straight past him.
“(Y/N)?” He called out, to get no response. Growing more scared, he vaulted over the fence to catch up to her. “(Y/N)?”
“Why do you want to talk to me?” She finally said, her voice hoarse. “I am a monster.”
Jimin didn’t respond. He stood with his mouth open, trying to articulate the words to tell she was wrong, she was an angel!
“You will not ever have to see me again.” She said, turning away. “You do not deserve to be in the presence of a murderer.”
Suddenly it clicked. And suddenly, Jimin felt like they were closer than ever.
“You have been exiled?”
“They say I am a witch. That I killed my husband and cursed my own child! One of the elders took pity but if not for that I would be burnt at the stake!” (Y/N)’s body started to shake.
“You did not do it.” Jimin replied firmly, proud of how his voice didn’t shake as it used to.
“I did not. But they did not believe me. They took my daughter away and I have nothing left in life but the clothes on my body.”
“And me.”
(Y/N) finally looked him in the eye.
“You can stay with me. Outside the village boundaries.” He recited his rehearsed lines, resisting the urge to smile in acknowledgement of (Y/N)’s somber demeanor. They’d believed it all, fell into the trap he’d concocted
“You are kind Jimin. Alas, that would be too much a burden.” She replied quietly.
“Never. Stay with me, and I will give you your life.” Jimin repeated.
She looked hesitant, but as her need for survival took over her pride she nodded. He held out his hand, which she took in her own blood caked one as he led her back to his dwelling.
She seemed blissfully unaware of his own status, or perhaps she no longer cared to hold the hand of a freak, an outcast, a foul spirit. But, with the power granted to him, Jimin wouldn’t have it any other way.
#yandere bts#yandere jimin#yandere jimin x reader#yandere kpop#yandere bts x reader#kpop yandere#yandere#yandere bts au#yandere oneshot#yandere park jimin#yandere park jimin x reader#bts jimin#jimin x reader#park jimin x reader#park jimin#bts
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