#anyways i spent seventeen hours on this over the course of several days and my hands hate me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meg-moira · 3 years

Text

The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind

Sequel to Eindred and the Witch

In which Severin, the golden eyed witch, learns that his greatest enemy and truest love is fated to kill him.

Dealing in prophecies is a dubious work. Anyone who knows anything will tell you as much.

“Think of all of time as a grand tapestry,” his great-grandmother had said, elbow deep in scalding water. Her hands were tomato red, and Severin watched with wide golden eyes as she kneaded and stretched pale curds in the basin. “You might be so privileged to understand a single weave, but unless you go following all surrounding threads, and the threads around those threads, and so on - which, mind you, no human can do - you’ll never understand the picture.”

Severin, who was ten years old and had never seen a grand tapestry, looked at the cheese in the basin and asked if his great-grandmother could make the analogy about that instead.

“No,” she replied. “Time is a tapestry. Cheese is just cheese.”

And that was that.

By fifteen, Severin who was all arms, legs, and untamable black hair, decided he hated prophecies more than anything in the world. He occupied himself instead with long walks atop the white bluffs well beyond his family’s home. Outside, he could look at birds, and talk to the wind, and not think about the terrible prophecy which followed him like a shadow.

His second eldest sister had revealed it - accidentally, of course. Severin lived in a warm and bustling house with his great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, two aunts, and three sisters. All of whom were generously gifted in the art of foretelling (a messy business, each would say if asked), and every one of them had seen Severin’s same bleak thread.

He would die. Willingly stabbed through the heart by his greatest enemy and truest love.

Willingly. That was the worst part, he thought.

Severin, who had no talent in the way of prophecies, but plenty of talent in the realm of wind and sky, marched along the well-worn trail, static sparking around his fingertips as the brackish sea breeze nipped consolingly at his face and hair.

I will protect you if you ask me to, it blustered, and Severin was comforted.

He didn’t care who this foretold stranger was. When this enemy-lover appeared, Severin would ask the wind to pick them up and take them far, far away. Far enough that they could never harm him. The wind whistled in agreement. And so it was settled.

At seventeen, he was still all arms and legs, though his eldest sister had managed to tame his hair with a respectably sharp pair of shears. The wind, who had delighted in playing with his wild, tangled locks, did not thank her for it. Severin did thank her; in fact, he’d asked her to do it. He was of the opinion that his newly shorn hair made him look older - more sophisticated. And he left his family home with a new cloak draping his shoulders and a knotted wooden walking stick in hand, thinking himself very nearly a man. He was far from it, of course. But there was no telling him that.

He set out on a clear, cool morning to find his own way in the world, and was prepared to thoroughly deal with anyone who so much as dared to act ever so slightly in the manner of enemy or lover.

He discovered, soon enough, that this was not a practical attitude to take when venturing into the world. Severin spent his first months away from home making little in the way of friends and plenty in the way of thoroughly baffled enemies.

When you meet his gaze, you’ll know, the wind chided as it whisked in and out of his hood.

“His?” Severin said aloud, lifting a single dark brow. “Do you know something I don’t?”

The wind whistled noncommittally in answer.

The wind did know something, as it turned out. At twenty, Severin stood on the warm, sun-loved planks of a dock. As gulls cried overhead, he pressed his fingers to his lips. The young sailor had touched his lips to Severin’s in a swift, carefree kiss before departing on the sea. And though the feeling was pleasant enough, Severin knew that his enemy-lover was not on the great ship cleaving a path through the cerulean waves.

“When I meet his gaze, I’ll know,” Severin said, golden eyes sweeping the horizon. The seaward breeze blustered in such agreement that the gulls overhead cried out in alarm.

What will you do? The wind asked, delighting in whipping the gulls into a proper frenzy.

“Get rid of him, of course,” Severin replied.

What if you don’t want to?

Severin thought that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “He’s going to stab me through the heart. Why in the world wouldn’t I want to get rid of him?”

People are foolish, the wind answered, shrugging the nearby sails.

“Not me.” Severin leaned on his stick and looked out at the sea. “I won’t let anyone get away with stabbing my heart.”

When he was twenty-two, Severin knelt at the bedside of a withered, wilting woman. She was a stranger, but the town’s herb witch was away, and Severin happened to be passing through. Though his true strength would always remain with the wind and the sky, the youngest of Severin’s two aunts had a special way with plants, and she’d taught him a fair bit about the many healing properties of the region’s hardy, windblown flora.

He boiled water, adding the few herbs he carried to make a rejuvenating tea. He helped the woman drink, his hand supporting her head and fingers tangling in her sweat drenched hair. After, he pressed a cool cloth to her head, and in the half dark room, she murmured, sharing delirious fears that she would accidentally speak cruel dying words and lay a curse upon him.

Kindly stroking her forehead, Severin assured her that he was not afraid of curses. Even uttered by the dying, a true curse was rarer than the superstitious soldier’s and barbarians liked to believe. Besides, she wasn’t going to die. Severin, who’d seen just enough of the world to have a taste of wisdom, was certain he could save her.

She died within the day.

Whether her condition had been beyond help, or Severin lacked the skills to twist the herbs to his bidding, he would never know. The wind rustled reassurances through the sparsely-leaved trees, but Severin was beyond consolation. Clouds gathered on the horizon, and by nightfall, great branches of lightning crackled across the sky.

He spent the next year and a half in the wilds. Beneath the jubilant light of the sun, he collected plants, acquainting himself with the earth. And beneath the soft, watchful light of the moon, he whispered to the wind and dared to wonder at the shape of his enemy-lover’s face. He could never seem to summon the slightest picture in his mind. Though it really didn’t matter, he supposed. Their eyes would meet, and Severin would know. And then he’d use all of the power at his disposal to send his enemy-lover away.

During this time, Severin sometimes saw bands of barbaric warriors crossing the plains. He kept his distance, but he doubted any of them were interested in either recruiting or killing a scrawny young man in a worn woolen cloak. Few he encountered ever suspected he had any great abilities, and Severin certainly didn’t go out of his way to advertise the fact that he could command the wind and sky when he wished. The barbaric companies had their eyes on more obviously lucrative targets, anyway. A handful of city states which spread across the great peninsula were openly at war with the barbaric tribes from the north.

It was when Severin was returning from his self-imposed isolation that he had his first real encounter with war. He held his sturdy walking stick in hand and carried a bursting bag of herbs, poultices, and leather-bound journals over his shoulder. Severin was so surprised by the sudden, brutal clash of metal and the primal cries that erupted nearby that he halted where he stood. His curiosity both outweighed and outlasted his fear, and after a minute or two of tense consideration, he pressed cautiously onward in the direction of the noise.

By the time he arrived, the battle was done.

It had surely been an ugly, bloody affair, if the splayed out bodies of the city soldiers and barbaric warriors were anything to judge it by. Holding a hand over his mouth, Severin gingerly navigated the carnage and valiantly resisted the impulse to be sick right there in the field. He was nearly on the other side of it when movement caught his eye. Squinting, almost afraid to look, he glanced from the corners of his eyes, sure that it was some grotesque remnant of warfare which awaited him.

Instead, it was a man.

Just a man.

The movement Severin had spotted was the rise and fall of his chest.

Only after turning a careful look around the terrible and silent battlefield did Severin approach the fallen man.

The barbarian’s eyes were closed and his pale brows drew together, as if reflecting pain. His face would probably have been handsome in a rough, simple sort of way if it weren’t smeared in dirt and blood. His light hair, braided and pulled away from his face, was bloodied as well, and Severin frowned at the sorry state of him. After a second wary look around, he knelt with a sigh.

The barbarian’s leather vest was cut, and his thick, scarred arms had earned several new slices as well. Severin, who had more than enough herbs and poultices on hand, reluctantly tore his only spare shirt into bandages. Within the hour the stranger was fully bandaged and muttering in fever addled sleep.

“Don’t worry,” Severin murmured, knotting the last makeshift bandage. “I’ve learned enough from the plants and trees to save you from both fever and infection.”

Behind closed lids, the barbarian’s eyes flitted anxiously to and fro and he mumbled something that sounded like no. Nose wrinkling, Severin leaned in. He heard the sleeping barbarian say, his voice low and cracking, “The curses will take me.”

Severin frowned down at him, unimpressed. “No they won’t,” he snapped, and yanked the bandage tighter.

The barbarian silenced then, and Severin stared at him a moment longer, pursing his lips in consternation. It wasn’t that he minded using his supplies to heal a stranger. But a part of him worried that healing a warrior made Severin responsible for whatever slaughter he resumed when he rose.

Severin abhorred warfare. It was such a terrible waste. But he supposed there was no helping what he’d already done. The barbarian was already on his way to recovery, and Severin certainly wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep. He reached out, intending to test the temperature at the man’s temple, but no sooner had Severin’s fingers touched his overheated skin than the world bled around him. In its place: a vision.

Shock echoed through him, because he was not like the women in his family, able to see phantoms in time. He’d always simply played with the air. The vision dancing before his gaze, however, didn’t seem to care.

Like droplets of ink spreading in water, a prism of colors twisted, threading together into nearly tangible shapes. From the chaos, rose a blond child holding a knit sheep. He was ruddy cheeked and pouting up at his mother. Then ink and water swirled and the images collapsed and shifted. Hulking shadows loomed over the child. The mother wailed her grief. The formless ink shivered, morphing from one scene to the next, nearly too quickly to follow, and Severin was swallowed up in it, overrun and overwhelmed by violence, blood, and pain. Beneath his fingers, Severin felt the movement of shifting, slipping thread.

Just as abruptly as it had started, the vision ceased. Severin’s knees ached where they pressed against the dirt and the barbarian’s skin beneath his hand was no longer overheated. How long had he been within the vision’s grasp, he wondered?

As Severin shifted back, the barbarian groaned. Severin watched as the man’s eyelids fluttered - and at once, the air turned heavy, as if the wind had drawn and held an anticipatory breath.

Dread flooded Severin and he rushed to stand. The barbarian had not yet opened his eyes, and Severin knew with a terrible nameless certainty that he must not be here when this man awoke. Severin could still feel those elusive, unknowable threads beneath his fingers, and his hands shook as he rose. Awakened by his urgency, the wind roared, lending him speed as he fled the clearing.

By the time the barbarian cracked open a single, world weary eye, Severin was long gone, heart still safely beating in his chest.

Severin endeavored to forget about the barbarian. He convinced himself that the vision had been the hallucination of an overexerted body, and that the sensation of inexorably moving threads beneath his fingers was nothing more than a flight of fancy. Severin did not think about how the threads had felt - certain and unyielding - beneath his fragile, very mortal hands. If he did, he feared he might ask the wind to whisk him away from the world altogether, and that, surely, was no way to live.

In a deep, secret place, however, Severin suspected the reason he was granted such a vision was because the stranger’s thread was woven perilously close to his own. Because of this, he set upon an easterly road, endeavoring to put a healthy distance between himself and the pale barbarian.

After nearly a month of travel, he arrived in a small village which sat nestled in foothills, tucked beneath the shadows of great mountains which stood like sentinels above. Severin hadn’t intended to stay, but when it was discovered he had some skill with plants and medicine, the villagers eagerly led him to a hut some distance from the village. It was empty, they explained, and had been for some years. A healing woman had occupied it, some years back, before she’d passed on. The villagers had been saving it, hoping the space would be enough to entice a new healer to make their isolated village a home.

Severin had nowhere else to go, and he supposed a distant, mountain village was as good a place as any to avoid a blade to the heart.

Two years passed, and Severin settled into his little hut. He spent his mornings taking long walks around the surrounding lands, collecting herbs and specimens. Returning home, he’d throw open the windows to allow his friend the wind a brief but wild rampage through the hut. With the air freshened, Severin spread plants across his square dining table and sorted them into jars to be sealed, dried, or preserved in vinegar. His neighbors in the village visited frequently, just as often for his company as for his medicines, and Severin delighted in visiting the town on market days and making the streamers dance in the wind for the children. Evenings were spent in his rocking chair, with a book in his lap and his feet pressed near to the low fire in the hearth.

He was happy, and hardly thought of the barbarian he’d found bleeding in the dirt. That is, until fate caught up with him.

One day, when he was foraging for moss on the hillside behind his hut, Severin felt the whisper-soft touch of thread against his palm. He sat upright at once, and turning and craning his neck, he absently rubbed his palms against his robes.

A company marched into the village. From up on Severin’s hill, they appeared a swarm of ants overtaking the miniature thatched roof homes. The slipping, shivering feeling beneath Severin’s palm intensified, and he stood. His heart drummed a frantic beat against his ribs, and Severin felt with a terrible certainty that fate, like a hunting hound on the scent, had sniffed him out at last.

When Severin called out, begging the wind’s help, it rushed to him, howling atop the hill.

I am here. I am here.

Cradled in the gale, he begged the wind to take him and hide him away, so that the tapestry’s relentless threads might cease dragging him toward the one he never wished to meet.

So be it, the wind said. If that is truly what you wish, I will take you and hide you away forever.

In that moment, nearly caught as he was, Severin was willing to do anything to avoid meeting this man who would kill him - until the screams rose from the pastures in the valley beneath his hut. Severin’s heartbeat was in his throat, on his very tongue, as he held up a hand to stay the wind.

“Just a moment,” he murmured, and turned bright, pained eyes toward the village. The terrified screams of his neighbors pierced him as surely as any blade, and with a mournful twist of his fingers, he bade the wind disperse.

By the time he reached in the pastures, the shepherd, the blacksmith, and Helvia’s two sons lay dead. At the sight of his friend’s bodies, grief and rage stirred within Severin, and the wind, always nearby to him, trembled in sympathy. Gaze sweeping the warriors, he marked the five whose weapons were stained red. Severin was not violent by nature, but if he was to die this day, he resolved to remove from the earth at least these five men, who with bloodied blades, uncaringly spoke of feasting upon the village’s few precious sheep.

When the warriors turned and finally noticed Severin, he lifted his chin and prayed his voice did not betray his fear. “These are simple people. They have little in way of money or goods. It wasn’t for nothing that the shepherd, blacksmith, and teenagers died. They need these sheep. And I cannot allow you to take them.”

The men glanced at one another, eyes filling with a cruel sort of mirth. They laughed at him, and Severin steeled himself for what must come next. He was friends with the wind, but to call down the heavens was an entirely more serious matter. And he’d never done it. At least, not like this.

Severin turned his palms up and glared at the heavens, daring them to refuse him now when he needed them most.

For a long, terrible moment, nothing happened.

And then, the skies erupted.

He had never felt pure, visceral power in such a way, and as it whined and crackled, Severin, with splayed fingers, used all of his strength to tear the lightning from its home in the sky. It rained upon the warriors, screaming in wild, untamable fury. Severin watched the men cry out in agony, and he felt horror and satisfaction in equal measure.

When a single figure broke from the group, agile enough to evade the lightning and charge across the field, Severin could only look on in exhausted realization. It was the pale barbarian. The man from the battlefield. The child in the vision.

The barbarian charged like a beast, his thickly braided hair bouncing. His brows were drawn down in focus and his lips poised on the precipice of a snarl. It was with a hopeless sense of finality that Severin met the stranger’s gaze.

He met eyes of icy gray, the color of hazy, snow capped mountains in winter, and Severin knew, he knew with a certainty that was sunken into his bones and twisted in his marrow, that this barbarian was the shadow which had haunted him. And he knew, more than anything, the crude blade in the man’s scarred-knuckle hand was fate’s exclamation point at the end of Severin’s ephemeral existence.

Watching as the barbarian pivoted, drawing back his blade, Severin only wished he understood why the women in his family had persisted in calling this man Severin’s truest love. If this was love, the man had a spectacularly terrible way of showing it.

Time slowed to a crawl, and sunlight flashed, reflecting off the blade. As the jagged edge touched the fabric of Severin’s robe, the wind whispered at his ear. Let me show you a piece of the picture.

The wind around him froze, and so too did the world.

Look up, said the wind, a rustle within his ear.

Severin did.

The complexly woven image was shaped by currents in the air - all but invisible to any whose eyes are untrained to look for them. But Severin had a born understanding of the wind and sky, and when he looked up, he saw bits and pieces of an impossibly complex tapestry.

He saw scarred knuckles gently shaping wood. A small child that sat upon broad shoulders. Rocking chairs placed side by side before a glowing fire. Warm hands enveloping his own. Safety. Home.

It was...everything, and Severin’s heart ached with a strange and complex longing for a future that surely could never be.

It’s not impossible, the wind whispered. But the threads will have to tangle and untangle just perfectly so.

“How?” Severin asked, and wondered if he was a fool to feel so desperate a pull towards this life glimpsed in impressions and half images.

The warrior must weep and repent. And a curse must come to fruition.

“And if these things do not happen?”

Then your soul will fade from the earth.

Severin felt torn in two.

The blade has not yet struck your heart, the wind murmured, kind and conspiratorial. There is time still for me to secret you away. I could pull your thread from the tapestry altogether.

“But there would be no hope for that life,” Severin said with a last wistful glance at the scattered mosaic above.

No, none, the wind agreed.

“Okay,” Severin whispered, “okay.” And it felt terrifyingly like surrender.

The wind stirred, and a breeze like a kiss tousled his dark hair.

The blade struck.

It was an intense pressure and then swift, vibrantly blooming pain. Severin wavered on his feet, and looked up. For the second time, he met the warrior’s gaze. And Severin saw and understood that there was no malice in those wintry eyes. Not even frustration or anger. But, instead, an exhaustion deeper than Severin could conceive.

When Severin toppled backward, it was concerning to realize he could no longer feel the grass beneath his body. The man knelt down, and Severin blinked tiredly up at him.

It seemed as though the man were waiting for something. Severin’s slipping mind struggled to think of what - until he recalled the dying woman and her talk of curses. And hadn’t the barbarian said something about curses when he was fever addled and hurt? What had the wind said? Severin was struggling to remember. As his life trickled away in red rivulets which stained the grass and soil, he thought of the boy in the vision - lost and afraid. And he thought of the man he’d become, kneeling stonily over him.

And Severin knew exactly which words should be his last.

Swallowing, he mustered the strength to whisper, “-my hut…it’s just past…the next hill over. In it, I keep medicines and herbs. For the villagers. And travelers who pass.”

For the barbarian would have to stay if he were ever to show remorse. He couldn’t very well continue going about fighting and murdering his way across the peninsula. Which brought Severin to his final words. It took all of his remaining strength to lift his hand. When he reached out, the barbarian startled, as though he expected more lightning to spring forth from Severin’s fingers. But Severin merely tapped his chest and smiled. “May you live a life of safety and peace.”

It was a fitting curse, he thought, feeling particularly clever. And there, on the field, surrounded by sheep, Severin’s heart stuttered and stopped.

It was an abrupt, slipping sensation, like losing your footing on iced over earth. Raw existence rushed around Severin, and he was battered and blown about, like a banner torn loose in the storm. This continued for a dizzying moment, or perhaps a dizzying eternity - Severin really had no way of knowing which. But it stopped when a familiar presence surged around him, blowing and blustering until the wild chaos of existence was forced to let him be.

The wind could not protect him forever, Severin knew, and so he focused his energies until, like a wind sprite, he swirled about the hillside. Below him, he saw the barbarian, his great head bent. Severin, as incorporeal as a breeze, could not resist blustering over the barbarian’s shoulder and observing himself, limp and pitiful in death. Whipping around, he beheld the barbarian - because surely this sight would bring him at least to the verge of tears.

The barbarian frowned down at Severin’s body and rubbed a scarred hand over the patches of stubble on his chin. And then he rose with a great sigh and set off down the hillside, away from Severin and the village.

Severin, who was nothing more than wind and spirit, watched him and despaired. He could do nothing more than whip and howl through the hills as his murderer left him without a backward glance.

Months passed.

Severin did not follow after the barbarian. What good would it do? In this form, it wasn’t as though Severin could speak to him. And if he was doomed to fade and dissolve from existence, he would much rather do so here in the hills he loved than in some strange land trailing after an even stranger man. The wind kept him company, at least, and Severin spent his days whistling through the black, porous stones at the base of the mountains and blowing bits of dandelions across wild tufts of grass.

One day, long after Severin had begun to feel more spread out and thin than was entirely comfortable, the wind rushed to him, carrying with it the scent of dust and dirt and faraway lands.

The barbarian had returned.

Severin was an icy breeze that whipped around the edges of town, and he watched with cool distrust as the man trudged through the streets. His shoulders were slumped and his blond head was turned down. He looked utterly defeated, and any sympathy Severin might have felt was eclipsed by petty spite. He didn’t hold any of the pettiness against himself, though. He was dead, and therefore felt he’d earned at least a little pettiness.

When the barbarian crossed the field, stopping to stand before the place where Severin had fallen, Severin swirled around him, newly curious. The man didn’t look grief stricken, but his face was difficult to read. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and lines of exhaustion around his mouth. Mostly, Severin thought he just looked tired.

When the man approached Severin’s home after having ignored the invitation for months, Severin had a second moment of pettiness and whipped the wind up on the other side of the door, sealing it closed as the barbarian tried to open it. Only when the man shoved it with his great, muscled shoulder did Severin retreat, allowing the door to swing open.

It was with a strange sort of melancholy that he watched the barbarian’s silver gaze sweep over the room. The man looked first at the damp, unkempt hearth before slowly making his way across the room. He glanced from Severin’s well-loved walking stick to the bookshelf built into the wall. He fumblingly ran the backs of his fingers along the spines of the books, as if he was unlearned in the ways of a gentle touch.

Severin was still very much put out about the whole being dead business, but as he watched the barbarian’s almost reverent inspection, he unthinkingly twisted the air in the room, drawing out the cold and pulling in a bit of sun warmed breeze.

By the second day, the man was sitting in Severin’s chair. Severin stewed, swatting at floating dust by the window as his killer rocked to and fro in Severin’s favorite seat. Later, the barbarian stood, stretching his strong arms overhead and twisted his back experimentally. Brows lifting in pleasant surprise, he gave the chair an appreciative pat.

By the third day, Severin had no more dust to swat about. The barbarian had rolled up his ragged sleeves and set about scrubbing every inch of Severin’s little hut. When the hulking man worked open the stiff windows, the wind rushed in, delighting in whipping about the space once more.

He’s done a better job of cleaning than you ever did, the wind sang, slipping once more outside.

He was dead and that meant the wind had to be nice, and Severin told it as much. It’s reply was a soft rustling of chimes that hung from the house’s eaves, and the sound was almost like laughter.

Days passed, and the man began reading Severin’s books. This was probably the most surprising development yet, in Severin’s opinion. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading, just - well, he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading particularly well. But the man seemed to be doing just fine, and sat in Severin’s rocking chair, putting a far greater strain on the sturdy wood than Severin ever had, as he thumbed carefully through the book’s smooth pages.

When little Mykela took ill, Severin knew it well before anyone else. He’d taken a spin through town and as he rode the wintry wind past where she played in the yard, he’d felt the rattle of air in her lungs. But at this point, Severin was little more than a memory on the breeze, and though his worry was agony, he could do absolutely nothing. He spent the rest of the day roaring about the mountain peaks, sending snow flurries spilling down the far side of the cliffs.

Two days later, Severin was idly observing the barbarian, watching the crease between his brows twitch as he slept, when a great pounding broke out against the door. The barbarian rose at once, and Severin watched him cast a brief glance at the walking stick before turning instead to the candle on a nearby shelf. With warm light cupped in his palm, the barbarian approached the door.

When Dormund, Mykela’s father, entered the hut, carrying a limp mound of blankets, Severin felt a spike of icy terror. As the barbarian poked and prodded the fire, Severin carefully stirred the wind to better feed the flames. Severin would have shouted instructions, had he lungs to shout, but the barbarian already had two jars in hand. He held them up, looking a little lost, before he hurried to the bookshelf and selected a thick book. Muttering under his breath, he flipped hurriedly through pages until he found what he was looking for. And then he was kneeling before the pot of water he’d set over the fire, and Severin watched as he scooped careful measurements of Severin’s dried herbs into the roiling water.

Mykela was saved, and as the barbarian sent the girl and her father off with a bag of herbs, it occurred to Severin that he wished to know the barbarian’s name. He wouldn’t learn it until two days later, when Old Cara arrived at the hut, seeking the barbarian’s help for her arthritic knee. After supplying her with the appropriate poultice, the barbarian helped her to the door, and looking up, she patted his shoulder and asked him his name.

Eindred, was his answer.

Eindred.

Severin wished he had lips to test the shape of the name.

Months passed, and was easier now to watch Eindred move about Severin’s hut. In fact, Severin had even begun to enjoy riding the soft breeze from the windows as it wafted around Eindred’s shoulders, curiously observing whatever small thing he happened to, at any given time, be doing with his hands. One day, Severin was surprised to find Eindred’s hands at work, deliberately whittling the curved back of a rocking chair. When the chair was done, Eindred set it carefully, almost reverently beside the first. At the sight, Severin had a bright, nearly overwhelming flash of recognition, and he thought of the image the wind had shown him - of the rocking chairs before a warm, crackling fire.

Severin was fading, he could feel it. To hope was to court a greater disappointment than Severin could rightly comprehend, and yet - he watched Eindred set out with Severin’s walking stick to join the festival, and saw when Mykela took his hand. The barbarian’s stony expression softened, then melted as the girl tugged him after her.

It was the strangest of sensations, because while Severin didn’t strictly have a heart these days, watching the great Eindred meekly follow little Mykela made something in Severin’s incorporeal being ache with unexpected warmth.

Whatsmore, Eindred had been reading Severin’s journals and he would sometimes stop and stare about the hut, as if trying to picture the ghost of Severin’s life there. Once, Eindred draped a thick blanket over the back of one of the rocking chairs and ran his rough hands over it as he frowned contemplatively into the fire.

Summer had come and gone and Severin feared that parts of his soul had already begun to slip into that other-place. And so, with a tender sort of weariness, he drifted on the sunbeams cutting through the clean window glass, and watched with only mild annoyance as Eindred carefully tore a blank page from one of Severin’s journals.

Lips pressing together in focus, Eindred wrote in with small, precise letters, what appeared to be a list.

Confused, Severin drifted closer.

May your every loved one die screaming in pain.

I hope you die with your eyes stabbed out and your heart in your hands.

You will never know happiness.

Your existence will be suffering.

It was a list of curses, Severin realized. Morbid curses, by the looks of it. The last two, however, caught his attention.

May your greatest enemy rise from the grave and never leave you alone.

And,

May you live a life of safety and peace.

And Severin understood.

When Eindred set out from the hut, looking drawn but resolved, Severin began at once to gather his energy. It had been nearly a year since his death, and he feared that there might not be enough of him left to make a return. The second to last curse would help things along, but Severin knew it would be a mistake to rely on it.

And so, as Eindred entered the village, Severin stretched upward and out, calling wind and storm clouds with reckless, hopeful abandon. For his entire life, Severin had lived, certain in the knowledge that love and happiness were not meant for one such as he. How could they be? When a blade was foretold to make a home in his heart?

But Eindred had changed. And the patchwork pieces of tapestry were there, a life Severin had never dared to dream of, right there - if he could only summon the strength to reach out and grasp it.

Below, Eindred bowed his head before the townsfolk, confessing his part in the tragedy which played out on their soil. Above, Severin swallowed the skies and became the storm.

Severin felt it, distantly below, when the people in the village forgave Eindred. And he felt when Eindred’s bittersweet tears tickled the earth. He felt Eindred return to the hut, and then after pacing restlessly about, return at last to the pastures where it had all begun.

And then came Eindred’s pained voice, calling out from the fields below. “Severin!”

Eindred had never said his name before, and Severin, who was the clouds and the wind and the rain and the sky, rumbled his joy at the sound of it.

“It was my hand which ended your life,” Eindred continued. His deep voice was shaking. “And with your dying breath you gifted what I thought was a nightmare. Did you know that it would turn out to be a dream? I think you did.”

Just wait, Severin wanted to tell him, because he’d seen a future better still. The only question that remained was whether he had strength enough to reach it.

Rugged face upturned, Eindred called to Severin and the sky, which were one and the same. “Though it’s a dream, I’ll never know peace. How can I? When I live in the home of the one I so coldly murdered? I would leave, but the villagers have my heart - as they had yours. In this state, I don’t think I’ll ever truly know true rest or true peace - despite the great power of your curse.”

You will, Severin said, and lightning streaked across the sky. I will.

“Even now,” Eindred said, through wind and rain, “I’m not sure if you are my greatest enemy or ally.”

There it was.

His greatest enemy.

Severin, with every ounce of power he possessed, claimed the title. For he was the greatest enemy the old Eindred, warrior and killer, had faced. With his parting curse, Severin had forced the old Eindred to do the one thing he’d feared most of all: to live and face all he’d done.

Severin felt a rushing, coursing energy thrumming within and without and he knew that he must catch it and hold it, though he wasn’t sure how.

The tapestry threads, the wind whispered. Severin had spread so thin, his old friend was nearly a part of him now.

Severin listened, and felt for that thread which had teased and tickled his palm. And when he was sure he felt it, he wrapped himself around it and pulled. The sky around him screamed as he dragged himself forward toward something - something -

White light was all around him, and then it wasn’t. The air was cool and damp, and the evening sang with the wind’s gleeful gusts and the soft patter of rain on grass. Severin lifted a hand, and looked it over in tentatively blooming relief. Pressing the hand over his heart which beat with a strong, steady rhythm, Severin breathed a relieved, ragged sigh.

Eindred stood in the field, turned away from him. Drawing in a breath, Severin delighted in the sound of his own voice. “May your greatest enemy rise from the grave, Eindred, and never leave you alone.” He smiled as he spoke, and very nearly pressed his fingers to his lips to feel the shape they took when saying Eindred’s name.

Eindred turned. “So you are my greatest enemy then?” He sounded wary.

“I don’t think it’s so simple as that. Do you?”

Eindred’s expression shifted and he shook his head. When he next spoke, it was soft and fumbling, as if he still hadn’t fully adjusted to a world which was kind. “I made a chair,” he blurted out. “A few actually,” he added, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

Severin wanted to say, I know. I saw. But that would require more explanation than he cared to give at the moment, so instead, he replied, “Do I get the new rocking chair or my old one?”

“Any,” Eindred stammered, “Either. Both?” He looked at Severin, and the earnest weight of his gaze held the promise of all the chairs Severin could want and anything else Eindred could possibly make with his scarred hands.

The fondness that bubbled up within Severin was so abrupt and filled him so thoroughly that he wanted to laugh with it. “Lucky for you, I only need one chair. You can keep the old one if you like it. I trust your craftsmanship.”

Severin turned then, because it was cold and every part of him felt so entirely bright and buoyant that he thought he might die if he didn’t move. However, when he realized Eindred was not following, he stopped. “Well? Are you coming?”

Eindred looked up, as if he’d been startled. “Where?” he called.

Standing there, sodden in the field, Eindred looked after Severin, as if he was afraid to hope - as Severin once had been afraid to do. And it occurred to Severin that Eindred would need to hear it said aloud.

“Home, of course. Where else?”

“Home,” Eindred repeated, as if confirming it to himself.

And when Severin turned again towards home, Eindred followed.

By the time they reached the hut, both were shivering from the cold, and as they crossed the threshold into the warm space, Severin swayed on his feet. He’d almost forgotten the immense power he’d used, and now the harsh ringing in his ears was a stark reminder. Warm, rough hands steadied him and when Severin tilted his head up, he saw that Eindred wore an expression of poorly concealed terror.

“I’m not going to die all over again,” Severin assured him. “I just used a lot of magic.” As he said it, he swayed once more, this time falling forward.

Eindred caught Severin again, one arm wrapped around his back and his other hand braced against his chest. Beneath where Eindred’s palm pressed, Severin’s heart thrummed. And Severin watched, curious, as Eindred’s expression twisted. He no longer claimed the title of warrior, Severin knew, but it was nonetheless with a warrior’s gravity that Eindred met Severin’s gaze.

“These hands will never again harm you. I swear it.”

“I know,” Severin replied, and pressed a hand over the back of Eindred’s rough knuckles. “Help me to a chair?”

Eindred did, and helped to remove Severin’s thick outer robe before Severin sank gratefully in front of the fire. Eindred left him a moment, and Severin closed his eyes.

He intended to just rest them for a second - maybe two, but when Severin next opened his eyes, the room was darker and he was draped and bundled in blankets, softer and thicker than any he recalled owning. The fire was still crackling, and the warm light made soothing shadows dance across the hut’s wooden floor. The other chair was occupied, Severin realized, and he watched as the hearth’s orange light played across Eindred’s sleeping features. Compared to Severin’s mountain of blankets, he had just one draped over his lap, though he didn’t seem cold. Nonetheless, Severin shifted a bit, and peeled a soft fleece blanket off his own pile to toss it onto him. The blanket fell short, and with a quick whispered word, the wind slipped under the door and flipped the offending blanket up onto Eindred’s chest.

“That’s better,” Severin said.

The wind played a little with the fire before tousling Severin’s hair and departing with a sibilant, save your strength foolish human. You’re still recovering, and slipped out the way it had come.

When Severin turned back to Eindred, he saw the large man was sitting up and his eyes were now open. Blinking, Eindred rubbed a hand over his face and then, stiffening in sudden shock, he whipped to look at Severin. Heaving a great sigh, he rocked back in the chair. “Still breathing,” he said.

“I don’t plan on stopping.”

Something almost like a smile twitched at Eindred’s lips and Severin was enchanted by it.

“You were dead and now you’re alive. Forgive me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“You’re the one who believes in silly curses.”

Eindred’s brows rose. “Silly? Says the one who was brought back from the dead by one.”

Severin waved a dismissive hand. “The curse might have set the stage, but I was director, crew, and cast.”

And there was another smile, like a glimpse of sun between clouds. Severin was beginning to fear there might be no practical limit to the lengths he’d be willing to go to see another smile.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Eindred replied. “I get the feeling you know a great deal more about the world and magics than I.”

“Well Eindred,” Severin said, scooting his chair a little closer to both Eindred and the fire. “What do you know of grand tapestries?”

Eindred, looking more than a little lost, shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one.”

“Well,” Severin said, and grinned. “What do you know of cheese?”

EDIT: A novel based on Eindred and the Witch and The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind is in progress! I will post news about it on my Tumblr and my Patreon as news becomes available :)

#my writing #original writing #my story #Eindred and the Witch #original story #fantasy #fantasy story #love story #eindred the warrior #severin the witch #writing #writeblr #short story #long short story #7000+ words #fantasy short story #amwriting #story

12K notes · View notes

archived-kin · 3 years

Text

three names

note from kin: apparently that domestic diluc piece really did wonders for my writers block because i managed to churn this entire thing out within one night

anyway i know little to nothing about childe’s backstory so do be warned that i am only very loosely following the information we get from his story quest/voice lines/etc!

(also as a heads up childe is referred to as ajax throughout this piece! for those who don't know, ajax is his birth name)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, childe, zhongli

pairing(s): childe/reader

warning(s): death (brief and not descriptive), mentions of blood

genre: angst i guess?? it isn’t SUPER heavy but this is very much Not A Happy Piece

You’ve known Ajax for what feels like forever.

The two of you grow up together on the streets of Morepesok, spending the short hours of daylight chasing each other down icy streets and pelting each other with snowballs until your fingers are frozen solid under their mittens and you’re both lying exhausted under the trees. He’s still a somewhat skittish and shy young boy, always hiding behind you while you ask the local farmers for permission to play in their fields and leaving all of the decisions to you when it comes to your childish games.

You know exactly how to get those blue eyes of his to light up like no other, though. Ever since the two of you were tiny tots, Ajax has always been enchanted by stories of adventures, of heroes who journey far from home to conquer evils beyond his childish comprehension, fighting with both sword and mind to quell any hardships or troubles that come their way. He listens to his father tell him these stories with a sparkle in his eye like no other, and begs for a new chapter as soon as one is finished.

You take advantage of this love of adventure to coax him into playing with you - him, the hero and you, his trusty sidekick, braving fight after fight together until the great sea monster is defeated, or until the brainwashed former friend was released - until the world bows down at your feet. You stand beside him and smile as he cackles, foot set atop a stone and brandishing a stick to the sky like a sword.

While Ajax longs for battle and glory, however, you secretly prefer the stories about the fisherman who wins the favour of the sea gods by saving a seal from a net, about the fae who collects the treasures of the land in an attempt to preserve the remains of a race she has loved and lost, about the dragon who follows the rainbow far into the east to find a companion who has fallen under the control of an evil sorcerer. Where he finds interest in tales of clashing blades and rumbling cannons, you find interest in the warmth of a campfire, surrounded by laughing companions that have shared a long journey together. You don’t love these games for the fights and the victories like he does - you love the games because it means you can be with him.

You suppose that this difference of interests is the reason you stay behind when he leaves on his own ‘heroic journey’.

The two of you are only fourteen - still children, for Archons’ sake - and Ajax has long since lost interest in the mundanity of his daily life.

“All we do is eat and play,” He mutters with a pout, poking at the snow with a stick. “It’s boring.”

You tilt your head in confusion and trot up to stand beside him, face half-hidden behind a scarf wrapped like a vice around your neck. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs a little then, and offers you a boyish grin. “Don’t worry, [Name]. You’re an exception.”

You still don’t understand what he means, not exactly, but it still sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The next day, he knocks on your door, dressed in an over-large coat and his favourite hat, a backpack strapped firmly to his back and a rusty shortsword in his hand. He beams at you as you open the door, and announces that he’s running away to find an adventure, and that he was wondering if you wanted to come with him.

You ask if this is another game he wants to play. He shakes his head and tells you that this is for real - that he’s going to explore far and wide, to seek out the quests that he’s heard so many stories about. He’s going to be a hero, and he wants you to be his sidekick, just like always.

But you have always been a little too timid, too afraid of going so far out into the snow, too aware of the dangers of a reckless jaunt like this. And so, bowing your head in shame, you answer that you can’t

He freezes for a moment then, disappointment clear on his face, but he replaces it with a a grin almost immediately. You don’t know it at the time, but this is the last time you’ll ever see him smile like this again.

“Don’t worry about it!” He reassures you. “I’ll bring back lots of souvenirs for you when I come back! Like a dragon head!”

“I don’t like heads.” You mumble. “Too much blood.”

He doesn’t falter. “A dragon claw, then!”

The two of you exchange brief goodbyes, neither of you aware of the magnitude of what Ajax is choosing to do, nor the consequences it will bring, and then he leaves. And you let him, watching his little figure disappear and melt into the blinding white of the snow.

It’s a mistake that continues to haunt you for the rest of your life.

He turns up again, two days later, lying unconscious on the outskirts of the forest by the village. A mere two days - but somehow, you’ve always felt as if he’d been away for much, much longer.

Ajax is never the same after that. He’s more distracted, more absent - he never wants to go out for walks in the fields with you anymore, nor does he have any interest in playing games or hearing stories. He still lets you follow him around and sit beside him, but he speaks less and less, and spends more and more time thinking.

You don’t give up on him, though. It doesn’t matter how much his blank gaze scares you sometimes, nor how unsettling the look on his face is after he shreds yet another hay training dummy to pieces. You hang around him anyway, talking about every little thing that comes to mind, and sometimes, he replies with the same silliness that he did when the two of you were younger.

It bothers you, the way that he swings so abruptly between the old him and the new him. Sometimes he’s just the boy you’d spent your childhood playing with, chasing you down the street only to stuff snow down the back of your jacket, then making you a hot drink afterwards as an apology when you declare that you hate him. But sometimes he isn’t.

His face stills, and his eyes go cold. He stares emptily at the snow beneath his feet, not responding when you call his name, and he returns to his garden sooner or later, to slaughter another line of training dummies. The way he gazes down at the wreckage, the way his hand clenches around the shaft of an arrow or the hilt of a blade, the way that he seems to hunger for more - it scares you.

Perhaps it is unsurprising that he joins the Fatui as soon as he turns seventeen.

He doesn’t tell you - he doesn’t tell anyone, not at first. He simply slips away and leaves, sometimes for days on end, and returns without a word as to his absence. You believe him when he tells you that it’s a series of job interviews in a different town, even congratulate him on the opportunity. You believe a lot of the lies he tells you.

It isn’t until you come upon him in the middle of one of his assignments that the wool is finally pulled away from your eyes.

You’re out in the city on a shopping trip by your mother’s request, carrying several baskets of fresh produce that just don’t grow quickly enough in your little seaside town, when you spot his auburn hair disappearing into a secluded alleyway. You follow quickly, opening your mouth to call out to him, only to snap it shut when you see what he’s doing.

A woman is lying beneath his foot, and he is crushing the breath out of her with the heel of his boot. There is a blade in his hand, glinting softly in the darkness of the alleyway.

The woman sobs breathlessly, begs for her life to be spared, her face contorted with fear and despair. But Ajax doesn’t flinch. In one, smooth movement, he points the blade to her neck and slashes.

You don’t know if the scream that echoes around the alleyway is yours or hers.

It’s only then that he finally turns around and sees you, and the mask covering the upper half of his face is all too familiar.

Your eyes fall upon the dead woman, her mouth still open in her final plea for mercy.

“Ajax,” You whisper, your voice trembling. “What have you done?”

The bloodstained blade in his hand clatters to the ground. “[Name]... what are you doing here?”

You don’t answer him. Your entire body feels numb. “You’re… you’re one of the Fatui.”

It isn’t a question.

He’s silent for a long time. Finally, he lets out a frustrated sigh, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it to the ground carelessly, and approaches you, hands held out as if comforting a frightened child.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” He says quietly.

“Were you ever going to let me find out?” You ask. Your eyes move back to the woman’s corpse despite everything in your brain screaming at you to look away, and your hands start shaking.

Ajax notices. He steps in front of the body, as if trying to shield it from your view. “Of course. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, that’s all.”

“Why… why would you…?”

He meets your gaze. He shrugs. “I wanted to fight.”

There is blood staining the left side of his face. Your eyes are drawn to it in the same way they were to the corpse, and you feel a sudden burst of anger on her behalf. “How was this a fight? You trapped her in an alleyway - you didn’t even give her a chance to struggle!”

“This is different.” He states, as if it’s obvious, and his eyes go cold. “The woman was defying the will of the Tsaritsa. She needed to be disposed of.”

“Is that all you are now? A puppet of the Tsaritsa?!” You’re practically shouting now, tears threatening to start streaming down your face. You want to punch him, slap him, anything to make him realise what path he’s rapidly beginning to go down, but there isn’t any strength left in you. Not after what you just saw. “What happened to you?!”

“I changed,” He says simply, and his sea-blue eyes are frozen over completely. This isn’t the boy that you grew up and loved - and it occurs to you that he might not have been for a long, long time. “I grew up and I changed.”

“Ajax—” You begin, but he places a finger to your lips.

“It’s Tartaglia now.”

Perhaps if you look close enough, hope hard enough, you’ll be able to fool yourself into thinking there was some kind of emotion on his face - something, anything that proves that he still cares - but there is nothing but emptiness in his gaze.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t sleep for a long, long time, unable to put a stop to the unrelenting march of thoughts streaming through your head like a gushing river, like the endless depths of the ocean, like the deep blue of his eyes...

You distract yourself as best you can. You move out of town while he’s out on another mission and take your parents with you, settling down in a small village at the base of a mountain. There, you busy yourself every hour of the day, taking solace in the ache of your muscles and the fatigue that weighs heavily on your limbs. The people of the village come to know you as the helping hand, the eager assistant, always raring to go when asked for a favour.

And yet, even as you sit around a table in the local bar, surrounded by warmth and chatter and familiar faces, you can’t help but feel an emptiness opening in your chest. Old Dmitri, manning the bar as usual, slides a tankard over to you with a sympathetic smile, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You ask yourself that question more times than you can count, digging it deep into your skin, carving it into your mind, unable to help wondering, and yet... you never find an answer. What is wrong with you? Why does Ajax’s absence cut into you like a knife, keeping you awake deep into the night, plagued by dreams of cold, dead eyes and red blood pooling in the white snow? Why is it that, no matter how many times you remind yourself of the man in that alleyway and the body of the woman he’d just slaughtered, of the man that was not Ajax, of Tartaglia - you can only remember the grinning boy of your childhood?

Your parents don’t know why your eyes are always red-rimmed when you come down for breakfast in the morning, nor why you refuse to look at your surroundings when you go out into town, keeping your eyes focused determinedly on your dragging feet. They don’t know how many hours you spend staring out into the deep sky, wondering if Ajax is watching the same stars as you are, whether he even thinks of you at all.

Everything around you seems to taunt you, and you realise something.

You have to leave. You have to run away, to find a home in a place where the streets don’t stir up memories of days long gone, where the crunch of the snow beneath your feet doesn’t remind you of the sound of tearing flesh, where you can just be without Ajax haunting you around every corner you turn.

And so you set off for Liyue. You journey to the land amidst monoliths, seeking golden soil warmed by the sun to escape the cold snow and icy rain. You do not stop moving until you reach the land where the mountains stretch high and the streets of the harbour are painted with red and yellow, where the people are unfamiliar, the buildings are unfamiliar - where everything is unfamiliar. You’re tired of dwelling on past memories, tired of putting yourself through the same pain.

You settle in quickly, taking up a job at Wanmin Restaurant and eventually saving up enough to afford more than the little hotel box room you first are resigned to stay in. You move in with a new friend of yours, an apparently refined gentleman who seems to have no shortage of money but still always forgets to bring it when he needs it, and you start to remember what living in peace feels like again.

You take a deep breath as you watch the bustle of the city from the open window of your bedroom. The cool evening breeze in Liyue Harbour is soothing, unlike the biting nightly winds of Snezhnaya. Perhaps you can finally let go of Ajax now, you think.

Somewhere in the heavens, Fate mocks your hopefulness.

Two years later, your friend, who has only become even worse at managing his money despite your constant nagging, invites you to a dinner with him and a new acquaintance he’d like to introduce you to. You agree, unsuspecting of the true identity of his so-called ‘friend’.

You take one step into the private room that Zhongli had booked and realise what a terrible mistake you’ve made when you see a familiar figure sitting at the table.

He doesn’t turn around at first, too occupied with trying to take a sip of his tea without burning his mouth. Zhongli smiles at you, painfully unaware of the amount of old trauma he’s inadvertently stirred up.

“I’m glad that you made it,” He says pleasantly, and gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is the acquaintance I was telling you about. His name is Childe.”

There is a long silence. The initial shock of the moment wears off, only to be replaced by something resembling anger.

“So it’s Childe now, is it?” Ajax stiffens as he hears your voice come from behind him. “How many names does one man need?”

He turns around agonisingly slowly, failing to register the dangerous tilt of the teacup in his hands as it comes close to tipping its contents all over the table. You stare blankly back at him from the doorway.

How long has it been since he last saw you? He doesn’t know. Ever since the two of you had parted ways in that alleyway, you’d all but disappeared. The window to your bedroom had always been dark and empty when he stopped by your home, and neither you nor your parents were anywhere to be seen, no matter how thoroughly he’d searched the town. It had only been when Tonia had mentioned your absence in one of his letters that he’d realised that you weren’t just avoiding him. You’d left. Left the town where the two of you had grown up, left the home you’d lived in for so long, left behind all the friends you’d made over the years - just to run away from him.

There are new scars on your face, a new poise in the way you hold yourself. A sheathed dagger glitters at your belt, and even now you toy with its hilt in a way that tells him that you are familiar with it. You’ve changed so much, and he aches to think that he had been unable to see any of it.

He hadn’t wanted you to go, he never had. You’d always been his best friend, someone he looked up to, someone he enjoyed the company of, someone he cherished - someone he loved. But he’d had a duty to attend to, a new mistress to serve, a new title, a new responsibility. He couldn’t keep fooling himself into thinking he could keep the relationship he had with you forever.

That day in the alleyway - he’s never been able to forget the look on your face when you realised who he had become. It’s been burnt into his memory ever since then, flashing before his eyes just before he strikes, and even now, five years later, he still gets reprimanded by his fellow Harbingers for faltering just before he makes the kill. They always ask - how can Tartaglia, who takes pleasure in watching the life drain out of his opponent’s eyes after a battle well fought, hesitate like that?

He never has an answer for them.

Zhongli looks back and forth between the two of you, his brows knitting together slightly. “Do the two of you know each other already?”

“You could say that,” You reply, though your eyes don’t move even an inch from your old friend’s face. His expression is crumpled, almost vulnerable, a far cry from the stone-cold indifference he wore the last time you saw him.

“[Name],” He says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve lived in Liyue Harbour for two years. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Several seconds pass by with no response.

“It seems the two of you have much to talk about,” Zhongli observes, and gets to his feet. “I’ll leave you for now.”

He’s out of the room before either of you can object. Damn him and his perception.

You don’t sit down at the table. Instead, you move to the window, looking out over the city that you have come to love.

Ajax joins you. He hesitates as he approaches, as if debating whether or not to settle right beside you as he would have in the past. Eventually, though, he decides to keep his distance.

“Liyue is beautiful at night.” He says quietly. “Language is a nightmare to learn, though.”

That earns him a short laugh from you, and he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat as he hears it. “You can say that again. I don’t think I even have a proper grasp of it now.”

“You’re speaking pretty fluently,” He replies. “I’d say that’s a proper enough grasp.”

“It’s all just conversational, really.” You don’t look at him, instead choosing to look down at Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun as they walk through the street below you together, exchanging jokes and nudges. “What about you?”

“I’d like to think I know it pretty well. I had to learn for—”

He cuts himself off, but you already know what he’d been about to say.

“For your Fatui duties here,” You finish for him, and though you don’t move, somehow he feels as if the gap between you has widened. “There’s no need for pretences, Childe.”

He freezes at the way you address him. It’s become familiar to him after using it as an alias for so long, but it sounds so wrong coming from you. It feels as if you’re distancing yourself from him, from the childhood you shared together. As if Ajax, your childhood friend, never existed - only Childe, the Fatui Harbinger.

“Don’t…” His voice breaks, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You sound so detached, so distant - and he hates it. “Would you prefer Tartaglia? That’s what you told me to call you last time we met.”

He feels as if you’ve stabbed him in the chest. It probably would’ve hurt less if you did, actually, but he knows he deserves it. “...no. I don’t want you to call me Tartaglia, either.”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway. “I want… I want you to call me Ajax.”

Silence.

You finally turn to look at him, surprise painted on your features. “...what?”

Your eyes are just as he remembers them. He never wants to see them as they were on that day five years ago, filled with despair and tears that threatened to brim over.

He takes a deep breath and repeats, “I want you to call me Ajax.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Your face shifts, as if you can’t decide whether you want to be angry or sad or something else entirely. You open your mouth to say something, but at that moment the door opens again, and Zhongli pokes his head in.

“My apologies,” He says a little sheepishly, “But the attendant informed me that we should start ordering our dishes now if we don’t want to accidentally go over our time slot. That is - if you two are alright with having dinner with each other?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your eyes stay on the man gazing almost wistfully at you, your expression becoming thoughtful.

It’s been five years since you’ve last seen him. Five years of sleepless, tormented nights spent tossing and turning, of days spend exhausting yourself just so that you don’t think of him, of a journey filled with obstacles and monsters just to find a place to be at peace in, and just as you finally think you might be moving on, he shows up again.

Maybe you should be angry. Maybe you should be drawing your dagger and threatening him to stay the fuck away from your city and to take his Fatui agents with him. Maybe you should punch him right where it hurts most for all the pain he’s caused you.

But… you’re tired. You’re tired of hurting, tired of remembering. And maybe there’s a little part of you that hopes - a little part of you that still clings to the boy you played with on the streets of Morepesok, the boy that you lost the moment you let him leave on that journey.

And so you come to a conclusion.

“I’ll stay for dinner. What about you, Ajax?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #angst #first angst piece of the blog baby!#i hope it wasn't terrible :'))#yuta this is for you i know you like a bit of the tartaglia on a rainy day #it isn't raining but you can have this anyway #you still need to do the dishes by the way i'm tired of looking at your dirty-ass plates #enjpy darlings!#unedited

486 notes · View notes

jgukmilk · 3 years

Text

he won’t know 03 (m) final

➔ summary: after weeks of hiding from the world, your friend, Mina, finally convinces you to crawl out of your cave and join her at a friday-frat party. You definitely didn’t think you’d end up with the person you had spent several weeks trying to avoid.

➔ pairing: Jungkook X Reader

➔ genre: cheating!au, smut, angst if you squint, much deserved fluff fucking finally

➔ warnings: mention of sexual assault, unprotected sex, soft sex because i’m a whore for that shit, jungoo is the one crying in this part, jungoo being a soft idiot nothing out of the ordinary, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), handjob, fingering, mild dirty talk, cervix kisses :), cum eating, throat fucking•_•, runny mascara because it’s chef’s kiss, soft dom jungoo, a really lame biology pick up line at the end that i am pathetically proud of, that’s it..? it’s unedited btw :P

➔ wordcount: 8.3k

➔ a/n: this was a bitch to finish but holy fuck. hope you enjoy ;) feedback is always appreciated !

part 1, part 2, part 3 final.

It had officially been seventeen and-a-half days since Jungkook came to visit you at your dorm, only to end up in you crying your eyes out in front of him and shove him out of your room.

Mina came home later that night and questioned your tear-stained cheeks. Did you tell her? No, of course not. You brushed it off and convinced her that you were having a hard time with the breakup with Jaehyun, that everything was still so fresh, and you simply just needed time. Though that was as far from the truth as it could possibly be, she believed you regardless which you were thankful for.

You didn’t miss Jaehyun, not one bit. You hadn’t seen him after your last encounter, and you thanked your stars daily. To be honest you weren’t given a chance to run into that asshole since you had reduced your time spent outside of the dorm.

Your schedule pretty much consisted of wake up, go to your classes, come back to the dorm, study, eat, sleep, repeat. It sounded like one of those shabby T-shirt every twelve-year-old would wear back in middle school and show it off for being ‘quirky’.

You weren’t complaining, you preferred things this way, for now at least. Though you couldn’t deny that you missed your friends, but you needed some time alone and you knew that, so to distract yourself from missing your friends, what better way to do so than studying till the ass-crack of dawn on a Friday night.

Fridays were the only day of the week you could spend peacefully unbothered. Every other day would consist of countless texts and calls from your friends asking about your whereabouts and why they almost never saw you around campus anymore.

To which you told them you were busy studying and thanked them for checking in on you. It wasn’t a complete lie, you were, in fact, busy studying. They never saw you because, you were always on your desk burying your face between the pages of a textbook. What you didn’t tell them was that you were so far ahead with the curriculum that you could go a whole two weeks without even touching any of your books and you wouldn’t be behind.

You never realized how much you had read ahead until a few days ago when your biology professor had only begun to teach you about DNA replication, transcription and translation. You had already covered half of it.

Your professor always did say that the unspoken rule of studies was to always read ahead. Though you didn’t think he meant to this certain extent.

You hadn’t felt academic stress in a while due to your habit of studying so much, and you were happy about it of course, but holy fuck, you were so bored, and it was starting to get to you.

“Y/N!” perfect timing for your best friend to break you out of your thoughts. Mina happily pranced through your shared dorm room and over to you, “Mina” you said back, smiling, although not in the same enthusiasm, meh – A for effort.

“Oh my god, you’re actually awake,” she said, placing herself on her bed while remaining eye contact with you.

“Well yeah, I have some topics I still need to cover before I go to bed,” Lies. You certainly didn’t have any topics you needed to cover. You would’ve gone to bed if you knew Mina was coming back to the dorm so early. It was Friday night after all, which meant that Mina was out partying with the rest of the guys. Not today, apparently.

“Isn’t there a party today?” you asked, flipping through the pages of the book in front of you, pretending to read through the paragraphs that seemed like nothing more than dull words.

“Well… yeah, but, I figured I’d rather spend my night with you – you know, since it’s... it’s been a while,” you immediately stopped fiddling with the paper, “oh,” was all you could say. “I-I mean, if you wanna study, you totally can! I don’t want to interrupt or – or anything.” You shook your head, “no, no… uhm, I could use a break anyway.” Her face relaxed.

“So… how’ve you been?” you looked around the room, “I’m okay, just studying, nothing else really,” you reassured her “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said, barely above a whisper, however you could still make out the melancholic tone hidden behind her voice.

“yeah… I’m sorry, I’m just – “

“studying? Yeah that seems to be your entire world lately.” She cut you off, her voice a little louder than it was previously. You opened your mouth to respond but – “Y/N c’mon, I know I haven’t necessarily been with you physically lately, but I’m not oblivious. Our exams are in a couple of months and you’re studying as if they’re tomorrow.” She explained all in one breath, “the curriculum this semester isn’t even that content-heavy, even the professors told us we could take it easy.”

“where are you going with this?” you asked in a weak voice. She seemed to have you all figured out. You truly underestimated how well your best friend understood you. “I just want to know why? Why are you avoiding your friends… why are you avoiding me?”

And then it came back. Everything you had been trying to avoid for the past two weeks came back. Jaehyun, the cheating, the assault, Jungkook. You began to feel your eyes stinging, subconsciously you averted them towards the ceiling. “Y/N, there’s something you’re not telling me. I want to help, please let me help.”

You made your way towards the bed, seating yourself next to her, “is this about Jaehyun? Do you miss hi–“

“No, God no I don’t, I’m so happy he’s out of my life,” she looked at you perplexed. And so, you told her. You told her absolutely everything, all the way from Jaehyun trying to touch you when you were trying to explain yourself to him, to the conversation you had with Jungkook in your dorm room several days ago.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you swiftly reached for her hand as you saw her attempt to rush out of your shared dorm, “no! I… It’s over now, he’s out of my life, there’s no reason to go look for him.”

“Of course there is! Why didn’t you–!” She yelled, however quickly stopped herself to calm down. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? He’s getting away with this when he deserves to rot in hell.” It wasn’t that simple. You never wanted to see him again, and telling any form of authority about what had happened certainly meant you were going to cross paths with him often.

Plus, it wasn’t even likely that they would’ve believed you, after all it was your word against his. There was no physical evidence of what he had done. You had your ripped clothes but you threw those away the day after the incident, you never wanted to look at them again and be reminded of this crap.

Then you had the bruises on your wrist, but Jaehyun could easily say that you guys had been into some sort of bdsm to make them believe him. They were also healed now, so there was no evidence at all to secure your side.

“I don’t want to constantly be reminded of what he did, I just want to move forward. Please, you can’t tell anyone.” Your voice cracked at the end, in which Mina reached out to hold your hand. “I don’t want anyone to know,” you cried.

“I’m so sorry, bug,” Mina rubbed your back empathetically, in a subtle attempt to calm you down. Though Mina tried her best to not scream at the top of her lungs, spitting out every profanity to curse Jaehyun. This wasn’t about her, and she knew that very well.

All she could do was comfort you and listen to everything you had bottled up for weeks. “You know what you need?” she smiled at you gently. You sniffled, rubbing your red, tear-stained cheeks, “what?”

“You need fresh air, to doll up and feel good! We all miss you so much Y/N, I don’t want you to spend another Friday night in here alone by yourself.” You raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to continue, “Wooyoung’s parent are out of town for the weekend so he’s hosting are party.”

“And?”

“And we’re going!” she clapped excitingly, “no Mina I–“ she held both your hands tightly, puppy eyes were presented right in front of you, “pleaseeee, just for an hour, you can leave after that if you don’t like it.”

You thought about it for a moment. You did deserve a break, you needed to get out of the dorm anyway, have some fun with your friends, maybe even get a bit of well-deserved alcohol in your system.

“Fuck it, let’s do i–“

“YES! Okay, okay I know exactly what you’re wearing.” She rushed over to her closet, rummaging through fabric after fabric while you silently watched behind her, seated on your own bed. “Put this on right now,” You didn’t get a good look at the clothing item she threw at you, all you knew was that the fabric was quite tiny. It was a beautiful dark navy and black fabric that was smooth to the touch.

It was a woolen, striped bodycon dress. True to its name – it looked very tight. You looked at her perplexed, “that’s me being nice. My other option was throwing you my skirt that would barely cover your juicy ass.” You rolled your eyes, but smiled nonetheless, “fine, what shoes with?” she pointed at your black high-top converse that were placed neatly by the door. Alright, black converse it was.

–

“Y/N?” was the first thing you heard when walking through the door, entering the crowd of drunks. Before you stood your friends, the friends you had missed oh so much. Jimin was the first to run to you, lifting you off the ground to swing you around, “Y/N!” He laughed excitingly. Right behind him stood Seokjin, “Okay, I’ve had too much to drink guys I’m starting see Y/N,” you couldn’t help but laugh, “Hi Jin.”

One by one, they each gave you a heartwarming hug. Wow, you missed them, and you didn’t even realize, “about time you got out of the damn dorm,” Taehyung complained, you playfully slapped his shoulder. “You don’t get to say shit, you rot in your own dorm just as much as I do when you don’t have classes,” smiling, he scoffed, “I have altered my ways, about time you did too,” you shook your head.

You hadn’t noticed that an hour had already passed by, and you didn’t want to leave one bit. Your night was just getting started. Looking around you spotted all your friends, all but two. Neither had you seen the entire party: Yoongi and Jungkook.

“Jin!” you loudly spoke through the banging music, “yeah?!” he replied, “have you seen Yoongi?” you cupped your mouth in attempt to speak as clearly as possible, “What?! No thank you! I don’t wan’t Oolong tea. There’s booze why would I want tea?!” You rubbed your face, dragging Jin’s ear closer to your mouth, “Have you seen Yoongi?”

“OW, Jesus woman.” He rubbed his ear, “He should be in the kitchen,” you thanked him, and apologetically smiled for almost ripping his ear off.

You skipped your way through the heavy crowd of drunk youth. Some of which even looked younger than that. A string of ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ was heard from you as you pushed your way to the kitchen.

“Yoongi?” he turned around, seeing you. He eyed the drink in his hand that resembled the color of piss, “I’ve had too much,” the bottom of the cup now faced the ceiling, the remainder of the liquid spilling down the edge of the cup and down the sink.

“Okay, you guys really have to stop doing that,” you laughed.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” The mint-haired boy asked in a monotone, your smile faltered.

“I’m happy to see you too?” your voice was skeptical. He seemed annoyed, which frankly, you didn’t understand. You hadn’t seen the man in well over two weeks, no way had he found a reason to be mad at you unless you had happened to eat the last lamb skewer in his dream. He always did love his lamb skewers.

“’M sorry, my head’s spinning,” instantly your suspicion was replaced with worry. You quickly made your way to the sink and filled a glass with cold water and handed it to him, which he gratefully accepted. “How’ve you been?”

You sighed, “you want the rainbow-sprinkled version or the one that was dragged through the mud, shat and pissed on,” he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll take the piss-stained version, thank you.” He placed the red, water filled plastic cup next to him on the kitchen counter.

“Rough couple of weeks. I’m doing better though, so that’s something.” You shrugged your shoulders. Yoongi listened carefully, gently tilting his head to the side anticipating for you to keep going, however you didn’t, that was all you were going to say. Yoongi wasn’t stupid, clearly something had happened to make you disappear for weeks, but whatever it was it had to remain unknown for him – he wasn’t going to push you to talk to him.

“And where’s Jaehyun been through all of this?” he speculated.

“Uhm, we broke up,” you tried to laugh it off. His brows raised in surprise.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry–“ your hands swung in front of you to shake them. To Yoongi, you had most likely looked like you were sad from the breakup, understandably so. Afterall that is the typical reaction to a breakup, isn’t it?

“Don’t be! My god, no. It could – I’m not –“ you closed your eyes, sighing gently, “It was for the best.”

“I’m not going, Tae,” Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger, attempting to rub the non-existing headache out of his temples.

“Come on, Jungkook. It’s been a hot minute since you’ve partied with all of us,” a hot minute, was putting it lightly. Jungkook was currently in his own shared dorm with Taehyung, with a black DualShock controller seated in his lap – enjoying a game of overwatch shortly before Taehyung had dialed his number. Several empty packets of ramen placed randomly across the room.

Different flavors of course. Variety was important.

“Can’t. ‘m busy.” Though Jungkook couldn’t see it, he was sure Taehyung had rolled his eyes through the other line. “Busy my ass,” Taehyung sighed, “you do this every week.”

“I wouldn’t have to do this every week if you would just stop asking,” Jungkook spat back, with a little more attitude than he had intended. “Jungshi,” the older friend started, “you can’t let this bother you forever,” he knew. Fuck, no one knew better than Jungkook that he couldn’t spend the rest of eternity sulking over this. Over you.

But no one knew how Jungkook was feeling either, every living fiber of his felt either conflicted or guilty. He couldn’t help but think that what had happened to you, was partially his fault – no, it was entirely his fault. Whatever Jaehyun had done was because of Jungkook.

Your words circled back and forth in his mind, day and night. Whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was your tear-stained orbs looking at him with so much hurt and hatred. Telling him to leave and that you never wanted to see him again.

All he wanted to do was talk to you, to know how you were feeling. Were you okay? Were you not? Jungkook had to make peace with the fact that he might in fact never get any answer for any of his questions. All he wanted was to see you, just for one small, useless moment.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Frankly, it seemed like you had completely vanished from the face of the earth, even the guys hadn’t seen you. He managed to get a hold of Mina a few times, briefly asking of your whereabouts. She always tried her best to console and reassure him that you were okay, you were just always busy lately.

Busy.

You were always busy. Jungkook wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what it meant: you were escaping.

Busy.

Oh, how Jungkook had grown to hate that word. How very hypocritical of him, he was mentally scolding you for using the lame excuse of being ‘busy’, all while doing the exact same behind the screen of his phone to his best friend.

“I just need time, hyung.” Jungkook tried to justify. “Time?” Taehyung scoffed, “You’ve had two weeks. I’m sorry Guk, but I’m not gonna sit around while I watch you completely lose yourself.” The younger slid further down the chair, staring blankly at the bright screen displaying the home-screen of his favorite video game.

“She’s here.”

Silence…

You… you were there? He could see you. Jungkook had a chance to see you. “Good to know,” was all he could say. “And you don’t give a rat’s ass?” Of course, he did, but he couldn’t because, “she doesn’t want to see me, hyung. If I show up, I’ll ruin her night. She isn’t hiding from the world anymore.”

“You can’t be sure– “

“Yes, I can,” Jungkook closed his eyes, a small exhale moved past his lips, “I can’t ruin this. Please don’t make me ruin this for her.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He felt weak. He couldn’t describe the growing urge he felt to rush over to whatever party you were at, just to see you. But he couldn’t be selfish. Not again.

Last time he acted selfishly he hurt you. He lost you. He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse – after all, you were out of his life, but Jungkook wasn’t willing to be daring, not if it meant it would hurt you again.

“Fine,” an extended beep was heard from the small speaker of the phone. Completely defeated, Jungkook gently threw his phone back onto his bed. Leaning back in his chair he faced the ceiling. He couldn’t seem to get himself to play another game, so shutting everything down, he went to get himself ready for bed.

Diving under the cool, fluffy sheets didn’t seem to be enough for Jungkook to knock out, which was odd. Jungkook could easily fall asleep anywhere on anything. One time he even managed to fall into a deep sleep after downing two 500ml Monster energy drinks. He had planned to pull an all-nighter with some of his online friends for a good few games of Valorant, the best way to do so was to shove an insanely unhealthy amount of energy drinks down the hatch.

He didn’t expect it to be so easy to fall asleep right away – he didn’t even remember walking over to his bed before dropping dead. But this, this was just frustrating.

He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, until when he finally felt his eyelids become heavy, a key was heard jiggling in the lock of the door. It must’ve taken Jungkook longer to fall asleep than he had anticipated if Taehyung had already decided to leave the party; that boy wouldn’t leave a party unless bits of the morning sunlight was peeking through the windows of the house of the host.

The door finally opened. Jungkook squinted his eyes, adjusting to the new light shining through the door frame. A black silhouette walked pasted the door. It wasn’t until Jungkook’s blurry vision had cleared up that he noticed a feminine like figure standing at the door. Not just anybody, no.

You. In fact.

Jungkook felt his heart begin to tie knots. He was dreaming for sure; there was no way you could just appear in his dorm of all dorms. But there you were, in the flesh. You gently clasped the bundle of keys in your palm, preventing them from making any further noise, taking soft strides through the room – you probably thought he was asleep.

You quietly made your way over to Taehyung’s bed, opening the drawer of his nightstand. Jungkook’s eyes monitoring your every move went completely unnoticed by you. The poor boy was in awe, it was like you were an angel that had descended from heaven and blessed him with your presence. Frankly, in Jungkook’s eyes, you were an angel.

You let a small aha slip past your lips, in your hands was a turquoise polaroid camera. You neared the delicate camera to your face, making sure it was the right item through the darkness, and indeed it was.

About to make your way out of the dorm, your head turned slightly; in the direction of the boy that was currently sweating his balls off and his heart pounding like crazy. Fuck, did you see him looking at you? You must’ve, you wouldn’t look at him otherwise. Could you hear his heart beating through his ribcage? That has to be it, after all it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

He hurriedly closed his eyes, praying to the lord above that for once in Jungkook’s cursed life, the spirits would work in his favor. God, if you do this for me, I won’t fart on Taehyung’s head pillow anymore.

You slowly made your way over to Jungkook’s bed, with each step you took he felt a new set of sweat gather in his warm palms. He couldn’t feel anything, all he heard was the shuffle of his blanket. The blanket that was supposed to be on him.

While Jungkook had gone unnoticed to you, the absence of his soft, grey blanket on his body had been completely disregarded. He had tossed so much in his unreachable sleep that he had kicked his blanket right off of him.

Not only did Jungkook feel his body overcome in warmth, but his heart also danced at the thought of you going out of your way to cover him in his blanket. Your kindness really was out of this world.

No matter how many times someone had hurt you, you never failed to leave the ways of resentment and treat people with kindness. You were truly too kind for your own good. That was one of your qualities that Jungkook was most fond of, the world didn’t deserve you. it didn’t deserve an angel.

You on the other hand, were completely oblivious to the fact that the man in front of you was wide awake. You crouched down by the side of his bed, you really should get going, you weren’t supposed to linger for so long.

Your eyes trailed the sleeping beauty on the bed. He looked so peaceful, his long eyelashes resting on the top of his cheek, a few of the hairs grazing the scar on right side of the skin. His dark hair was sprawled over his forehead. His lips were sealed, but slightly pouty, they looked so soft.

You couldn’t make much of his face, the only source of light being the moon light throw the window.

You hand moved on its own. Fingers trailing to the strands of the dark hair, moving the silky locks out of his face.

You wish things had been different between you. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t miss Jungkook, which is the exact lie you had been telling yourself for weeks. Even though he was right in front of you, you missed him. No, fuck. You couldn’t miss him, even though you wanted things to be different, they never could be.

You snapped out of your daze, removing your hands from his face, you stood up and turned your heel.

“Don’t leave.” You flinched, a small holy shit, was heard from you. Turning back around, you saw Jungkook in the exact same position you had left him in, the only difference was that his eyes were now open. The warm orbs you were completely dazed by were now looking at you.

You had to leave, but you couldn’t, your feet grew minds of their own, obediently staying in place.

Jungkook sat up from his bed, never breaking eye contact with you. He was now seated at the edge of his bed, hands on either side of his thighs, tightly clenching on the sheets beneath him in order to prevent himself from reaching out after you.

There was no exchange of words, you were both lost in each other’s gazes. You were clutching your jacket tightly, looking like a dear caught in head lights. You took a step backwards, gathering every ounce of power you had in your body to try and get out of there. You just couldn’t stay.

“Please,” his voice sounded broken. There it was again – the expression on his face you had never learned to read. His eyelids were droopy, eyebrows relaxed yet slightly furrowed.

He rose from his bed, testing the waters. He examined your reaction before moving any further. When he saw you standing completely still, he took a step forward; you didn’t move, so he took yet another step. That’s when you started to back away, you didn’t look scared or alarmed, so he continued.

This kept going until the back of your thighs met a desk you had failed to notice was there in the first place. You have got to start paying more attention to your surroundings.

Jungkook was now in front of you, eyes looking at yours, searching for any sign of uncertainty. But all he saw was sadness and hurt. His heart clenched in discomfort, because partially – if not all – of the hurt in your eyes was because of him.

He wanted to pour his heart out to you, tell you he was sorry for being an asshole. Tell you he would cut his heart into pieces and hand it to you one by one if that’s what it took to make you happy.

But he wanted to be cautious, he didn’t want to scare you off. So instead, he carefully, carefully, lifted his hand up to your face. The knuckle of his middle finger grazed the side of your cheek. You didn’t flinch.

He extended his fingers to hold your cheek in his palm, his thumb ever so slightly caressing the flush skin. It wasn’t until you leaned into his touch that he felt how warm you were. He could barely make out the light tint of a rosy color on your cheeks. Must’ve been from the booze you’ve ingested at the party, he thought.

Unbeknownst to him, you had barely had enough alcohol to call yourself tipsy.

Deep in your own thoughts, you felt Jungkook’s other hand slip around your waist, the fingers on your cheek descended down to accompany his other hand.

He was hugging you. His face was buried right in the crook of your neck, arms securely wrapped around your frame, fearing for his dear life that you were going to let go of him. His fragile soul couldn’t take it if you did.

You, however, couldn’t bring yourself to hug him back, not until you felt the skin on your shoulder grow wet. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, barely above a whisper – audible to your ear, nonetheless.

He pulled away, his hands resting on your sides lamely. His eyes were glossy, the tip of his nose red, and a few tears had trailed down his cheeks, leaving stains of the salty water. “I’m – It’s my fault, all of it, I know I don’t deserve it but please forgive me.” he sniffled, “I know you hate me, and you have every right to – “

“I don’t hate you,” for the first time that night, you spoke to him. Your voice instantly sedated the distress in Jungkook. You wiped the tears streaming down his face with your cold thumb, which only caused more to fall. “You should… It’s all my fault.”

Although that had been your exact theory for the past weeks, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that the statement was true anymore. You continuously blamed Jungkook for everything that had happened to you, but that wasn’t fair, you realized that now.

Because if Jungkook really was at fault, then so were you. After all, it takes two to tango.

“It’s not,” you tried to soothe the tremendous guilt you could recognize behind his doe eyes, it was the exact same guilt you had felt when you returned from the weekend at the summerhouse. The same guilt that had eaten every bit of your fiber. Blaming yourself for days for having cheated on your now ex-boyfriend who turned out to be the biggest piece of shit to walk the earth.

“You didn’t force me to do anything,” you admitted, “but that fucker – “ Jaehyun, Jungkook hissed.

“Anything that came after the summerhouse wasn’t your fault. Jaehyun showed me who he really was – an asshole in disguise,” at the mention of what you had been through, Jungkook’s grip on your sides tightened slightly. You knew he was blaming himself for what Jaehyun had done.

It wasn’t anyone but Jaehyun’s fault.

You cupped his face in both your hands, smiling softly, “please stop blaming yourself for something you had no control over.” You spoke to him, but also to yourself.

For the longest time you thought it was your fault, that if you hadn’t slept with Jungkook, that you and Jaehyun would still be happy and he would never had touched you like he did.

You and Jaehyun hadn’t been happy for a while, and if he hadn’t snapped you would’ve continued to date A-level garbage.

It took you some time to realize that it was never your fault, and it most certainly wasn’t Jungkook’s fault. Your stomach dropped at the thought of him blaming himself so mercilessly.

He sniffled harder at your words, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorr–“

The kiss was soft. You could tell he completely froze against your lips. Your hands were still on his cheeks; the feel of the occasional tear grazed the skin of your fingers. It didn’t take long for him to melt completely against the plush of your warm lips.

His arms moved back around your waist, pulling you against him until you were flush against his chest. You pulled away. He followed you, refusing that’d be the end of your kiss. His pleading lips captured yours in a second kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck in an attempt to deepen the kiss, not having much room to move them any place else when Jungkook was pressing himself so hard against you.

“I missed you,” he breathed between the kiss “so much.” Fuck, if only he knew how much you had missed him, “I couldn’t bare not having you around me.” You hummed against his mouth, hoping he understood that you reciprocated.

You felt his warm tongue scrape against your top lip, pleading to have a taste of yours. You complied easily. Opening your mouth for him to explore the heavenly wonder that was your mouth.

You had kissed Jungkook before, but this felt different, it was softer, much more gentle. The gliding of his tongue against yours felt new, but so right.

You soon came to the agreement that kissing Jungkook was one of your favorite things to do. The slow dance of your lips increased the beating of your heart, you were sure he could feel it knock against his chest.

He lifted your body, as if you were a feather and seated you on the desk behind you, standing right between your legs. His hands resting on either thigh, gently caressing the bare flesh.

Your lips suddenly felt cold, opening your eyes you found Jungkook’s brown orbs staring right at you. Worry began to creep its way up your spine. “What’s wrong?”

“Do… Do you want me to stop?”

He was being careful. Careful not to cross any boundaries. He couldn’t fuck up again, not this time. You smiled at him. Taking his hand in yours, you placed a peck at the top of his palm, “not at all.”

Jungkook swears his heart melted then and there; the softness in your eyes, the relaxed tone of your voice, there was no hesitation. You felt safe, which was everything Jungkook ever wanted.

He leaned back in, you closed your eyes, puckering up thinking he was going in for another kiss. You felt a pair of soft bud-like lips at the side of your jaw, “beautiful,” he whispered to himself. He kissed the top of your covered shoulder.

You leaned back slightly, both hands steady behind you to support you weight. Jungkook leaned forward, following you, refusing that any sort of distance was between you.

Even though you had given him the ok, you could feel Jungkook was slightly hesitant in his moves, which was nothing like the Jungkook you had in front of you almost an entire month ago. He was so confident and cocky, yet now, he seemed unsure.

He was afraid of touching you and screwing up everything.

“I won’t leave this time,” you whispered, moving your head so that you were now looking at him, “I’m not gonna run away.” You took his hand in yours, guiding them towards your tits. Jungkook watched in awe as his hand completely engulfed your breast.

You let go of his hand when you felt him begin to fondle with the perky tit. He moved back to your neck, but instead of small affectionate kisses, he now began to place open-mouthed kisses at the expanse of your neck. You tilted your head to the side, allowing him more space; you felt the corners of his lips curl slightly.

You gasped at the feeling of his tongue gliding over the skin, slapping your hand over your mouth. While one of his hands were busy with your chest, the other removed the hand from your face, “don’t, you sound so pretty.”

The fingers that were once wrapped around your hand moved down your torso, grazing the apex of your thigh. With his mouth still busy on your neck, he hoisted the length of your stripped dress (that was actually Mina’s), just enough to expose most of your legs, but not enough to reveal the fabric of your underwear.

The pad of his cold fingers slithered over the black textile experimentally. Carefully brushing over your clothed clit, you whimpered. You sounded downright touch deprived.

The lustful boy in front of you began sucking on your neck, all while cupping your clothed cunt without warning. “Fuck,” You jumped at the overwhelming touch.

“So sensitive” he mumbled, “aren’t you, angel,” you hummed at the rightfully missed affectionate name. You gripped his shoulders when you felt him massage a little harsher at your mound. Your underwear was beginning to stick to your folds embarrassingly fast.

Jungkook curled a finger around the section of fabric that was directly against your pussy. Providing access for his hand to touch your warmth without removing your underwear. A muffled, high pitched moan of his name rolled off your tongue at his slender finger sliding into your velvety walls.

You were already so wet, and you were sure he noticed how embarrassed you were about it, with the way you were discreetly trying to close your legs.

He used his other hand to keep your legs apart. “Don’t be shy,” he soothed, “I love this pretty” he scraped his finger against the spongy spot, “pretty pussy.”

“Jungkook, please,” you whined, it only caused Jungkook to chuckle whole-heartedly at your neediness, “what is it, baby?” he pressed his thumb against your clit, gently tapping at it. You shuttered.

“I, fuck, I–“ your thighs began to tense, “tell me,” he urged. You were trying your best, but every sentence you were attempted to formulate was instantly thrown out the window the second Jungkook added another finger into your cunt.

His fingers were scraping at your walls, pumping into you or scissoring. The dangerous combination of all of the above, and his thumb rubbing meaningless patterns on your nub had you seeing stars.

Too focused on his magical fingers, you overlooked the small detail of Jungkook now sitting between your thighs, kneeling. He rubbed your thigh soothingly.

Deciding to help you out, Jungkook wrapped his fingers around the lame excuse of your panties, dragging the pathetic fabric down your legs. You were now completely exposed.

Jungkook eyes you between your legs, shamelessly. “Pretty girl,” he wooed. He pulled his fingers out of you, you whined at the empty feeling.

He brought his soaked fingers up to his tongue, slowly licking them clean, all while maintaining eye contact with you. Telling yourself you could cum from the sight alone was in no way an understatement.

“Mmm, good, so fucking good.” He purred against his fingers. “Bet it would taste even better from here,” teasingly, he slid his finger up your soaked slit, punctuating his sentence, “wouldn’t it, angel?” You quivered at his words. “is that what you want?” yes. “your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes – Yes, please. Please eat me out,” without further ado, Jungkook wasted no time placing a much-deserved kiss on your swollen bud. You moaned in relief, throwing your head back at the feeling of Jungkook’s lips circling your clit.

You bucked your hips at the feeling of his tongue sloppily gliding against your folds. Your fingers found themselves tangled in Jungkook’s dark and messy locks. He praised you.

Small grunts and low moans were felt against your warm cunt, “such a pretty pussy,” he mumbled to himself against you. You clenched around nothing at the compliment.

“Feels so good,” you cooed, “yeah?” small licks turned into long laps, “yeah – fuck, don’t stop.” Stopping was the furthest thing from Jungkook’s mind.

You felt knots beginning to tie at the pit of your stomach, Jungkook could easily feel you were about to burst. The constant tugging of his hair and the pulsating cunt was all he needed, to know he was doing his job right.

“I love seeing you so needy for me,” at this point, you’re chanting his name shamelessly. It isn’t until Jungkook adds a finger lamely circling your clit that you feel you’re about to snap. The familiar ache between your legs became almost unbearable, you threw your head back and shut your eyes.

“Eyes on me when you cum,” you obliged. Bending your head forward to watch Jungkook eat your cunt as if he hadn’t eaten in days. The view was the most sinful yet the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. His brows are furrowed, he murmured against your warmth. You occasionally saw the tip of his nose, and when you did it was absolutely soaked in your arousal.

“Oh my fuck– Jungkook.”

It’s only when Jungkook uttered his next sentence that you felt the knot in your stomach unravel. “Fuck, baby, I could eat you out for the rest of my life,” you’re breaking apart.

Your hips surge forward, pathetically grinding on Jungkook’s face — he lets you. Helping you ride out your high, he slowly laps his tongue over your spasming pussy. He’s watching your every move, “delicious,” he smiled innocently as if his mouth wasn’t completely covered in your cum.

He stood up once again, licked his lips clean in the process and you swore you just felt something trail down your thigh. Once he was at eye-level with you, you looked down and saw the tent that has formed in his sweatpants.

Naturally, you go to grab his cock. Not wanting to waste time, you wrapped your fingers around it over the material. He visibly shuttered at the feeling, and it wasn’t until then that you realized you hadn’t touched Jungkook – at all. Not even back at the summer house.

Here you were, complaining over how selfish Jaehyun used to be whenever you two were having sex, saying he never touched you properly or showed any ounce of effort.

You weren’t any different. So far, Jungkook had only been the giver, and you had been a spoiled pillow princess.

Trailing your eyes back up to Jungkook, you watched him carefully as you curled a finger around the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers simultaneously, dragging the unnecessary material down his legs.

His cock sprung up, hitting his stomach. The tip was red and hot, several drops of precum dripped down the angry shaft. He was impossibly hard and you began to feel guilt overcome you for having been so selfish with pleasure. Determined to make it up to him, you placed all five tips of your fingers at the very apex of his cock, sliding down until your palm comes in contact with the tip.

The prettiest whine you’d ever heard rolled off of Jungkook’s lips, he watched you attentively, “y-you don’t have to–“ you shushed him, “I want to.”

You twist your wrist and positioned your fingers around his dick. Using your thumb to spread the precum, you lightly brush his frenulum in which he grunts, “fuck, babyyy,” unintentionally thrusting up into your hand.

You squeezed harder and began to pump his cock. The surprising rotation of your wrist was enough to have him slap both hands on either side of the desk, completely trapping you.

“Faster,” he pleads, “go faster,” and you do. His head drops down to your shoulder. He tried to distract himself by sucking another bruise onto the skin of your neck, but it was completely hopeless with the pace your hand was pumping.

Rhythmically, he was subtly thrusting his hips into your hand, matching the pace. He couldn’t wait to fuck you, so for the time being, he had to fuck your hand. And God, it felt so good it was almost pathetic how much a handjob could rile him up.

You felt his hips stutter, and now it was his turn to chant your name. You placed a soothing kiss on the expanse of his shoulder, “Mmm gonna – haah, shit,” You hurriedly pushed him back gently and dropped to your knees. “What are you – Fuck!”

Most of his length is now shoved down as much as your gag reflex allows, and it isn’t until you have Jungkook’s cock halfway down your throat that you realize how fucking impressive his size is. The thought of having him stretch you out with his girth is enough to make you wet all over again.

Jungkook can’t resist collecting your strands of hair up into a ponytail and piston into your mouth, “s-sorry, I’m sorry,” strings of apologies are heard throughout the room, along with the sound of you choking. Your eyes begin to sting, fresh tears falling down the side of your cheek. He continues to fuck your throat, and contrary to his belief, you fucking love it.

You steady yourself by grabbing the sides of his thighs. Echoes of Jungkook’s moans and heavy sighs fill the room, alongside the sound of his cock continuously thrusting down your throat.

“so pretty, you’re s-so fucking pretty like this,” you hum at his praise, “like the feeling of my cock down your throat, huh? Dirty girl, fuck,” at this point your mascara had completely stained your cheeks.

The sight of your brows furrowed, eyes filled with tears, mascara-stained cheeks, and the absolute cherry on top: Jungkook repeatedly plunging his impossibly hard cock down your sore throat, was all it took for him to blow his load.

You’ve never heard such a moan come from Jungkook, it sounded broken and you’re certain it’s the most beautiful thing you’ll ever hear in your life. You felt the warm, white liquid coat the walls of your cheeks and throat and you made sure to swallow every single drop.

You’re stopped from licking his dick clean when Jungkook pulls you back up to meet him at eye level. He lifts you up to sit at the desk again, hands on either side of you, he looks you dead in the eye, “I want to fuck you,” he says bluntly.

Your eyes widen slightly at his directness. Confused, you look down at his dick and holy fuck – he was still incredibly hard. Seriously, this boy had some serious stamina. You assumed his extraordinary stamina must’ve developed all those years in the gym.

You felt tiny under his gaze, you meet his eyes, nonetheless.

“Come here and fuck me then.” You felt bold when a shaky breath left his mouth. He hoisted both your legs up to his waist, causing you to lean back slightly, both your hands were forced to sit behind you once again to prevent yourself from falling backwards.

Without another word, Jungkook sealed the distance between your lips with a sweet kiss.

“Ohmygod–” was all you were able to say when his cock slowly disappeared inside of you, your walls of warmth hugging his length. Once again, you had underestimated just how big Jungkook actually was. He snaked a hand to meet the small of your back to steady himself before he finally began to pull himself out, leaving his tip, only to push back in.

You whined at the delicious stretch. Setting a fixed pace, Jungkook repeatedly thrusted into you, while his lips were busy on yours. You wrapped both arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in the hairs of his nape. “Mmm fuck,” he moaned deliciously against your lips.

“Feels good?” he asked, parting your lips with a soft chu. You nodded; your eyelids lazily drooped over your orbs; eyebrows scrunched together at the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix. He felt so good.

“Say it,” he rasped, “tell me how good it feels,” his thrusts grew harder, “tell me how good I’m fucking this pretty pussy. My pussy,” his pussy, yes, it was his.

You cried at the claim. “It feels so good Guk – fuck I love when you fuck me like this.”

He pounded harder, as if he was trying to punctuate something. Both your breaths quickened, equally as eager to chase your own high as you were each other’s. Pushing his chests flush against yours, he leaned his forehead against yours, neither of you broke eye contact.

“L-love you,” he cried. “I love you.”

It felt as if all the air in your lungs was punched out of you, you couldn’t pinpoint whether it was Jungkook’s hips thrusting into yours unforgivingly, or if it was the fact that the boy you basically watched grow up happened to be the same person you’ve liked since middle-school, standing in front of you, telling you he loves you.

You lied to yourself, you genuinely thought whatever strong feeling you felt for Jungkook had died down, that you had truly moved on. You even got a boyfriend and all that.

But it wasn’t until you heard Jungkook utter those three words that you realized they never went away, no – you had hidden those feelings away in a box and chained several chains around it to keep them suppressed.

You loved him too, of course you did. You never stopped loving him for fucks sake. It pains you to think about how much crap both of you were put through for you to realize this.

“I love you.”

12-year-old Y/N was applauding and smiling like crazy; you finally said it. The love you had carried for Jungkook in your poor overwhelmed heart was finally spilled all over the table.

Jungkook’s hips stuttered at your reciprocating words. He hadn’t expected you to say it back, but for the love of all that is holy; he loved hearing you say it, it sounded so pretty coming from you. “Say it again,” he was now smiling, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

His eyes were glowing, so of course you had to say it again, “I love you. Fuck – I always have.”

“Again.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” completely out of breath, you caressed the side of his cheek, watching as his eyes teared up once again. He only fastened his pace, if that was even humanly possible. Lovingly, you ran your thumb across the scar that laid right on his cheek, “I am in love with you.”

That being said – Jungkook exploded, with you following right after him. You were holding on to each other for dear life, with slow pumps to help ride out your highs. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, at your final clench.

Small strings of I love you’s were heard from Jungkook who was breathlessly panting into your neck. He kissed your temple, guiding a small string of hair behind your ear.

“You know,” he started, “I’ve been in love with you since freshman year of high school,” he smiled adoringly at you, “the first day we had a biology class, I saw you slip a note into my locker that read ‘if I could be a nitrogen base, I’d be adenine so I could be paired with U.’ and there was a small purple bellflower taped to the corner of the paper. You’ve had my heart ever since that day.”

Your eyes widened, physically cringing at yourself in your teenage years, “I can’t believe you knew it was me, and really? That’s what it took for you to like me back?” You giggled, “you can’t blame me, you were, and still are, extremely adorable.” He shrugged his shoulders. You gently pushed his shoulders, feeling your face turn red at the reminder of your rather sappy biology pick up line.

“Well, I’ve loved you since middle school. I win this one, Jeon.”

Saturday 02:57AM

“What’s taking so long, Y/N should be back by now,” Jin winced, eyeing the small watch on his wrist.

Taehyung and Mina looked at each other, “do you think it worked?” Mina questioned, a beaming smile plastered across her face, “yup,” Taehyung crossed his arms proudly. “Operation tell-Y/N-to-get-polaroid-camera-because-Taehyung’s-too-drunk-for-his-own-good-so-that-she-could-be-trapped-in-the-same-room-as-Jungkook-and-make-up… Was a success!”

taglist: @selinashere @jjenjen @ladyartemesia @emsuzz @iamjiminsfloor @silvlyjmhwa

#jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jeongguk smut #fluff #angst #he won't know #fanfic

173 notes · View notes

diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

Text

This is two parts because I got carried away. I wrote this on my phone and proof read as much as I could.

Warnings: cheating, male masturbation, m/f sex, minor spoilers for “Defending Jacob”.

——————————————————————————————

Plain Gold Ring

“Plain gold ring on his finger he wore

It was where everyone could see

He belonged to someone, but not me

On his hand was a plain gold ring”

-Nina Simone

When the Barbers moved to your building every old bitty in the place was buzzing with excitement. You had loosely followed Jacob Barber’s case as it played out on the evening news. The whole thing was bizarrely too neat and tidy for your liking. You tried to stay out of idle gossip as much as possible. But, when you heard Andy Barber was interviewing for a senior position at your firm, you had questions.

Andy was brought in to interview for a position that you were also interested in. You requested a meeting with your boss and you went in guns blazing. Your poor boss was not ready for all the excitement.

“Am I still being considered for junior partner?”

“Y/n, calm down.” When he saw you winding yourself up, he popped an antacid an a few ibuprofen.

“Calm down? Calm down he says. I’ve been with this firm since I clerked for you in Law school, Stan. I’m the best fit for this role and you know it.”

“I know you are, kid. I’ve been out voted.”

It’s common knowledge that the partners don’t want too many women gunning for their jobs. They already have one token female partner. They didn’t feel the need to add another. You were infuriated. You stomped back to your office and slammed the door.

All of the work you put in. All of the late nights. You don’t have time to even date. And all for what? You had to calm down now because you were starting to cry out of sheer frustration. You took a deep breath and started going through your to do list. With a relatively light schedule you decided to leave for the day. You mumbled something to your assistant about a doctors appointment and headed for the elevator.

You saw some of the senior partners headed your way shaking hands with Andy. You pressed the elevator button furiously trying to avoid them. Could you make it down seventeen flights of stairs in your stilettos? The elevator dinged and you jumped on just as Robert called your name.

As soon as you put your car in gear, your assistant called. You sent her to voicemail. She called again. Declined. Finally she texted call me back ASAP. Emergency. Fuck.

“Caitlan I said I had an appointment. What’s the emergency?”

“Sorry. Mr. Cramer insisted I call. He’s standing by my desk” she whispered. “They want you to have lunch with them today. Maybe it’s about the job.”

“Did you see guy shaking hands with them? That’s the new junior partner. They are asking me to lunch to reject me. Fuck! Where?” You rested your head against the steering wheel.

“Commander’s at 1:00.”

“Fine.” you groaned.

You went home to freshen up and send out your updated resume. You made sure to include “Willing to relocate” at the end to broaden your prospects. You had a friend in Chicago who worked for a very high profile firm. They were always looking for new blood. You shot her a text to let her know you were looking then emailed your resume. The prospect of starting over completely made you nauseous. You would have to go through the ranks and probably waist another five years to get exactly where you were right now.

When you arrived at the restaurant the maître d brought you to the table where Stan, several other senior partners and Andy were waiting. Andy stood up to pull out your chair.

“Gentleman. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sit down, Y/N. We wanted to introduce you to Andrew Barber.”

“Andy. Please call me Andy. It’s very nice to meet you, Y/N. These guys haven’t stopped talking about you all morning.”

“All good things I hope.” The men laughed and ordered a round of martinis. Good thing you ate a big lunch at home. No one likes a sloppy drunk girl.

“Yes. Well, Y/N, as you may not know Andy has accepted the junior partner position. We would love if you brought him up to speed on anything you’re working on and show him the ropes.”

You were seething. “Of course Mr. Cramer. Happy to.”

“Oh. Good. Let’s order huh? I’m starving.”

You were silent for the rest of lunch ordering two more martinis very dry and a salad. Dressing on the side of course. The men spoke loudly and never even tried to include you in the conversation. You excused yourself to use the restroom. Andy, ever the gentleman, stood up at the same time.

You didn’t go back. Not that it would have mattered. You ordered an Uber and checked your email. You didn’t notice Andy at the valet stand.

“I’m headed back to the office. Need a ride?” he called to you.

“No. I’m good. Thanks though.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.” He watched you pace back and forth reading a message almost out loud.

You didn’t look up from your phone. “Shit.” You scowled looking at the screen. You dialed Caitlan’s extension. “Caitlan, Sloan Treadaway’s deposition was moved to today. I need it pushed to Monday.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I figured you would be coming back so I told them it was ok to push it up. I can call them back.”

“No. Don’t bother. I’m on my way back.”

“Looks like you can use a ride after all.” Andy was grinning from ear to ear.

He held the door and rushed around to the other side. You pulled a small bag out of your purse. You freshened your hair, popped some breath mints, lotioned and spritzed away the smell of booze. Andy thought this must be commonplace for you. It’s not easy trying to run with the guys. He could walk into this deposition piss drunk and most people wouldn’t care. You had to be perfect. He always hated that aspect of working in a big firm like this.

“Sorry. I’ll pay to have your car cleaned.” It smelled like you now. Expensive perfume and minty breath. Sweet but not sickly so. He inhaled letting his nostrils flair breathing you in. “Don’t want your wife to be pissed.”

“Lori? Don’t worry about her. She’ll understand.”

“How is she doing with her job search?”

“Doing ok. Thanks for asking. She’s interviewed with a few places.”

“She worked for a non profit right?” When he looked at you quizzically, you quickly explained yourself. “I hear things. Anyway. I know the director of a non profit organization that might be a great fit for her. I’ll pass along her information.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I really appreciate it. Stan told me you were the front runner for this position. I know how hard it is for women in this industry. I want to say how sorry I am…”

“Let me stop you there. First of all, don’t be sorry. You’re high profile and a damn good litigator. They would be stupid not to offer you the moon. You’re over qualified for this job. You didn’t come here gunning for me. I’ll be fine. Besides, a few of these old bags have one foot in the grave. It won’t be long for me.”

Andy smiled at you but still kind of felt like shit at the way the firm treated you. When you pulled into the garage you offered a quick thanks and rushed into the building to prepare.

Andy stayed behind for a bit. He spent a few precious moments breathing in your scent, letting it linger and wash over him. He hoped his clothes would smell a little like you. Stan said you were a “fire cracker”. Andy always hated that analogy. He knew by the way the group of men talked about you that he would like you. Your quick banter in the car confirmed it. Throughout the rest of the day you would invade his thoughts. He and Lori were still married but their relationship was long over. You had excited him more in a couple of hours than she had in years. When he got home he didn’t eat dinner or speak to anyone. He went right to his room where he replayed your exchange over and over. The ghost of your perfume lingered on his shirt. Both of your scents mixed together gave him a raging hard on. He kept your shirt over his face while he fisted his cock.

——————————————————————

The next morning you decided to face the day with a fresher attitude. Sometime yesterday you heard from your friend. She was thrilled that you reached out to her. She has been trying to get you out there for a while. Knowing that you had a solid backup plan was giving your hair volume and clearing your skin.

You thought you were early but Andy was already in your office waiting for you.

“Morning, Mr. Barber.” God he loved how you said that.

He scoffed, “Andy. Please. I brought you a coffee. I hope it’s ok. I got your order from Caitlan. I thought we’d order in lunch today. We have a lot of ground to cover. You should probably let your family know you’ll be missing dinner.”

“I don’t think my dead ficus will worry too much.” Your tone was dry.

“I apologize for the assumption.”

“Not necessary. Though my mother and my therapist would both be pleased to know that I look like someone who could have a family.”

You were funny. You seemed to say whatever thought popped into your head. You had one hell of a poker face though. He didn’t know if you were trying to be funny or if this was just you. When you didn’t look up from your computer screen he didn’t laugh.

As the day wore on you warmed up to him a little. You filled him in on the three big cases you were working on. You were actually going to trial on a very important case soon. He insisted you rehearse your opening statement a hundred times.

During the third run through Andy’s phone was blowing up. He finally turned it off and told you to keep going. He watched you pace around the room and coached you on your stance. “Stand with authority not arrogance.” He chided. He showed you himself then, asked if he could touch your shoulders. “Round them out like this. Good. Back straight. See?” he pointed to your reflection in the window, “It’s not menacing or arrogant. But you look like you’re in charge. You look perfect.” Hell. Was he flirting with you? By the time you looked at the clock it was 9:30.

“Fuck is that the time?” he said with a boisterous yawn.

“Shit. We should pick this up tomorrow.”

“Let’s go get a drink. I’m buying.”

You quirked your eyebrow, “I’m sure your wife and kiddo are dying to see you.”

He stacked some folders neatly on your desk and looked up at you through his lashes, “I’ll be sure to tell my therapist that I look like a guy who has a happy marriage and a good relationship with his kid.”

Your cheeks heated. The way he was looking at you made you sad but it also warmed your insides. “I’m sorry.” you mumbled.

“Don’t worry about it. We said we would stay together until Jacob went away to school. He pretends to ignore the fact that we have separate bedrooms. We put on happy faces everyday. We’re a typical American family.”

You laughed at his admission. His whole story was so fucked up. You wanted to know everything about him. “You know, I think I will let you buy me a drink.”

“Good girl.” he said in a low voice that went strait to your core. The whole way to the car you repeated a mantra in your head reminding you not to get involved with a married man. It didn’t matter how unhappy they were. But you wanted him. Every time he touched you, your insides would quake.

The bar was packed with regulars from the DA’s office and other firms. You introduced Andy around. The guy was a legitimate pro. He was so smooth working the room. The whole time he kept finding small ways to touch you. The brush of his fingers on your arm his breath against your ear when he asked if wanted another drink. Your heart nearly stopped. You stuck with him for a while until your feet couldn’t stand anymore. Every time he caught your eye from across the room he winked at you.

For the first time in a long time Andy was enjoying himself. Your friends were fun and not at all stuffy like he thought this crowd would be. You were adorable. Your laugh was cute. The way you brushed against him on purpose was cute. You were openly flirting with him the more you drank. He had a massive crush on you. What grown man has a crush these days. He thought maybe if he fucked you and got it out of his system he’d get over it.

Your friend Liz sat down at your table trying to talk to you for a solid minute before you noticed. “Sorry. I was distracted. What were you saying?” She threw her head back laughing at you.

“I said you two would make a gorgeous couple.”

“Stop. He’s married.”

“Happily?”

“That doesn’t matter. Married is married.”

“So that’s a no. He’s been eye fucking you all night. Shoot your shot, darling. We get so few in this life.” The light hit his wedding ring just right making you feel horrible for even entertaining the thought. Do not get involved. You kept chanting it in your head over and over until Andy slid in the booth next to you. He leaned over so he could talk over the din of the crowd.

“Hey, you. Wanna get out of here?”

“You don’t need to bring me home, Andy. I can catch an Uber.” That was such a ridiculous statement since you lived in the same building.

“That’s not what I asked. I said do you wanna get out of here?” His eyes were fixed on your mouth. A salacious grin splayed across his lips just knowing you’d give in.

“Andy. I….” You stuttered over your words. Your brain stopped working when you felt his warm breath on the shell of your ear. “Let’s get out of here.” Your breath hitched in your chest when he touched the small of your back. He payed his tab and lead you out of the bar.

You held hands in the car. His thumb rhythmically traced patterns on your knuckles. Every touch sent bolts of arousal to your aching cunt. It felt electric. You were ready to crawl into his lap by the time you made it into the garage. He parked in his spot and followed behind you to the elevator. You lived two floors below him. You glanced back at Lori’s sensible suv next to his car and felt embarrassed. He caught you looking and stopped you in your tracks. He took your chin in between his thumb and index finger forcing you to look at him.

“I understand if you don’t want to invite me in. I’m asking a lot of you. But I really like you, Y/N. You are funny and intimidatingly smart. And, fuck me, you are fucking stunning. I can go to work tomorrow like nothing happened. Don’t worry about Lori. Worry about what this means working together. Can you handle this?”

Your brain was no longer working and deferred to your pussy for any and all further decisions. You had not had even mediocre sex in six months. You just knew Andy was going to blow your mind. All day you have been working together so well. You challenged each other and he encouraged you when you faltered. Would this change the dynamic at work? Absolutely. Could you handle it? You’re damn right you could.

“I can handle it.”

“Good girl.” You all but sprinted to the elevator. He wouldn’t touch you until you actually got inside of your apartment and closed the door. When you did, he pushed against you and covered your lips with his.

You tasted the golden flavor of beer on his tongue as it probed your mouth. He unbuttoned your blouse and pushed it over your shoulders letting it hit the floor. He kissed his way down the column of your neck to the swell of your breasts. You panted underneath him raking your nails through his hair.

“God you smell incredible. At any point if you don’t want this….”

“Andy, shut up and fuck me.” He growled low in his throat before he picked you up and carried you to your bedroom. You could see how hard he was through his impeccably tailored slacks. You unzipped his fly and took the whole throbbing appendage in your mouth.

“Fuck, baby yes.” he hissed. You relaxed your throat muscles and swallowed him deeper. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He moaned your name over and over soaking your panties. “Stop, honey. Let me see that pretty pussy.”

He eased you down onto the bed and undressed you painfully slow. It had been so long since he was intimate with someone, he wanted to take his time. He started with your feet removing your heels and massaging your insteps. His hands ran up the length of your legs to your skirt. He took off your panties first letting the skirt material pool around your waist. “So wet for me. So beautiful.” He slipped two fingers in between your folds hitting everywhere but your clit. He built up a tortuous rhythm that had you begging for relief. He smiled down at you watching completely fall apart. When he dipped his fingers inside of you, you were done. Your orgasm spilled out in one glorious cry. Before you could catch your breath he pulled off your skirt and unhooked your bra. His cock was weeping at the sight of you. A large hand held the back of your neck holding your head in place so you could look at him. Your eyes locked as he buried himself inside of you. There were no more words as he moved inside of you. Only breathless moans and sighs would escape your lips. He increased his pace and your orgasm started building again.

“Fuck. Andy, I’m….fuck!”

“I’m with you, honey. Come with me.” His words were your undoing. You latched your whole body onto him. He held you tight whispering praises in your ear. He kissed you slow and deep easing you back down to Earth. “You ok?”

“I think so.” You both laughed at the sight of yourselves. Sweat glistening off of your skin, lips puffy and kiss swollen. He eased off of you and rubbed your thighs to relax you. You thought he would get dressed and rush out but he crawled under the covers instead.

“Can I stay for a while?” Big arms pulled you down to his chest. He stroked your back softly to help you drift off to sleep.

“I’d like it if you did.” He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and let his eyes flutter closed.

When dawn found you a few hours later, you were still tangled with each other. You jolted awake panicking because Andy was still in your bed. “Andy, wake up. You stayed all night.”

“I know. What time is it?”

“6:45.”

“Then we have time. Go back to sleep.”

“But Lori…”

“I told you not to worry about her. Get back on this pillow and let me hold you. Please.” The poor guy was so touch starved you guessed. Andy Barber was not a man who did well being single. He loved being in love. He longed for a connection. For passion. He knew those things would sometimes fizzle out of a marriage. But, with you, he couldn’t see that. Your fire matched his fire and Lori was the wet blanket that always snuffed him out.

He supposed that wasn’t really fair. Two people were in their marriage. He worked long hours and spent very little time doing anything but being an ADA and being a dad. He didn’t give the same dedication to being Lori’s partner. The stress of this past year pushed them further apart. He felt obligated to be with her. It was his idea to stay together for Jacob’s sake. He regretted pushing for it.

He pulled you close to his body and wrapped an arm around your waist. He nuzzled your hair and fell back to sleep. You did too.

#andy barber #andy barber x y/n #andy barber smut #defending jacob

80 notes · View notes

solastia · 4 years

Text

The Dragon’s Lair | 6

- Riddle Me This -

Pairing: Dragon Hybrid Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 5,094

Notes: It feels like so much has happened and this has been going on for so long, right? But this is actually the very beginning of my long and complicated outline lmao. Anyway, it’s time to meet our Sphinx! I wonder who this could be *insert lenny face here* And if you’re wondering if there will ever be an end to me adding other kpop fandoms: no, no there will not be. We’re catchin em all.

The winter storms were slowly giving into the spring rains. Of course, this made everything horribly humid and muddy, but at least you weren’t snowed in for days on end anymore.

As soon as you were able, you scheduled contractors that specialized in hybrid-friendly rooms to help get one prepared, as you fully planned on starting the adoption process for Mark when it was done. You had to make sure it had its own heating and cooling system separate from the rest of the house, insulation for winter, and UV lighting, among other things. Needless to say, it was not going to be a quick process, but Mark was safe at the shelter with Heechul’s near-constant vigilance.

You’d also begun to clear out the barn that you’ve only been using for storage since your grandparents had adopted out all of their animals. You weren’t quite sure how serious you were yet about getting some animals in there again, but for now, it gave you something to do while construction was going on inside your home.

You spent a lot of time throwing out or giving away anything unusable, sweeping out stalls, and scrubbing everything down until it shone like it hadn’t in years. Thankfully you still kept in touch with a lot of the people that had worked with your family over the years and it was easy to have fresh supplies brought in, half of which you weren’t even sure you’d ever use, but everyone was happy to hear that the farm was going back to work in a sense.

Despite all these other changes, your relationship with Namjoon was settled into a comfortable path. Not to say that things were unexciting - the man never failed to find some new way to make your heart flutter - but it felt secure and steady now. Like the two of you being a forever thing was assured. It continually surprised you when you remembered that you actually hadn’t been together for very long. He felt like he’d always been there.

Most days were simply routine. You’d both wake up at the same time and shower - together more often than not -, have breakfast and then he’d head to the shelter while you’d work in your office. At least three times a week you’d meet up to have lunch together, thankful that both of you had lenient bosses that wouldn’t freak out when an hour-long lunch turned into two or three. Once he was home for the day, the two of you usually just spent your time together. You’d watch a movie or read while you cuddled on the couch, oftentimes ignoring the screen to simply listen to him talk. The way he viewed the world was beautiful and you never grew tired of listening.

Namjoon had put his foot down and declared date night mandatory. So every single Saturday without fail he’d drag you into town for some event or into the mountains for a hike, always doing his best to create the most romantic day possible. You’d tried to convince him that he didn’t need to do all this, that simply walking with him in the forest near your home was romantic as long as he was there, but he claimed he was still “courting” you so it wasn’t something he could just stop. You assumed that meant it was something to do with his Dragon side and let him do as he pleased.

Once a week you’d usually tag along and go to the shelter, spending most of your time in the playrooms. According to one of the volunteers, Heechul’s shelter held an average of one hundred and fifty hybrids at any given time, which seemed an astronomical amount if one didn’t know about the secret wings and the fact that you were pretty sure he’d borrowed the whole ‘bigger on the inside’ concept.

You tried to spend as much time as you could with all the hybrids, but as you were only one person there was only so much you could do. Still, you did have your - as Heechul called them - “cub club.” There have been many arguments in the little group about the name - starting with you wondering why they needed a name at all - since they were composed of all different species, but they gave in after Heechul’s continuous use of it and the fact that it apparently was cute, according to Namjoon.

Basically, it was a group of hybrids that seemed to have singled you out as a clear favorite and would follow you around the moment you stepped into the building. The unspoken leader of the group was your little Mark, who was always waiting by the front door of the building when you would come in. Usually right next to him was Felix, who seemed to split his time between your cubs and Namjoon’s fan club fairly equally. Some newer friends of yours were a teen tiger hybrid named Seonghwa, and wolf pup siblings Changkyun and Jooheon. There were a few others that came and went, but these were your regular crew.

Today was one of your shelter days, and you were once again surrounded in the playrooms. Mark was sitting next to you with his raccoon hybrid friend Donghyuck, who was an honorary member of Star’s Cubs at this point with how often he was attached to Mark. They were both coloring a picture of their dream bedroom - a sneaky idea you’d gotten so that you could have Mark’s room ready and decorated when the adoption finalized.

Felix was having a Namjoon day, so after he’d run up to hug you when you’d first arrived, he’d gone right back to the class that Namjoon was currently teaching. You’d probably see him again at lunch, and then he’d talk a mile a minute about everything Namjoon was teaching him and demand cuddles.

Changkyun and Jooheon were currently wrestling around on the floor near your feet. They were a complicated pair. They had both been found in the wild several months ago, seemingly without any sort of parents or guardians whatsoever. The boys themselves weren’t sure, but you judged them to be around nine or ten. They were smart kids but had obviously been living on their own for quite some time. They mentioned a “her” a few times, speaking of someone from their memories that would make certain foods or clean them, but they couldn’t remember who she was. Their mother, you assumed.

Needless to say, they were perhaps not the most well-mannered children, but they were sweet and eager to please. To you, at least. The other volunteers usually tried to interact with them as little as possible after a few too many bites and temper tantrums, often referring to them as feral monsters. You had, of course, taken that up with Heechul, but the damage had already been done and they were labeled as such by everyone. From the day Jooheon had met you, however, he’d decided you “smelled nice” and would bring you scraps from their dinners (that they apparently hoarded - bad habits left from living in the wild). It had taken Changkyun a little longer to warm up to you, but one day he’d just walked up and pushed Felix out of your lap and took his place. You’d scolded him and made him apologize, but you’d let him stay, deciding it had probably been a very long time since he’d been hugged by anyone besides his brother. They’d gotten better about waiting their turn and learning to ask first, but you still went out of your way to cuddle them as much as they’d let you.

Seonghwa sat nearby doing his homework. He was...interesting. It was the nicest thing you could think of to say about that whole situation. The thing was, he was a nice kid. Almost seventeen, had been here for a few years. Definitely beautiful, no denying that. You didn’t know too much about his past yet, as you hadn’t wanted to pry and he didn’t volunteer much information. He helped you with the younger kids a lot though, asked you about your work, was genuinely sweet, and fun to talk to when he was just chill. The issue was...you were apparently his “first love.”

He wasn’t creepy about it or anything. He really was super sweet. He would bring you flowers and treats, help you carry anything heavy, and was just really attentive. Unfortunately, then he’d start walking around you in circles, staring intently with his tail flicking around in the air as he sang to you. He had a sweet voice, but they were of course all highly inappropriate love songs to be singing to an older woman. And according to Namjoon, the circling and singing thing was a tiger courting ritual, so you took great care not to acknowledge it. You’d tried letting him down as gently as possible, but somehow he seemed to just consider it more of a challenge, and you really didn’t want to be mean and be his first heartbreak as well. Namjoon surprisingly - or not since he could be a brat himself - thought it was hilarious. He’d often ask how your tiger cub was doing, laughing when you’d swat him. Of course, he was still a territorial dragon, so he would occasionally go out of his way to kiss you with a bit too much tongue or pinch your butt where everyone could see to get the message of your status across.

Things at the shelter have been fairly quiet and routine, as far as such a big place could be. That’s why you were awfully surprised when Heechul storms into the playroom looking distraught and frazzled. He brightens slightly when he spots you, rushing over and placing his hands on his hips.

“You’d be perfect, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that earlier!”

You frown, thoroughly confused. “Thanks, I think. For what?”

He clucks and shakes his head.

“We have an exotic on his way here. He was one of mine that I raised until he was ten, and then he was adopted by this lovely couple. Unfortunately, they were a bit too old even then, but they adored Seokjin so I let him go.” He sighs wearily and flops into a nearby recliner. “They passed away last year and left him everything. He’d been living on his own just fine until someone tried to rob the place and he ended up hurt. Then the police of course had to see his medical records and - surprise! - a hybrid had been running around owning a house and living free for an entire year and they don’t like that. They were going to send him to a state-run hybrid institution, which essentially means death if you’re not a baby or usable on the black market. So, he called me in a panic and I have it all settled with the police that he’s officially one of ours and they don’t have to worry about him anymore. But he’s too used to independence to stuff him back into regular hybrid life, so I was thinking maybe you could foster him? Just like, let him hang out at your place until we figure out some way he can go back to living how he likes?”

“I mean, I have to check in with Namjoon, but I don’t see why not. What kind of hybrid is he?”

“Sphinx,” Heechul answered, his deadpan voice at odds with his amused eyes.

“A what now?”

“Sphinx. You know, part bird, lion and man. Likes riddles. Has big statues.”

“Sure, why not,” you sigh. This place really made your brain hurt.

Heechul chuckled and reached out to pat your shoulder.

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot to deal with right now, with your new romance and getting ready for Mark, but Seokjin deserves a chance. I think you’ll like him.”

“You know, it’s really creepy when you do that. At least let me tell you with words what I’m planning about Mark.”

“I didn’t even need to use magic to see that’s where it was headed. He’s basically already yours,” he scoffs, standing up with a light groan.

“When is this Seokjin going to be here?”

“He’s on his way to the shelter now. I figured he could just come here first, meet you and have dinner with everyone, then head home with you guys after. If that’s okay.”

“Again, just have to check with Joon, but it should be fine. Sphinx and dragons aren’t like, mortal enemies or anything, are they?”

Heechul grins, “Hardly. In fact, I remember they were actually pretty good friends when they were little. Jin was older and would tolerate Joonie like a big brother. Not sure how well Namjoon remembers him, though.”

“Alright, I guess. Joon’s class is over in a few minutes. I’ll go talk to him now.”

“Thanks, Star!”

You shake your head as he flounces away, wondering when he’d started using that name too. At this point, that was basically your official name.

“Does that mean you’re going to have to stay home all the time? To take care of a new hybrid?”

A little sniffle came from your right as you registered the fact that your cubs had just been quietly listening to your conversation with Heechul. Mark’s eyes were beginning to glisten with unshed tears and you quickly snatched the boy up and cuddled him close.

“Of course not, sweetheart. By the sounds of it, he’s older than both me and Joon, so he’s not going to need much looking after. He basically just needs a place to crash until he figures out what to do.”

“Oh,” he sniffles again, and you try not to laugh about the fact that it’s not helping, as his nose is starting to water too. “So you’ll still come to see me?”

“Of course! And as soon as the farm is cleaned up you can come to visit me too. How does that sound?”

“Really? And Felix? And Hyuckie? And...and…”

“Yes,” you interrupt, knowing the boy will try to name literally everyone he’s ever talked to. “Anyone that wants to visit will be able to. I just wanted to make sure it’s safe first, so no one gets sick.”

“Okay!” Mark squeezes you clumsily but is quickly back to being a ray of sunshine and crawling off of you to go back to his picture.

“Seonghwa,” you call, snorting inwardly as the tiger practically jumps to attention, “Watch the kids for a bit, okay? I’m going to see Namjoon.”

He nods quietly and sets his books down, smiling softly as he watches you leave the room.

***

As you’d expected, Namjoon was more than agreeable to the idea of helping his childhood friend but was understandably concerned over how his dragon instincts would react to another creature in his new den with his new...well, mate. (Although he insists that you aren’t official mates yet. And he blushes and refuses to answer whenever you ask what makes you official).

“It’s just, like, I don’t want to stress him out even more, you know? If he’s already going through all this, then I don’t want to be growling and snapping at him,” Namjoon sighed as he stood with you in the lobby, grasping your hand tightly as you both waited for Seokjin to show up.

“I know, but Heechul told me that Seokjin is the only one of his kind as well so if anyone were to understand that this is a learning situation and not blame you for it, it would be someone like him, right?”

Namjoon shrugs, “I guess. From what I remember, Jin hyung was really outspoken too, so I think he’d be sure to let me know if I do something to offend him.”

“And if all else fails, you can just take him behind the house and piss on him,” you try to hide your grin as you tease him.

He growls playfully, leaning down to tug your hair. “Watch it. I’ll mark you next.”

“I thought you already did,” you quirk an eyebrow as you refer to certain activities that had taken place before he’d let you leave your bed that morning.

“Hey, let's keep the rating down in my presence, please,” Heechul sighs wearily from the other side of you.

The two of you fight valiantly to keep your giggles under control, only able to stop fully once a taxi pulls up in front of the building and nerves once again take over.

The man that steps out takes even your breath away - quite a feat considering how whipped you were for your own boyfriend. He’s tall, nearly as tall as Namjoon, and has a regal bearing. He has a face that many would pay millions for, with full lips and wide expressive eyes. His hair and lion ears were the same mahogany brown shade, as was the fluffy tip of his long tail. It seemed he had no trouble showing off his lion side. You weren’t sure if that’s all there was to his transformation though, considering he was a Sphinx, not just a lion.

He turned to pay the driver, who was actually smiling and laughing like the two of them were old friends. Seokjin reached out and shook the man’s hand heartily and shoved what was apparently too much money towards him if the way the man tried to argue about it was any indication. You supposed this meant Seokjin was the friendly sort, which boded well.

You were a little confused by the fact that the hybrid was only carrying a single suitcase. Perhaps he had left the rest behind to be picked up later? From what Heechul had told you, the hybrid had grown up in a fairly wealthy household, spoiled and doted on. You would think he would be walking in here with twenty name brand suitcases, and yet here he was with only a small rolling suitcase meant for a child with Mario on it. Something about that felt wrong.

The hybrid seemed fine, however, breezing through the front door with a wide smile like all was right in the world. He stopped right in front of Heechul and stared at him a moment, cocking his head.

“You haven’t changed a bit, hyung. You don’t have a single new wrinkle. Are you trying to compete with me?”

Heechul huffs and reaches out to hug the man. Seokjin laughs quietly, pulling Heechul into a bear hug so fierce Heechul squeaks a little. He releases him and pats him on the shoulder before he turns to Namjoon.

“Don’t tell me you’re little Joon bug? You can’t be anyone else, with those dimples. I used to swear I could use them as cereal bowls if we ever ran out.”

Namjoon shyly looks down and kicks his foot, but he’s smiling. “Hi, Seokjin-ssi. It’s nice to see you again.”

The hybrid waves his hand carelessly, “Just call me hyung, Namjoon. Or even just Jin. We don’t need honorifics with our kind.”

Namjoon nods and pulls you closer, drawing the Sphinx’s attention. His thick brow raises your way as his smile quirks mischievously.

“And this must be Miss Star, the one I’ve been hearing so much about,” he raises up his hand like he’s going to shake yours, but the moment you grasp it he holds on tightly. His face suddenly settles into serious lines as he looks down into your eyes.

“Answer me this. As small as your thumb, I am light in the air. You may hear me before you see me, but trust that I’m here.”

You hadn’t been prepared for this, for some reason. Duh, Sphinx’s whole thing was about riddles.

You bite your lip and give it some thought for a moment. “A hummingbird?”

His smile brightens back up and he releases your hand before he slaps Namjoon’s back.

“Hey, she’s smart. You got a good one”

“Yeah…” Namjoon answers dreamily, staring down at you with a dopey grin. You blush and grab his hand.

Jin’s arm was back to flailing around again, and you were wondering if he was in control of his limbs or if it was the other way around.

“Hey, listen, want to hear a joke about construction?” he asks. You’re not sure if he really expects an answer, but you squeak out a somewhat genuine sounding “Sure,” anyway.

“I'm still working on it,” he answers, before cackling loudly, his laughter practically shaking the glass windows as he slaps his leg in amusement.

You decide, if nothing else, he seems easy to keep entertained.

You politely laugh and wait for him to finish before taking the chance to steer the conversation in another direction.

“Are you hungry? We thought we’d stay and have dinner here before we went home. Only if you’re comfortable with that, though.”

“I’m famished,” Jin answered, slapping his flat and obviously in-shape stomach like it was the opposite. “I wouldn’t mind sticking around. Kyungsoo still the cook here?”

“Yup. And Wendy is making dessert,” Heechul tells him as he grabs the little suitcase.

“Sounds great.”

It hadn’t escaped your notice that no one brought up his past owners or any difficult subjects. You sigh quietly as you walk behind everyone as they went to the dining room, knowing that it was probably going to be all up to you.

***

Dinner had gone as it usually did, with only the occasional fights to break up between over-enthusiastic kids. You used the time to observe Seokjin, trying to see what you could pick up about him in a group setting like this. He was polite and charming, yes, but very quick to steer the conversation away from himself. You supposed he wasn’t ready to talk about his problems, which was fine. You had time.

He was also an enthusiastic eater and at one point seemed to have an almost mini-competition going on with the elephant hybrid over who could eat the most. You’d decided to break it up before anyone found out since the elephant was only seven and didn’t need to compete with a grown man.

Seokjin and Namjoon seemed to get on perfectly well, thank goodness. Jin treated him like a little brother - making sure his bowl was full, teasing him every time he stared at you, telling him at least five jokes about giants.

The man didn’t seem to have a shred of animosity in him at all, which would normally be a good thing. If one didn’t take into account what had happened to him. He should be upset and crying, or at least mad. Irritated. But he seemed more like he was just visiting some dear old friends, with nothing to fret about. That worried you more than anything because the poor man was probably just really good at covering it up then, and you hoped you’d be able to help him. Or that he’d even let you.

These thoughts plagued you the whole way home, as you occasionally peeked into the rear view mirror to see Jin sitting quietly with his tiny suitcase that you still hadn’t been able to bring yourself to ask about.

At least he was here with the two of you, somewhere he could be safe and have people looking out for him. That was the best you could do for now.

After you show him to a spare bedroom, he thanks you quietly, smiling with his lips but not his eyes. The door closes and you sigh, retreating to your own room to wrap yourself in Namjoon’s arms. It haunts you that something like this could happen to him if anything were to happen to you. That he would get sent back to the shelter with nothing, despite the fact that you wanted to give him the entire world. You’ll have to ask Heechul what you can do to make sure he’s safe.

***

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to the smell of meat cooking. Normally, this would be a dream come true. Unfortunately, you’ve been living with Namjoon for far too long and your mind now associated unsupervised cooking with near-death experiences, so instead your first reaction is terror.

You jump out of bed, unmindful of your state of near-undress, and run to the kitchen. Your ears are hyper tuned to every sound, waiting for bellows of pain, but so far you simply hear the slap of your bare feet against wood and sizzling from a pan.

You round the corner and grab the wall, catching your breath as you stare into the kitchen. Namjoon is sitting at the bar eating a heaping plateful of scrambled eggs and cheese, giggling as Seokjin preforms some a dirty gesture involving sausages and eggs. The Sphinx is standing over the stove with your bright pink apron, confidently cooking away, and both men are fine. You breathe a sigh of relief, slumping slightly as the tension leaves your body. Both men turn at the sound, smiling in greeting.

“Morning, baby. Jin’s making breakfast. He’s a good cook!”

“I see that. Morning, everyone,” you reply, walking in and trying not to let on how nervous you’d been. You peck Namjoon’s cheek and peek over the bar at the stove.

Jin meets your eye and smiles mischievously like he knows what you were concerned about.

“And here is one for you, madame,” he says with a flourish, setting a plate in front of you piled high with food and even garnished with a couple of tiny flowers from the garden.

“Wow,” you blurt, honestly astounded by his skill. Everything looked perfect and you couldn’t wait to dig in.

“What’s with that look?” He says loudly, quirking an eyebrow at you. “You just fell for me, didn’t you? Ah, I’m too charming.”

You laugh and take a bite, nervously peeking at Namjoon to see if he’d taken the joke too seriously. Seokjin must have magic in his food because you doubted the dragon had even heard since he was too busy shoveling food in his mouth like you’d been starving him for months.

“Slow down,” you cluck and tap his shoulder. He turns and grins at you with a disgustingly full mouth.

“Isth good,” he mumbles, and you laugh despite your disgust.

“I can see that.”

You swirl your fork around as you watch Jin settle in with his own plate, letting him get a few bites in before you strike.

“So, Joonie and I both took the day off to help you get settled in. We figured you might need to do some shopping or something. I know the bedroom is pretty bare since we were focusing on another room right now.”

Jin glances up and for a moment his gaze is troubling. You’d seen the brief flash of melancholy before he’d covered it up with a charming smile.

“I could use a few things to tide me over until I’m out of your hair, I suppose. I do have my own money, but most places around here won’t let you shop without a license.”

“That was nice of them to leave you money, They must have been good owners.”

His eyes cloud over and he glances away from you, staring at one of the windows.

“They were amazing parents. But the money that they left for me got taken away. I believe everything went to my Mom’s cousin - someone she didn’t even really know.”

“I thought you said you had money?”

“I...uhh...had some stashed away. My dad never liked banks - didn’t trust them. He always had a rule that whenever you used your card, you should take out some cash and squirrel it away just in case. So we’d always take a little out and stash it in this fake book. From the outside it looks like Crime And Punishment, and who reads that willingly?” he snorts, peeking over at Namjoon. “Besides this kid, obviously.”

Namjoon just shrugs, unbothered with the truth.

“But...Jin hyung, you mean they kept everything?”

The Sphinx sighs wearily and drops his fork, reaching up to rub his forehead.

“Everything. The cousin’s lawyer grabbed my old suitcase from storage and told me I could keep anything I could fit in there as long as he approved of it. I got some clothes, my mom’s recipe book, my dad’s favorite fishing lures, and the stash of cash because he thought it was just another book,” Jin shrugs like he’s just telling a story, never mind that the sound of your heart breaking was probably audible at this point.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” you murmur, struggling to stay calm for his sake.

He shrugs. “No big. I’m a hybrid. Should have expected it.”

“No, you should not have. People treat actual animals better than they do hybrids and it’s disgusting. I’m so very sorry. I know nothing I say can erase what’s been done to you. Just know that you are safe here and welcome in my home for as long as you like.”

Jin opens his mouth to say something but snaps it shut again like he can’t figure out what to say. Namjoon grins proudly at you and slaps Jin’s shoulder.

“Told you, hyung. She’s the best. And she’s right. You are welcome here and I can assure you that I feel no urge to fry you to a crisp.”

“I...was not aware that was a potential issue. Thanks for not ruining my beautiful face, I guess,” Seokjin says, obviously done with the serious talk and choosing to fall back into humor.

“And with that settled, I should probably go put on some pants. Thanks for the breakfast! We’ll meet up and go shopping in an hour, yeah?”

You grin at them both and leave the room, the smile dropping the moment you were sure they couldn’t see.

Poor Seokjin.

He had grown up loved and cared for by those people, and just because he was a hybrid he’d lost everything. The fact that this could easily be Namjoon’s story if you were to kick it tomorrow didn’t sit well with you, either. You needed to figure something out that could stop this from happening. Or at least figure out somewhere hybrids could go besides back into shelters. It seems like an impossible task, but one that needs doing, obviously.

As laughter filters towards you from the kitchen, you smile. One thing is for sure, your first task is going to be convincing Seokjin that he’s already home.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #hybrid!bts #hybrid!namjoon #hybrid!seokjin #dragon hybrid #sphinx hybrid #hybrid fanfiction #the dragon's lair #solastia

384 notes · View notes

gatheringbones · 4 years

Text

Denise Kulp, “On Working with My Brothers: Why a Lesbian Does AIDS Work.” Off Our Backs, vol. 18, no. 8, 1988, pp. 22–22:

["A few weeks ago, on my day off, I got up early, jumped in the car, drove to another part of the city, and went to a demonstration. A little while later, I grabbed the hand of a man who has been my best friend in the world for twelve years, and the hand of a woman who has become a close friend over the last several months, and ran out into the street. Six people went with us. We sat, holding hands and chanting, for over three hours. And then we were arrested. It was my first act of civil disobedience. I was arrested for demonstrating about AIDS.

It seems strange that it's taken me so long to be arrested. I've spent twelve years being politically active, and there have been many actions and issues about which I've felt strongly enough to consider CD, but I've always decided it was inconvenient. But when the idea of committing this CD arose, I decided immediately. I planned ahead to take the day off. I made financial arrangements. I made sure at least one other woman would get arrested with me (and there were four of us, finally). And then I did it.

I come to my work as an AIDS activist full of anger, and with a long-held commitment to change. Recently I had a disagreement with a gay man who said that action born of anger was ineffective, while action born of love was positive. My position is that people I love are dying, and that makes me angry. I am making my anger powerful by turning it into action, to change the way things are. And the people I love are dying. At least part of my definition of feminism is that I love women. And AIDS is killing women. Especially it is killing black women. And it is killing prostitutes, who are being blamed for spreading AIDS into the heterosexual community when in fact they are more likely to get it than to pass it on.

But I came to AIDS work through my concern for gay men. I have never called myself a separatist, and the major reason for that is because I love gay men. Part of the reason I love them is because so many of them were kind to me when I was coming out. I've always felt a kinship with gay men, an understanding; and I've always responded to a certain joy in life which many of the men I've known have shared. But the primary reason for my love of gay men is the very significant relationship I've had with Tim. We have been each other's closest friend since we were seventeen. We give each other emotional support; we hold each other; we cry; we laugh, a lot. We want to have a child together. The thought of Tim dying, of anything happening to him, terrifies me. And so the threat of AIDS, originally, was brought home to me in a very personal way. But it didn't stay personal. It expanded to the whole community of gay men. And then, of course, it expanded past that.

For the most part, I work on AIDS with gay men and lesbians. I share ideas, energy, and politics with gay men, and I have not had conversations with other friends about my work, but I've heard what they've said. (I am much happier when my friends talk to me). There seems to be a concern that women, feminists, lesbians especially, are going to forget about doing "our" own work and give most of our energy to gay men. There seems, further, to be some concern that in the focus on AIDS, lesbian issues and concerns are going to be waylaid, forgotten, buried. There seems, in fact, to be anger and resentment about this, and a belief that when it turns out that when lesbians are up against a wall, gay men will just walk away and forget all about us. They've never really been concerned with our issues anyway, right? What makes us (lesbians who work on AIDS issues) think gay men will change?

Okay. Fine. I never said that all gay men are non-sexist and perfect (although I do think Tim is perfect). I never said that I expected all relationships between gay men and lesbians to change over night. But I will say other things.

First off, why do we say that gay men never cared about our issues? We seem to be thinking of gay men as a monolith (which is almost as bad as thinking of them generically, as I have, above). There have always been some gay men who have understood and supported our issues, as there have also been gay men who have totally different politics, as there have always been Lesbians who don't agree with "our" politics. (Now who's the monolith?) (And besides, don't you believe there are lesbian anti-abortion Reagan supporters?) But, more importantly, when have we asked gay men to support our issues? Almost every political group I've been a member of has been women only. We haven't wanted men involved. We've wanted to develop our own sense of power, our own way of doing politics. Men, if they like, can do child care at women only events. But we want our own space. There are all things I support. But we can't really expect gay men to understand lesbian issues unless we take the time to explain, and to ask for their support. We haven't done that.

There is an assumption that because some lesbians are working on AIDS issues with gay men that we are giving all our energy, emotional, political energy only to gay men. This isn't true. Women are dying. WOMEN ARE DYING. When I do political work, I think of the gay men I know who have died, the men I know now who have AIDS, of the friends of my friends. But I also think of the seventeen year old black prostitute who died blind, who was the buddy of a friend of mine. I remember that there are recorded cases of lesbian-to-lesbian transmission. I know who's dying. And I know that it's because of who was dying first that so little government money has been spent on this disease, that it has taken so long for people to be concerned. Public hysteria didn't start when faggots were dying; it started out when we found out AIDS passes through blood, and that straight men can die too. And when faggots started dying, it was other faggots, and some lesbians, and some straight women who took care of them. I feel fine about giving my energy to those faggots. I'm just mad it took me so damn long.

Will those gay men stand up for me when lesbians are against the wall? Yes. I am trusting them. I look at these men I'm working with, and I see a facilitator who actually tries to facilitate, men who support an anti-sexist, anti-racist statement as soon as it's suggested, men who want to be told when they do or say something sexist, men who choose a lesbian as a spokesperson when they go to trial, men who actually listen to the lesbians they're working with because maybe these women have some more political experience than they do. Yes, I am trusting these men.

I look at the lesbian and gay movement as it has developed over the last twenty years, and I see it as dichotomized. There is the mainstream lesbian and gay movement— Democrats and Republicans, task forces, advocates, defense funds, and campaign funds— and I see it as a meeting place where lesbians and gay men come together, but as a place where mostly men are involved. More men have traditionally been invested in that game. But right-on radical lesbians have played that game, too. (Heavens, I even dated one!) (Wait! I think I was one!) It's one way of doing things, and it gets things done— anti-discrimination laws, for example, at least sometimes, at least some places.

And then there's "our" movement, the lesbian-feminist one. We're national, certainly, but more grass-roots, or even closer to the ground/land. And we have always been more radical. We have a different culture, a different vision, an analysis. In college I did a big paper on the gay rights movement, and I remember feeling so superior when I realized that lesbians have a theory (tons of them, actually) and gay men don't. Historically, lesbians and gay men have looked at the world separately and differently. We haven't tried to engage them in our struggle, and they haven't a clue about how to engage us in theirs. But a lot of things are changing that, and AIDS is one of them. If we can keep down the barriers that some of us are breaking through, maybe, when the immediate crisis is over, we can work together, carefully, to a new place.

Like I said, I'm trusting the gay men.”]

#denise kulp #AIDS #lesbian literature #history stuff #pride month #ACT UP #cw slurs #terra preta

258 notes · View notes

pasiveagressive · 4 years

Text

Opening Night // Tom Holland

Y/N is an artist who needs a date, best friend Tom is happy to step in.

Best friends to Lovers

Warnings: Slight implication of smut, language? maybe?

Y/N’s Saturday was a mix of good and bad. It had started shitty, she woke up and her roommate/ brother's latest conquest was still in the apartment. She had walked into the kitchen half asleep and started a pot of coffee when she looked up. Harrison was trying to get the girl out the door and she was trying to tell him that she wanted to go another round. Y/N almost puked on the spot.

“Marissa you guys go through this at least once a week.” Y/N said making her presence known. “He’ll call you tomorrow or the next day when he’s horny again.” she had said all of this while picking up the rest of the sluts stuff with her finger tips. “Bye Marissa hope to see you never.” She shoved the girl out the door, then turned to glare at her brother who just grinned at her.

“Morning sis.” He kissed her head. She rolled her eyes at him and went back to her coffee pot where she poured herself an overflowing mug of black gold. Once she had woken up a bit more she addressed her brother.

“You’re going to be my date tonight to the gallery opening right?” his eyes went wide and he tried to cover it up but she was faster. “You didn’t forget that I have a gallery opening tonight did you?”

“Um, maybe?” he scratches the back of his head.

“Harrison!” she yells “You were supposed to intimidate that asshole Jonathan so he would stop bugging me.” The end almost sounds like a whine and she is totally fine with that if it gets him to cancel his plans and come with her.

“Y/N, I am so sorry but I can’t cancel. I have an audition for a new movie.” her body sagged at this. Y/N knew that Haz needed to go to this audition. There was a knock on the door at that moment. Haz went to open it while Y/N pouted. She had perked up when she heard the familiar voice belonging to a curly haired brunette. As Haz brought Tom into the room Y/N basically tackled him. She, Harrison and Tom had grown up together and she and Tom were just as close as Haz and Tom were, if not closer. Tom caught her and pulled her into a tight hug that made her heart flutter. There was that too. She might have the tiniest crush on her best friend.

“I didn’t know you were going to be in town anytime soon.” She said as they pulled away from each other.

“Neither did I to be honest.” Tom replied “I have a couple interviews I need to go to later this week but other than that I am all yours.” He smiled at her and hi fived Harrison. That’s when she saw Haz’s eyes light up.

“Hey man you got anything going tonight?” he asked. Tom shook his head

“No mate why?”

“Y/N has this thing I was supposed to go to with her but I made plans. You can go instead!” Y/N tried to signal to her brother that this is a very bad idea but his eyes were only on Tom. The Holland didn’t take more than a minute to consider it before he agreed.

“What time do we have to leave?”

That was how she ended up at her gallery opening with her long time crush and best friend. So yeah not the greatest day so far. The gallery was doing great; she had several interested buyers, her personal life was sucking however. Tom had to run to the bathroom and it looks like he got caught by the bimbo who works the desk, why she is even here Y/N has no idea.

“Hello Y/N.” and there he was the man she was dreading seeing all night. A mutual friend had tried setting her and Jonathan Up a few years ago and it was terrible. She tries to avoid him the best she can but his family were big buyers in the industry and so he is always at openings.

“Hello Jonathan” She says, trying to plaster a fake smile on her face as best as possible.

“Please call me John,” he very obviously looks her up and down, making her want to roll her eyes, “How about you tell me about this piece.” Oh thank god, she thinks. Art is something she can talk about for ages no matter who she's talking to.

“Um sure, so it’s obviously muted but,” she trails off as she feels a hand on her back. Y/N moves away from Jonathan and continues “ as I was saying, I wanted it to come across as alive.” as she’s talking Jonathan moves closer to her again. Just as she is about to flip out on him she is saved in a very unexpected way

“Hey babe.” a kiss is dropped on her temple. She knows who it is and she also knows that he is just barely able to reach that high due to her heels. “Who’s this?” she is a little out of it from the fact that Tom just called her babe like it was the most normal thing but luckily enough Jonathan loves to overstep and introduces himself.

“Jonathan Thomas and you are?”

“Oh, right of course, so sorry Tom Holland Y/N’s boyfriend.” The first thing that goes through her mind is that he uses his full name, a name that anyone who knows anything about pop culture will know. The second thing, is the thing that makes her spit out the champagne that she was taking a drink of, all over Jonathan.

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry Jonathan!” He looks down at his definitely ruined tie.

“It’s fine Y/N,” she slightly winces at the way he says her name “I was thinking of heading out anyway. I will contact you about a few of the pieces I am interested in.” with that he walks toward the door and she turns to Tom

“What the hell was that? I asked you to get him to back off not give me a heart attack!” he just smiles at her

“I got him to leave you alone, isn’t that what you wanted? Plus it could have gone way worse.” She just stares at him shaking her head

“In what way could it have gone worse? Tom let me tell you, there are at least seventeen ways this could have gone better, I am counting them now you ass.”

“Well darling” he grins into the endearing nickname, “that bimbo that was flirting with me earlier could have come over and caused a scene.” Tom says while looking over Y/N’s head

“Why is that even a scenario?” she is about to go on a full scale rant on him then sees the panic on his face “Oh Stephanie is on her way over here right now isn’t she?” he shakes his head

“Just follow along okay?” He says and before she has a chance to respond he is leaning in and kissing her. It takes her by complete surprise, but when he realizes her lips aren’t moving he pulls back just enough to whisper against them. “What am I not a good enough kisser for you love?” That’s enough for her to grab his neck and pull him back on to her mouth. She is feeling like nothing could ever take her down from this high she’s on when Tom pulls away, fully this time. He turns his body to reveal a very pissed off Stephanie.

“You know you could have just told me you were seeing someone instead of leading me on earlier.” she then smacks him across the face and walks away. Y/N gasps at the nail marks her claws leave on his face.

“Oh my gosh are you okay?” she grabs his face. He manages a smile

“Kiss me better?” she blushes and kisses his cheek. He grabs her hand and leads her out of the building “Now come on Angel you know that’s not what I meant.” He captures her lips with his again and she almost lets herself be pulled into bliss. However she manages to get away and speak

“Tom we need to go clean up your face.” He nods his head and lets her lead the way home.

Once they get to the apartment Y/N leads Tom to the bathroom. She bends over to look for her first aid kit and when she returns to the upright position finds Tom shamelessly staring at her ass.

“Um hello there? Do you want to stop looking at my butt?” She snaps her fingers in front of his face. This seems to shake him out of whatever trance he was in and put his signature pantydropping smirk on.

“Not particularly Angel. Why? Do you want me to stop?” she feels the telltale sign of herself blushing, aka her face feels like a fire, but she tries to play it cool and rolls her eyes at him.

She hoists herself on to the kitchen counter with the first aid kit open beside her. Tom is just standing in the doorway with the dried blood streaked down his face. Once she is up on the ledge however he seems to get the idea, and walks to stand between her legs. They had both changed out of their nice clothes and all he has on are a pair of black joggers. She tries very hard not to get distracted by his sculpted body, and you think it would be fairly easy because of how much time the man spent shirtless, but it is very hard. She cleans the cuts and soon realizes they aren’t nearly as bad as she once thought they were. She wasn’t sure where all the blood had come from, the lines on Tom's face were miniscule. They didn’t say one word as she was wiping his cheek down, they didn’t need to. She and Tom always had this weird kind of connection, they could literally just sit in a room together with nothing else to do and just be in each other's company. No talking was needed, they knew everything they needed to about each other, and maybe even some things they didn’t need to. She almost laughed at the thought.

After she had finished, Tom had simply turned around in her legs and she put her arms around him. They sat like that for a few hours just talking about stupid stuff ( just because they could sit in silence didn’t mean they always wanted to), until Haz came home. He didn’t even give the position they were in a second glance because they were always like this, but he did disturb the peace that was resting over them so Y/N decided to call it a night.

“Night Haz.” she kissed him on the cheek “Night Tom.” and him too. She wanted to kiss Tom for real of course, but she knew that it wasn’t a shared feeling. She sighs walking into her room trying to remember every detail of the way his lips felt against hers because she knows that tonight was just a one off thing. Tom didn’t like being tied down, and while she didn’t quite think that he saw her as a little sister anymore, she was definitely friendzoned.

Tom was nervous. He was standing outside his best friend's house so he shouldn’t be nervous right? Wrong! His best friend just so happens to be this beautiful, spitfire who he has been in love with since he was 15. He is now 25 and has been keeping it a secret from her and her brother , aka Tom’s other best friend, for almost ten years now and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep it up. He knocks on the door. Harrison answers so he has another minute to compose himself.

“Tom mate!”

“Hey Haz.” he smiles and hugs the blonde man who then pulls back motions for Tom to follow “How long you staying man?” Tom starts to answer but is cut off by a hug from his girl. He melts into the embrace and they must have been hugging for a bit too long because Haz cleared his throat. She takes a step back

“I didn’t know you were going to be in town anytime soon.”

“Neither did I to be honest.” He replies, “I have a couple interviews I need to go to later this week but other than that I am all yours.” He smiled at her thinking about all the time they would get to spend together. She runs and paints for a gallery so her hours are loose and anytime he’s in town she basically just blows off work.

“Hey man you got anything going tonight?” Harrison asks a little out of the blue. Tom thinks for a second

“No mate why?”

“Y/N has this thing I was supposed to go to with her but I made plans. You can go instead!” Tom doesn’t need very much time to think it over, seeing all of Y/N’s hard work, and her in a dress. It was a no brainer, so he turns to Y/N

“What time do we have to leave?”

Y/N had given him the run down of why she needed someone to come with her on the way over. Apparently some creep was giving her a hard time and continuously is asking her out. Sometime in the middle of the night Tom had to run to the bathroom and on his way back this woman stopped him.

“Hey hot stuff, who are you here tonight?” She bats her eyes in what Tom supposes is her attempt to be appealing but his eyes are very quickly drawn to Y/N looking mildly uncomfortable with another man other there. So Tom simply tells this girl that he needs to go and makes his way over to Y/N.

“ as I was saying, I wanted it to come across as alive.” Gosh he could listen to her talk art all day. He pulls out of his trance and swoops in to save the day

“Hey babe.” a kiss is dropped on her temple. “Who’s this?” she seems a little confused but the douchebag introduces himself

“Jonathan Thomas and you are?” Tom smirks everyone who is anyone knows who he is anymore so when he says

``Oh, right of course, so sorry Tom Holland Y/N’s boyfriend.” Jonathan’s eyes go wide. Yes he plays Spider-Man but that doesn’t mean the asshole needs to stare, so Tom rolls his eyes at the same time he hears,

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry Jonathan!” and he has to try very hard not to laugh. Y/N had somehow gotten her drink all over him.

“It’s fine Y/N,” she slightly winces at the way he says her name,“I was thinking of heading out anyway. I will contact you about a few of the pieces I am interested in.” with that he walks toward the door and she turns to Tom

“What the hell was that? I asked you to get him to back off not give me a heart attack!” he just smiles at her

“I got him to leave you alone, isn’t that what you wanted? Plus it could have gone way worse.” She just stares at him shaking her head

“In what way could it have gone worse? Tom let me tell you, there are at least seventeen ways this could have gone better, I am counting them now you ass.”

He honestly wasn’t expecting the girl to slap him, let alone slap him so hard he was bleeding. He couldn’t can’t even feel it however because he just kissed Y/N, twice. And it seemed like she liked it. God he sounds like such a girl, he scowls to himself. She leads him to the bathroom and bends over. He can’t help it but her butt looks phenomenal. Before he knows it she is snapping in his face

“Um hello there? Do you want to stop looking at my butt?” he smirks

“Not particularly Angel. Why? Do you want me to stop?” she blushed hard and rolled her eyes at him.

When Haz came home he had never wanted to punch someone so much in his life.Y/N kissed his cheek and said goodnight heading to her room and there was nothing more he wanted to do then follow her in and kiss her senseless. He watched the clock hit one then two and finally when it hit three and he had yet to fall asleep he walked to her room. Didn’t bother knocking, just walked in and she sat up as the door opened.

“Tom?”

“Hey Angel, I couldn’t sleep.” she shuffled over and pulled back her covers

“Me either.” he crawled in with her and they were lying face to face. Her breath was hitting his lips and killing him. So he finally did it. He kissed her for the third time that night. And then they did it a fourth and a fifth and a sixth.

“Y/N I have to tell you something.” he says after about a half-hour

“Okay me too but you can go first.” He looked into her eyes and very seriously says

“Y/N I am in love with you.” she gasps and then kisses him,

“Tom I have been in love with you for years.” he smiles and pulls her close to himself.

“So how are we going to tell Haz that we are dating?”

“I don’t remember ever being asked Mr. Holland.” she giggles. He rolls his eyes and squeezes her sides so she lets out a squeal

“Y/N Y/M/N Osterfeild, will you be my girlfriend?” she stops laughing

“Tom what are we going to do when you leave?” He smiles at her

“We will work it out, you will always be my home so I will always come back to you.” Now she is smiling back at him

When they tell Harrison in the morning he says

“About time.” and continues drinking his coffee

#tom hollad #harrison osterfeild imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom #holland #one shot #tom holland one shot #mcu #marvel #x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #fluff #cute #harrison osterfeild #brother #best friends to lovers

148 notes · View notes

dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years

Text

Chapter 16 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream?

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox)

Warnings: mentions of death, sexual assault

Important note: the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one.

The song used in this chapter is Sirens by Cher Lloyd

~|Charlie Gillespie|~

A few days go by and none of them are spend without Emily. We help around at the Music Store, write songs, rehearse, and then I drop Emily off at her house where we say goodbye for a good fifteen minutes. “You’re going home today?” she asks me on Thursday evening. We’re in front of the red door, my arms wrapped around her waist and hers around my neck, her fingers tangled up in my hair. “I don’t know yet. I’m okay in Jeremy’s garage.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m sure your parents are worried about you, Charlie.” I avoid her gaze by looking somewhere behind her to try and figure out what to tell her. “Hey,” her voice makes me refocus on her. “Take it from me, running away from your parents isn’t the right option.” “Then why did you?” She releases her grip around my neck and places her hands on my chest, pushing me away a little. “I didn’t run away, Charles. This is different. I would go back to my parents’ if they’d let me.” “Right, sorry.” I tuck a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear. “I’ll go back tomorrow, okay? I can’t face them yet.” “You promise?” “I promise.” A smile breaks through on her face just before she leans in to kiss me one more time. “Good night, Emily Fox.” I plant a kiss on her forehead and step away from her. “Good night, Charlie Gillespie.” She stays put, watching me as I walk away. I turn around once more to throw her a kiss, which she cutely plucks out of the air. I’m so in love with this girl, I’d do anything for her. Even going back to my parents’ house. Anything to make her happy.

I don’t hear from or see Emily the next day. She doesn’t respond to my texts about the new melody I came up with last night or any of my hilarious memes I’d send her during class. She’s not even at the Music Store when I arrive after school. I figure something’s held her up again and decide to just play around with the Black Fender since Ash is too busy with the customers to ask her. Fridays seem busy. The boys arrive around 7 when the buzz in the store has finally died down. “Hey, what are you guys doing here?” Ash finally notices us, a confused look on her face. “Waiting for Emily for band practice,” I reply, placing the guitar back in its place. Ash’s eyes widen and her lips part to let out a huff. “She didn’t tell you what day it is today?” The boys and I exchange glances to check if either of them knows. “Her uncle passed away exactly one year ago. She asked for a day off, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t go to school either.” I swallow a lump in my throat. I can’t believe she didn’t tell either of us. “Why didn’t she say anything?” Owen whispers, that worried look on his face. The same look he had when things didn’t go too well with his sister. A look he seemed to have reserved for the girls he considers his sisters or are his sisters. “She spent this day last year with Mitch, closed off from the world,” Ash replies as she starts sorting through the invoices, which is normally my job when Emily has to close the store. “Do you think she’d appreciate some visitors?” Jeremy asks Ash. “I’m not sure. You could always try? Just don’t push it,” she replies. The boys glance at each other again, all three of us knowing what to do. “And if you do see her, wish her my best.” “We will,” says Owen, “Thanks, Ash.” “No problem.” We leave the store, and suddenly, everything around me seems glum and dark. “We’ll just go check up on her, see if she’ll appreciate some company,” Jeremy suggests. “If she’d rather be alone, we’ll leave straight away,” I agree and then lead the boys to Emily’s house. The road I’ve taken many a times with her before. The road that seems so endless all of a sudden. The road with the red door at the end of it. Even that door seems looming now. We ring the doorbell and wait until Mitch opens the door. His eyes look red and puffy, and he’s in his joggers with a blanket wrapped around him. “Oh, hey, boys,” he greets solemnly and sniffles. “We heard from Ash what today is,” Owen starts, “We wanted to come and see if there’s anything we can do?” Mitch opens the door a little further and steps aside, letting us in. We find Emily in the living room, wrapped up in a blanket with tears running down her face and tissues all around her. My heart breaks at the sight of a broken down Emily. “Ems…” I whisper, catching her attention. She turns her head, her teary eyes wide at the sight of us before she breaks down into sobs again. Her frail body rises from the couch and walks up to us, straight into my arms. As if on automatic, I wrap her up in my arms and start rubbing her back comfortingly. The boys even wrap their arms around us into a group hug. “Is there anything we can do?” Owen asks both Emily and Mitch when we pull away from the hug. “Get you some food or—” he gets cut off by the doorbell ringing. While Mitch goes to open up, Emily looks up at me with sadness looming all around her. “Can you guys just stay?” she asks with a sniffle. “Yeah, of course,” I reply, tucking a strand of hair that’s stuck to her cheek from the tears, behind her ear. “Anything for you, Emily.” She grabs my hand and leads me towards the couch, the boys following suit. “Madison brought us food,” Mitch announces when he walks back in with Madison behind him. “Mom made some lasagna when I told her what today was,” she explains, placing the tray onto the kitchen table before joining us in the living room. “Hey, boys,” she gives us a wave, which all of us return. “How are you feeling?” She walks up to Emily and presses a kiss to her hair. “Better now,” she manages a thankful smile through all the tears. “You guys want anything to drink?” Mitch asks. “I’ll get it,” Madison chimes in, “You sit down.” Mitch obeys like a lost puppy and takes a seat on Emily’s other side. “What do you guys want? Emily, some lemonade?” The sad girl beside me nods her head before placing it onto my shoulder. “Boys?” “Same,” I reply simply, and Jeremy and Owen tell her the same. “Why didn’t you tell me last night what today was?” I carefully ask, placing my arm around her shoulder, so her head lands on my chest instead. “I kind of forgot,” she chuckles tearfully, “I only remembered when I was writing a song upstairs and it reminded me of him a little and then, you know, I was reminded of what day it was. I’m sorry.” “That’s okay, I just got worried when I didn’t hear from you or see you in the store,” I tell her. Madison hands out the lemonades and takes a seat on the couch. “We asked Ash if she knew if you were up for some company,” Jeremy adds after sipping from his drink. “She wasn’t sure, but we wanted to check up on you anyway and see if we could do anything.” She lifts her head from my chest and eyes the three of us with a small smile cracking through her pale complexion. That’s when I notice she’s not wearing any makeup and her hair is scraped up messily. Still, she appears breathtaking. “I’m glad you guys came over,” she admits, and it makes me smile. “Last year, we spend this day at the hospital and then several weeks home,” Mitch chimes in. “We just sat on the couch, ate tubs of ice cream, watched movies and cried. My sister was the only one we saw when she came to check up on us and brought some food.” “Remember what Bobby said just before he died?” Emily asks her uncle, fresh tears pooling her eyes while a smile tugs at her lips at the memory. “You got to keep on dreaming, Emmy. Catch that feeling,” They quote in unison. I realize that’s why she got so mad when I called her ‘Emmy’. It’s what her uncle used to call her. It’s reserved for just him. “How did your uncle die?” Owen asks cautiously, “If you don’t mind me asking.” “Uhm… He got into an accident,” Emily replies, wiping an escaped tear away, “He was on his way home from this musical conference thing, I don’t remember what it was, and the bus he was on crashed and flipped upside down. Several people died that day.” “He had a collapsed lung and several broken bones. He stayed alive for an hour or so more, until Ems and I got to the hospital, and then he slowly went,” Mitch adds. “He waited for us, wanting to see us one more time before he left,” Emily sobs, and I press her closer to me. “I can’t believe his sister didn’t even come to say goodbye.” “Your mother was in New York, Muffin. She wouldn’t have made it in time.” “She came home a week after he died for the funeral, Mitch. She didn’t even try to come and see him.” I flinch at the volume and anger in her voice. Her parents don’t only not care about their own daughter, they didn’t care about her uncle. Probably because he’s the one that put that dream of hers in her head. He’s the one that introduced her to music. Mitch turns to us now, the sad smile still on his face, and says, “The funeral really was beautiful though. Just like Robert would’ve wanted it. Emily wrote a beautiful song and we had a professional singer come in since she couldn’t do it without breaking down. We almost made it into a whole musical, didn’t we, Muffin?” Emily cracks a smile, nodding. “He would’ve loved that so much,” she sniffles. “Can you sing it for me, Muffin?” Her breath hitches in her throat. She’s thinking about it. I can tell by the way she freezes, then rubs her nose once. “Please?” Emily gets up and grabs my hand, beckoning everyone to follow her. She leads me down a hallway and into a large room at the very back of the house. The lights flicker on, revealing an entire studio. Instruments everywhere, pretty much every instrument that exists, and even a recording booth in the corner. My eyes scan the room before landing on Emily. She’s staring into the room too, as if taking it all in. “I haven’t been in here in so long,” she whispers before taking a step. “Can you guys help me?” she turns to us. The three of us spring into action and set everything up; microphones, instruments – she instructs which ones she wants to use – and plug them into the amps. Mitch and Madi sit down on the couch in front of our set up. “You start,” she whispers to me, and I begin strumming the electric guitar. She then nods to Owen, who begins thumping the bass drum, while she starts singing and Jeremy joins in with bass. “I carry the weight of you in my heavy heart And the wind is so icy, I am numb I carry the weight of you heading back to start With a thousand eyes on me, I stumble on” She shuts her eyes when her voice waivers, and I witness a single tear rolling down her cheek. “I am tired, I'm growing older I'm getting weaker everyday, yeah I carry the weight of you I carry the weight of you” Jeremy and I quit playing for a moment, leaving Owen with the beat that carries Emily into the pre-chorus. “Lay down here Beside me in the shallow water Beside me where the sun is shining on us still” Jeremy and I then chime in again, and Emily’s voice grows with our instruments. “Lay down here Beside me in the hallowed water Beside me where the silver lining stays until The sirens' calling” She takes the microphone from the stand and walks up to Jeremy, a small smile tugging at her lips. The room suddenly feels less dark, less sad. As if something’s lifted. “We follow the sun down low 'til we hit the night And you hold me so tightly It's hard to breathe Oh” She turns to Owen as if speaking to him now. He gives her an encouraging smile, which boosts her singing a little. “And I'm tired, I'm growing older I'm getting weaker everyday, yeah We follow the sun down low We follow the sun down low” She turns around to face Mitch and Madison again, really getting into the song. Her voice grows stronger and stronger with the second. “Lay down here Beside me in the shallow water Beside me where the sun is shining on us still Lay down here Beside me in the hallowed water Beside me where the silver lining stays until The sirens' calling The sirens' calling” She now walks up to me as we slow the music down a little, letting her voice carry us instead. She rests her head on my shoulder for a moment, as if needing to lean on me for strength. “Yeah, I'm tired, I'm growing older I'm getting weaker everyday, yeah” She lifts her head, and takes a step away from me, needing some space. “I am drowning, and you're stealing every breath Take me away and just Lay down here Beside me in the shallow water Beside me where the sun is shining on us still Lay down here Beside me in the hallowed water Beside me where the silver lining stays until The sirens' calling The sirens' calling” Owen and Jeremy stop playing, leaving me with the same solo I did at the start. Emily looks at me with hope and happiness in her teary eyes. Then it’s completely silent for a second. “Thanks, guys,” she whispers, her voice shaky as she breaks down again. The boys and I leave our instruments for what they are and rush up to her to embrace her, forming a shield around her against all the sadness in the world. Mitch and Madison join us, making it the biggest group hug ever. I can tell Emily and Mitch are both glad we’d come ringing at their door. I can tell they appreciate us for it, without having to tell us they do. This group hug and the smiles we receive from them, even on a sad day like this one, is enough for me to know.

Taglist: @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @hannahhistorian92 @gingerxarmy @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @lovesanimals @ashleyleblancx @calamitykaty @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this story/any of my other works!

53 notes · View notes

color-me-malfoy · 4 years

Text

Trip To Hogsmeade

Draco Malfoy x Shy!Reader

Summary: Draco tries to impress you when the two of you become partners on the trip to Hogsmeade, but exactly how will it turn out?

“Alright, third-years, gather round, there are a few reminders before we start your first trip to Hogsmeade,” A prefect clapped her hands to get your attention before you left Hogwarts. “We have a few changes so that none of us go wandering around and getting into… accidents.”

Draco worked his way through the crowd of students looking for you, Y/N L/N, the person he really wanted to go to Hogsmeade with.

He twisted and turned through the groups of students, until he caught a glimpse of your hair from behind.

“In order not to have any cases of lost students, each of you must have a partner.”

Everyone cheered at this, but to you it meant looking for a complete stranger to be partners with, because your best friend, Toni was sick and couldn’t come.

Draco smiled unwittingly as he saw you, but before he could start walking, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes and swatted the hand away.

“Excuse m- Pansy?” His expression changed.

She was staring at him with a knowing expression.

“You’re going to ask her to Hogsmeade, aren’t you?”

“Wha- What are you talking about-”

He stopped when Pansy raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Alright, yes I am,” he grumbled.

“So, you do like Y/N L/N,” Marcus peeked from behind Pansy.

Draco stopped, then stuttered, then groaned and flailed his hands.

“Alright, yes! I like her! How about instead of teasing me, you actually help a chap out? Care to give some advice?”

“Well, I know for a fact that girls like surprises,” Marcus winked.

“Appreciated,” Draco turned around and walked away, leaving Pansy and Marcus together.

“You shouldn’t have told him that, Marcus.”

“Yes, I know. I shouldn’t have told him that,” he buried his face in his hands.

While students buzzed here and there looking for their friends, you awkwardly stood by one side. You almost decided to just go on your own until someone made his way toward you.

White hair, Dark-green clothes, and a manipulative smirk?

You must be Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin heartthrob.

“You.” He pointed as he made his way toward you faster.

“M-Me?” You looked around.

“Yes, you,” he rolled his eyes, then stopped about four feet away from you. “Am I right to assume you don’t have a partner yet?”

You huffed bitterly. “Well, aren’t you the biggest genius on Earth,” you looked away.

“If you’d stop being sarcastic,” he snapped in front of your face, “you’ve already got one.”

You looked back up at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “Who?”

He sighed loudly, then gestured towards himself, smiling. “Me! Surprise!”

“You?”

“Well, I’ve got no one, you’ve got no one, so…” he waved his hands around.

“You could have asked more properly, but alright,” you walked over to his side.

“Then it’s bloody settled! Let’s go to Hogsmeade!” he held his arm out for you to take and the both of you started for the carriages, Draco with a successful grin and you with a confused look on your face.

For the first part of the ride to Hogsmeade, neither of you said a word to the other, because you were still so confused about why Draco chose you, and Draco was anxiously thinking about a good way to start a conversation.

“Psst.”

Draco whirled around, and saw two students behind him, their faces covered with their newspapers.

The first student put their newspaper down.

“Pansy?” he whispered. “Were you watching us this entire time?”

The second person put their newspaper down too.

“You too, Marcus? What, are you two going into the spy business?”

Marcus snorted. “You wish, we’re only here to tell you you’re doing it all wrong.”

“What gives you the right to judge?” Draco sneered. “I bet you’ve never even asked a girl to Hogsmeade.”

“He asked me,” Pansy replied. “Besides, has Y/N even talked to you?”

“She has! She called me the biggest genius on Earth!”

“It was sarcastic, Draco.”

Draco stopped.

“I-It was?”

“Draco, she won’t like you if you’re being a sarcastic plonker,” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Be kind.”

Pansy laughed. “Oh, I’d love to see Draco Malfoy, cheeky little bastard of Slytherin, trying to be kind.”

Draco smirked. “Oh, yeah? Try me.”

He turned back around and looked back at you, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Great, he thought. I still don’t know how to start.

Marcus went back to reading The Daily Prophet, but Pansy swatted it away.

“What?” Marcus turned to her.

“I want to see how this ends,” she said, leaning a little forward in her seat as you turned in your seat to face Draco.

“Were you going to ask me something?”

Draco opened his mouth, trying to think of something, then closed his mouth again. “I-I forgot what I was thinking about, sorry.”

“Oh,” you laughed, “happens all the time, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he turned even more towards you. “Anyway, what do you wanna talk about, Y/N?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know,” you scratched the back of your neck, looking anywhere but at him. “How’s your studies?”

“Ah, well, I enjoy it,” Draco replied.

Marcus snickered into his sleeve, while Pansy blinked unbelievingly.

“Did he just say he enjoyed it?” she asked.

Draco realized how fake that sounded, and internally kicked himself for that. “Well, I don’t actually enjoy it, I mean, I hate studying, but it’s bearable,” he rambled.

You laughed and nodded, then turned back to the rolling fields.

Draco buried his face in his hands and turned behind him.

“I almost died listening to your conversation, Draco,” Pansy said as she filed her nails.

“You had to make it straight to the point, didn’t you?” Draco hissed. “Do you two have any other good ideas, or are you just here to gloat?”

“Well, what’s the one thing that’s good about you that no matter how much of a bloody git you are everyone tries to suck you up?” Marcus asked.

“I’m… good-looking?” Draco gestured to his face.

“No, you idiot, you’re rich!” Marcus cried. “That’s why everyone calls you the spoiled brat of Slytherin!”

“…They do?” Draco tilted his head to the side, offended.

Pansy pushed Marcus’s face out of the way.

“That’s not the point! You have literally more money in your hands than what both my parents make in a month!” she explained. “Buy her candy from Honeydukes or something!”

She yelped in surprise when Draco suddenly snapped his fingers.

“Of course! Girls love gifts! Thanks, Pansy, see you!”

The minute the carriage stopped, Draco took your hand and helped you out.

“Where do you want to go?” Draco asked as the two of you strolled down the street.

“Y-You’re asking me?” You looked up at him. “I don’t know, how about Honeydukes?”

“Sure,” he led you into the candy shop.

Your smile grew wider at all the kinds of candy shelved in the tiny store.

“Wow, I feel like Willy Wonka!”

Draco snorted. “What kind of a name is that?”

“Oh,” you laughed. “Willy Wonka’s not a real person, he’s a fictional character. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, have you ever heard of it?”

He shook his head.

“He owns this huge candy factory with all kinds of sweets,” you wistfully recalled, staring “This feels just like it.”

As you looked around at the assorted candies, Draco was anxiously buzzing through the shop deciding on what to buy you.

You were looking at a heap of candy apple lollipops when Draco tapped you on the shoulder.

He was carrying seventeen boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

“D-Draco?” You gasped. “Hey, I’ll help you! Why are you buying these many boxes?”

He shoved it all into a basket, getting the attention of nearly everyone in the shop.

“I’m buying it for you,” he grinned, and some people were whispering, asking each other who “Draco’s Lucky Girl” was.

“Oh! Well, thanks, but why seventeen boxes?”

“Well, if you buy only a few, it’ll just be Bertie Bott’s Several Flavor Beans.”

“I-I don’t actually need seventeen boxes of these, I’ll never be able to finish them! I’ll just take one.”

“Oh, oka- One?” Draco looked at you, perplexed.

“We-well, actually not one, I’ll buy another for Toni!” You plucked another box and returned the rest to the shelf. “And just a mango starburst and a sherbet lemon-”

“Wait, wait, wait. You come to Hogsmeade for the first time and you only buy these?”

“Well, there’s plenty of food at Hogwarts and I don’t eat much-”

He cut you off.

“I’m getting you one of everything.”

“I couldn’t possibly pay for all that- wait, you’re getting me one of everything?”

“Yes! Didn’t you hear me?” He walked past you, taking every kind of candy he saw.

“I-I… Well, thank you?” You muttered as he came back with three baskets, then led you to the counter. You looked around and saw some of your schoolmates, some staring at the two of you in wonder and curiosity and some others giving you grins. Others drooled at the amount of candy you had in your hands… for free!

Fifty minutes later, after the grueling process of packaging the candy from Honeydukes, Draco was grinning like a boy on Christmas Day as he faced Pansy and Marcus, who were behind them at the line at The Three Broomsticks.

"This is the first time I've ever spent money on anyone besides myself, just so you know," he smirked as he wiped off the sweat on his forehead. "I feel great! What do you think?"

Pansy shared an uneasy glance with Marcus before she sighed and held Draco by the arms, whispering.

"Um, We hate to burst your bubble, Malfoy, but you're doing a terrible job."

Draco stared at her in confusion, then laughed nervously. "You're kidding, right?"

"She's right, Malfoy," Marcus hesitated. "You've been pulling Y/N like a poor puppy on a leash for the past two hours."

"Malfoy, you've got to let her do what she wants," Pansy explained. "We told you to spoil her, not to force her to buy everything. She never wanted seventeen boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I mean, did you even ask?"

Malfoy chewed on his bottom lip. "Well, I guess you're right for once, Parkinson," he mumbled.

"Hey, man up, Malfoy," Pansy ruffled Draco's hair. "Besides, I found out from her friend Toni that she likes you too."

Malfoy looked up and grinned. "She does?"

Pansy cut him off. "Wait, before you go buy her the whole Hogsmeade to proclaim your love for her, remember she's still the shyest girl in Hogwarts," she warned.

"Alright," Draco nodded, then turned to check his wallet.

"That's the spirit, Malfoy!" Marcus cheered, then turned to Pansy and lowered his voice to a whisper. "How'd you get Toni Yorkshire to tell you Y/N liked Draco?"

"I made truth potion and snuck it in her food," Pansy winked. "Then I asked her about it and she sang like a bloody bird."

"Is that why she's absent today?"

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, Flint."

Draco mulled over their words, until he felt your light tap on his shoulder.

"Draco?" you called.

"Yeah?"

"It's our turn."

"Oh, it's our turn," he placed a hand on your back and guided you to the front. "One Gillywater with candy ice and..." he turned to you. "What'll you be getting, darling?"

Trying to hide your surprise at the nickname, you cleared your throat awkwardly and looked down at the floor. "A-A butterbeer, please. With a just a splash of milk, thanks."

"Alright, dears," the woman at the counter wrote down your orders, "a Gillywater on the ice and a butterbeer with milk for the happy couple," she winked at you.

The happy what?

You sputtered and let out a nervous laugh.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we're not dating."

"Yet," Draco laughed.

"W-What?" You turned to him with a red face.

The woman chuckled at your reaction.

"Why don't you two go find a place to sit?" she asked cheerily. "We'll bring your drinks over."

You nodded shyly and thanked her. But as you were about to take your wallet out, but Draco put a hand over yours.

"This one's on me," he smirked as he went through his own wallet, then handed a wad of money to the woman. "Go find us a table, Y/N."

You blushed even harder, smiled, and thanked him and the woman one last time before scurrying away to find a table.

The woman watched Draco as he gazed at you.

"You've got it bad for the lass, haven't you, Mister Malfoy?" she smiled as she pulled two mugs from the shelf behind the counter.

"No I haven't," he rolled his eyes.

"Sure you don't, sir," she poured their drinks. "I've seen that look on many a young lad in my days, I know a lovesick boy when I see one."

"Well, congratulations," Draco huffed. "Maybe I do."

"Listen 'ere, 'sonny," the woman placed their drinks on a tray as she spoke, "If I were you, I'd keep in mind that the best way to a lady's heart is... through her heart."

Draco tilted his head in confusion. "I-I don't understand."

"You don't actually make her fall for you by changing anything about yourself, or buying 'er expensive things, the more important things are being a gent to her and letting her be who she is."

Draco nodded his head at her words.

"Thank you Ma'am, I better be going back to my girl," he took the drinks and went around to find you, but turned around to face her. "If things go well, I'll let you know!"

"Here you go, Y/N, your butterbeer with extra milk and a Gillywater for me," he placed the tray down at your table.

"I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me, Malfoy," you smiled.

"It's nothing, really," he replied as he sat down.

He stared at you as you sipped your butterbeer and looked back up at him with foam on the sides of your lips, and he chuckled at how adorable you looked.

"What?" you laughed. "Do I have butterbeer on my mouth?"

He shook his head and smiled. "It's just... no, it's..."

"I do, don't I?" You laughed as you wiped your lips on the back of your hand. He laughed even harder because the foam didn't come off.

"Let me get it," he took the end of his scarf, leaned in, and pressed it to your lips.

The both of you had blushed positively cherry-red by the time he sat back down.

You mumbled a thanks and drank more butterbeer, shyly avoiding his gaze, and he took his mug of Gillywater, downing half of it in a second.

When he put his mug down, he took a deep breath and looked back up at you.

"Listen, Y/N," he started.

You looked up at him, and he continued.

"I'm really sorry if I was too much for you to handle today. I mean," he took a breath to steady himself, "I was kind of rude at the start of the trip, then I suddenly went quiet, then I went ahead and did… you know… the thing with the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.."

"It's alright, Draco," you reassured him. "Besides, it was kind of fun to see this new side to you even just for a day."

"That's the thing, Y/N," he took your hand in his. "I... don't want this to be just for a day. I really like you, and maybe we could spend more time together… please?" He wasn't sure if it was a question or a sentence. He looked back up at you again, waiting for your answer.

You only stared at him, and his smile dropped until you exhaled lightly, then gave a warm smile.

"I'd love to! That would be great!"

"You would?" he asked. "You really positively would?"

You nodded, and he smiled wider than before as the two of you began to talk freely, laughing as the you told each other stories and talked about life besides school.

When your prefects told you it was fifteen minutes before you would return to Hogwarts, the two of you stood up and returned the mugs to the woman at the counter.

"I'm assuming it went well, Mister Malfoy," she smirked as she took the mugs from your hands. "I hope your first official date will be back here at The Three Broomsticks."

"Oh, I don't know when we'll be able to go back here," you frowned, but smiled after. "But we’ll definitely come back!"

She smiled back, then leaned in to whisper to you. "He's a nice young fellow, dear, don't let him go that easily."

You were startled, but laughed.

"I'll keep that in mind, Ma'am."

The two of you made your way to the carriages, and the two of you sat by the end, where you noticed two students with their faces covered by their newspapers.

Draco rolled his eyes, then said, "Alright, you can stop spying on us now."

The two put their newspapers down and laughed nervously.

“This is Pansy Parkinson and Marcus Flint,” he smiled, then shot a glare at them. “They’ve been spying on us even before we left Hogwarts.”

“We weren’t spying on you, we were just making sure the two of you had a nice day!” Pansy gasped dramatically. “Right, Marcus?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Marcus laughed. “Anyway, would you like to join us for dinner?”

Pansy leaned forward. “We’d love to hear about your day.”

“Oh, I don’t think you would, I bet you already know all about it.” Draco joked.

The rest of the ride was spent in a jolly atmosphere, you with Draco and your newfound friends, talking and laughing, eating sweets and planning on your next trip to Hogsmeade, which you hope would be very soon.

#draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter oneshots #harry potter fanfic

106 notes · View notes

flyingblackhawk · 4 years

Photo

Fun Taser Time

Avengers fic (Nat & Tony)

1,859 words

Los Angeles, 2011

“You should add gloves.”

Natasha looks up. Tony hasn’t said a word to her since they arrived at the makeshift debriefing facility Fury’s set up in downtown Los Angeles.

“What?” she asks.

“Gloves,” Tony repeats, not looking up from his phone. “For the- what do you call them? The electro-bracelets. Happy told me what went down at Hammer’s factory.”

Natasha looks down at her wrists. “SHIELD calls them Widow’s Bites.”

Tony scoffs. “Of course they do.”

“So,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Gloves?”

“Mmm,” he says. He looks up. “Are they heavy?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes. Depends which ones I’m wearing.”

He leans forward, and she can see that he’s genuinely interested. She unclips one gauntlet and tosses it to him. Tony examines it.

“Did you come up with the idea?” he asks.

“Sort of,” she says. “Originally one held a line and compact grappling hook, and the other shot darts. SHIELD kept the look but traded the poison for electricity.”

“Projectiles?” he asks, still turning the bracelet in his fingers.

“Taser discs,” she says. “That one holds six, the other holds four.”

“What’s the charge like?”

She shrugs. “SHIELD got the wear time up to nineteen hours. Had to commandeer a couple of car batteries, but mostly that’s enough time to do what I need to.”

Tony tosses the weapon back to Natasha. She catches it, and clips it back onto her wrist.

A door opens, and an agent steps out, motioning for Tony to enter.

“Gloves,” Tony calls as he walks through the door. “Think about it.”

New York, 2012

The dust is still settling as the team eats. The owners of the little restaurant seem happy enough for the superheroes to stay as long as they like.

“How’s the battery working out for you?” Tony asks, through a mouthful of shawarma.

“Great,” Natasha replies. She holds up a gloved hand for him to see. “Still not empty.” Tony doesn’t smile - none of them have the energy for that - but he looks satisfied. Natasha has a lot to process after battling aliens all day, so she adds Tony’s fascination with her gear to the list.

“You know,” he says, after a while, “you could probably make the grappling hook even more compact.”

She leans forward, elbow on the table. “You think so?”

He nods. “Just depends what material you use. I’ve been playing around with different cables, and with a smaller hook I think you could reduce the size by half.”

Natasha finds herself oddly touched that Tony has spent time thinking about potential upgrades for her sake. “What kind of cable are we talking about?”

“I had a friend at MIT send some carbon fibre prototypes she’s been working on,” Tony tells her. “I’m thinking maybe a nylon composite.”

She nods. “We could move the garrotte wire into the right gauntlet to make room.”

“How do you guys have the energy for R&D right now?” Clint chuckles. The rest of the team give tired groans in agreement, and Natasha flips her partner off to tired laughter from the others.

“I’ll text you,” Natasha promises Tony.

Avengers Tower, 2014

“Hit it again.”

Natasha skips another disc down the gallery. It connects, electricity arcing over every inch of the dummy.

“Nice,” Natasha says.

“The new model holds twelve discs per gauntlet,” Tony says. Natasha knows him well enough now to hear the hint of pride he’s trying to mask with nonchalance.

“Which of the discs do you think we should go with?” she asks. Tony casts his eye over the table, laden with twenty different prototype taser discs.

“I like number seventeen,” he says. “And not just because it looks like an arc reactor. That was a coincidence. Maybe.”

Natasha laughs, and picks up the disc. “Alright. Seventeen it is. How about the power cell problem?”

“Still working on it,” he says. “I keep hitting the wall at the corner of charge time and weight. I’ll get there.”

Natasha goes to answer, but her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out and reads the message. When she looks up, Tony seems to know that fun taser time is over.

“Where to?” he asks.

“D.C.,” she sighs. “STRIKE team needs me. Something to do with a ship.”

“Need a ride?”

She shakes her head. “Rumlow’s already sent one. It’ll be here in half an hour. Thanks, though.”

By the time she’s geared up and ready, Tony has loaded the gauntlets with discs. He hands them to her as they take the elevator to the roof.

“You’ll have to make do with the prototypes until I can get production running on disc seventeen,” he says, and it almost sounds like a genuine apology.

“I’m sure I’ll make it work,” she tells him. On the roof, he waves her off as a SHIELD quinjet lands on the pad. She gets in, and is surprised to find that she feels a little sad to be leaving.

Washington D.C., 2014

As Natasha leaves the Senate Office Building, cameras flashing all around her, she sees a sleek black car roll up at the curb. She forces back a smile of relief, and pushes through the reporters. She opens the door and gets in, and the car pulls away from the flashes and shouts.

“You look pretty calm for someone who just dared the government to arrest her.”

She scoffs lightly. “I should have known you’d be listening in.”

Tony shrugs, not apologetic in the slightest. Natasha lapses into silence, watching the road through the window. The gravity of what she’s done in the last twenty four hours is not lost on her, nor is it lost on Tony. She can sense his discomfort, and she knows he won’t be able to summon a comforting word, but that’s never been his style anyway.

“How did the discs go?” he asks, eventually. Natasha has to smile. This has become their routine, and a substitute for any uncomfortable conversation.

“Seventeen’s still my favourite,” she tells him. “And I owe you several drinks for increasing the capacity. I needed every single disc.”

“Saving your life, one tiny taser at a time,” he smiles. “I’ve been thinking about some sort of blasting capability.”

She frowns. “What, like a stun gun?”

Tony nods. “For mid-range combat. I figure it gives you a halfway point between hitting someone directly with the gauntlet or launching a disc.”

“How much more power would that take?” she asks.

“A lot,” he admits. “But I’ve got a new prototype I’m working on. It’s going to take a couple of months at least, but I think I’ve hit on a solution to the power problem.”

“Seriously?”

“I never joke about tasers.”

She laughs, and for a moment she feels all the weight lift off her shoulders. Even with the world turned upside down, Tony is a constant, and she’s grateful.

Avengers Tower, 2015

“I’ve got a present for you,” Tony declares in a sing-song voice.

“What did I tell you about calling me before seven in the morning?” she yawns. She’s already up anyway, and it’s always fun to start the day with taser practice in the lab. She dresses, and heads down to the R&D levels, stopping only on the lounge floor to make two cups of coffee. Tony is in the lab he’s dedicated to developing gear for the team. He’s currently at a long bench that has become his permanent work area for Natasha’s weapons.

“Morning,” she says, and hands him his coffee.

“You’re going to love this,” Tony tells her. He grabs a case from under the table and unlatches it, swivelling it around to reveal a full suit. Natasha raises her eyebrows.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pointing an accusing finger. “I got the measurements from one of your spare suits.”

Natasha pulls the suit from the case, and lays it out on the table. Quietly delighted, she traces a finger over what seems to be black piping. As she touches it, the piping glows a bright blue, and she watches the light spread all over the suit, converging at the wrists.

“What is this?” she asks. Tony is grinning, obviously pleased with himself.

“Power cells,” he says. “Thousands of them, all over the suit. More than enough to equip you with two compact blasters plus a new grappling hook and a backup clip of six discs on each thigh, underneath your holsters.”

“This is amazing,” she says, running her hands over the smooth material.

“That’s not even the best part,” he says. He opens a drawer and produces two gauntlets. He hands them to her, and motions for her to put them on. She does, and he’s practically bouncing with glee.

“Okay,” he says. “Do as I do.” He brings his right hand up to his left shoulder, and then throws his hand back down in a quick movement. Natasha imitates, and in an instant a baton shoots out from her gauntlet. She grabs it out of reflex, but it’s connected to her wrist. She grins, and raises it up to inspect it. It glows the same blue as the piping in the suit.

“Hit the dummy,” Tony says. Natasha acquiesces, and strikes the dummy. Electricity crackles, and the much-abused dummy is blown off balance and crashes to the floor. Tony claps, though she’s not sure if he’s applauding her or himself.

“This is going to be fun,” she grins.

Avengers Facility, 2015

Natasha knows it’s not forever, but it still feels strange to be saying goodbye to Tony after everything they’ve been through. The wounds of Sokovia are still fresh for both of them, and she thought he’d at least stay until they can find Bruce. But Tony will do as Tony wants, she knows that. Besides, she and Steve have their work cut out for them here.

“I’ll miss you,” she says, looking around the lab.

“You’ll have plenty to do,” he reassures her. “And our monthly lunch date still stands.”

“Burgers in the R&D labs doesn’t count as lunch.”

“You’re wrong, but I’ll miss you too.”

She can see the guilt in him as clearly as she recognises it in herself. For a moment, she is tempted to ask him to stay. But this facility is not the place for him now. He’s talked about settling down somewhere with Pepper, and she can understand the draw of a life like that.

“Keep me updated,” she says, as she walks him out of the lab. “I’m going to need an upgrade on the baton power.”

“And I’m thinking more cells on the suit,” he says. “We’ve still got work to do, don’t you worry about that.”

Natasha smiles. “If you ever want to blast stuff with tasers, you’ve got my number.” She kisses him on the cheek, which leaves him looking surprised. They hover for a moment, as if they’re about to hug, but that’s never been their style.

“I’ll call you when I’ve got something new for you,” he says.

“Promise?” she asks.

He smiles, and it’s tired, but genuine.

“Promise.”

#ACQuarantine #fic #avengersfic #natasha romanoff #tony stark #bonding over weapons #long

81 notes · View notes

saudadeonly · 4 years

Text

weren’t you something

Read on ao3. Part four.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Marlene McKinnon learned a long time ago what kind of casualties war brings. She doesn't need a reminder in the form of Sirius Black.

And yet.

Word count: 6650

___

July 1981

The grandfather clock in the McKinnon residence strikes nine o’clock just as Marlene McKinnon brings out the cake, decorated with exactly seventeen candles. She tried to light them with the Muggle lighter Lily gave her but her scorched fingers quickly compelled her to use her wand instead.

Felicie exclaims in delight when she sees the cake adorned with blueberries—her favourite. Their mother spent all morning making it while Marlene lounged around the kitchen, pretending to be of help. Still, that’s more than their dallying brothers did, so.

“It’s gorgeous,” she exclaims, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her as she bounces in spot. The four-leaf clover necklace Marlene gave her glimmers around her pale throat.

Marlene grins, carefully depositing the cake on the table, around which the entire McKinnon family is gathered. Her three brothers—Pip, Theo, Matthew—their parents, and Mum’s father. Even Dad’s parents have come, after having sworn to Marlene that they would keep any lifestyle-related and lifetime-partners-related remarks to themselves. So far, they seem to have stuck to their end of the deal so Marlene’s smile doesn’t diminish when it passes over their old faces.

“Thank you, mama.” Felicie leans forward to blow out the candles but Pip, as he was dubbed by one-year-old Marlene who could not yet say his full name Phillip, tugs on her ponytail and pulls her back. “You know the rules,” he says, pointing to the clock on the wall, while the rest of them nod sagely.

It’s a foolish tradition, as Felicie doesn’t hesitate to tell them, but the McKinnons have always been adamant about the rule that one can only blow out candles only when it’s the time they were actually born. It tends to be impractical and has been so on many occasions, but Marlene adores it still, foolishness and all.

The arm on the clock moves to the second line and Felicie blows out the candles with a grin, while the rest of them cheer. The smoke swirls up, creating a mist around her sister, and Marlene’s heart constricts at the childish delight on her face. She still has a year left at Hogwarts, another year when they can try and shelter her from the reality of the outside world that Dumbledore works so hard to keep from them. Marlene hopes that once Felicie’s finished, she won’t have to hear about it at all.

Of course, her sister always has been brighter than most and has made it abundantly clear that she knows what they’re trying to do and that she finds it stupid, but appreciates it nonetheless. Marlene studiously ignores her every time she tries to bring up the Order. Her brothers, for once, seem to be doing the same as her.

“Alright, now the best part,” Felicie says as their mother reaches for the knife, brushing her blonde hair, the same as Marlene, Matthew and Felicie’s, out of her face. And at that moment, as Marlene looks over her family, her heart feeling like it might crack apart with the love she feels for these people, it all goes to hell.

At four minutes past nine, exactly two minutes after Felicie’s birthday, the door at her back explodes into splinters.

Marlene has her wand in her hand before she can blink, as do Matthew and Theo, but the Death Eaters are faster.

They spill into the dining room, silver masks like stolen starlight, spells shooting out of their wands before they’re even fully through. They throw all of them back with a single unanimously-cast spell, knocking the breath clean out of Marlene’s chest. The wall she hits is cold, the impact with it a hard collision with reality.

One of Death Eaters’ spells hits their mother and she crumples like one of the puppets Marlene and Pip used to play with. She didn’t even get to reach for her wand.

“Mum!” Pip reaches for her, but he’s too late and he narrowly avoids a jet of green light. His retaliating curse is a swift, cold reaction, the impact of which Marlene never gets to see because she’s forced to throw up a shield to deflect a jet of sickly purple light.

It gives her enough time to jump to her feet, breath be damned, and shoots off a curse of her own. It feels off, she feels off, the floor beneath her feet not steady enough, her hand lacking the fluidity it usually possesses.

The offending Death Eater doesn’t seem to be deterred by her spells, which is another contributor to the sleek, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and his attack pushes her back into the living room. Another two join his efforts and a cold sort of realisation comes over Marlene. They’re trying to separate them. They’re trying to separate her from her family.

The world seems to fade from view. No. No.

She spins her wand, fights a little fiercer, a little harsher but it’s little use—most of her spells are deflected by one or another, or seem to cause so little damage they find it laughable. One of them hits her side, tearing a long gash down the side of her ribcage.

“That is a new top,” she gasps out as she twirls her hand and sends him flying back several feet. The world seems a little blurrier, then, but she manages to make two consecutive spells rebound off her shield. She chances a look towards the dining room, where her family of eight is surrounded by nearly twice as many Death Eaters and fighting a losing battle. But at least they’re fighting.

That little glance costs her—her shield seems to lose its potency and when one of the Death Eater shoots a disarming spell at her, it passes through. Her wand slips out of her grasp, flying uselessly towards the couch.

Marlene chokes on a laugh when a dark stream of light knocks her back, sending her crumpling onto the floor. After all this time, after so many successful missions and won battles, this is what gets her. A disarming spell, a second of diverted attention. Dorcas will be so disappointed. Marlene is glad, suddenly, that Dorcas politely declined the invitation to come, claiming to have a duty for the Order; that she is far away from this, even though Marlene was furious about her flimsy excuse only hours ago.

Her side burns, her lungs can’t seem to draw in enough air and she can’t move but all she can focus on is the fact that the sounds of fighting have stopped. There is only raucous laughter and laboured breathing. Marlene dreads the moment that stops too.

She has no time to think about it further. A Cruciatus hits her and she trashes as the pain spreads along her body, seeping into her muscles, twining around her bones. The world blurs and then sharpens, focusing on that single thing still existing in her—pain, all-consuming, vicious. She screams and screams and yet she finds it in herself to be grateful that no one else is screaming with her. That she, not her family, is their focus. Then, as abruptly as it started, the pain stops.

Someone stands over her. His hood is drawn up, his mask firmly in place but Marlene knows he’s grinning anyway. “Well, would you look at how the mighty have fallen,” he says. His voice, rough and muffled, is familiar; but then, they all are these days. If she were to remove his mask, chances are she would know whoever is underneath it. Travers, maybe. Nott, Dolohov, Macnair, one of the Lestranges are all as likely. He crouches down, runs a hand down the side of her face. Marlene wishes she could bite it. “I’ve been waiting a long time to get my hands on you.”

“Going to have to wait for a bit longer, Travers,” says a voice just a little bit farther away and this time it is familiar for a whole different reason. The footsteps that approach them are soft, measured. “Go find someone else to play with. I have a score to settle with her.”

Travers—her guess being right brings little satisfaction—hisses, “I got here first.”

“Oh, Travers, don’t you know that in the company of women, you shouldn’t boast about coming first?”

A part of Marlene, a small, tiny part wishes she could see Travers’s face just for that split second; it would bring so much satisfaction before the imminent pain and death. The rest of her coils in dread when he grumbles and moves away from her—but steps toward another body instead. A body with a blonde ponytail and a limp hand outstretched towards Marlene. As if her sister wanted to reach her before she was cut down.

Felicie’s eyes are big, their blue sea-rich, and she doesn’t take them off Marlene as Travers steps over her and reaches for her neck, the necklace there now painted red. She lets out a small sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sob as Travers’s hands roam lower.

“No,” Marlene says, twitching toward her sister. It doesn’t do anything—the spell holds and Marlene is stuck in place. She tries again, her own bloodied hand reaching out to Felicie. Felicie’s fingers twitch. “No, please, take me instead, please, please.”

A figure looms and Sirius Black crouches over her, hiding her sister from her view, although she can still hear Felicie, her pleas. He’s smiling, but his eyes are cold. He brushes back a lock of her sweat-damp, blood-matted hair, tucks it behind her ear. “No, worries, Marlene,” he says, voice midnight-soft, “you’ll get your turn too.”

A guttural scream tears through the house. Pip is begging as they torture him, Marlene’s heart screaming with him. Pip, her Pip, her brother, who pushed her off swings and tugged on her hair and told her stupid jokes when their grandparents’ hate cut too deep, too personal. Pip, who is dying.

“Please,” she whispers again to Sirius’s blank face. She remembers a time when that face was the most expressive thing she had ever known, full of rage and pain and razor-sharp joy. She hates the memory of it more than this face before her because that one was only a mask, a lie. “Please, I’m the one that you want.”

“We want all of you.” His voice is as cold as his hand that he slips under the hem of her top. Marlene can’t stop him from it, just as she can’t stop the screams that have now joined Pip’s. A tear trickles down her face as Sirius points his wand at her. They’re all going to die and it’s all her fault for insisting they have a proper party for Felicie’s birthday. She just wanted a day of normalcy for her—for all of them.

Their eyes meet, but the indifference she finds in his is too much and she closes her eyes, goes deep inside that part of herself, just as Moody taught her, and waits for the pain to come. At least she can keep the information to herself. At least she can do that for the Order. But the pain doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s a voice. Mack. Mack, can you hear me?

Marlene opens her eyes. She looks at Sirius but his face remains impassive, his lips unmoving, just as his voice continues on the outskirts of her mind. He doesn’t try and delve deeper, even though she feels the power behind the weak barrier she’s thrown up that tells her he very well could.

She nods, the shock getting the best of her. No one’s called her that in years.

His hand is on her hip, but it does not reach lower or higher. Instead, his thumb circles her hipbone in a way that is strangely reminiscent of the way he used to comfort her during that crazy week in seventh year they actually thought they could sleep together and ignore their respective pining. Good, he says. His voice is softer than she’s heard it in years, or maybe ever, full of weariness and barely-there strain. I’m going to get you out of here but you need to listen to me. You need to do as I say. It takes a lot of effort for him to talk to her like this, she realises when he pauses. She can feel herself nod again. Then he orders, Scream.

Marlene doesn’t spare a moment to think why this might be a colossally bad idea. Her family is already dying and she is about to be tortured for information. Playing along with whatever Sirius is trying to get at seems like a way to appease him, at least, if it turns out he’s only messing with her in the end. Although the sincerity in his voice, the pain underlining every word make her doubt he is. So Marlene takes a slow breath and channels all her hate, all her fear, and pain into her lungs—then she screams as she did only minutes ago.

As her throat works itself raw, Sirius bends down low over her, his head nearly touching hers as she writhes. “Your wand is just a bit to the right and up from you,” he murmurs into her ear. His hand holds tight onto her hip but not enough to hurt her. An anchor, she thinks, holding her there, to keep her from slipping away. “Can you reach it?”

Marlene’s fingertips brush the smooth polished wood of her wand when she uses her thrashing as an excuse to move herself an inch closer to it. If she had an extra second to throw herself toward it, she could potentially succeed. “Yes,” she whispers, her throat too raw from the screaming to be able to do much else.

“Good. Grab it and throw me back.” He straightens and points his wand at her as he says, voice again loud and cold, “Crucio.” She tenses but while there are the power and the command for the spell, there is no intent behind it so her body doesn’t even twitch. She takes the hint anyway and lets another shriek rip out of her. He lowers his voice again, his lips barely moving, and says, “The whole house is surrounded with anti-apparition wards but there is a spot, by that gnome with the blue hat that isn’t covered. Go there and disapparate.”

Someone else’s screams echo through the house. Her mother’s or her grandmother’s, Marlene isn’t sure. Maybe both. Others have been drowned out by the Death Eaters’ laughter, their cold mocking voices. She thinks she hears Bellatrix’s high notes among them, taunting one of Marlene’s brothers. Marlene hates all of them. When she finds out who they are, she will kill them, one by one.

“Sirius, please, my family—”

This time, his voice is drowned out by Felicie’s scream, but there is a touch of pain in it now, a splinter embedded in the lowest of undertones. Marlene’s chest hurts, her doubt increased by a fraction. “They’ll be okay, Mack, I promise, but I can’t blow—”

Marlene surges up and butts her head against his, with as much force as she can muster. It makes her head ring and small flecks of light swim in and out of her sight, but it also makes him shout and stumble back, clutching his nose, giving her enough time to throw herself toward her wand and grab onto it. She doesn’t know if she herself that turns or her wand that does it for her but in the next moment it is pointed directly at Sirius as she shouts, “Expulso!”

Sirius is blasted back, directly into Travers, knocking him clean off Felicie’s body. Marlene hesitates, wanting to run to her sister, but there is no way she can take on fifteen Death Eaters and end up any different than she was seconds ago. Marlene bolts for the back door, holding tightly onto her wand, and tries to ignore the way her whole left ribcage burns with the effort. She hears the thud of heavy footsteps behind her and pushes herself harder. Come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon.

A jet of red light just sails over her head when she throws the back door open and slams it shut behind her. She stumbles down the steps, barely managing to keep her balance on the stone still slippery from the rain earlier in the afternoon, her heart beating a staccato into her ears, her blood, her belly. She uses the stairs’ newel to propel herself around the corner and runs toward the blue-hatted gnome at the end of the row of her mother’s lilies. She throws herself on the ground and skids toward it, just as someone tries to grab her. She thinks there are too many stars above her, swimming too close, and she doesn’t recognise the constellations.

The small spot free of anti-apparition wards is like a breath of fresh air, the sizzling from her skin gone for just a moment, the pain thrumming all over replaced by one single thought. Dorcas, Dorcas, Dorcas.

The momentum of whoever was behind her causes him to stumble forward and she can see him clearly as he manages to stop himself in front of her. Sirius’s hair is mussed, blood gushing from his nose and down his front and she knows he will have to suffer for this, but in the split second it takes for her to disappear, she can swear he’s smiling.

*********

Marlene wakes up in a room that has become far too familiar in the past few years. The walls are white, the covers of the bed are white and generally everything is white. The perspective is different, though, as she’s spent most of her visits to this kind of room sitting in the bedside chairs rather than in the bed itself. Dorcas dozes in one of those chairs now, her hand loosely wrapped around Marlene’s, her brown-black ringlets mussed around her head.

She stirs when Marlene shifts, her side throbbing painfully, and shoots up once she finally registers her movement. “Lene,” she breathes, moving as if to lurch forward and hoist herself onto the bed beside her but then seems to remember herself. She settles for squeezing her hand, so strongly it’s almost painful, but Marlene wouldn’t have her let go for the whole world. “How are you feeling?” she asks, her thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of Marlene’s hand.

Marlene’s mouth is dry, for one. Her head is pounding, her side is burning and she feels like she’s been run over by one of those Muggle lorries, for two, three, and four. “Great,” she says instead of counting them all off. Or rasps, more like.

Dorcas gives her a distinctly unimpressed look and reaches for her wand without a word, flicking it to conjure up a glass of water. Marlene drinks until she feels she might burst and puts it down on the bedside table.

Dorcas stays quiet until then, her eyes just a ring of clear brown around a pit of black, her fingers over Marlene’s trembling. “I was so afraid I’d lost you,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of Marlene’s fingers, her palm, the inside of her wrist.

“Never,” Marlene says but her voice shakes, her throat burning with the knowledge of how close to it she’d actually come. Then, with the clearing of her head, she remembers. “What about my family? Did they—”

“They’re alive,” Dorcas hastens to say, saving Marlene from finishing her sentence. She gives her a reassuring squeeze, though a shade of worry still darkens that lovely face. Alive does not mean okay, Marlene reminds herself and braces herself for the news she is about to receive. “Your mum and your Da’s parents—it’s still touch-and-go, Lene. It’s been a week, but—” She shrugs helplessly, biting her lip. Marlene’s grandparents have never been particularly kind to Dorcas, because of her blood status or because of her skin or because of her gender, Marlene hasn’t figured out yet, but the worry on Dorcas’s face despite it makes her heart squeeze. There was a time she thought she would never be lucky enough to be loved by someone like this.

“Can I see the others?” She needs to see Felicie and Pip and Theo and Matt and Dad and Grandpop—she needs to know if the flashes she has of them are true, or worse. She doesn’t let herself guess.

Dorcas shakes her head. “The healers haven’t let anyone in yet. Potter had to pull some considerable strings to get me in here at all.”

“Oh.” The disappointment of being denied seeing her family and the worry of what state they’re in feels like a weight in the pit of her stomach but it’s alleviated a little by the warmth of Dorcas’s hand, at least. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Dorcas smiles, but it’s shaky at best. It is, Marlene reflects, kind of like she herself feels; turmoil underneath her skin, singeing through her veins. “Marlene,” she says, her name like a prayer on her lips, “Marlene, what happened?” She swallows, the line of her elegant neck bobbing with it. “How did you—”

“Good morning, love,” says a mediwitch as she breezes into the room, easily recognisable by her pale blue robes. “Good to see you finally awake. You’ve been out for some time.” She gives her a friendly smile as she touches Marlene’s forehead. “No fever. How do you feel?”

Marlene shrugs. “Okay,” she mumbles. She doesn’t particularly care for hospitals or mediwitches.

The mediwitch doesn’t seem discouraged. She only taps her wand against Marlene’s head, her side, her thigh and says, “You were in quite a shape when you arrived.” Well, Marlene will have to take her word for it. She can barely remember her arrival at the hospital, beyond the blood gushing from more than one separate place, and the pain thrumming through every part of her body. She thinks someone told her she’d Splinched herself. She isn’t even sure how she managed to come here. She opens her mouth to ask either one of them but the mediwitch goes on, “You seem much better now.”

“Well, we are in a hospital,” Marlene points out, relishing in the familiar feeling of warmth when Dorcas hides a smile behind her hand. She remembers a time when Dorcas’s smiles were few and far between, like small trophies every time she coaxed one out of her. Lately, they seem to be getting rarer again.

The mediwitch only gives her another smile, a little indulgent. Then she shoves a few potions at her, only one of which Marlene recognises. Memory potion. She’d ask why she needs it but then she couldn’t ask, “How did I get here?” She dutifully drains it, then the other two, while the mediwitch and Dorcas exchange a look. It tastes like metal, like blood. Marlene reaches for her glass of water.

Dorcas opens her mouth, but another voice says, “I believe I will be able to answer that question the best.”

Minerva McGonagall’s face is as stern as it’s ever been, though with more lines than Marlene has apparently cared to remember, her black hair threaded with more grey than it should be.

“Professor McGonagall,” Marlene says, well aware that she’s been out of school for over three years. The compulsion has never stopped, not with Dumbledore, not with Flitwick and apparently not with McGonagall either.

“I’d like a moment with Miss McKinnon, please,” McGonagall says, with a glance at the mediwitch that conveys why-are-you-still-here better than Marlene could have managed it in a speech and a pointed look at Dorcas. “Alone.”

The mediwitch, done with her job, scampers off (Marlene wonders if McGonagall was her professor, too; she certainly looks young—and scared—enough), but Dorcas, less easily intimidated, draws herself up and meets McGonagall’s eyes with her chin up, a look that’s always made Marlene want to kiss her.

“I’m not leaving her side,” she says. Her eyes narrow. “What do you want with her, anyway?” Dorcas has certainly never shared her difficulty of giving their Professors anything else than what she thinks they deserve. It’s what earned her so many detentions back at Hogwarts.

“That is between me and her.” McGonagall gives her a look over the rim of her spectacles. “You will recall, Miss Meadowes, that I was the one that brought Miss McKinnon to St Mungo’s. I certainly don’t intend to cause her harm.”

Dorcas purses her mouth, her jaw ticking, but Marlene can read her well enough to know that she’s slowly backing down. She squeezes her hand and brings it to her mouth, giving her a shaky smile that takes more effort than she wants to admit. She doesn’t know why, but she wants to talk to her old professor alone. She has a feeling it’s important. The potion she took only minutes ago seems to be telling her the same thing.

“It’s okay, Dorcas,” she says, quietly enough that only Dorcas can hear her. “I think I’d like some tea, if you don’t mind getting it for me.”

Dorcas studies her for a minute, her brown eyes dark. She has the most intense eyes Marlene’s ever seen and most of the time it’s a goddamn blessing but right now Marlene just feels like she’s searching for a truth Marlene can’t give her. “If you’re sure,” she says at last, slowly standing up.

Marlene only nods.

Dorcas presses a kiss to her forehead, her lips soft though a bit dry, and walks out the door with one last sharp look at McGonagall.

As soon as the door closes behind her, McGonagall swishes her wand in a movement that Marlene recognises to be a silencing charm. Then she looks at her, one eyebrow raised, lips thin. “Aren’t you going to ask me a question?” she asks.

“Oh. Oh, er—” Marlene grapples for words, silently glad that Moody isn’t here. He would’ve had her hide. “What did you say to me after I punched Wilkes in fifth year?” She adds, that compulsion getting the better of her, “Professor?”

A hint of a smile appears on McGonagall’s face. “’Next time, at least do it while I am not looking,’” she says, which is correct and absolutely one of Marlene’s favourite memories. She toasted to McGonagall’s health a week afterwards. “What was the first thing I gave you detention for?”

“Hexing Lily Evans’s hair pink.”

“Correct.” The smile slowly fades from McGonagall’s face as she comes to sit in the chair beside her bed, next to the one Dorcas occupied. Her face offers no clue as to why she’s here, her eyes rather too intense to have a calming effect. “I wanted to commend you,” she says slowly, “for the exceptional show of your bravery and magical talent that allowed you to escape the Death Eaters’ grasp and get help for your family.”

Marlene raises an eyebrow. Something is not right, something about her expression and her posture—too high-strung, even for her. “You came all the way here and sent Dorcas out just to tell me that, Professor?” she asks. Her voice is getting hoarse again as she reaches for the glass of water, thanking Dorcas silently that she charmed it to be self-refilling.

“Well, it’s no small feat,” says McGonagall, “what you managed. Escaping unaided from a house full of Death Eaters.”

Marlene blinks. Her memory tells her differently, a nagging voice whispering that there was something—no, there was someone. “But I didn’t,” she says with more certainty than she feels. “Escape unaided. At least, I don’t think.” She shakes her head. “You found me?”

“I did.”

“But I—when I Disapparated,” she says slowly, the memories trickling in almost in time with her words. The details are still blurry somewhere, but she remembers it in peculiar flashes. An explosion. A wall against her back, making it impossible to breathe. Cold grey eyes, accompanied by a warm voice. Felicie, on the floor, bloodied, a dark figure over her. Pip, screaming. The gnome with the blue hat and stars above, her lungs straining for air. And then—pain, voices, someone trying to calm her down, Miss, you’re alright, you’re safe, you hit your head. “When I Disapparated, I thought of Dorcas. I’m sure. I thought of her and I ended up—” She looks around the disgustingly white room, breathes in the smell of potions and healing magic. She’s certain she didn’t think of this the moment she disappeared from her house. “—here.”

McGonagall sighs. “I should have come before they gave you that memory potion,” she says, sounding almost tired, “but Rowena always has been cheerfully efficient.”

Marlene glances at her wand, lying on the bedside table, as if it might offer any explanation to McGonagall’s words. It stays painfully quiet.

McGonagall runs a hand over her face, in a rather uncharacteristic show of humanity. “He should have confounded you, but then you might have been unable to escape and I don’t dare to obliviate or confound you now. It would be too suspicious. And all that magic your body’s been subjected to—” she shakes her head, then looks up at her, her eyes far too sharp for Marlene’s liking. “Do you remember, Miss McKinnon, what happened the night the Death Eaters attacked your family?”

She breathes in deep. “More or less.”

McGonagall’s voice is soft, as if she is afraid of being overheard; even here, even surrounded by a wall of silencing charms. “Then you remember what Sirius did.”

Sirius. They had been Sirius’s eyes, his voice, his hands, she’s sure of it. She knew he had been there, in an abstract sort of way. It makes sense that he was—he is, after all, Voldemort’s right-hand man.

A memory surges up, unbidden, his voice soft but firm, They’ll be okay, Mack, I promise, but I can’t blow—

She hit him then, she can remember that much, but she can venture a guess as to what he was going to say. My cover. Realisation comes slowly at first, then all at once and Marlene’s brain struggles to review all the events it’s catalogued in the past years. She can already feel a headache coming.

Sirius, on the King’s Cross, eyes bleak, his parents’ figures like looming statues just meters behind him. Be safe, Mack.

Sirius, in the square, standing before them with his hand steady, but his eyes like shattering diamonds.

Sirius, one of the best wizards of their year if not the whole decade, missing them or using spells that are child’s play in comparison to the rest of the Death Eaters’.

James’s words, unsteady, unsure, He could have killed us and he didn’t. He just—left.

“You—he—he’s a spy,” she whispers, the weight, the deliberateness of his actions finally so, so clear. He got her out. He pretended, he faked, he made sure she escaped.

“Not exactly a spy,” McGonagall says, her cheeks hollow. “We have an understanding. I’m the only one that knows.” She takes off her hat, puts it in the chair beside her and folds her hands back in her lap. “You must understand, Miss McKinnon, what I’m about to tell you cannot, under any circumstances leave this room. Sirius risked more than his life getting you out of there. If anyone were to find out—” The rest of her sentence hangs unspoken but clear.

Marlene can only nod.

McGonagall sighs. “While he was pretending to torture you, Sirius put a spell on you.” His hand, Marlene remembers, resting on her hip. She thought it an anchor. Not too far off the mark then. “It’s a complicated spell, and all the more difficult for having done it wordlessly and under such duress. The spell essentially made you a kind of portkey, ensuring that when you Disapparated, you would end up here.” She gives Marlene a funny look. “Of course, neither one of us expected that your will would be so strong it would fight the spell. You Splinched yourself, partly perhaps because of your physical state, but luckily you didn’t go far. I found you a block away, but you were barely coherent by then. I knew what was going on so I didn’t have to demand information from you. I merely took you in and left you in the care of healers. And I went to the Order headquarters.”

Marlene understands suddenly, with razor-sharp clarity. It was a risky plan, almost every step of it imbued with the possibility of going awry, but all the more brilliant for it. “You were waiting for me,” she breathes. “You needed to find me so that you could have the excuse to tell the Order. To not endanger Sirius. Or me.”

McGonagall nods. “Sirius had sent me a Patronus right before they left for your house. If I had passed the information on immediately, everything Sirius had worked for would be gone. The Order might have also doubted me.”

Marlene exhales a long breath of air. It’s a lot to take in in under five minutes, not to mention with a pounding headache. “But Dumbledore—”

“Sirius didn’t want to involve him,” McGonagall says briskly. Her mouth thins, her eyes darkening. “He wants nothing to do with the Order. And I don’t blame him for it.” She adds, softer, almost gently, “Sirius can be trusted. I will bet my life on it.” Her voice leaves no room for argument and despite herself, Marlene believes her. She leans forward, somehow still managing to keep her posture impeccable. One day, when all of this is over, Marlene will ask her for lessons—it will make her mother thrilled. “No one can know, Miss McKinnon, what he’s doing.”

“And the Death Eaters? They don’t suspect him?”

McGonagall shakes her head. “So far, he hasn’t given them a reason not to. You-Know-Who takes him for his most loyal subject.”

Marlene shudders at the thought of what exactly Sirius had to do to achieve that kind of title among the fiercest of supporters. Just to have received the Dark Mark, he had to have ripped his heart out. She can almost hear his laugh at that, bitter but more bark than bite. I don’t have a heart, Mack, he would say while slipping a cigarette between his lips, lighting it with the tip of his thumb. My mother took it away long ago.

“He had to pay for letting you get away, of course, but he is fine now,” McGonagall says. Her voice, the pain in it slowly disappearing, lowers. She cares about him, Marlene realises, as much as any of them do. “As far as you know, Sirius tortured you and you barely managed to get away. No one, not even Miss Meadowes, can know about what truly happened.” Her eyes are dark. She’s always been a no-nonsense sort of woman, strict but fair, not gentle, but never unkind either. It is the first time Marlene sees a different kind of edge to her. “If you don’t intend to agree, I am not above obliviating you.”

Marlene’s heart constricts at the thought of keeping anything from Dorcas. She hasn’t done so since their seventh year when the biggest secret she had been keeping from her was that she wanted to snog her senseless. Doing this would feel like lying, like cheating. But Sirius—

Sirius’s gap-toothed smile from behind his mother’s robes while his parents and her grandmother were talking. He rolled his eyes behind their backs when her grandmother said something particularly vile and their friendship was solidified forever.

Sirius’s grin when he was Sorted into Gryffindor, bright and brilliant, but with just with enough of a tremor that Marlene wondered if she was the only one that could see the dread beneath.

The prank war and the havoc they wreaked when they teamed up in fifth year, ending themselves in detention for the rest of term, but laughing themselves into oblivion anyway.

A cigarette, just the one between the two of them, the smoke just beginning to drift out of his mouth when she finally got enough courage to utter the words. I think I’m bent. His answering huff of laughter, not harsh at all, but as gentle as his hand on her shoulder when he drew her in a hug. Aren’t we a pair.

His arms around her, the two of them spin-spin-spinning around an empty classroom, as he sang, horribly loud and off-key, until her sobs turned into laughter, until her cheeks were wet from tears of joy, until it was just another dance with Sirius, amazingly coordinated, easily in-sync, as it had always been.

“I know it’s not an easy decision to make,” McGonagall says.

But that’s just it—it’s so easy it scares her. It’s no decision at all. “I’ll do it. I will. I promise.” Her voice sounds far away to her own ears, but it doesn’t tremble.

McGonagall blinks. “Very well.” A second of silence. “I’m glad. And I’m glad you’re alright, too.” She places her hat back on her head and stands up, brushing off non-existent lint from her emerald-green robes. She presents an impressive picture, like she always has, but the line of her mouth, the set of her jaw don’t seem as firm as they once did. Marlene wonders if she is just as afraid as she is, as all of them are, but decides it must be just the blow to the head talking. “I hope you and your family make a full and quick recovery, Miss McKinnon.” she says and walks towards the door.

“Tell him thank you,” Marlene gets out before she can open it. McGonagall stops but doesn’t turn. “For all of it.” She swallows. “I will not let him down.”

“I know you won’t, Miss McKinnon,” McGonagall says, an edge of a smile to her lips, and walks out.

Dorcas comes in only moments after McGonagall’s left, her beautiful ringlets mussed all around her face, her t-shirt rumpled, a little colour now returned to her face. She’s lost weight, Marlene only now notices. Because of her, Marlene, because she was worried about her. And somehow, the sight of her sleep-deprived, tea-carrying form is simultaneously the most beautiful and heart-breaking thing Marlene’s ever seen. She feels a lump in her throat, her eyes burning.

Dorcas’s face crumples. “Oh, Lene, oh, love,” she whispers and crosses the space between them to throw herself onto the bed beside her. (The tea somehow ends up on the bedside table, unspilled.)

Her body on Marlene’s is a weight that is definitely not helping her injuries but Marlene doesn’t care and just wraps her arms around her and pulls her closer. Dorcas smells like dry leaves and chamomile tea, but, as if the hospital has sunk its claws in her as well, like sleep and the bitter smell of potions, too. Marlene burrows closer to breathe her in. She hopes Dorcas can feel the words she wants to tell her, but simply doesn’t have the courage to say, in the kiss she presses to her neck, in the strength of her arms around her, with every breath of air against her skin. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you, I won’t ever go again.

“It’s okay, Lene,” Dorcas whispers, her hand carding through her hair like she understands. Then again, as if she’s trying to convince herself as well, “It’s okay.”

But it’s not. It’s not okay and it won’t be for some time. But the promise of a new tomorrow that the feel of Dorcas in her arms brings, the newfound knowledge of Sirius, the sight of the sun, shining clear and strong, is enough to make her think that someday it will be.

#harry potter #sirius black #marlene mckinnon #death eater sirius black #not really #but technically #post hogwarts #first war with voldemort #dorcas meadowes #minerva mcgonagall #mckinnon family #ocs #dorcas x marlene #sirius x marlene #dorlene #blackinnon #(platonic)#attack on the mckinnons #in a world three degrees north

14 notes · View notes

isaacmcadoo · 4 years

Text

I’m Not Alone It’s Good To Know

A/N: This is the ace!Rick fic I’ve been wanting to write pretty much since we really got to spend time with Rick. This fic is about 99% just me projecting thoughts I’ve had on my boy, so... uh... please be kind...

“Rick! Wait up!” He heard her shout. He pulled his bag farther up his shoulder as he slowed to a stop then turned to look at her face. Her wide grin brought the fluttering back to his chest. He felt the air get sucked out of his lungs as she touched his arm.

“Are you still coming over to study tonight?” She spoke as she pulled her hand away. Rick’s mouth went dry, of course he wanted to spend time with Beth, Friday nights were their nights. But after what Yolanda had told him during lunch, he didn’t know what to do.

“Of,” he stopped to clear his throat, “of course! I just, uhhh…” he looked down at his feet.

“I have, uh, something I have to do first, so I’ll be there in about an hour.” He looked up at her through his eye lashes, noticing Beth’s face fall. When their eyes met, though, Beth attempted to put on a bright smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Rick kicked himself for doing this to her, but he honestly didn’t know what to do.

“Okay, I’ll see you then!” Beth gripped her back pack straps, sadly walking in the direction of the buses. Rick watched her as she walked away, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He closed his eyes, frustrated with himself, before turning and punching the locker. He sighed leaning his back up against it and looked up at the ceiling. Why did Yolanda have to say something? If she hadn’t said anything Rick wouldn’t have been sitting here, overthinking everything.

“She wants you so bad!” Yolanda poked Rick’s cheek. He turned a bright shade of red, burying his face in his chest.

Rick liked Beth, a lot. Scratch that, he loved her. And he couldn’t lie that every time he saw her his heart did a little dance in his chest. But he also knew he was broken, and if Beth knew she wouldn’t want him. He tried to look Yolanda in the eye, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

“Uh-huh, sure.” He hoped he spoke in a nonchalante tone, when he caught sight of Yolanda’s face, he breathed a sigh of relief, because it was clear she bought it.

“She soooo does! And look at your face, you definitely want her too!” Yolanda shook his arm, a wide grin on her face. Rick gave her a tight smile, subtly pulling his arm out of his friend’s grip.

Rick almost told her right then. He’d only ever told one person before, and the reaction had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t really want to go through it again. So he kept his mouth shut. Because Yolanda wasn’t exactly wrong, Rick did want Beth, he wanted Beth so badly sometimes he would feel this aching in his chest. But the kind of want he felt was not the same he knew Yolanda was talking about. His wants were made up of late nights talking on the phone until one of them fell asleep. Driving down the highway with her with the windows down, while she sang along to some song playing on the radio. Sitting on his roof at night and watching the stars, hands intertwined. But that wasn’t normal, and he knew that. He was seventeen, his thoughts were supposed to be consumed by the normal things teenage boys wanted. But Rick learned a long time ago that he wasn’t normal, and he never would be. And he didn’t want to put any person through that. He definitely couldn’t put Beth through that.

“Rick!” His thoughts were interrupted by Yolanda’s fingers snapping in his face. He blinked rapidly, turning to face her.

“Sorry, what’s up?” Yolanda gave him a sad smile.

“I asked if everything was okay.” Rick looked her in the eye. He should just tell her. Just say it, get it over with, rip the bandaid off, quick and painless. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

He can’t.

His eyes popped open to look at Yolanda. Deep down, very very deep down, he knows his friend wouldn’t treat him any differently. But he really couldn’t handle another “You just wait until you’re older and in love, you won’t be saying that.” He felt panic rise in his chest, he couldn’t be here right now.

“I, uh, I have to go,” Rick hopped up and booked it out of the lunch room.

He didn’t stop until he made it to the bathroom. He propped himself up on the sinks, looking at his face in the mirror. He brought his hand up to wipe the tears away that he didn’t realize he had shed.

“This is stupid,” he whispered at his reflection, “It isn’t a big deal! It’s not.” His voice was so small, he hated it. He hated being afraid, he hated feeling like there was something wrong with him. He absolutely HATED feeling like this.

“Damn it!” He put his face in his hands for a moment, before slamming them into the sink.

Rick shook his hand, cradling it while he winced. This was not how today was supposed to go. He was supposed to go over to Beth’s and have a fun night full of studying and movies. Instead, he was sitting against the lockers, having his second near panic attack of the day. Trying to decide how he was going to tell Beth that maybe it was best they stop whatever was going on between them.

“Rick?” Rick’s head snapped up as he looked Artemis in the eye. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Beth’s house?” She asked as she sat down next to him, bonking her head back on the lockers.

Rick studied Artemis for a few seconds. He had no idea what to say. She had joined the JSA fairly recently after finding out about her parents and he hadn’t spent much time with her.

“Shouldn’t you be at football practice.” Artemis shrugged.

“Probably, but you looked like you needed someone to talk to.” Rick turned, unsure what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it quickly. After a few times, he surprised himself and her.

“I really do.”

“What’s up?” She moves her body so she’s facing him, sitting crisscross. Rick takes a deep, calming breath. He can do this. It’s not like he’s that close with Artemis anyway.

“I really, really like Beth.” Artemis rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, congrats, you’re the last to know!” She spoke sarcastically.

“And I realized she might like me too…”

“I fail to see your predicament.” Artemis crosses her arms, giving him a questioning look. Rick groaned in frustration, dragging the palms of his hands down his eyes.

“But I’m broken.” He whispered through his fingers. Artemis’s expression morphed to one of concern.

“What?”

“I’m broken.” Rick tried to find the right words without saying THE word, he didn’t want to admit it aloud ever again. After several long, awful moments of silence, he finally gave up.

“I’m asexual and I can’t give her what she most definitely wants.” Artemis’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, which made Rick shift uncomfortably. This was too much for him. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, there was no room on this earth for a freak like him, and there was no place in the JSA for a damaged boy.

“Rick,” He felt her hand rest gently on his shoulder, but he refused to look at her face. What if she was disgusted? What if she thought this was a faze? That thought made Rick’s heartbeat skyrocket.

“Beth doesn’t want sex,” Rick looked at the girl through his eye lashes, uncertain of the girl’s words, “She just wants you, trust me. She’s told me.” Rick gave her a skeptical look.

“She told you?”

“Well… not in so many words…”

“So I should totally believe you.”

“Of course! After Beth, I am the smartest, after all.” Rick couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips at that.

How was this possible? Before this moment, Rick and Artemis have had exactly one interaction outside of JSA training. How was she the one making him feel better about his brokenness.

“And if it makes you feel any better, I’m Demi.” Rick’s ears perked up at that. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought. He turned to her, smiling wide.

“Makes us quite the pair doesn’t it?” She asked, smiling as she threw her arm around his shoulders. Rick laughed, placing his own arm around her’s.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me!” Artemis pulled away, “Just go talk to Beth!”

Rick gave her a nervous look, bringing his hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know if I can…” Artemis rolled her eyes before standing up, reaching a hand down and pulling him up.

“You have to, she deserves to know the truth.” Rick sighed deeply before nodding.

“I guess…”

“Go! I expect to get a call from Beth later telling me all about how you have told her everything.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Rick made his way to the front doors.

The walk to Beth’s house was a long one, and about halfway there, Rick turned around and started walking home before he told himself that wasn’t fair to Beth. Beth. Rick closed his eyes for a moment as he thought about the girl. The sweetest girl he’d ever known. If Artemis could be accepting, Beth had to be too, right?

Wrong. The paranoid part of his brain told him. He stood in place for a moment, breathing deeply. He could do this, he could. He needed to, for his own sake at least. He couldn’t go on living like this.

Before he knew it he was walking up her steps. He knocked softly and stood back to wait. An agonizing minute later, Beth swung the door open, and when her gaze landed on Rick, her eyes lit up.

“You did come!” She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the home, looping her arm through his, “I was worried you were trying to avoid me!” She looked up at him, a twinkle in her eye that did not help Rick with his nerves. Gingerly he pulled his arm out and away from Beth’s. She turned to face him, a questioning look written across her face.

“I was.” He softly whispered, staring at her feet since he was unable to look at her face. He just knew hurt would be etched in every corner, and he hated that. He had caused that. But after today, he wouldn’t be doing it anymore, since she wouldn’t want anything to do with him after this was all over.

“Why?” The pain oozed into her voice, and Rick stole a glance at her face and felt his heart rip in two. She looked devastated. Which made him devastated because he had done that to her. He quickly looked away, bringing his hands down to fiddle with the zipper on his hoodie.

“Because…” he tried to calm himself by closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, but it wasn’t working. He opened his eyes and brought them up to meet Beth’s, he immediately felt calmer, and he hated himself for it. He had put too much responsibility on Beth without her even knowing, it wasn’t fair to her.

“Because I really like you, but…” How the hell was he supposed to tell her? How were the words supposed to come out of his mouth for the second time today?

“But I can’t do anything about it because I’m broken and you deserve better.” He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t say it, not again. It was too much for one day.

“You’re not broken,” Beth brought her hand up to his cheek, gently cupping it, “You’re perfect just the way you are.” Rick squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to cry.

“And I love you.” Rick snapped his eyes open. He searched for the joke on her face, because he knew, deep down, that that couldn’t be true. He was unlovable. He didn’t deserve to be loved.

He felt himself begin to lean down ever so slowly, as Beth brought her face up to meet him. When he realized what was going on, quickly he turned so Beth brought her lips up to meet his cheek. She pulled back, clearly embarrassed. All Rick wanted to do was comfort her, tell her it was not her, but he didn’t know what to say that would make it better.

“Beth, I just… I can’t do this to you.” Rick gazed down at her face, bringing his hand up to stroke his thumb across her cheek.

“Rick, you’re starting to scare me, what’s wrong?” She clutched his hand, bringing it down to hang between them. Rick stared at their hands, he had to say it, she deserved to know everything.

“Beth, I… I love you but I can’t ever give you what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?” Beth’s voice had an edge to it that shocked Rick to his core.

“Because you’re normal.” Rick whispered, giving a sad smile.

“Look at me, Rick,” Beth pulled her hands off of his to grab his face, “Look at me!” Beth’s eyes softened when she saw the brokenness in his eyes. Rick finally brought his hands up and held her waist, pulling her close.

“What does normal even mean?” Beth smiled, lifting herself up on her tiptoes, knocking her forehead against his. Rick closed his eyes and sighed.

“Please talk to me.” Beth begged. Rick opened his eyes, wrapping his arms around her waist, hugging her fiercely. Before he knew what was happening, he felt the tears streaming down his face, soaking the shoulder of Beth’s new sweater.

“Rick…” Beth held him tightly, moving her arms from his face to his shoulders, “I love you, nothing you can say will ever change that.” Rick pulled back, hands returning to her waist.

“You promise?”

“Of course.” Rick knocked their foreheads together once more.

“I love you.”

#stargirl #stargirl fanfic #hournite #beth chapel #rick tyler #ace!Rick Tyler #stargirl fic

18 notes · View notes

dangerouscommiesubversive · 4 years

Note

Gai/Naomi/Juggler, B

Skipping ahead in my prompts kind of a lot because I just finished Orb last night and I’m in the mood to write for it. Contains spoilers for the end of Orb. B is for basorexia, the overwhelming desire to kiss

The thing that actually surprises Naomi, when Juggler shows up at the SSP offices several weeks after the defeat of Magata no Orochi, is not that he’s alive at all but that he’s wearing a different suit. “Gray looks good on you,” she says, cutting him off before he can offer some quip about being hard to kill. “I mean, I know it’s not as dramatic as the black, but gray and red is a good combination.”

Apparently thrown for a loop by this calm non-greeting, he stares at her for a moment before saying, “I was hoping we might have coffee.”

“At dawn?”

“I have reason to believe that the sunrise tomorrow might be well worth seeing, and while my preferred coffee spot has closed, I’ve found another one that’s very nice.”

She nods, says, “That sounds lovely, I’d like that,” and then bursts into tears and has to push her chair back to keep from crying into her keyboard.

Juggler freezes like a rabbit staring down an oncoming car and then comes around her desk and rests an awkward hand on her shoulder. “I don’t, ah. I’m not sure what to do in this situation.”

Naomi sniffles. “You should hug me now, weirdo.”

He’s an awkward hugger. It’s cute. She cries on his silk waistcoat anyway and lets him pat her nervously on the back, because maybe he deserves to be a little uncomfortable.

Once she’s done, though, she says, “Do you have anywhere to stay around here? If we’re having coffee at dawn then we’ll need to be able to find each other then.”

“I don’t sleep,” he says, reflexively, and then, “also, no.”

“You don’t--maybe you’d have spent less time trying to be a bad guy if you got some sleep once in a while. We have a space here, as long as you don’t mind it being where Gai crashed when he was here.”

An odd look crosses Juggler’s face. “No...no, that’s fine, I don’t mind. Thank you.”

She plans on going to the office and waking him up for coffee, and sets her alarm for it, but then doesn’t have to, because he shows up at her apartment just as she’s stepping out the door to go get him. “Wow, you really don’t sleep.”

He shrugs. “Not much.” Then, with a courtly bow, he offers her his arm. “Shall we?”

The sunrise is beautiful. The coffee, while not as sublime as Black Star’s, is very good. And Juggler’s much better at kissing than he is at hugging, especially when the sky is red and pink and orange and the clouds are thin and lacy and his mouth tastes like excellent coffee. Naomi has to take a moment to catch her breath when he pulls back. “Nobody’s ever kissed me like that before.”

Juggler raises an eyebrow. “Not even Gai?”

“Gai hasn’t kissed me at all yet, the slacker.” She resists the urge to pout, and then the incipient pout turns into a smile as she realizes, “So there you go, you got to be the first one.”

He does, as expected, look tremendously pleased with himself, and then says, “You’ll have to remind him of his duties the next time you see him. And give him this, from me.”

This kiss is very different from the first one, long and lingering and not sweet so much as it is full of intent. She can’t talk at all for a few minutes after, too red-faced and abruptly shy to attempt it. It feels like she’s walked in on something private, never mind that she was invited, offered it directly even.

“You’ll remember, of course?”

She’ll never call Juggler on how uncertain he sounds, but she’ll always remember it. “I promise.”

Juggler is gone two days later, to...wherever it is that he disappears off to, and it’s back to business as usual. Or rather, business as much better than usual; the SSP website’s really taken off, and she and Shin and Jetta spend a lot of time running around interviewing people and filming strange phenomena and writing articles. They’re making enough money that Naomi’s actually been able to quit a couple of her part-time jobs, which is a relief.

Gai gets back to Japan a couple of weeks after Juggler leaves. He doesn’t announce himself, of course, he’s just at the offices when they get back from a trip to a haunted bathhouse, sitting at Shin’s desk, drinking Ramune. Shin and Jetta fall all over themselves in their excitement to greet him, and then see how Naomi’s looking at him and very quickly find that they have other things to take care of.

“You’re late,” she says, “you missed Juggler by two weeks.”

He actually jumps slightly. “Juggler was here?”

“He was.” She crosses her arms over her chest, enjoying the hunted look on his face. “You’ve got some catching up to do, buddy. Also, he gave me something for you.”

“He...gave you something for me.”

“Yes. I’ll give it to you later. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

He doesn’t kiss her in a rooftop cafe at sunrise. Not that it isn’t just as romantic sitting on the couch in her tiny apartment, but it’s a very different mood otherwise. He’s hesitant about it, too, not as cool or as obviously prepared as Juggler was, both of them bursting into nervous laughter after a couple of shy first pecks, but then he reaches for her again and it’s very nice.

After about ten minutes of increasingly confident kisses traded back and forth there’s a pause, as both of them clearly try to decide whether this is going to go any further tonight, and Naomi remembers. “Right, yeah, I should give you that thing.”

Gai nods, frowning. “The...the thing Juggler gave you for me?”

“Yes, that one.”

She does her best to kiss him the way that Juggler kissed her, and from the shocked look on his face afterward she’s at least partially successful. “He asked you to give me that.”

“He was very specific about it, yes.” A beat, and then, with more mischief, “He was very pleased to know that he’d gotten to kiss me first.”

Gai rolls his eyes. “Of course he was.”

They don’t go any further that night, and that’s fine, because Naomi finds after only the briefest consideration that she’s way too nervous about the prospect of asking Gai if he wants to stay the night. Eventually he does get up to go--only back to the SSP offices to sleep there, but that’s still going. But at the door he stops and says, “If Juggler doesn’t come around before I have to leave again, please give him this for me?”

Another shocking, private kiss, filled with yearning, dizzying in how lonely it makes Naomi realize Gai‘s been, his hand on the side of her face gentle in a way that’s entirely different from how he’s gentle with her. She nods, dazed. “Sure. I’ll keep it safe for him.”

Juggler does not, of course, come back for another three weeks, by which point Gai’s long gone. He receives his message from Gai with stunned pleasure, and gives her another one to send back.

He and Gai only miss each other by three days this time, but it’s still what happens. Naomi gives Gai the kiss she’s been saving for him, and he gives her another one for Juggler.

It takes three more repeats of this before she realizes that they’re avoiding each other.

It’s not like either one of them has a cell phone, is the really frustrating thing.

So she puts a note on the website, which has been doing very well. She knows they both check it, too, and that they’ll both notice the one-line addition to the right side of the main page, under the embedded Twitter feed, that just says, I miss you. - N.

Two days later, she and Jetta get back from an interview to find Juggler staring at Gai’s open bottle of Ramune like it’s personally attacking him.

Gai, for his part, is squinting at Juggler’s chest. “Did you get a new suit?”

“Oh, good.” Naomi hangs up her jacket. “Shin, when did they both get here?”

Shin is hiding behind his latest invention, which is fair, the atmosphere is pretty tense. “Gai’s been here for exactly two hours and seventeen minutes, Cap. J-juggler just got here ten minutes ago.”

“You planned this,” Juggler says accusingly.

“Obviously I planned it. You fell for it.”

“Can I take that note down now, Cap?” Jetta, bless him, is just acting like it’s a normal day, heading to the computer with camera in hand to move his footage over. Granted, both he and Shin were in on the plan, but he was the one who thought it was funny, so it makes sense that he’d be calm about things.

“Yes, please. I’m going to be out for the rest of the afternoon.”

Shin starts to protest, looks at the frozen expressions on Gai and Juggler’s faces, and shuts up.

They follow her back to her apartment in a deeply awkward silence, and then proceed to take up more space in her minuscule living room than she would have ever thought possible. She stares at them for several minutes, tapping her foot, and is about to start getting impatient when Gai, finally, says, “Was there. Ah. Something you wanted to talk to us both about?”

“Yes,” she says, with vehemence. “I am an independent woman and I would like my own kisses, please, if you two want to kiss each other then you ought to stop avoiding each other and do it yourselves instead of making me your go-between.” At Gai’s protesting noise, “Look, I don’t entirely mind, they’re extremely nice kisses! But you’re, what, a few hundred years old?”

Juggler coughs. “Thousand.”

“Ok! You’re a few thousand years old! And I know, I know you’ve spent a bunch of that time not talking about your problems, but I’m fairly sure you can behave like adults! You don’t need a, a kissing proxy!”

Neither one of them answer. Gai scratches the back of his head, and then actually shuffles his feet like a child who’s been scolded. Juggler is staring fixedly at her one little bookcase with its painstakingly curated collection of books about aliens and supernatural phenomena. She’d think he was mad, except that he’s blushing, which is very charming of him.

She gives them a moment to feel awkward in silence and then says, “Look, I’m going to, to go to the bathroom and then when I’m out we’ll order dinner from somewhere and you two have to talk to each other.”

She spends longer in the bathroom than she’d really like, because as she washes her hands she finds that she’s shaking. Obviously this whole thing makes her nervous, obviously it’s all strange and new, obviously her first serious relationship would be with two thousand-year-old aliens, and also she’s planning on finally asking if one or both of them wants to stay the night. It’s a lot! She’s taking a lot of steps, very quickly, and they’re going to get easier if Juggler and Gai will just talk like normal people instead of...thousand-year-old aliens with a longstanding feud. Which is what they actually are. And that’s, you know, hot, but maybe it’s also intimidating right now.

Also she can’t decide what to order for dinner.

Finally she stops staring at herself in the mirror and straining to understand the occasional murmurs she can hear through the door, takes a deep breath, and leaves the bathroom. “So I’m not sure what to get, would you two like--oh.” And then, “Well, finally.”

Because they aren’t answering her, they’re probably not thinking about what to order for dinner right now, Juggler’s got his back to the wall next to the bookcase and his hand in Gai’s hair and there’s a kiss happening that’s definitely a culmination of all these kisses they’ve been sending each other through her, or at the very least a continuation of them. Most people wouldn’t be able to see it, the hundreds of years of pent-up longing and regret and desire, but then most people aren’t her. Most people haven’t been couriering it back and forth for months now.

It’s almost heartbreaking to see.

It’s also quite possibly the hottest thing Naomi’s ever seen in her--admittedly, comparatively short--life. She’s not sure she can remember how to breathe.

When she does finally start breathing again, she says, “I think when you’re both done I’ll order us a pizza.”

#yumeno naomi #kurenai gai #jugglus juggler #fanfiction #askrikkaiandhyotei #smooth by santana and rob thomas came up on shuffle as i was finishing this #which felt like a good omen for them #huge win for the ot3

12 notes · View notes

hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

High Expectations - Ch17

This was meant to be a fic about Gordon but as I get further through the timeline the other brothers start waving more and pointing out that they are an important part of this and should be considered too. Alan has been feeling a bit left out and wants some attention.

Thanks to @willow-salix for her amazing editorial skills and ‘quick chats’ that are somehow never very quick.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen,

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Seventeen

If Gordon’s journey out to Marineville for officer selection had been different to his first visit to the base it was nothing compared to the contrast of the journey home. This time his journey north had needed no furtive sneaking off, no cover stories and no lies. There had still been plenty of butterflies in anticipation of the trials ahead but he had faced those trials with the blessing and support of his family. His father had even travelled to the airport with him rather than entrusting him solely to a driver.

The journey south, however, was accompanied by butterflies an order of magnitude greater.

As he exited Marineville to board the bus back to the airport it was impossible to miss the imposing hire car in the visitors’ parking lot or the even more imposing man stood next to it. So far he had managed to maintain a level of anonymity but as he left the cluster of participants he was acutely aware of the whisperings behind him. He ignored the mutterings and strode over to his father, his head held high, it didn’t matter if they worked out who he was now, he knew he had earned his place on his own merits.

“So Gordon, how did it go?” There was still that look of pre-emptive sternness, as though Jeff was waiting to receive another mediocre report card.

Gordon couldn’t stop the grin that flashed across his face or the air of cocky smugness, he was riding the wave of success again and it felt good. “Aced it. The standard was a lot higher and only about a third of us got through but when the next intake comes around you are looking at the newest recruit to WASP.”

The sternness dropped away and was replaced by the look of pride Gordon had seen directed at his brothers far more than himself. “Good, son. You can tell me about it on the journey home.”

As they headed away from the base Gordon recounted the tests and challenges he had faced. For Jeff it was like having a much younger Gordon back, the one who had regaled him with tales of race wins and given blow by blow accounts of dives, turns and sprint finishes. His fourth son spoke freely and animatedly in a way he hadn’t heard for years and Jeff realised just how much of his sons’ lives, all of them, he had missed out on by burying himself in his work and leaving the boys to fend for themselves. He was trying to be more involved again, to listen to them, but his sons had gotten used to existing without him around. All too often he’d come in to hear Gordon ending a call to one of the others, usually Virgil, or arrive home just as Alan was finishing telling Gordon about his day. He rarely got to hear their news now and was almost never the first to be told; it didn’t make it any easier knowing this was a situation of his own making.

Jeff drove them, not to the main Marineville airport, but to a much smaller private air strip just out of town. As they turned off the route being followed by the shuttle bus Gordon kicked himself for not realising sooner that they wouldn’t be on the regular flight. Of course they wouldn’t, his father hadn’t taken a scheduled flight in years.

As they entered the cockpit of the jet Jeff slipped into the co-pilot’s position leaving the main pilot’s seat for Gordon. It had been an intensive few months going from minimal experience at the controls through to being able to take charge of the family jet. His swimming training had always prevented him from experiencing this part of the family education before but now his time in the skies had him thrown in at the metaphorical deep end in the race to get qualified before starting WASP training. Scott of course had gained his private licence on his seventeenth birthday, desperate to achieve official recognition at the earliest possible moment, and Virgil and John hadn’t been much older than the official minimum themselves. Gordon’s dedication had been tested as he crammed in what the others had spent years learning gradually.

This was where the butterflies came in.

He still wasn’t yet able to fly unaccompanied but he was getting closer. Today though it seemed he was to be tested to a whole new level. A two hour flight down the coast, taking off from an unfamiliar runway, was a jump up from the short flights he had taken until now. To make that leap while utterly exhausted following a gruelling three day selection course was perhaps a step too far.

He looked to his father for confirmation that this really was what was expected of him and received only a silent nod in return but if there was one element of being a Tracy that Gordon had truly mastered it was not backing down from a challenge. He pushed the tiredness away, buried the self-doubt with it, and with Jeff next to him scrutinising his every move he requested permission from the tower and taxied out onto the runway.

Jeff stayed silent as Gordon completed the maneuver. He watched the precise and controlled movements his son made, finding little to pick fault with despite watching with a highly critical eye. He knew Gordon must be desperate for his bed, the dark bags under his eyes a testament to what his body had been subjected to, but he needed to be sure his son would be capable of rising to a challenge. Now that he knew Gordon had been accepted into WASP and would receive rigorous training on all manner of submersibles his son changed status from dependent child to potential rescue operative.

He had already started considering the possibilities of expanding the scope of his organisation to include water rescues, indeed he already had the first concept sketches for a submarine, but for that to become a reality he needed an aquanaut. Being accepted into WASP was a start but until Gordon held both his pilot's licenses, for both up in the sky and under the waves, Jeff wasn’t yet ready to consider his fourth son as a full part of his vision and so for now he was content to watch, and wait, and plan, leaving Gordon ignorant of his ideas.

xoxoxox

Barely a week after the selection course the letter arrived confirming what Gordon had already been told at the end of the trials, that he would be joining the next officer training intake. Even though the contents of the letter were no surprise it was still reassuring to see it in black and white, indisputable proof that WASP had confidence in him and that his future path was set.

“So, when do you start?” Jeff asked across the dinner table.

“Huh?” Gordon snapped his head up in surprise, he had been oblivious to the room around him as he read the letter through several times, drinking in the validation it gave him while butterflies fluttered in his stomach at the prospect of actually going off and doing it. “Oh, um, beginning of July, then it’s…”

He didn’t get any further. The scrape of chair and the clatter of discarded cutlery cut him off as Alan flew from the room and disappeared down the hallway, the slam of a bedroom door confirming where he had gone to ground. Jeff sighed and half rose from the table, his expression showing anger at the rudeness of the departed teen, but Gordon waved him down.

“No, I’ll deal with this.”

Gordon had been sensing the impending storm ever since he got back from Marineville. Amongst the congratulations of the family one voice had been noticeably absent and it seemed that the official confirmation letter was all that had been needed to bring it to a head. The last thing he needed was for their father to make a difficult situation worse by laying down the law.

Alan’s room was the typical teenage mess. Clothes lay discarded on the floor and various electronics were piled on surfaces next to empty water glasses but in amongst all the mess it was clear where his passions lay. It was like wandering into an untidier version of John’s room. Star maps adorned the walls and there was a model rocket that Gordon had every confidence could make it into space if that was how Alan had designed it. The difference between this room and the usually unoccupied one next door, apart from the mess, were the newspaper cuttings, article print outs and piles of Olympic memorabilia that vied for space with the astronomical paraphernalia. Dotted around the room was evidence of a devotion to Gordon and the swimmer was sure you could piece together the story of his sporting career if only you took the time to collate the collection.

“Alan…”

“Leave me alone, it’s what you’re going to do anyway.” The voice was muffled, smothered by the pillow in which Alan was buried face down.

“Alan, please, talk to me.” Gordon picked his way carefully across the room and sat on the edge of the bed next to the sprawled figure. The only answer he got was a choked sob and he felt a wave of guilt at the upset his brother was feeling.

“I hate it here. I hate it. I hate it.” Alan sat up and glared at his brother, there was venom in the voice as anger crept in around the upset. “Everyone gets to leave and I’m going to be stuck here on my own. Maybe Virgil will add me to his pity list and call me cos you sure as hell won’t have the time. I don’t want to be his next pet project and charity case though.”

Alan’s words cut deep, as he had intended them to, and Gordon found himself wondering if that was all he’d been to Virgil, a project to feed Virgil’s desire to help people. Surely not? The friendship and growing bond between them felt real enough but the familiar doubts began to creep in about his self worth. He tried to shake them off, knowing the dark places such thoughts could lead him to.

“That’s if Virg can even make time for me in his busy schedule once he goes off to Tracy College. Why the hell does he need to get space rated anyway? He’s never shown any interest in being an astronaut before. Fine, John’s pretty much had his name down for the space programme since birth but why does Virgil get to go too?”

So that explained the animosity towards Virgil, Alan was harbouring a deep jealousy that he was getting to do something that was Alan’s own dream. The youngest Tracy had always made it clear that he would be the third of that name to head into space after his father and middle brother and yet here was Virgil taking his spot, seemingly on a whim. This, coupled with the growing bond between Gordon and Virgil, had evidently ignited a burning resentment.

A shuddering breath wracked the Alan’s body as the primary reason for his upset flooded back into his mind. “I..I don’t want you to go.”

Whatever the issues were with Virgil, Gordon couldn’t shy away from the fact that he had been slowly drifting away from Alan to set up a new life. He had been Alan’s primary source of company for so long, had been a confidante and carer to the younger boy, and now he was heading off leaving Alan facing a future of loneliness. Their father was trying to be more involved but he was still a virtual stranger in Alan’s life and had a lot to learn about parenting teenagers.

He wanted to let Alan know that it would all be ok. Wanted to tell him that soon enough he would be out of this hateful city and in a place where their father and at least some of his brothers would be around a lot more. He wanted to tell him about the rockets and the space station and everything that he knew would ignite his little brother’s passion. But he couldn’t. Even if their father hadn’t expressly forbidden it there was still a fundamental issue in that the island wasn’t actually theirs yet and until the deeds were signed and move confirmed he just couldn’t plant the seeds of the dream in Alan’s mind if there was any chance of the dream crashing down. Instead he had to make do with platitudes that must have felt empty to the devastated teen.

“It’ll be ok, you’ll see.”

“Will it?” The words were spat at him.

“It will; trust me on this. I’m not going anywhere for a little while yet and I’ll still be able to call, I’m going to be at Marineville not Mars. Those first 6 month of training will be pretty intense but I’ll still get some time off.”

“And what about after that? What about when you aren’t at Marineville but you’re getting sent all over the place like Scott does? You won’t be able to just pick up the phone or head back for a weekend if you’re under water on the other side of the world. You may as well be on Mars then.”

Gordon slung an arm around his younger sibling, drawing that smaller form into a hug. He half expected Alan to pull away but he took it as a good sign that the anger was burning out when Alan acquiesced and leaned in heavily against him.

Alan felt like his whole world was dropping away. Of course he had known this moment would come but the arrival of the letter had just hammered home the inevitability of the situation. He felt angry at Gordon, angry at their father and more than a little angry at himself. He was fifteen for goodness sake, he shouldn’t be needing hugs from his big brother, but he still didn’t pull away from that warm hold. There was something comforting about those strong arms, honed through years of hard exercise, that made him feel safe and with that feeling of safety came the assurance of familial love. He clung to it, knowing that all too soon his last brother would be leaving just like the others had; his big family had run out, he was the last and he would be alone.

Of course he had been alone before, Gordon had been away enough times at competitions that he was capable of fending for himself but this time was different. This wasn’t just a few days with the excitement of following the swimming results to keep him occupied, this was a whole new future and he was facing the prospect of being alone with the father who seemed barely aware of his existence. The next few years stretched bleakly ahead of him leaving a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“None of us know what the future holds but even when I’m not here you aren’t going to be on your own. You’ve got four big brothers and we all care about you, you will always be able to get hold of one of us. I need to do this though, Al. If it wasn’t Marineville it would have been college somewhere and it won’t be much longer before you’re choosing what you want to do with your future too.”

There was a damp sniff. “Gonna miss you.” The admission was a quiet whisper but it stabbed deeply into Gordon’s heart.

“Gonna miss you too, Sprout”

They sat there a while longer, each lost to their silent thoughts but still needing that physical contact. Gordon sincerely hoped it would be okay. He’d been so focussed on his own future and excited about the prospect of a fresh start and fresh challenges that he hadn’t fully considered what he would be leaving behind, or rather who he would be leaving behind. He had been looking out for Alan for nearly five years and now he would be leaving. Alan’s whole life had been punctuated by loss as first his mother, and then the brothers who had stepped up in her place, disappeared one by one. Now he would be adding another loss to the pile leaving Alan behind with just the father who had been far too distant for far too long.

#High Expectations #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #military selection #abandonment #loss #loneliness

10 notes · View notes

newsies-geek · 4 years

Text

Newsies in Quarantine (Javid): Part 3

Idea from @dragonsrrad

***

Five days into Quarantine, and Davey was more than starting to miss going outside.

Don’t get things wrong, he loved the News Boys in a certain way- some more than others- but fresh air was nice too. There were some windows in the lobby of the theatre, but they were sealed shut to the walls by design. The curly-haired brunette found himself sitting by the windows more often than he should. The time he didn’t spend by the window was spent instead with helping out in the theatre when Medda asked. They had to pay for their place to stay and food to eat, after all- not that Medda would refuse to give them essentials if they didn’t work, but no News Boy was rude enough to turn down Medda when she asked for small favors like putting up backdrops and readjusting lights.

Currently, the boys found themselves re-painting the glaze on some of the old furniture pieces that they’d dragged onto stage, where their beds weren’t placed.

Les was helping Davey on an overturned chair while Race and Spot worked on a couch and Specs and Romeo- well, were currently getting lost in each other’s eyes, leaned against the table they should have been glossing.

“How much longer did theys says until wes can go outside?” Race huffed as he wiped sweat from his forehead, the stage lights producing the only light they could get directly on stage, but practically burning the boys up.

“Another week and a half.” David piped up with a sigh, dipping his paintbrush into his and Les’s bucket of gloss before going for the second layer on the chair leg he was working on.

“I can’t wait to see my girl again.” Les sighed as he slapped his paintbrush happily onto the chair’s other leg.

Davey paused a moment and lifted his eyebrows, looking at Les with shock and confusion, much as the other news boys were doing.

“Mouth Jr.’s got a gal?” Spot snorted in genuine surprise.

“Of course I do.” Les furrowed his brow with a frown as he turned to the other newsies, “Her name is Sallie- but she let’s me call her Miss.” He assumed a childish grin.

“And...how long has this been going on?” Davey cocked an eyebrow with a suspicious look.

Les look at him, shifting his his knees as he sat on his legs, “Feels like fifteen years, really.”

“You’re ten.” Dave deadpanned.

“Maybe fifteen months then.” Les shrugged and began to gloss the chair leg again.

“You’ve only been in your grade for five months.” Davey frowned before also returning to work.

“Hey, is the kid says fifteen years, then happy fifteenth anniversary to yous two.” Spot chuckled.

“I’m fifteen, I think I’d remember if-“ Davey paused as a choking noise came from Race.

“You’re fifteen?” Race gasped.

“Um...yes.” David frowned in confusion, smearing some more gloss onto the chair leg as he looked at Race.

“You ain’t Seventeen like Jack?” The blonde scoffed, Spot looking equally surprised.

David blinked a few times before snorting in amusement, “Jack isn’t seventeen.”

“Is too, I’s seen him older than I’s was- I didn’t suspect you bein’ my age though, mouth.” Spot sniffed.

“You’re- Jack isn’t- he doesn’t act like he’s older than me..” Davey began having an existential crisis in the matter of one conversation.

“What’s that mean?” Specs piped up.

“I-I don’t know- he’s just- he’s a dreamer...and once you get near Sixteen-“

“Thought you said yous was fifteen?” Race narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Everyone but Les, who seemed unpaused by all this, had stopped glossing.

“I am but I’ll- I’ll be sixteen in a month or so.”

“See, sos you and Jack ain’t more than a year apart.” Race shrugged.

“Which I expected, just- the other way around.” Davey looked at the ground in confusion. Jack was older than him? That made him wiser as far as knowledge of life went...that just didn’t seem right.

“You think that makes him any more or less smarter?” Romeo leaned back into an upright position.

“We have different educations.” Davey shook his head dismissively as he took his paint brush again.

“He’s still ahead of ya’ though.” Race smirked cockily.

“By a few months.” Davey rolled his eyes, “That’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” Spot cooed.

“Oh, leave the kid alone.” Race chuckled as he reached over to gently punch Spot on the shoulder, but ended up smacking his arm with gloss.

“Why you- you spoiled me shirt!” Spot snapped, staggering to his feet and glaring at Race.

Racetrack looked genuinely guilty at first, “I’m sorry, I-“ He seemed to then remember he has a reputation and cleared his throat, getting to his feet, “Yeah, so?”

Spot balled his fists up before dunking one into his can on gloss and wiping a hand over Race’s face.

Race gasped and reached for his bucket, dunking both his hands in and lunging for Spot, missing and bouncing off the chair to run into Romeo, getting them both covered in gloss.

“Hey! Let him alone!” Specs hollered before taking his brush and throwing it at Race.

“Yous leave him alone! Only I get to throw gloss at Race!” Spot ran at Specs with gloss covered hands.

Les cheered and ran at them.

“Les! You- oh god-“ Davey groaned as his little brother had been covered from head to toe in gloss before he could say another word.

“Come on, David!” Les ran towards Davey.

Davey’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, booking it for the stage door as cackling could he heard behind him, the other Newsies catching on and chasing after him.

Before Davey could reach the stage door he felt two firm hands grasp his arms and pull him up until his feet left the ground.

Davey let out a gasp and as about to scream before the hands released his shoulders and cupped over his mouth as he landed on a thin, wooden plank.

Davey struggled and looked up to see who his kidnapper was before his heart lurched at the sight of Jack, making Davey all at once aware of the fact that the boy had him held tight against his body with a smug look on his face as he looked down at the other boys, barging into the stage door. That’s when he released his grip on Davey’s mouth and moved his hands to the boy’s hips, “Steady, we’s on a beam. Don’t want nobody falling.”

Davey felt his heart pound in his chest at the physical contact and he hated it.

He hated how having been stuck with Jack for several days now, his feelings for the boy had surfaced more and more.

Before the shelter-in-place rule had been set, Davey had been sure he could eventually get over the little flutters his heart gave when Jack touched his shoulder or stood up for him, he was sure that only seeing him a few hours a day would give his heart the rest of the day to convince himself that these instances of free-falling feelings around Jack were foolish and- and god it felt so nice to have such a secure grip around him right now like Jack was genuinely concerned that Davey might fall. It was so difficult for Davey to turn off his emotions- but with his heart rate increasing, and hope that would most likely lead nowhere, he knew, began to rise, he had to gently push Jack’s hands off of his waist.

Things like this didn’t happen. Boys didn’t...Jack certainly didn’t like boys the way that Davey had found himself thinking about them lately- and Jack defiantly didn’t seem to look at Davey the way Davey looked at Jack.

He was spending too much time thinking about this as it was. Jack was his friend and- had just pulled him up and held him because that’s what a good buddy does, keeps you from falling.

Totally normal and...

And Jack’s hands now wrapped around Davey’s waist entirely.

“Sh, your breathing is rattling the beam, they’s’ll hear you- and I don’t want the boys findin’ out about my special area.” Jack chuckled, his breath tickling the back of Davey’s neck and making the boy shutter.

When had these feelings started? Not the feelings that Jack had made him feel immediately- not the fact that Davey could recognize that yes, Jack was attractive and, yes, he enjoyed being around him- but these distinct feelings of...of longing. Of needing the other boy in a way that was most definitely not heterosexual.

These feelings that he wanted Jack’s arms around his waist to hold him tighter. These feelings that made Davey decide to lean back, so his head fit nicely under Jack’s chin.

He shouldn’t be doing this, especially having just convinced himself of that- but...well, if he was going to he stuck in this position anyway..

It was the feeling of Jack fully resting his head on top of Davey’s head that made the lengthy teen conceal a squeal of excitement-

What-

What was he, a teenag-

Oh, wait, yes, he was. And Jack-

“So...you’re seventeen?” Davey whispered.

“You says that like you is surprised.” Jack chuckled, and Davey could feel the vibrations of it on his shoulders, a feeling of contentment.

“I am.” Davey smiled slightly.

“Just by some months or so.” Jack shrugged, “No biggie.”

“It is when it comes to...to knowledge- few months or not, you’d be a year above me in school.” Davey mused quietly.

“That a problem?” Jack snorted, hiding the insecurity that suddenly gripped him.

“Not at all.” Davey would shake his head if it hadn’t for so perfectly against Jack’s chin, “Well- okay- it’s just-“

“You’re not used to not being the smartest one in the room, Dave?” Jack laughed quietly.

“Maybe..” Davey whispered quietly.

Jack seemed to shift in surprise, “Dave, I don’t got the same edjeecation as you.”

“But you’re street smart. You’ve been here for-“

“Like maybe eight months more than you. As an infant, Dave.”

“It’s just...I don’t know, I feel...smaller..which is different around you guys.”

“You feel bigger around the newsies?” Jack almost sounded surprised, “What? Because we’re smaller..?” Jack’s grip around Davey’s waist faltered and Davey instinctually gripped both of Jack’s hands to steady himself.

“N-No- it’s just- you guys actually listen to me- and what’s going to keep you listening if you don’t have my respect? Age isn’t just a symbol of education, Jack, it’s a symbol of respect, and even just a few months-“

“So yous sayin that you didn’t respect me when you thought I was your age?” Jack scoffed, hands tightened.

“No, Jack, I- no, it’s just-“

“No, Dave, I get it- people likes you know the way of- of higheearchies more than we’s do.” Jack began to stand up, pulling Davey up with him before letting go of the boy and allowing him to cling to the handlebars that were attached by loose chains up above, making them both wobble, except Jack was used to it.

“Th-That’s not what I meant-“

“Your status is higher than mine and you ain’t used to being lower than me.” Jack rolled his eyes.

Davey wished desperately to have the courage to move his feet and turn to face Jack, “Don’t twist my words-“

“I don’t have to! You said them!” Jack threw his hands up in the air.

“Calm down, or-“

“I am Calm.” Jack scowled.

“You’re really not, and Jack I respect you plenty-“

“Oh do you?” The long-haired blonde rolled his eyes in disbelief, “You know, Dave-“

“No, I don’t know, Jack, because you’re not giving me a second to wrap my head around what you’re saying.” Dave clutched the railings tighter as he became acutely aware of the drop below.

“You-“

“I respect you more than any other person I know, Jack Kelly, because you’re a genuinely good person who would turn down an offer to have a life far beyond what he currently has just because he loves and cares for these boys like they’re your family. That’s a more respectful thing than I or anyone I know has ever done so don’t accuse me of not respecting you- I-I’m just- not sure how I feel about feeling belittled- which isn’t- Christ- I realize it isn’t fair to you but this feeling is new, Jack, and little things are bothering me because I need air, I’m done with being inside, I just-“ there were hands around Davey’s waist and next thing he knew he was being pulled backwards.

“Work with me, Dave, I cant drag you across a plank being held up by chains.” Jack murmured.

Davey swallowed dryly and gently began to step back, stepping almost on Jack’s toes a few times before he felt warmth on his face as Jack reached up and pulled back a piece of fabric from a skylight. Davey’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly in awe, “Wow..”

“That’s not it.” Jack moved his hands to Davey’s shoulders and then pushed up on the window of the skylight. It opened with a pop as Jack pushed it all the way back. He moved to where Davey was and jumped up, his elbows landing on the roof as he pulled himself up, meanwhile Davey clung to the railings as the whole plank shook with Jack’s jump.

“J-Jack, I’m going to fall-“ Davey couldn’t get his eyes off the ground.

“Look up.” Jack called softly.

Davey shook his head, “I can’t-“

“Geez, Dave, making this hard on me, just, don’t focus on the ground-“

“Easier said than done.” Dave squeaked, estimating how far the drop was and if he’d survive or not. He kept his eyes trained on the ground for several second before he felt something soft touch his cheek. He looked up for a brief second to see Jack’s hand, palm towards his face, his hand, gently brush against Dave’a cheek.

“Take my hand.” Jack offered, “I’ll pull you up.”

Davey tightened his grip on the railings for a moment.

“Christ, Dave, don’t make me pull you up by your shirt collar.” Jack rolled his eyes with a smirk.

Davey couldn’t say he wouldn’t mind that.

Jack reached down far enough to grab Davey’s forearm before pulled at it.

Davey began to resist but Jack was stronger than him, and was soon able to pry his hand look and take the brunette’s hand, “Now the other one.”

Davey began to stagger, no longer balanced. A look of horror passed over Dave’s features and then Jack as the brunette lost his footing, and the weight of Davey’s arm suddenly became his whole body.

“JACK-“ Davey practically yelled.

Jack’s whole upper body slid through the skylight as he quickly wrapped his other arm around Davey’s waist and began to pull up, “Grab- the roof- quickly-“ He ordered as he pulled Davey up.

The brunette was quick to get his hands onto the roof, smooth as concrete, as he pushed himself through it, quickly moving to grab the back of Jack’s vest and pulling the boy towards him.

“Oh shit-“ Davey cursed as he held Jack close to his chest, trembling.

“I-I respect ya’ a lot for that, Dave. Thanks.” Jack wheezed.

“N-No problem.” Davey whispered out, not willing to admit that his heart was still pounding at the thought of Jack falling through the sky light.

Unaware that Jack’s heart was going through the same trauma after seeing Davey dangle from the plank of wood.

The boys simply sat in a tangle of arms and legs for several minute to recover before Jack sat back, “I-I mean it though, I respect ya’, Dave- I may have come around in the end but...you...you never lost yourself in the first place.”

“Lost myself? How’d you think I felt when you left us?” Davey smiled bittersweetly.

Jack pushed Davey’s head away gently, “You sap.”

“I’m sorry I got all insecure back there, um, won’t happen again.” Davey chuckled awkwardly as he stood up shakily.

“Don’t apologize for feelings, Dave, they’re the best thing that we’ve got.”

“You’re right though, you’re only- eight months ahead- I just..like believing I’m a mature person, but-“

“You thought I was more mature than you by my age?” Jack wheezed, “Dave I spend my time painting places I’ve never seen! A-And the other half starting strikes that I can’t handle alone and you think I’m mature?”

“Of course you are.” Davey responded honestly, “You just proved it- you acknowledged the way I felt and- and didn’t shut it down, that’s pretty mature.”

“Yeah, right after I threw a tantrum about yous not respectin’ me.” Jack snorted.

“Which was after me freaking out in the first place because I finally understand why you’ve got so much muscle, it suits you for having eight more months to work out than me.” Davey joked.

Jack blushed, “Yous...think I got muscle?”

Davey seemed to hear what he’d said moments too late and belatedly slapped a hand over his mouth, “uM-“

“Don’t he so down on yourself, you’ve got some meat on your bones.” Jack chuckled, changing the subject, much to Davey’s relief, “Now enjoy that air you wanted.”

It seemed to click in Davey’s mind finally that they were outside. He began to look around as though the New York skyline was now new.

And seeing Jack as a part of its beauty...perhaps it was.

***

Part 1: https://pawsu-productions.tumblr.com/post/615195930647511040/newsies-in-quarantine-javid-part-1

Part 2: https://pawsu-productions.tumblr.com/post/615272010026827776/newsies-in-quarantine-javid-part-2

#javid #javey #jack #david jacobs #jack kelly #newsies #racetrack higgins #higgins #gay #quarantine #1992newsies #1992 #newsies 1992 #1992 newsies #broadway #musical #musicals

18 notes · View notes