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pastelwitchling · 3 years

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Journey to the Past

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This was meant to be part of my one-shot collection, it turned out to be too long, and now it’s a separate fic. If you enjoy reading even a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

Michael woke to find he’d fallen asleep at Alex’s bedside. Before anything, he sat up, checked to see if Alex’s eyes hadn’t fluttered, if he wasn’t finally waking from his coma, but his hand remained perfectly still in Michael’s, the heart monitor echoed steadily into the otherwise empty room and echoing off Max’s bedroom walls.

They would’ve taken him to the hospital, but since the attack that did this to him had been by his father’s rogue Project Shepherd agents, they couldn’t risk leaving him in a room that any enemy could access. At least here, Isobel and Michael could set up forcefields around the grounds. At least here, Max could strike anybody that came too close with lightning and they could blame it on the weather. At least here, Michael could cling to Alex and no one would bother him about it.

Michael wasn’t Alex’s boyfriend, he knew. Alex’s actual boyfriend – or his ex, that is, as of two weeks ago – was back in New York, unaware that the man he’d fallen so deeply and treacherously in love with had fallen victim to his father’s pissed off and ridiculously loyal minions.

Michael followed the bruises on Alex’s jaw and cheeks with his eyes, the cut on his lower lip, visible under the thick respirator. There was a stitched up gash in his forehead, and his knuckles on his right hand were scraped and bloody from the fight he’d given the attackers. He’d fended most of them off, before Michael had arrived to blow the rest of them into the walls and knock them out, but not before one of them had managed a stray shot in and got Alex in the stomach.

Max had done his best to heal him, but the bullets had been laced with yellow pollen. Jesse Manes’ last attempt to kill his youngest son, apparently, had followed him out the grave.

Michael shut his eyes against the thought, and instinctively gripped Alex’s hand tighter. He didn’t want to think about Project Shepherd and what they’d intended. They’d failed, and that was all that mattered. His grip turned painful on Alex’s hand. They’d failed.

A knock came at the door, but Michael did not look away from Alex’s face. He heard Max’s voice from the end of the room ask, “How’re you holding up?”

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” Michael demanded. “You said he’d be awake by now.”

“No,” Max sighed, and closed the door behind him. “I said Kyle hoped he’d be awake by now.”

“It’s been two days.”

“We’re doing everything we can –”

“Well, it’s not enough!” Michael snapped, and the room collapsed back into silence.

“He’ll wake up,” Max promised him. “He will. Just give him some time.”

“I need him,” Michael whispered.

“I know –”

“No,” he growled. “I need him.” He rubbed his face roughly with one hand. “Where’s Is?”

“Outside,” he said. “Why?” When Michael didn’t answer, Max’s shoulders slumped and his frown deepened. “Michael, no.”

“I know we said there were risks –”

“Risks?” he scoffed. “I already told you it’s too dangerous to go digging through Alex’s head! Isobel told you it’s dangerous!”

Michael stood. “Valenti said his brain waves are normal, he’s just asleep. If I can find the part of him that doesn’t want to wake up, then – then I get him back.”

“Or you guys screw something up,” Max argued, “and change something that can’t be changed back.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “He won’t wake up, not like this, and I can’t just sit here and wait.”

“Michael,” Max tried, purposely calming his voice in that way when he knew Michael was seconds away from blowing up and wanted to ease him back down. “Listen to me. I know you’re worried about him, but if you go into his mind, you could make things worse.”

Michael swallowed. Max was right, he knew Max was right. But he remembered Kyle’s voice when he’d hoped Alex would wake up soon. He had been too quiet, his eyes downcast like he was praying and didn’t want the others to know it was that bad.

He had no idea that when it came to Alex, Michael paid attention. Only when it came to Alex.

“If I do nothing,” he said, “Alex stays asleep.” His fingers curled to fists at his sides at the thought. He looked back at Alex, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed softly. His unmoving fingers and closed eyes.

Michael sniffed, and decided, “If Alex doesn’t wake up by tomorrow morning, I’m going in to wake him up myself.”

They waited until the next morning, then noon. Michael had been ready to start at dawn, but Kyle had seemed anxious, and Max argued for “Just a couple more hours, Michael, he’s the doctor here!”

Michael had argued that Alex didn’t need a human doctor, and Kyle had argued that Alex was human, so who else was going to treat him?

Michael forgot that sometimes; that Alex wasn’t actually an alien like him, that he didn’t have any superpowers like the others did. He’d just always seemed so strong and intelligent that it slipped Michael’s mind. But Alex was human, and more fragile than Michael allowed himself to believe. He’d been too careless, too willing to ask for Alex’s help fixing this or fixing that without ever considering what he might’ve been doing to him. What it might cost.

Maybe that was why Michael was so eager to go into Alex’s mind already and wake him up. It was time for him to save Alex for a change.

“Just for the record,” Isobel said, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You deal with brains all the time,” Michael argued.

“Not like Kyle,” she insisted. “And not memories. It’s like . . . time travelling! If you touch something in the past, you could change the future forever!” She swallowed. “And Alex is . . . he’s too important.”

She didn’t need to say the words for Michael to know what she was thinking. He’s too important to you, she seemed to be telling Michael. If I hurt him, it’ll break you, and I could never forgive myself for that.

Michael took her hand. “You’re gonna do great,” he said resolutely. “If anyone can do this, you can.”

Her brows pinched, unconvinced, but Michael didn’t have any more time for doubt or hesitation. Alex hadn’t woken up in too long, and his nerves were fraying with every passing second.

“Do it,” he said.

Isobel glanced hesitantly at Kyle. Kyle looked to Alex, as if weighing the damage that they could do, but even he must’ve known that Alex being asleep for this long was abnormal, because he looked to Isobel and nodded, clearly unhappy about it.

“Be careful,” Max warned. “For your sakes, and his.”

Isobel’s hand on Michael’s tightened, and she shut her eyes. Michael kept his gaze on Alex for as long as he could. Then he felt a sudden chill shoot throughout his entire body from his hand, and he inhaled sharply. One second he was looking at Alex’s sleeping figure, and the next, the world around him turned to smoke, and he found himself standing in the desert on a bright, sunny day.

He was still holding Isobel’s hand, but nothing looked familiar. There was just desert and gray-steel buildings built high with tall glass windows, clustered like boulders in the sea.

In the distance, he could see uniformed soldiers, marching in formation. Men and women training, sergeants barking orders, laughter from friends somewhere hidden. Where were they?

“What the hell?” he muttered, looking around. He didn’t recognize the area at all.

Isobel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Alex?”

Michael turned and found they were inches from a doorway that opened to a large, steel room. There was a raised platform at the very opposite end, and several soldiers fighting, sparring, exercising – but Michael couldn’t see any of them.

Isobel gasped. “Michael,” she pointed. “Isn’t that Alex?”

Michael had already spotted him. He was on the platform, fighting another young man. But even before Isobel and Michael approached him, Michael knew this was a much younger Alex. He looked barely eighteen, his hair having lost its spike and was cut short, he was throwing punches and kicks in a way that seemed very unnatural for the man who hardly had to raise a finger to induce fear. And he was losing. Badly.

“I don’t think anybody can see us,” Isobel murmured, looking around at the other soldiers as they passed. “Or hear us.”

Michael’s eyes were on Alex. His heart was hammering, beating painfully against his ribs with every beating Alex took, every time his body fell to the floor. His opponent delivered a roundhouse kick that had Alex on his face again, and Michael snapped. He held a hand up to blast the other fighter back, but his powers wouldn’t work.

“Are you crazy?!” Isobel hissed, slapping his arm. “You can’t change anything, remember?”

“Literally,” Michael spat, hoping Alex’s opponent could feel his glares. “My telekinesis isn’t working.”

Isobel looked around before her eyes focused on another soldier who was doing pushups. Her brows furrowed for barely half a second, then she winced and put a hand to her temple.

Michael tugged on her hand. “Are you okay?”

“It’s taking all of my power for us to just be here,” she sighed. “My other powers won’t work either.” She frowned. “What’s he doing?”

Michael followed her gaze, and saw that Alex, beaten and bloody, was slowly pushing himself to his feet with trembling arms.

“His face is covered in blood,” Isobel shook her head. “He needs to stay down!”

Michael guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Alex so resolved to stay on his feet. His hair was plastered to his temples with blood and sweat, his breaths were quick and short, like his chest ached, but his shoulders were straight and his eyes were filled with a fiery anger. Alex was looking at his opponent like he was every other person who’d ever beat him down and ordered him to stay there. He was screaming, without any words at all, that he wouldn’t.

It didn’t seem to matter to the opponent as he threw hit after hit, hurting Alex again and again, making Michael flinch and burn with rage every time.

When the fight was over, the other soldiers jeering and eager to start their own training match next, Alex’s opponent crouched down beside him and whispered, loud enough for Michael and Isobel to hear, as though they were in Alex’s place themselves –

“Nobody cares who your daddy and brothers are, Manes,” the opponent sneered with disgust. “Your kind will never survive here.”

Michael clenched his jaw. He felt Alex’s anger, his frustration, his grief. He’d often wondered what happened to Alex after he’d enlisted, how a soldier trained and what that did to them, whether it was hurting Alex the same way.

No one offered Alex a hand, no one knew what to make of this lesser Manes. Michael wanted to kill them all for hurting him, for pushing him down. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to see things differently.

With all the charge of that emo kid from high school, Alex groaned and pushed himself to his feet. He spat the blood in his mouth out, and wiped his forearm against his nose. His eyes were dry, his expression unreadable, but that same anger stayed.

More than a few soldiers looked surprised and even impressed, but Alex, already walking away, didn’t notice.

The scene changed.

Before Michael could blink, they were outside again. A cursory look around told them they were behind the building this time, where rocks and stray blades of grass grew out. Alex was sitting against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. In the distance, soldiers marched on, but nobody seemed to see Alex as he cried.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him.

Michael glanced at Isobel, and saw her eyes were wide and sympathetic. Alex wiped the tears away faster than they could fall. He sniffled, and pulled a picture out of his pocket, hiding it between his eyes and knees, a secret for no one else.

“I’m sorry,” Alex sniffled again, and wiped his cheek on his shoulder. “I’m trying not to. I’m getting better at it. Not that I think you’d be disappointed that I cried, I just . . . don’t want to cry in front of anybody else. Never again.”

Michael and Isobel each went to a different side of Alex to see whose picture he was talking to, all the while Michael trying not to scrunch up with the uncomfortable thought that Alex had taken enough comfort in someone else that he would sneak a photo of them into base, even back then.

When he saw the picture, he froze. Isobel breathed, “Oh my god . . .,” and Michael had to kneel down next to Alex. It was a picture of them – him and Alex – similar to the picture he had in his airstream. Except this one was taken at a different angle, and they were smiling at each other, taken in the exact moment Alex had noticed Michael watching him play guitar, and the two had laughed, giddy at being so close together and knowing what they knew about their feelings for one another.

Michael tried to breathe, but a lump lodged itself in his throat. Alex had kept a picture of them with him when he’d first gone to the base, and he pulled it out whenever he needed strength and comfort. All this time, he’d thought Alex hadn’t thought twice about him . . .

“I’m scared, Guerin,” Alex confessed to the picture, his grip on the edges tightening. “I don’t – I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong enough to be here. I don’t want to be here.” His lower lip trembled. “But that’s why you started to pull away, right? I was too weak to protect you . . .”

“No,” Michael breathed, shaking his head. “No, please, don’t say that, please.”

“That’s why Alex enlisted?” Isobel said. “Because his dad hit you?”

“It was after Rosa,” Michael croaked, eyes on Alex. “Everything changed, and I . . . I could never tell him what happened. But he – he thought . . . I didn’t know he thought . . .”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex cried, hiding his face with one hand. “I’m trying not to cry, I swear I’m trying. I just miss you so much, Guerin. You’re the only person that’s ever felt like home to me, and now I’m here, and I’m more lost than ever.” He exhaled shakily. “All I wanted was a goodbye. I keep thinking about the way I left. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Isobel’s own eyes were glassy. “Michael?”

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered in response to her silent question. “I didn’t want to say goodbye. It felt like I would never see him again if I did.” He clenched his jaw. He tried to press his forehead to Alex’s temple, to inhale his scent, but he couldn’t feel Alex at all. He could only watch him suffer.

“The last thing I ever said to him before he left was –” he scowled at the bile in his throat “—that I’d be better off if he left. I was just angry, and – and hurt!” he tried. “I didn’t mean it!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, pulling her eyes off Alex. “It’s in the past, Michael. That’s what all of this stuff is. Memories. You know Alex now, you know what he thinks of you. He loves you.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not what hurts, Is.”

“Then what does?”

“It’s that he loved me this much even back then.”

“Private Manes,” a voice sounded, and Alex gasped just quickly enough for Michael to catch it before he was on his feet, straight as a board.

Michael looked up and found none other than Sergeant Ramos, Alex’s mysterious leader who’d come to Roswell a mere few weeks ago. The man Alex had looked up to and smiled around and trusted. The man who seemed more Alex’s father than Jesse Manes had ever been.

Sergeant Ramos, looking about twelve years younger, raised a brow at Alex’s right hand which was subtly pushing the photo back into its hiding place in his pocket.

He tilted his head at Alex. “You’re the new kid, right? Jesse’s youngest. Alec?”

“Alex Manes, sir,” Alex said loudly, coherently. Like a soldier.

“Alex,” he nodded. “You miss your friend, Alex?”

Alex faltered. “Sir?”

“Your friend,” he nudged his chin at Alex’s pocket. “In the picture.” His eyes were meaningful when he said, “You must’ve been very close.”

Alex swallowed. It was no use trying to hide the panic in his eyes. He’d just come back from his father’s house, he was too used to being afraid. He hadn’t spent a decade learning to hide that fear.

“Is he the reason you’re here?”

Alex raised his chin. “I’m here to be stronger, sir!”

Ramos smiled, like he knew something Alex didn’t. “You seemed plenty strong to me up on that platform, Private.”

Alex frowned. “I was . . . losing, sir.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you were getting back up. No matter what he hit you with.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I don’t like bullies, sir.”

“Did a bully hurt your friend there?” he asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

Alex said nothing, and Michael could see the questions in the furrow of his brow. What would happen to him if a sergeant discovered he was gay? Would he report him to Jesse?

Ramos sighed and looked around. “If you don’t know why you’re here,” he said, “you won’t last long, I can guarantee you that. You know where you are?”

Alex blinked, confused. “The – the US Air Force Base?”

“Are you asking me?”

He straightened. “The US Air Force Base, sir!”

“You ever been in a plane?” he asked. “Ever seen what we see up there?”

Alex hesitated, then shook his head. He quickly caught himself and said, “No, sir!”

Ramos hummed, then patted Alex’s shoulder once, hard enough to make Alex stumble. “All right, follow me! I’m about to show you the few good things about being out in this godforsaken desert.”

Alex followed as he was supposed to, though doubt never left his face. He seemed convinced that there was nothing good about being out here.

Michael and Isobel exchanged a glance before they quickly followed. Michael stayed close to Alex and reached for his hand several times, until they passed right through each other and Alex hardly seemed aware of him.

They went into a hangar with several smaller planes inside, and Alex tensed just for a moment at the sight of them all before he realized Ramos was leading him to a little aircraft at the far right of the room.

“Stay with me, Guerin,” Alex suddenly whispered, his eyes wide and betraying some fear. Michael looked to him, surprised, but realized that Alex was just talking to himself. His hand covered his pocket where his picture of him and Michael was, and with a deep, shaking sigh, he followed Ramos to the plane.

When Alex got close enough, Ramos tossed him a helmet. “Hop in, kid!”

Alex swallowed. He looked like he wanted to stutter an excuse not to, but he gripped his pocket tightly and nodded once, putting on the helmet.

“Oh my god,” Isobel said with a smirk tugging at her lips as realization dawned. “You’re like his good luck charm.”

Michael swallowed, though he definitely didn’t want to smile. When did it stop? When did Alex realize that he wasn’t good luck at all? When had he stopped needing him?

Before Michael and Isobel could say anything else, they both ended up in the backseat of the little aircraft, Ramos and Alex in the front, the plane on a wide stretch of road. Michael didn’t know if this aircraft had initially fit two people in the back, but it was like the memory warped and changed for them to be able to follow.

“We’re tied to Alex,” Isobel told him. Despite the roar of the engine, they heard each other, and the other two passengers, perfectly. “We’ll keep getting tugged along with him.”

Alex gripped the edge of his seat tightly as the plane took off into the air. Michael could hear his gasp, his eyes wanting to close but unwilling to do it in front of his sergeant. They rose high to the clouds, Alex’s knuckles white. Michael wanted more than anything to reach for him, to hold and comfort him, but this Alex was on his own. He’d never had Michael there as Michael had had Max and Isobel. It was just him, alone, with nothing but a picture to comfort him.

“Better hold onto somethin’,” Ramos laughed and pulled up high above the clouds.

What they saw knocked the breath out of their lungs. High above a bed of white, the sun shined brightly, turning the sky around it to gold and pink and purple and blue. It looked like the color of their spaceship surrounding them.

The sunlight hit Alex’s wide eyes, and Michael watched him breathing quickly, emotions turning from fear to shock to grief to wonder to amazement to grief and shock again. He could’ve done anything in that moment. He could’ve cried, could’ve screamed. Instead he smiled, a surprised burst of laughter escaping his lips.

He held up his hands and yelled, “WOOOOOOO!” and Ramous laughed harder. Isobel couldn’t help but laugh along, and Michael couldn’t look away from Alex. The bright sunlight had turned his tear-filled eyes to crystal green, and if Ramos noticed his crying, he didn’t say anything. Alex just laughed and ran his hands through his hair, marveling at the sight before him, as if he’d never expected that such a beautiful treasure could be right over his head this whole time.

After they’d come back down, Ramos handed Alex his half of a ham and cheese sandwich. “Every year,” he told him, “I look at new recruits, try to decide if there are any worth keeping an eye out for. This year, that’s you.”

Alex blinked. “Why me?”

“Because a soldier who can start a battle is a dime a dozen,” he said simply. “I need the kind of person who can win them. I think I can make you captain in record’s time.” He raised a brow, and finished his sandwich in one bite. “Would that be something you would want?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “That would outrank my dad – er – Sergeant Manes.”

“Yes,” Sergeant Ramos said slowly, as though he’d just figured out the bully’s name. “It would. He would have to answer to you.”

Alex’s cheeks were red, but his expression fierce and hopeful. “You can really make me captain, sir?”

“If it’s what you want,” he said. “If it’s the kind of person you want to be. But you ‘aint gonna get it getting beaten down the way you do.”

“I’m – I’m trying –”

“Trying is for excuses,” he said. “‘Round here, you do. If you want to outrank your old man, there’s only one way to do it, Manes. I can train you, but the work’s gotta come from you. What do you think?” He tilted his head. “How far are you willing to go to be the stronger one?”

The look on Alex’s face said it all. He would become whatever he had to, do whatever needed doing. He had enemies, and he wanted them to burn.

The picture changed. It was like walking through a film, memories too blurred and passing now for Michael and Isobel to cling to.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked Isobel, and she shook her head.

“Alex doesn’t clearly remember any of this stuff,” she said, “so we can’t see it any better than he can.”

They saw Alex get older, training harder, running faster, shooting better than anybody else around him. They saw him rise in ranks quickly, uniformed men pinning medals to his chest, congratulating him. Alex laughing with a team of his own, men with muscles larger than Michael’s head, following him like he was their hero.

The memory then stopped, and Michael and Isobel found themselves in a hospital hallway.

Isobel shivered and clung to Michael’s arm. “What is this?” she asked. “Where are we?”

Michael looked around, and pointed at a familiar man pacing along the wall, his thumb pressed to his lower lip.

“Gregory?” Isobel blinked. “What’s he doing here?”

A doctor stepped out, and Gregory was on him in an instant. “How is he?” he demanded at once.

The doctor sighed. It sounded sad. Gregory’s face fell, anguish overtaking his expression. “We did all we could,” he said, “but we couldn’t save the leg.”

Isobel gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “No,” she breathed. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to see this.”

Michael couldn’t hear anything else she said. He was watching Alex who was sitting up in bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. Michael went inside and stood at Alex’s bedside. He did not look at the sheets and what they revealed.

“Private,” he whispered, leaning in as close as he could without touching Alex. “Can you hear me?”

Alex said nothing. He didn’t look down or move. The circles around his eyes were dark. He slowly reached over to the tray beside his bed where a few of his belongings sat in an opened plastic bag, and took something out. It was a picture, his picture of him and Michael, tattered around the edges and stained with specs of blood on the back. He hugged it against his chest as a tear wordlessly rolled down his cheek, though he remained expressionless.

“Alex,” Gregory came in. He looked over Alex’s missing right leg, and swallowed thickly. “Hey,” he brushed his hair back from his face. Alex was either half-asleep or still filled with anesthetic. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Michael knew Alex could, that he remembered this moment perfectly, or he and Isobel would never have been able to see it.

Alex’s lips tugged up in half a sad smile, his brows furrowed as another tear fell down the bridge of his nose. “He’ll think I’m broken now. He’s so beautiful, he’d . . . he’d never love me like this.”

Michael stepped back, feeling like he’d been shot. Alex had kept the picture. Alex had thought Michael wouldn’t love him without his leg. Even now, after all these years, he’d kept the photo of them together. Even now, Michael was still his comfort.

The scene changed.

“I’m getting dizzy,” Isobel groaned. “Where are we now? It looks like Alex’s house, doesn’t it?”

It did. It was night, and they were right in Alex’s driveway, the trees lit with fairy lights, and there sat Michael, or a previous version of Michael, on the bed of his truck.

Michael’s heart fell into his stomach. “No,” he breathed. He remembered this.

“Whoa,” Isobel looked between Michael and Memory Michael. “It’s like Inception.”

“No, please, no,” Michael whispered as Alex pulled up. He stepped out and saw Michael shaking his head.

“What?” he asked in that cute way Michael had never admitted to.

“Pick another memory,” Michael told Isobel. “Any other memory!”

“I can’t control where we go!” Isobel said. “Why? What happens here, Michael?”

Michael pressed the bottoms of his palms into his eyes as Alex’s plea to help him find out more about his mom sounds in his ears. Then Michael’s own cruel words, “I like Maria, okay?”

Isobel’s hand tightened on Michael’s. “Oh.”

Michael was about to say something, though he didn’t know what, when the image before them blurred. It didn’t go away, it just faded to darkness.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked Isobel.

Isobel’s brows were furrowed. “It’s Alex,” she said. “He – he stopped paying attention.”

Michael swallowed thickly as the colors ran around him. Then he and Isobel were in Alex’s living room as Alex came in. It was right after Michael had left his house.

Alex sat down on the couch, staring off into the distance. He pulled off his cap, and his arm fell limp to his side. Slowly, Alex let his head fall back against the wall, and he stared at the ceiling, the same numb expression on his face as when he’d woken up to losing his leg. Any pretense of being fine or indifferent to Michael’s confession was gone.

Alex sniffled, then straightened. His eyes were dry. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out that same picture of him and Michael. He stared at it for a long time, but he didn’t say anything.

“He kept it,” Isobel breathed. “All this time, he’s loved you so much.”

“I didn’t –” Michael croaked, shaking his head. “I didn’t know.”

He’d thought Alex didn’t care who he was with. Then he thought to the way Alex’s eyes had fallen time and time again; in his driveway, his backyard, outside Michael’s airstream over and over and over again. Never surprised, just afraid that his suspicions had been right. That he was too broken for Michael to love anymore.

Alex lied down with a deep sigh that sounded frighteningly like resignation, his hand with the picture hanging off the couch. Slowly, his jaw clenched, Alex let the picture flutter out of his fingers and to the floor. He turned over to his other side and closed his eyes. He didn’t pick the picture up again.

“Alex . . .” Michael whispered, but before he could try reaching for Alex, the picture changed again, and he and Isobel were standing next to Alex in front of a short building. Kids played outside and elders swept their front porch.

Isobel leaned her weight against Michael. He put an arm around her waist. “Whoa, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I don’t think I can keep this up much longer, Michael. We have to find the broken part here, fast.”

Michael looked Alex over. “I think we’re getting there. Wasn’t this what he was wearing the day he was ambushed?”

Isobel straightened, eyes narrowed. She gasped. “Kyle told me Alex had gone to visit his mom that morning! He called on his way to the bunker, and –”

“That’s where they got him,” Michael growled, his hands turned to fists at the thought. “We’re close.”

As if hearing the urgency in their voices, a woman opened the door to greet Alex. She had Alex’s dark eyes, dark hair, and kind smile.

“My baby,” Alex’s mother pulled him in for a hug. Alex hugged her back just as tightly.

“Hey, mom,” he said. He sounded exhausted.

His mother quickly noticed and her smile faltered. She cupped his cheek. “Okay, baby, come in. Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

That was how they found themselves minutes later, seated in a small but comfy living room with plush floral couches, Michael and Isobel on each side of Alex as he and his mother nursed hot cups of tea.

“What’s going on?” Alex’s mother said. “Why do you look like that?”

Alex scoffed halfheartedly, “Are you saying I look bad?”

She brushed his hair back from his eyes. “My son is the handsomest in the world.” She brought her hand to his chin and lifted his head. “So why is he so upset?”

“I’m not upset, mom,” he said, smiling weakly. “I’m just . . . so tired.” His smile fell away and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a sip of his tea and set the mug down. He rubbed his hands together. “When you called last night, I told you everything was fine. I lied, mom.”

She nodded, like this didn’t surprise her in the slightest. “I know.” She tilted her head, and softly asked, “Is it your breakup? I thought you were okay with that.”

“I was,” Alex shook his head, eyes shut. “I – I am, but I . . .” He sighed and pulled something out of his pocket. He huffed a miserable chuckle. “I tried to burn it. I couldn’t.”

She took the picture from him, and Isobel gasped softly. It was the same one Alex had had of him and Michael for all of these years. He’d never gotten rid of it. Michael had never stopped being a comfort to him. Until, apparently, now.

Realization dawned on Alex’s mother’s face. “This boy. What was his name again?”

Alex rubbed his face. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters anymore. Forrest and I broke up, and he still won’t tell me anything.”

She frowned. “I thought you said you loved each other?”

Alex nodded. “I used to believe that.” He sighed shakily. “Not anymore.” He chuckled sadly, and covered his face with his hands. “I’m so tired, mom. I’m so tired of – of excuses and being afraid and – and being brave just to find out that it makes no difference. It’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

“Alex,” Alex’s mother looked horrified at her son’s words. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to,” Alex confessed in a whisper. “He showed me. He told Maria he loved her.”

Isobel’s eyes were wide. “Michael, you what?” she demanded. “Why would you lie like that?”

“I was scared,” he said, his eyes on Alex. “I wanted to hold onto something easy.”

But he didn’t know this was what he’d been doing to Alex. That he was hurting him this badly, all to date someone he’d never actually wanted to date. Michael looked at the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, his hollow cheeks, his tousled hair, and wondered how long it had been since Alex had eaten or slept.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Alex said. “I’d always hoped that . . . that we’d end up together. But it’s not something he wants anymore. If he ever wanted it at all.” His eyes shut tight. “I can’t keep clinging to bread crumbs, mom, I don’t want to.”

His mom looked concerned, but she took Alex’s hands in both of hers and said steadily, “Alex, what’re you trying to say? You can tell me.”

Alex exhaled shakily, and lifted his gaze to his mother’s. “Mom, I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve thought about it since he and Maria first started . . .” he clenched his jaw and looked away, like just the thought of Michael and Maria together pained him. Finally, he said, “I’m leaving Roswell.”

“No,” Michael breathed.

“And I’m not coming back this time.”

“NO!” Michael stood. “Alex, you can’t leave!”

“Michael,” Isobel tried. “He can’t hear you.”

“Alex can’t leave me,” he shook his head. “He can’t.”

“I can’t see him anymore,” Alex said. “I can’t pretend he still loves me. It hurts too much.”

Despite Isobel’s protests, Michael leaned over Alex and grabbed his arms. He kept going through him.

“Alex, look at me!” he demanded. “I’m right here, look at me!”

Alex flinched just as Michael’s hands collided with his arms, grabbing onto him. He could feel Alex, and Alex could feel him.

Alex looked startled, his mother’s voice was gone. Everyone’s voices were gone but Michael’s, Isobel’s, and Alex’s. The world around them was turning to black as Alex searched the air in front of him, as if looking for the source of the sound.

“He can hear me,” Michael muttered, eyes wide. “He can – he can hear me!”

Alex’s eyes fell onto Michael’s, and his brows furrowed. “Guerin?”

“This is it,” Isobel stood. “This is the faulty memory! The part where Alex’s brain is screwed up and is keeping him asleep!”

“Isobel?” Alex blinked. He tried to stand with Michael clinging to him. Michael was afraid that if he let go of this memory, Alex would disappear from him for good. “What’re you guys doing here, what is all this?”

They were standing in darkness. Nothingness upon nothingness.

“You were attacked,” Isobel told him, “by Project Shepherd agents.”

“You’ve been in a coma for three days,” Michael said. “We couldn’t get you to wake up, we had to come into your mind, try to wake you from here.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Alex shook his head. “Attacked? Coma? None of this makes any sense!”

“Remember!” Michael demanded. “Remember! This is just a memory, the real you knows what happened! Remember, Alex!”

Alex looked shocked, doubtful, disbelieving. Then something in his expression slotted together. “I was – I was at the bunker . . . the door was open . . . it all happened so fast.” He blinked, and gasped. “A gunshot. Someone – someone shot me.” He frantically patted down his stomach, looking for the wound, but he wouldn’t find it in a memory. He looked back to Isobel, then Michael. “You’re telling the truth.”

“You have to fight it, Alex,” Isobel urged. She leaned forward on her knees and huffed, like just breathing was getting tiresome for her. “You have to want to wake up.”

“Want to wake up?”

“Yeah,” Michael cupped his jaw. “Come on, baby. Wake up for me,” he breathed. “I miss you, please wake up for me.”

Alex searched his face, then said, “No.”

Michael faltered. “N-No?”

“No,” Alex tried pulling his arms out of Michael’s grasp, but Michael held on. “Guerin, I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to? Alex, this is your life we’re talking about –”

“My life?” he laughed. It sounded so sad. “What life, Guerin? The one where the man I love won’t say two nice words to me? The one where my friends don’t think twice about what their decisions might do to me? Where my own brother tried to kill me because I got in his way?”

Alex shook his head. “No, Guerin. No. I’ve been tired for a long time, and I want to rest now.”

Michael gripped his arms harder. “You think I don’t know the real you?” he demanded. “You think I don’t know that you’ve had hope for us even when I didn’t? You think I don’t know that no matter what you say, you’ll believe in us whether you want to or not? We’re cosmic, Alex, this won’t kill us, and you know it won’t. If you don’t wake up, I’ll just come after you again, you know I will.”

Isobel stared, shocked. “Michael . . .”

His grip on Alex turned painfully tight. “I’ve never trusted anything, Alex. I’m not like you, I can’t see the good even when everything just feels bad. But I trust you. If you don’t wake up, I’ll die.” He shrugged, a sad smile tugging at his lips as a tear rolled down his cheek. “And you won’t let me. I believe that.”

His grip loosened.

“What’re you doing?” Alex said, though he seemed to already know the answer.

“I’m trusting you to come back to me,” Michael said, his whole body trembling. “Because you always do.”

“Michael,” Isobel warned, “if you let him go now, we might lose him for good.”

Michael smirked, and a tear fell down Alex’s face. “I’m not letting you go,” Michael told Alex. “I can’t.”

“Guerin,” Alex tried, but Michael was already straightening, bracing himself.

“You’ll come back,” he said, sure of this more than anything else.

Without another word, he let go of Alex, and a sudden wind hit his face. Then he blinked, and he was back in Max’s bedroom. He and Isobel both broke apart and fell to the ground.

“Oh my god,” Kyle gasped somewhere in the distance and helped Isobel up while Max came to Michael’s side.

“You guys have been frozen for hours!” he said, pulling Michael to his feet. “What happened?”

“Michael had Alex,” Isobel said, and looked to her brother. “Why?” she demanded. “Michael, after what he told us –”

“What?” Kyle said, looking between them. “Told you what?”

Michael lumbered out of Max’s hold and took his place at Alex’s bedside again, taking his hand in his. “Come on, Alex,” he begged in a whisper. “Come on. Come back to me.”

“He said . . . he said . . .”

“It doesn’t matter!” Michael snapped, and Isobel fell silent. “He’ll wake up. He will. Come on, baby,” he murmured into Alex’s hand. “Come on.”

The minutes ticked by in silence, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

“Michael,” Isobel said quietly. “He’s not going to wake up.”

“Yes, he will,” Michael said at once, his grip on Alex’s hand bruising. “He will.”

“Just give him a minute,” he heard Kyle say. He must’ve been clinging to that hope just as desperately as Michael was.

“Come on,” he pleaded. “Come on, Alex. Stay with me.”

A moment. Two. Michael’s eyes burned, and his hands started to tremble. Then he felt it; he felt Alex’s fingers move in his.

He gasped, and waited. Alex moved again.

Kyle pointed at one of the monitors. “Brain activity’s increasing!” he all but yelled. “Alex?”

They looked to Alex, waiting, waiting, waiting. Then Alex’s eyes fluttered open, and a sob escaped Michael’s lips before he pressed them to Alex’s fingers, kissing each one. Kyle gently pulled off the respirator, and he and Michael both helped a confused Alex sit up.

Alex’s brows were furrowed as he took in the room. When he spoke, his voice was dry and hoarse. “I had the weirdest dream.”

Isobel collapsed into tearful giggles, and Max, relieved, patted Alex’s shoulder twice. Kyle ruffled his hair, and Michael moved to sit next to him, hugging him tightly and keeping him close.

“Don’t ever do that to us again, Manes,” Kyle warned him with a trembling smile.

“Do what?” Alex asked. “I don’t remember anything – ow!” He lifted up his short sleeve to reveal red nail marks. Michael’s nail marks from when he’d been gripping him a little too tightly, terrified of losing him.

Alex met Michael’s gaze with furrowed brows, realization quickly dawning. Michael pressed their foreheads together and took a second to breathe Alex in before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s lips in his own.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and then Alex broke away, panting, though they kept their foreheads together.

“Get off him,” Kyle slapped Michael’s shoulder. “He still needs a minute to breathe.”

“No,” Michael said simply, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder and nuzzling his neck, feeling as much of him as he could.

“Oh!” Isobel started. “Alex, what ever happened to that photograph?”

Michael tensed.

“What photograph?” Max asked.

“Alex,” she said, “had this picture of him and Michael when they were seventeen. We saw it in all of his memories.”

“Isobel,” Michael warned through grit teeth. He expected the same out of Alex, to see him embarrassed or shy, but Alex simply blinked like he’d forgotten about the picture.

“That?” he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small photograph.

Michael hugged his waist with one hand and took the photo with the other. “I have one just like this.”

Alex laughed. “Yeah?”

“I’ll show it to you,” he promised into his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed. “I think it might be time for a new one.” He smiled at Michael like he adored him. No, more than adored him. The thought made Michael’s heart flutter and made him cling tighter.

Michael kissed Alex’s neck, then his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I have a few ideas.”

“Um,” Isobel said testily as Max and Kyle looked away with red faces. “Y’all know we’re still here, right?”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tw homophobia #tw implied suicide #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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demigoddessqueens · 3 years

Text

Surrounded By You

Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32442172

Admiring the visibility of the blue sea was something that Hazel had only dreamed of before. Sure she had been in lakes and pools before, but the ocean was a whole other life of its own. A life of its own that nurtured the creatures that swam beneath the waves.

And what better way to explore all of the ocean’s gifts than a cruise along the coasts of the Mediterranean, and with such good company. Her travel companions were a cavalcade of characters from across the globe. Each with their own stories that made the night’s dinners more memorable than the last.

Despite all the excitement, nothing could compare to the beckoning call of the ocean. The white sand and sapphire waves were equivalent to the modern sirens’ calls, and the energized young woman intended to make the most out of it. Unbeknownst to her, there was a set of piqued eyes that had been keenly interested since her arrival.

Lysander had been alive for many centuries and had encountered many creatures, both the natural and supernatural. Yet to come across such a human as this woman was a rarity that few of his kind were afforded. The merpeople, merfolk, or fair folk of the sea. Of all the wonders that he had seen, something about this human was different.

Dark, sun-kissed skin and hair as golden as the sands with a dazzling smile that only emphasized her perfect dimples. He thought her on par of the goddesses Circe and Calypso, maybe even a bit more so. From her stance to her graceful dancing, Lysander found himself falling for this human. It started as a foreign feeling, something budding within his heart but as the days grew long, it became something else.

He had to see her. Truly see her, not just from the distance as some horrid creature but to meet her face-to-face. From his perspective, it seemed like the perfect plan. He'd casually swim to make himself seen and known, catch her attention, and see what it eventually led to. The first few attempts were barren, much to his disappointment. Lysander's nerves always getting the best of him and the doubts always sneaking their way into his thoughts.

Would she be afraid of him? Alert the others? Never comeback to the shores and its welcoming waves? He pushed them to the back of his mind, still assuming the best even if it was naïve of him. While the ocean's troubled youth mulled over his thoughts, Hazel made her way across the sands. By this time tomorrow, she would be setting sail back to her home, but it wouldn't be a proper goodbye unless she got in a last swim. In all honesty, her heart grew heavy from the fond memories of laughter and she didn't wish to part so soon.

Throwing caution to the cool winds, she dove head first into the blue crystal waters and savored the last of her freedom. Lysander heard the splash above him from his coral hiding place, seeing the human's swimming form. This was his chance. He had to take it now or he would forever come to regret it. Slowly but surely, he felt himself enchanted by her dance. How she twisted and turned with the tides, and the golden hair that wisped in the current. Hazel stared intently at the reefs that surrounded her, forever implanting this image in her mind before her departure. It felt like an eternity in the pockets of the ocean, until she noticed some movements.

At first she thought it just another sea creature, a fish or crab here or there just exploring around, until she turned to her right and locked eyes with another. These eyes belonged to the merfolk who so longed to see her face to face, and desired just a sliver of her time. Lysander slowly swam to Hazel, both of their hearts hammering in their chests at what transpired. Gently extending his webbed hand forward, he held out the small pooka shell that was cradled in his hand. Every natural instinct and nerve was screaming at Hazel's body to move, or just do anything. She didn't know what unearthly force kept her planted there in that moment.

Was it the fact that she was living out a scene from a fairy tale? That the stories she had heard during her travels had finally manifested? Or was it the fact that this creature was the most ethereal being she had seen? She had thought mermaids to be something otherworldly, but the one that stood before her with a shell in his hand was more beautiful than she could have possibly imagined. Just as intrigued as he seemed to be, she hesitantly reached out and took the humble gift he presented.

The sensation of her hand sent out a soft gasp from Lysander. He noted how her hand still did not move away even after claiming the shell, and he decided to show a bit more of the depths of his affection. He curled his hand around hers, gently grasping at her fingers. The gesture caught Hazel off guard but she returned it as well. Of all the things to happen on her last days, and here she was holding hands with one of the merfolk. In that moment, she thought back to what one of the guests had said over dinner, a poem of sorts that gripped the heart.

She recalled how the older woman who recited it had a certain glint in her eye, one that hinted at a more adventurous time back in her youth: "Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me. Your presence fills my eyes with your love. It humbles my heart, for you are everywhere." Holding onto his hand, the shell's significance starting to weigh on her, Hazel started to doubt if her goodbye was truly going to be forever.

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obscureamor · 4 years

Text

— angel baby

⋯ demon! tendou satori x fem! reader

⋯ t/w | nsfw, noncon, blood, choking, corruption, mentions of murder, tendou’s cum is black

» tendou satori was just a myth, but who knew you’d catch his eye.

✧ a/n | this was another... character... originally so if it doesn’t, i don’t know, fit the ‘criteria’ of the regular demons you read about that’s why, but i do hope you enjoy. ¡happy halloween everyone! stay safe and have fun! ♡

Halloween is the most awaited holiday of the year. It’s cherished in many hearts. It’s cherished in your heart. The night is filled with pumpkins, candy, and delight. The air cold, leaves falling, and costumes that cause fright.

Maybe you should’ve stayed in tonight.

You had it all planned out. Your friend said the party would be small, just a little get together. She’d go as the devil and you’d be the pure little angel... but you didn’t think it’d end up like this. You didn’t think your curiosity would result in you coming back out to see this. He had time. The house was large, easy to get lost in and so while you were looking around, everyone else was paying the price of being so close to you.

You didn’t scream when you saw the sight, hoping, just hoping it was some sort of prank, but the tall man standing in the middle of it all said otherwise. His clown costume reminded you of a B horror movie. You should’ve had better instincts, better intuition, the clown that’s been following you all night oblivious to your precious little mind. It’s easy to back you into a corner, easy to dart towards you, but you’re just so full of surprises.

The beer bottle that you hit him over the head with did nothing. It only succeeded in making you fall on your ass, the hope that it’d knock him out making your movements messy. It only succeeded in ruining his face paint, showing how he looks under the black and white makeup. The man is still standing, still staring at you with his knife in hand. Familiarity isn’t present in your panicked state. You don’t think you recognize him. His stature and build don’t ring any bells until you notice his red hair. The face paint that smeared off gives you a better look.

Nobody knew his actual name. The police didn’t. The news didn’t. Tendou Satori was a name born online through scary stories and people who had nothing better to do with their time.

Tendou Satori.

He doesn’t speak. Just jokes. Everything’s a joke.

“Please, please, I-I don’t...” you whimper out from your place on the floor.

Your white slip is stained with red, the feathers on your wings are dripping with blood. He doesn’t like the way it looks... you’re supposed to be clean. It’s ironic really and you can’t help but be confused when his shoulders start to shake up and down. There’s no sound coming out from him as he mimics the motions of laughter. He’s acting like he didn’t just slaughter all your friends, like he didn’t just seek out this party because you caught his eye.

‘An angel drenched in red,’ the thought is too funny.

You start to sit up because maybe while he’s distracted you can leave. You can run out of here, but placing your hand firmly on the ground— blindly on the ground isn’t a good idea. In your extreme focus on him, you don’t watch where you’re placing your hand. You don’t see the stray piece of glass closest to you. The pain doesn’t register until you stare down at your bloodied palm. The cut is large, blood dripping down, down your forearm and the gasp you let out has his head snapping towards you.

All movement and faux happiness ceased.

Your doe eyes are clouded with tears, lips wobbly as he stares at you and you stare back. ‘You’d be fun to break,’ he thinks. The smile on his face is big, too big to hold anything but malicious intent. Tendou’s hand clenches around the knife. It seems bigger as the orange and purple lights reflect off the metal. You scoot back, injured hand cradled to your chest. God, you don’t want to die... not by this sadistic clown and at the sight of him bringing the knife up, you stop all movements.

“Please...” It’s the only thing you can think of to say. ‘Please don’t kill me. Please don’t hurt me.’ But you don’t expect him to bring the knife to his own palm cutting a large slit across it. Your mouth is agape. The sight you’re seeing can’t be real— it’s not real. It’s black... his blood is black and it’s like you’re staring into the void as your wide eyes lock onto his hand. You don’t know why this makes the tears fall harder. Maybe it's the fear of the unknown. Maybe it’s the regret that you didn’t read all those articles your friends sent you on him. Maybe it's because this means he's not human.

Tendou Satori isn’t just a scary story.

You whimper, sniffling and attempting to scoot back more, but it’s thwarted when he lunges at you. The scream you let out could shatter windows as his body pins yours down.

Although he may look lanky, his strength is unmatched.

“Get off of me!” you scream, hands shoving blindly and feet kicking.

He doesn’t look as sporadic as he did before. He’s focused, movements precise as he tries to get you to stop struggling. You only come to a stop once the knife's tip comes to contact with your throat. Tendou could easily kill you— right here, right now —but instead, he uses it to cut down your dress, making you sob. The cool air of the house makes you shiver and goosebumps raise on your flesh.

He’s curious. He wants to cut them off. Why is your skin doing that?

And so in his curious state, his grimy hands come into contact with your tits, black blood staining the skin. You cry out as he pinches hard at your nipples.

“Please, stop!” you wail, “Ple—!”

He shoves his fingers into your mouth, drawing a horrific gag out of you. The taste makes you heave as he pushes in deeper, relishing in the way your little throat convulses around his digits. Your eyes are wide as your good hand wraps around his wrist. His bloodied hand makes its way down to your panties, ripping them off of your body.

‘Are you as pure as an angel? You’re really going to let some entity ruin you?’ He supposes you have no choice and the thought makes him mimic a snicker.

You watch as Tendou pulls down his bottoms, dick coming into full view. The feeling of passing out haunts you. You’re sputtering around his fingers, nails digging into his wrist in panic. It’s almost like he can sense it when his fingers leave your mouth and his hand wraps around your throat as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“I-I... please...” you gasp. “P-Please don’t do this to me!” You hope this will work. “Please, Tendou!”

He stares at you, unblinking and you think maybe... just maybe— a splitting grin breaks out onto his face. It’s quick as he shoves his fat cock into you, but the burning sensation lingers and it feels as if you’re being torn apart. Your back arches and your hands scramble to grab onto something, anything. They settle on the front of his costume, hands gripping tight at the satin material and blood staining the white. It’s a nice contrast to the monotone colors of his costume. It adds a pop of color almost like the red slowly seeping into your wings, white almost nowhere to be seen.

It’s still. Everything is still. The wind blows outside. The daunting laughter of those in ignorance of what’s happening to you rings in your ears. He’s letting you adjust and you can feel your body reacting.

His cut hand grabs at your injured one. You don’t know what he’s going to do as he’s still within you. This is something he’s never felt before. Your warm gummy walls flutter around his cock. The feeling of tight pussy wrapped around him. Tendou laces his fingers with yours as he leans over you, black blood mingling with the ruby red. It makes your nose scrunch up, lips trembling and another sob leaves you.

‘This is perfect. You’re perfect,’ he thinks as he studies your disgusted face... but your pure blood is mixing with his tainted black. ‘You’re already tainted.’ There’s a beat of silence as he comprehends the thought.... then he starts to ram into you.

‘You’re tainted.’

It’s the only thing that makes sense and since you’re so tainted that means it’s okay to ruin you. There are sobs mixed with moans coming out of your mouth as he thrusts into you with no clear rhythm. It’s sloppy and messy, pussy now slicked up just enough for him to move in and out of you smoothly. The squelching sounds that are now loud in your ears make you sob into your hand. You watch as he stares down at where you connect, watch as he pants out, and squeezes your hand as if you’ll disappear. He squeezes your throat as if he’s just itching to kill you, but in all honesty, he thinks you’ll be fun to keep around.

The tears that leave your eyes and trail down your face is such a sight when his eyes flit up to your features. They gleam under the LEDs and give him a full-body shiver. And when he leans forward, you turn your head to the side, eyes clenched shut and cheek now smooshed into the blood you didn’t know was trailing towards you. Your costume’s wings dig into your back and you can feel the blood that’s not yours seep into your skin. It’s warm and wet, warm and wet like the blood beneath you. His tongue laps at your cheek, lap, lapping at the tears that fall and— Why is this happening to you?

Tendou’s hand keeps giving yours small squeezes and you can feel his cock twitch within you. He’s cumming... oh god he’s going to cum inside you. It’s sporadic, thrusts now for his own pleasure and you hate your body for being so compliant. He takes note of how your wings are completely red now. They’re stained just like he’s staining you and Tendou can’t help but let his mind drift… thinking red looks good on you and now he wants to see you covered in it.

You don’t even know if he can understand you, but you still try. You bargain. You plead. But nothing will stop a Hallows Eve demon from getting what he wants. He cums inside of you with no warning. The sight of your wings and skin all bloodied enough to push him over the edge. You can feel his chest move as if he’s panting but still, no sounds come out from him. When Tendou pulls out of you, your eyes open. He watches intensely as your pussy just clenches, pushing out his viscous demon seed and you can’t help yourself from letting your eyes fall too.

His cum is black. It’s black and it oozes out of you so strangely.

Black as his blood. Black as the void you feel as if you’re falling into. Your head falls back onto the floor with a thud, staring straight at the ceiling as the orange and purple lights dance around. Tendou comes into your field of vision and smiles. It has a child-like innocence to it and yet you can’t feel anything. His lips move, words not quite comprehending yet... until they do.

“You’re mine.”

It’s raspy, paired with a smile. The only words he’s uttered all night. The only words he needs to say that make you pass out.

Maybe you should’ve stayed in tonight.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere tendou satori #yandere x reader #yandere tendou x reader #yandere haikyuu x reader #THIS WAS ART THE CLOWN THIS WAS ABOUT ART THE CLOWN BUT I KNOW NO BODY WANTS TO FUCK HIM LIKE I DO SO I CHOSE TENDOU #nads writes haikyuu

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dokifluffs · 4 years

Text

Your Ex Wanting You Back | Ushijima, Bokuto, Kuroo

Pairing: Ushijima X Reader (gender neutral), Bokuto X Reader (gender neutral), Kuroo X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: angsty, love

Request: “can i request a hc to your ex wanting you back while you’re with them..? for bokuto, kuroo, ushijima? tysm i love your writing” -anon

Author’s Note: omg I loved writing this sm and I added an angsty, bad relationship past with Y/N and the ex teheh. Thanks for requesting, anon! Hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: implementations of manipulation of money (Ushijima), Black mailing (Bokuto), and verbal abuse (Kuroo) ((Also, their names is not THEM doing that to y/n, it’s what their y/n experienced with their ex))

Ushijima:

Arriving at the gym a bit early, you stood near the doors where the teams would be entering so you could wish Ushijima the best of luck

Though he didn’t really need it with his skill and raw strength but it was the thought that counts

The audience slowly began to take their seats, chatter filling up the spacious gym as the teams entered

You suddenly felt hands crawl up your sides, making a smile spread across your features

“Ush- you,” the smile faded when you turned around to find your ex instead of the loving boyfriend you were with

“Since you’re here, why don’t we catch up, hm?” He asked with his hands still on you, his fingers squeezing your side

This made you feel very uncomfortable since it brought up bitter memories you had with this guy

His lies came out as easy as breathing to him and it made you sick

The countless number of hours you wasted being with him, thinking he actually cared about you when all he cared about was using you for his own benefits

The cigarettes he was able to buy with the money he “borrowed”

All your emotions you thought you left behind you suddenly churned inside of you, making you feel sick seeing his face so close to your face once again

His Smokey breath right in your face

“Get off of me,” you demanded as you tried to pry his hands off of you but he was strong

It made you remember the grasp he had on you and how sour things ended between you two but it was for the best of course

“Don’t be like that, bab-“

“They said to stop.”

A strong latch was held onto his wrist forcing him to release you

“Hey, who do you-“ the words stopped from his lips as he turned around to look up, seeing the Ushijima

He looked down to him with his stoic eyes as well as his team looking from behind their captain with their piercing and intimidating eyes

Y/n protection squad has arrived

He knew exactly who this man before you was

Those nights he held you close in his arms to soothe you of your sadness and the pain he inflicted on you

Ushijima usually felt neutral to everyone but he was disgusted by him

“Don’t come near them again,” his voice low as his rumbled in his throat

With that said, the guy scrambled off and his team continued into the gym to follow their warm ups while Ushijima stayed behind

“Are you okay?” He asked placing a hand to your shoulder

“Yeah, thanks,” you gave him a relieved smile as you took his hand from your shoulder into yours

“Good luck today. Win another one,” you said as you pressed a kiss to the back of his hand

His lips pulled into a thin smile as he nodded before joining the rest of the team with their stretches

Bokuto (ft. Akaashi):

The sun was hot as it beamed down on you and a few of the other managers from other teams as you all took your turns to fill up the water bottles for the teams

The gym felt hotter on the inside since there was poor air circulation and it didn’t mix well with five high school volleyball teams playing for almost the entire day

But it was all for the better to help their skills as players and bonds as a team

You chatted with the other managers about the teams until it was finally your turn to fill up the water bottles for your team, Fukurodani

“You guys don’t have to wait for me,” you said as you waved off to them as they carried their water caddies, bringing them back to the sweltering gym

As you turned, back toward the faucet, you were met with a sudden chest that made you fall back, knocking some of your bottles to the ground

“Y/N, what a coincidence to see you here,” the silky voice of your ex made chills run up your spine as he squatted down to your level

“You looks so cute with that expression on your face,” his hand holding your jaw with his sinful eyes looking into your eyes, taking in the shaken look over your features

You shook out of his grasp, picking up the water bottles all around you so you could fill up your bottles and be on your way

You could hear your heart racing in your chest and the cold feel of fear spreading in your chest making goosebumps rise over your skin in the heat

“Do you want to model again for me?” He asked dangerously close to your ear

“Please go away,” you moved away, trying your best to fill up the bottles

“Oh come on, those pictures I took of you were beautiful,” his voice sensual in your ears, it brought up all the shameful memories

How were you so naive you didn’t realize how wrong things were before it got so bad

“What do you think you’re doing here,” the sound of Bokuto’s voice pulled you out of the dark as he grabbed the guy’s shoulder from behind, forcefully pushing him away from you

The guy was rendered useless seeing Bokuto with Akaashi behind him knowing he wouldn’t win if he got into a fight

“I strongly suggest you leave,” Akaashi spoke straightforwardly

“Tch, whatever” he spit as he carried on his way, away from the three of you

You let out a visibly relieving sigh as you looked up to the sky to blink away the tears you felt stinging at your eyes

“I’m here,” Bokuto’s voice was much softer with you along with his touch as he took you into his arms despite how sweaty he was

But you didn’t care

He was the one in your life, not that revolting excuse of a human

Akaashi and Bokuto helped you finish filling the bottles and carried them back to the team, cheering you up by telling you the weird dance the Karasuno team as they chanted about meat for some reason

Kuroo (ft. Kenma):

The sky was a beautiful mix of golds and rich oranges as the sun was on its journey to set beyond the horizon, making way for the early night

You walked with Kenma and Kuroo as the three of you walked to the convenience store for some drinks after their practice

You listened intently in the good atmosphere around with your best friends and your love, Kuroo as he told you about how funny Lev was when he failed syncing with Kenma’s sets

This got Kenma to sigh, going on a little tangent as he continued to walk and play on his device

Your bright laughter lifted their energy a bit more and Kuroo loved your laugh

It made it felt like nothing could go wrong in the world

You waited outside the store as the two went in to get drinks and you watched the horizon, taking a picture of the golden sunset, your eyes wide at the beauty of nature

“I see you’re still taking those stupid pictures,” the sound of scoffing was right in your ear

You flinched automatically away from the voice as you turned to see him again

And it suddenly felt like a wound was opening in your chest. A wound you thought closed when Kuroo helped mend it

How was he able to rip it open it easily

“Aw, don’t give me that look, Y/N. I’ve missed you,” he said as he slowly took steps toward you as you instinctively stepped backs the words you wanted to say to him stuck in your throat

But what did you want to say when he was always able to turn the words back to you, the venom rolling off his tongue

“Haven’t you missed me too?” He asked, his face dangerously close to yours as he backed you against a telephone pole on the side of the street, one arm over your head while his other tucked in his pocket

“I know you have,” he purred, smirking devilishly as the hand that was resting above your head cane down to stroke your face

“Don’t touch them,” Kuroo spoke with a sweet sound in his voice, a smile on his face but you could feel his anger

You had told him and called him countless times when you woke up at night cause of he words your ex had seared into your mind about you

All were false but words had a way with sticking

The hold he had on the guy’s hand was almost bone crushing as he controlled his temper around the guy who had hurt you so badly

He never wanted to see him and he never wanted to see you so sad

He wanted to see the smile you were able to show him after a long time

“Oh? And what’re you gonna do?” He mistakingly asked

“I’ll show you something to be scared of, you piece of trash,” Kuroo cursed as he squeezed the guy’s hand until his knuckles were white, his entire demeanor different as he sent a death glare at the guy

“Alright, alright,” he finally piped up, trying to hide the clear pain Kuroo was putting on his hand

Kuroo let him go and watched him go off, sending him a glare when he looked back, standing in front of you so he couldn’t even see you

“Let’s go home,” his aura lighter around you as he handed you a drink nonchalantly, holding you close with his arm wrapped around your shoulders protectively

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (send me an ask if you wanna be added): @yams046 @mazey-chan @sunboikyo00

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Remember, Don't You Miss Us?

Prompt: hey, if you're taking requests for Sanders sides, can I request some angsty human au! familial sides? patton/janus as parents that get/have gotten divorced and (some of) the others move between houses or smth?? idk do what you want as long as its angsty with a happy ending

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: divorced moceit at the start, they fix it, other than that you good

Pairings: parental moceit, errybody else is the kids

Word Count: 3738

The void never used to be as obvious.

Patton and Janus got divorced, their children split between the two houses. They manage to keep up appearances, but the emptiness never really goes away.

The kids decide to do something about it.

The void never used to be as obvious.

There were times when Patton would come downstairs, expecting to see at least someone else awake, perhaps Logan in the corner chair, curled around a mug of coffee and staring out the window, perhaps Roman at the table with his notebook out and his pen flying, or perhaps Virgil, just rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do next. Remus wasn’t an early riser, but perhaps—on very rare occasions—there he would be, sprawled across the floor, playing with his toys.

But now there’s no one to make the coffee for Logan, no one to encourage Roman to write down his ideas, no one to chuckle softly at bleary little Virgil. No one to halfheartedly scold Remus for leaving his toys all over the floor.

Patton still goes to the coffee pot and turns it on, even if there are buttons on the top he doesn’t dare to touch. Logan asked him once why he refuses to change the settings, even if he doesn’t like the kind of coffee it makes. His hands had shaken too much to answer.

He still goes through all the motions of making breakfast, even if the sudden tug in his chest at the worry they won’t have enough eggs goes limp as he realizes there are only three of them in the house now. Roman asked him once why he was staring at the carton of eggs lying there on the counter. He’d shaken his head and said he was counting.

He still hesitates at the door too long when it’s time to take his kiddos to school, expecting a green blur to tug a blob of purple down the stairs so fast he worries they’re going to hurt themselves. Both Roman and Logan look at him confused when he wants to wait a little longer before taking them out to the car.

But mostly…

Mostly he misses the flash of yellow in the corner of his eye. He could never quite pull off the color, something about the way his undertones refused to cooperate or…something like that. His own wardrobe looks…smaller now, simpler. He never used to blend into the walls this much.

Mostly he misses the low voice coming from the other room, up the stairs, just over his shoulder. His own voice is too high, too bubbly to be properly sarcastic and the absence of that voice twisting words around and around and around. Or when it would soften, and oh how much he could drown in the softness.

Mostly he misses the gloved hands on his shoulder, the small of his back, around his waist, on his hips, cupping the nape of his neck. Patton hugs his kiddos all the time, but there was something about the drag of gloves against his clothes that made him tighten his hugs.

Mostly he misses waking up to someone else warm on cold nights.

The bed feels so much bigger.

No.

No, don’t go down that road, it only leads to crying and Roman and Logan trying frantically to fix it.

They couldn’t.

It wasn’t their fault, they’re kids. They didn’t deserve to have to fix these things, these were an adult’s responsibility, these were problems they wouldn’t know how to solve. It wasn’t their fault that Patton never learned when to stop pushing. It wasn’t their fault that Patton could never figure out where the lines were drawn. It wasn’t their fault that Patton could never stop crying, making it all about himself, never wanting to listen.

Patton scrubs a hand under his nose before it can start to drip.

No. No, it wasn’t their fault, it was—it is his.

It’s his fault they can’t see their brothers anymore, not like they used to.

It’s his fault their Papa went away.

It’s his fault that he couldn’t figure out how to love Janus.

But goodness, does he miss him.

———————————————

The room’s never felt this small before.

There were times when Janus would open the door and expect someone, anyone, to barrel into him before he could step over the threshold and words would tumble out, perhaps a new idea Remus had, perhaps something Virgil was worried about, perhaps Logan with a slew of new questions for him, or perhaps—if he was coming home on a night that Roman didn’t have an after-school club—it would be Roman, wrapping his arms tightly around Janus and refusing to let him go.

But now there’s no one to keep Remus supplied with new sketchbook paper, no one to sit quietly and talk through Virgil’s fears with him, no one to go on Wikipedia odysseys with Logan, and no one to beam at Roman.

Janus still walks to the bookshelf and runs his hand along the spine of the books, searching, searching for something to read that he hasn’t read in a while, and unbidden his mind will go directly to what puns he could make from the titles. Remus had looked up at him once as a chuckle forced its way out through his lips and asked him what was so funny. Janus had shaken his head and said something had just crossed his mind.

He still walks into a room and instinctively picks up a pen to toss into the corner, expecting a soft ‘thank you’ or an ‘ow!’ from the chair or the couch or the desk. Virgil had stared at him one time when he’d walked into the room and without thinking, grabbed a pen from the pen pot and chucked it across the room, eyes wide, wondering what was happening. Janus had dropped to the ground and done his very best to comfort the poor dear, saying that no, he wasn’t angry, he did that from a habit, it’s alright, it’s alright…

He still has the urge to buy another beanbag chair, even though the one they have right now fits the three of them perfectly, unable to get the worry of making the twins share for longer than absolutely necessary out of his head. Virgil and Remus had shrugged and said they’d be fine with having their own beanbag chairs, but they look too small all alone in the sea of fabric and small plastic balls. He’d shaken his head and said he prefers seeing them all together.

But mostly…

Mostly he misses the bright, bubbly laughter that would fill the house to bursting, drawing a smile to his lips at how unabashedly happy it was. The siren song would lure him from every corner of the house, even if he were knee-deep in work, just to see what made its owner so deliriously happy.

Mostly he misses the easy words, the sweet nothings, the effortless comfort. He’s a little too rough, too guarded, too intimidating to sound as gentle and kind and reassuring, he can’t be the softer kind of support that his sweeties need sometimes. That loss, the fumbling of his tongue, always makes those sobs sound so much louder.

Mostly he misses the shameless questions. How is he doing today, what can we do to help, you know we love you, right? Such selfless care, emanating from everywhere, unconditional support, that promise, he doesn’t know how anyone could do that. For someone for whom love still fit clumsily on his tongue, he was in danger of dying of thirst after years of feeling like he could drown in it.

Mostly he misses turning around and not seeing an empty space next to him.

Don’t start.

Not again.

You don’t deserve to miss something when you threw it away without caring.

This road only leads to silences, silences Remus tries to fill by being too big, too loud, too much, silences Virgil detests and hides away, waits out, curling around his security stuffie until feels it’s safe to come out again.

It won’t be.

It’s not their fault, they’re kids. They shouldn’t be trained to read every single emotional cue to make sure their worlds won’t be upended again, they shouldn’t have to try and take of their parent, they shouldn’t be worrying about what’s going on with a problem they can’t fix. It isn’t their fault that Janus never learned how to let himself be vulnerable. It isn’t their fault that he never learned how to bite back some of his harsher remarks. It isn’t their fault that Janus could never stop trying to defend himself from someone who would never hurt him, never wanting to listen.

Janus takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

It’s his fault. Of course, it’s his fault.

It’s his fault Remus still looks around for his twin in the mornings.

It’s his fault that the brothers will grow up divided.

It’s his fault that Dad lives separately from them now.

But damn, he misses Patton so much.

———————————————

Logan: So we’re in agreement, this happens this Friday.

emo-nightmare: no need for all the grammar there L

Princey: Yes! This Friday™! It will be glorious and victorious!

living nightmare: we all will shout uproarious?

emo-nightmare: cause life is so euphorious

Logan: That’s not a word, Virgil.

emo-nightmare: if you wanna write to disney and tell em theyre using made up words i can think of better places for u to start

Princey: no virge don’t he’ll actually do it

Logan: Putting that aside, we agree that we’re doing this this Friday, yes?

Princey: Yep. Dad thinks we’re gonna go to the park to hang out after school and he’s meeting us there.

emo-nightmare: papa’s got a photoshoot with that new brand and rem and i suggested the park at 530

living nightmare: I got the fake blood and mannequin heads

Princey: REMSU WHAT THE FUKC

emo-nightmare: wow how is L letting yo make that many typos

Princey: fuck off V

living nightmare: how is Dad letting you get away with swearing that much

Princey: I am disowning you

living nightmare: on what grounds?

Princey: on the grounds that your a douchebag and you swear every two words

emo-nightmare: *you’re are u proud of me L

Logan: Had you not used the ‘u’, I would be

emo-nightmare: smh when will I be enough

Princey: you don’t need to be enough for us to love u now NO MORE SAD TALK IT IS OPERATION GET OUR DADS TO PULL THEIR HEADS OUTTA THEIR ASSES TIME

Logan: Everything is a go?

Princey: Sure is!

emo-nightmare: Roger

living nightmare: so I shouldn’t bring the mannequin heads?

Logan: No.

Princey: NO

emo-nightmare: guess not

living nightmare: :(

———————————————

In the end, it’s surprisingly easy for their kids to do things without them noticing.

Patton doesn’t Roman sneaking a camera into his backpack on the way to school, or the way he nods at Logan as they spilt up upon reaching the gates. He’s too preoccupied with scanning the parking lot, seeing if maybe, just maybe, there’s another familiar car here that he shouldn’t be caught looking at.

He doesn’t notice the way Logan texts him to remind him that they’ll be meeting at the park, across the street from the library, at 5:30 pm sharp, next to the fountain, and says that Patton will be there, not him. He’s too busy remember the last time he was at that fountain.

Janus doesn’t notice the way Remus pouts one more time at Virgil as they get ready to go, sighing and rolling his eyes about how boring the others are getting. He’s too focused on how he still expects to see a different person in the passenger seat as he drops them off a block away from the school.

He doesn’t notice the way Virgil doesn’t ask him to remember that they’re meeting after school in the park so he can help with taking the photos, but tells him, in no uncertain terms, that Janus better be in the park by the fountain at 5:30. He’s…busy remembering why he agreed to have the photoshoot by the fountain in the first place.

“Wait, why don’t you want to do the partner photoshoot?”

Janus sighs, leaning back against the fountain. “Because it has me fake being a couple.”

Patton’s mouth opens and closes and Janus sighs. Patton looks at the ground.

“I don’t believe that kind of bond can be just an arrangement,” he says after a moment, “as if it were a…contract or something. For something that they want but not—not like that.”

The fountain burbles quietly. Janus tips his head back to look at the stars.

“And what do you want?”

Patton turns, straightening as the frustration in his voice drifts away. “What do I want?”

Janus nods.

“What a good question,” he murmurs, looking at him, “what I want…is for you to come closer.”

Janus blinks in shock, his brow furrows just the slightest bit. Patton smiles and beckons.

“Yes,” he encourages when he takes a tentative step, “come closer.”

He stands to his full height as he stops in front of him, still searching his face for a clue as to what is going on. He doesn’t hold his gaze, instead looking at him with such awe that the sweet thing flushes. His hands come up slowly, hovering above his shoulders before carefully, carefully taking hold of his arms.

“This,” he breathes, “is what I want,” he says as his fingers toy with the roughness of his jacket, “this is what I want, what I have always wanted.”

Oh.

Janus’s breath catches in his throat but Patton doesn’t stop.

“To have you here in my arms and to know—“ his gaze flashes up to catch Janus’s— “that you feel at home here.”

As his eyes go wide, Patton takes them a step away from the fountain. His gaze searches his face desperately.

“Tell me,” he asks, “do you still feel comfortable here? With me? Is it still home for you?”

It’s too much. The way his gaze threatens to tear his heart from his chest, his words pluck his walls apart, brick by brick, it’s too much. He can be the friend, he can’t—he can’t see Patton like this.

“Please…please…don't turn away from me—look at me.” A hand catches his chin, guiding him back. “Look in my eyes.”

I can’t, he wants to say, it’ll hurt when I have to look away.

“Are you scared?” His face falls. “By what? I won’t hurt you, I’d never hurt you, unless…”

He swallows, and something flickers behind his eyes.

“…you want to go?”

“It’s not that,” he manages, closing his eyes as he shakes his head, “I promise it’s not that.”

“If not, then what?”

“The others—I can’t—“

He doesn’t let him finish, swiftly cutting him off with a shake of his head. “No. No one can tell you that you can’t be here with me. I want you here, as long as you want to be here.”

I can stay? he asks with the furrow between his brows.

You can stay, he replies with the appearance of a smile.

“I know what I want, Janus.” Patton takes the smallest step closer. “Always have. And there was a time when…when you wanted that too.”

Janus chuckles. “You sound ridiculous.”

Patton laughs too. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m happy to be ridiculous if it lets me…”

He trails off and Janus frowns.

“…lets you what?”

“Be yours,” he murmurs as Janus’s heart pounds, “and to hear you be called mine.”

His face contorts as he traces the curve of his cheek again. He follows the trail of warmth, pushing into it with the hesitant desperation of a single trickle of water, halted by a dam in the river.

“You’re still here,” comes the quiet observation, “so clearly you're not afraid…are you?”

“…I don’t know anymore.”

“Then if you didn't trust me…” He swallows. “Then I’d ask you to—to go. Because I don’t want you to be here if you don’t want to be.”

The thought of leaving sends a spike through his ribs, punching a breath out of his lungs. He presses into his hand as much as he dares.

“…but if you do trust me,” he whispers, the fountain still humming behind them, “if you are truly not afraid of my touch as you've shown…close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them,” he repeats, “…please.”

He does as bid, all but thrumming in his hands. The hand on his cheek trembles for barely a moment, as if its owner is suddenly overcome by the realization that they’re here, before he feels a warmth next to his face and a puff of breath that isn’t his own.

“W-wait!”

The air freezes.

His eyes fly open as he struggles to process what just happened.

Patton. Patton. His Patton. He—he loves him. He invited him here tonight because he loves him. He wants to spend time with him because he loves him.

Gods above, he loves him.

He—gods, he just tried to kiss him because he loves him.

He just tried to kiss him.

And he—

—oh, gods, he told him to wait.

“Patton—“ he tries to find him but it’s too late.

The second he meets his eyes, he’s met with a tidal wave of anguish, slammed quickly behind iron doors that fail to banish the hurt from his expression. It breaks his heart.

“I understand,” he says lowly, going to move away, “I understand—“

“No—please, listen to me, I—“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says smoothly, his hand already leaving his face, “I understand. That was an abuse of power, it was not my intention to—“

“I didn’t mean it like that, I don’t want you to think that I—“

“The last thing I want is to pressure you into something you don’t want.”

“You don’t know I don’t want it!”

“I do!” His gaze flares sharply with anger, with hurt, seas of pain buried behind smiles and guarded expressions. He takes a deep breath and tries to force it away. “You told me to wait. And, forgive me, but I won’t wait to have my heart be broken all over again.”

“I’m not trying to break your heart—“ he scrabbles frantically for him— “please, just listen—“

“You don’t need to explain yourself, you never have, I understand that you don’t want me like that.” He lets him grab onto him but does not stop turning away. “But if you could give me a moment to collect myself, I—“

“I don’t know how to kiss!”

He freezes. “…what?”

His cheeks burn with the weight of his embarrassment and his unshed tears. “I don’t know how to kiss,” he repeats at a much more reasonable volume. He twists his hands in front of him. “I…you…I’m sorry, fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

He buries his head in his hands, willing the tears to stay behind his eyes. As he looks up, he knows he’s going to fail as he spots the red-rimmed eyes staring back at him.

“Don’t ever,” he starts, voice wobbling a little, “don’t you ever believe that I don’t love you.”

His breath leaves him in a rush.

“Of course I love you,” he continues, growing stronger when he lets out a whimper and reaches for him, “of course I love you.”

“Then why—“ he grasps his shoulders, tighter than before, “why did you ask me to wait?”

The fountain bubbles and burbles, the soft smell of their drinks mixing with the sweet smell of the water. It’s warm here, in each other’s arms. It feels like home.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” he confesses softly, “not like…not like that. It scares me.”

Patton shifts, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold Janus closer.

“I don’t know how to speak it.” His eyes fall closed, breathing in the warm smell of safe. “I don’t know what to do with it. And I—“

Patton gives his sides a gentle squeeze.

“…I am terrified of what normally comes after.”

“You don’t have to be,” comes the immediate reassurance, “not here, not with me. I won’t force you to do anything you’re not ready for. I will never ask anything of you that you wouldn’t give. Not until you want to.”

“…and what if I never want to?”

Janus feels his soft smile as he rests his chin on top of his head. “Then we won’t.”

“No?”

“No.” His forehead comes to rest against Janus’s once more. “But kissing doesn’t have to lead to that. It can just be a kiss.”

“It can?”

“Of course.” There’s a pause. “As that is the case…”

His eyes open. Is he…

“…are you asking?”

Patton pulls back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“May I teach you how to kiss, my love?”

Janus’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Yes.”

They would say that it took a lot of work. And it did; getting back to a place where they could trust each other again, to live together again, was a slow progression. Over a year, at least, but there they were, working together against the problem, not each other.

But really, really it…

Well, Janus turned around, expecting to see Virgil, and saw Patton instead, blinking in confusion.

Patton mumbled something about Roman and Logan saying he should be here, a small smile growing when Janus says that Virgil and Remus did the same.

“…our kids, huh?”

“Our kids.”

Patton cautiously broached the topic of whether he remembered the fountain. Janus had smiled and said that how could he forget?

“…anything else you remember?”

And, well, maybe there was something to be said about the movies that Roman loved so much and everyone else pretended they didn’t.

Because as Janus wraps his hand around Patton’s hoodie and pulls him in, they could swear they could hear cheering and whooping all around them.

In fairness to the kids, they had an excellent reason for why they shouldn’t be grounded for lying about their after-school plans.

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#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #roman sanders #creativitwins #logan sanders

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mari-beau · 3 years

Text

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FIVE -A Rogue One fanfic

I honestly don’t know this was going to take the detour it did, but hey, that’s fine. Anyway, Jyn is very confused about her attachment to Cassian, and his own messy feelings.

Also on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Five

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Implied Bi!Cassian; References to Naked Times in the Shower; Characters being hot messes and confused about Feelings

Words: 3,226

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The energy level in the large mess hall was an incongruous mix of highs and lows. Quite a number of people were congregated at various tables, but it wasn’t at capacity. Some groups were chattering away, with a happiness and lightness Jyn honestly couldn’t recall witnessing in anyone in a long, long time, on any planet or moon. But there were other groups, and individuals, that were quiet, lethargic, mostly just nursing cups of restorative drinks and pushing bland food around their plates. Hungover.

Jyn supposed that made sense. Either way, no one was really in a down mood. They were either still excited about the Great Victory, or suffering the consequences from being too excited about it the previous night.

Why did she feel like Cassian and herself were the mopiest pair in the entire mess hall? Yes, it was really gratifying to know that their suicide mission hadn’t been entirely in vain. They had more than succeeded, the plans had been transmitted to the rebels, and the rebels had used them to destroy the Death Star. But still… The feeling of loss weighed heavily on Jyn. And she sensed it was yet another burden laid on Cassian’s shoulders. In a vulnerable, pained moment, he’d told her that maybe it would’ve been better if she’d left him on Scarif when they’d miraculously been spared from the blastwave. And perhaps near the end there (what should’ve been the end), he’d embraced the release from his conscience as hard as he’d embraced her.

She understood. She’d felt the peace there on that beach, as well.

The thing was, she still felt it, with him. Even when filled with other confusing emotions, some of which he was the cause of, she still felt… content… even happy? Was this what happy felt like?

Well, no, maybe not this, not still half-mourning a father she’d lost decades ago but then lost again, mourning the loss of the friends she’d made in just a matter of a day but who had been truer than any others in her life, coming to terms with the guilt of leading so many on a suicide mission, which she then survived.

And Cassian had survived.

“I’ll get the food,” Jyn said after they’d found a table tucked in a corner and Cassian claimed the seat that allowed him to put his back to the wall. (Of course). Jyn would’ve chosen it herself, but she didn’t protest that she would be forced to sit with her back to the entire mess hall. He was rubbing at his leg. The memory of the surgical scars running down his hip and thigh, barely a week old, a fresh pink against olive skin, popped abruptly into her mind. She shoved them aside. “Is there anything specific you want?”

“No.” He was smiling even as he shook his head. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m not picky.”

“Me, neither.” Force, sometimes they were so much the same, their lives filled with the same sort of deprivation, that it hurt. It hurt to think of the little boy Cassian had been, not having a favorite food, because having food at all was something to be grateful for. Something Jyn had known herself, still knew, and would never unlearn her associated habits of eating too much (if given the opportunity) and too fast.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and headed towards the serving line.

A couple people stared as she added more than two helpings of everything to her tray, but she thought it was more out of shock over the disproportionate amount of food to her size than anger that she was maybe taking more than her share. By the time she’d collected enough to feed an entire unit of Wookies and headed back to Cassian, two humans in non-uniforms (which wasn’t uncommon for the rebels) had sat down at the table.

They were the type of people who took up more space than they needed. An amateurish attempt at intimidating others through establishing dominance. Jyn had learned to be more wary of those who drew no attention, who lurked in the shadows, who had unassuming appearances disguising a lethality the brazen could never hope to possess.

So it was really just instinct that had her assessing gaze passing over the two trying-too-hard-to-have-swagger rebels to the slight man sitting quietly in the corner. He was a killer, undeniably. But not by choice. And Jyn knew something she thought most didn’t remotely suspect; Cassian Andor was soft deep down inside. And every terrible thing he’d done tortured him. Which made him even more dangerous, especially to Jyn, who she feared may be the only one to have ever seen his vulnerability, his humanity. To everyone else, he was just some Rebel super-spy-assassin, a good little soldier.

He’d locked eyes with her, but neither of his companions had seemed to notice, instead going on about some miraculous feats of badassery during some mission or other.

“You’re in my seat,” Jyn said, interrupting the bigger of the pair mid-sentence.

The man who was easily twice her size froze, puffing himself up when he looked at her, not that he needed to with that bulk of muscle, but his first instinct was obviously to meet her firm tone with aggression. She knew the response of those who’d survived on the streets well. And even if this was no seedy back alley or dive, this was her territory. And she wasn’t going to be the one to back down.

“Am I?” Big man said.

Before Jyn could respond, Cassian’s quiet voice cut in.

“You are.”

The big man looked at the wounded captain and his entire demeanor changed. Apparently, the soldier knew Cassian for the dangerous creature he was.

After a brief moment in which the expression on Cassian’s face gave nothing away, Big Man’s attention returned to Jyn.

“Uh, sorry,” he said, vacating the chair. Setting the heavily-laden tray down, Jyn plopped into the spot opposite Casian as the big guy lumbered off to find another chair, seemingly to rejoin them. Ugh.

Jyn slid the tray across the table in front of Cassian, then dragged her chair to sit directly beside him. There was no way to lift any of the dishes off the tray without losing some of the impressive pile of food. They could share.

She reached across Cassian and grabbed some sort of bread roll and- oh, force, he smelled good, like the cleanser from the shower and freshly washed skin that was silky smooth except for the scars and- she shoved the roll in her mouth before she did something embarrassing like hop onto his lap and bury her face in his neck.

The very large rebel’s companion had remained at the table, and was staring. Yes, at Jyn, but also at Cassian, at the pair of them, at the pile of food she’d torn into but Casian was contemplating eating with an actual utensil like some sort of civilized person. And the man’s gaze dropped, but Jyn knew it wasn’t to assess her attributes, none were visible beneath the loose-fitting clothes she was wearing, Cassian’s clothes. Oh. Right.

“You must be Jyn Erso,” he said and held out a hand, which was surprisingly clean, so Jyn shoved the last bite of roll into her mouth and shook it. Firm but not too firm, and his dark brown eyes were surprisingly soft as they met her gaze, a little guarded and very curious. This one was obviously the more intelligent of the pair.

“That I am,” she said after swallowing the large piece of bread that threatened to lodge in her throat. “And you are…?”

“Oh,” he laughed self-consciously. He had a nice, easy going smile. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m Tarrek Zin.” His large friend returned with a chair. “And this is Utto.”

The giant known as Utto nodded, grunted in response, before sitting down in the chair that was obviously ill-equipped to handle his bulk. A man of even less words than the spy.

“And you’re… friends of Cassian?” she asked, trying not to appear too interested. Who were these people? Cassian didn’t have friends. Not that she’d known him all that long, but she was pretty certain the man was a resolute loner. Aside from K-2SO, who was lost to him now.

“Yes,” Tarrek said at the same time Cassian said, “No.”

She withheld her laughter because Tarrek Zin seemed genuinely a little hurt by the terse captain’s response.

“We’ve worked together before,” Cassian gave as further explanation. “They’re…”

“Freelance,” Tarrek said.

Cassian gave a little snort of laughter. “That’s one way to put it.” He took a larger bite of the mystery protein.

“Oh, what does that mean?” Now, Jyn was intrigued. They were an odd sort to find on a military base, even amongst the ragtag collection of rebels that formed the Alliance. They were both human, Jyn thought, although there could be a bit of something else in the big man, who was surprisingly not unattractive for a bruiser type, with thick brown hair and a symmetrical face with a square jaw and only a small crescent scar on one cheek. The smaller man was by no means small, taller than Cassian, well built with flawless brown skin and a friendly, appealing face with just a hint of scruff neatly trimmed into a goatee. And a charmer’s grin, which he turned on Jyn.

“We find things.”

Again, that ironic little half-laugh from Cassian, who finally looked up from the pile of food.

“They steal things,” he said, pointing his fork at them. “Don’t let Tarrek try to pretty it up. They’re nothing more than thieves.”

“So’s your girl, from what I hear,” Tarrek said. “Didn’t you all find her in Wobani, serving time for forgery and assault amongst many other crimes?”

“She’s not my girl,” Cassian said, not denying her criminal record. And Jyn would be lying if she claimed the denial that she was his girl didn’t hurt a little. Even though it shouldn’t. She wasn’t a possession. And neither was Cassian, so she could stop feeling possessive of him, as well, really-

“Then you’re a free agent?” Tarrek flashed that charming grin of his again, with an edge of mischievousness. And a bit of something else in his eyes as he lookd at Cassian. “Because with the Empire scrambling after the destruction of their favorite new toy, no one’s going to notice if some stray things get found. We could use your skills on at least a dozen different jobs I can think of…” Tarrek shot a brief glance to Jyn before returning his attention to Cassian. “And Not Your Girl for that matter.”

“I think I’ve made it very clear I will not be going on any jobs with you,” Cassian said. “Even if the Alliance thought we’d need someone with your skillset again for some reason, I’d find someone else.”

Oh, wow. That seemed a little harsh, even from the jaded captain. The hurt on Tarrek’s face was blatant, and he looked away. Jyn couldn’t help but think there was some sort of complicated history at play.

“May I…?” Utto asked, indicating the crispy poultry leg sitting near the edge of the tray, the big man oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation.

“Uh… be my guest,” Jyn said and large, burly fingers snatched it right up. Unsurprisingly, the whole drumstick fit in the man’s mouth. He ate even faster than Jyn, chewing a bit then pulling the bare bone out, picked absolutely clean in less time than it took Cassian to cut another bite off the brick of vegetable-thing or whatever it was. Food. That’s all Jyn needed to know.

“Well, we better get going if we want to get a good seat at the ceremony, seeing as we’re not guests of honor,” Tarrek said, seeming to have recovered from the hurt feelings enough to tease. Cassian made a displeased noise but said nothing as Tarrek got to his feet and locked eyes with the rebel captain. Some sort of weird exchange passed between them, that seemed almost- “The offer always stands if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Cassian said, then went back to studiously eating.

Tarrek rolled his eyes but then gave Jyn a broad grin, leaning over to whisper loudly, “You think about it, too, Jyn Erso. Maybe you can convince the captain here not to throw his life away for the rebellion.”

Jyn just gave him a nod, disconcerted about the man’s extremely accurate knowledge of Cassian. Or maybe his unwavering loyalty was just that obvious.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tarrek said to his large companion, who appeared about Wookie-size when he stood up, only beefier.

Utto lingered a moment as his friend walked away, and Cassian frowned at him, that furrow forming between his brows. Jyn’s curiosity was also piqued as the moment stretched out awkwardly long, Utto’s fierce blue-grey gaze scouring Cassian’s face.

Cassian broke first, dropping his fork onto the tray with a clatter and sighing loudly.

“You have something you want to say, Utto?” he asked.

“You hurt Tarrek,” he said. “Don’t change your mind about joining us. Unless you mean it.”

“Understood,” Cassian said. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Utto glanced at Jyn, then gave Cassian another assessing look before grunting and shaking his head, then stalked off after his partner.

Cassian returned his attention to the food in front of him, like nothing had happened at all.

“What was that?” Jyn asked, her mind racing, trying to put everything she’d just witnessed into some sort of context.

“Nothing,” Cassian said. “Just two of many I’ve pissed off.”

“But they’re angry because they want you.” Jyn was pretty sure about what she’d just witnessed, albeit confusing.

“The Alliance used them to break into an Imperial facility. We were after intelligence stored there. Tarrek and Utto made out like the bandits they are by stealing the tech stored there and selling it on the black market. It was their most lucrative job ever. They still pick up odd smuggling tasks for the rebellion, but they want me to help them with more heist like that again.”

His face was closed off, but Jyn needed to know if she was right, needed for Cassian to continue to let her in, needed his trust and confidence.

“I get that,” she said, “but they want you… like physically. At least, Tarrek does.”

Cassian met her gaze, slowly closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head.

“I never should’ve kissed him.”

“Oh.” Well, that explained both the heat and the chill in Tarrek’s gaze when he looked at Cassian. Apparently, it hadn’t been just one-sided. And maybe she’d been reading Cassian’s looks, the way he touched her, all wrong. Maybe the intimacy they’d shared in the shower, naked but not uncomfortable, washing one another with tender caresses, had only held sexual undertones on her side. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to her in the same way she was to him. Maybe he- “You er… kiss males?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “When it’s necessary to complete a mission.” He licked his lips. “Sometimes just because I want to.”

Jyn stared at the pile of green puree of what she hoped was a vegetable of some sort, trying to swallow down the stupid feelings clashing inside of her; jealousy and possessiveness, hurt, and even a little bit of titillation contemplating Cassian’s sexual history.

Long fingers skimmed the back of her hand and curled around hers, squeezing gently until she met those rich, dark eyes of his.

“Sometimes I kiss females, too.” He held her gaze so she resisted the urge to stare at his mouth.

“When it’s necessary to complete a mission?”

“And just because I want to.”

Did he want to? Jyn felt like he did, thought everything in the way he looked at her indicated a deep affection and need for her. But at the same time, she knew he wouldn’t, not here in a public place, not when he hadn’t even kissed her when they were alone. Not even when they were naked, standing under the spray of water, his hands buried in her hair, rinsing out the cleanser, her hands wrapped around his waist, helping to support his weight, her skin prickling with the closeness of his body, the caress of his fingers on her scalp, the feeling of his-

“We should get moving,” he said, releasing her hand to push his chair back and stand, looking only a little unsteady on his feet. “We need to find you some clothes that fit.”

“Why?” Jyn said, standing as well and brushing her hand over the front of the loose shirt. At least Cassian wasn’t an extremely large man, or else his clothes would fall right off her. As it was, she’d had to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and tuck as much as possible into the fatigues that she’d belted to cinch in at the waist, which would’ve been entirely hopeless if he wasn’t a lean man. She’d also had to roll up the hems to her ankles. She had no other option than the infirmary shoes. Okay, she looked ridiculous. But she didn’t care. The clothes smelled like Cassian and made her feel perpetually wrapped up in him.

“It’s not exactly fit for being presented to a princess.”

Cassian reached to pick up the tray, which Jyn felt a little bit of guilt for not having completely cleaned of its contents and wasting food, but there had been unforeseen interruptions. She grabbed it before he could, doubting his ability to walk and carry a laden tray a few days after major surgeries and with bones still healing. But had he said,

“Princess?! What princess?”

“Princess Leia will be hosting the ceremony.”

“Oh.” Jyn headed across the mess hall to bus the remains of their meal, perhaps moving a little too quickly for her wounded companion, a sort of panicky nervousness fluttering in her stomach as their potentially being the center of attention approached. It would be brief if they were, she tried to tell herself. The last time she’d been the center of the Alliance’s attention hadn’t gone well. Had, in point of fact, ended in a rogue suicide mission.

“You’ll be fine. She’s Bail Organa’s daughter. Sensible woman. Fierce.”

Jyn shoved the tray into the reclamation unit a little harder than necessary. “And how do you know her?”

Cassian laughed, light and genuine.

“I don’t know her, not personally.” His hand went to her shoulder, seemingly to guide her but she knew the request inherent in it and snaked her arm around his waist to let him lean a little of his weight on her. “Let’s see if we can track down your missing clothes.”

Jyn didn’t care if they couldn’t. Let the princess see her in Cassian’s clothes, let everyone think they were together. Because whether or not he kissed her, whether or not it was romantic, Cassian Andor was hers. Even if he sent her away and she never saw him again while she lived, he would always be hers.

Force, she needed to get a handle on this possessiveness. Because it owned her. He owned her.

His palm came to rest on the back of her neck as they left the mess and headed towards the storage and supply wing of the base. His thumb stroked along her nape and she leaned into him, relaxed as a Savarian cat being petted.

Dank farrik, did she ever belong to him.

#fic: give me a reason #Rogue One #fanfiction #rebelcaptain #Cassian x Jyn #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #my fic

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apples-r-rubbish · 3 years

Text

Feelings (11 x reader)

Eleventh Doctor x fem!Reader (feelings) Word Count: 2.9k AN: This post explains why I’ve been gone, bit of an early Christmas present, hope you all enjoy it -L Warnings: None Request?: Yes MASTERLIST

It started off as little things. “So, whaddya think?” The Doctor asked, displaying a brand new bowtie that did not remotely match his outfit. It was neon green and you cringed slightly before laughing, “You are taking that thing off right now,” You said between fits of laughter. “What? Why? I think it matches my eyes,” He laughed in response, breathless at you. You placed your cup of tea gently onto the console, and quickly and briefly apologised to the ship. You cautiously placed your hands on his chest and quickly untied the tie. “I’m asking her to hide this from you. You’re not having it,”

“Please, I bought that at that market on Karzon 7,” he whined in response, missing the feeling on you next to him, your hands on him.

‘Yeah, no, definitely not. It’s not going anywhere near your person,” You said before slinking off down one of the corridors laughing to yourself. He missed you the second you were gone and he replayed the sound of you laughing in his head. Instinctively, the Doctor shook his world weary head, no, you were just a friend.

It escalated. You were on some foriegn planet, the four of you. The Doctor, Amy, Rory and yourself. You had raced ahead wanting to see the lights in the city at night, along with the way it combined with the stars, Rory trailing . Amy caught the Doctor staring fondly at you “Oi, loverboy, just tell her how you feel, it’d be easier than staring at her like that,”

He shot her a look “I do not have feelings for her- look she’s human. I can’t fall in love with her, these things go badly. And I’m not in love with her, you’re both my best friends.” Amy frowned and rolled her eyes in response “All I’m saying is you look at her in ways you don’t look at me and Rory and we’re also your best friends,”

It was his turn to frown, there was a pause, an uncomfortable silence. Amy continued “look the way I see it is, what’s the worst that could happen?” The conversation trailed off when they reached you and Rory. He stopped and looked at you, properly, loving staring at the light reflecting in your eyes. You asked him a question and he completely missed it “Huh? Oh sorry, I was just thinking, you said something?” You repeated your question, he wrapped his arm around you, smiled and rambled the answer to you, filling your ears with knowledge of the planet and its people as Amy and Rory shared a knowing look.

And it escalated again. You had visited a foriegn planet, the four of you. Spires of glass refracted a mixture of light and the hazy colour of the purple sky. “This is Laeturn, most things are made of glass here, delicate, be careful all of you,” The Doctor warned before gently extending his hand out to you, you accepted and smiled. The people were lovely and accepting on the planet, one particular individual had taken a liking to you. Ko-ran he said his name was, his skin matching the gentle purple of the sky. He had slipped his arm around you at some point along the way and whispered to you about the history and traditions. The other three trailed behind, a permanent scowl fixed to the Doctors face, that would tense when Ko-ran laughed at your lack of knowledge or your attempts at pronunciation. “You could just tell her right? You know? Do the very you thing of intervening and explaining something and she’ll give you that amazed look like she always does and then just tell her how you feel?” Rory said suddenly when you and Ko-ran were a fair distance ahead

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m just making sure she’s safe. There’s nothing wrong with being cautious,”

“Can you at least look like you’re having a good time then old man?” Amy countered

“I am having fun, I just don’t trust him, that's all just something I can’t place.”

He was right unfortunately, as he always was. Ko-ran and his people had believed you to be a lost monarch of some sort and tried to instate you as royalty, and then threatened to kill your friends. Eventually fighting had erupted amongst the people, Amy and Rory had managed to escape. The Doctor had managed to slip into one of the rooms you had been assigned, “Your highness, I think it’s time we left,” The Doctor smiled, wrapping his arms around you. You jumped at first not realising it was him and reached for the closest thing to you, an old walking stick, which you dropped almost immediately upon realising it was him. “Hey, it’s ok Amy and Rory are safe-” The Doctor was cut off by you hugging him tightly and sobbing lightly into his shirt “it’s ok, it’s ok. We’re getting you out.” The glass door shook lightly, guards banging against it upon hearing voices. Quickly, the sonic was used and the lock clicked further. He adjusted his neck and jacket slightly and jumped up onto the window ledge. I was a large opening and took up a proportion of the window. It towered well above his head. “I need you to trust me,” He said, extending his hand to you as he looked down from the ledge.

“You’re not suggesting we- It’s a huge drop, we’re in one of the spires,” You rambled panic taking over

“(Y/N), I need you to trust me. More than usual, please,” He urged. The light reflected beautifully in his eyes, his hair was messier than usual and the refined glass sent flecks of light washing over him. You nodded, stepped over to the ledge with him, his arms locked around you. “Look at me and nothing else. Do not look down,” A gut feeling of fear remained in your stomach, the door swung open, angry guards flooded the room. You felt the world tilt, and the wind rising, but the only thing you could focus on were his eyes. And in a moment, you lightly bumped against the TARDIS floor, on top of him giddy with adrenaline. You had barely registered what had happened, he stood up quickly, snapped his fingers and pushed a series of buttons on the console, getting you off the planet. Amy rushed over to you, wrapping her arms around you, making sure you were safe as the adrenaline wore off and you stared at the doctor as he continued on with the ship. Before he darted off down one of the many corridors presumably to fix something.

“So, I’ll be here when you get back for a full debrief or if you need anything, or even if you need to get out of it although you shouldn’t need to call me. He’s a nice guy and like actually nice not you know-” Amy rambled, maternal instincts kicking into overdrive

“Amy I’ll be ok, it’s a first date, and we’ve been speaking for a little bit anyway, and you know him so I don’t understand why you’re worried,” You laughed fixing a few strands of your hair as you walked down the final steps to the console room. The Doctor noticed you immediately “So where are you off to? Anywhere exciting?” He asked, crossing his arms, admiring you, you opened your mouth to speak, Amy spoke for you, “I did tell you. I’ll explain later, did you at least drop us off where I asked, right time period?” Amy questioned clearly frustrated “Yes, yes I did, and there’s no need to be so bossy about it. See? 24th of September, 6:45, London,” He gestured towards the screen.

“Right I best be off then,” You smiled heading towards the doors “Try not to collapse time and space whilst I’m gone.” You exited the ship and on to the slightly chilly London streets.

“So where is she off to then?” He asked crossing his arms and leaning against the console

“She has a date, I set her up with someone I know. She was finding it hard to get over someone, so I figured it might be best.” The Doctor frowned in response involuntarily “So? Are they nice then? Or will we have to go and free her later from small talk about pets, music and parents?”

“He is actually. His name’s Dan, he works with Rory. They met at one of our house parties and he seems alright,”

“You have house parties? And I wasn’t invited?”

“You were, you got the date wrong, and when you got it right you had to drag me and Rory off to deal with something, so we had to leave (Y/N) in charge, and you complained the whole time she wasn’t there,” It was Amy’s turn to frown “At least be happy for her, it’s the least you can do as her friend.”

He opened his mouth for a witty response, beeping sounded from the console

The date was going horribly. Dan was nothing like how he was at the party. You ended up excusing yourself to the bathroom and calling the TARDIS.

“Oh hey (Y/N), how's the date going?” Amy asked

“Very badly, can you come make excuses for me, he’s acting weird, like weirder than expected,” You responded. You hung up the phone and returned to your table. You continued with awkward small talk, you sipped on your drink awkwardly “So want to come back to mine? I don’t live too far from here,” Dan suggested. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, and the doors to the restaurant swung open and a panicked bowtie clad alien stepped through the doors. He rushed over to your table despite the many dirty looks he was receiving

“Amy told me you were here, something's happened, we need you to come home,” The Doctor said out of breath, he’d run there

“We’re in the middle of a date, if you don’t mind,” Dan hissed

“And I’m talking, if you don’t mind,” The timelord practically growled “Something’s come through on the channel and I think I’ve found something interesting and you need to be safe,” He extended his hand out to you. You smiled and grabbed it. “I think I need to go then I’m afraid,” You said to Dan before the Doctor pulled you out of the restaurant and you ran hand in hand through the freezing London streets. You turned a corner and stopped abruptly out of breath quietly giggling to each other. There was a brief moment where your faces edged closer but you assumed that was just the adrenaline. You felt a brief scratch on your shoulder, you had barely turned around when the Doctor shouted at you to duck, you did, the claw swinging narrowly over your head as the Doctor staggered back pulling you with him, the claw narrowly missing you both. He Stood up quickly, acting as a shield between the thing and you.

“I knew it was you in the restaurant, I’ve dealt with your kind before, from Clom I believe, the energy signatures coming off you are unique,” The Doctor analysed. You finally saw it in the dim amber glow, it was a thing round with various faces sticking out at odd angles, you cursed loudly. One of them you recognized as Dan, he was speaking, mumbling vague panicked apologies.

“Why are you here? We’ve done this before, look you can’t harvest my memories, even if you want to,” He frowned, a switch seemingly flicked inside of the Doctor he was the version in the restaurant again “To try to take my memories is one thing, to come into my friends home and lie to them is another, to try to kill the person I am in love with is too far,” there was a cracking noise, a watch had broken and the thing seemed to liquify a little

“I swiped this from the restaurant, when you were busy objectifying her, better to keep track of these things don’t you think,” His voice was low and cold, the noise of the sonic buzzed loudly before the thing melted into the pavement, vanishing. The Doctor paused for a moment examining the pavement and slicking back his hair, the oncoming storm had settled once again.

He turned to you warmth returning to his eyes and face “Are you ok? Anything broken? Anything missing?”

“No, no I’m good i think, what the hell was that thing?” You asked shock very clearly still in your system

“Abzorbaloff, nasty things, absorb people and gain their memories. And I think that’s what he was planning with you if the date had gone slightly better,” He pressed his hand to your cheek in a further attempt to calm you down, a slight chuckle in his voice “At least this time I won’t have to make a paving slab with a face. C’mon back to the TARDIS,” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, whilst you contemplated his words, dizzy with adrenaline. There was a moment of silence, before you were able to take your first cautious step with wobbly legs, “There we go, see, c’mon (L/N),” you slipped slightly again and he caught you in his arms, the amber glow above his head illuminating him like an angel. He paused and laughed awkwardly, wrapping his around your waist and giving you time to steady yourself, his arm stayed there as you wandered back to the TARDIS shaking.

At some point during the slow and shaky walk back, you asked him “What happened to Dan then could we have saved him?”

“No we couldn't, he was echoes of what was left. His body was gone, he wouldn’t have lived a proper life, I can’t save everyone all the time, I’m sorry,” He frowned in the way the Doctor usually did, one that was world weary that seemed like it held back the weight of a thousand unsaid words

“I didn’t really know him, I feel bad. I know I couldn’t have prevented it, but I still feel awful,” You confessed

“You couldn’t have helped it, if it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else and I might not have been able to save them, at least I could save you,” There was a silence, and that followed and it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

You walked past the TARDIS allowing yourself some more time to calm down, at the Doctor’s suggestion. The Park was abandoned at this time. You had wandered into it together. You found a little stream and a small bridge and leant against it. The cold nipped at you and you shivered quietly against the railings. Silently the Doctor noticed and slipped his jacket off and gently wrapped it around you. It was warmer than you expected it to be and it felt oversized and heavy on you.

“Are we going to talk about it?” You said suddenly breaking the silence, turning slightly and matching a similar pose to his.

“What?” He mumbled in the response his words getting lost in the dark

“Everything. What you said earlier, in the alleyway ‘the person I love’, the fact you give daggers to any male that isn’t Rory getting anywhere near me, and the fact that Amy and Rory make it so painfully obvious,” You said having quietly had enough “And the fact it feels like anytime we get anywhere closer to figuring out what the hell we’re doing something gets in the way or you run away and can’t cope with it,”

“I didn’t realise you’d noticed, and I didn’t know you were getting over someone, Amy had mentioned it to me earlier,” He whispered, his voice quiet, not wishing to do any more harm.

You inhaled sharply, and rubbed your hand slowly down your face whilst you carefully considered your next sentences, “That wasn’t her place to tell you that, I told her that in confidence.” You sighed “Of course I had noticed, it’s about as obvious as that bowtie is stupid. It was you, that person. And I knew regardless of what I had noticed and what you were thinking or doing, it would take ages before you admitted it yourself, nevermind me. I couldn’t keep pretending for my sake,”

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, and closed it, he considered everything for a brief second.

“Exactly, when you fall in love with a scared god it is not easy and I’ve learnt that.” You frowned “I don’t want to hear it. Let’s go back to the TARDIS,” you stood up straight

“What if I’ve fallen in love with you?” He responded

“Then, I guess I’ve fallen in love with you too,” You replied. There was another pause. A loud silence. You made eye contact, and you kissed. It was cautious and careful, neither of you willing to push it in case the other would regret their actions. The cold air brushed your faces, and you pulled away quietly. He extended his hand to you, you took it gently and went back to the ship together, smiling like idiots.

#doctor who self insert #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor/reader #eleven x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor x you #self insert doctor who #self insert fanfiction

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pearlplusau · 3 years

Text

Pearlplusau Chapter 7 - The newest member Part 1 - Found

At the Prime kindergarten in Facet 5-

Before the emergence of gems, there were these Injectors, machines used to insert gem stones along with certain diamond essences and incubated within soil for their nutrition and minerals. Before the gem war, earth gems among the few earth kindergartens, gained their needed resources and energy in creating their individual new quartz gem. The form, the mentality and physicality were being considered during the incubation process. However, the inserted position of a certain gem, faced certain difficulties in emerging along her fellow sisters. That said, the wall of Earth, held the gem tighter, reluctant to let it go, which led this gem to have a much longer incubation period than the usual quartz.

It has been more than a hundred years, the dark and empty kindergarten was still very much deserted, no humans, no gems, no plants, no life in sight, not even a weed.

The empty holes on the walls, shaped and sized of a larger humanoid figure, remains very much intact. All of them were in neat positions, arranged in dozens of lines per wall, with the lowest lines being at least 2 meters away from the ground.

These holes were not always empty, they were the homes of many individuals, hundreds of gems just from one wall.

It was during the start of the colonization period where the newly inserted gems were finally starting to emerge, one minute it was an empty corner of the earth, the next minute, soldiers were popping out of the walls and bustling to their duties.

One by one the quartzes emerged, leaping into the air and floating down like it’s no big deal. “Yep, one second old and imma ready to jump! GERONIMO!” And one by one the gems landed and waited for their fellow comrades before they report to the station.

A batch of amethyst soldiers with various hair styles were standing around their landing area, waiting for the rest to emerge before they move on. Another gem came and greeted the group, “Heyyy fellow quartzes, what are we all up to?”

An amethyst with some spunky hair and a mega thick bang replied, “There’s two more from our unit that haven’t emerged yet, so we’re gonna wait for’em.”

Shhiinngggg-POOF!

Just as the quartz finished her response, the wall they were facing trembled and a pink-ish white glow came to life. The glow immediately dimmed as fast as it was lit, and another amethyst emerged from the section of the wall. She landed on her knees and grunted, “Ughhhh…”

The pink gem approached the newly emerged amethyst, her tone was astonishment and amazed, “Wow! Look at you! *Giggled* Welcome to Earth!”

The amethyst responded to the kind words with, “That is the first, and nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Another purple gem rushed from the reporting area and demanded, “What’s going on here? Our orders were to move out as soon as you emerged!” She sounded like one of them, deep, rashly voice, but it also involved a higher authority in command.

One of the gems in the crowd protested, “Butttt 8XM hasn’t emerged yet!”

“She can catch up to us later! GOGOGO!”

All the purple quartzes rushed to the reporting area, hoping the last quartz would emerge soon and join their sisterhood. But alas, as centuries went by, the unit was never reunited with their last sister, they assumed she was ordered to complete other tasks like certain gems. The assumption turned out to be true, but not the way the quartzes were expecting.

After the war and the retreat of the homeworld gems, the kindergarten were abandoned and deserted as empty husk of walls with hundreds and thousands of holes neatly dotted around. Above the walls, it was all grey, with no creatures surviving the area, nor any plant life sprouted at the lowest point of the husk. That is, until the last gem finally emerged from her long incubation.

Shhiinngggg-POOF!

There was a ruckus coming from the end of the wall. The point of emergence of the small gem was completely distant, isolated, and separated from the other quartze holes above, as if the gem was ostracized from the unit in general.

As the gem tumbled out of the hole, she observed her surroundings, but all she saw was emptiness. This was a place filled with other gems, laughter, sisterhood. But to her, it was a barren of nothingness.

The little purple gem slowly got to her knees and crawled towards the nearest rock for a better view of the valley. She slowly stood her ground, steadied herself, and tried to look as far away as possible, hoping for any signs of life.

But still…

Nothing…

Only the sounds of a distinct little voice, whispering across the valley, it sounded sad, and empty.

“I came out late, and alone. Nobody but my own.”

The gem stood, hoping for someone, anyone, that can guide her away to a place full of friends, joy, and laughter.

Or even other gems…

Anything would be better than this…

The fog was pretty dense at this time of the year. The walls were still towering, blocking any form of sunlight into the kindergarten. Several hundreds of Injectors were still in their positions, some were not as lucky. Overtime, the grips of the injectors claws became rusty and loose, most of them were still where they were left, but some lost their grips and fell into the empty chasm Amethyst called Home.

The gem was climbing on to a boulder sized rock, and as she stood on top, she decided to claim it as her climbing rock as it’s the tallest rock among the rest!

The other rocks still have their own quirks, the closest rock was her sitting rock, which is the perfect rock shape and size for her to be sitting. The other rock however, did not feel right, so the little gem gave it a good kick!

Crack!!

There! Now its two rocks made from one! She let out a satisfying note, and went back to her hole.

Amethsyt was imagining what else in her home needs revamping, until she heard something, something completely different from the sound of rolling stones and dusty air.

Shes never heard anything like that before, it was always just errie echo, but she got used to that, and now, the new sound scares her.

She decided to investigate, she cautiously got out of her hole, tiptoed closer to the sound and hid behind a rock.

When the small gem took a quick peak, she saw a giant pink figure in a white dress and fluffy curls, slowing wandering around the area, kicking the pebbles everywhere, looking rather, depressed, and frustrated.

She heard her mumbling, smth about earth? And life? Amethyst never heard any of the sounds coming from her mouth, but from the looks in her eyes, the pink gem was furious at the giant machines.

Her slow-paced dragging transitioned into angry stomps, in no time, she was standing in front of a broken down injector.

The machine, covered in centuries worth of dust, stood at least 15 times bigger than the pink figure, but it looked no more threatening than the gem itself.

Amethyst tried to observe with all the rocks blocking the target, after merely just one step out of her hiding place, the pink figure turned to a scowl at the giant machine.

Her face lit up as the gem readied her stance, half a second later, she was floating above the giant injector machine. The pink gem cracked her knuckles with a satisfying “Crack” and held her fists tight.

She rocketed down into the machine, slamming herself through its interior, and obviously not hold back, but not using her full strength either.

With a blink of an eye, amethyst went from looking at a standing injector machine, to the machine split in half, to which one half was falling towards her hiding place.

It took her a while to digest, but she was able to quickly react to the danger in front of her before it was too late.

Eeeeep!

Amethyst ran, and just before the remaining of the machine could hit the ground, the gem plopped into her own hole, immediately feeling safe as the smell and space soothed her.

But it wasn’t soothing for long.

Just as the machine fell and crashed, all the dust and sand around got blown away from its impact, and a lot of the dust got into Amethysts hole, making her nose really, really, really itchy.

“A……aahchoo!”

Amethyst immediately covered herself after that sneeze, but alas, the sound of a kitten sneeze went out to the world, especially to anyone nearby.

As the sound of rubble went out, the pink figure spoke, “Hello?”, sounding very surprised and very close. “Is someone there?”

Amethyst continued covering herself, hoping with enough pressure on her face, she would be unseen and unnoticed.

As the dust cleared out, it became clear that the figure was slowly walking towards her direction.

As the footsteps gets louder and louder, Amethyst backed up the wall as far as she could, even hugging the wall didn’t seem to do her any favors. That thing crushed those giant machines! Amethyst herself tried to move the machine for her new spots, but the thing never budged an inch!

The voice outside continued, “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you or anything! Please come out, I just want to help you if you got hurt!”

For some reason, the more she spoke, the more amethyst became at ease. The purple gem didn’t understand, but the voice somehow soothed her, but it’s also making her do something she doesn’t want to. The last thing she would wanna do is to walk out of her hiding place, but her body moved before her thoughts became clear, as if it was following an instinct from that voice.

The small gem crept out from her hole, but she kept herself in the shadow, just in case the voice was dangerous.

The smoke cleared up, and the figure became clear. It was a very tall, very big, figure in a white dress, and giant fluffy pink curls reaching to the back of her knees. As much darkness there was in the kindergarten, the pink figure looked like she moved with caution, but she was glowing with energy, stepping on each foot with such grace, moving with such kindness, almost making amethyst stick her head out for a better view.

The figure spotted the little gem, yet still she moved with the gentle pace, not making too much noise or else it could scare her away.

“Why hello there.” Rose gently greeted as she approached the gem and her hiding place.

“Hello there.” The small purple gem echoed, standing up and trying to mimic Rose’s actions.

At this point, Rose was…surprised to say the least.

“This is a bit…unexpected.” Rose scratched her hair, “But it’s also not impossible since this place wasn’t visited since the first time I came here. Oh, sorry, I’m rambling, my name is Rose Quartz.” She extended her arm to the small gem for a handshake, “What’s your name?”

The purple gem wasn’t sure what to do with the extended arm, she stared at the arm, and glanced at her own hands. Seemingly putting the pieces together, the purple gem slowly extended her own arm.

But when Rose tried to grasp on the hand for a good introductory shake, that took Amethyst by surprise.

“Eeeeep!” She squeaked while retracting her arm back.

The pink gem tilted her head at the reaction, trying to make sense of the squeaking, little to no vocal response and the horrified handshake.

“Maybe she’s…not fully developed?” She thought to herself while retracting her hand as well.

Rose decided maybe sitting down would allow her to understand from the small gem’s point of view.

Just as Rose kneeled down and folded the back of her dress for a better sitting position, the purple gem followed her every move even though she was very much not in a long dress, just a lot more clumsiness in her sitting position.

When Rose was finally settled in her seating position, she found the small gem sitting down, which was not something she was expecting.

Rose wanted to try some other actions to see if they’re just coincidences or if the gem was intentionally attempting to mimic her every move.

An arm was raised above the head, a smaller arm was raised above the head. The arm slowly pat the top of her own head, same did the small one’s arm. The other arm reached out and gently tapped to her own nose, and the nose of the small gem was touched by her own fingertips. It was as if Rose was facing a mirror, and the purple gem in that “reflection” was following every move.

However, as the movements got more and more complicated for the small gem to follow, she inevitably got confused and tumbled down, making adorable giggling sounds of fun and laughter!

Upon hearing the infectious laughter, Rose was unable to control herself and joined in the laughter, especially since the laughter was echoing all over the empty kindergarten.

After the laughter finally settled down for both of them, the small gem sat right back up and made a huge grin! Possibly telling the giant pink gem that she was finally feeling something she likely hasn’t felt before.

Since the small gem didn’t speak, Rose made a small interpretation that the small gem didn’t know how to talk or possibly even her own name! But judging from her gem colour, shade and cut, she could tell that the purple gem was an Amethyst, similar to all those amethyst soldiers popping all over the place all those centuries ago.

Rose returned the smile and tried again with the names. She pointed to her naval, showing the pink gem while introducing herself once more. “So I’m Rose Quartz, you can just call me Rose.”

The purple gem struggled but was able to slowly repeated her name. “R-rose?”

“Yes! That’s right! And you’re an amethyst! Would you like to be called with that name? Amethyst?”

The small figure pointed to the gem on her chest, “A-amitist?”

“Yeap, you’re getting it!”

The small gem giggled, “Hehehe-Ametist! Ametyst! Amethyst!” and tumbled around the dirt, making her rock hair collection more and more exquisite!

To Amethyst, the movements, the names, the giant lady in front of her, these were something completely new. Still, something about this gem feels soooo familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

However, even with the sudden appearance and brutal power towards the weird looking machines, she felt safe within her presence. All her gem life, she’s been alone, but never in danger, but also never had the warmth of safety like the feeling she had right now!

The small gem made a brief decision to trust this giant pink gem.

The small gem used her hand to grasp one of Rose’s finger, trying to pull her and show her something nearby.

“Ohhh! Do you have something to show me Amethyst?” Rose kidded with the slight tone of curiosity.

The purple gem led Rose to-

An assorted rock collection.

Amethyst guided Rose to the first rock, it was at the height of the purple gem’s neck, which was almost up to Rose’s knees.

The small gem slowly climbed up the rock, and sat on the said rock.

It took Rose sometime to see it, but she made a pretty accurate guess of what she’s doing. “Oh! Is this your…Sitting rock? The rock where you take a seat?”

Amethyst scooted to the side and pat the little space she made, signifying Rose to join her.

Rose considered the kind offer, but she gently rejected her generosity of sharing the sitting rock. “Oh! Thank you Amethyst! But I don’t think the rock is the right size for me. And I’m very certain that the rock won’t be a good seat for the both of us!”

Amethyst was trying to see the issue of her kind offer, but she didn’t mind the rejection, shrugged off and moved on to the next rock.

The next rock was a lot bigger than the previous one, it was the size of a boulder to be exact.

Amethyst stood at the base of the big rock and immediately climbed up the said rock. As she sat at the top, she became face level with Rose, being able to see more than her long dress.

“Soooo, no wait let me guess! This is yourrrr climbing rock? The rock that you use to climb and see things from far, far away?”

“Far, far away!!” Amethyst echoed while jumping up and down on the rock.

The purple gem leaped down the rock and tried to show Rose more of her rock collection, or even her current family! Where she’s developed relationships with each and every one of these inanimate objects, showcasing just how long she’s been on her own.

Rose became more and more fascinated by the little gem, seeing how different she became without being brainwashed and used as another soldier for war.

But if she wants to ensure her freedom from the horrible shackles of Homeworld, she might need to take some, unfair but necessary precautions.

Just as Amethyst was showcasing her last rock, Rose decided to show HER something. “That was super fun getting to know your rock family! You know, I got something I would like to show too! Would you like to see it!?”

She gave out her hand, waiting for Amethyst to gently put down her rock.

After the first interaction with the hand, she was more comfortable and gripped onto her hand almost immediately! Before they took off, Rose had to stay low in order for her to walk with Amethyst holding her hand.

As they travelled throughout the kindergarten, Rose realized that Amethyst was moving with a lot more cautious within the other sections of the kindergarten, indirectly telling Rose that she’s never been away from her hole or her rock family for a long time.

Either Amethyst didn’t want to lose her way to where shes the most familiar at, or she never step a foot out of her usual area at all.

But the assumptions and theories made Rose even more determined to lead her for a better place, a better environment for her to be a new era of crystal gems.

At last, they made it. Rose led Amethyst to a warp pad, it was the white coloured shiny pedestal on one of the higher grounds, something amethyst herself could never figure out. Not because she doesn’t know how to warp, but because she didn’t know there were other places than the kindergarten.

Amethyst slowly approached the shiny looking warp pad, she concentrated on the edge of the pad, looking very hard to break.

She looked up to Rose on the warp pad, who was giving her encouraging smiles. The purple gem wasn’t sure, but again, something about this giant, fluffy pink gem seemed familiar, as if she was where she belonged.

She slowly joined Rose on the warp pad, still unsure what it’s purpose is for.

Rose started to explain, “Soo, this is a warp pad, we gems use it to travel around the world. The earth might actually feel small once you get used to it but walking for days just to get somewhere is a bit…boring.” Sounding rather embarrassed from a certain incident, Rose proceeded, “The point is, we can use this to travel anywhere on earth with ease. Come on, let me show you our little hideout.”

Amethyst wasn’t sure at first, she echoed and questioned, “our little hideout?” emphasizing on the word.

“Why yes!” Rose responded, “You see, I’m in this group called The Crystal Gems, and I would like to take you in as a new member! Wouldn’t that be so much fun! You’ll meet other gems and make friends instead of staying all alone in this boring, dense, and meaningless place?”

Rose sounded very eager to leave and go literally anywhere than stay one more second of the kindergarten.

But amethyst took note on the last thing she said, “Meaningless place?”

“Hm?” Rose realized what she just said but dismissed it poorly. “Oh that? Don’t mind that, I just meant this *arm spread*, is not a place for a cute little gem like you! Let’s go, shall we?”

Rose concentrated on the next where to go, and as she did, the warp pad glowed with Amethyst doing a quick glance, fascinated by the aura and the moonlight glow. As the warp pad glow brighter and brighter, the magic set its course and made a really loud “Shhiiinnggg~” sound, very much surprising the new gem who was now currently floating, travelling with the giant pink lady into anywhere but the place she called home.

Word count goal for part 1 – 3000 words, achieved. Total words: 3504.

heyyoo, you've reached the end of Part 1, Found, and yes it IS named after the song in the movie! That's what imma going for, naming each parter after a steven universe song (preferrable something fitting). I think it fits pretty well since we're going through Amethyst's backstory, her origin and how she was first found by Rose (As mentioned in the episode "On the run"). We got to how she lived on her own for a while, her first interactions, and echoes/repeats (which were highlighted from the movie). Really love that i got the chance to show you guys my own take on Amethyst's origin! It was pretty fun from the writing perspective!

Again, in case anyone was in awe of the artworks, these pieces are traced from certain episodes of the show, which will be announced as its own post later on.

If you enjoyed reading this chapter, consider giving it a like or even a reblog! If the amount of notes of this post exceeds a certain number, like idk, 50? Then i would consider posting the second part of the chapter earlier than scheduled! Anyways, and as always, thanks for reading and reaching to the end, really appreciate you guys for reading the whole thing, and see you guys maybe in two weeks.

Or sooner?

or in two weeks lol

#steven universe #amethystorigin #rosequartz #amethyst #kindergarten #ontherun

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nevermore-ocs · 3 years

Text

Azrael x Plus-Sized!Reader: A Real Alpha

Author’s note: IT IS FINALLY DONE 9.3K WORDS OF THE FIRST PART OF AN X READER WITH THE ONE AND ONLY HUNTER ALIEN BOI AZRAEL!! Summary: After a painful break-up in between you and your previous partner, Azrael sees to it that you’re comforted and happy again to the fullest extent. Warnings: NSFW closer to the end THAT’S ALL-

“You do not have to shed any more tears for that mudak (asshole), (Name).”

Your ears nearly blocked that out, the sniffles staggering out of you with your body twitching in time your hitching breaths, Azrael’s words were almost muffled to you. “I-I’m sorry, Azrael,” you whimpered out, for what felt like the 50th times and like the numerous utterances before, he shook his head to brush off the apology, and his large, strong arm tightened around your waist and with gentle pushes urging you to snuggle your head onto his shoulder, he quietly spoke up again. “You have nothing to apologize for, little one, this is that cruel dog’s fault, not yours.” His hand, taking up most of the free space on your side, stroked slowly up and down, his digits lingering on your waist in soothing pets, it drew a shaky sigh from the depths of your chest. You at least attempted to even your breathing, but every rampant thought that rushed through your head and dug its way into your brain like a deadly spike and imprinted itself there. Any progress that you made of controlling yourself went down the drain, you felt the sobs start to rip through your body once more and on impulse, your arms shot out to Azrael and you clung onto him tightly, with your face buried into his broad chest. It felt like you were crying your eyes out, that if you kept going, you weren’t totally sure if you’d even have anymore tears to shed.

Azrael, overcoming the surprise of the swift, tight hug you threw around him, his open arms carefully closed around your frame in a much softer but warm hug, like as if he hugged you as tight as you were, he’d break you like a wilting flower with the gentlest breeze of wind bristling crumbling the weak, dead petals, but, his hands still traveled up and down the small of your back in slow, tender strokes, his digits taking a few moments to massage a certain spot in the middle of your tense, locked shoulder blades, surprisingly, it did make your rigid shoulders gingerly relaxed from their raised position, even if it was a gradual, crawling pace from the desired, fully rested goal, it was improvement, and even the tiniest amount was enough to make a gentle smile paint itself onto the alien’s face. “There you go, little one, there you go, you are safe, I swear it…” his low, accented voice rumbled through his chest, you felt it, what with your head nestled so much against him, his voice, as if it were a warm, quilted blanket, surrounded you in a comforting aura, to think that someone so dangerous, so otherworldly, would take the time out of his day to make sure that you didn’t cry over someone who didn’t deserve it, it surprised you, sure, but it made you happy more than you realized. Daxton was a dangerous place, humans being a smaller percentage of what roamed in the city’s streets, the fact that not only were you somehow good friends with the worst of the worst in this place, but you were currently being cradled in one of their arms definitely made you take a moment to compose yourself. You sniffled and tried to force your tears to halt for now to finally take a slow glance up at Azrael, the hunter alien who was from a distance icy planet who knows how far away, the same man who’s killed creature after creature with the very same tools that were petting your back and threading their fingers through your (hair color) tresses and taking those few extra steps to pet at your scalp before brushing back any lingering strands away from your face, sometimes you questioned to yourself how an alien could be so much kinder and sweeter than the humans you’re used to but after what happened, it didn’t take too much convincing anymore. If anything, humans could take a few lessons from Azrael in that department. You, at first, were going to sit back in the dip of Azrael’s lap and just let yourself relax, perhaps even drift off to sleep as crying took more energy out of you than you originally thought, but, that’s when your eyes really drifted over the alien’s features to take in even the smallest of details. He was the enticing combination of cute, almost boyishly so, and worn-out ruggedness with every hunt that he’s been through taking one toll after another on not only his body, but his mind too. You could only begin to imagine the story behind the three long scars that bore deep across the entire horizontal length of his face, across his sets of eyes, his nose, even his mouth. “Azrael?” You peeped up, your voice, sounding more level than it did, was quite gentle and quiet to the ear, but his talented, pointed ones instantly heeded and he turned his head to face you and his half-lidded, sweet gaze met yours again. “Yes, little one?” He responded with the same kind of light whisper as you. Your heart fluttered, his deep voice honey on your ears, you leaned further against him, your head tilting some to the side and it rested on one of his shoulders comfortably and you gazed up at him in a trance, you couldn’t describe it at first, your emotions left your mind a disoriented, fuzzy mess but this felt right, this warm closeness with him, how his large, strong arms fit around your full, curvaceous body with little effort, and just how he was taking so much time in the world to comfort you, to ensure that your tears would stop that you would rest well and content tonight. He didn’t have to do this for you, at all, it wasn’t his job to, but with how he carried himself right into your room and made himself at home to fully care for you and only you, it was almost as if he needed to or else it wouldn’t sit right with him in his head, in his heart. “You don’t think I’m too big, do you? I-I know this is kinda out of nowhere-well, n-not out of *nowhere* but s-still, I, heh, I know it’s not the most attractive thing in the world-” His hand lifted and he cupped his palm over your mouth to silence your words, and your surprised eyes flickered up to his face, and his taken aback expression read of quiet hurt, as if the question itself, when you uttered it, it insulted him. He, at first, silently shook his head and then he spoke up, “Not at all, little one! Why would I be bothered by it? Is beautiful, yes? Is more to love! A fool would be bothered by something as trivial as that, who would complain getting to hug every inch of you? If you were my woman, you would be getting your body worshipped by me every single day, whenever you asked for me to do so. The Gods graced this world, this universe, with the perfect form of you, there is nothing wrong with you,” you didn’t know what to say, your mouth was partially hung open, words hanging off of the cliff of your tongue but they didn’t take that plunge, so, they stayed stuck in your mouth and you couldn’t help but the stare that came from you, riddled with disbelief and it seemed to the resonate with him as he picked it up, and he continued. “If you really think there is something wrong with your body, (name), let me reassure you, from the bottom of my heart and spirit that there is not one problem, yes? You are not ‘too big’, is not possible! Personal preference, I would want a bigger woman, be too afraid to squeeze a smaller one; I would break her!” His words melted into laughter, hoping that his little joke would conjure up some kind of laugh from you too, and his internal wishes were granted as the quietest of giggles escaped from your lips and left a smile on your face in its wake. “A real alpha,” he started again whilst he stood up from the bed finally with you hoisted up in his arms so easily, he held you in a bridal style and instinctively, your arms shot up from their resting positions on your stomach, and they coiled around his strong neck. Turning to face the bed, he bent over to slowly lower you to the cradling embrace of your mattress, and he slipped your looped arms over his head and he gingerly laid them across your chest and stomach, giving one of your arms a slow, deliberate caress til he reached back with the same hand and he even fluffed up a couple, or a few, of pillows amongst the bevy of them splayed across the head of your bed. “Wouldn’t let something so unimportant get in the way of making the person of their dreams their mate. To us, to me, it does not matter what you look like, you are kind, you are sweet, you are smart, you are a light that can be seen from even the darkest of caves, never forget that. How your body is shaped, how much you fill out your clothes, a dress, a palm even, is bonus!” He quietly chimed with a light chuckle fluttering out of him. Again, you found yourself at a loss for words, not even knowing what to begin with other than just laying there in a stunned silence with your (eye color) orbs gawking at him with your mouth hung ajar. Sometimes you wondered how he even existed, only to be quickly reminded he was an alien for a myriad of reasons, tons of which you were thankful for since in the back of your gnawed at the back of your mind, a thought that a human who even attempted to mirror the same kind as uplifting qualities as him wouldn’t even exist. He thought of you in such high regards that didn’t even fathom with you at first, but it touched you to say the least. He grasped the edge of your blanket and pulled it up to the bottom of your chin and he straightened it out across your body, making sure that it laid comfortably flat against your body, his hand, placed on top of your hip, cascaded down in a slow, smooth motion, rubbing the warm fabric down against your body. “Azrael…” You breathed out, he was crouched down next to the side of your bed with his chin resting on his crossed arms laid on the edge of the mattress as all four of his eyes glanced at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue, if you could this time.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t much, but it was definitely the loudest phrase echoing throughout your mind at first, if anything was gonna come tumbling out of your mouth in shy, touched mumbles, it was those two words. His eyes softened and his smile spread wider, enough for the tips of his sharpened teeth to peek out from underneath his lips, and somehow, it made him even cuter in your eyes. “You are most welcome, little one, and if you ever, and I mean ever, need to be reminded that you are a gift from the Gods themselves, do not hesitate to come to me again, okay? To see your eyes light up with sincerity and feel proud of yourself once more, it is the greatest treasure in the universe, and nothing would make me happier than to indulge in it more.” His hand unraveled from his crossed arms and he moved it up to one of your hands holding the edge of your blanket and he wrapped his fingers around yours and gave you a gentle squeeze, his thumb grazing over your knuckles and where finger met palm, his trained eyes making sure to watch his claws and to pull them away when they even got a centimeter too close to your skin, and after giving your hand a few more squeezes, he, to you, regrettably, retracted his hand back to his side and stood back up to his towering 11’0” height. You had to catch yourself, but your hand had outstretched from underneath the blanket’s edge, reaching out to grasp and hold his all over again, however, somehow, he didn’t notice, thanks to his head turned away to take a quick glance around your room and when he did finally lock gazes with you again, you snatched your hand away in time and hid it back under the darkened cloth. “It is late, and I can imagine crying made you tired. You should get sleep, rest up and get your strength back, yes?” He gave you one more genuinely sweet smile with a quiet hum flowing from him, before turning around to face the door and he even started to step towards it.

And it was there, staring at his fleeting back that the rest of the world seemed to just fade away until it was just you, gazing at the man who single-handedly changed the entire night for you, who made your negative thoughts seem to melt away into nothingness, to be long gone and forgotten about and to never grace your mind again to cause you harm, to actually put your faith again into something, what started to feel frivolous and unimportant, like love. The words fled from your lips quicker than you could catch them. “Azrael, wait.” Your eyes widened when you heard yourself, and then you were sure that your eyes were going to pop out of their sockets when he turned around to you all over again.

“Yes, little one? Something wrong?” What did you wanna say? Your mind was cluttered, the remnants of what happened prior still littering around in your thoughts in hurtful piles but then also growing overwhelmed with the comforting, blinding feelings towards Azrael’s overshadowing the damage that was done, it was confusing, you couldn’t explain it, but, you knew you didn’t want him to leave so soon already, did you?

“Stay with me.”

Well, that certainly came out a lot stronger than you originally wanted or planned. Azrael’s eyes widened, and he jumped very slightly with the sheer shock running through his body, he almost did a double take by glancing at anything else in the room, away from you, only to find himself staring back at your own stunned face. You flickered your gaze around, your lips forming the possible fragments of words coming to your mind but nothing came out, it just looked like you were physically trying to search for the words in front of you instead of mulling them over in your cluttered mind. However, from staring over your form, the alien’s talented, analytical eyes studied you for only just a few moments, quietly deducing just what was bothering you all over again, and the cause of your outburst, both sets of his eyes softened whilst a low, quiet sigh escaped his nose, returning to your bedside, he reached up and placed one of his large, clawed hands onto your shoulder and he held it, squeezing in a soft, soothing way. “You are feeling обеспокоенный (troubled), conflicted yes? Trying to heal quicker from the pain done unto you, with me. Do not say things that you truly do not mean, you can feel better without me.” His tone had a gentle firmness to it, not coming off too strong that he was yelling at you or anything vile like that, but as if he was trying to teach a lesson to you, words of wisdom that hopefully would help brush away any of the confusions entangling your thought processes in its wicked web. You did listen, of course, even your eyes drifted downward to the top of the mattress. Maybe he was right. He certainly sounded sure of himself. Was this some kind of attempt to rush and hurry your soul through any pain? By getting over the awful excuse of an ex with someone who was most assuredly better than them in every single way, shape, and form? But, it wasn’t like you to do this with just anyone, I mean, you’ve known all of the villains for a couple of years now, and found yourself close to all of them and you considered Azrael one of the closest to you, and he you, but, did you *really* wanna take that dive? To do something more with him? It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before against your better judgement, it was confusing, and made you second-guess some other things in your head that once were set in stone, was now crumbling into unsure doubts. Then, there were those other feelings, like having him this close where his warm aura radiated from him and covered around you like a blanket, the black, deep-set, caring worriedness in his blacked out eyes and how they were focused on you and only you, Hell, even the very obvious size difference in between the two of you was heavily noted, not only by the fact that he easily towered over you when he stood up beforehand, but how when you reached your hand towards his, your palm and fingers managed to coil around, at most, two of his clawed digits and you held them tightly, almost emitting the fear that he would leave sooner than you wished. Dragging your eyes back up to his scarred face, your hand at your side traveled up and you cupped his cheek to the best of your abilities, being so much smaller compared to him. You thumb, in a gentle, ghost of a tender caress, rubbed over the risen skin from the part of the scar situated right underneath his upper right eye, and with you two locked in such an intense gaze, now it was his turn to slowly don a light blue blush that spread across his face in a gradual glow, even the tips of his pointed ears started to brandish the same kind of bluish hue. You gave him a defiant shake of your head, “I want this, I-I want to do this with you, I do, I know I do, t-this isn’t some kind of…” you rolled your wrist, searching for the word, “Coping thing or anything, I swear…! You mean a lot to me, Azrael, and I wanna do...something, anything with you, only you, please…” Getting all of this off of your chest, both of your hands shot up to his cheeks and you cupped them, corralling all of his wandering, nervous eyes from going all over the place to focus solely on you and as if mirroring you, he opened his mouth and his lips attempted to form the words coming at his mind all at once to the point where no words found their way out and instead was replaced with a quiet squeak similar to that of a puma’s, it was too cute for you not to let out quiet giggle while a smile snuck its way onto your lips. Craning your head forward, you pressed your forehead against his in a nudge, something small and sweet that he’s done with you before as an affectionate gesture and almost instantly, his head leaned forward into yours and he returned it, nuzzling the side of his head against yours as a low, rumbling chuff-like noise emitted from the depths of his chest, again, seemingly identical to the chuff noises that a tiger can make. “Is it okay?” You questioned again, one of your hands glided down the side of his face and rested on the nape of his strong neck, letting your fingers trace over the start of a scar underneath the skin-tight under-armor he leisurely wore, “If you don’t want it too, you know you can tell me that right? I-If this is like, I-I’m pressuring you or anything, tell me to stop, and I’ll stop, and I’ll go to bed like you told me to,” you hurriedly reminded him, honestly, how he was feeling about this whole situation burned at your thoughts on top of your own, Azrael wasn’t human in the slightest, if that wasn’t obvious enough, and with how he had no partner with him when he came here in the first place, the thought of him having never done anything sexual before flashed through your head for a moment or two. “N-No, no! I...my apologies, (name), you, grace me with your kindness, being so patient with me.” He was always so sweet, it made your pounding heart flutter and you smiled wider at him as you reached up and threaded your fingers through his ridiculously soft strands of pastel blue hair, petting through the light tresses. “I am...more concerned with how you feel. Being in a hurt state can make you want things to stop the pain and I am more than happy to lay here with you until you do rest, but, something like this...it cannot be big, if there is something smaller that you humans indulge into with your own mating rituals, I can be open to that, but it cannot be anything else.” You blinked, “Why not-” suddenly, you remembered, and you swallowed up the question just before it left you too soon. “That’s right, your kind, you...mate for life.” You dragged out a long groan, your hand shooting up to your face to clap your palm over your forehead, almost as an attack onto yourself for forgetting something so crucial like that but him being much more nervous than you now started to make a lot more sense. “I am *so* sorry I forgot about that part of your culture, Azrael, I-I, ugh god I wasn’t thinking at all.” Rubbing down, you squeezed the bridge of your nose with a hint of annoyance towards yourself before dropping both of your arms onto your lap in defeat with your head turned away and your eyes narrowed along with your brow furrowed, you quietly scolded at yourself under your breath. “I do not want to take advantage of you.” The words surprised you. Lifting your head back up and facing him all over again, your wide eyes gawked at him, worried and curious, especially the first since you had no idea that he was thinking that if you two really did something like this, that he was taking advantage of you. “Azzy, what? Why would you think that?” You questioned, his eyes glancing away momentarily before he started to explain in a low tone. “On my home planet, it is not rare for Alphas, most certainly male, to take advantage of betas and omegas, fearful of them, if they have to give up their bodies to keep them alive, a lot of them fell obedient to others.” His eyes finally locked back onto your face, “And with your heart being hurt, feeling inadequate when you shouldn’t at all…” his hand crept up, cupping your cheek this time and his hand easily covered up almost the entire side of your head and face, his thumb grazing over the skin right underneath your eye. “I did not want it to seem the same. Это ужасная вещь, которую делают жестокие собаки (it is an awful thing done by cruel dogs), may the Gods forever damn the ones who do it, is just one reason why.” You leaned forward quickly and slung your arms around the alien’s large, broad frame, barely making it around the middle of his chest, letting your head burrow into his front as if you were a tick, “Well you,” you started, lifting your head enough to let your chin rest on the top of his chest to gaze upward at his curious expression, teetering on hurt thanks to the not-so-fun fact that he told you about his people, it was almost positive he was worried it would alter your opinion about him at all since he always referred to himself as a true, real Alpha. “Are nothing like those assholes, you know that? I mean you really pride yourself in that-” You gently teased in hopes to get him smiling again and it worked, a little, when the crack of a smile started to break out across his face, “You’re so much more sweeter, nicer, kinder, sometimes, honestly, it surprises me how you’re even called a villain here! I-I mean other than the whole, ‘taking skulls thing’ but still-!” The minimal distraught that had casted over him prior faded away at your emphasis and he couldn’t help but let out rather hearty laugh, one of his strong, large arms hooking around your waist to finally return your tight hug with his head craning down, he nestled his face into your (hair color) hair and you felt the soft rumble of low chuffs blowing through the soft tresses against your scalp. “You like the skull I gave you, yes? That was not too evil!” He joked in return, and it pulled more shared laughter out of the both of you since you bubbling up into a fit of a giggles caused his own laugh to come from him too and, thanks to the happiness sweeping you up, and momentarily brushing away any crumbs of darkness shadowing your mind, you leaned up and pressed a kiss again his nose. The alien squeaked out one of those puma-sounding noises at the small sign of affection, and after drifting his gaze back down at your expression to study your features, he leaned in and returned it by brushing his lips against your forehead so lightly and gently in a chaste kiss, he was always so careful with you, and you had no problem returning it. “Something small, is okay, right?” He questioned, a lilt of shyness threading through his voice as he brought up the prior topic and with a nod of your head, and a gentle smile walking onto your face, “Something small.” You reassured him. However, naturally, Azrael assumed it would be focused on you over himself, since he started to gently stand back up and start to peel the blanket off of you again and it seemed as though when he saw more and more of your body became exposed in a slow, gradual show for him, his sets of eyes traversed the pleasantly long journey of your plush-soft, curvy sides and wide hips, how the belly you had dipped down and, beforehand, you would find yourself being shrouded in the crippling shadow of your own self-doubt and self-conscious but there was something different now, it wasn’t there. It didn’t even begin to manifest itself over you when he was peeking further and further. Maybe it had to do with just how comforting Azrael’s gaze was, riddled with understanding and not a speck of judgement anywhere within the darkness of his four eyes. When he looked at you, it sent a static through you, a spark that was more than determined to reignite the flame inside of your body, and its attempts were more than capable in doing just that. His four orbs alone were enough to make your heartbeat throb harder in your chest and make your breath hitch in your lungs, as if it were glued to the very edges themselves. Although, something stirred within you, sure, the thought of Azrael taking the reins to whatever you two were planning gnawed at your mind in pleasant chews, there was another idea that started to swirl around in your mind, not one of negativity, nothing like that, but something more on the giving side. He did so much for you tonight, striving to do what he always did so masterfully, maybe it was time to do something back for him. Just before the grand reveal of your lower half, his free hand inched over towards your hip and laid it palm down against your skin, pulling a quiet gasp from the back of your throat. His hand, effortlessly taking over almost all of the space on the top of your thigh, was the combination of both soft from the extra padding on his digits and palm, with the scattering of calluses splayed on the edges of his hands and in the bends of his fingers, manifesting a silent story of just how much he pushed himself into his hunting. Your heart pounded, the thudding of it slamming against your chest rattled through your skull and pierced through your eardrums, practically silencing everything else whilst you stared at him, the softened expression that stayed true to his face, decorated with relaxed, half-lidded eyes and a warm smile spread across his lips, his four orbs flicked up at you, you assumed at first, but it took only the feel of his sharpened claws gently pricking and prodding at the thin material of your panties as a little warning to you that he was about to tug them down and off of you, and it was a gentle, silent reminder of what you had planned and on the fact that he even took the time to ready you, to ask wordlessly if it was okay for him to do so, the motions of your plan sparked to life as if they had a mind of their own. “Azzy wait-” your hand crept up, and you grasped his wrist, to the best extent that you could, actually holding a part of him really put into perspective just how much larger he was compared to you as your digits barely even wrapped around one of the sides. He screeched to a halt in record time, both his palm and fingers left your side much to your chagrin, nearly snatching his hand out of your light grip, “Have you changed your mind?” He questioned softly with an understanding lilt flowing through his tone, however, you shook your head, and you sat up more properly on the mattress so that you could turn and swing your legs over to the edge of the bed like how you were prior, and your softened eyes flickered up to his adorably confused and concerned face, he even gave his head a slow tilt to one side as if he were a large puppy. “No, no not at all, but…” you soothingly cooed whilst you leaned forward and in time, the alien moved back just a step or two, to make sure he wasn’t crowding you. You released your grip on his wrist and now, it was your turn for your own private little show when your eyes started at the top of his broad chest and in a deliberate crawl down the contours of his sculpted body and internally, you were thanking your lucky stars for the thin piece of under armor that Azrael worse ever so casually, its fabric hugged around his defined torso, outlining every little ridge of his trained, bulging muscles, it left little to the imagination. “You did so much for me tonight, and, I know you’re gonna like, disagree, but you didn’t have to,” and just as you predicted, his lips parted to start the said disagreement, until, it was replaced with a quiet, husk of a gasp tip-toed out instead, thanks to your hand laying palm down onto his chest, and in a slow-moving, downward stroke, you dragged your palm lower and lower across the length of his torso, the tips of your digits rising when they crossed over the ridges of his defined body and the risen skin of a scattering of deep-set scars, shielded away from your gaze. Then you felt it, where his top met his bottom armor, seemingly blended in together to seem conjoined as one full piece only to be disproven when your fingers curled over the edge of his pants and nudged rim down ever so slightly, enough for your intruding eyes to sinfully sneak a peek at the thick-haired base of whatever he had down there. That was the thing about Azrael, with him being an alien, your imaginations were the limits of picturing just exactly what he had hidden down there, and you had your excitement of finally seeing the grand reveal to blame for when your thighs lightly pressed against one another. “(Name)...” Azrael mumbled out, his accented voice dangerously low, a dusting of a blue blush sprinkled across his cheeks, the temptation to move his hand to yours to lead it off of him so that he can fully take care of you over the other echoed throughout his mind, and at first, his hand almost carried it out, the tips of his sharpened claws drew close enough to lightly prick and scrape against the skin of your wrist, but for once, you were faster than him. Craning your head forward, your lips brushed against his abdomen in a chaste peck, and the tiny gesture it was, was enough to send his hand into a skidding stop, his eyes went wide, almost as if all four were threatening to pop out of his skull, “So now,” you started again, whispering against blue skin, your lips sensually walked down his abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses in your wake, some of them were quick that emitted a sense of urgency to move onto the next while some of the others you held down for a few extra moments or so, so when your lips broke the lip-lock, the shiver that rushed through his body was more pleasurably intense than the last jolt ending it’s electrifying current through his senses. “I wanna do something for you. You’re such a sweetheart, Azzy, it’s only fair that I return the favor and take care of you this time,” The feeling of thick strands of snowy blue tresses brushing up against your jawline in light tickles, your eyes flickered down, studying the thickly haired base of his privates before continuing, this time, your unused hand that resided on one of his inner thighs climbed up further and further in between his legs, “You, mmhf, you do not have to do that f-for me, little one, it is the Alpha’s job after all to-hnh!~” His words were suddenly cut off with a shuddering groan when your hand moved up and placed itself onto his sack, and with slow, groping squeezes with your fingers rubbing over him, your lips attacked the base of his privates with a numerous amount of kisses through the thick fur like hair, your eyes pried open and they flicked up towards his face, doused in a deep shade of blue that spread so far across his face, it reached the tips of his pointed ears that even twitched a few times with growing excitement. All four of his eyes were screwed tight, and his hand that hung at his side had shot up and clasped over his mouth as if to silence any fleeting moans that dared to escape his lips, however, that tactic wasn’t too successful in stopping every noise that emitted from him since in the deep pit of his chest, chuffing noises rumbled throughout his body and vibrated against his padded palm, and it appeared as though he was silently cursing those purring noises since every time one crept out from in between his lips, his already closed eyes would tighten more and even his fingers gripped at his mouth and jaw harder too. With your head lowered so far your lips tantalizingly close to where you were so determined to cover in kisses and licks and suck, you certainly weren’t prepared for what you witnessed. In the corner of your eye, your head leaned back enough to drink up the sight of the tent in his pants growing right in front of you, it was to be expected, and hoped for, that he was truly enjoying what you were giving him and if it wasn’t, you were damned sure to find something that he’d love more than anything while you two were like this while you had him. You just had to. Your hand clenched the front of his pants again, preparing to tug the rest of the fabric again, however, the tent grew more, and more, and more, until the tightening thin armor expanded to such a tight bulge, the fabric snapped, and his length sprung out from its suffocating cloth imprisonment and you didn’t know really what to say at first as you sat there, gawking at the unusual sight with a dropped jaw and wide eyes and, as if history repeated itself, you found yourself at a lost for words until your stuttering lips managed to conjure something up. “...holy shit.” You marveled. His length was anything but the norm that you’ve seen or have been used to. The shape of it alone was the biggest difference, it wasn't human, at all, it was a long, thick, tentacle-like shape that had a thick base and as your eyes traveled further up to the tip, you noted how it started wide and thick but slimmed down until the head was a point, and along the length and around the girth of it all, it was covered with small spines, no bigger than a thumbnail but still, their quantity overruled the size easily, they were everywhere except the tip since there wasn’t that much space at the thin head, but, they were heavily condensed around the the third and final part, a swollen knot that throbbed a few times now that he was fully erect and excited and in tune with each throb of his knot, the tentacle part wriggled deliberately, almost as if it were hypnotizing you to lean forward with your mouth as agape as it is now and swallow around the shaft. “Is, is problem?” Azrael’s trembling voice was like a hook, line, and sinker since it pulled you out of your stunned bewilderment. Blinking profusely with a shake of your head to top it off, your eyes snapped up onto his panting, flushed face and just before any worry attempted to leak through the lusty haze that was spreading heavily through him, you shook your head. “N-No! I’m just, s-surprised! I, Azzy you have, A LOT, down here-” “...is too big?” “It’s fucking HUGE, but that’s not what I meant-” Your still hand rested on your thigh and your fingers clenched tighter into its fist as you stared, you really didn’t have any idea on how to start with something like this, sure, you’ve given oral to past partners, even the most recent one, but Azrael was different. Not only has he never, ever, experienced something like this, but because this was Azrael, the place in your heart that he happily took over was major, he mattered more to you than you probably both ever realized, so you wanted to make this perfect, better than just enjoyable, you wanted this big alien man to get weak in the knees and need to sit down next to you after he was done or, if you really knew what you were doing with just the type of equipment he had, maybe even in the middle of it, so, with a deep breath through your mouth and out through your nostrils, your hand shot up to his length and your hand coiled around the base of it, right above the knot and you gasped lightly to yourself while a quiet snarling groan rumbled through his chest. Just barely, did the tips of your finger graze the edge of your palm, at least your hand actually managed to wrap around something of his, even if it wasn’t enough. Your hand inched up, the spines underneath your hand brushed up against your palm, they flared up and down ever so lightly in time with the twitches and throbs of his shaft, the sensation was odd, yes, but definitely not tempting. Your hand continued, squeezing around his shaft, you stroked all the way up to his tip in a slow, smooth, glide, the spines flexing out only to relax again and when your hand ended it’s test run at his tip, your thumb pressed down onto the leaking slit to tease the opening in small circles, and with each rotation, thick, warm, and surprisingly sweet-smelling precum began to impatiently seep out of his tip, coating your digit steadily and you were only more surprised when you pushed your hand back down in another pump and it milked more of his pre to steadily drip out of his tip and leak out onto his shaft and even have droplets push out over the edge of the slit and drip down onto the floor beneath the both of you. “L-Little one your, your hand is already plenty, rest, mmhmf, rest your body, you do not have to do more~” Azrael husked out, his eyes fought to stay open, and through blurry lenses, he gazed down at you. His hands resided at his sides, and only momentarily did one of them inch up and forward towards you and at first, glancing at it in the corner of your eye, you naturally assumed that it was him possibly attempting to thwart your actions again, but with how his held out hand twitched and his digits trembled halfway there, it wasn’t like he was trying to stop you, it was almost as if he weren’t sure if he should put a hand on you again, like he was worried if he grabbed you too hard or placed it in the wrong spot while you were like this, it’d hurt you, so, with another breath, his hand retracted and fell back to his side again. Witnessing this, your eyes traveled back up to his flushed face and you let a smile dance onto your lips, “Do you trust me, Azrael?” You questioned and, yes, at first, you attempted to let a flirtatious lilt coat those words to make it sound more enticing, but, you truly wanted to know, even if him letting you do this was evidence enough that he did since he could very easily stop you in a number of ways, ones more violent than the last, still, it probably eased both of your racing minds and thoughts to have consent audibly said instead of just out in the open like this. After a few moments of catching his panting breath, a thin grin pulled onto his lips and he nodded gently down at you, his multiple eyes tender and true, “I trust you, little one, I-I know you would never do me wrong in something as passionate as this, and you, mhmf, you have my word with the Gods as my witnesses, you may trust me too.”

“...god how do you exist, you’re, such a sweetheart, Azzy, I swear…~” You giggled quietly, and continued when he shrugged as a little joke, as if he didn’t know, but after glancing back up at his face, and how he stared down at you with such a loving sensation pouring from all four of his darkened orbs, you have no idea how you manage to wrangle your internal thoughts of leaning up or pulling him down to your level to kiss him where you should have willed yourself to do beforehand when you were up there, every ounce of your body wanted to just slam your lips against his in a deep kiss, to feel him kissing back with all of the experience and courage that he could offer, and have his large hands grasp at your hips and rear to keep you pinned against his broad, strong chest so the kiss wouldn’t be broken too soon, but, that would have to be saved for another time. You were already down here like this, right where your desire for him burned so brightly, if you were going to do this, it was now or you’d never be standing on this precipice of courage ever again. Your (eye color) orbs drifted back down to his twitching, awaiting length, the bizarre sight of his cock wriggling up and down or side to side with the smallest of moments intrigued you, you had your hand to planted firmly around his base as much as you could hold while your free hand propped up against the upper part of his thigh, close to his hip, to give yourself a steady form of balance in case you found yourself getting lost in this since his sweet-smelling aroma was invading your nostrils relentlessly, and the delicious scents imprinted themselves onto your mind with little effort and it triggered your mouth to even salivate more and it seemed to act as a good sign for what you just had planned since your tongue hung out of your mouth to swipe over your lips in a slow-moving lick. You craned your head forward, the pointed tip of his cock rested against your plump bottom lip and in between the both of them, the tip of your tongue peeked through and it swiped against the dripping head in a testing lick, as if you were either showing Azrael how this would work or if you were giving yourself just a taste of his seed and seeing if your nose was deceiving your tongue. Azrael’s sharp teeth gritted, you could hear the sharpened bones clicking lightly against each other, and he sucked in a sharp breath through the small gaps, the hand that masked over his mouth and nose released him and started to rub down from the side of his neck, to his chest, and finally it dropped down to his side again, he grasped the hem of his shirt and his claws nearly tore into the thin, ocean-blue fabric. If he was like this after just one tiny lick, now, you found more of that confidence peering through your worry and doubt.

“Lemme take care of you, Azzy…~” You breathed out intentionally against the sensitive flesh of his cock, the tentacle-like appendage twitched in a wriggling jump while Azrael husked out a quiet groan to himself. Your mouth cracked open, the tip of his length snaked its way into your mouth, and as you pushed your head further and further down the inches, the exotic feelings and tastes overwhelmed you. The copious amount of pre spilling out of his tip and staining the back of your throat and tongue with the spines surrounding his shaft flared out and brushed against the roof of your mouth and the top of your flattened tongue, however, this time, they didn’t relax and go back down, it was like the spines were doing their unwritten and unspoken duty in keeping his cock sheathed far down your throat and mouth, and it was at that epiphany that you were thanking your shit ex for helping you out with something like this now. You pushed yourself more, and more, until, your lips halted at the top of his swollen knot, you peered at it, and as much as you would try maybe another time, today was not the day to risk a broken jaw trying to unhinge it to try and swallow his whole length, if anything, you were more impressed with how far you got on your first attempt. Azrael though, he was another story, he had the worry of being too big in more than one ways pierce at his psyche, he had question after question after question nervously wracking through his brain to the point where he didn’t know which one to ask first, if he had to do something, if you could take him, were you changing your mind at all, just to name a few and while, he was enjoying himself, more than he thought or imagined, your sound well-being came first overall. His hand fumbled with the crinkled hem of his shirt, if he was going to place it on you, now would be the most obvious time. So, with a light huff through his nose, his hand raised and much to your surprise, he planted it on the top of your head where his claws brushed through (hair color) tresses, petting the top of your head and your scalp gingerly, “Are you, mmhmf, doing...whatever it is you’re doing good, still, (name?) Don’t you, need to breathe, should I, mmf, sit down, pull back, I-” With a lift of your hand, you planted it onto his hip and it silenced his words, four blackened eyes met yours and with a watery wink and a muffled smile, you pulled your head back, smoothly, your tongue threading through the gaps in between his spines and it dragged across the bottom of his shaft, and just before his entire length left your mouth, you hurriedly slammed your head back down to his knot. Azrael’s head shot back, pulling a long, deep groan, deep from within the alien’s chest. You repeated this process a few times, sliding his cock almost all of the way out of your throat only to quickly swallow it down again until you found a steady, rhythmic pace to set for yourself, even your hand that was clamped around his base to hold his twitching length at the ready had replaced itself onto his other hip, and you gripped at him, fingers digging into blue skin, not enough to break the surface of it, not even in the silence, but mayhaps enough to cause a speckling of bruises to pop up later for him to be reminded of just what happened tonight. Your head bobbed up and down, your tongue danced around his shaft, grinding up against the sides of it and you did attempt a few times to swirl it completely around his thick shaft to no avail, at certain parts, so you made sure to give the poised spines extra attention by letting the tip of the muscle flick across a couple of specific ones. You swallowed around him, the constricting walls of your throat enveloped around his cock, massaging the tip and shaft. “Mmmhff~ Nnnhhff~ L-Little one, by the Gods themselves, your mouth, your throat~ So warm, so w-wet~ Tight~ It’s, is too much~ T-The fact that you, you humans do this, I-hnh-I won’t last long with, hhnff, with your skills~” The rest of Azrael’s words melted into his native tongue and while you could make out some words here and there, the rest almost sounded like complete lust-driven gibberish. He had leaned over you, his knees buckled like you had hoped, not enough to make him fall, but enough to make him not stand up straight anymore, and he had the edge of the bed to act as his savior to catch him if he did, and his hand that rested on the top of you head had inched to the back of it, and you could have sworn that you felt the faintest urging push of your head to swallow him down again. One of your hands had inched down from his side, it slid down the dip in between his crotch and thigh, and you cupped his sack again, your palm groping and rubbing against him, and you felt it, that tension inside of him starting to tighten further inside of him, he was getting close, it was sooner than you thought but again, this was all new territory for someone as battle-ridden as him, and you felt a sense of pride shimmer inside of you that you were the first person ever to do this to him, and with how he was, probably the only one too. You hollowed out your cheeks by sucking harder around him, and your head bobbed up and down his length faster than before, the quiet slurping that ghosted out from your lips was much more audible now, and the tip of his cock slammed against the back of your throat, muffled whines rattled through your body and shot through his length with gags and whimpers fluttering in between the latter and it didn’t take too much, maybe 2 or 3 more fast pumps of your head when a loud, ear-piercing, animalistic roar of pleasure ripped through Azrael’s body and shot out of his mouth. Wave after wave after wave of white hot pleasure crashed over his body when his orgasm rushed over him. His seed spurted out of his tip in thick, warm ropes, and with each pump, his hips trembled and bucked into your awaiting mouth and throat, his hot cum cascading down your throat in a sweet-tasting waterfall. His eyes were glued tight, staggering, trembling groans with the hint of growls rumbling through his body, his hand forced itself to release your strands and almost instantly, he forced his eyes to pry open to stare at his open palm and claws, checking to see if he tore anything out and with relief, even more so when he lazily inspected the back of your head and saw no imperfections, he stepped back gently, his hips relaxing and pulling back, his softened cock fled from your mouth and throat, strands of your saliva stretched out and connected your lips and his length together until you broke by licking your lips, and without it being buried so far down your throat, the air flew down into your lungs in a welcomed, deep gasp before you panted out heavily. “How…” your voice was hoarse, with a lick of your lips and a clearing of your throat in the form of a soft cough, you started again. “How was that?” You panted.

The alien stood back up straight, his pants were hiked back up and adjusted the way they were set before all the while panting breaths wracked through his body, making his chest heave. Strands of his pastel blue hair stuck to his forehead with the help of the sheen of sweat that coated his skin up there, “That was...if that was your throat alone, then the Gods have certainly blessed whoever will, hnn, be your mate, yes?” He rasped, “You don’t think it’ll be you?” You questioned back, and surprisingly, he chuckled tiredly through the catching of his breath. “A Goddess such as yourself should not have to settle on the first man who treats her with kindness, I am simply doing what should be done by the one you use to spend the rest of their life with you, what that excuse of a man should have done,” man, his culture was something else. It really did take you a moment or so that process really what he just pointed out, that the two of you doing this tonight, to him, because of what he’s been taught and brought up to, this could all mean nothing if you met something literally tomorrow and decided to stay with them for, forever, instead of him.

And he’d be okay with it. Your eyes softened, “Azzy-” His hands reached down and much like before, he hoisted your legs up and back over onto the mattress and adjusted you so that you laid comfortably against the slab before grabbing the edge of your blanket and pulling it up and over you to drape it across your still warm and humming body, “Now, you should be more than tired, yes? Talk to me later today if you wish, but for now, little one, I must see you in your dreams, hm? Greet me there with kindness, (name), pleasant night.” With one more kiss to the middle of your forehead, he leaned back up to his towering height, his eyes half-lidded and fixated on your face, a warm smile played at his lips before giving you one more final nod, and he turned around, you stared at his sculpted back, the words were at your lips again, but this time, it was too late, the door opened and Azrael stepped out, but, not before giving you one more tender, true smile and even a little wave with his fingers, and the door closed.

“...I love you, Azzy.” The words found their way on the path out of your mouth after all.

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thenightgazer · 3 years

Text

Spark of Stardust

Chapter 1 : An Interstellar Quest It's not a date. Vergil insists upon it, even when he doubts himself as he asks Lyra to accompany him to search for a perfect birthday gift for Kyrie. But just like the dying star that sparks its undying stardust; the "date" is just a start for him to get to know more about Lyra, as the librarian reveals her "little, deepest and darkest secrets"

Warning : implied psychological and drug abuse

Part 6 of Tales of Apotelesma

You can also read this fic on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~

It starts with a soft hand that brushes his face. The fuzzy sensation wakes him up. The lamp on the ceiling is the first thing he sees when he slowly opens his eyes wide awake. His eyes linger to his surroundings— and that shocks him because he’s no longer in his bedroom at Devil May Cry. He’s awakened in someone else’s bedroom. The wall is painted with warm colours and there is a large bookshelf besides the bed. When he turns his head to his left, he spots toys and trinkets which supposedly belong to a little girl, and there sits a young woman who smiles at him.

Where am I?

“How was your sleep?” she asks him. Her soft hand ruffles his hair gently. “You look so peaceful.”

He’s speechless. Not because he doesn’t want to answer, but his mouth won’t cooperate with his head. His survival instincts scream at him to get away from this situation, but all he could feel is numbness.

“I brought you dinner,” the beautiful woman continues. He observes her cautiously; she is approximately in her thirties, with long brunette hair and brown eyes. She looks like the kind of woman who looks absolutely harmless. The way her body moves is delicate. Her voice sounds appealing as she tells him the menu and hopes he will like it. She gives him the same warm impression as his own mother, but this woman seems shady. Her eyes remind him of someone... but he couldn’t remember the person. The same cold, void eyes...

“The nurse said you haven’t eaten since last night. You refused to take your medicines. Why? Don’t you want to get better?” Her voice turns colder. “When I heard that you refused to eat, I couldn’t concentrate on my work. I’m afraid you won’t get better. Now you will eat and take your medicine for me, okay?”

He can’t follow everything she has said just now. Who is this woman? What medicines? What nurse? But his head nods automatically as if his body is controlled by someone else, and that little gesture makes this woman’s warm smile appear on her pretty face again.

“Good. Let’s eat! After that, I’ll read you something exciting. How’s that sound?”

He nods obediently, opening his mouth to eat the porridge. He can’t feel the taste, nor can he sense the texture of the food. But the woman looks at him as if she would blast if he didn’t eat. The sound of friction between the spoon and the bowl drives him crazy. She’s making sure that he swallows the food as she cleans up his mouth. After the bowl is empty, she proceeds to pour something from a bottle—medicine— on a small spoon and look up at him, opening her mouth as a command for him to mimic her gesture. She seems delighted when he swallows the medicine.

“Atta girl.”

What is this nonsense? What is that thing she put inside me?

But he knows he won’t get the answer.

It’s all just a dream, right?

The woman walks to the bookshelf. Her fingers run through the book until she finds the one she desires. She sits back besides him again and opens the book, her fingers scan through the pages.

“You don’t like Cinderella, so I picked up this one,” she shows him the cover of the book. “I guarantee you’ll like it! It’s called The Hobbit, an adventure story. Your favourite, right?”

I do like adventure stories. But it isn’t my favourite. It’s Dante’s…

She starts her storytelling in a clear voice. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit...”

There’s something in her face when she reads. She seems more relaxed and softer than before, as if she got lost in the story. His suspicion is surprisingly gone while he listens to her and the familiarity strikes him again. She reminds him of his own mother when he was a child, reading him bedtime stories. Cambions in their early childhood needed a lot of sleep just like human children, but Dante and he always refused to sleep early and asked for more stories. There’s something peaceful about this familiarity. It calms him, then he decides to close his eyes again whilst the woman’s voice slowly fades away.

---

The dream shatters as Vergil’s cell phone rings loudly.

The hybrid lays still on his bed. He was sleeping for two hours just because he had no other options left to do aside from sleeping. Yet, even though his body doesn’t particularly need to sleep, he hates it when his slumber is interrupted. His hand reaches to find his phone and immediately pick it when he finds it on the desk beside his bed without seeing who’s calling him because he doesn’t bother to open his sleepy eyes.

“Dad?”

That familiar voice forces Vergil to open his eyes.

“Nero?”

“Yeah. You busy?”

“No,” Vergil throws a blanket from his naked chest as he moves his body to sit and brushes his hair. “What’s wrong, Nero?”

Nero doesn’t reply immediately. Vergil can hear a heavy sigh from his son and that makes him a bit anxious.

“Nothing wrong. Just...” The young devil hunter lets out another sigh. “Today is Kyrie’s birthday. She invites you and the crews for dinner at six. Uh… six as in Fortuna time, which is an hour later from Red Grave time. Just in case you got lost in time again.”

“Of course. We will be attending the dinner. Thank you for the invitation.”

“It’s Kyrie who invites you, not me.”

“...”

“... but having you around here is not so bad. The kids were always whining whenever you and Dante left the house.” Nero’s response is almost excited and eager, much to Vergil’s relief.

The picture of Julio, Carlo and Kyle somehow makes Vergil grins. “You did very well taking care of those little rascals.”

“Thanks,” there’s a pause before Nero continues. “Anyway, I should get going. Nico needs my help to do some crazy shit.”

“I hope all is well for you.”

“You too, I guess...” the young man clears his throat. “And... thank you. For accepting the invitation.”

“It’s the least I could do,” The blue devil smiles, his anxiety is gone as their interaction goes smoothly. “Carry on, son.”

“Y-yeah— bye, then.”

Warmth fills Vergil’s heart as he cleans up his bed and folds the blanket neatly. Never in his life would he have thought that he’d become a father. Even though it was unplanned, having a son does change his life. He has no parental figures to ask advice from and those parenting books are not helping at all, but he learns at his own pace. Two years of effort of atonement is nothing compared to his sins, yet he wants the very best for Nero and is very protective to him.

Then the word stings him.

Birthday, huh?

Ever since he was a little boy, Vergil has never understood the concept of celebrating birthdays. For him, birthday is just another day to pass. If anything, it seems like people love to celebrate the day when their life spans decrease. People are getting old, so what? Why do we celebrate that irony? Is that because of the presents and cake? Little Vergil never found the answer, but he did feel happy whenever he received presents and ate his birthday cake, even if that means he had to share it with his twin, Dante (he had given up the dream of having his own cake, since being twins means sharing almost everything). He didn’t even think about birthdays until Nero reminded him.

I wonder if he knows his birthday...

Vergil walks to the bathroom and washes his face. He looks at the mirror and the man guy in the mirror stares back at him. His reflection somehow reminds him of the strange dream. What was that dream about? It seems visceral, like it was my own memory. His heartbeat gets faster when he has a dreadful negative thought that it could be Mundus’ mind manipulation. If that was Mundus, it’s too pointless. He’d use my own memories to torture me, not with some kind of irrelevant vision.

“Mornin’,” Dante shoves himself besides Vergil and yawns. “I’m hungry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Hungry.”

Dante bursts into laughter. “Since when are you into dad jokes?”

“I’ll take the shower first.” Ignoring Dante’s question, Vergil picks up a dry towel and gets inside the shower cubicle.

Dante takes off his shirt and stretches his muscles. He washes his face and begins to shave his beard. “You said you fought Angelo demons at last week’s gig, right? Heard from Lady the same Angelo demons got sighted at another city. We still don’t have any information on who created and summoned them.”

Vergil wipes the droplets of water from his face. “It seems like those Angelo demons were none like all the artificial demons we have ever seen before. Their form, their abilities, their durability. They looked rather... futuristic, I'd say. I got an impression that the new Angelo was created mostly by advanced science rather than magic.”

“Another thing happened these past weeks. There are three outbursts at restricted medical facilities in different cities.”

“What medical facility?”

“Trish said that the three of them were research laboratories owned by Ravenhill Corporation.”

“Isn’t that the same corporation that won a peace award or something like that?”

“Yeah. The Ravenhills are an influential aristocrat with power over the health and security industry. Most of the health facilities in this world are sponsored and if not, owned by Ravenhill Corporation. They have a branch company here in this city too.”

“And do you think those incidents have a connection with the appearance of Angelo demons?”

“Just a gut feeling, but that’s worth investigating, better safe than sorry, aight?” Dante brushes his hair and flips it back like Vergil. “Hey, I look just like you with this hairstyle! Perhaps I should go with this style from now on.”

“If you’re done talking, get out of the bathroom.”

“This is MY bathroom!”

“And I’m the one who cleans up the mess you’ve created in this house, Dante.”

“Fine~!” Dante chuckles as he cleans up the remaining shaving foam from his jaw. “Have you bought something for Kyrie’s birthday? Got missed calls and a text about the dinner party from Nero.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve been thinking of giving her a fancy revolver. Heard from Nero that she’s quite good at using guns.”

“... do you really think that women fancy weapons as a gift?”

“Trish and Lady do. But hey! You can go ask our clever librarian!” Dante's face lightens up in exhilaration.

Vergil turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his waist as he opens the cubicle. “What do you mean by ’our’?!”

“Yours, then. She’s a normal civilian woman. Perhaps she can recommend you a perfect gift for Kyrie.”

No, if only you know that she’s not normal! “... you’re probably right.”

A teasing whistle comes from Dante as he takes off his pants and walks inside the cubicle. “As Yoda said, Verge, ‘ do or do not. There is no try ’. Call her and ask her out for a date.”

“I’m not taking any advice from a man who has rotten luck with women. And who is Yoda?”

“Call it what you want it. If you’re not asking her out, I’ll go ask her by myself.”

“Not before I step over your dead body.”

“Ha! Someone’s jealous for realsies~”

Vergil walks away from the bathroom before his inner turmoil tempts him to try to kill Dante… again. His insolent brother might have been teasing him too much, but in a way he’s right. He needs to find someone trusted enough to help him buy the perfect gift for Kyrie.

But she’s on duty today is her work day. I won’t make it right on time to the party if I have to wait for her shift to end.

He’s still thinking about it when he enters his room on the second floor and grabs his phone. Lyra’s contact name is showing up, but he hesitates. It’s still 9 o’clock. The library must have just opened.

After having a quite long internal battle with himself, he decides to call her anyway.

It takes a little bit long for Lyra to finally pick up her phone. Vergil catches the sound of her voice and a man’s laugh who Vergil assumes is Nate. “Bugger off for a minute, will you? — Clayton here.”

“Lyra.”

“Oh, hello Vergil!”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all! Is there anything I can help you with?”

“... yes.”

“Are you okay? You sound like you want to cry.”

“I am certainly not,” Vergil groans at Lyra’s giggle. “Yet, I do believe I need your help.”

“Name it!”

“... it’s about a birthday present.” Vergil clears his throat. “Do you remember Kyrie, my son’s fiancée? She will be celebrating her birthday this evening. She invited Dante and I to her house for dinner.”

“I see.”

“Kyrie has always been there for Nero,” he continues. “She helped guide him to become the person he is now. She took care of him while I wasn’t there for him. She’s an important person to my son. That’s why... at least I have to show her some respect.”

“By giving her a decent birthday present.”

“Yes.”

“I think she will appreciate everything you give to her.”

“She will, certainly. She’s too polite to reject a present, but I don’t want her to think that I’m a careless father-in-law by giving her a gratuitous gift.”

“You’re right. I’d be delighted to accompany you to buy the present, but…I’m on duty right now. I’m afraid I couldn't help you any further.”

“That I know. That’s why I call for your advice.”

“I suggest something small, but meaningful. You told me she love to sing, right? Maybe a vinyl of classical music would — what in the bloody—! Nate! Give me back my phone at once!”

Vergil hears them grumbling and arguing at something. He considers to just hang up the phone given to his hunch that Lyra and Nate are probably having a fight right now, but suddenly he hears Nate’s voice as the young librarian speaks to him.

“Mr. Vergil? It’s Nate!”

This scoundrel's audacity...! “I recognize your voice, Nathaniel. What are you doing with Lyra’s phone?”

“Err... sorry for the interruption, but Lyra forced me to tell you this myself, or else you won’t believe her! I told her that I don’t mind if she wants to go on a date with you! My father won’t be checking on the library today!” Nate lets out a dry chuckle to break the ice, but since Vergil says nothing, Nate continues to speak. “She insisted on at least working today, so I told her to finish the duty earlier so she could spend her time with you. That’s all! Oh yeah, a little advice here; Lyra has a terrible sense of direction, means that you should hold her close— ouch!”

A sound of a book slapped on Nate’s head comes to Vergil’s ear. The next is Lyra’s nervous voice talking to him. “Vergil? You heard Nate. So... we meet at three. How’s that sound?”

“I’ll pick you up at the library.”

“Okay!”

“Then... I’ll see you around.”

“Cheerio!”

Vergil hangs up the phone, unexpectedly feeling the queasiness after he recalls the word ‘date’ as Dante and Nate said earlier. Foolish. We are not dating. We are just going to buy a birthday present. That’s all. Stop this unnecessary disquietude. It’s just Lyra—

“Tell me you’re not gonna go on a date with your boring clothes!”

Vergil hardly glances to his side and sees Patty’s figure standing by his door. The twenty years old girl is wearing an apron and holding a broom in her hand. “At least wear something stylish! You and Dante are all hopeless! No wonder the two of you haven’t gotten married yet!”

“I believe that’s none of your concern, Miss Lowell. And although I lack what humans would consider common sense, the last time I know about human norms and etiquette, that it is rude to trespass on someone's private space and eavesdrop on other people’s conversation.”

“I’m not eavesdropping! I just happened to pass this room while cleaning this house because lately you are not present in this house and Dante is being a lazy bastard as usual! Show some gratitude!”

“Thank you for your help. But as you can see now, I am here and that means I will do the household job while you can go disturb Dante’s peace now.”

“Hey! I heard that!” Dante shouts from the first floor.

“Anyways, let me help you to choose better clothes for you!” Patty insists. “I don’t know who this girl is because Dante won’t tell me, but she seems special to you. You need to dress at your best! Impressing a girl on their first date is a must!”

“I’ll forgive your impudent attitude this time if you kindly close the door, Miss Lowell. I need to put some clothes on.”

Realizing that Vergil wears nothing but a towel wrapped on his waist, Patty flusters as she looks away and grabs the door knob violently. “Fine!”

The blue devil chuckles softly when he hears Patty goes downstairs and screams at Dante for whatever antics that he does right now. He searches through his wardrobe, pondering if Patty was right. And maybe she is. He’s about to blend into society, that means he needs to look less suspicious. He should wear something casual and humane.

Humans and their fashion. Even demons are much simpler.

He picks some clothes with a hope that he won’t look too ridiculous.

---

“Do you think he’s the type of person who brings flowers for a date?” Nate throws paper planes at Lyra’s direction, which she blocks it all with a book.

“Why do you insist that this is a date? We are friends. Friends go hang out sometimes.” Lyra says.

“Dammit, Lyre! You are older than me but I can’t believe you’re so clueless about this. Even idiots could tell that he likes you!”

Lyra groans desperately. “That’s it. That’s the problem of modern society. People nowadays confuse politeness with flirting!”

“Sometimes both work simultaneously! And that’s the case of Mr. Vergil. Sure, he’s polite to everyone even though he always looks like he wanted to kill someone. But he’s different with you; he’s not just polite, but kind. That’s two different things!”

Lyra half-heartedly listens to Nate’s babble; despite she already knows what is inside Nate’s mind. She knows what he means about Vergil being kind only to her, and Nate’s mind interprets how soft Vergil is whenever he’s around her. The thought of those forms of romanticism confuses her. Being a telepath, she has seen and listened into people’s minds for almost her entire life. She’s no stranger to the concept of love according to universal belief, yet she still doubts its existence.

Sometimes, what people think about something isn’t always synchronized with how they feel about it.

And speaking of which, I haven’t heard Nate’s thoughts since fifteen seconds ago...

“He’s here!” Nate declares as he looks up at the window near the front door. “Wait, uh... is it really him?”

“What?”

“He looks... different.” Nate mumbles. “And he didn’t bring flowers. Guess he’s not the flower type of guy.”

“On the contrary, he is.” Lyra takes a brief look at her appearance in the mirror and puts on eyeglasses before giving a wink at Nate. “See you tomorrow!”

“Now who’s excited about the date!?”

She giggles throughout her journey to the front door, only to be surprised when she opens the door and finds Vergil standing in front of her and about to open the door too. But today he looks stunningly different; he is wearing as black shirt beneath a navy-blue casual coat. His dark trousers make him look taller than usual. He changes his footwear into a pair of black chukka boots. Even with his usual warrior clothes, Vergil Sparda is already breathtakingly handsome. His casual look just enhances his majestic stature.

Lyra has never really given any attention to fashion, but now she can’t take her eyes off of him. “What’s with the sudden change in your sense of fashion?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I like it!” she blurts. “You look… so… normal”

“Is it just me or does it sound like an insult?”

“It’s a compliment!”

“... thank you, I suppose,” Vergil reluctantly scratches his nape. “Shall we go now?”

“Let’s!”

Lyra glares at Nate who’s giving her double thumbs up and loudly wishing her good luck before she closes the door.

“So,” the librarian walks side by side with Vergil. “Do you remember I mentioned that I purchased my devil arm at an antique shop?”

“Yes. What’s with that?”

“I think it’s a good place to start our quest. The shop sells antique weapons, jewelries, old books and trinkets. Perfect collection for Kyrie.”

“Very well. Where’s this shop located?”

“Nova Town.”

“It’s too far from here.”

“Lucky for us, you have Yamato.”

“I’m beginning to think that you see me as a mere means tool of transportation.”

“Maybe,” she winks playfully. “But you are too decent to be a mere tool, my dearest friend.”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, “Let’s find an empty alley first.”

---

“That was the first time I saw Lyra smiling like that,” Nate mutters at himself as he taps something on his cell phone. “Good for her! Ever since I saw their chemistry on the murder in the library weeks ago, I know they’re going to form a relationship soon!”

The twenty four years old librarian giggles at his own fantasy while drowning himself further into a mobile game he always plays whenever he has free time. He almost startled himself when the bell rings and a customer comes in. Nate abruptly pauses the game and greets the guest. “Welcome to The Literarium!”

The guest — a tall and ginger-haired man — returns Nate’s greeting with a nod. A suspicion arises in Nate’s head as he observes the man’s eyes that are covered with sunglasses. Why the hell does he wear sunglasses indoors? He continues to follow the man’s movement, which is also suspicious. The man seems detached from reality as he stares at one of the shelves quite long without really doing anything, not even touching the books. He walks slowly to another section, again without any interest in the books. The man seems eager to look for something as he repeatedly tilts his head to look outside the window, but Nate is certain that he’s not here for books. Then why bother coming here if he’s not interested in books? Nate clicks his pen anxiously. Paranoia begins to consume him. What if he wants to rob this place?!

The ginger-haired man approaches the sale section and finally picks a book. He looks at the cover briefly before heading to the counter. Nate fakes a polite smile when he scans the book— Lord of the Flies by William Golding— and forces himself to make a small talk. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

The man nods while giving Nate his money. “I agree.”

“You like allegorical one, huh?”

The man furrows his brow. “Sorry?”

Nate lifts the copy of Lord of the Flies . “You don’t know that Golding wrote one of the best allegorical novels all the time?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I only recognized it as one of the bestseller books,” the man chuckles. His laughter surprisingly sounds very friendly. “I picked it because the synopsis reminds me of the past.”

“Jesus, what a chaotic past you must have back then.” Nate gives him the book and his change.

“Quiet so,” the man flips the page, but Nate can sense he’s focusing on another thing. “By the way, the woman who wears eyeglasses… She came out from this place with a man about five minutes ago. Does she work here?”

Shit, another Lyra’s admirer. That explains my suspicion! “Yeah. You know her?”

“She looks like a person I used to know. Quite different, but I spot some similarities.”

“Maybe they are the same person?”

“The same person?” the man chuckles again as he closes the book. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“She died years ago.”

“Oh, man… I’m so sorry...”

“It’s fine. She wasn’t related to me, just a person I knew. At first glance, your friend looks eerily similar to her,” the man’s face abruptly turns into doubt and anxious. Nate swears he can see his hands tremble. “I was terribly surprised when I saw your friend out there. I thought the woman I knew was alive again. What is the name? Your lady friend, I mean.”

“Louisa.” Nate lightly says his lie as soon as he’s aware of the man’s intention. I’m not doing anything wrong. Lyra told me to fake a name in case some flirty bastards ask me her name.

“Louisa, then. Pretty name,” the man seems pleased at Nate’s answer. “Thank you. Lovely library, anyway. Good day for you.”

“Thank you. Happy reading and have a good day!”

He’s different from any of Lyra’s secret admirers, Nate feels uneasy about the man’s strange attitude even though the man has already taken his leave. He makes a mental note to contact Lyra soon after he closes the library. “That guy looks like he’s about to plan something fishy. But I can’t disturb Lyra and Mr. Vergil right now.”

Nate grabs his cell phone and restarts the game with a hope that nothing bad would happen.

---

She’s strangely quiet today.

Ever since they arrived at Nova Town, Vergil catches something unusual from Lyra. She guides the way to the antique shop without talking to him but carefully watches her surroundings. But at the same time, she seems to lose her focus and sometimes stares blankly at something. They have been walking for almost 30 minutes and they haven’t arrived at the antique shop yet. Also, that’s not the only thing from her that is unusual... “You wear eyeglasses.”

“Huh?” Lyra automatically touches her eyeglasses. “Why? You don’t like a girl with eyeglasses?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“You have a funny way to compliment others, don’t you?”

“I have never seen you wearing eyeglasses before. I thought I was looking at a completely different person when you opened the door earlier.”

“I always wear eyeglasses whenever I’m out to shop, just for aesthetic purposes. I’ll take it off if that makes you uncomfortable—”

“Please don’t. You look lovely with that.”

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome. Are we getting closer to the shop?”

“… I think so?”

Vergil stops abruptly, “Tell me we are not lost.”

“W-we’re not!” she stutters in panic. “I’m just having a little confusion here, because this town looks different from the last time I came here. It has only been two years and the town is already changing...”

“Are you even certain that we are in the right town?”

“One hundred percent certain!”

“Then tell me,” Vergil curves a devilish grin. “Is Nathaniel right? That you have a terrible sense of direction?”

A light blush blooms on Lyra’s face. “Uh... yeah— but we are in the right town! For real! Just because I have a terrible sense of direction, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot!”

“Yet we are lost, aren’t we?”

“We are not! See that monument over there? It’s the town’s icon. We just have to turn left to that road and the antique shop should be on the right corner.”

Vergil watches the monument that Lyra mentioned before he glances at her again with doubtful looks. “Alright, then. But why don’t you use… what is it again... GPS?”

“Later. I’m practicing my sense of direction by practicing my telepathic ability.”

“Does your telepathic ability have something to do with your sense of direction?”

“Since the murder in the library, I’m practicing to read people’s mind whenever you’re around me because your magical defense blocks my telepathic ability. Normally, all I need to do is just focus on their minds and find out if some of them have knowledge of the place I’m about to go.”

“Why bother? You still can read minds by touching their body parts.”

“That’s impractical! Not everyone wants to be touched. Just imagine if I need to touch a person with haphephobia.”

“I thought you like it when you don’t have to read minds anymore.”

“Just in case of an emergency. Who knows if we would find any strange cases again, or if I’m stuck with Dante and there’s an urgent situation where I’m required to smuggle into someone’s head.”

“Hold on. Your telepathy doesn’t work on Dante too?”

“I guess the power of Sparda includes protection from telepaths.”

“I see. Now I understand,” Vergil scoffs. “The reason why you were awfully quiet since we stepped in this town is that you tried to practice your telepathic ability to find out the antique shop’s direction, so you won’t embarrass yourself in front of me because you have poor sense of direction and you think having to use GPS would make you look unreliable as a guide.”

Lyra hides her hands behind her back and stares at the ground, which to Vergil indicates that everything he said is true and that she’s embarrassed to admit it. To be very honest, he doesn’t think that Lyra does something wrong. He just wants to clarify things behind her unusual behavior, but it unconsciously sounds like he’s scolding her for her little secret.

“Just use the GPS if you need it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. That won’t make me think less of you.”

Lyra seems to hesitate at first, but eventually shrugs and takes her phone out from her bag. Vergil quietly smirks at her surrender.

“Fortunately, we’re on the right track!” She shows Vergil the map. “Thank you for your encouragement, Vergil. That’s the longest advice you ever said to me.”

He shrugs it off. “I guess that’s what friends are for.”

“Still, that means a lot to me.”

“Just forget it. Then how’s your practice going?”

“Still doing my best. The first time I tried to read someone’s mind without touching them whenever you were around me, it was all nothing. But now I can see blurry images and hear buzzing sound!” She smiles at him, her eyes beam as she points at the rustic shop at the corner of the street. “Look! We've arrived!”

When Vergil enters the antique shop, he expects the shopkeeper to greet them with unstoppable pestering offers like all the shopkeepers normally do. That’s why he hates shopping. Thankfully the shopkeeper is sleeping on the counter, like she doesn’t care if someone steals one of the items. The shop itself is quiet and the goods are all unique. The problem is, Vergil doesn’t know where to start searching. There are many items that Vergil puts a certain degree of interest in—necklaces, bracelets, clocks, paintings—but he doesn’t think that it would be useful or meaningful to Kyrie. He starts to think about Dante’s suggestion to give her a weapon for self-protection. It seems easier than this endless searching.

“Do you know the biggest dilemma when it comes to shopping? You expect to find a certain thing, but when you’re in the shop, suddenly you’re not sure what to buy anymore.” Lyra chuckles at Vergil’s confused expression.

“Evidently,” Vergil picks an antique revolver. “I think I want to give her a weapon.”

“Is Kyrie an excellent combatant?”

“She can take care of herself, though she still needs a lot of practice, but she won’t survive a second if she had to fight multiple opponents.”

“Mmmm... okay but... how about something for protection from the demons?”

“That will do. It’s way more practical and useful.”

“Alright. Let’s ask the shopkeeper.”

Vergil points his chin at the counter. “She’s sleeping.”

“I’ll wake her up.” Lyra fixates her focus on the shopkeeper until she slowly raises her head from the counter table and rubs her eyes.

Vergil almost couldn’t hide his amusement. She can wake someone up from slumber? How advanced is her ability actually?

The shopkeeper yawns loudly. “Welcome. How can I help y’all?”

“We’re looking for an item for protection from demons. Do you have anything suitable for that?” Lyra asks.

The shopkeeper looks straight to Lyra’s eyes, then to Vergil’s. She sighs as she walks to the weapon cabinet. “I don’t have much of that, but I have this one. Take a look.” she mumbles, handing Lyra a red music box. The music box looks captivating with a rose pattern carved on the box. When Lyra opens the music box, Vergil recognizes the box is playing Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier.

“Lovely, but I don’t see what’s so special about the music box,” Vergil mutters his doubt.

“Easy, dude. Push the button near the mirror to open the secret room behind it.”

Lyra does the exact instruction until the secret room is opened and reveals a golden bracelet inside.

“What’s that for?” Lyra asks.

“It will glow red whenever there's demons nearby,” the shopkeeper lights her cigarette and walks back to the counter. “When the bracelet glows, you press it and close your eyes, because it will cast a very blinding light. It’ll blind and burn demons and that’s the best time for you to run away.”

Lyra glances at Vergil, who’s examining the music box and the bracelet. She holds her giggle when she notices that the bracelet glows in red when Vergil holds it and abruptly puts it back to the secret room behind the mirror before the shopkeeper notices it.

“I guess the bracelet couldn’t distinguish demons and cambions,” she whispers to him.

“This should be fine,” Vergil forms a satisfied grin. “It has both protection advantage and aesthetical function. Perfect.”

“You take that?!” the shopkeeper shouts eagerly.

“Yes,” Vergil replies. “Is there a money-back guarantee in case the item doesn’t properly work?”

“This is an antique shop, dude. Some items might not working at all—”

“I believe I don’t have to repeat myself.” Vergil insists.

The shopkeeper gulps at Vergil’s unspeakable death threat within his icy eyes, knowing that there’s no use to argue with a man like Vergil. “Dammit, fine! Now can I get my money?”

Lyra howls with laughter, “Blimey, you are a terrifying customer.”

Vergil grins in pride as he heads to the counter.

---

The birthday party will begin in an hour, but Vergil chooses to spend the rest of the time with Lyra at the Sparda Manor. During the day time, they only meet in the library. That makes their little adventure today seem rare... and fun. Lyra buys them ice creams at the end of their journey in Nova Town. She can’t hold her laughter when she catches Vergil’s eyes sparking in childish interest as he holds his ice cream once the magic portal opens its way to the Manor.

“The shopkeeper was different from the one whom I met two years ago. He was nice and helpful,” Lyra murmurs, licking her bubblegum ice cream. “Guess he didn’t work there anymore. We get a sleepyhead instead.”

Vergil says nothing as he examines his blueberry ice cream cone. His memory of V eating cheeseburger hits him. “Why do humans think that creating something messy is a good idea?”

“It’s called innovation, Vergil.”

“Messy innovation.”

“As long as people like it, it is considered as a great innovation.”

He finally gives up and chomps his ice cream. “This is not bad.”

“Tell me this is not your first time eating ice cream.”

“I might be inexperienced in human lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I never tasted ice cream.”

It’s strange, Vergil recalls the moment when they used to be strangers before Almagest helped them to get closer. Now they stand side by side and talk about stuff like old friends to the point where he could never get enough of her companionship. He lets her wander around his childhood house, even if he barely calls it a house now. He lets out a silent chuckle when she lifts a pile of rocks up to the air just to see what hides behind it, only to find another ruins and she’s slightly disappointed.

“For a second I thought your father was Johann Sebastian Bach.” Lyra looks up at Sparda’s family painting.

“You are not the first person who said that.”

She laughs. “Oh look at you… stoic since you were born. And I already got a picture on Dante being impatient while the painter kept asking him to stand still.”

“Pretty much correct. He complained how itchy his feet were at the end of the session.”

“Your mother was gorgeous,” Lyra admires Eva’s angelic stature. “No wonder Sparda fell for her.”

Vergil forms a wistful smile. “She was.”

“This painting reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray .”

“Pray tell, why?”

“Dorian sold his soul to the devil for eternal youth, and it decayed his self-portrait painting every time he did a sin. Of course your family portrait is a different case, but you see, your mother’s face is the only one that didn’t get burned by fire. It’s like a sign that she was the only human in the family…”

“And the rest of the family members were cursed by the evil blood that ran in their veins. That’s why the faces of the three of us were burned. That’s a picturesque perspective.”

“I didn’t say that demon is always evil—”

“I know. Still, it’s a good metaphor. Haven’t thought of it myself.”

“Why don’t you take the painting with you? People keep their family portrait in their house.”

“Dante and I agreed to leave it here as a sign that this mansion once belonged to our family. Besides, I can’t imagine such a painting to be hanged on the shop’s soiled wall. It would be a disgrace for the painting itself.”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think you are right.”

Lyra continues to lift some rocks and put it back carefully once she finds nothing interesting.. “Have you been in there again after you escaped the Underworld with Dante?”

“To collect mementos, yes. Though, as you can see, nothing much was left since Urizen destroyed the whole city. Not to mention almost all parts of the house were destroyed or blocked by pillars and huge stones. We tried to remove them, but it’d cause a domino effect throughout the manor and demolish it completely.” 

“How did it feel to visit your childhood home again?”

Vergil swallows his ice cream at once. He puts a handkerchief out from his coat and wipes his lips. “It felt mostly heartbreaking.”

“I see,” Lyra nods and gives Vergil a light pat on his shoulder. “Not everyone could even come back to the place where their trauma began. Not that it’s necessary. I just found it encouraging.”

“Speaking of memento, what was the most valuable present you had ever received?” Vergil curiously asks.

“Oh, we start to have a small talk now?”

“I thought we agreed to trust each other, don’t we? Then we should start from mundane things.”

“Alright. Make sense. Let me recall it… mmmm… oh right! A lyre!”

“You play lyre? Amazing.”

“I thought you were about to say ironic.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You know, a lyre plays a lyre.”

Vergil smirks, recalling her remark on their previous little adventure, “You’re right. It’s ironically amazing.”

The librarian rolls her eyes as she bites the ice cream cone. “My mum bought me one for my fifth birthday. It only lasted for two months before I asked her to give me a harp for the next birthday.”

“Did she finally buy you a harp?”

“She didn’t.”

“Why?”

“She died before my next birthday.”

Vergil immediately stared at Lyra’s sullen eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles at him, chewing the last part of her cone. “It was a long time ago.”

Lyra has so many things she hides behind her amicable demeanor, and Vergil should’ve feel relieved because after all these months, Lyra finally opens up a little bit about her family, yet he doesn’t feel it at all.

“Were you close with your mother?” Vergil’s tone is full of consideration.

Lyra taps her fingers on her chin. “I guess so. We only had each other.”

“… How did she… die?”

The librarian smirks at him. “If I told you she fell from the tree, would you believe me?”

“Only if that’s the truth.”

She goes silent for a while, seeming unwilling to continue her story. She opens an empty drawer, looking at nothingness for a while. “You might’ve heard about her.”

“Your mother?”

“Uh-uh,” Lyra nods calmly, but Vergil senses a slight hesitation. “Her name was Asteria Crescent.”

Impossible! “The award-winning astronomer?”

“Astrobiologist, yes.”

“I see. That explains your fondness of astronomy.”

The first time Vergil heard about Asteria Crescent was when he was eleven years old, still homeless and constantly moved out from place to place in search of power. Asteria’s groundbreaking research of modern astrobiology broke the news. Her discovery led the scientists to rethink human’s position in this world and question the exact location of the Underworld in the known universe, considering demons as an extraterrestrial creature with its own origin and evolution. Demons and magic are inseparable, but Asteria Crescent was brave to make a further step to explain demonology in a scientific approach. Science and magic are two sides of a coin , Vergil recalls her statements. Science just has yet to understand magic.

“Asteria was a Titan goddess of falling stars and nighttime divinations. That suited her very well,” Lyra chuckles bitterly, swinging her hand to lift a pile of ruins back to its place. “I once wondered why she didn’t name me Hecate, daughter of Asteria and goddess of witchcraft. Maybe at that time, she didn’t have a thought that someday I’ll develop this… psychic ability.”

“The media never reported anything regarding her cause of death. It happened all so sudden, they said.”

“They always spoke highly of her. But when she died, they turned the story into rumors and gossip.”

“So did she fall from the tree?”

“She did fall.”

“But not from the tree.”

Vergil’s demonic eyes catch Lyra’s body slightly flinching, but she maintains her calmness and fakes a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you further about your private life.”

“You entrusted me your biggest secret. I intend to do so. I’m just… not ready to open up, but I know that I want to.”

“When I said that we should try to trust each other, I didn't mean that you should abruptly open yourself to me.”

“Too late. Now you know I’m the daughter of a dead astrobiologist.”

“Why did you change your surname then?”

Lyra stops and gazes at Vergil. She seems anxious while glancing at her surroundings carefully, as if she’s afraid that someone else would hear them. Vergil slightly bows his body when Lyra whispers in his ear.

“I’m being hunted.”

The furrow on Vergil’s brow is going deeper. “By whom?”

“Someone who wants to abuse my power. That’s why I need to change my surname and hang out around wearing eyeglasses, so people won’t find out about my identity.”

For a moment, they stand still there, staring at each other’s eyes to find some clues. It’s logical that Lyra’s unique ability would attract power-seekers, be it humans or demons. Vergil knows it too well; the danger of possessing a greater power. A part of him wants to believe her words…

If only he failed to spot a subtle grin on the corner of her lips.

I would be absolutely fooled by her deception, Vergil grunts discontentedly. "You are lying, aren’t you?”

Lyra’s laughter echoes throughout the lake.

Vergil snarls at her unstoppable giggle. "Quite a jester, I see.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Vergil doesn’t bother to reply, because he knows it would lead to another bickering. He doesn’t try to hide his amused smile too, even though Lyra teases him about the ‘sly devil smile’. To be honest, he couldn’t care less. He just wants to see her smile, her true smile.

Like the way she’s smiling right now.

“Do you want to have a look at the lake?” Vergil offers, trying to lift the mood. “There’s nothing left to see here.”

“Sure!”

They sit on the cobblestone pier in the lake while admiring the twilight sky. It’s Vergil’s favorite place, ever since he was a child. This place has changed; there are no more Qliphoth roots left and there are several trees and wildflowers growing on the land. The lake no longer contains human blood. It’s mesmerizing how fast time flies and changes the entire city.

“I used to spend my days here, reading and playing with Dante,” Vergil says. “We loved being here more than staying indoors.”

“I can see the reason. It’s bloody beautiful here.” Lyra mutters her admiration. She taps her fingers on the cobblestone playfully, causing a small rift in the lake.

“Dante once pushed me to the lake because we fought over a chocolate bar,” Vergil recalls one of his precious memories. “I pretended to be drowned. He pulled me out of the water and cried, pleaded to me for not leaving him alone and that he’s sorry. Promised me that he won’t disturb me again. Right when he shook my body to wake me up, I pushed him to the lake but he managed to drag me with him.”

Lyra can’t hold her howls of laughter. She chortles until her stomach hurts and her throat gets sore. Vergil swears he never saw her laughing like this. “I’m sorry— I— HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Lower your voice,” Vergil grunts. He starts to regret his decision for rambling about his childhood antics just to get rid of Lyra’s gloomy face. “You might end up choking yourself to death.”

“ Pfffftttt!”

“Will you shut up?!”

“Sorry!” Lyra bites her thumb to hold her cackle but fails. “I just… bwahahaha! It seems that ‘never hold a grudge to the people who wronged you’ is true!”

Vergil pulls her thumb away from her teeth, caressing her reddened thumb. “A little deeper, you would bleed your thumb.”

The careful touch from Vergil distracts Lyra for a while. It’s the first time he holds her without gloves on, and it surprises her how soft his palm is despite the fact that he is a warrior who wields various weapons. Her thumb slips lightly from his palm. “Even if I bleed, I got your Lucy Pevensie’s cordial to heal me.”

Vergil sighs heavily as he removes some strands of Lyra’s hair from her forehead. “I gave it to you for an emergency case only. The cordial was made mostly from demon’s blood, mixed with rare herbs and some complicated spells to make it suitable for human’s bodies. Even the bottle was made from demon’s materials to prevent physical damage. Trish produced only a few bottles of cordial, so use it wisely.”

“I will,” Lyra picks out the cordial bottle from her bag and shows it to Vergil. “See? I haven’t used it since Capulet.”

“Put it back into your bag before it slipped from your hand and fell into the lake.”

“Alright alright! Why do you sound a lot like my mother?” Lyra puts the bottle back into her bag.

“You are clumsy and easily distracted. I have to keep my eyes on you every time. It’s rather distressing.”

“I can take care of myself!” Lyra lays a punch on Vergil’s chest. “Remember, I weakened Phantom last week, so you devil twins could kill that spider easily!”

The cambion smirks disdainfully to her weak strike. He puts something off from the back of his coat and hands it to Lyra. It’s an old book with a black leatherbound with the title engraved in a beautiful golden emboss. “Your payment for escorting me today.”

Lyra observes the front cover with beaming eyes. “The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe...”

“It’s one of the mementos I brought from the Manor. I reckon you would love Poe, given to your fondness of horror and mystery.”

“Then I have to refuse! It’s yours!”

“I believe I made myself clear when I said the book is for you.”

Lyra was about to refuse again, but quickly zip her mouth when Vergil glared at her with his terrifying and undeniable gaze. He won’t take any ‘no’ from her. She flips the pages, and something almost falls from the book before Lyra catches it quickly; an antique necklace with an obsidian pendant. She takes a closer look at the pendant and recognizes the familiar white, shiny dots pattern on it— the Lyra constellation.

“… did you pick this one too from the manor?” Lyra asks carefully.

“… it was from the antique shop.”

“I didn’t see you strolling around the jewelry section.”

“It was displayed on the counter. Nothing special. Just normal jewelry. The pattern just reminded me of you—”

Vergil can’t finish his sentence because Lyra wraps her arms between his waist, locking him in a tight embrace. He can feel the strange, but comfortable warmth fills his body as he returns to hug her without hesitation. Her body is so small and shorter compared to his height that he needs to bow slightly in order to balance the embrace. He loves her scent— a strange mixture of peach, black tea and old roses— and quietly inhales the intoxicating fragrance from her hair. He feels like he could do this all day.

“Thank you,” Lyra’s murmur vibrates his chest. “I’ll cherish this forever.”

“It's just a book and a necklace.”

“These are the best presents since the lyre from my mum!” she chuckles. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually hug people around.”

“Neither do I.”

“So let us hug a bit longer, shall we?”

“It looks like I have no choices but to comply.”

For a moment, they banish their distrusts about each other, breaking the adamant barrier and wishing the time to stop ticking.

---

Yesterday, Lyra dreamt of a boy who wanders around a big house.

She thought it was just a meaningless dream, at least until she realized that she was the boy himself. She looked at her— his — reflection in the mirror; the little boy was handsome with swept back silver hair and a black pajama. His serious and grumpy expression reminded of someone she couldn’t remember yet. She— the boy —wandered off around a big and dark house. It wasn’t her own intention; like her movement was controlled by someone else. She opened a chamber and let herself in. There was a woman who lay unconscious on the bed. Lyra could see traces of tears on the woman’s sullen face. Her body forced her to lift the quilt to cover the woman’s body and tip-toed herself out from the room.

When she was about to go back to her room, she heard a wheezing cry and followed the voice to the main hall. It didn’t take her too long to find out the source of the voice as her hand reached to open a white drawer, where another little boy with the same silver hair cried inside it.

“Vergil…” that little boy stared at her with a turbulent sob coming out from his mouth. “Father… you… you d-d-don’t believe that he died… r-right?”

I am…Vergil?

Does that mean that this crying boy… Dante?

The next thing Lyra remembered was she woke up with tears stream down her face like a waterfall, soaking her pillow. She was sure the sadness she felt in the entire dream wasn’t hers, but Vergil and Dante’s. She was going to tell Vergil about her strange dream when she saw the exact same white drawer in her dream at Sparda Manor, but she thought she was biased. Vergil had told her about how devastated his family was when they heard that Sparda was deceased, and her dream must be just her brain playing a trick to her.

But then she thought, Vergil never told me that he found Dante hiding and crying in that draw…

Tonight, Lyra falls into another strange dream. Even weirder and scarier. A titanic, god-like demon tortured her in the most unimaginably painful way. Her entire body was chained and spiked. The demon was merciless. His face was full of disgust and hatred as he spat her insults and penetrated her head with dreadful illusions she couldn’t even envision. He kept calling her “disgraceful offspring of the traitor Sparda”. It was only then she realized that she wasn’t herself, but Vergil.

Lyra fights herself to wake up, and is barely successful. The dream is too visceral that she almost still can feel the pain all over the body as she opens her eyes. Her back is wet from her own sweat.

Why do I keep dreaming of him? Moreover, I never experienced this kind of pain…

Does it have something to do with our accidental mind link on that day? Strange things have happened since then...

Her wave of thoughts are interrupted by the sudden thirst in her throat. She snaps her fingers and the light from the lamp brightens the bedroom. The door cracks slowly to open its way for Lyra. The librarian walks with leaden steps as she rubs her sleepy eyes. She almost stumbled upon a chair when she entered the kitchen.

“A cuppa sounds delightful to cure nightmares,” Lyra mumbles at herself, swinging her hand to summon a cup from the drawer. The cup flies and lands right in front of her, but she makes no further movement but staring blankly at the cup. Her body is still shivering by the imaginary pain from her nightmare.

“From all the people in the world, why does it have to be Vergil? This mind link is vexing me...”

The harsh cry of a raven causes Lyra to glance over the kitchen’s window. She curves a light smile while opening the window and lets a little raven enter her house. The raven lands on her shoulder for a while before flying around the house and lands on the kitchen counter.

“Where have you been, Corvus? Haven’t seen you for days!” Lyra greets the raven.

The little bird tilts its head and squawks. Lyra giggles as she pats the raven’s head. “Hey look. My friend gave his poem book to me and one of the titles is The Raven. I like it, by the way. And I’ve been thinking about him lately, even dreaming about him. To be honest, it’s disturbing. Do you think I should invite him here and tell him the truth?”

The raven gives her a nod.

“You are right. A cuppa is best served with a friend, don’t you think?”

Corvus flaps its wings eagerly. The black bird flies around Lyra’s head before making its way outside the house.

“Leaving already? You haven’t eaten yet!” Lyra shouts at the raven. “Alright then, send my regard to your girlfriend!”

Corvus squawks something like a curse, causing Lyra to barks in laughter. She heads back to the counter as she turns on the radio to entertain her confusing state of mind, picking the channel telepathically until she finds her favourite channel. She listens to the song while summoning her phone from the bedroom, tapping the screen until Vergil’s contact name pops on the screen.

Down in the willow garden

Where me and my love did meet

As we sat a-courtin'

My love fell off to sleep

I had a bottle of burgundy wine

My love, she did not know

So I poisoned that dear little girl

On the banks below

I drew a saber through her

It was a bloody knife

I threw her in the river

Which was a dreadful sign

“By Jove, that song is sinister,” Lyra chuckles darkly. Her solemn face is turning pale. “As for the poisoned little girl… well…”

She clicks Vergil’s name, waiting for the devil to answer with fingers tangled between the black pendant on her neck, hoping half-heartedly that he wouldn’t pick her call.

~~~

A/N : the song mentioned at the end of the chapter is “Down In The Willow Garden” by The Everly Brothers.

Tagging : @drusoona @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz @shiranyaaww @andieperrie18 @rubixa-seraph @blooddrop-palace (I honestly forgot who to tag, so if you want to be tagged just send you reply or DM me! XD)

Masterlist | AO3

#devil may cry fanfiction #vergil x reader #vergil x oc #vergil x lyra #vergil #dante #nero #lyra #vergil x original character #original character #developing relationship #mystery #tales of apotelesma #spark of stardust #night writes

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catflorist · 3 years

Text

The Time Being (ao3 / ffn) catflorist Summary: Time-slipping is a side effect of wielding the Rinnegan. When Sasuke slips through time, he always goes to Sakura, whether he wants to or not. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

warning: this chapter contains mentions of death, and also orochimaru displays some possessive behavior over sasuke.

pt. 2: ocean

“You are weak,” Orochimaru hissed, a lazy foot pinning Sasuke’s chest to the ground.

Sasuke glared up at the snake Sannin. “I’m not weak.” In the dim torchlight of Orochimaru’s hideout, his power grew by the day. His new mentor was unimpressed. “You’re not committed. Don’t waste my time if you’re still holding on to your silly village.” He released Sasuke. “You must choose.”

That night, Sasuke saw the faces of the people he had left behind, because the Sharingan kept him from forgetting. But Sasuke had already made his choice. He was already here, wasn’t he? He would do anything to kill Itachi and avenge his slain clan. Nothing else mattered.

He lit a fire in his mind’s eye. Everything burned away, except for Itachi’s face, and the shape of his own hatred. He learned to cut away stray thoughts of his old life, his teammates. He dismissed the time-slipping as a fluke, as inexplicable as the way his curse mark boiled his blood and infused him with strength. As he grew more powerful, the task of rewriting himself became easier and easier, until it was nothing at all. At the hideout near Kusagakure, Sasuke turned fourteen, then fifteen. Orochimaru never called him weak again. Instead, when he looked at Sasuke, his gaze was hungry, like he might consume him. If Sasuke didn’t already know the Sannin wished to claim his body as a vessel, he would have known with one look at his sallow face. The desire was obvious. It grew as wild as brambles around Sasuke. But Sasuke used the thorns as his shield and protection as he cultivated his hatred and his power, clearing a path towards vengeance for his clan. One day Orochimaru led Sasuke to his own sprawling quarters and hissed, “I have a gift for you,” and presented Sasuke a purple obi. When Sasuke knotted it around his waist, Orochimaru trailed a possessive finger over the thick cord. His pale hands trembled. Sasuke pretended not to see. Kabuto called for Orochimaru, and Sasuke was alone in the Sannin’s dark chamber. Dust coated everything in sight except for an ornate vanity and mirror in the center of the room. These fixtures gleamed even in the dark. Askew on the surface of the vanity lay jars of fine white powder, pots of creamy greasepaint, and vials swirling with green liquid, for which Sasuke could name no purpose.

Sasuke dipped his fingers into an open jar of paint. The purple pigment was tacky on his skin, like drying blood. He eyed the collection of brushes Orochimaru used to paint his face. The bristles of each brush tip varied in color and texture. They were composed of human hair. Sasuke frowned, then locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror. For the first time since he had joined Orochimaru, Sasuke had the opportunity to look at himself. The mirror revealed long dark hair falling past his collarbone. A loose, white shirt carelessly flung open to reveal his bare chest. An obi, purple as poison, coiled like a snake around his waist. A dissatisfied mouth, slanting down. Red, red eyes that absorbed all light and reflected none back. In a trance, he pulled his hair back from his face. Itachi peered back at him. Sasuke recoiled and dropped the ponytail. In his own chamber Sasuke cut his hair as short as he could get it with a kunai. When it was done he felt the jagged and uneven spikes and let out a breath. He was not Orochimaru’s vessel. He was not a Konoha shinobi. He was not Itachi. He was his own. . . Sasuke’s old teammates infiltrated Orochimaru’s lair. Through Orochimaru’s network of spies, Sasuke had heard word of Sakura’s healing abilities, and her defeat of Sasori of the Akatsuki. He could not help staring at her, trying to sense the difference. But when her mouth formed the syllables of his name, his ears rejected the sound of her voice. He had not heard any news of Naruto. Sasuke tested his abilities and found him wanting. The encounter was short and inconsequential. Sasuke had done his work well. He didn’t feel a thing. Nothing, not even his old teammates, could keep him from fulfilling his purpose.

Half-asleep in bed that night, he remembered how Naruto’s nose twitched right before he smiled.

Sasuke opened his eyes and frowned at his ceiling, shutting down the intrusive thought.

He remembered another half-forgotten detail. Sakura’s knees bruised easily.

Spots colored Sasuke’s vision. He gasped, fighting a flood of nausea.

Rain pattered upon a wooden roof. The air smelled like salt. Sakura’s hair was long. She said, “It’s you.” By the time Sasuke activated the glare of his Sharingan, he was back in his bed. He shot up, fingers still tingling, far more shaken than he would like. Sasuke had learned to harness the power of his curse mark. He had mastered the chidori, the Sharingan, and all of Orochimaru’s tricks. He had overcome his weaknesses and cut away all ties to his old life. How could this be happening? . . The next time, Sasuke lunged at Sakura even before the tingling in his fingers faded. Sakura let out a grunt. Her forearm blocked his assault. When they made contact Sasuke’s stomach lurched. Her body felt solid and very real.

Sakura sprang backwards and held up her hands. “I don’t want to fight you.” Sasuke darted towards her again. She twisted his arm and flipped him to the ground. His back connected with the floor with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

Long pink hair dangled in his face. He tried to move, but an iron grip pinned him down. “Sorry about that.” She didn’t sound sorry. “How did you get so strong?” he demanded. A small bubble of laughter escaped Sakura. Sasuke’s stomach turned in a familiar falling motion. He lurched up in his own bed, the sound of her laugh ringing in his ears, and spit out a curse.

The last person to pin Sasuke down in a fight was Orochimaru. Two years ago.

When he had attacked Sakura, he hadn’t even bothered to use his doujutsu. He had underestimated her. . . Sasuke knew he would slip again, as if he had activated his Sharingan and seen the shape of the instinct with his own eyes. He prepared himself. As he cooled from the previous encounter with Sakura, he decided it would not be wise to attack her. Instead, he would use the visits to his advantage and gather information. The next time, he was ready. The scent of salt filled his nose. Sasuke was alone in a one-roomed, lofted shack. He rushed to the nearest window. Morning sun illuminated a rocky coastline, which eased into sand and then an endless expanse of blue ocean. Two tall rock formations studded the water and distant mountains cut into the sky. This landscape appeared nowhere near Konoha. Sasuke released his grip on the windowpane and assessed his surroundings. The room was bare save for a table, a bookshelf, and two chairs positioned next to the small hearth. A row of large seashells decorated its mantle. He caught a glimpse of bedding tucked away in the loft high above his head. A dark cat dozed on the kitchen counter next to a stack of wooden bowls. The door creaked open, inviting a gust of wind into the room. Sakura halted in the doorframe, carrying a wooden bucket heavy with seawater. She wore loose pants and a man’s shirt. A diamond marked the center of her forehead.

“Sasuke,” she greeted, brow furrowed. A strange expression—something he couldn’t name—rose then fell from her face.

“Am I not who you expected?” Sasuke bit. Sakura’s mouth twitched. “Not quite.”

“Where are we?” he asked. “My place,” Sakura said, shutting the door with a swing of her hip. She set the bucket on the floor. The dark cat slunk down from the kitchen counter and leapt into Sasuke’s surprised arms.

“Her name is Hime,” Sakura said, as the cat made herself comfortable on his shoulder, as if she were royalty.

“Why is this happening?” he demanded. But with a cat purring next to his ear, he imagined he did not form the threatening picture he wanted. Sakura validated his concerns by asking, “Do you want some tea? Or if you’re hungry, I collected mussels. They’re best when they’re fresh.” He snorted. “You’re already here, aren’t you? Might as well enjoy yourself.” She smiled. Her fingers twitched. “Unless you’re interested in another fight.” Sasuke’s fists clenched. I am here for information, he reminded himself, and took a reluctant seat at the table. Sakura poured two cups of tea, though he had not asked for any, and sat across from him. Sasuke asked, “What year is it?” The cat sprang from his shoulder onto his thigh. Sakura named a date five years ahead of his own. “Where are we?” She smiled. “What’s happened to the village?” Silence. Konoha might have burned to the ground, or Sakura might be Hokage. Sasuke could not read her. Another question burned in his throat, one he had not planned to ask, but it escaped him anyway. “Do I…” He swallowed. “Do I kill Itachi? You must know.” He thought her eyes saddened. Or maybe it was the light. “Answer me,” he snapped. Sasuke had spent nights envisioning what might happen the next time he slipped—the questions he could ask Sakura, the knowledge he would gain. But he had not considered the simple possibility that she would resist answering him. He had not foreseen the cup of tea steaming before him, the cat curled in his lap. “I’m sorry you’re hurting so much,” she said. Sasuke shot up, jostling the table. His teacup toppled over. The cat let out an unhappy cry and darted out of sight. “Don’t act like you know me,” he spat, blood rushing to his head. He was speaking to the shadows of his empty room. . . Sasuke returned to this Sakura at the seaside time and time again. It always happened when he was tired, half-asleep, his guard down. He worked himself to the bone, hoping fatigue would fend away the unwanted journey. It did not. Sasuke bombarded her with questions. Sakura responded with jests, frustrating half-truths, or silence, until Sasuke stopped asking. He had failed to adopt Orochimaru’s slick and persuasive nature. Any information he learned was at Sakura’s mercy. Sometimes when he arrived, Sakura was making breakfast. Feeding the cat. Sitting by the hearth, playing a game of shogi with herself. “Tea?” she asked, each time.

Sasuke would slam the door on the way out. If he couldn’t control his visits, he could at least limit his exposure to Sakura. The wooden shack was perched on the first patch of firm ground by the water. He stared at the ocean until he slipped back to his own time. His visits were brief, until one time, it wasn’t. Sakura was up in the loft, folding her bedding. She fluffed a pillow and made no comment at his appearance.

Sasuke dodged the cat’s affections. He sat cross-legged against the side of her small home and waited for the vertigo that meant he was on his way. Half an hour passed, but it did not come. At the sound of a creaky door, Sasuke opened his eyes. Sakura strode outside with a wooden bucket. “You’re still here,” she observed. Against his better judgement, Sasuke spoke. “I’d rather not be.” “You look tired.” “It’s the middle of the night,” he insisted, squinting in the morning sun. A bird chirped cheerfully in the middle of his sentence. “Well,” Sakura said. She situated the bucket on her hip. “Don’t let me keep you.” This concluded their second-longest conversation. Sakura walked down to the tide pools, waded calf-deep in the water, and collected mussels. He was still here when she returned, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the stone path. Water sloshed from Sakura’s bucket. “Are you hungry?” she called, already smirking in anticipation of his refusal. He glared. Sakura was not done. She touched a finger to her chin. “You like sitting here. I’ll build a bench,” she decided. “Don’t,” Sasuke advised. Next time, a bench waited outside her house. The material was the same smooth wood as the house, though Sasuke didn’t see any hardwood trees around. He scowled, but he sat down. The cat joined him, then Sakura joined him. “When was the last time I was here?” he sighed. “Three days ago.” Sakura set an extra cup of tea between them, which Sasuke ignored. “And you?” “Last night.” He rubbed his temples. “And the night before that.” “No wonder you’re tired,” she said, scratching Hime between her ears. Sasuke sprang a question. “Why aren’t you in Konoha?” “I like the ocean,” Sakura said, without skipping a beat. “Since when?” he muttered. They had seen the ocean together once, on their first mission. He didn’t remember Sakura making any particular fuss about it. The half-smile on her face faded. “I’m here because I’m waiting for something.” Something in her voice made Sasuke’s head turn. He allowed himself to really look at Sakura, to see what she would be like in five years' time. Her hair was long again. Her limbs were wiry and powerful emerging from the men’s clothing she now wore. Her chin was just as delicate as he remembered, her eyes just as green, reflecting the sea. “What are you waiting for?” Sasuke asked. The rocky ceiling of his chamber gave no response. . . On Sasuke’s sixteenth birthday, Orochimaru procured another gift for Sasuke. He held out a thin wooden box and opened the lid for him. A delicate wooden comb lay in its plush interior. “For your hair,” the Sannin said. Sasuke nearly smiled. He was unversed in the finer details of gift-giving, but even he knew that kushi made inauspicious gifts. “Don't worry about good or bad luck, Sasuke-kun,” Orochimaru assured. He grasped the comb and ran a thumb across its slender wooden teeth, producing a musical vibration. “We won’t need any of it.” He stepped closer and ran the comb through the front lock of Sasuke’s hair. He was gentle, practicing ownership of his future vessel. Sasuke froze through the first stroke of the comb, and the next. Then the fine teeth snared on a tangle. Awakened by the twinge of pain on his scalp, Sasuke pulled back. The hairs stood up on his arms. Orochimaru would soon try to claim him. But Sasuke was stronger than Orochimaru. He fell asleep that night thinking about his next steps. He woke up and blood was dripping from his eyelashes, clogging his ears. He retched at the scent, acid rising to his throat. He saw his parents’ slumped bodies. He saw Itachi’s red eyes. He heard every sound a clan made as it was slaughtered, then the terrible silence after the screaming had stopped. His fists clenched in his blankets, but his fingers closed around sand. There was an ocean in front of him. Sasuke was chest deep into the cold water when he realized he was not splattered in the blood of his nightmare. He plunged under anyway, because he still felt unclean. He floated in the darkness, his body bobbing with the tide. After some time, his lungs panged in a distant way. He opened his eyes, feeling the burn of the salt. The pain in his lungs worsened until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Sasuke broke the surface and gasped for air. When he emerged from the waves, Sakura was waiting for him on the beach. She held out a blanket. Leave me alone. Sasuke opened his mouth to spit out the words. But he hesitated. Accepting Sakura’s blanket changed nothing in his own time. It would only make his existence a little warmer and drier for the time being. Nothing he did here in this dreamlike world changed anything at all. Sasuke wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. It was soft and heavy, and smelled of something fresh. Dimly, he remembered this was Sakura’s scent. He dropped to the ground to ease the shaking of his legs.

Without a sound, Sakura sat next to him. She did not touch him, did not look anywhere except the water. Sasuke dried his face, then ran his fingers through the cool sand, grounding himself. All was quiet except for waves crashing against the pair of rock formations.

As he was slipping back, she spoke. “Take care, Sasuke-kun.” Sasuke fell into a dreamless sleep. In the morning his clothes were stiff with seawater, flecked with salt and sand. Something hard and round pressed against his palm. Sasuke opened his fingers and discovered he was holding a pebble. Its surface was smooth as water, and it was the same color as the moon. . . It was another night, and instead of sleep, Sasuke was pulled to Sakura. She joined him outside. The morning sun shimmered on the water. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Like usual, she offered Sasuke tea. As Hime purred against his leg, Sasuke’s fingers wrapped around the cup. “Hm,” Sakura said, watching him. “If I remember right, this is the last time.” “The last time?” Sasuke repeated. “The last time you’ll come here.” She took a sip of her tea. “It’s not the end, though. You’ll see me elsewhere. In other times.” Sasuke remembered the other Sakura he had met, the first time he had slipped. She was crying, and Sasuke had held her hand. He had tried to forget. But that wasn’t the first time. An old dream—what Sasuke thought was a dream—came back to him in a rush. A woman with pink hair had given him breakfast. She was pregnant. Her baby had kicked. Something must have shown on his face, because Sakura said, “I know this is strange. It’s been strange for me too.” “You know what this is—why this is happening. At least say that much.” Though he tried, his voice had no heat. “Yes,” she said. “I know why this is happening.” “How do you know?” he asked. Maybe he asked the right question, because for once, Sakura gave him a blunt answer. “I know because you told me.” Sasuke’s throat went dry. “Sakura—”

He didn't know where he was going with that sentence, but it didn't matter. He slipped away. . . . .

Up next: Sasuke forms his team, learns the cause of his time-slipping, and makes some decisions.

Notes: Combs (kushi) are considered bad luck when given as gifts--"ku" means suffering and "shi" means death. This chapter and chapter 7 are my favorites, so I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you did!!

late update bc I was swept away celebrating how trump was voted out of office!!! he can now f*ck off :)

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss fic #ss #my ss #my fic #the time being

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jubilantwriter · 3 years

Text

Of Blood and Static

Chapter 4: Is it foolish of me to want to hope?

(AO3) (First) (Previous) (Next)

Word Count: 4285

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The Lady is aware of the loops. She’s aware that there are actions she can take to avoid the ending they always end up with. She knows that there are paths she can drag them to, if she’d just follow through with her choices. The Lady knows this. But there’s very little she can do as a child that prevents them from going down the same path they always go down.

She ends up dropping him again, reason falling down with him as the loop continues as it always does. Very little changes in this loop, after all, even with her holding a puzzle that’s a good deal complete. It’s still not the whole picture, and maybe that’s the reason why she drops him each time.

(A boy in a blue sweater shoved her away from a nome, protecting the small creature as her ravenous appetite made her attack anything that breathed. Somehow, he managed to force her attention to the previously offered sausage. A part of her was repulsed by it - she wanted something that was alive, not already dead - but another part of her was desperate for the meat. Not out of hunger, no, but for a completely human reason. She clung to it as she sobbed, tearing into the sausage as the pains went away slowly. The Hunger was still there, but it was nothing more than a background throb she could manage. Her Shadow had looked at her, head tilted curiously before disappearing. Meanwhile, the boy kept his distance, wary of her actions before he gathered up the nomes and left her be.

The lingering feeling of relief felt odd to her, but she’d learned not to question the things she felt. She put the feeling aside for later, until she’s ready to piece it apart.)

The television is here, as it always is. As the Lady, she must maintain her appearance as the most beautiful and elegant creature on the Maw. Each decision and move she makes must be confident. She must never falter, lest they take it as a sign of weakness.

And the Lady is never weak.

Never weak until this very moment, she supposes. Hesitance was never something she personally encountered often. She can count on one hand the times she’s hesitated in her life, and here she is, adding another count to her fingers. There’s no good reason for her hesitance either. Why does she falter from pressing her hand against the glass? What is it that makes her feel such… trepidation?

(Why was it that she felt fear in having to face him again? She's an adult - there's nothing left for her to fear. Not even her own death.

So what was it about the Thin Man that made her hesitate like so?)

The television doesn't wait for her command, however. It flickers on by itself, static filling up the screen as it slowly tunes itself over and over until... yes. A familiar silhouette sits in a chair on the screen. Still, she does not press her hand on the warming glass.

Moments pass without either of them uttering a word. The Lady remains where she stands, stock still as her mask covers her emotions. On the screen the Thin Man sits patiently, not even fidgeting a bit as he waits for her to say something. Another stretch of silence passes before the Thin Man's words begin to appear on the screen.

"So," he begins, "did you eat a child this time?"

A bark of surprised laughter escapes her. "What do you mean?"

"I meant what I said." She can almost sense the smile on his face as he continues. "I just wanted to know if you ate a child this time."

"And if I said no?" She doesn't recall eating a child. True, she's transformed a good amount into nomes to work her ship, powering it with coal and scrambling around to do whatever it is they do. And yes, she does use children as a source of meat for her Guests, but she's never really eaten a child.

(The boy in the blue sweater had looked back at her, their eyes meeting for a moment as she tore desperately into that sausage. There was something familiar about his eyes, something about them that reminded her of-

Maybe that’s why she started crying. He wasn’t looking at her with malice that day, though she should have deserved some ounce of it. No, though his bangs had covered his eyes, she could still clearly see the quiet emotion he held for her before turning away and running with the nomes.

Sympathy.)

"I would be pleasantly surprised." The Thin Man sounds genuine, but many things about him tend to be genuine, she's found. He hasn't really changed so much from when he was a child. Her chest clenches as she remembers the boy she dropped to his doom. An instinct (a routine, a pattern, a senseless habit she continues to this day) that had her releasing her last friend to his fate.

(Why do they always fall from cliffs? She wishes they'd stop doing that.)

"Why are you here?" She rubs the fabric of her kimono between her fingers, trying to keep her hand occupied. "Why are you being so... calm?"

Be mad, she begs in her mind, it's easier to justify my actions when you're mad.

"Because." A pause. The silence lingers as he seems to consider his words. "I think I've grown tired of being upset and mad."

"And so now you're here, on this screen, simply to bother me?"

"Would you rather I leave?"

"No." She answers far too quickly and scowls to herself. "I mean- you're free to leave as you please. I won't stop you."

"Hm." Oh, how she wishes she could slap the smugness out from his words. "As tempting as that offer is, I believe I will stay for now. It's not like I have anywhere else to go."

"Are you truly confined to just one space?"

"Aren't you?" His question gives her pause. "Despite the Maw moving from place to place, you're still stuck on the same ship filled with the same rooms with the only change being your Guests. I would say you're just as trapped as I am." He waits for a retort, but she finds herself unable to give one. When the silence lingers for too long, his words continue as though he never paused to begin with. "I'd say you have it worse than me. At least I know I'm trapped in place until something forces my hand. But you're living under the illusion of being free, believing your prison to be an ever changing force you can control."

This is becoming too much. Memories of past Thin Men trickle into her mind, where his cocky words slowly dripped with venom and malice and rage as they screeched at each other. Times where blame was tossed around as easily as a child's life, resulting in loops and loops of broken televisions and her quarters being void of any devices. When did the television make its way back into her quarters? When did they start getting along again?

It shouldn't have been so far into the past, but she finds it hard to grasp the particular moment in which they were willing to be civil again. If only those memories would trickle in instead of the more... painful ones. She holds a hand to her head, a headache forcing its way to her temple.

His words sound too much like the ones that used to be filled with so much venom. With a groan, she quickly tries to recover and shoots back a response she hopes sounds playful.

"At least I have all the food I could want here."

"Yes, having any food is a perk I suppose."

"What?" she questions, lowering her hand from her head. Having any food? "Are you saying you don't eat?"

"I mean," he shrugs on screen, "it's not like I have to."

"But are you at least... offered it? In your little living space." It strikes her as odd that his own chambers would lack any amenities. Shouldn't their respective realms be molded to suit their needs? The Maw had granted her a library inherited from the previous (first? Second? Third?) Lady, with rooms changed to suit her preferences, and portraits to showcase her likeness as opposed to the previous proprietor. Surely the Tower would do the same for the Thin Man.

(A room that housed her was filled to the brim with toys she liked. They floated around her, enticing her, giving her reason to stay and play, rather than try to escape. It was safe there - that's what the room wanted her to see. The music box played such a lovely tune too.

It was enough that it made her forget her broken and healing bones. It was enough that it made her forget her twisted limbs and aching, curved back. The room had everything she'd ever dreamed of.

Everything except-

"Hey!")

"...No?" The Thin Man fidgets a bit in his seat. "I was never offered food here. At most, it offered me a new change of clothes as I grew older but. Nothing else."

"...No food?" Her thoughts slow to a stop at the revelation. That can't be right. That doesn't sound right. "How odd. Surely, it would make sure you were fed to keep you alive for this long."

"In a sense." He fidgets some more, his head angled away from the screen between them. "I mean, it's not like I needed food once I started... living here, for lack of a better term."

"What did you survive off of?"

"My depression?" His shoulders shake a bit while she hums in disapproval. "I'm kidding. Cigarettes." A growl comes from her throat as he frantically waves his hands in the air. "Okay okay! I fed off the life forces of the Viewers, I suppose. What powers the Tower powers me as well. Or at least, that's how it feels."

So something similar to the Lady, she supposes. Still, eating food isn't something she is willing to give up despite her powers. She hungers every day with pangs that wane or strengthen depending on how often she feeds. It distresses her that the Thin Man hasn't even been given the basic right to eat like a person.

(But perhaps he's lost the right to be a person, after he assumed his role as the Thin Man. A monster doesn't need to eat. So where does that put her?

A monster, still.

But one parading as a human.

The most terrifying kind of monster.)

"Come here," she says, gesturing towards herself with a hand wave. "Come here, and I will feed you a meal."

"I cannot."

"Do they call you the Thin Man because you starve yourself willingly?" She's glad the mask she wears hides her sneer, but judging by how the Thin Man hunches his shoulders up, he can still tell what kind of face she makes. "I am the Lady of the Maw. It is my duty to feed those who come aboard my ship."

"I am not aboard your ship," he reminds her gently. "I am a figure on a screen."

"You are starving."

"I am not. I feed off of the-"

"Yes, I know." She barely skims over the rest of his words as she continues to gesture emphatically. "But that's not the same as eating. Now that I think about it, I'm surprised you managed to kidnap me when I was a child. How do you have any strength to chase down and grab nimble little children?"

For a moment, the Thin Man merely sits in his chair, refusing to answer. She taps at the screen, now growing more concerned for the physical state of his being.

"...Mono?"

"I don't." She can almost hear his hushed, sheepish tone through those two words. "I don't have any strength. Now that I'm in this state, I understand better the methods my prior self used to terrorize us. Do you remember when he kidnapped you, and how he didn't make too much of an effort to physically grab you?"

She nods, speechless as she recalls those traumatic moments with clarity.

"He used his power to pull you into his grasp. It wasn’t a show of strength - rather, it was because he had no strength. I already feel so feeble as I am now. Imagine how he must have felt. I bet the reason he disappeared immediately after was to return to the Tower before you could break his fingers apart to escape."

"Mono..."

"And when he chased me down, all he would do was walk forward and teleport closer." Another pause. "Six," his words begin, "I don't think I have it in me to do anything more than a slow walk. Any faster, and I'm sure to be winded. I’m sure that standing up too quickly will have me passing out onto the floor."

"Oh, Mono." She places both her hands on the screen, pressing against it desperately as if to try and grab him herself. "You need to come here right now and eat."

"I don't think eating is going to solve my physical weakness."

"But it's a start!" She thumps against the screen as her worry reaches levels she thought she'd never experience again. "Come here for a meal, you absolutely malnourished man!"

"I cannot. I'm literally locked behind a door. At most, I can reach through with just my arms, but I don't think I can just waltz out so easily."

"Then take some food with you!"

"I can only take children and Viewers."

"Then take me!" She very nearly shakes the television in frustration. "Oh- but first, let me grab some food for you to eat-"

"Six, please." He lifts his arms up and gestures placatingly. "You hate it here."

"But I hate knowing that you've been left to starve for years." Which is the result of her letting him go. The guilt gnaws at her - it’s one thing to know that she'd left him to rot and suffer alone, but she never imagined just how extreme it was. "Please, it's the one thing I have to offer."

The only thing she has to offer.

"It's alright, Six." She hates how comforting he can make his words. As if she deserves his comfort. "I don't need food."

"I don't care." She grips the television tightly as memories of their youth come trickling forth. They'd shared food together once. Whatever scraps they came across, they would eat together. He always gave her the larger half despite being the bigger of the two. It was always just like him to do. Even now, when she has a bounty of food to share, he still turns it down with the same old excuse.

He doesn't need it.

"I'm fine."

"Then let me see your arms."

"Excuse me?"

"Show me your arms." She crosses her own and glares at the screen. "Let me see the true state of your being."

"I'm a monster, it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me, a fellow monster." The screen flickers at her words. "Let me see you."

The sound of static fills the air as his words no longer appear. There's a moment where she believes he will simply turn off the screen and leave her filled with rage, but shock colors her as the screen distorts with two large hands pressed against it. It's oddly familiar how his hands push through the screen as though it were nothing more than plastic, arms dangling and unmoving as she approaches him. Gently, she grabs his arm and pushes the suit sleeve up. His skin is horribly pale - she could compare him to a ghost, but the thought of him being dead frightens her. Instead, she compares the width of his arm to hers and... he's terribly thin.

Of course, he IS the Thin Man but still. She thought herself petite and thin as is, but he is barely skin and bones. Practically just bones, really. She gives his arm a squeeze, horrified to find that she can easily encircle his wrist between her thumb and pointer finger. More than encircle even. When she squeezes, she half expects there to be no bone at all and is relieved to find some sort of physical resistance to her grip. Isn't he supposed to be the bigger of the two? How had he even managed to keep a firm grip on her as a child?

This man needs a full course meal. And then three different types of dessert. Her mind races with all the things she could feed him - something easily digestible, a soup perhaps? No, a stew. With fish, of course, he seems the type to be wary of meat and justifiably so. Ah, but if she tells him of the source, then perhaps he would be willing to eat some meat. He could have a part of her share even. Oh, and he probably needs other nutrients too, not just protein. There's probably some vegetables to spare. A bit of fruit if they're lucky. She wouldn't mind parting with the luxury items of the Maw if it meant ensuring that the Thin Man was simply thin and not emaciated.

A slight tug from her hands has her startle out of her thoughts. She looks down and finds the Thin Man's arms retreating back into the screen, and a brief flash of fear has her grabbing his arms. There's a struggle as she hangs onto his arms to try and tug them out of the screen, while the Thin Man struggles to pull them back inside. No, she can't let him go just yet. Not when she's so close to having him here to stay.

"Wait," she begs, "don't go yet. I want to try. At least let me try, please?"

His arms freeze in place, before falling limp and hanging over the television's edge. She gives them a gentle squeeze, unnerved by how she swears she can feel every edge and curve of his bone even through the layers of clothing he wears. There must be something she can do, something to ease her mind, even if it's just for a little bit.

(She never liked it when he willingly starved himself for her sake.)

"Promise me you'll wait for me here." He's a sneaky one, this Thin Man. If she turns her back on him, there's a chance he'll slither his way back to his domain and never return. She needs to guarantee that he won't leave her so soon. Of course, the other doesn't respond. His words don't appear on the screen, and for some reason, he chooses to remain silent. Perhaps it's the screen getting in the way, or maybe he's lost his voice. Whatever it may be, words fail to make certain that he won't run away from her.

It's childish, really, the solution she comes up with. But she thinks it fits him, knowing that he was more of the sentimental type between the two of them. She holds her pinky out in front of him, curled slightly to make a hook.

"Pinky promise me."

They say actions speak louder than words.

The Thin Man's arm raises before it jolts and hesitates. She can see him considering and reconsidering, wondering if it's all worth the hassle. But he's the sentimental type, the kind that finds value in little, childish vows like this.

(He once presented her with a pinky promise. "Promise we'll stay friends forever?" Her finger hooked with his as she smiled and kept their vow tied closely around their pinkies.

"Promise.")

He hooks his pinky with hers, giving it a firm shake to reassure her that he'll keep his promise. Slowly, she lets go of his finger and backs away from the television. His arms remain hanging in place as he waits for her obediently. With a firm nod, she turns away quickly and rushes off to find him some food. Ideally, she'd like for him to take back a bowl of soup. The Chefs must have made a fresh stew by now, but the contents are skeptical at best, and she remembers her own misadventures in the kitchen, creating havoc and tossing in random items she found lying around as the Chefs were none-the-wiser.

So maybe not.

A sandwich maybe? Ah, but that ran the risk of it being made with a mystery meat. The idea of the Thin Man accidentally eating child meat disgusts her, and the hurt he will feel from the deception may make him want to never reach out to her again, so that idea is rejected as well.

Maybe something with fish? It's a safe bet. There are no mystery ingredients, no ways that the food could be tampered with by wayward children trying to escape her ship.

She has to be quick; keeping a guest waiting for their meal is never a good sign of a caring host. The Lady makes herself a plate of pan-seared fish, the Chefs babbling between themselves as she intrudes in their kitchen. They make themselves scarce as she glares at them from behind her mask, shadows working for her as she makes a simple dish of fish and greens.

When she returns, shadows falling away like a graceful shawl shrugged off, the Thin Man's arms are still hanging in place, waiting like promised. She smiles behind her mask and presents the plate of food proudly.

"Here, take this." She presses the plate into his hands and watches as they curl around it carefully. "Don't worry about returning the plate - I have plenty already."

Again, the Thin Man hesitates. She nods to the plate and gestures to the screen. Take it inside, she wordlessly says, and eat your fill. He brings it to the screen to pull the food in. The plate clanks against the glass and goes no further. Frowning, she steps closer and tries pushing the plate in.

No dice.

A growl of frustration escapes her. Of course. Nothing nice can ever happen. Still, she tries to force the plate in with greater force, ignoring how it slides against the glass and threatens to spill the food. A large hand takes her own, gently cupping it as he pulls it off the plate. She's startled into a stop and allows him to place the plate down in front of the television.

It's still warm.

He could eat it and feel warm. He could eat it and feel full. He could eat it and tell her that her cooking is wonderful, or good, or even just alright. She just wants him to eat. She wants him to enjoy something for once, after she took away his chance at happiness by letting him go.

(Countlessly. Endlessly. Over and over and over again, the loops continue with no end in sight as they run the same track over and over and over and over and over and over-)

Hands cup her face, rubbing under the eye holes as if to wipe away any tears. She's not crying. She hasn't cried since she was a child. Monsters don't deserve the right to cry. And yet, here he is, comforting her as if she were. Monster to monster. She holds onto his hands, so large and thin and nothing like she remembers as a child, and threads their fingers together.

"I'm sorry," she says, because there's nothing else to say.

He doesn't answer back with words, only actions. A gentle squeeze, a soft brush. Even as an adult he's so tender towards her. It's more than she deserves. What will it take to make him happy again? He pulls a hand away, only to present his hooked pinky to her.

She tilts her head (pressing it closer to the hand that remains on her face) and hums with a barely there confusion. A promise? But for what? Still, she humors him, hooking their pinkies together for whatever promise he may have. Whatever he wants, she will give it to him.

It's what she owes him, after all these years.

He pulls his hands back into the screen, the loss of warmth already making her cold. She doesn't try to grab him and force him to stay, however. It's not within her rights to do so, to beg for him to linger outside just a bit longer. The screen stabilizes as his figure returns to being the center of the screen, ever so distant.

"What was that promise for?" she begins, not waiting for him to begin their conversation. The familiar font pops up on the bottom of the screen, and she traces the letters as he speaks.

"I promised that one day, we'd share a meal together."

A laugh escapes her as she presses two fingers on the word "together". Oh, how nice that would be. "That’s quite the fantasy to have."

"Yes," he agrees, "but a fantasy I wouldn't mind chasing."

She hums, not wanting him to know how much she feels her hope clinging to that promise.

"So now you truly owe me a meal."

"Of course, but you can't complain about my cooking."

"Well that's hardly fair - what if it's terrible?"

"Then you smile and swallow and tell me that it's lovely."

"You're the worst."

Even though she can't hear him, she knows he’s laughing with her as she presses her hand against the screen.

The loop ends with the cold rain's drizzle and the taste of stagnant air as a hopeful promise lingers just a little bit too long in silence.

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imaginedisish · 4 years

Text

Rebellion - Lies (Ben Solo x Reader) (Star Wars TROS) Part 1

A/N: HEYYYY GUYS OMG!!! So this is my first fanfic in a pretty long time. I haven’t written since June I think. I’m so sorry I’ve been gone...BUT I’M BACK!!! AND I’M HERE WITH A STAR WARS IMAGINE :) I really hope you guys like it. I’m a little rusty, so I’m sorry! I hope you guys enjoy though :) Also, I’ll write for any character, so please don’t hesitate to request. ENJOY!!!! (ps yes the title is based on an Arcade Fire song)

Summary: You (the reader) have an incredibly strong force connection with Ben Solo. You two grew close, training together, constantly being together. It was once you and he that created balance in the galaxy. However, what happens now that Ben is chasing after Rey? jealous!reader.

Warnings: This is a TROS world!!!! So please be aware of spoilers! Language, that’s about it...

Word Count: 2,163

Part 1:

The ground beneath you is cold and harsh. Rocks and rubble poke relentlessly against your skin. Your eyes open slowly. You don’t know exactly where you are, but the room is large. It almost feels like a cave. Stone walls surround you. It’s dark. There’s something in the distance. You squint, and realize it’s a silhouette. Within a second, you recognize who it is. You knew the shape of his body like the back of your hand.

It was Ben Solo.

You push yourself up. “B-Ben,” Your voice is hoarse. You come up to your knees, brushing the pebbles and such off of your arms. You feel so weak. Your head throbs in pain.

Your knees buckle as you attempt to stand up, practically sending you straight back down to the ground. Something makes you feel as though Ben needs you, so you power through the pain. Something wasn’t right. There was palpable tension in the room. It was almost as if the force was telling you something.

Something evil was here.

Ben feels so close, yet so far. “Ben,” You call out, much louder this time. But there’s no response. You walk closer to him. Suddenly, another figure reveals itself. The figure stands in front of Ben.

“You are weak, like a child! Wasted ability and potential!” The figure’s voice is familiar. It's filled with a hatred you had heard before, possibly in a dream, or a voice in your head.

A voice that once beckoned you to the darkness…

“No,” you whisper. It was Palpatine. His face is clear now. The man’s wrinkles are deep, his eyes are dark, filled with malevolence, and sunken in. “Ben!”

You’re running towards the two of them now, but you aren’t getting any closer. He and Palpatine seem to be moving farther and farther into the distance. You feel so helpless. Palpatine extends a hand out towards Ben.

Almost instantly, Ben rises up into the air. You reach for your light saber, pulling it out of its holder. It ignites as you continue to charge forward, its yellow light shining brightly in the dark room.

“I will end the Skywalker line once and for all!” Palpatine’s voice echoes against the ancient stone walls, sending chills down your spine.

You extend your hand out, hoping to to use the force to push Palpatine against the throne that stood behind him, but it doesn’t work. You’re stuck, powerless, forced to watch the man you love die. It feels as though you are trapped behind a wall of glass, or as if there’s some barrier that you can’t cross. You continue running nevertheless, refusing to give up.

Ben rises higher in the air. Palpatine seems to be using the force to pull something out of Ben. It was white and bright. Then it hits you. You know exactly what Palpatine is doing. That’s why he tricked Ben into joining him.

“His life force,” You say, stopping in your tracks.

“Ben!” You scream, wishing that Palpatine could hear you and possibly drop Ben in the process.

“I know you’re here girl,” His voice reaches you. “But there’s nothing you can do. You’re powerless!” Palpatine cackles, his evil laughter makes the walls shake. Rubble travels down the walls.

Palpatine grows stronger and stronger as each second goes by. But there’s nothing you can do. His face begins to gain color, and his wrinkles begin to disappear. His fingers take shape. He’s become human again.

Suddenly, Ben falls to the ground.

You begin to run towards Palpatine and Ben again. You’re quickly realize that you’re able to travel towards the Ben this time. Now that Palpatine had gotten what he wanted, there was nothing you could do to stop him. The damage had already been done.

You reach the foot of the throne, and crash down on your knees next to Ben. You move him so that he lays in your lap. You run your hands through his dark black hair.

“B-Ben, I-I’m so sorry,” You stutter as tears fall down your cheeks.

“You failed him just as your grandfather failed Anakin. Just as your parents failed you,” Palpatine says as he approaches you. “You never even told the boy you loved him. Such a shame. You know, you would’ve lived with this guilt for centuries, just as Obi Wan Kenobi had before you. Yet, you were too stupid and naive to recognize this is all just…”

Your eyes flicker open.

A dream.

Palpatine’s whisper floats around your room. You’re in your bed. You instinctively reach over to the other side, but there’s no one there. Ben hadn’t been there in months. You wanted nothing more than to be reunited with him. You missed him.

Before the First Order, before Luke had betrayed Ben, you and Ben were friends. You were connected through the force from birth. The connection was strong and intense. It didn’t take long to realize why you were connecting with him. After all, Ben was a Skywalker, and you were a Kenobi.

Ben told Luke of your powers, and Luke took you from your home planet to train you. Luke had told you that you belonged with the Jedi, that you belonged with Ben. He said that the force had chosen you two to keep balance within the galaxy and the force.

But that was never a question for you. From the moment you made your first connection with Ben, you knew you were destined to rule the galaxy together. You had always felt as though, together, you could serve the galaxy and make your grandfathers proud.

However, ever since the girl had come out of no where, out of thin air, Ben had been gone. You longed for him. More than all else, you feared for his life. Palpatine had been slipping into your dreams almost every night. You would talk to Ben through the force after each dream, but lately he failed to connect back.

You sit up, and swing your legs over to the side so that you can sit on the edge of the bed.

“Ben,” you whisper, hoping to get through to him.

“(Y/N),” Ben responds. Your heart flutters in your chest. It had been weeks since you had last heard his voice. But you can’t see his face. You feel a hand rest against your shoulder. You whip your head around to look behind you.

There he was. It was Ben.

You take a deep breath. “You’re here.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t be gone forever. I meant that,” Ben says, a small smile playing at his lips. You stand up and run over to him, crashing into his arms the second you get the chance. Your head presses into his chest. You inhale, taking in his scent. You feel like you’re home.

He isn’t wearing his First Order uniform. When he was with you, he was never Kylo Ren, he was always the Ben Solo you knew and came to love. He wore a long sleeved black shirt, scrunched up around his elbows, exposing his lower arms, and loose black pants. His hair was still long, just as it always had been. You pull apart from his chest to get a look at his face. His dark brown eyes glimmer in the light, and his smile stretches across his lips. But you can’t smile back. You begin to think about her; the girl you saw him extend his hand out to in your dreams and visions. You knew it was true. He had feelings for her.

And he was losing his feelings for you.

In truth, Ben had never confirmed his feelings for you. There was never a conversation about a relationship, or romance. You had always just enjoyed each other’s connection and company. It was clear there was something there, but you never verbally communicated those feelings with each other.

That, of course, doesn’t mean you never wanted to. You thought every day about expressing your love for him. Your connection had always been strong enough that you felt as though he already knew without talking about it, but you wanted to tell him yourself.

You continue on. “I thought you might not come back. You’re so wrapped up in-,”

Ben cuts you off, “Her?”

“You asked her to join you, but not me?” You move further away from him. “Explain that. Explain that to me.” There’s a familiar feeling in your gut that you’ve felt before. It’s a fire, a burning sensation that fills you with anger. You had been told throughout your life to ignore those feelings. But now it’s impossible to.

“I chased after her because of Palpatine, (Y/N). He tricked me. You know that better than anyone else. I didn’t mean to leave you.”

“But you did,” You respond. “You left me after all we’ve been through together. I’ve been here for you longer than she has. Why her, Ben? Why?”

Ben shakes his head. “It’s not that simple, you don’t under-,”

“Understand? I don’t understand? You promised me forever, and then you went chasing after her, Ben. You and I are supposed to bring balance the galaxy. I’m supposed to lead you to the light. Hell, I’ve never stopped calling you Ben. I’ve called you Ben from the beginning, and you’ve never stopped me once. I know you, and she doesn’t,” You say, your voice filled with anger. You were channeling the very energy Luke and everyone else in your life had warned you not to engage with. But you didn’t care. It was how you felt.

He steps closer to you. “I’m sorry. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to Exogol, too. I’m ending everything. When it’s all over, you and I can join the Resistance. All of this will be behind us. We can be happy again, (Y/N). ”

You shake your head. “You can’t go to Exogol. My visions, my dreams, you die there, Ben. You can’t,” You plead. You know that if he goes, it could be the end.

No. It will be the end. You had seen it a million different times and a million different ways. He couldn’t escape Palpatine, there was no way he could ever do that. Palpatine would kill him, just as he had done in every vision you had ever had.

“I need to end this, (Y/N). I need to do what my grandfather couldn’t. My old saber is gone. I’ve left the First Order. It’s done. Now I have to finish this,” Ben says.

Tears fill your eyes, and you fall into Ben’s arms. You sob into his chest.

“Shh, (Y/N). It’s all going to be okay. Please don’t worry. I’m going to be fine,” Ben says as his fingers comb gently through your hair.

He would never listen to you. He was far too headstrong; that was always how he was. Ben always wanted to do things his way. Even growing up, he handled training differently than the other padawans. He was always so critical of himself too. Because of all this, you had learned how to talk him off the ledge, but this time was different. There was no talking him out of this one. In his mind, he was already on Exogol, he was already killing Palpatine.

“Please let me go with you Ben. You can’t go alone,” You say into his chest.

“I need to do this myself, (Y/N),” Ben says back.

You lift your head from his chest. “Ben, if you go alone, you’re going to die. I need you to understand that you are not making it out of the fight if you go in alone,” You explain.

Ben shakes his head in disagreement. “I will. I’ll take him on by myself.” Ben pauses, looking down at you.

“Then I need to tell you something Ben. I need to tell you something I’ve always wanted to,” You say to him. It was time. You had waited far too long to tell him how you really felt.

“Don’t. Please don’t say anything. I’m going to make it out of this. You can tell me after all of this is done,” Ben says back.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You had a bad feeling about this. You knew something was going to go wrong.

An idea comes to you. You know exactly how to protect him. “Let me go to Exogol with you. I’ll stay on the ship, and I won’t go into the fight with you. But please, let me come with you to Exogol,” You beg, staring deeply into Ben’s eyes. Ben looks away.

“Fine.”

“And promise me that if you need help, you’ll call for-,”

Ben interrupts you. “I won’t need help.”

“You’re being stubborn. If you need help, promise you’ll call for me, please,” You say to him, hoping you’ll be able to sway his opinion.

“I promise.”

To be continued…

Part two

Tags:

@w0nder-marie @loveablecharacterxreader

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gongju-juice · 4 years

Text

9. Once Upon a Southern Night

Not So Far-Fetched

Warnings: SMUT, language, fluff, and a little angst

The wedding was absolutely perfect. Of course, Alice designed the entire affair, everybody else but you and Jasper a slave to her incessant ordering.

You got married on a sunny day back in the country, just a few miles Jasper’s old home town which was nestled far out into secluded woods with a grand, wooden barn and southern mansion nearby a quiet stream

Your dress was sleeveless and made of immaculate white silk that trailed behind you in the rose petal walkway to your groom, standing under a flower arch of candles and flowers. Alice, Rosalie, and Amelia were your bridesmaids—and Ivy, though she whined and cried from home—was not invited.

And when the wedding was over, Jasper flew you out to Havana where a pastel yellow house waited on the shoes of the beach. Little antique cars zoomed past on the streets, people danced in skimpy swimsuits, lovers toured the old buildings, hands entwined.

But you weren’t even interested in all of that. That was second priority. All you wanted was to be underneath the man you’d been lusting for over two years now. And he seemed to sense your urgency, for he immediately rushed the both of you to your villa without any side trips or excursions.

He got busy taking care of the luggage and dealing with the house attendants as they stocked the kitchen with food. Meanwhile, you made a nest of the bathroom.

Dropping your suitcase on the tiled floor, you laid out all your supplies and filled the tub with bubbles and hot water. Alice and Rosalie had packed an “essential” bag of lingerie, but you thought it would be best to save it for later. Tonight, there would be no lace or fancy ribbons. You would be yourself, and you would reveal yourself to your husband just like you shamefully imagined yourself doing before.

You opened the french style bathroom doors and stepped into the humid room. The ceiling fan whirred uselessly overhead, creating more noise than comfort, adding only to your anxiety and nervousness. You tightened your arms around your waist and moved forward.

Jasper was on the other side of the room staring out over the balcony. The moon shone down on his wavy hair, creating a silvery effect that slowly faded into the warm candlelight of the bedroom.

When he turned around, you were already tugging at the ties of your robe. The candles flickered and in a heartbeat, he was standing in front of you, his icy breath on your lips. He lowered your hands and began undoing the fabric himself.

To his delight, there was nothing underneath. It was silent as he took in your bare form, his piercing gaze sweeping over the hills of your breast, the curvature of your hips and thighs. Never before had you felt so exposed, so completely and utterly vulnerable and especially nervous.

What if you did something wrong? What if he didn’t like what he saw? What if you accidentally humiliated yourself?

“Y/N,” he hummed, putting his hands on the top of your shoulders. “I can feel everything you feel. And, you’re worried. I won’t go any further until you tell me you’re ready. We can stop now, and I won’t touch you like that at all, if that’s what you want. I just want you to be okay.”

You bit your lip but vehemently shook your head. Of course you were nervous. It was your wedding night. To not feel anything at all was a sign of trouble.

But you wanted him. Your feeling of desire overwhelmed any sense of anxiousness, and it made you breathless with how tangible it all seemed. It was often you could lay awake at night and think of being with him. With seven other vampires around, your every move was heard and monitored even if they didn’t intend to invade your privacy. And Jasper sat on the edge of your bed as you slept, too traditional to venture under the covers most of the time. The want had been building and boiling inside of you, waiting to be unleashed.

“I want you,” you whimpered. “Please, I can’t wait any longer.”

Gracefully, he scooped you into his arms and carried you to the canopied bed where he had already rearranged the pillows at least twice.

Perhaps, you thought, he was nervous too.

But before you could contemplate this theory any longer, his eyes dropped dangerously to the apex of your thighs where your arousal had obscenely gathered. He licked his lips and cradled your hips with his strong arms.

“Fuck, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since you walked down that aisle,” he declared, admiring your writhing regions in his deepest drawl yet. It was funny, the more excited Jasper became, the thicker his accent became.

Before he continued, however, he began by kissing every inch of your skin. He started from the vein just behind your left ear before making his way down the crevice of your collarbones, down the valley of your breasts, slowly and teasingly trailing down to the place you really wanted him to be.

But once he made it to your pelvic bone, he placed your legs over his shoulders, a smirk on his face. You’re sure you were wide-eyed, your features twisted into a blissful grimace of unfulfilled need and throbbing ache.

He delved his tongue into your folds, sucking and kissing hungrily like a predator bearing down on its prey. His eyes darkened into a shade of burnt umber. It must’ve been so tempting to be that close to all those vital vessels and not give in to the burning instinct to drink you dry. Instead, he channeled all of that desire and yearning into eating your pussy like a starved man.

“Jasper,” you screamed, “Oh god, I—you’re so—it’s so—”

“You’re feeling everything I’m feeling,” he admitted, ripping through the buttons of his shirt. “And everything I’m feeling is you.”

You understood. It was a continual, never-ending loop of love and pleasure that he had shared with you. This was exaltation, better than any human drug or stimulant. It was just you and your husband making love for the first time, consummating your marriage as countless other lovers had done before but infinitely different and unique.

“I can’t take it anymore! Please, just do it! I want you inside me so badly, Jas,” you hyperventilated as you assisted him as he undid his belt and zipper, the rest of his offensive attire falling to the floor. Now there was nothing standing in between you and your man.

“Patience, darlin’,” he hummed, pushing you up against the headboard in a way that did not seem so patient in itself. By this point, your vision was beginning to go white from the sheer excitement, and in that moment, you hated him for deriving you from the immediate pleasure. He was taking his time, savoring the image of your desperate expressions in his photographic mind.

He pressed his cock unto your clit, rubbing tiny little circles with the tip of his dick—only contributing to your frustration and utter annoyance.

“Just do it, please! I want you to fucking ruin me.”

His eyes widened. “My baby girl has a dirty mouth, doesn’t she? I’ll have to deal with that later, but since you asked so nicely—”

He thrust into you suddenly, knocking the air sensuously from your lungs. Your fingers crept up to his hair, grabbing a palmful to yank and hold on to. The pain was noticeable, but somehow you suspected he had lessened the intensity by using his ability. He stilled inside you, brushing his lips against yours as he waited.

“Are you ready?” he asked after a while.

“Yes.”

He began moving, his thrusts deep but firm as he pinned you down in the warm candlelight. The lewd sounds of your bodies meeting brought heat to your cheeks. It was so delicious and utterly filthy that tears accumulated in your eyes. He uttered a string of curses in your ear, quiet and intended only for you.

“This sopping pussy, so wet. So sweet. You want me to fix for ya, darlin’? Does it feel good when I’m stroking you like this?”

It was so startling and unlike what you imagined. Jasper had always been the quiet Cullen, the one who never spoke unless spoken to. Even in your relationship, he opted to listen to your voice rather than lead the conversation. It was something you thought would carry over into his bedroom tendencies. But here he was, spitting naughty, dangerous words to you, unabashedly and so god damn sexy.

His pace changed. Now it was fast and shallow. You looked down to where your bodies connected, your arousal dripping down onto the cotton sheets and shining against his lower half. You cried into his throat, trying to hide your face.

“No, Y/N,” he commanded, “Look at me. Look at what I’m doing to you. I want to watch you cum for me. Look into my eyes.”

You did as he said, and it was utterly too much. He growled as you came undone underneath the sheets. His seed, slightly warm, gushed inside you, filling your womb with his love. Your tongues clashed together as he bared his hands on the mattress and hunched over you.

You laid together in the romantic darkness, your head relaxed against his chest. You could hear cars honking in the streets, music floating up from the partying crowds below. It was so tranquil and perfect that if a hurricane blew over the island in that instant, you truly believed you wouldn’t care. All the while, his breathing slowed in your ear—not out of necessity—but from pure leisure.

“I can’t believe,” you started before taking a deep breath and starting over, “I can’t believe you waited over a century and a half to be with me. With someone you never met. I feel like I’ve robbed you years of laughter and joy when you should have been out living your life. If I had been there, then Maria wouldn’t have. . .she wouldn’t have—”

He sat up suddenly, bringing you with him against the headboard.

“All of it, all of the years of waiting and suffering—every painful moment of it was worth it. It groomed me to become the man I am now. I used to be cold, unsympathetic, and callous. I had a backward ideology and knew not how to love another person for I could not even love myself.” he placed his large hand over yours, brushing the iridescent diamond band glimmering colorfully in the candlelight.

“But Carlisle and Esme, all of my adopted siblings—they taught me to cherish myself, even in spite of all my flaws. They never gave up on me when I struggled with my thirst, and they never judged me for the life I used to have. Little did I know, you had made your second arrival in the world not long after. I was learning to love, and well, you were learning to live.”

“The way your mother looks at you, Y/N, it’s a look of pure love and adoration. I decided then when I first sat at your dinner table that I would never let anything happen to that bond. I would protect you with my life. You were the final piece to my heart, darlin’. I had learned to love myself, but I didn’t trust myself. It wasn’t until you realized I was capable of loving others, that I could control myself enough around people.”

You didn’t realize you were crying but you were. Tears streamed down your face, some rolling down your cheeks and others falling unto his skin.

“I don’t care what Edward believes.You are capable of loving in any way you choose; as a friend, as a brother, as a son—”

“As a husband?”

You smiled. “Yes. And, maybe, if you wanted—as a father.”

He froze, his golden eyes widened in surprise. “You mean. . .you want to adopt?”

“We could if we wanted,” you whispered quietly. “But Ava told me something about witches, something I thought you should know.”

He nodded, beckoning you to continue.

“Witches can have children with humans, vampires, werewolves, and shapeshifters. Because of our magic, it is immediately passed on to the offspring so that the children automatically retain human characteristics until they are old enough to learn what they are. And as for me, as long as I choose, I will never age. Of course, if we do have children, then I might need to create an illusion to change my appearance a little so people won’t be sus—”

He pulled you to his lips, and once again the two of you were reunited. It felt warm in his arms. Safe.

“I would be honored,” he answered breathlessly. “Perhaps that dream of our farm life isn’t too far-fetched at all.”

“Oh no, it’s totally far-fetched,” you cried, laughing. “Yes, I grew up in Alabama. Yes, we’re southerners at heart. But I do not want to smell like cattle and chase chickens around for all of eternity. Maybe let’s just get a summer farm and we can have people to maintain while we’re gone.”

He shook his head, laughing, as you cradled his chin in your hand.

“We’ll need a big house for the farm I plan to create with you, Mrs. Whitlock,” he drawled seductively, grabbing your hand by the wrist and bringing it slowly to his chest.

You moved him so that you were on top, straddling him, the sheets pooling at your waist.

“Well then, cowboy, we’d better get started.”

And this completes this series! Hope you enjoyed! I’m planning on doing some blurbs and drabble with our happy couple in the future. . .send me some ideas, will ya?

Twilight, despite all of its many problems and kinks, is one of my favorite nostalgic stories to this day. Jasper has always been my favorite character, (Seth Clearwater next) and since we’re all either quarantined or protesting, I thought I could bring light to our lives in such a dark time.

Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagines #jasper hale x reader #twilight #twilight x reader #twilight scenarios #twilight imagines #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #edward cullen #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #alice cullen

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