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stylistiquements · 3 years

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The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing

Masterlist | Next

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy ; @bizarrebibitch ; @bellomi-clarke ; @ladybismuth ; @katyasrussianaccent ; @satanhauntedourcats ; @owl-llie ; @teenloves ; @notannis ; @mcntsee ; @rottenroyalebooks ; @peachdoppi ; @mirahg ; @foxxtrot-116 ; @koi-soi ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fic #corpse husband AU #the sorcerer #platonic!dream

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 18 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader finds more productive ways to spend her time, including babysitting Henry and volunteering at the local inpatient hospitals.

A/N: That’s my gif so please give credit if you use it 🤗 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader   Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Oral (female receiving), addiction, relapse, discussions of death/murder, unsub talk, hospitals, inpatient ward Word Count: 13K

MASTERLIST

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The next morning felt strangely similar to the morning of the day we’d gone to the bank. . Waking up in Spencer’s bed and smelling the unmistakable, comforting scent of old book pages and stale coffee. I’d told him when I first came to his place that it reminded me of a library, but it was more like that quiet local hole-in-the-wall bookshop.

It almost felt like that morning, but there was one glaring difference: Spencer wasn’t in the bed.

When I sat up to try and locate him, I was reminded that there are consequences to my actions. My stomach hurt like shit, and I swore I blacked out for a second from the pain. It would pass, though. Considering I had gotten through the night without waking, it clearly wasn’t that bad.

I thankfully managed to get out of bed myself and take the pain medication I kept in my purse. And armed with the knowledge that the pain would subside within the next half hour, I hobbled toward the distant sounds of… vomiting.

Not even bothering to stop yet, I made my way to the kitchen to grab the poor guy a glass of water. It was the least I could do for his comfort considering that I was about to make his headache much, much worse.

Peeking my head through the open door, I frowned at the sight of my boyfriend half asleep on the toilet.

“Hey old man. I brought you some water.”

Finally looking up, not having noticed me until I spoke, Spencer groaned as he backed up to lean against the wall instead of the dirty porcelain. “God, when did I get this old?”

“Hmm. I’m guessing sometime in the past 30 years.” I hummed, joining him on the cold tile floor. The two of us just rested there, his hand reaching out to take mine with a solemn smile.

“You’re cute.” He mumbled.

“I know, thanks.” I joked back, knowing that I really looked like a whole mess, with my hair desperately needing to be brushed. He never seemed to mind, though. I was glad for the lighthearted domesticity of the moment, because I knew I was about to shatter it like a brick through glass.

Softening my features as much as possible with the anxiety coursing through my veins, I squeezed his hand before finally whispering, “You know your age isn’t the only reason you’re sick though, right?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He snapped back with about as much hostility as I was expecting. He ran a frustrated hand over his face, his breathing picking up almost immediately as he tried to calm himself down.

“I know you’re just trying to do what you’re supposed to, but please…” The waver in his voice broke my heart and turned my stomach to knots. With more force, he held his hand in the air and continued to stare straight ahead. “Just... don’t. I’ll call my sponsor.”

I tried to keep my voice quiet and nonthreatening as I pushed, but I knew that it wasn’t going to make much of a difference either way.

“We have to talk about it, too, Spencer.”

“No, we really don’t.”

“You’re going to get your chip taken away,” my voice broke in half as the word fell from my mouth, “I know that that’s important to you. We can’t ignore it.”

Speaking faster, our urgent pleas overlapped to create a small cacophony booming through the acoustics of the bathroom. “(Y/n), seriously, stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A silence fell between us, and I let it sit there for a minute. I wouldn’t get anywhere with him if he was defensive, and that’s exactly what he was at the moment. But I wasn’t trying to chastise him; I’m not his mother, I’m just his worried girlfriend. I loved him and I knew something was wrong, and I just wanted to help.

I didn’t know how. The men I loved never made it far enough for me to be able to help.

“You didn’t even tell me you were coming home. We need to talk about that, at least.” I offered the narrowed scope, hoping that he would take it without any more of a fight.

He didn’t. Instead, he took back his hand and turned it to a fist in his lap. That time it was my breathing that became unsteady, and I tried to touch him, but he recoiled when I came too close.

“You didn’t seem to mind me being drunk last night.”

Although I knew it was coming, the words hurt just the same. I resisted the urge to mirror his actions. I wasn’t angry. I wouldn’t be angry, because that’s what he wanted. If I reacted that way, he could write off my responses.

“I’m not going to agitate you or shame you when the damage is already done, Spencer.” I said as confidently as I could, “I knew you needed affection and you weren’t going to ask for it yourself.”

He finally looked at me again, and in doing so, realized he was making a mistake. The anger melted from his face within seconds, being replaced with overt sadness and guilt. “I could have hurt you.” He whispered through the tears that started to fall.

“But you didn’t.” I said with a gentle smile, reaching over to wipe the saltwater from his cheek. “That’s not a very good excuse anymore.”

“It’s always a good explanation.” He clarified, chewing on his bottom lip. His hands released from their tense state.

My fingers couldn’t move fast enough to clear his tears, but he brought his own hands up to rub the tired eyes. I used the freedom to run my hands through his hair, pulling him closer to me.

Resting his head against my shoulder, he let out a deep, shaky breath. I continued slow, soft strokes along his arm, listening to the rhythm of his breath slowly recalibrate. Once I was satisfied with the pattern, I tried again.

“What happened on the case, Spencer?”

The tension returned, but subsided quicker than it had before. He took a deep breath and spoke through the exhale, trying to rid himself of the thought as he said it.

“We had to kill someone.”

My movements paused for a second before I reminded myself to continue, but my confusion remained. “I understand trauma is complicated but… You guys have to do that pretty often.”

Spencer wasn’t the kind of person who liked to share his thoughts. I knew as much; even his coworkers hadn’t seen the parts of him that I’d seen. There was no way for me to know if I knew them all, but I figured that I didn’t. I was almost certain there was a side of Spencer Reid that even I didn’t know. The only reason I didn’t try to figure it out was because I knew he liked it better that way. He designed his heart that way for a reason, and I wasn’t going to try and pry it out of him.

But he was scaring me. He almost never talked about his job, which didn’t bother me when it was obvious that he didn’t bring it home with him. Him getting drunk and defensive, though, were very different circumstances than the usual.

Understanding that there was no other way out of this, he continued to talk, hushed and slow. “I was alone with the guy, and I had the opportunity to kill him, but I didn’t. I didn’t kill him, even though I really wanted to.”

‘I really wanted to.’ The words stuck out in my head, no matter how quickly he tried to bury them.

“But after Hotch showed up, he had to do it. We didn’t have a choice anymore.” His arms crossed over his chest, but he pressed himself harder against me in a strange, contradictory stance.

I couldn’t respond to the most important part of his confession just yet; I knew the story wasn’t over. Like I’d told him, trauma and grief are complicated; however, there was something else he needed to admit before I could address the part of his admission he seemed most affected by.. “Spencer, that’s okay. That’s not your fault.” I reassured, trying to coax his arms away from his chest. I’m no profiler, but I felt like if he stopped trying to build walls, things might be easier. I could at least try to break down the ones that were tangible.

“I’m not worried about it being my fault. I’m worried about how… angry I am.” He said in defeat, dropping his arms back to his lap. He still didn’t want to touch me, it seemed. Like the same hands that had wielded a gun against a man were too tainted to share.

“I’m angry because… I wanted to kill him, I wanted him to suffer for hurting innocent people and —“ He covered his mouth, and I think the motion surprised himself.

I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible, no matter how illogical I knew that was. It felt like yet another morning was being taken away from us by what had happened before. I didn’t want to think about it; I didn’t want it to torture Spencer the way it did me. It was wishful thinking, and the stupid kind, at that.

Spencer would always blame himself and care too much. While he was always trying to work on the former, I hoped that the world would let him keep the latter. His compassion was one of the many reasons I fell in love with him. The thought of losing the man who felt the need to confess to me that he’d lied about checking me out in a crowded club invoked a sadness I never wanted to experience.

Although, the prospect of that loss paled in comparison to the acute sorrow I was feeling right then, holding Spencer while he failed to hold back tears, choking on his words. “I didn’t do it, and then he almost hurt someone else.” He said, his voice growing more frantic as he broke from my hold, grabbing his hair and pulling it like it would do something to stop the thoughts.

“And I’m angry that I wasn’t the one who got to do it. I wasn’t the person who got to kill him.” He spat, rocking forward as I tried to wrap my arms around him again. He didn’t let me, putting an arm out to hold me away from him. Still, he looked at me when he forced himself to say the conclusion that I’d reached the second he told me he had wanted to kill someone.

“I’m angry that I didn’t kill someone, (y/n).”

There were so many things I wanted to say to him that my mind literally couldn’t pick any of them. All I could do was stare at the man I loved, stopping me from doing the only thing I wanted to do. I just wanted to hold him; to remind him that I would love him no matter what. Just like we always did, I wanted my body to express the things that my mouth wouldn’t articulate.

But apparently, I was capable of doing that without even touching him. Because the longer we sat in silence, the more his enraged grimace warped to a frown. “Please, don’t look at me like that.” He begged, unable to take his eyes off of mine. I wondered if he could hear my thoughts, because before I even spoke, he pulled his arm back. “Don’t look at me like I deserve sympathy for that.”

Ignoring the pesky numbness forming in my lower half at the awkward position on the unforgiving tile floor, I thanked the lord that I was finally getting some relief from the narcotics, which allowed me to climb on Spencer’s lap. He’d finally ceased his valiant efforts to keep me away from him, accepting me with his hands on my hips.

When I tried to kiss him, however, he turned his face away with a sharp inhale. Careful not to use too much force, I use a tender hand on his cheek to lead him back to me. His eyes bounced between my lips and eyes, almost like he was asking me to try again.

“I’m not going to pretend you’re a monster to make you feel better, Spencer.” I whispered, attempting to infuse the words with everything I felt.

Whether it worked or not, I could never be sure, but Spencer’s small smile sneaking over his cheek was enough for me. “I’m pretty sure it’d make me feel worse.” He croaked, laughing as he bit his tongue to stop any other jokes from slipping out. Like he was betraying the pain by letting it go.

“Well I’m not going to do that, either.” I returned with a laugh. Then, satisfied that he would accept my affections, I closed the gap between us. The kiss was so soft I could almost question whether our lips touched. But his hands slid over my lower back, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me against him.

Eventually, it became obvious just how tired the both of us were. With a quiet thanks, he rested his face on my shoulder, enjoying the calm after the storm of his feelings that he’d finally released.

“Can you come back to bed?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, holding tighter for a second before he started to help ease me off his lap. “Let’s go, little girl.”

The return to my nickname made me happier than I’d like to admit. At this point, the use of my real name was like a litmus test for his anxiety. And although I could feel Spencer slowly opening back up to me, he still felt so far away when we crawled under the covers.

Turning on my side to face him, I saw something in his eyes that alerted me to just how deeply rooted this problem was. It wasn’t just the event we’d discussed; it was the knowledge that there would be many more like it in the future.

I wondered what Spencer saw when he looked at me. Did he see me like I was in that moment, or was I always going to look like I had before, choking on blood and a confession I wish I could have made more beautiful? Did he see me at all? Or did he just see all the mistakes he’d made? Would all our moments together be marred by the overwhelming tragedy of a single one? More than anything, I just hoped that he didn’t see the faces of the people who had caused us to be in that horrible tableau. I needed Spencer to see beautiful things when he looked at me, because I needed to see them in his eyes. If something so ugly was the biggest thing between us, our relationship would fray with time, each of us unable to truly see the other.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known.” I said into the silent early morning air of his apartment.

As expected, Spencer’s precarious smile broke almost immediately, replaced with violent sobs and an attempt to hide his face from me by burying it in my chest. I let him, wrapping my arms around his head in the hope that I could act like a shield for the world that never let him rest.

“I’ll love you forever,” I let my voice break, but I didn’t let that stop me. “And nothing will ever change that.”

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One of the things people never warn you about when you’re dating a bona fide genius is that there is no such thing as a surprise. It was like every time I came up with an idea, Spencer could see it on my face within seconds. I was never really sure how he did it, although he usually had the decency to wait until a normal person would have figured it out to say something. For example, when we were about three streets away from his best friend’s house.

“Why are we going to JJ’s house?” He finally asked, turning to me with a confused but excited expression that almost hid the residual negative feelings that insisted on sticking around a week later.

I glanced over at him, laughing at the way his fingers bounced on his lap. He never was subtle with his emotions. “I may or may not have offered us up as babysitters so she and Will could have a much needed date night.”

From the way his shoulders dropped, I could tell it wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. Still, it didn’t seem like he was disappointed— he was simply trying to read my motivations that were seemingly counter-intuitive.

“Really? Isn’t that gonna be a lot for you?” The concern was evident in his voice, which I found both endearing and a little annoying. It wasn’t this fault, really. I was just so freaking tired of not being able to do basically anything I wanted to. Especially when the thing I wanted to do was watch my boyfriend and his godson.

“Henry may be well behaved, but he’s still a toddler.” Spencer continued, eliciting a deep sigh from me.

“That’s why you’re here.” I half-joked, pulling into the driveway that was starting to feel familiar. If someone had told me a few months ago that I would become friends with the woman I was angrily binge watching clips of on YouTube, I would have asked them if they had me confused for another girl. But, much to Spencer’s delight, JJ and I never really had that awkward phase. From the second that I met her, I knew that we just wanted the same thing: above all, for the people we loved to be happy. And it seemed we both had a soft spot for the man currently in my passenger seat.

“Oh, running after the kid is my job?” He laughed, already unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling his bag onto his lap in his excitement.

“Yep.” I stuck out my tongue at him, which only made him lean over in an attempt to steal a kiss. I allowed it, if only to bring him within arm’s reach. When he started to pull away, clearly ready to hop out of the car and run to his favorite toddler, I grabbed a fistful of his cardigan in an attempt to keep him closer for a second longer.

“But seriously, Spencer, I…”

He settled into his seat, immediately recognizing the faint tremor in my words. His hand came to rest over mine, and I sighed at the warmth that filled my whole body in seconds.

“I want you to remember that you’re a good person.” I whispered, trying to let him feel how deeply I meant the words, “I know how much you love Henry. I think spending time taking care of someone that’s… not me… will be good for you. And me.”

Those big brown eyes glassed over, glancing down and then away from me as he remembered looking at my stomach didn’t ever do much for his self-hatred. Which, in turn, just made me feel worse. I wondered if there would ever be a day where he could look at me and not feel that way. I desperately hoped that there would be.

Spencer rubbed his eyes to stop any other emotions from spilling out. “Does JJ know we’re using her kid as therapy?” He joked between sniffles.

“She’s a smart lady.” I shrugged, smoothing out the now wrinkled cardigan beneath my fingers. “Besides, Henry said he missed you and it’s hard to say no to him.”

And just like that, Spencer’s bouncing returned, his hand reaching behind him to open the door before he could even open his mouth to speak. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t keep him waiting, then.”

There was no stopping him at that point, and I trailed along behind him, watching as Henry tumbled out of the front door and straight into my boyfriend’s waiting arms on the porch.

The rest of the night went a lot like that, too. Once the novelty of having me there wore off, and Henry realized that my boo-boo made it hard for me to play the way little boys liked to, Spencer returned to his rightful place as Henry’s favorite babysitter.

I didn’t mind; I was perfectly content watching the two of them. Between the cheesy magic tricks that required a little bit of childlike innocence to be entertained by and Spencer’s attempts to follow along with Henry’s excited rants about cartoons my boyfriend had never even heard of, I somehow fell even more in love with the man.

And even though I had planned this for him, it was restorative for me, too. There was this weird, paradoxical guilt you feel when you’re dating someone like him. Although I know that he wanted to spend every waking second of his free time with me, it made me feel like he was missing out on something else. Something better than me.

It was so easy to forget that we could do those things together. In a way, I could thank my injury for that. When we were limited so much on what we could do together, we had to find creative ways to spend time together that were still stimulating for the both of us.

That being said, in that moment I wished for nothing more than rest. Even just watching the two boys together was exhausting, so when Henry’s first yawn sounded, I jumped at the opportunity. Because, see, Spencer was good at the playing, but I was much better at the cuddling.

It wasn’t like he could argue, either, because while Henry curled up next to me on one side, Spencer was on the other, his arm reaching around to rest on the young boy’s back. Despite picking out the movie, Henry fell asleep against my chest within minutes.

And in the quiet calmness of JJ’s house, I found myself almost falling asleep, too. My head rested against Spencer’s shoulder, moving ever so slightly with each deep breath as my eyes struggled to stay open. That was when Spencer kissed the top of my head so delicately that I almost didn’t feel it.

“I love you, little girl.”

My heart skipped a beat at the sound, and the wave of goosebumps and satisfaction covered me like a blanket. If we’d stayed for even a few minutes longer, I would have fallen asleep right there. However, JJ and Will arrived home just in the nick of time. They tried to convince us to stay, but Spencer seemed uncharacteristically excited to leave, so I didn’t question it even though I wanted to. I took the trip home to catch up on my phone and try to wake myself up enough to spend another hour or so awake with him before I passed out.

“Don’t fall asleep yet.”

I perked up in my seat, not entirely sure if he’d actually said the words, or if I’d just imagined them a little too vividly. But when he glanced over at me, I knew that he was just doing that slightly unsettling thing where he read my thoughts.

“Why? You got plans?” I said through a yawn, trying to stretch within the confines of the car.

“As a matter of fact, I do have plans.”

At first, I thought nothing of the smug way he said it— up until I felt his hand slowly slide up my thigh, the pressure of his fingers increasing when he couldn’t go any further.

“This feels familiar.” I chuckled, my mind transporting me back to our first not-a-date. The sensations caused a desire to burn through me so quickly I became lightheaded, my lungs hungry and desperate as Spencer continued to tease me by avoiding the one place he knew I wanted him to touch.

But, of course, just as I reached down to move his hand, he pulled it away altogether.

“Lucky for you, we’re almost home.”

I audibly groaned, knocking my head back against the seat now that Spencer had succeeded in waking me up. “Sometimes, Spencer…” I mumbled, “I remember why I have to be such a fucking brat.”

“It’s my fault, is it?”

There was a distinct darkness and deviancy in his words, despite the joking cadence they were uttered in. It was a voice I hadn’t heard in some time; a voice that was imprinted so vividly in my memory that even just the thought of it would make me putty in his hands. And I knew that I was reminiscing a lot, trying to relive times that had long since passed, but every time I saw a part of the old Spencer — the Spencer who rambled in museums and demanded I cover up my Lolita costume — the more I felt like my life was finally returning to normal.

“Of course it’s your fault. Have you seen me?” I gestured to myself, swamped in a sweatshirt and shorts like a weather-confused idiot. If the clashing clothing wasn’t enough, my make up had smeared from constantly rubbing my eyes. “I’m an angel.” I concluded, intending it to be sarcastic but knowing that he really saw me that way.

And sure enough, Spencer looked me over for just one second before pulling into the parking lot to his apartment complex. “You’re spoiled.” He decided.

“Doesn’t feel that way right now.” I whined, chewing on my bottom lip as I continued to wait for his attention.

But he just parked my car, leaning over to grab his bag from between my legs. Before it got too far, though, I clamped my legs around the leather. “Stop ignoring me!” I said through a pout, only getting more heated as he chuckled in response, tugging on the satchel until it slid from between my legs.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Spencer’s eyes locked with mine, his other hand grabbing my chin and forcing my bottom lip out from between my teeth. He held my mouth open against my resistance, but as soon as I gave into his hold, he relaxed his grip, leaning forward and pressing a much-too-soft kiss against my lips.

Without even fully breaking away, he turned my head to the side to whisper in my ear, “Get inside and I’ll make it up to you.”

Life was returning to normal. Together we excitedly stumbled through the Langham apartment complex until we got to his door, and he fumbled to unlock it without letting me go.

Everything about the chaos felt comfortable and predictable. I didn’t even notice the dull throbbing in my stomach because Spencer’s hands felt like home. The insistent noise of all my messy insecurities was quieted by his lips trailing down my jaw and neck as we finally crossed the threshold.

“Watching you with Henry, I just...” Spencer began to mumble against my neck, our bodies gravitating toward his room with a complete lack of grace, considering how well I should know the layout by now. We made it to the door, but not his bed, as he pressed me against the wall right on the other side.

His lips were slightly swollen from how feverishly he’d kissed me, his breathing ragged and his hair wild from where my hands had raked through it a few too many times. But his eyes were what really caught my attention, staring into me so deeply that it caused a shiver to roll down my spine. Spencer sensed my hesitance, because he brought a gentle hand to my face before he spoke, quietly but surely.

“I want to marry you one day. You know that, right?”

I thought about before; how those words would have filled me with both a naive joy and overwhelming anxiety. But as I stood there, staring back at him, I felt a genuine smile spreading across my lips.

“We speak in a lot of ‘one days,’ Dr. Reid.”

I couldn’t tell the effect the words had on him, although I had a few guesses. I’d avoided the part of the sentence he’d meant for me to hear the loudest. We both knew I’d heard it. At the same time, I hadn’t denied the idea or given any reason to suggest I wasn’t happy about the statement.

“I’m serious.” He insisted, not ready to drop the subject just yet.

Unfortunately for him, though, I had other plans. As much as the talk of marriage gave me butterflies, there were more immediate needs I wanted him to fulfill. So, without saying anything, I subtly suggested that he put off the conversation and switch to other activities with a firm hand against the bulge that had already formed in his pants.

“God, I want to fuck you.” He immediately groaned, his head lolling forward and resting against mine. I figured that it would be harder to convince him to fuck me now that he wasn’t drunk, but he seemed even more willing now that we’d already made the leap of faith once. Nothing bad had happened to me then, and the dramatic improvement of my mood was helpful for both of us.

So I began to slide down the wall, my hands raking down his chest as I giggled, “Let me help you.”

Spencer’s hands moved so quickly and with such strength that it surprised the both of us. Luckily, he’d grabbed my hips instead of my stomach, halting me before I could drop to my knees.

“No.” He firmly corrected, lifting me back to my normal height before turning the two of us around so that my back was to the bed. “It’s my turn.”

Much gentler now, he helped lower me onto the bed, but he didn’t follow me yet.

“Take off your clothes.” He instructed me as he removed his own.

I listened, watching him intently to try and determine his plans before he actually got to me. But he kept his expressions to a minimum, only giving away his enthusiasm in watching me sheepishly remove my clothing. My shirt was still on when he climbed onto the bed and over my body.

“I want to see you.” There was something pitiful about the way he uttered the words, and my hands hesitated, holding tightly to the hem of my shirt as I avoided his eyes.

“You have an eidetic memory, Spencer. You know what it looks like.”

“I’ll never stop wanting to see you. You’re so beautiful, (y/n).” He used my name, and my body reacted just as quickly as he realized his mistake. Grabbing my arms before I could close them over me, he brought my wrists against the bed beside my head. “You can leave it on for now.”

What he said provided me all the context I needed to know what he was planning, and I locked my legs around him, hoping that I could stall him for a few moments.

“Please, Spencer. Please fuck me.” I begged, arching my back and baring my neck to him, knowing that he could see my erratic pulse in my neck.

“I can’t. Not yet.” His voice was strained, one hand raised so that his fingers could brush over my neck. “It won’t be much longer.”

Frustrated by his undying desire to take care of me, I used my hand that he’d released to grab a handful of his hair. “I want to feel you inside of me again.” I moaned through the words, my heels digging into his back and bringing his hips down to meet mine. I watched as his eyelids fluttered shut, his breath hitching in his throat.

“I want to see the look on your face when you fill me up.” I continued, bucking up in search of the delicious friction I’d been deprived of for months now. “I know what you’re thinking when you do it.”

“F-fuck.” He struggled to lower his hand to hold my hips down, but I could tell he was scared he would hurt me in the process. It was a dangerous game, to ever put me in this position when neither of us had pants on. Spencer’s confidence wavered as he choked on his words, “This isn’t going to work.”

“You can’t think about that if I’m not touching you.”

“Yes, I can.” He responded with no hesitation, his eyebrows raising in a challenge.

“But isn’t it so much more fun when it’s actually possible?” I cooed.

“It’s always possible, it’s just so unlikel— Fuck!” Spencer cut off by his own gasp when I finally succeeded in pulling him against my heat.

The noise that I gave was something between a sigh and a moan, and I swore I saw Spencer’s pupils dilate in response. There were just some things he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried. But my satisfaction was short lived, and Spencer sat up on his knees to place a manageable distance between us.

“We’re not doing this.” He growled through clenched teeth, his nails raking over my thighs before he removed them entirely. “Stop being a greedy fucking brat and spread your legs.”

I waited a second, hoping that Spencer would get impatient and force my legs open himself. But he flashed me a look, warning me that if I didn’t behave, he could very easily just send me to bed without any satisfaction. And as much as I wanted to call his bluff, the idea of going to bed without getting to touch him was so upsetting.

So, I slowly dropped my legs open, running my hands over the skin still burning from where his hands had touched me. And even slower, Spencer lowered himself until his face rested against my thigh, the scruff of his cheek causing a shiver to run up my body.

“Don’t tell me that a few months of me pampering you has undone all of my hard work.” He murmured so softly I almost didn’t hear it.

But the fact that I did was evidenced by my laugh. “That would imply you’ve actually accomplished something to undo, but I’m just as bratty as the day you met me, Dr. Reid.”

He smiled, his eyes focusing on my face as I continued to giggle, now urged on by the way his breath tickled my inner thigh. “Is that right?” He said in that familiar cocky voice. “Because I happen to recall that the first time that I did this, you tried to stop me.”

The blood rushed to my cheeks as my mind replayed the memory of his smirk from when he had held my legs open for him.

‘You’re not broken, little girl. Promise.’ Just the thought of the words was enough to cloud my mind, but I was dedicated to besting him in this exchange. If he was going to be arrogant, then I would give him the best challenge I could.

“Would you rather I fought you?” I asked, beginning to pull my legs shut before he grabbed them and pulled them over his shoulders.

“No. The instructions for tonight should be very easy to follow; even for you.”

I was trying to pay attention, but it was getting harder the closer he came to actually fucking doing something. It was so obvious that he was getting off on the way my eyes were barely able to stay open, my chest moving with each half-sob that came when he would lay a kiss against my hips.

“What are they?” I slurred, grabbing handfuls of the sheets to prevent myself from forcing him against me.

It was clearly the exact question he was waiting for, a devilish smirk stretching over his cheeks as he dragged his lips down to where I wanted them, moving them against my skin to say, “Stay still, and don’t be quiet.”

While I appreciated the instruction, I feared that it was in vain. Because when Spencer finally flattened his tongue against me, I couldn’t have stopped myself from immediately crying out if I tried.

My hands retained their death grip on the sheets, partially making up for the fact that my body immediately disobeyed his command to stay still. But I couldn’t help it; the long strokes of his tongue up and down my sex felt like pure bliss. And honestly, it wasn’t even just the physical sensations. It was just the knowledge that we were back where we should be; shamelessly indulging in our need for each other without inhibitions. Spencer was clearly enjoying himself, his hands struggling to gently hold me down while he devoured me like a man starved.

I couldn’t look at him, my head bent so far back I could see the headboard. His name fell from my mouth like a mantra, my hips rolling against each motion of his tongue.

“I missed you.” I cried, my legs once again locking around him, my heels on his back as I wished I could pull him closer. “I missed this so badly, Spencer.”

He couldn’t really answer, although I think the moan that he gave was meant to be a response. The vibrations almost sent me over the edge, but right before they could, he pulled back ever so slightly.

I glanced down to figure out why, and was met with his eyes watching me intently, analyzing every response I was giving him; memorizing the way my body shook with need after just a few weeks in his absence.

“Please, don’t stop.” I begged, not caring how pathetic the words sounded when they broke in my throat.

“Oh, I’m not.” He mumbled against me, raising his lips to close around the bundle of nerves at my crest.

At first, I just sighed, appreciating the soft flicks and swirls of his tongue that would eventually build up another release. But it was when I closed my eyes that he revealed his plan.

Without any warning, I felt his finger slip between my folds, thrusting into me with one fluid motion as my wanton moans filled the room. He didn’t let them distract him, his mouth intent on the rhythm it had set, and his hand insistently working to match it.

There was nothing comprehensible in the noises I made, and neither of us seemed to mind. Spencer was only urged on, quickly adding a second finger in his ruthless pace that finally forced me to release the wrinkled sheets in my hands. Instead, they wound through his hair, pulling me against him as I chased my release.

“Please.” I whined, hoping that he would know what I was asking for. Because I didn’t even know what I was asking for— just that he could give it to me.

And sure enough, he did, his fingers beginning to curl inside of me with each motion. I used all of the energy I could muster had to keep my hips relatively still, although they were still trembling with the tension spreading through my muscles that tightened around him.

I wanted to call out his name, to give him the praise and recognition he deserved, but my tongue was tied in the haze of pleasure that overtook me. I could barely breathe, my mind transported to some alternate universe where there was only Spencer and myself. There was no point in identifying where we diverged, because he felt so much like a part of me in that moment, I could never separate from him again.

My walls fluttered around his fingers that still pumped into me with the same vigor. His tongue continued to circle my clit while he gently sucked, clearly lost in his own form of pleasure from the activity.

I wished I could touch him more. I wanted to drag him up to my lips, turn him onto his back and ride him until my legs gave out. But I couldn’t; my body tired and no longer used to the energy we once made a habit of spending on each other on any given day. It had used that energy to dull the pain so I could enjoy the relatively tame experience we had just shared.

As I came down from my orgasm, I was filled with guilt over the fact that I hadn’t so much as touched him once in this entire encounter, and now my hands weren’t even able to keep my grip on his hair as he lifted his head.

Spencer seemed none the wiser about the shame brewing in my head, and he wiped his mouth to reveal a lovesick smile beneath his hand.

“Good girl.” He rasped, crawling up to my side rather than on top of me. With a tender hand, he brushed aside the strands of my hair that stuck to the sweat on my face. “I knew you could behave.”

He sounded so proud of me, which only served to intensify the guilt now pouring from my heart and tainting the rest of what should have been a beautiful memory. I clung to the little bit of light I saw in those toffee eyes.

“How dare you imply I’m ever capable of such a thing.” I chuckled, reaching out to hold him somehow.

He took my hand in his, raising it to his lips for a brief kiss before resting them both against his heart.

“Can I help you?” I sounded drunk from my exhaustion, but hopefully determined enough to convince him I was willing. He didn’t buy it.

“No, go to sleep.”

He leaned forward like he was going to kiss me, but then brought his fingers down over my eyes, brushing over my lids in an attempt to get me to close them. To his credit, it worked, but only for a second before they snapped back open.

“That’s not fair!” I murmured, pulling the sheet over me while I tried to sneak closer to him. I noticed the way he scrutinized my free hand’s movements, ready to stop it from doing too much.

‘It’s gonna be like that, huh?’ I didn’t let it stop me from trying. I didn’t even get to his bellybutton before he snatched my wrist.

“I said no.”

“You know... I could help you without touching you.” I offered instead, pressing my hand against his chest since he wouldn’t let it move any lower. “It’s not the first time we’ve touched ourselves for each other.”

Spencer snorted at the reference, bringing my hands up to his neck, where they happily ran through his now tangled hair.

“That didn’t end well for me last time.”

“I bet you still finished without me.” I teased, my tongue slipping out from my mouth. “Did my pictures come in handy?”

“Like you said— I have an eidetic memory. I don’t need pictures.”

The most noticeable part of his response wasn’t the way his cheeks turned pink, but rather that he didn’t deny that he’d used the pictures. Knowing they were long gone now, considering Penelope’s tendency to snoop too much for her own good, I wondered if that memory was filed away somewhere special in his mind.

“You especially don’t need them when I’m right here.” I purred, tugging him closer by his hair until the gap between us was gone, our lips pressed feverishly against the other.

It was always like that. Like the second we touched, the proverbial dam between us turned to dust. Within a matter of seconds, we’d be so wrapped up in each other that we didn’t care about the wreckage left in our wake.

Spencer didn’t let it get that far, though. He hadn’t in some time.

“You have had enough excitement for one day. I don’t need anything.” He clarified, clearing his throat and acting like I couldn’t feel his erection pressed against my thigh. Still, his next statement was so genuine I couldn’t have argued with it if I tried. “I just wanted to take care of you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

But on the topic of wanting, I knew I felt it more. “I want things to be normal again.” I answered quickly, an urgency blooming in my throat that died when I tried to finish the thought. “I feel so... useless.”

His hand has grabbed my chin before I even noticed its absence on my hip. He held my face towards him, a dark and pained timbre in his voice.

“Don’t ever think that.”

It was a plea. I wanted to give him the relief and assurance he sought, but my gut told me to be honest with him, even if it hurt us.

“It’s just that before, we... did so much more and I’m scared that I won’t...”

Why was it so hard? He was looking at me like he would do anything to stop me from feeling even the slightest discomfort, but I felt like I was suffocating. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t want him to worry. I wanted to make him as happy as he made me, but...

“I’m scared that I won’t ever be able to do it again.”

He couldn’t tell me that I was wrong. If he tried to make it only about my physical condition, he risked the chance of me telling him I don’t want to do it ever again. Did I feel that way? It was hard to tell; it was too early to tell. But the crushing despair that I felt at the thought of losing that part of our relationship suggested I did not feel that way.

“Hey. Look at me.” Spencer’s voice tore me away from the intrusive thoughts about our inevitable fallout, his hand still holding me in place in front of him, and his eyes still promising me the world.

“Just because we’ve done something before doesn’t mean we ever have to do it again.”

The words felt like the first breath after struggling for air underwater and finally breaking the surface just in the nick of time. Why were they such a relief? I couldn’t figure it out, but was too afraid to ask, fearing how Spencer might take it. Although, the tears pooling at my lashes gave him more than enough to read.

“Tell me you understand.” His request was as gentle as always. After a moment of trying, and failing, to collect myself, I nodded.

He sighed, cautiously moving his palm to cup my cheek. It was his voice that broke then. “I know this is hard, but I need you to use your big girl words for this. I need to make sure you hear me.”

“I understand.” My throat ached as I forced the words out. I could tell he wasn’t convinced but knew any argument would be meaningless while we were both so tired.

“Thank you.” He said, anyway. And like the prettiest sounding broken record, he let his fingertips trail over any exposed area he could find as he spoke the same words I’d heard before, even more insistent. “Even if you never touched me again, just knowing that you’re alive and happy... That alone makes the happiest man in the world.”

Spencer’s lips pressed against my forehead, resting there for a little too long. From the uneven shake of his breath, I knew he was hiding something, but didn’t want to ask what. I suspected they were tears.

I had disappointed him again. I had hurt him, yet again. I hadn’t meant to.

“It’s all that I need. To know that you’re happy.” There was an implicit message hiding in those words.

He was saying he wanted me to be happy, consciously neglecting to voice the resigned addition, ‘even if it’s not with me.’

“I know.” I whispered, half asleep as he continued drawing patterns on my skin. I meant to tell him that he was the only man who’d ever made me feel truly happy, safe, and loved— the only one I trusted with my heart. But all that came out was a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He said back, leaving me to wonder if he’d heard what I meant.

—————————————————

After everything I’d been through, I’d sworn that I would never want to be in a hospital ever again. But, unfortunately for me, it seemed my stubbornness extended even to my own limits, which explained why I was currently walking through the doors of the residential inpatient ward. It was a good idea in theory, to volunteer in the last place I wanted to be so that I could grow used to being there again.

It didn’t have to be a scary place.

Especially since the people around me weren’t the typical hospital patients. In fact, the people there weren’t even the usual patients of the hospital. Apparently, the ward was hosting a group of traveling patients that had been deemed fit for a vacation to the nation’s capital.

My assignment was simple enough - simply meet with a person and discuss the book they were currently reading. There was no requirement that we had to have read the book before, considering that would leave most people without a partner at all.

I was expecting to meet someone to discuss some niche romance novel or whatever had recently come out in theaters, but as I scanned the list of books, one stuck out to me more than the others.

The Book of Margery Kempe (1501).

It wasn’t the book itself that piqued my interest— I’d never read it. I had, however, listened to Spencer explain the entire premise to me on several occasions. Unsurprisingly, no one else volunteered for the book from the fifteenth century that referred to the main character as “this creature.” No one until me, that is.

There was no questioning who my partner was when I entered the room, spotting her quickly on the outskirts of the room with the book in her hand, but her eyes fixed on the raindrops slowly dripping down the window.

“Hi, are you Diana?”

She jumped a little at the sound of my voice, and I tried not to be consumed by guilt for surprising her despite my best efforts not to.

“Who are you?”

“I’m (y/n). I’m sorry if I scared you. I was assigned to be your book buddy today.” I explained, gesturing to the book on her lap with a smile that wasn’t big enough to be fake. From what the nurses had told me about her, I figured it was best to just be as genuine as possible… which made my answer to her next question a little more difficult.

“You’ve read this book?”

“Actually, I haven’t. No one had.” I laughed, pulling another chair over to her before taking a seat. “But I have heard someone go through basically the entire story in their own words, so...” I never finished the thought, cut off by a slight scoff from the woman.

“I figured. You’re very young.”

“Hey! Young people can read the classics.” I defended, crossing the lower half of my legs and tucking my hands between my knees. It probably gave away some of my nerves, but I figured it was alright considering she wasn’t a profiler and Spencer wasn’t here.

“But you don’t.” She wryly noted.

“Guilty. My boyfriend does, though.” I acquiesced, albeit a bit distracted as my mind decided to focus on those memories rather than the current reality.

“At least you’ve got that exposure. It’s important to learn these things.”

For a second, it felt like I was being lectured by my boyfriend, making it hard not to laugh, which I was pretty sure she didn’t appreciate.

“Can you tell me about it? I want to know if my boyfriend was just making stuff up.” I shrugged, laughing while I found myself avoiding her eyes. She noticed that behavior; most people would.

But to my surprise, she started to explain the book, anyway. Less surprising was the realization that Spencer hadn’t made up any of it. It was clear as day from their similar words that they had definitely read the same book. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought they’d discussed it together, too.

She was more talented than he was at explaining, though. Maybe it was a little bit my fault, considering I always got distracted by his voice. But with her, it really did feel like someone sharing a part of themselves. I could tell how deeply she cared for literature, and it made me more excited to hear about the chaste holy woman that found herself tempted by jealousy and sex.

When her story was winding to an end, I was almost sad that it was over. “You must have been a professor.” I mumbled, having already forgotten the information I was given by the nurses.

She was quick to correct me, her mouth curling into a frown as she said, “I still am. I’m just not on the campus anymore.”

“Of course. Gotta stay sharp, right?” I half-heartedly joked, sitting up from my slouched position. A brief stint of silence stretched between us and glancing at the clock I realized that it would still be a little while until Spencer could come get me. So, I turned back to the woman in front of me, noticing the way she stared out the window as she chewed on her nails.

“Is that why you wanted to visit D.C.?” I wondered aloud, and her response didn’t help assuage that curiosity at all.

“I... have another reason.”

“That sounds very mysterious, Diana.” I giggled, leaning forward and whispering, “Are you secretly a rebel?”

She scoffed, but I detected amusement behind the apparent derision. “Nothing like that.”

As sneaky and vague as she was being, and the fact that I had been warned of her paranoia, I still found myself wanting to ask her what could possibly make her as happy as her current thought.

“So what is it?” I said, leaning back in an effort to seem less insistent, explaining my intentions in a rant reminiscent of my boyfriend. “I don’t mean to pry, I just... you got really happy and I’d love to share in that excitement.”

“That’s just selfish.”

She really was so much like him.

“That’s how you know I won’t judge you.” I pointed out, raising one hand in the air and placing the other on my heart.

“I’m not worried about that.” She just waved her hand at me, ignoring my dramatic gesticulations and sighing as she glanced down at the book once more. After another moment of contemplation, her eyes flicked up to me so quickly I almost missed them, analyzing my features one more time before she carefully said, “I’m here to visit my son.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Although her expression was anxious, she still seemed at least a little relieved to have shared her plans with someone.

“He is.” She returned, lightly brushing the back of the book, almost like she was trying to remember something etched on the beveled hardcover. “He’s a good boy. Very bright. He has wonderful adventures. He goes all over the country. He used to tell me everything but... he’s gotten too busy for his mother these past few years.”

As I took in the words, I felt the pain in her voice. My heart wrenched in my chest, imagining how awful it must be to not have a chance to talk to your family. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean to ignore you.” At least, I hoped not. She had so many stories to tell, even in just this short window, I couldn’t imagine anyone would want to avoid her. Then again… I knew it could be hard.

“I know he’s busy. That’s why I wanted to come here. It makes it easier for him.” She was confident in her explanation, and I nodded back with similar gusto.

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“No. I’m going to have them call him today.”

We were both happy then, and I clapped my hands together in front of me to suppress the urge to touch her as I excitedly replied, “I hope you get to see him.”

“Me too,” she agreed, simultaneously hopeful and defeated, before turning back to the window with the same wistfulness as before. “If not, the museums will be nice, too.”

“Hey, if you need a docent, I could always call my boyfriend. He would be so excited to talk to a fellow scholar who could actually follow along.” I excitedly replied, rocking forward in my chair with a goofy grin at the thought. She reminded me enough of him that I figured the two would get along. He’d at least understand what she talked about, unlike me.

“There’s no one that can compare to my son.” She warned, narrowing her eyes and pouting in a way I swore I’d seen before on another face.

“I bet. He does sound a lot like him, though. I bet they’d be friends.” The gears in my brain, rusted and slightly worn, started to turn. “They actually might be... my boyfriend lives near here.”

And that was when it hit me, the obvious conclusion I’d been avoiding for some reason. That creeping, unsettling familiarity wasn’t from coincidence; it was my brain recognizing her as an extension of the man I loved.

“...What’s your son’s name?”

She never got to answer, because no sooner had I finished saying the words thanwe both heard Spencer’s voice from the door behind us.

“Mom?”

The realization crashed into all three of us like a goddamn freight train. And even with my flair for the dramatic, I found my head spinning as I tried to will time to rewind itself.

“Spencer? How did you know I was here?” Diana said through a confused gasp, turning to me to see the equally stunned look on my face.

“I didn’t… I—“

They both turned to me, but I was too busy staring halfway between them, my jaw dropped open and my brain suddenly devoid of any helpful thought.

When it decided to finally be helpful, it was only marginally better. “Well… that makes a lot of sense.” I said with a cringeworthy laugh. When neither of them laughed, and continued to stare at me, I quickly shot up from my chair and waved a shaking hand. “You should talk to your mom. I’ll give you guys a minute.”

I didn’t get very far before Spencer’s hand caught my wrist, his wild eyes wide and insistent as he crackled, “Actually, I need a minute alone with you. If that’s okay.”

I turned to Diana for her permission but found nothing useful. She was also still caught up in the disaster that had just occurred, and turned back to her son who seemed genuinely apologetic.

“Sorry mom, I’ll… I’ll be right back.”

Spencer nearly dragged me out of the room, shutting the door and hiding out of sight of any windows. If he was ready to unleash his pent up anxiety, though, he wasn’t quick enough.

“Spencer, what the shit?!” I whisper-yelled, the sound echoing through the sterile hallway.

My boyfriend didn’t have any answers, his hands raking through his hair as he clearly tried to calm his heart and rapid breath. “I’m sorry I— I didn’t know that she was here! What is she doing here?!”

“Oh my god. Shut up. I’m freaking out. What if she thinks I’m weird?” I rambled back, grabbing my chest once I realized that I was freaking out just was badly as the idiot in front of me. Because seriously, he couldn’t tell me his mom’s name so I wouldn’t be blindsided like this?

Then again, I guess I couldn’t talk.

“What did you say to her?” He whispered back, dragging his hands over his face. He seemed eerily calm while asking, considering just how much we could have gotten into during our conversation. Although, I guess it would have been weird to share the more intimate, embarrassing details with a stranger at a hospital.

“I don’t know! We just talked about you!”

“You talked about me?!”

“Well we didn’t know we were both talking about you!” I said was quietly as possible, which was not quiet at all. Waving my arms between us, I tried to explain the jumbled mess in my head. “She was talking about her son and I was talking about my boyfriend and— Actually, that reminds me.”

“What?”

His answer came in the form of a soft thwack on the back of his head. He jumped, raising his hands to his head in both shock and embarrassment at the public chastisement, despite there being no one around to witness it.

“Call your mother, asshole!”

“Ow?! Don’t hit me!” He whined, and I could tell from the tone that the only damage done was to his ego.

“Stop ignoring your mother! You shouldn’t even be out here!” I reminded him, laying my hands against his chest and beginning to push him back towards the door. “Get back in there!”

Spencer’s hands held onto mine, and for the first time in a while I noticed that they were shaking. The lighthearted panic I’d felt seconds before vanished, replaced with a painful sadness that seemed to bleed from him into my hands.

“I’m not trying to ignore her, I just…” His eyes were struggling to focus, and the crackle in his voice warned me that there was something he was trying to avoid saying. “I can explain… This.”

I didn’t need to hear it.

“Explain what?” I meant the question to be an expression of my feelings, but it seemed to freak him out more. Like I actually expected an answer for why his mother was in a program like this. Like the reason he had kept that from me mattered. I already knew the reason he didn’t tell me— It was pretty obvious.

“Spencer, I don’t care that she’s here. That doesn’t bother me.”

From the faraway look in his eyes, I knew he didn’t really believe me. I couldn’t blame him entirely. The shame was clear on his features. But I also knew that nothing I could say in that moment would make him believe me; it would probably take a long time. That was okay. We had time.

“I’m serious. She’s your mother and you love her, so of course I’m going to like her.” I tried to reassure him anyway, and I noticed the small twitch of his pout that slowly turned into a pitiful smile.

Trying to keep that upward trend, I motioned to my absolutely ridiculous outfit and bedhead before I laughed, “I’m mostly just mortified about the fact that I just met your mother looking like this and acting like a fucking moron.”

Thankfully, Spencer laughed back. His hands gripped mine tighter, and through the tears that stayed perched on his eyes without falling, he croaked, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… go see your mom. I’ll go hang out in the cafeteria for a minute.” I jumped up on my toes, yanking my hands back only to them around his neck.

His arms caught me like they always did, holding me so tightly against him that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. I kissed him just as hard, trying to remind him that there was nothing in the world that could ruin the happiness I felt when he held me.

I held his face as the kiss ended, squishing his cheeks together and warping his smile in the process. I was just grateful that it was still there.

“And take your time talking to her, because I am fucking starving.” I instructed. The crisp hospital air on my skin was cold as he left, but inside my chest, butterflies erupted that kept me warm. He gave me one final goofy wave before we went our separate ways again.

As I wandered through the hospital halls, I wondered if he knew how nervous I actually was. I couldn’t tell him yet; he would misinterpret it, regardless of his profiling skills. He would see the anxiety in my interactions with her as my fear over his future mental state instead of what it really was— fear that the other woman he loved wouldn’t approve of me.

There was no sense in worrying about it yet. Diana and I had shared a great time together as far as I could tell, and I would definitely make sure that Spencer spent more time talking to her in the future. So as depressing as the hospital cafeteria could be, it wasn’t so bad that day.

—————————————————

Being alone with Diana was so much different after I’d learned that she was Spencer’s mother. Then again, we weren’t really alone - Spencer was there, he’d just passed out and somehow ended up with his head against the pillow on my lap. I was a little surprised by how comfortable he was being so touchy feely in front of his mother, but I’d also recognized the exhaustion the second he walked into the hospital. He’d been out cold for at least 10 minutes, and I was barely able to stay awake, myself.

Diana seemed wide awake, though, watching the minute rise and fall of Spencer’s shoulder as he slept. At least, I thought that was what she was watching, but it could have also been my hand stroking his arm.

“My son seems very happy.”

I looked up, shaken by the sudden sound after nearly falling asleep to the rhythm of Spencer’s breath against my knee. “I think that has more to do with you being here.” I said through a yawn.

“I’m not so sure.” That was all she said, quiet and skeptical. Her eyes were scrutinizing everything she could see, and I thanked the stars that I didn’t have to go through this without him here, at least. At least we’d had one nice memory together first.

“Are you the reason he’s been so busy?”

I was dreading the question but had already planned my response. “I hope not. His job is so stressful, and he spends so much of his free time taking care of me.” I looked down at the mop of brown hair that hadn’t been brushed.

When I ran my hand through the ends of his curls, he shifted on my lap, his hand coming up to grab my thigh as he buried his face into the pillow. I chuckled at the clingy movements, which poorly contrasted my words.

“It makes me feel awful.”

I expected her to look disappointed or disturbed by the action, but she mostly just looked… sad.

“He’s good at taking care of people.” She explained, her head jerking away to stare at the lamp beside her. “I made him do it too often.”

Her answer hurt me in more ways than one. It hurt me because I felt the guilt and shame in her voice over something that she had no control over, which was obviously something that should never happen. But it also hurt because I heard myself in it, and I had to ask myself if, just like I had found traits of my father in Spencer, he’d found his mother in me.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be ashamed of being like her - she was brilliant and obviously cared for him deeply. It was the source of the shame that frightened me.

Was he just with me to take care of me? How soon would he grow tired of that? What would happen when I got better? Would I ever? Did I even want to, if that meant he would leave?

They were terrible, awful thoughts to have. So, I did what I was best at, and shoved them back into the corner of my mind to revisit when I was desperate and alone.

“I think he would disagree. He obviously loves you very much.” Was what I said, instead.

“I could say the same for you.” There was a slight bitterness in her words that forced a frown out of me. The words were forceful, almost like a compulsion that she wanted to fight but was too tired to win. She seemed to regret that, too.

“I know my son... and I’ve never seen him like this before.” She pointed to him on my lap, still sound asleep despite the conversation happening above him. “I don’t think he’s ever slept that well with me. And…”

Part of me wanted to tell her that it wasn’t always like this. I wanted her to know that it had nothing to do with any failing of her own, but a failing on the part of the rest of the world for hurting him when neither of us had been there. But she probably felt the same guilt I did that we couldn’t fix those broken parts. Her eyes met mine, and in the reflection, I saw both of our apprehension.

“I’ve never felt like a girl was taking my son away from me before.”

The breath wasn’t knocked from me, but it did fall out of me in a slow, shaky exhale. I didn’t know what to say back, terrified by the implication behind the words just as much as the fact she felt them.

“He’ll always be yours first.” I promised her, refusing to look away from her eyes even as she refused to meet them. I needed her to know that I would never be a threat to them. That all I wanted or cared about was that he was happy and safe, and that I knew she felt the same.

“Then he should call me more.” Diana said, wry humor bleeding back into the conversation despite how heavy it had become.

“I’ll make sure he does.” I answered, my hands resuming their gentle soothing motions. I saw her hand mimicking the actions against her blanket and found myself wondering about things I’d never ask her. I knew virtually nothing about his childhood aside from the prodigy thing, but it was clear that his father was not in the picture, and that he was very close with his mother.

I couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect him. Just as I had thought it, she’d said it herself.

“When you’re kind like my son, the world will eat you alive if no one is protecting you.”

Maybe Spencer had gotten that mind reading trait from his mother, rather than his profiler training, I thought.

“Are you going to protect him?”

I wasn’t ready for that question. Honestly, I hadn’t even considered it. In all the time we’d been together, I’d selfishly worried about how any harm to him would affect me. In my defense, it had always seemed the more likely scenario.

I was so worried about being the source of his hurt or not being able to fix it that I never thought about how I could prevent it. It almost felt… inevitable. Everyone who loved me got hurt, and he’d already made up his mind on that topic.

“I’m going to try.” The hesitance in my voice gave away my anxieties, and Diana spoke quicker and bolder.  

“You said he takes care of you, but what do you do for him?”

The walls were closing in on me, and I couldn’t fucking breathe. My hand on Spencer’s arm grabbed his shirt before I noticed. I wanted him to be awake, to hold me and tell me that it would be okay. I wanted to be far away from that conversation— that question.

“I-I…” I mumbled, trying to flatten my hand as his mother saw it, trying to act like I wasn’t a fucking child clinging to her boyfriend to save her from a question she didn’t have a satisfying answer to.

It was too late, and Diana covered her mouth as she looked away. “I see.” She said before we both went silent.

The silence didn’t help either, though. If anything, it felt worse. Like my chest had been torn open and she could see all the contents, and the longer I gave her to draw her own conclusions about what she saw, the worst they would become.

That was stupid, right? I couldn’t tell. She liked me, right? Did it matter?

“He told me he wants to get married and have kids and I’m just...” I started to ramble, my hands now hovering above Spencer as I stared down at him, still sleeping soundly like the world wasn’t crushing me above him. In a panic, I looked up to Diana with what I can only assume was a terrified, frantic look. “I’m worried. I’m scared that he won’t be as happy as he could be if he stays with me instead of... someone else. And that question scares me because I still don’t know why he cares about me so much when I can’t give him half of what he gives me.”

My chest heaved from a combination of the lack of breath and skyrocketing pulse. Diana peered at me through her peripherals, a battle visible behind her gaze.

“Most people would be scared to admit that. Especially to his mother.” She thought out loud, and I knew she was weighing my open admission to determine how likely it was that I was lying.

“I figured lying would be worse. I know honesty is important to your family.” I confessed, hoping that my openness wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass. “I don’t ever want to lie to either of you.”

I left off the ‘again.’

“You know what I think?” Diana said, tapping her chin and readjusting the blanket over her legs as she found a way to be more comfortable with the tension floating in the air.

I took it as a good sign. I hoped it was a good sign. I looked at her in anticipation.

“I think... you two will be happier than you think.” Diana’s lips curled ever so slightly as she held her own hand, rubbing the back of her hand the same way Spencer often rubbed mine. “Love is more than similar beliefs. It’s wanting to share your life with someone. Wanting to see them happy.”

Despite the content of her words, it didn’t feel like a lecture. It was… warm, and comforting. Her voice sounded familiar and loving and safe. She was the one who had taught Spencer to talk.

“I love my son more than anything else in the world. I won’t let anyone take him away unless I’m positive that he will be happy.” Diana finished; the warning grave but her voice quiet.

“I understand.” I replied just as softly, finally looking back down to Spencer. My heart felt like it would burst from the image. As much as I wanted him to see me and his mother having a heart to heart, it was best not to worry him with our battling affections, no matter how minimal the risk.

“Do you love him?”

The question hung in the air because I was still so caught up in his face that I almost forgot she couldn’t read my mind.

“Yes.” I felt the tears forming in my eyes as I breathlessly repeated, “Yes, I do. I love him.”

Diana must have heard the strain in my voice and seen the tiredness in my eyes, because the threatening tone faded. “Then take care of him.” She said, more like a plea than a demand. “Take care of him like I never could, because you know how much he deserves it.”

I nodded, excitedly and happily, my voice breaking and interrupted by a hard swallow to rid myself of the lump in my throat when I said, “I will.”

With perfect timing, Spencer’s body jerked under my hand as it found its way back to his shoulder. “What are you guys talking about?” He slurred before even opening his eyes, clearly bothered by the lost time wherein his mother and I could have spoken about any number of horrifying things.

“We were just saying it’s time for me to head out.” I lied, and Diana’s sly smirk was enough of an indication for me to feel alright about it. It was funny—I’d just told her I never wanted to lie to him, but this one seemed pretty harmless. She deserved alone time with her son, after all.

“Do you want me to drive you?” He finally sat up, rubbing his face to try and get rid of the creases that had formed from the pillow’s texture.

I laughed at the question because he was so obviously not in a position to drive. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten an Uber after leaving his place, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. At least this time wasn’t a walk of shame.

“No, I’m fine. You stay here and spend time with your mom. Awake, this time.” I warned, poking him on the nose and earning a playful giggle from the grown man at my side. “She came a long way. She deserves it.”

He quickly got me back, grabbing my face and pulling me forward to plant a kiss on my forehead. And as much as I would have preferred one on the lips, I was grateful for his sudden modesty in front of his mother. It still felt strange.

“Okay. I love you. Drive safe please. And tell me when you get home.” He instructed as I nodded along, already having memorized the speech from every time I’d ever left him.

“Of course.” I murmured through a somewhat embarrassed pout before I got up and grabbed my things.

Before I made my way to the door, I stopped, turning to see Spencer take the seat beside his mother. She took his hand, but she looked at me. I thought about hugging her but knew that Spencer’s company was far superior to mine, and that every second I distracted her was one less she got with him. So, I settled for a wave and a smile.

“Goodnight Diana. Thanks for the talk.”

“Goodnight.” She returned, with a contented smile washing over her as her son rested his head on her shoulder. The final image of the two of them happy in each other’s company was enough to satisfy me until the next time I saw him. Because, like we’d just discussed, he was happy, and that was all that mattered.

As I opened the door to leave, she spoke again. “Thank you.” She said, and I knew she was talking about more than the conversation.

“Anytime.”

—————————————————

| Part 19 |

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whumpersdump · 3 years

Text

Project Rebirth - CH3: Storage

This chapter is heavily inspired by The Machine from @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi (which is awesome, btw. Whumperflies each time I’ve read it). There is also a brief implication that such a thing exists in this work’s universe.

Also I should mention beforehand, the whumpee’s “youth” is mentioned by whumper, but they are not a minor.

[ Previous ] -- [ Masterlist ]

TW: forced intubation / loss of bodily autonomy /restraints / muzzle / blindfold / pet whump (institutionalized) / dehumanization / drugging (brief, though on the graphic side. Two sentences) / sensory deprivation / starvation (mentioned, non-graphic) / intimate whumper (I think?)

Subject One / Whumpee’s POV. Whumper and his staff need time to prepare the program based on the evaluation. During the short second stage of the Project, the pet has to be stored away. Of course, with pets, no time can be wasted. So, Whumper has found a use for it. Instead of being locked in cage for days, Subject One will be locked in their mind.

Whumpee trashed against the restraints as whumper pushed them through the hall. The jacket was looser now, they basked in the extra breathing room. Toby had given them something that made their muscles all weak, but they fought that like they fought everything else.

They hadn’t found a way out yet, but it wouldn’t take long. They were used to straitjackets and restraints. Drugs, not so much. Most trainers didn’t have the budget. Most trainers had never seen someone like them. Whumper thought he he could break them, but whatever horrors he inflicted, Whumpee would find a way to let it fuel their rage instead.

When Toby split off into another hall, that only became easier. Now they wouldn’t have to listen to the feigned concern in his voice. And the name. Subject One. They had many names over the years. It was the only thing they submitted to. They didn’t have their own anyway. Not that they remembered. This one sucked the most. It wasn’t even a name. Toby never lied, he was too much of a goody-two-shoes for that. They were getting a new one.

Whumper opened a door to a white room. He clicked Whumpee in place and looked down on them. “This’ll only be for a few days, so we won’t bother with food. Use your time wisely,” he warned. “Thoughts can help the learning process a lot.”

He leaned down and began re-tightening all the restraints and the jacket. They were tighter than before. Whumpee couldn’t move at all anymore when Whumper was finished. They’d still come out on top, though. Just watch. 30 escapes, they could make 31.

Whumper turned on a camera. “Don’t mind this,” he said. “You are a test subject after all.” He cleared his throat and faced the camera. “Welcome to stage 2,” he told it. He went on about the specifics and all the reasons he wasn’t talking about them for ages, before turning back to Whumpee.

“Now, usually we don’t put subjects as young as Subject One on tier 3. Normally younger pets respond well enough to the large amount of restraints, and the impressiveness of this operation. It’s not my favorite method, but it’s rather easy to replace their youthful defiance with fear.”

Stupid to think the two can’t exist at the same time, Whumpee thought.

Whumper continued. “With this one, that would cause the opposite effect. This one we’re cutting slack. For the duration of their storage here they can fight as much as they like. We’re prepared for it. No punishments, no threats. This one will need to get worse before they can get better.”

He pushed a button on the wall.

Whumpee’s pulse skyrocketed as they began to tilt backward. “First, the earpieces.” He pushed two blobs into Whumpee’s ears that—despite their small size—blocked any and all sound. Then, he removed the muzzle.

Bad choice. Whumpee screamed and cursed as loud as they could. Sure, Whumper wanted them to. They didn’t care. They always fought. That way they could never be tricked into doing the opposite. They never heard themselves struggle, but Whumper did. That didn’t stop him though. He smiled, turned to the camera and continued speaking until he turned back around holding a small tube.

Whumpee shuddered, understanding what was about to happen. What was about to be taken.

It wasn’t the first time they would be trapped like this. With their chest rising and falling at someone else’s commands. There was a trainer once. A private one. Like all the others, it didn’t work. Or… it didn’t last. They’d been trapped for months, multiple times. No wonder they almost broke. They had a talent, though. They could build themselves back up. It only took them a week last time. They could do it again.

The intrusion came through their nose, first. They fought it. The foreign object whumper plunged down. Every second of it they gagged, and chocked, and pushed against it. It didn’t budge, they knew it wouldn’t. When was in, Whumper squeezed their cheek and reached for a small device Whumpee didn’t recognize. It pricked into their neck, and fastened like their collar did.

Whumpee couldn’t move their head because of all the straps, but they still caught a glimpse of the clear liquid that sunk through small tubes, toward their neck. Their body went limp, for the second tube. Whumpee couldn’t fight it. The flow toward their neck had stopped already, but it hadn’t worn off yet. Whumper pushed it down their throat effortlessly. But the air didn’t come yet. Whumpee had to live off tiny breaths for what felt like eternity.

Whumper held the tube up and picked a strange muzzle off a table. It had two straps at the back, and and two holes in the middle. The edges were lined with a soft plastic. Whumper weaved the largest tube through one of the holes, followed by the smaller one in their nose, and pushed the muzzle against whumpees face. He buckled the two straps. One around the back of their head, and one over the top.

Their breath returned, no thanks to their own efforts. Whumpee’s chest moved up and down, along with the rhythm the object in their throat demanded. There was no defying it. They tried. All they managed to do was tire themselves. Nonetheless, they kept fighting. Even if it didn’t work, they would never be so weak as to stop. They didn’t care Whumper didn’t mind. They fought. They always did.

Whumper leaned over them with a mask. It had a pre-shaped top—that would go over their head—and a strap at the bottom. The last part, Whumpee read of his lips. Which was likely the reason for said mask. The tried to turn their head, but they were stuck. Stuck under the restraints, the foreign rhythm in their breath. Whumper’s lips shushed them, though Whumpee couldn’t hear the sound.

The mask went over their eyes, perfectly molded to their face. It forced them shut with a dull pressure. Even blinded by the mask itself, they couldn’t open them. The top of the mask fit perfectly on top of their head. It couldn’t shift down. The bottom strap clicked to the other ones that lied in their neck. It couldn’t shift at all.

They couldn’t see, hear, feel. They didn’t have to worry about breathing. Thoughts, Whumper had talked about. No. They wouldn’t be alone with their thoughts. They were stronger than that. Breathing. Resisting. That was what they did.

They fell asleep. That was their mistake. Whumper had kept them up for days at a time with all the tests and questions. Now they fell asleep, and their breath complied. With Whumper. They fought. Until every muscle went sore, they fought. Until everything hurt, they fought. They lost their breath for a second when they shifted the tube. Over and over. Until a pressure on the muzzle pushed it in the right position, and they couldn’t fight it again.

Even worse, their stomach rumbled. They hadn’t eaten in days even before this situation, and this didn’t help. They fought against the feeling like they fought everything else, but it didn’t end. So they ignored it. This was temporary. Whatever the real procedures behind this program of Whumper’s were, they would find a way to come out on top.

Though Whumpee had no way to track the time, their stomach told them they had been there for a while, after they woke up for the second time. Memories floated through their head. Memories the trainers had tried so desperately to extinguish. Memories Whumpee had tried so desperately to extinguish. Memories that made them shake even if their entire outfit was designed to prohibit it.

They couldn’t feel anything other than the fabric of the jacket over their body. Even that feeling faded. Touch. That was what had made Toby so annoying. He kept touching them. Little squeezes, or a stroke over their head. Whumpee wanted to gag at the thought, but in the past month they’d gotten used to it. Now, they missed it.

The silence made it worse. They cried, they whimpered, they sobbed. But heard none of it. They’d never hidden their fears. Never had to. They chose fight. Always. No matter what happened, they would fight. They would always end back up into someone’s hands, but still, they fought. This though, was getting harder and harder to fight with each second that passed.

They were tired, full in their head. Their mind was loud, their body rigid and tense. They needed calm, they wanted calm. They craved calm.

“Subject One,” a voice in their head said. No, that wasn’t right. It was in their ears. The earpieces. The voice came through again, freeing them from days of utter and complete silence. “Tonight is your turn to be Reborn.”

Whumpee shuddered, then fought.

Taglist, I guess?

@suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

#whump #pet whump #intubation tw #drugging tw #defiant whumpee #muzzled whumpee #restrained whumpee #lab whump #I have six of these prepared btw #but the whole thing is much (much) longer #I just also have a fic I'm working on on my main so I gotta divide and conquer a little #POV goes in a cycle (so Whumper next. Then Toby. Then Subject One)#Project Rebirth

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cinnonym · 3 years

Text

kiss me or we'll never know (we can blame it on the mistletoe)

Written for Day 7 - Tree/Mistletoe of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

The first time it happens, it’s actually an accident.

One of her employees must have put it up, because they thought it would lighten the mood or because they had a crush on a co-worker, Lena doesn’t know. All she does know is that when she stops to talk to Kara during her daily check-up on CatCo, someone yells “kiss” and the whole bullpen falls silent.

That includes Kara, who freezes mid-sentence, then turns crimson, before she, very slowly, lifts her eyes to the ceiling.

And at first, Lena doesn’t understand. For one, two, several seconds, she waits for Kara to continue telling her about that new take-out restaurant she’s found. For a short, very short moment, she feels a tiny pang of annoyance at Kara’s sudden muteness, at her refusal to meet her eyes. For some, blissfully oblivious beats, she doesn’t feel addressed by the “kiss” or the silence, that is unfolding deafeningly around them.

Then she follows Kara’s gaze up. Then she notices the sprig of green that is dangling from the lamp above them. Then she realises that not only is everyone in the room waiting for her to kiss her best friend, but Kara is too, blushing and helpless and jarringly apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, low enough that only Lena can hear her, “I thought I’d memorised all the spots we’d put them, but I must have missed this one.”

And maybe it’s the trace of nervousness in Kara’s voice and the gauging expression in her eyes as she waits for Lena’s reaction, or maybe it’s the shine of lip gloss on the curve of Kara’s mouth and the fact that it has never looked more inviting. But Lena suddenly finds that as inane as she’s always thought this mistletoe business to be, she doesn’t mind it that much this time.

And so, instead of turning away with an eye-roll and a scornful smile, as she might have done two years ago, Lena straightens up.

“Don’t apologise,” she whispers back, and allows her hand to cup Kara’s burning cheek. “It’s not a big deal.”

Except when she leans in and sees Kara’s eyes widen, senses Kara’s lip quiver, hears Kara’s minute gasp – she finds that she can’t do it. Her heart rate is peaking from the closeness alone, her legs feel like jell-o. She is suddenly aware that kissing Kara might be something she will never return from. Something that will change her existence forever. Something that her body will crave until it disintegrates.

And Lena shies away. Presses her lips to a spot of Kara’s face that is not quite the corner of her mouth and not quite her cheek. Stumbles back as the office cheers and Kara ducks her head. And flees.

Turns out, it’s a big deal after all.

***

After that, things change for Lena.

Of course, she noticed Kara before. It is hard not to, when her best friend has a weakness for tight slacks, and plaid shirts that show off her shoulders just so, and a smile that lights up ball rooms. But after the incident that Lena likes to call heureka-moment in her head, well…

Let’s just say Lena is more aware now. Of too-big sweaters that really have no business looking as good on Kara as they do. Of careless touches that leave a burning trail on Lena’s skin, so potent she wonders how it isn’t visible.

Of mistletoes.

There really are a lot of them, once Lena pays attention. At CatCo especially, and the thought of Kara’s involvement in the circumstance makes Lena’s heart trip out of its rhythm. It must mean something, she catches herself thinking, over and over again. She doesn’t believe in fate, but then again, she didn’t really believe in mistletoes either.

But now she counts them. She memorises them. She recites their locations before she goes to sleep at night, and when she wakes up in the morning, she spends her breakfast coming up with excuses to wait for Kara under one of them.

Because now that she’s had time to think about it, now that there isn’t a room full of people watching her come to a conclusion, now that Kara isn’t looking at her with a beautiful melange of nervousness and anticipation in her eyes, Lena has made up her mind. She has weighed her pros and cons, tracked her thought processes, and decided that as far as life-changing circumstances go, she’s already way too far gone to go back now.

If she spends a lifetime longing for Kara, she might as well get a kiss out of it.

And so the second time it happens, it’s very much by design.

***

The day is Saturday, and the bullpen is empty safe for a few stragglers who are behind schedule with their pieces for CatCo weekly.

Kara is one of them, but only because she volunteered to help with the Christmas Extra on top of her usual articles. She’s told Lena all about it on the phone yesterday, and if it hadn’t complimented Lena’s plans so excellently that she forgot to breathe, she would have sighed fondly at the excitement in Kara’s voice.

The very same enthusiasm is laced through her every step today too, magnifies her smile, vibrates through her surprised “Lena!” as Lena strolls into the room.

“I brought doughnuts,” Lena says in lieu of a hello, and although she’s rehearsed this line in the car, her tongue trips over the words in anticipation of what she has set out to do.

It doesn’t matter. Kara has already spied the bag full of sugary treats, and her eyes light up.

“Guys!” She exclaims, just like Lena knew she would, “Come here, Lena’s brought snacks!”

“For all you hard-working souls,” Lena says, and although this is just a diversionary tactic, her heart warms at the grateful smiles she receives.

Of course, none is more grateful than Kara’s. Lena’s been counting on that too. With Kara being fully immersed in savouring her doughnut, her guard is lowered enough not to notice that Lena is gently urging her towards the nearest mistletoe.

Kara finishes chewing her last bite just when they are in perfect position. She licks her lip, sighs happily – and freezes.

Score.

“Lena…” She whispers, not even bothering to look up. Just like Lena, she knows the position of all the mistletoe in the room. Just like Lena, she’s fully aware they’re standing right below one. Unlike Lena, she probably wonders how they got there.

“Oh,” Lena says, and although she meant to sound surprised, her eyes are already so fixed on the smudge of powdered sugar on Kara’s lips that it comes out breathless and longing. “Oh no…”

And the bullpen is quiet again, not because they’re being watched, but because everyone’s too busy eating to pay them any mind. And Kara’s skin is soft under her fingers again as she all but leans into Lena’s touch, trusting, waiting. And Lena’s heart is going miles again, and now she’s stepping closer, and now she’s feeling Kara’s breath on her lips, and now she –

She can’t do it. She sways away at the last second. Kisses a spot that is marginally closer to the corner of Kara’s mouth than last time, but still a full inch away from where the sugar smudge seems to laugh mockingly at her. Jerks away before Kara or anyone can react.

And flees.

***

The third time it happens, everything is different.

For starters, they are completely alone at CatCo. That’s mostly due to the office being closed for the duration of the holidays. Lena’s a business woman, but she isn’t a monster, after all. In fact, she has personally come to shoo out the loiterers, workaholic interns that claimed to “just want to finish this one little thing, promise Ms Luthor, just this one – “

None of their defences lasted long against Lena’s warmest CEO glare.

And so she’s sent them packing, seen them out through the automatic glass doors, wished and received a hundred felicitations. Until only she is left, the key pressed into the soft plane of her hand, on the late afternoon of the 24th.

Outside, night is falling quick like raindrops, sweeping the city up in a dark embrace. Inside, Lena lingers in the bullpen, her eyes seeking out the sprigs of mistletoe in the room.

There are eleven of them, and each seems to have the shape of Kara’s smile. And although Lena has long since moved past the self-degradation, the late-night detestation of her very person, at this moment, she can’t help but curse herself a little. For missing her chances. For chickening out. For –

“Lena?”

She swirls around as if Kara’d caught her in an act of crime. For a brief second, she wonders if it is wrong what she’s doing, having this kind of thoughts about her best friend, sweet, kind-hearted, innocent Kara. But then she meets Kara’s gaze, falls into the pools of her eyes, into the longing that swirls through them, discernible even in the low light.

And how can it ever be wrong if it feels like coming home?

She’s so close to leaning in, the impulse throbs through her like physical ache. Luthors take what they want, and she’s never wanted anything like she’s wanting now. And yet she can’t. Stands petrified and breathless under the only door frame that isn’t adorned with green, while Kara Danvers smiles at her like she’s about to let her in on a secret.

“What…” Lena murmurs, and that’s exactly how far she gets. Before Kara’s fingers slide under her chin, lifting it up. Before her eyes focus on something Kara’s holding in her other hand, something green and prickly, holding it in the air right above them.

Before Kara kisses her.

And she doesn’t miss Lena’s mouth. She doesn’t flee, but pulls Lena closer, into her, until all Lena can perceive is Kara, Kara’s lips against her, Kara’s arms around her, Kara with her as she unceremoniously drops the mistletoe.

#supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #sc fanfic #sc #supergirl #christmas #christmas fic #my writing #mistletoe

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writingstarling · 3 years

Text

Comfort in You

Adrien needed to get out. He curled deeper into himself as the walls chased down to cage him like a determined hunter.

It was a trick of the mind, he knew. He knew his room was spacious enough to support a relatively large apartment. That it would be impossible for him to be closed in.

He knew. But his brain couldn’t process that.

Today wasn’t what Adrien would call a good day—and he certainly had better. Just thinking of it sent him into a spiral of his own thoughts.

The air in his room were lego blocks he's forced to inhale. Smothering his nostrils in full force. And was it just him or was the ground starting to sway?

“Breathe,” a voice brought him back to reality. Adrien didn’t even notice he was holding his breath.

He had to calm down. Gain his head back.

Breathe, Agreste. Just like the article said, 4 7 8. Inhale through the nose for 4. Hold it for 7. Exhale through the mouth for 8, Adrien did as so.

You’re alright, you’re okay. Just calm down and you can get out of here!

Somehow he had managed. His surroundings were clearing up. The walls didn’t look like they were about to collapse on him anymore. The air filtering through his nostrils lightened in weight.

He was fine.

“Fine” was an overstatement really. He was far from it as it is.

But in his situation and for argument’s sake, “fine” would fit in nicely.

Exhaling one last shaky breath, Adrien fixed eye contact with his furry companion and smiled.

“Thanks, Plagg. I needed that.”

The black cat rubbed his cheek against his chosen’s. Not for long though. Despite appearances, Plagg had a reputation to keep. He couldn’t let Tikki make fun of him!

Plagg did loops in the air before favouring a spot in front of his chosen. His flipper like hands poised on his waist and a sly smirk played on his lips.

“So, you ready to break out of this place?”

Adrien mirrored his smirk with a fresh new glint in his eyes, “Plagg, claws out!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life had been considerably unpredictable for Marinette. With her secret life as a superhero and the sudden debut of a supposed supervillain—or magical terrorist with the ability to grant people magical powers through the aid of butterflies, Marinette had thought that she was beginning to gain the capability to be unfazed by the unexpected. That with all the bizzare events in her life she became acquainted with it.

Apparently she was wrong.

Never had she expected for a certain cat—or perhaps Chat to be perched on her veranda. It rattled her at first. Chat’s last visit had been... interesting, to put it nicely. It wasn’t his fault per se, nevertheless the escalating events left a bad taste in her father regarding the cat themed hero. The bad blood died down, but finding the very person that broke your daughter’s heart on your balcony would certainly summon a very irresistible impulse to jettison him; and Marinette really didn’t want to explain to Paris why one of their heroes managed to become roadkill near her bakery (the suit would probably protect him, but Marinette did not want to take that chance).

That put aside, Marinette shuffled under her sole protector from peering—or in this case, Chat Noir’s eyes. A hand stationed at her trapdoor as her eyes spied on her partner.

His back faced her as he surveyed the city; his cat ears were flat on his tousled gold locks while he hummed a song Marinette became familliar with as “Little Cat on The Roof”. Her lips twitched into a knowing frown.

Being partners for so long they were bound to notice habits the other owned. At the moment, it was Chat’s occasional croons. Marinette recognised the song as Chat's solace. A safe haven achieved by focusing on the assortment of melodies the song offered. She came to the conclusion that her kitty was distressed; presumably due to family circumstances.

Marinette weighted her odds. It didn’t seem like Chat had noticed her yet—which was good. She hadn’t known what action to take. On the one hand, it would be wise to not nose around and let him solve it in his own time. But on the other hand, seeing him lack his usual jubilant and bright attitude sent a jab to her heart.

She wanted to help. To be of service to him like the terrible jokes and over the top shenanigans he did for her. No matter how stubborn she was to clung to her sour mood, he would do almost everything that came to mind to alleviate her spirits. She wanted to do the same for him.

“Marinette?”

The mentioned girl tensed before sighing internally. She knew she was bound to be spotted (HA!) somehow, though she did wish it would be from her own volition rather than a slip aided by Chat’s observation skills. Marinette didn’t loiter on that thought longer and pulled herself up. Red bloomed on her cheeks as the crisp autumn air caressed her skin while embarrassment added an even darker shade of red.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy,” she found great interest in the floor as her fingers busied themselves by connecting and disconnecting themselves, stealing peeks as she did.

She expected, hoped, for him to take the chance to chaff her of having an infatuation on him or alleging her of being stunted by his self-proclaimed dashing looks (Marinette has thrown herself into a spiral of denial), albeit begrudgingly. She had, because if he did—there lied a glimmer of hope that it would be easier to buoy her partner. Chat, however, had other plans in mind.

Chat offered her a smile. Impeccably centered and hollow like a well crafted porcelain doll, “It’s okay, it was rude of me to steal your balcony.”

Internally Marinette cringed at the sight. Her stomach wrapped itself in knots of discomfort. It reminded her of the smile Adrien would plaster whenever Chloe or Lila claimed possession of him. That night Marinette vowed that she would never let that smile abide on either boys ever again.

“It’s all right,” she spoke as her feet planted herself next to him.

A pregnant pause held them hostage. Both fearful of breaking the fragile semblance of peace between them despite the mutually felt inquietude.

“So,” Marinette threaded with rightfully earned prudence. Voice soft and light like footsteps on thin ice.

“...So...”

“I have some croissants.”

Finally a piece of her kitty came to light in the form of a grin on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“You would indulge this poor stray to the finest pastries in the world? Truly, you are the most a-meow-zing purr-incess in the world!”

Marinette fought the giggle bubbling in her throat with no success before sending him a playful glare coupled by a smirk that flourished nothing but friskiness, “Careful now, those awful puns might just cost you.”

Chat’s hand sought his heart above the magical leather suit as an overly inflated gasp found freedom from his peach pink lips.

“How could you Purr-incess! My puns are widely ad-mew-tted to be fur-ry paw-esome,” he retaliated, voice brimmed with feigned smugness.

Snacks and chagrins were soon forgotten as they fell into an easy rhythm of banter. Jabs aimed to Chat’s puns would immediately be reciprocated with a flimsy defense along with an additional pun. Each one personally designed to perturb her further into submission. But despite it, Marinette couldn’t brush away the warmth buzzing through her entire body as they went back and forth. The once brisk air nipping at her skin replaced by a fervour akin to a hug from a dear friend.

After a particularly long laughter from both parties as Chat had finally managed to delivered a humorous pun - “EXCUSE mew Purr-incess, my puns are always funny!” - they settled in another lapse of silence. Consisted of feather lightness and melodic sweetness.

The city was exceptionally beautiful, they had agreed. Perhaps it was due to the occurrence of a full moon, offering the city a better lighting to its beauty; perhaps it was the fiery orange lining the streets with its playful gradient; or perhaps the most immediately discarded thought in their heads, the company they had.

It was a territory they never dared to venture. A land littered with minefields yet to be discovered, yet to explode with much more uncertainty and a set of emotions they were far too fearful to label. Because trying to label the unknown might shatter the bits of understanding of their emotions they barely possessed. Putting the hesitantly glued pieces into shambles; and as a teenager finding their place in the world, it was a risk they were walking eggshells on.

Neither allowed themselves to loiter on the thought longer than a second.

“I, I should get going.” Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps it was reality how Chat’s ears drooped as he spoke.

“Uh, yeah, it's getting late...”

Chat took the initiative to climb the rails of her balcony, hunched and ready to set off. Baton in hand and his leather-covered thumb hovering over the button to extend it the moment he leaps.

Swivelling his head to face the pig-tailed girl, he gave her a smile, genuine and sincere. “Thanks Marinette, I’ll see you next time.”

For reasons unkown to Marinette herself, a giggle burst forth from her throat. Tickling the air around them with her bubbly laughter. All at once, the air felt warmer to Chat Noir.

“Sure thing, you silly cat.”

Marinette had expected for Chat Noir to make his way. However, still he was in his previous position, unmoving. Marinette was one breath away from uttering her worries when Chat Noir’s voice cut through the air in slight whispers timid and uncharacteristic.

“Can I,” he paused for a minute, but persevered nonetheless, “can I come here again?”

The question sounded child-like in Marinette’s ears. Like a shy little kid trying to make friends while shouldering a large fear of rejection. He sounded so small, so vulnerable.

Marinette took a breath to ease the tenseness she felt from Chat’s question. She needed to deliver an answer appropriate from her words down to her tone in order to fully put Chat at ease.

Gentle and fluffy, sweeter than all the candies in the world with a tone of loveliness, she spoke. “You’re always welcomed here, Chat.”

A weight could visibly be seen lifted off Chat’s shoulders. Shoulders once guarded and fearful of rejection came to relax for the first time that night. With a nod, Chat finally made his way back to his house.

The journey was something he didn’t desire, but he can’t impose Marinette with his overdue stay. At the very least, he came back with a new feeling better than anything he had in a long time. A feeling of warmth buzzing in his heart. Perhaps, he’s finally starting to remember the feeling of home again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAHAHAHA SO-

I uh, I forgot about this thing’s existence and neglected it for 2 years...

Well so that’s also why the writing style is a bit screwed up but I tried and honestly I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing so you can have this mess instead ❤️.

#miraculous chat noir #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #miraculous marinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien x marinette #ml marinette #mlb #ml adrien #marichat #fanfic #fanfiction #chat noir #adrien agreste #miraculous adrien #mlb fanfic

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thebigqueer · 3 years

Note

Uhh I don’t know if you’re still taking fanfic prompts (if you ever were-sorry my Tumblr is MESSY) but uhhh I saw this headcanon where Nancy Bobofit is on a date with her boyfriend and sees Percabeth and is jealous of their relationship and your writing is pretty frickin good and if you’re not too busy if you could give your thoughts on this?

oh my god i remember seeing that headcanon on pinterest ahhh memories of my baby days ahahahahahahh but anyway yeah! sure!

(and yeah you’re fine. i’m still taking requests, but i have quite a few to get to so i’ll be taking a while to get through them.)

thank you for the prompt, and i hope you like this one! and, as always: i do little to no editing on these fic prompts, so please don’t be too judgmental on them because i’m not gonna be giving it my absolute best.

Droplets of sunlight drip through the leaves, sprinkling over Percy and Annabeth in dapples of gold. A breeze gently caresses the demigods’ faces. Today, Percy and Annabeth soak in the afternoon sunlight, allowing the moisture of the air seep into their skins. Percy’s arm lies lazily over Annabeth’s shoulders as she draws her sketches.

Annabeth has been more focused on her work since the two have been planning on heading to New Rome in just a few weeks. She’s been working hard on new sketches, brilliant designs, muttering under her breath ideas to improve her structures. Percy's been watching her, admiring how easily she can brush past all her school work in just the matter of hours and turn right to her new designs. He supposes that’s because she’s truly passionate about it; of course she’d make time for it.

Percy, on the other hand, has been struggling quite a bit with time. He’s only ready to let go of this place, go on new adventures with his girlfriend and start making a new life for himself. He’s too focused on the future ahead of him, which means he hasn’t exactly spent too much time worrying about his own work. He knows he should keep up with it, but he’s already been accepted to the university. All he wants to do is think about that new future, about all the possibilities.

Percy twirls his fingers through Annabeth’s curls, feeling the softness under his fingertips. The golden locks spill out again, gleaming under the setting sun, and his breath hitches as he looks at her. Her tanned skin emanates a certain kind of glow as the sunlight drapes over her, and her gray eyes sparkle with an intensity he’s so used to seeing. She’s absolutely beautiful.

He leans his head against her shoulder, a dopey smile coming across his face as her body heat seeps into his skin. Annabeth keeps doodling, and Percy keeps thinking about her, basking in this familiarity with her.

This is just the way things are. It’s the way he always hopes them to be forever.

Several feet away, by a different large tree, a girl sits by her own boyfriend. They’re turned away from the sunlight; only a shade spills over them. The girl’s usual flaming hair droops under the darkness, almost washed out of color. A hollow feeling spreads through her chest as she watches her boyfriend lie next to her, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm as he wastes away in his dreams.

She isn’t sure why she feels this way. Why can’t she just be happy with him? Why does she have to feel these... feelings?

As he dozes off, she finds that she’s able to slip away from him again, wander back to her own fantasies and daydreams. She thinks of the girl in her AP Stats class, the one who lent her a pencil the other day. They haven’t been friends long, but something about her strikes Nancy in her core; it’s a warm, gooey feeling, something she’s never quite felt before with anyone else.

Nancy sighs; she just doesn’t understand why she has to think about her right now. Isn’t she supposed to enjoy her time with her boyfriend? Why can’t she just... stop?

She watches over the landscape of the park, her eyes absorbing all the people, the colors, the vibrancy of the place. It seems as though only she lies in the shadows of the tree, isolated from the rest of the world.

As she roves over the features of the place, her dark eyes fix themselves upon a boy and a girl lazing around several feet in front of her, smiles gleaming under the golden sunlight. The boy lies over a blonde girl, his own darker hair falling into his eyes as he speaks to her. The girl’s mouth opens as she offers a silent laugh in response. They seem to be living in their own world, Nancy notes, but not in the same lonely isolation that she’s in. Their world is bright and warm and sunshiny, filled with an intimate laughter.

Hers is dark and lonely, filled only with despair.

A flame bursts in her, a hot rage that she had no idea she was capable of. Since sixth grade, she’s been working on her anger issues and kleptomania; she even stopped going to that stupid school. But now, as she watches them, she can’t help but to want to steal one more thing - their happiness.

They watch each other adoringly in a manner that indicates that they’ve found some kind of comfort with in one other. Their eyes sparkle with love, with pure admiration, with something so profoundly happy that an even hotter burst of anger erupts in Nancy’s chest. Why can’t I have that? she wonders.

She thinks again of the girl in her AP Stats class. Nancy couldn’t help but to be mesmerized by her features the other day, the way her dark hair swooped gently over her eyes, the way her lips seemed permanently glued into a small, mischievous smile. She’d doodled on Nancy’s notebook, a little flower, and laughed quietly as if they were sharing a secret.

Nancy looks over at her dozing boyfriend once more, watching his eyelids flutter as he slips farther and farther into his dreams. She knows she’d never be happy with him; she knows that she only started dating him for the sake of dating. She felt like she was falling behind on something, and she only wanted to catch up.

She sighs, her breath blowing out into the Spring air. She leans back against the tree now, letting her head swivel left and right as she watches the people of New York City mill about, allow the sun to sprinkle over them.

And then, just to the left, she spots her: the girl. Today she’s wearing white shorts over black tights, with a dark purple top to match. Her short hair flows dreamily with the gentle breeze, its dark wisps trying to keep pace with the current. A sweet, tingling laughter flows from her lips, drifting along with the wind. The soft sunlight catches her skin and a dim glow surrounds her skin.

Almost as if she can sense Nancy staring at her, the girl’s head turns. For a moment, she merely stares at Nancy, not quite registering her. A beat of silence passes, and Nancy swears that her heart has stopped working. The air stills as if waiting for something to happen.

And then the girl smiles brightly as recognition swoops over her features. Her mouth opens and moves, but her voice drowns out before it can reach Nancy. Nancy shakes her head, confusion written over her features. The girl, after thinking for a moment, pulls out her phone and taps furiously over it.

A moment later, Nancy’s phone pings with a new text:

Claire The Stat Sage: hey!!! wanna come over here? we’re doing a small picnic!! you can bring the bf too!!!

Nancy reads the text several times, absorbing each letter, letting the words imprint themselves over her mind. Some exhilarating burst of joy gleams within her chest, bright enough to rival the sun. Her blood tingles underneath her skin, saturated with excitement.

For a second, she contemplates the invitation. Should she bring her boyfriend? Nancy turns her head to him, watching for a movement, watching for some kind of opposition.

When he doesn’t move, she makes her decision.

She steps forward, towards Claire, the warmth of the Spring evening blanketing her in its comfort.

Claire smiles at her as she approaches. “Hey! You didn’t bring your boyfriend?”

A pang of guilt strikes Nancy, wondering if perhaps it was a better idea to just wake him up and bring him. But then she gazes past Claire, towards the sun, basking under the glory of it.

She likes not being under the shadows of the trees anymore.

Shrugging, she plops down, a small smile floating over her lips. “He’s sleeping. He can catch up when he wants to.”

#listen i know ive seen that post before and it isn't exactly what the OP was thinking in that headcanon #but the OP didn't say i *couldnt* make nancy sapphic did they?#and idk i feel like it does her justice because yeah she was a bully but she's also grown up #idk i thought this was a better twist than just her being jealous of them idk idk #i kinda like this but also its really not my best work #so im sorry #nancy bobofit #my writing #fic prompts #fic prompt #percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #annabeth x percy #percy x annabeth #rick riordan #riordanverse #casuallydyinginthecorner tag #asks

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fallenrepublick · 3 years

Text

We're Okay

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

OOPS IT'S PART THREE-

Well... not exactly. This is more like a self-indulgent bonus chapter as a break from the plot... It's just smut. Literally. If you're not into this, don't worry at all, because it has no bearing on anything, and the actual plot will pick up right from chapter two.

Warnings: General NSFW (obviously), but nothing harsh or overly kinky, pretty vanilla..., one single blood mention

Word Count: 2040

The room was already dark. True, it was quite like him to stay out for longer periods of time, standing on the balcony and looking to the sky, as if things might change if he dreamed about it long enough. And if you were so inclined, you’d join him, sliding your hand to his shoulder from behind, guiding his mind back to you the way you had done his body. His hold in return promises your success.

Yet today you find yourself pacing, stepping back and forth through the small space alone, Themis finally asleep in the room across, and you bite your lip, hating the uncertainty. The way they looked at him. Yes, you knew there would be hostility. You knew it from the moment you left Csilla. But… all of them?

Their eyes… their hands at their hips, prepared to draw a blaster at even the slightest infraction, hesitation and a softening of their features only present upon seeing you. But their attention did not shift, reason did not overtake them. It was only with their leader’s words that they stood down, albeit reluctantly.

Escaping one scrutiny, only to dive headfirst into another. If life hadn’t already been so cruel, you might have asked why. By now, though, you know better.

The door slides, shaking you from your thoughts, pulling your head back on instinct. Your arms drop from encasing your chest protectively, and you reach for your husband, who almost instantly reaches back, taking your hands in his and pressing them to his lips, as if relieved to see you after so long apart.

“What was it?” you ask him, scanning him slightly for any new injuries, despite your previous trust in the woman that led you there. “They didn’t…”

“No…” he says softly nothing but reassurance in his voice. And yet you sensed guilt. “We can stay, but… things have changed. Thrawn… has changed. I have to move against him.”

“You don’t,” you urge, taking his face in your hands gently, asking silently for his eyes to meet yours. The slight glow is a comfort, just as it always had been, and yet you can’t help but feel as if they’re dimmer, as if the lights have grown tired of shining the way they had so long ago. “You don’t have to do this. We can find somewhere else. We can leave again.”

Your fingers brush at the scar on his cheek, protective, promises of no more harm coming to him as long as you can help it. Not being able to help it might as well be your worst fear. “It won’t make any difference.” He watches as your eyes narrow, unable to release your worry for him, one that hadn’t quite gone away since the day he was back in your arms. Now, it seems, he’s only continued to put himself in harm’s way. “This is… everywhere. The galaxy itself is under this single control. There’s no escaping it unless we try to go back.” Home. Once upon a time, he would have said, “go back home.”

“I have to do this,” he continues, more sure, more certain of his future. “These people… they hunt those with the Third Sight. It’s… It’s not about them. It’s about her.”

You raise yourself up as best you can, him in turn meeting you in the middle, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I don’t want something else happening to you,” you whisper, more afraid than you had realised. “Not after everything.”

“I swear,” he says prematurely, unable to break the habit of making promises you both know he can’t always keep. The words soothe you regardless. “We will be okay.”

How often you said that to him. We will be okay. The day you found him. Every day after. Even as he struggled, as he bled through bandages, as his chest heaved and he tried to make you leave him behind for your own sake, you still whispered into weak hands that you held tightly as if it were his very life, “We will be okay.”

And so, hands loosening, you prepare to release him, accepting it as an answer, at least for now. A soft smile on your face, a step back. It’s not a fearful silence, not like he was prepared for, but rather, one setting the unease to rest, one promising a coming of tomorrow, when perhaps you will discuss once more. But for now, “I’ll be washing up,” you say, beginning to break away, suddenly lonely at the thought of being away again, even if it were only a room over. He seemed to think the same.

His hand doesn’t quite release, leaving you standing across from him, your arms connected in a line between you, oriented as if caught in the middle of a waltz. There’s a tilt in his head when you turn back, almost a smile at the corners of his mouth, but not quite.

“Or…” you say, trying not to laugh at his ridiculousness. “You could join me?”

How you missed the laugh he gives, despite the pressure, despite this place being not entirely what you wanted, a weight is gone, expectations all but meaningless. Already, your heart skips the way it did when you met him.

“Well, if you insist,” he smiles crookedly, happily following as you all but drag him out to the smaller room, less extravagant than you were used to, though he wouldn’t have it any different.

Impatient as ever, his lips are already at your neck, slow presses and warm breath sending chills through you, his hands working at the layers you wear. You tug at his clothes just the same, allowing this sudden, unrelenting need for him control your actions, the feeling of going so long without him all but blocking out any other reason.

And your hands find his hair, sliding out the tie at the end of his braid, brushing through the new waves that no doubt would be washed away moments after hitting the water. It matters little, he knows, strands falling over his shoulders, smiling into the kiss he plants on your own lips. You quite like it that way.

Clothes litter the floor haphazardly, his touch becoming more urgent, more desperate, refusing to stop even as he leads you backwards beneath the running water. The warmth hits all at once, sliding over your skin, his touch even smoother, obscured by the steam raising around your bodies. He holds at your waist, doing everything he can to press himself to you, not a breadth of space between you.

“I know… I know it’s only been a few days…” he sighs, more so to himself as he tries and fails to reason out his desperation, having moved himself much further down to reach your chest. He melts for a moment in the soft whimpers you give as he lightly sucks at your skin. “But gods I’ve needed you… I’ll always need you.”

It’s as if he’s trying to catch you off-guard, quickly slipping his hand down between your legs, the reward to your anticipation sending you further backwards, finally against the icy wall, unsure if the shaking in your legs is from the stone, Thrass, or a little bit of both. Yet he isn’t one to keep you waiting, his free hand dragging paths across your skin knowing by heart the exact places that make you sigh and gasp for him, the last instrument in the universe he can still play.

And you hold to his neck, desperate for something to ground you as he rubs and plays with your clit, low hums of laughter following every sudden sound you make when he changes his style. Fingers run over his pale scars, the lines almost reminiscent of lightning spread over the contours of his body, many of them coming to meet at his waist, a harsh reminder of what might have been. You touch them anyways, kisses following the tracks, as goddesses bestow blessings to those who’ve given so much, and he holds each as their own reward, remembering that each one is a bit of your heart made to fill the gaps that still keep him from being whole. One day, perhaps, you might bring him all together.

Pulling his hand slowly away, ignoring your breath of displeasure at being left so, he instead guides your legs further apart, holding to the bottom of your thigh as it follows his lead around his waist. His voice is at your neck again, hot breath enough to rival the warmth of the water still gracing your bodies.

“I’ll be gentle,” he assures, barely in a whisper, if even there at all. He enters you slowly, a gradual movement promising that you feel every bit of it as he goes, sliding into you easily, his very existence designed solely to be yours in every moment now, as well as after. Each second he takes is a new wave of pleasure, another moan, another cry of his name, one after the other becoming louder, echoing in the otherwise empty chamber.

He’s done so little, yet you find yourself begging already, “Please, please don’t stop,” as if you were in any danger of being left unsatisfied. But no, it isn’t in his nature to do such things, and he begins the moment you say it, his hips rolling painfully slowly into you, deliberate and intoxicated by how tight you are around him. His own soft moans are like a song in your ear, interrupted every so often by a whimper of your name and muffled by more kisses onto your jawline.

Soon enough, the need only becomes worse, every inch of your body growing tense, pulling him closer to you, wanting more than what you have.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” he still says, breath short and strained, “I need you, I need you, my love,” is all he manages to say, likely, all he knows. He obliges a request you didn’t need to make, moving to the rhythm he knows you love, your heart racing faster than you can measure, beats he can feel against him as he holds you. You shake and tremble as you reach your edge, your legs curling so tightly around him that there’s barely enough opportunity for him to continue, and yet he does, pushing you through your climax, cursing under his breath as you cum together, your cries surely loud enough to be heard from at least the hallway. All evidence of your time washes away with the flow of the water, yet he still holds to you, remaining connected these last few moments, unable to let go just yet.

The heaving of his chest slows, practically willing your own to follow suit, a confident embrace protecting you the way he always hoped, only loosening later on, allowing your feet to touch the floor lightly. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, watching relief form so clearly as he continues to gaze at you. It’s so odd, he surely still thinks, that you love him so. That he can still do such things for you, that over all the scars, all the pain you see in him, you love him above such things, and he in turn can still touch you, can still love you the way he always had. The kiss you give is small, only barely there, and yet placed as if to seal away a letter sent to a lover far off, and he knows, running a warm towel over your hair, across your damp skin, that you haven’t left.

Your hands intertwine, now mostly dry, your forehead pressed to his for the moment just before you dress. And he smiles, every bit of contact a gift he’s learned to hold to as if it were the last. A touch on the small of your back, and a quiet sigh. If anyone had seen, they might have said it was a conversation all its own. You know you have to part, rest for the day to come, but there’s so much to think, so much to feel. In the silence of it all, you whisper to him, to only him,

“We’re okay.”

#thrass #thrass x reader #two sides one coin au

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yeojaa · 3 years

Note

IDK IF UR STILL TAKING REQUESTS🥺🥺🥺 sorry if IM botherinh😭😭 BUT MYBE A FINDERS KEEP HERS drabble where jk n oc get in to an argument after chap 3 n jk apologizes or something like that😭😭🥺😭🥺🥺

[ read part one / main story ]

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. general. tags. this is soft angst. JK being his usual idiot self, reader being... well, sad, and yeah. just pain (but w a resolution. ish). wc. 1.5k. beta reader. @hobi-gif beta’d a bit of this but i wrote most of it after so any dumb mistakes are my fault and my fault alone. 🤡 author note. this isn’t 100% what you requested but... the first part kind of is, and then this is the resolution (because people requested it). if you’d like another drabble, please feel free to request!

In true fashion, Jungkook tries to fix the problem in the only way he knows how: with money.

He puts the two of you up at the Four Seasons for the entire week, orders room service at all hours of the day and has treats from all of your favourite spots in the city delivered. (Macarons, candied nuts, that one bakery that does those salted honey pies you inhale like a wild animal.) He runs baths for you, fills the tub with your favourite scents (always Diptyque) and massages his tattooed hands all over your scalp. He makes sure you wake up to the smell of French toast and fall asleep on a bed of roses, curled up in his arms and little else.

He spoils you until you can hardly see the floor, designer shopping bags strewn throughout the suite. (His sisters help him decide what to buy, mouths sealed shut otherwise. They know better than to get too involved in his relationship with you.) Dinner is somewhere new every night but always at a Michelin-starred restaurant, space booked out to the extent it’s just the two of you and a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

Of course, he thinks things are better. Assumes they must be, because there’s never been a time where money hasn’t solved his problems. No matter how much, throw enough of it at something and the problem will go away.

But you don’t go away. Neither does your sadness.

“Baby.” It’s your last night together before you’re back to some semblance of normalcy (not that Jungkook’s life was very normal to begin with). He thinks he’ll miss it more than you will, if your lacklustre reactions have been any indication.

You’re fresh out of the shower - you’d turned down his offer of a bath, locked the door on your way into the washroom - and wrapped in a fuzzy white robe. “What?” You’re focused on running a comb through your hair, unbothered by your boyfriend who sits at the edge of the bed, legs wide and hands extended toward you.

It bothers him a bit (read: a lot). You’re better than you were, offering tiny smiles when he begs for them, accepting his kisses without complaint. It isn’t you though. Not the snark and the sass and the decades of friendship that normally thread your relationship. A book with its spine about to snap, held together by cobweb.

Despite the time you’ve spent together the last few days - almost every hour, sans when you were at work - you’ve been distant still. Not mean, of course (no, never mean, because you’ve always been soft on him) but different. Softer and harder all at once.

“Come here,” he coaxes, fingers curling around your wrist, pulling you between his knees effortlessly.

Normally, you’d curl around his shoulders, rake your nails through his hair. This time, you only allow yourself to be with him, palms flat upon the ridges of muscle plating his back. You don’t pass affection into his hair, don’t form a cradle for him to rest his head. (It doesn’t feel like home - not like it should.)

Jungkook hates it. Absolutely fucking abhors it. He wants his girlfriend - his best friend, his love - back. Not this spectre that’s taken up your space.

(He almost forgets that he’s the reason you’re the way you are.)

“What’s wrong?” The shape of his mouth curls, bottom lip pouting into that trademark expression that usually has you relenting, melting into a puddle of goo in his arms.

This time, you shrug, movement dislodging the soft soft terry cloth from your shoulders. “Nothing.” Dumb as he might be - oblivious in the way only someone like he can be - he can tell you’re lying. Offering the untruth right between your teeth, expecting him to accept it.

That bothers him even more. It’s one thing to put up an act, entertain him as if you were a court jester. It’s entirely another to treat him as if he’s a child, feeding him lies without a care.

(Notwithstanding the fact that Jeon Jungkook is, for all intents and purposes, a manchild.)

“You’re a shit liar,” he retorts, grumpy, coloured green and blue until his insides feel like mud. It’s strange, the discomfort that sinks beneath his skin and sticks his bones together. Like wading through quicksand or a bog, stuck to a place he doesn’t want to be. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” You’re deflecting, refusing to meet his stare, holding yourself within the confines of your robe as if you can’t bear to open up to him.

That hurts more than he expects. Slips sadness in alongside the frustration.

“About what’s bothering you.” The fact he has to do this is driving him mad. It’s akin to pulling teeth and he hates the dentist.

You scoff then - which he doesn’t expect. The sound kicks him right in the stomach, a sucker punch he doesn’t see coming. “You want me to talk about you?” It’s an uncharacteristically mean answer, brought on by whatever’s been bothering you, turning blood to battery acid.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

For the briefest moment, he considers lashing out in response - giving back exactly what he’s getting. But then he spies it, just there, past the usual warmth of your stare. It’s hiding behind crystallised amber, peeking past the edges. So much sadness it steals his breath right from his lungs, stripping him bare of red hot fury and leaving him lily white and lovesick.

When Jungkook speaks again, it’s feather soft, terribly light, begging and pleading in a single utterance. “Please.”

There’s silence for a beat, then another. It stings for each second it continues, treading misery all over the thing that beats in his chest. He’s not used to this. (You’re his first and only love. A part of him is grateful for that; another hates even this.)

He almost asks again - readies it on the tip of his tongue.

Then you’re unloading, giving him everything he’d asked for and more.

“I love you,” you tell him in a reedy voice, uneven like the foundation you’ve built together. Haphazardly thrown into place and hoped for the best on. “But you’re an idiot.”

(He deserves that, he supposes.)

Your voice is static, stretched thin and gossamer thin. Cheek pressed to his curls, you find comfort in your hiding place, as if shielded by the dark. “I’ve loved you for years and that’ll never stop. But when you do stupid shit, it’s so hard.” Your words are honeyed, thick and heavy as they lay into each strand, seep quietly into his ears. Where they’d normally fill him with ecstasy, delight, send him on a sugar high - these ache, sink right to the pit of his stomach. “I would give you anything. Anything.”

“I know.” Really, he does. He’s known that since you were kids. It’s why he’d fallen in love with you, even before he’d realised he had.

“Then why do you test me?”

It’s not rhetorical. You want an answer - something real you can hold between your hands. Something to act as the salve for all the hurt, to bandage the wounds left behind by your uncertainty. (He’s the same as you - needs to know he means as much to you as you do him. But you show it in different ways and that’s what’s brought the two of you to this point.)

“I’m sorry,” he answers, sliding his arms more securely around your waist, face buried into the soft fabric of the robe, into the warmth that lies beneath, into the heart that beats a rhythm identical to his.

“I don’t want sorry.” After all, you’d already gotten one. Weeks ago, when he’d pulled the stupid sophomoric stunt, he’d apologised. Had been apologising every day since then, but in all the wrong ways. “I want better.”

It’s as if all of his bones have been cracked open, the weight of your words settling like sand, discomfort and grit snapping his head to attention. “You want better?” There’s nothing but alarm in Jungkook’s expression, eyes wide, throat knotted in worry. “I—”

As always, you read him like an open book. Hands smooth down the sides of his cheeks, palms searing over his reddened cheeks. “Not like that.” You’re reassuring him even as it should be the other way around. (How ironic.)

He exhales a deep breath. Doesn’t tear his stare from yours.

“I just need you to be better.” You’d never ask this of him if it weren’t important, if you didn’t feel his ignorance and immaturity splintering your insides into glass shards. You’ve always accepted him exactly as he was, all the good and bad and ridiculous.

This is different though. You love him. You’re taking a chance with him just as he is with you. Laying your heart in his hands and trusting him to keep it safe, handing out the key in the hopes of building a home.

So you ask - for both your sakes.

He promises he will be and you believe him. Have to.

For both of your sakes.

#anon.eml #incoming.eml #work.zip #drabble.zip #finders.doc #bts au #bts imagine #bts drabble #bts angst #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook.doc #bts

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oneoftheextras · 3 years

Text

new plan | one

masterlist | tip jar

testing an Enji fic, if you don’t like him move along, but i’m here for it

also, the quirk i’m giving the reader is cool as shit so stay for that at least

warnings: 18+ themes but no smut, Endeavour, power dynamic, slow burn

When you had applied to all the hero agencies in Musutafu you had no idea that any of them would have said yes to you, being a young upstart who had barely made a name for themselves in the last 3 years of being an independent hero, you thought you were going to receive letters telling you to get lost or no response at all.

When you’d opened your apartment mailbox to see several letters, all of them showing and interest in taking you on, you were overwhelmed.

You had to be tactical about which one you signed with, first impressions mattered and it seemed like a no-brainer to reply to the Number One Hero’s agency.

To sign with Endeavour’s agency was like getting a level boost, their PR team was amazing at teasing new evens and making sure everyone within the agency got noticed, there wasn’t one Hero working for him that wasn’t in the top 20.

You had called their recruitment team within 24 hours and solidified an interview with some of the higher-ups of the agency - a part of you wondered if Endeavour himself was going to be there, but he wasn’t.

But here you were. Standing at the reception of the agency, dressed in your best shirt and a pair of black trousers with very thin white lines down them, watching the blonde haired lady on the other side of the desk printing out your name tag. She looked you up and down from the side of her eye.

Hopefully not everyone here would be as cold as her, otherwise you might have to relinquish your contract early, which was never good for publicity. It made you seem non-committal and difficult.

As you waited patiently for your tiny piece of plastic to be printed, you thought over the absolute panic you had that morning, wanting to make sure you were prepared for every situation but also not wanting to seem as though you were being a suck up at the same time. You’d completely forgotten to ask during the acceptance call what the dress code was - or even if there was one.

To pay it safe you’d opted to wear normal office wear and you’d folded up your hero costume in your bag, along with some stationary and your laptop, you weren’t sure just how much of this job was going to be admin based.

“Hey, you must be the newbie!” A voice called from the elevator door, you glanced towards the sound, praying that they were talking to someone else, you really didn’t want the label of ‘newbie’. But alas, they were looking at you directly in the eyes. “Hey” you said back in a voice that attempted to be charismatic and calm, but actually came out as a timid squeak.

The woman walking towards you was very tall and beautiful, she extended her hand and introduced herself, shaking her hand as confidently as you could you did the same. At that moment, the receptionist handed you your name tag and you barely had time to thank her before you were being dragged towards the elevator.

There was some small talk between the two of you on the ride up, you had to give it to her, she was trying to be friendly at least and you had started to feel a bit more at ease with the situation. “Are you excited?” She asked you, her eyes seemed like they wanted to you answer honestly, so you did “This is my first time working for an agency, so yeah, you could say I’m excited” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Nervous?” She grimaced at you, not in a condescending way, more of an understanding and sympathetic way. “You have no idea” you breathed out and let your shoulder’s fall forward slightly, feeling as though you could confide in this person. “Oh I do” she smiled, “I was in your position once, but you’re lucky, you have a quirk so it’ll be unlikely you’ll fail the initiation” she said casually as though that didn’t send a lightening bolt of fear through your spine.

“The what?” You were unsure if you wanted to know what she was talking about but you couldn’t stop the question leaving your mouth, all she did was laugh and put her hand on your shoulder “Don’t worry about it, the worst part is meeting Endeavour, if you can get through that you can get through the rest”. It was almost like she was trying to make you freak out.

Before you could ask any more questions the elevator doors opened, “I’ll take you to him now” she gestured for you to follow her. You were happy that you’d had enough experience walking in heels, otherwise the shaking in your legs would have caused your face to become friends with the ground the moment you decided to take a step forward.

Every time you pressed your shoe into the invisible track that she was leaving, your heart rate increased by 20 beats per minute, if you didn’t know better you would think that you’re having a heart attack.

When she stopped at a oak wood door you thought you were going to vomit. Her delicate fingers tapped a gentle rhythm onto the wood and a voice from inside shouted back to enter, she went ahead and opened the door for you, announcing who you were before nodding at you to enter.

First impressions matter, first impressions matter, first impressions matter - that was all you could think of as you entered the room.

The door closed behind you and suddenly you were met with the reality of where you were and what was happening. In front of you was the Number Two Hero ‘Hawks’, leaning against a huge dark wood desk, and sitting in a black leather chair behind said desk was the Number One Hero ‘Endeavour’. Your throat was dry, you tried to swallow some saliva but it was so thick that it was no help at all.

Only a second had passed but it felt like forever before someone spoke, strangely you found it to be you “Hi” you said meekly, extending your fingers out into a tiny wave. “Hey” Hawks said, moving his chin upwards sharply in a backwards nodding motion. He seemed friendly at least.

Endeavour, however, had that same scowl on his face that he always did and his arms were folded over his chest as though he was already disapproving you. “Is that your Hero Suit?” He asked, there was no hello or introduction-not that he needed one, “Um, no” you muttered slyly, subconsciously tugging at your tucked in work shirt, “I have it in my bag though” you started to dig through your bag, rudely breaking your attention away from the two men.

“Get dressed and then go to the training centre” Endeavour waved his hand at you as a way to tell you to leave, you looked between him and Hawks unsure of what to say or do, “Yes, Sir!” You found yourself saying, bowing lowly before exiting the office.

While you were getting changed in the bathroom you couldn’t help but think over what had just happened, was that a good introduction or a bad introduction. You wanted to believe it was good, but you knew it could have gone better. You rewound the look on Hawks’ face when you’d said you weren’t in your Hero Suit already, it was a facial expression equivalent to ‘You fucked up’.

The next time you met them you had to make a big impact.

Zipping up your thigh high boots, you realised that you had spent the last 15 minutes getting changed. Following every sign and asking a few reluctant people for directions, you finally found the training centre, you stuffed your bag into a locker and opened the door to bow before you properly entered.

When you lifted your head you could see a group of about 10 other Pro Heroes standing in a line facing Endeavour and Hawks but staring directly at you - shit, you were late.

As everyone stared at you in silence you hurriedly and confidently walked to join the line, it was strange but as soon as you had your Hero outfit on you felt like a badass, on this occasion hopefully it would help.

Once you were also standing to attention like everyone else Endeavour spoke up, “As I was saying-” you could feel eyes on you with just those four simple words, “You are here to prove that you are worthy to be associated to my name, being here today does not mean you work for me - just because you are Pro Heroes does not mean you are actual Heroes” he was blunt and mean, everything that you thought he would be.

“There are 10 of you here today, by the end of this week there will only be 2 remaining” he said dramatically, he continued to talk but you were distracted by Hawks leaning into you and speaking up “That’s your Hero outfit?” His tone was disapprovingly, “Yes!” You whispered out loudly.

It was just a plain black one piece with thigh-high heeled boots, you couldn’t afford for someone to design and make you a costume like all the big time Pros.

“First phase, we will be having a Battle Royale of sorts” Hawks shouted out to everyone, startling you considering how close he was to you. “There are no rules, when we say ‘Go’ attack, defend or retreat however you want - the last 5 still standing will progress” was the only brief explanation you were given.

“Go!” Endeavour shouted, immediately everyone ran to their battle stations.

#endeavour #endeavour x reader #Enji todo rook #hero!reader #oneoftheextras

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feralrosie · 3 years

Text

Fairy Lights

Hewwo @damagecontroldumortain happy (late) valentine’s day! I’m sorry it took so long, but here’s your @loveinwayhaven gift ♥ hope you like it!

The Wayhaven Chronicles Adam/Janey (F!Detective) Words: 2600 Rating: G Tags: Fluff, lots of fluff; Valentine’s day Read on AO3

On second thought, maybe she was the one delivering spring to that place.

It took them a little over one hour to arrive at the botanical garden just outside Wayhaven, although Detective Kingston insisted that they could have done it in less time, if it was not for Adam’s careful driving. Of course, he was very confident in his own skills, but it was the reckless attitudes of humans on the road that could endanger this trip—mission. That could endanger this mission.

“You know that I’m going to drive on the way back, right?” Janey joked as soon as they parked by the gates of the garden, where vines intertwined along the fences, chipping the white paint to expose the coppery colour of the metal underneath.

“I am far more qualified to drive. I have better reflexes, sight and training.” His tone was as stiff as his muscles, button-down shirt marking every line of his chest as he turned off the Agency’s SUV. “And besides, a vehicle this size is too big for you. You wouldn’t reach the pedals.”

“How dare—”

“Let’s get going.” A hint of a smile formed on his lips as he pushed his aviators up the curve of his nose and got out of the car. Was fast enough to walk around it and open the door for the woman, offering a hand for support as she jumped out of it. “Mind your step,” he mumbled, but her attention was already focused on the garden ahead.

Despite the ancient appearance of its entrance, the place itself was impeccable. A path of cobblestone, with no signs of moss, guided the guests among thousands of trees, contouring an icy lake in the middle of the park. The woods, dark and imposing, also had trails of its own, winding through in irregular shapes. In a bright late afternoon such as this one, the scene was idyllic. The sun leaked through the canopies, trying to deliver life to the garden, but meeting the silent landscape of dormant bushes and leafless trunks covered in glittering snow instead. Only the pine trees tried their best to add some colour with strokes of dark green reaching the clear blue sky.

Must have been a gift for the garden to welcome the deep red of Janey’s hair among them. Adam noticed, as she led the way in front of him, how contrasting she was to the scenery, bursting with life and colour. Even the soft breeze that danced around them and waved her locks seemed to agree that whatever beauty nature had was no match for her.

“Alright,” Janey clapped her hands while turning on her heels to face the Agent, pulling him back from his thoughts in a startle. “What are we looking for, exactly? What do we need for this mission?”

Ah, yes, the mission. It was more like a simple task, really. Recently, a lesser kingdom of fairies took residence in Wayhaven, attracted by the Detective’s powerful presence, but even a small town like that could overwhelm such tiny creatures, and so the Agency needed to find another place for them.

“The Firefly Fairies will need a place safe from humans,” Adam stated, wrapping his coat around his torso and crossing his arms. “But it must also be a place safe from this weather. Perhaps somewhere distant from the pathway.”

She agreed with a simple nod, and in no time they were walking side by side into the woods. If it was just her body heat or something else, Adam could not tell, but the cold was not so harsh next to her. Maybe this was the reason for the fairy kingdom being drawn to her in the first place; she felt comfortable and welcoming to everyone with her charm and friendly personality. It was impossible to not let yourself be engulfed by someone like her, and Adam wasn’t the only one who felt like that… Right?

“I must apologise, Detective.” He broke the silence between them after a few minutes, not because it made him uneasy, but quite the opposite. Janey aimed a puzzled look at him, waiting for him to proceed. “Surely I impeded other plans you must have had for today.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is Valentine’s Day, is it not?” The words almost got stuck in the back of his throat, suddenly dry. “I believe many consider this to be a special date.”

“Oh.” The sound escaped from her lips, and Adam couldn’t help but to look at her for just a moment. Her heart was beating a little faster, which explained the rosy colour forming on her cheeks—delicate and unexpected, but not slightly fragile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t have any plans.”

“Hard to believe—”

“And even if I had,” she bursted, shoving her hands inside the pockets of her jacket. Their gaze met for such a brief moment that he thought he imagined it when those light brown eyes faced the path ahead once more. “I would rather spend the afternoon with you, anyway.”

He came to a halt, as if the words had taken him off balance. The idea of inviting her to spend a couple hours with him, not for a mission but for leisure, was not new, and crossed his mind multiple times (it was, what, the third time that week?), but the implications that Janey might actually have accepted if he asked sent a wave of electricity down this chest. Could it be that she also noticed the date on the calendar and agreed to come along in this foolish mission because of him?

True that her presence was everything Adam had in mind when preparing for it. He was hoping that she would accompany him to this botanical garden, under the excuse that she, as a Wayhaven citizen, had been there before and could guide them better. But he was an agent and had a job to do. No matter how much she instilled wonderful and alarming new sensations in him, he should focus on the task ahead.

“How about this place?” Janey was a few meters away, and Adam didn’t have to force his feet to reach her. She was pointing at a lonely oak tree, large enough to accommodate a house for humans. A kingdom of fairies would fit there just as well, except…

“This tree is in a clearing,” he said, resting his hands on his hips and taking a look around the place. “They would prefer a denser area, with more flowers.”

“What about that one?”

Adam’s gaze followed where she was pointing, taking its time to also notice that she was not wearing any gloves. Felt an urge to hold her hands, take them closer to his lips and blow gently a warm breath to provide her just a glimpse of the comfort she brought him.

“Adam?” He might have taken too long admiring her fingers, and when Janey called again, the icy green eyes finally landed on their next destination.

A greenhouse on the other side of the park.

“Worth assessing the place. Lead the way.”

Janey’s subtle frown, followed by an amused smile also did not pass unnoticed. Adam knew she was studying him, from the way he talked to how close he was to her—that’s how Janey was, always attentive to people, always curious—and should probably have figured out he was acting different. His mind was not where it should be, and it was showing.

So much so that Adam couldn’t even describe the landscape on their way to the greenhouse. As they crossed the garden, only the sound of Janey’s voice asking questions about the fairies would take shape in his memory. Her voice, and the feeling of their elbows touching here and there occasionally, fluttering the rhythm of their breaths.

The last rays of sunlight had sunken down behind the trees by the time they arrived at the greenhouse. The place was enormous, made entirely of glass and decorated with an iron structure painted in white in art nouveau style. The rounded edges and curvaceous geometry felt organic, as if the building was a living part of the garden, housing an astonishing amount of plants like a nursery. Adam had to take off his aviators to take a proper look at the explosion of colours and shapes of every single bloom, realising in a second that Janey didn’t have the same advantage.

“Well, it’s dark here.” She pointed out, pursing her lips while looking up as if to check for the lightbulbs. “Weird that there’s no one here. I was expecting some couples, or at least the scientists that work here.”

I’m glad there is no one else here, Adam wished to say, but instead he followed the obvious, most logical response, “It is already late to be so far away from the city. Everyone must have left a few hours ago.”

He searched for the switch, a small thing hidden behind a bush by the front doors, and turned the lights on. Expected to see the usual fluorescent white from the Facility, but watched as hundreds of tiny yellowish spots popped to life all around them, bathing the greenhouse in warmth. Strings of fairy lights followed a design like the canvas of a tent from the external walls to the central piece: a weeping willow tree, so tall that its canopy filled the space of one of the three glass domes on the roof.

Upon reaching the tree, the lights seemed to transform into vines, embracing the branches and falling along the dangling leaves like a waterfall. There was no magic in the entire botanical garden, but the look in Janey’s eyes as she admired the images around said otherwise, as if Adam had just brought her spring itself as a gift. He might just have, if such a thing was possible.

“Will this be enough for them?” Janey asked, voice low and smooth, lost in the glittering lights.

“For whom?” Adam returned, lost in the shine of her eyes.

“The fairies, of course.” And she giggled while approaching him, suddenly locking her gaze on his. “What else do they need?”

“Well, they have enough water and flowers here,” his feet moved by an unconscious desire, “There is shelter from the external weather and…” he swallowed hard, unsure if he should continue but, eventually, he did, "A lot of space for partying."

“Partying?”

“They are known for hosting week-long dances. Love to drink and to waltz.”

“I never really learned how to waltz.” Janey’s voice was only a whisper, eyes drifting away from Adam’s and reflecting the hundreds of lights around. He, however, was not paying attention to anything else but her and the way her lips curled up, almost in slow motion, overflowing with warmth. On second thought, maybe she was the one delivering spring to that place. “Must be wonderful to see.”

“Truly beautiful.” Not even Adam could conceal what he meant. He had no interest in the practices and lifestyle of fairies or of any other creature, and despite being an admirer of arts, it was clear that something else was marvelling him. Someone else. His breath of confession drew her back to him, and disarmed by hypnosis, he bursted, “Would you like to try?”

“What?” She took another step closer, graceful as a ballerina.

“Waltz.” Words seemed to tangle on each other before leaving his lips. “With me.”

From the moment he suggested going on that mission, Adam had done nothing but improvise. All the control he kept for over nine hundred years was slipping through his fingers, he could not think strategically anymore, and it was infuriating how he could not—simply could not—keep himself away from the detective. She was a fire burning inside of him and he should be turning to ashes by now. And yet there he was, surrounded by light and that warmth that was not coming just from her body heat.

He waited for an answer, pursing his lips in a thin line, questioning his careless attitudes, feeling like his chest was about to set alight, and—

“Yes. I would love to.”

A sigh of relief came from both parts, tension crumbling like a sand castle. If Adam was going to be that reckless, then so be it.

He ventured forth, right hand falling featherlight on Janey’s waist. She held his other hand, resting her palm on his and falling into his arms completely. Not once they took their gazes out of each other, eyes heavy-lidded when Adam began to lead them in circles carefully, slowly, like she was made of crystal. Terrified of breaking her.

It was nothing close to the waltz of the royal palaces of Vienna during the New Years, and much less to the Russian ballet, but still nothing felt wrong. Janey was tiny compared to him, his large hand spread almost entirely over her upper back, but it was her delicate fingers pressing into his shoulder that made him feel safe. The way she would not shy away from him, how she would spin on her axis every time he stretched out his arms just to pull her back closer and closer, was like magic of its own. Perhaps he was enchanted. She could have bewitched him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else. Something he was afraid of saying out loud, of letting it take form, but undeniably something he could not, would not, control.

Their feet moved together with remarkable precision, as if the spring of the greenhouse itself choreographed their movements, and even the floor felt softer. Janey slipped her fingers up to his neck, brushing his skin and leaving a tingling sensation before resting on his nape. A shiver ran up his spine, sharp enough for her to feel the dark blond hairs rising.

Their dance concluded slowly when Adam bowed down, holding her firmly in his arms as if laying her gently on a mattress of clouds. Janey held on to him, trusting him entirely, and didn’t let go afterwards. With no one to witness, their world felt silent, existing only in each other’s embrace. Adam saw when her lips parted just enough, hesitant, getting closer, increasing the thundering sound, trying to tear open her chest like a war drum so powerful that it could make him dizzy.

“Do you hear my heartbeat?” she whispered, eyes locked on his.

“Yes.”

“Can I listen to yours, too?”

“Yes...”

Janey wrapped both arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest, nose tip carefully fondling his sternum. Only then, with her cheek pressed against his white shirt, Adam realised that the drumming of hearts was a duet. His own perfectly synchronised to hers, still dancing, and he couldn’t help but to wrap his arms around her as well. In a garden of blooms, they formed a bud—secret, beautiful and new. He wished to stay in spring, with her, forever.

Alas, they were both ripped apart from dreaming when a too-loud bzzt bzzt emerged from the agent’s pocket. Distracted by each other, both rushed to untangle themselves quicker than their blood could colour their faces. Adam turned on his heels, reaching for the damn phone and answering the call.

“Commanding Agent du Mortain.”

“Adam, it's Nate. I’ve been trying to call for a while, is everything ok?”

A deep sigh left his lungs, “Yes, Nate. Everything is fine.”

“Are you still with Janey? Did you find a good place?”

He looked over his shoulder, gaze meeting Janey’s again. A shy grin on her rosy cheeks invited him to smile too, and so he did.

“Yes, Nate. I believe we found the perfect place.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #adam du mortain #janey kingston #love in wayhaven #my writing #valentine's day #gift exchange #i must say i love Janey #I hope she's not too ooc #had a lot of fun writing it #💖💖

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octalove · 4 years

Text

VIII: Struck by Lightning

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader makes a confession, and goes on a date. Previous.

TW: Brief mention of gore (just blood)

In the weeks succeeding the Little Italy mission, I found a rhythm in the two conflicting heartbeats of my life. Occasionally, I met with Jason to file down the multitude of criminals who opposed him (it wasn’t all rescuing orphans and kittens, but his justice was fair and swift), and other than that, I carried on with life as normal; both as myself, and Batgirl. It was an inconsistent, exciting balancing act.

I tried to humor Bruce’s transparent attempts to placate me with cold cases, deeming it study. My school work had unsurprisingly lost its appeal, and I found myself rocking in the river banks of what was sure to be a failing grade in most of my classes- though I had yet to run ashore. Yet.

I danced along, despite my reprisal (a lack of sleep, and white lies on either side), and overall there was a certain stalemate. With that, peace. Or at least, the closest I could get.

On a Saturday I happened to have free (to my great relief), I woke up at one in the afternoon, to a blessedly dim day that kept the light in my room dark enough to cradle my lie-in.

I washed the sleep from my face, and stumbled downstairs, muscles sore from a Thursday night mission with Jason at the Port (of which I told my family I was going to a party). Tim was the only one in the kitchen- looking like he, too, had just crawled out of bed. He was eating cereal in silence.

We hadn’t been avoiding each other, per say- just got wrapped up in our own routines. Routines that kept me out of the house, and him trapped within it.

“Morning.” I said.

“Mm.” He replied.

I poured out my own bowl of cereal and settled on top of the glossy white granite. It was kind of a running joke at the Wayne household that you could sit anywhere but the chairs. Even Damian picked up on it- and, naturally, he was the best at it- perching his lithe little form atop the fridge at one point.

Now, Tim and I sat side by side on the countertop, shoulders brushing and spoons clanging against our glass bowls. Nothing more was said, but it was a comfortable silence.

I thought, for a second, about the world he’d been living in for the past few months as November bled into December. About his work and his many, many jobs he had to do. The way he shouldered them all week-to-week. He didn’t have to, but he did.

Tim made me a better person. I thought so, anyway.

But then, before I met him, I was the kind of person who let Carolyn Crawford slap me across the face to cover for someone else’s secret. Now, I was the kind who let other people take the blame for mine. Maybe Tim didn’t make me a better person. Only I could do that.

“I need to talk to you.” I said it firmly, and with authority. Mostly to convince myself that I was certain in my intention to go through with it. Bruce eyed me, looking up from his book.

“Alright.”

“...”

“In private.”

Alfred and Damian’s voices carried through to the living room as they had tea (an evening tradition). Bruce nodded, closed his book, and led me upstairs.

His office was a quiet, peaceful place. Finished dark wood, glass tables, and black leather accents. It was the room in the house that was most furnished to his own private taste, and thus, a glimpse inside was into him. It was mostly predictable; W.E. briefcases, notebooks and pens, case files open, and a map of the city that was displayed behind his desk. But there were other things too; a rubik’s cube half solved on the settee, a magazine featuring Vicki Vale with a pen in her hand and a defiant, head-strong look on her face. A gorgeous trailing point knife that belonged to Damian (probably confiscated).

I sat down in the chair that faced his own; his giant, glossy desk between us. I wanted to be swallowed into the dark leather. I felt like I was back at the shrink.

“Tim didn’t sneak off on the 21st.” I said quickly, cutting off the silence as quickly as I could. “He’s not the one who saw Red Hood kill that guy. It was me. I made Tim promise not to tell. He lied to cover for me.”

Bruce was quiet. He did that a lot; made you wait for him to speak. Seconds, minutes, hours. It all felt the same when he let you simmer in your own mistakes. I didn’t look up.

“I see.”

Silence. A long, testing silence. His irritating little desk clock ticked away.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” He asked.

I nodded.

“Very well. You’re dismissed.”

“Really?” I asked. “That’s it? You’re not mad?”

He paused. “Should I be?”

I blinked, gaze falling on the floor. “I put Tim in a really shitty position. He didn’t have to lie, but he did because I asked him to. I’m mad at me.” I admitted quietly.

Bruce nodded pedantically, resting his head on his hand. “Then that’s good enough for me.”

I furrowed my brow. It wasn’t good enough for me. “It was wrong.” I clarified, trying to press for some manner of reprimand that I didn’t truly want, but felt deserving of anyway. Bruce considered this, in his quiet, inscrutable way. After a moment, he spoke.

“Your mothers trusted me.” He said. I knew that. My parents were business-oriented like that. They were pulled together by happenstance, each without family and carving their own way in the world by studying international law, and applying it to companies who could afford private foreign trade, such as Wayne Enterprises. I attended the parties, the galas, standing around in my designer gowns while my moms handed out their business cards and talked about imports. They weren’t neglectful, just distracted.

“I don’t know if you remember-“

“I do.”

And if I had a dollar for every time the cops or the shrink asked me if I remembered that night, I’d buy my own manor.

Bruce Wayne was at my birth. He and my mothers had been business partners for a while by that time. He watched me, dutifully, when my parents went on date nights, and played catch with me when I accompanied him and Dick to the park. He cooked me breakfast the morning after my mothers died.

I knew it wasn’t a random killing, but he didn’t talk about why they were murdered in their own bed until I was fifteen. By then, I was knowledgeable enough to go searching through the police reports on my own. So instead, one night he’d sat me down at the kitchen table, looking at me earnestly.

“You have to understand, Y/N. Your mothers were...” He’d taken a deep breath. Tried again. “They were involved in things. Things I didn’t know about. It made them a lot of enemies.” Then, something harder passed his features. A frustration.

“They were completely blind to the fact that it meant you would never have a normal life. Not as long as they kept it up- that... double life.” I let the statement hang in the air for a time. “That was stolen from you, from the moment they got involved with the Baciu. And I’m sorry.”

It was easy to be sorry. I was sorry, too. My mothers got themselves tangled in Gotham’s heroin trade, and they weren’t careful enough, so they died for it. It was fairly cut and dry. Open file, close case. But the part that was so bitter to swallow was that it happened to me. A fourteen-year-old child creeping into my mothers’ bed because I’d heard a noise, and the re-runs of Ghost Hunter I’d religiously consumed were conjuring movement in the shadows. But there were no ghosts. Just sheets stained with blood that looked black in the darkness. Just the wet, clogged sort of sound when I peeled back the covers, unable to register they way my mothers were bent, and stilled in a way that only death can induce, where just earlier that night they’d been walking and talking. Bringing me Chinese take-out for dinner.

Their death, and everything that followed was emptying. Cracking open a great chasm and bringing death home, into the halls, and into my room. No longer a rumor. It was an empty chair, and a storied space made cold and worthless. It would’ve been easier if they had simply died as a random killing. Tragic, standard, random Gotham City killing. If I had just been that unlucky. If they’d only been struck by lightning. Instead, I grieved twice; once for who they were, and another time, for who I thought they were.

When Bruce adopted me, I became Batgirl. I made it my own vendetta to stop criminals without killing them, because I knew that some- most of them had children at home who would be the real victims if I did.

But then, I thought deeper. More considerately, about who my mothers were. Moreover, who they weren’t. Pearl and gold, white teeth and hairspray. Singing to me, and playing Monopoly, at which they were both so competitive that they had to kiss and make up after every game. Bringing me a strawberry cupcake in bed every year on my birthday. Kissing me on the head. Telling me to be good. Leaving me in that big house. Going off to Port Adams, or Crime Alley. Signing orders. Putting bodies in Finger River.

Nobody’s innocent here, dollface.

“They trusted me.” Bruce’s voice interrupted my reminiscing with the ghosts of my past. “I know their death was hard, and you may still be recovering. I’m trying to do the best I can for you.” He finished. For all the gnashing teeth and avaricious expanses of Gotham City secrets, he looked tired.

“I know, Bruce.” I said quietly. “Me too.”

The following Tuesday, I got home from school and started on a mountain of homework I needed to do- some make up work as well. Christmas break was around the corner, and I was slowly losing motivation as the semester drew to a close. I had too many distractions; and tonight was no exception.

Ding.

My phone buzzed, and I looked down, eyebrows raising to find that it was a text from Jason- one that wasn’t just a pin dropped to a location.

Meet me at Twin Sharks. I’ll buy you a coffee.

- What’s the occasion?

No reply. I sighed. I should’ve called him and made him tell me, but I knew that I would go no matter what, so I decided to play the apathy card. Despite my cool response, my heart (the traitor) was fluttering like a bird. Was this about the kiss? Our partnership? Was it an actual, regular date? Or was he breaking it off? My mind raced, and as I pulled together a tasteful outfit and sprayed myself with perfume, I promised myself that it wasn’t for him.

The Twin Sharks was a diner in Upper West Side, near China town. It was nicer than the likes of Sherman’s, or anything else East End had to offer. The late afternoon was unexpectedly bright, clouds parted for a sweet reprieve of gold and blush in the sky. The sun was a striking blood-orange, hung low over the city. It struck a match in my chest- some childish, poetic hopefulness.

The diner’s door jingled, and I scanned the booths and tables. It was a little crowded, but I spotted Jason alone in a booth, his eyes cast down, involved with his phone. I made my way over to him, slipping off my coat and plopping down his opposite.

“Hey.” I said. His eyes fell upon me, and I saw something on his face- maybe surprise, or something to that effect- before he composed his expression into something unreadable.

“Hey.”

The diner had a big, hot pink neon sign that depicted a matching pair of sharks above the counter. Its buzzing glow mixed with the orange gleam of the lowering sun through the windows- it was all very rose-colored.

The waitress put a coffee in front of me, and I got to work on adorning it with the little cream and sugar packets on the table. He watched me do it for while.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Nothin’.” He said. Then, he reached across the table, and took my hand, pulling it back to him, and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles. I was so startled by it that I dropped the sugar packet I was holding. Neither of us seemed to notice. He turned my hand over and placed another kiss in the inside of my wrist before returning it safely to my side of the table. I was certain my face burned like the neon sharks.

“I’m- um- is this a date?” I asked, trying to get him to say something- anything- to get my mind off the way he’d just reduced me to a puddle.

He looked amused by that. “You want it to be?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, stirring my coffee. “You invited me.”

He nodded, eyes falling away. “Yeah. I’ve got an update for you. D’amici business.”

“Oh.” By the look on his face, it wasn’t good news.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Perfect. My day’s been a little too good so far.” I said. He slid me his phone- on the screen was an article from the Gotham Quarterly.

Young Bride Found Murdered in Diamond District Estate

I read over it a couple times, brow furrowing. “You mean...“

“Penelope. It happened last night.”

“Shit.” I muttered, scrolling down and scanning through the article. My throat caught as I read over it. She was shot in her bed. “It says there’s no suspects.”

“Course it does. It’s the mafia. They handle things nice and quiet.”

“And I’m guessing you have a few a suspects.” He nodded grimly as I slid his phone back to him.

“One better. I know exactly who did it. I think you do, too.”

I put my head in my hands, mulling over my options. Really there was only one. Penelope’s beautiful, flustered face and apologetic eyes flashed through my mind. Her wind-chime laugh as we ate scones under the watchful eye of her adoring, peculiar grandmother.

“Okay.” I resolved. “Let’s get that girl justice.”

104 notes · View notes

the-mighty-jellybean · 4 years

Text

Rising From The Earth

Series Summary: After months of trying, and several heats, and ruts, Y/N was now beginning her journey on her road to motherhood. All Steve and Bucky wanted to be is supportive and strong for their Omega, but life doesn't always run so smoothly....

Series Warning: a/b/o dynamics (the fun stuff that comes with that) Smut, Accurate Representation of Pregnancy and (eventually) Childbirth, Strong Language (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader X Bucky Barnes

Part One// Part Two// Part Three// Part Four// Part Five// Part Six// Part Seven//

Part Eight: At Last

Chapter Warnings: Brief mention of nudity (literally so brief, you could blink and misread it), Strong Language

Word Count: 5k (woah this a long one)

26 Weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How long has he been out?”

“4 hours. We can’t wake him.”

“Alpha.”

“What happened, on that jet?”

“Alpha.”

“The cuffs Stark designed couldn't hold Daniels, he broke loose.”

“Alpha, please.”

“Bucky took the full force of one of his energy blasts.”

“Alpha.”

“Wake up, Y/N.”

“Alpha, I need you.”

“Y/N, come on. Wake up.”

“Alpha!” you sat up, covered in sweat, your eyes darted around the room, it seemed unfamiliar, until eventually your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and your surroundings became known.

You were sat in your bed, in your room. Initially you couldn't recognise the room, as the smell of your Alpha’s scent had grown weak, with neither of your Alphas having set foot in your shared accommodation.

You look to your side, to see Sam gently holding your hand, he had pulled a chair up next to your bed, a position he had resumed for 2 weeks, since your Alphas had remained under the care of Dr Cho.

“Were you having that dream again?” he asked you tentatively, you nod your head.

“It’s not a dream though is it. One of my Alphas is laying in a coma, several floors beneath me.” you bluntly state.

“I know this is tough, Y/N, but you gotta get some rest.” Sam sighs, he tries to lay you down, but you push his hands away.

“How am I supposed to rest, when one of my mates might be dying, one of the fathers of my unborn children.” you whimper, rubbing at your eyes to clear them of a combination of sleep, and tears.

“Look, you won't be any use to either of them, if you don't get some sleep. Those babies need you to be strong, Y/N. They need their mommy.”

“Just leave me alone, Sam.” you roll over onto your side, facing away from him.

“You don't really want that, Y/N.” Sam spoke, an element of hurt in his voice.

“Just go.” you pulled Steve’s pillow close to your chest, and buried your nose in it, trying to absorb any traces of his scent that might be left.

You hear Sam breath a heavy sigh, before the soft scrapes of a chair being pushed back, filled the room, followed by his footsteps as they drift further away from you, and towards the door. They stop, by the sounds of it, just short of the door.

“I’ll take you to see him tomorrow.” were Sam’s final words, before the footsteps continued, before being silenced by the closing of the door.

When you felt that he was a safe enough distance away, you pushed your entire head into Steve’s pillow, and allow the floodgates to open, as you drench Steve’s pillow in a salty tidal wave of emotion.

~~~~~~~ You didn’t wake the next day, as you had sat up all night, crying your eyes out, to the point they were sore, and irritated.

At 10:00am, as promised, Sam came to your door, and knocked gently, before entering, after he heard a faint: ‘come in’.

“You ready to go.” he asked, pausing when he saw the redness and swelling around you eyes. “you sure you wanna go?”

“I want my Alphas.” was your only response, before you pushed passed him, making your own way to the elevator, you heard his fast footsteps behind you, as he caught up with you.

“It’s okay to be scared, Y/N.” Sam says, placing his hand on your lower back. You move away from his hand, the movement only triggering your memory bank, of all the times, Steve would do the same. You twist round to face him.

“Scared. Scared.” you repeat, “Sam, I’m fucking terrified.” you curse, his eyes flash wide, before they return back to his normal caring self.

“And that’s okay too.” the corners of his mouth twitched into a brief smile. before they dropped down once again, as the elevator arrived at the Med-Wing.

You step out first, searching for Dr Cho, so she could tell you, which room your Alphas were in. Spotting her, you made a beeline for the doctor, as she sat at the nurses station writing up some notes on the computer.

“Where are they?” the first thing that flies out of your mouth.

Dr Cho spins round in her chair, in both shock and surprise, her eyes wide, before they narrow, as they examine the puffiness and redness of your eyes.

“Y/N, what happened to your eyes. Let me take a look?”

“No.” you push her hands away from your face, “where are my Alphas?”

“Please, Y/N let me take a look at your eyes, they look swollen.”

“That’s because I need my Alphas. If you’re not gonna tell me, then I’ll find them myself.” you huff, beginning to look around the Med-Wing. Most of the doors, and blinds were open, so it was easy to see into them, and that they were empty.

Then you came to a corridor, with two doors that were shut, and the windows covered by the plastic strip barriers.

Without thinking you grasp the handle of one of the closed doors, and before Sam or Dr Cho could stop you, you had barged your way into the room. Only to immediately halt, when you were met with the sight of Natasha, stood half naked, whilst Bruce was helping her get changed out of her gown.

“Like what you see?” she spoke through gritted teeth, your whole body frozen.

“I...er....I’m sorry.” you stutter out, your eyes still hadn't left Natasha’s body, which by now had been hastily covered by Bruce, with his jacket. No matter what material covers her up, you can’t forget the look of the deep wounds that were left on her back. Your mind racing as you envision Bucky with similar marks, and scars.

“That’s nice. Now get out!” she shrieked.

“Not until you tell me what happened?” you yelled back, Natasha may be an Alpha, but you will never be afraid of her, not when she was standing between you and your Alphas

“Are you being serious right now! You know what happened, Y/N!” Natasha says over her shoulder, as Bruce trying to keep her covered, by moving in front of his mate.

“You can’t be in here, Y/N. You need to leave.” Bruce takes a step towards you, you shield your stomach out of habit and growl.

“Not until she tells me, what really happened on that mission.” you growl.

“Y/N you need to remove yourself.” Dr Cho’s voice, appears behind you, as do her hands, which wrap around one of your wrists trying to pull you towards the door. You yank your wrist free, your breathing was becoming erratic, the only thing going through your mind was the need to find and see your Alphas.

“Don’t touch me, I want answers, I want an explanation. I want my Alphas!” you shout, forcing the words from your mouth, your throat becoming tight.

Your head begins to spin, your vision blurring in and out.

“Calm down, Y/N. We’ll take you to your Alphas. Think of the babies.” Dr Cho speaks as calmly as she can.

Your eyes are fixed on the door, the wobbly outline of Sam and Dr Cho merging together, with the rhythm of your heart. Suddenly, when Sam and Dr Cho emerge from each others’ outlines, a tall dark shadow looms behind them.

Dark spots begin to cloud your vision, you feel the ground beneath you begin to move, as your knees buckle. A hand catches your head just before it hit the floor, and your sight becomes black.

“I’m here, baby girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake with a start, your head scanning the room around you, before your eyes land on the firm outline of someone, who immediately makes your heart leap.

“Alpha. What happened?” you try to clamber off the bed, but Steve halts your movement, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Calm down, little one.” he takes your hands, but you use them as leeway, to pull him close to you. He doesn't fight you, as you fling your arms around his neck, squeezing him as tightly as your bump will allow.

“I missed you, Alpha. I missed you so much.” you cry into his shoulder, his hands immediately rub up and down you back, as he softly shushes you.

“Shh I’m here now, baby. It’s alright.” Steve kissed your head, one of his hands moves from your back, and rubs along the side of your stomach. His brow furrowed when the usual nudge against his hand didn’t come.

“What happened, Alpha? I can’t remember.” you search your memories, but you are unable to recover anything.

“You had a seizure, baby, but you're okay.” he kisses your head, your heartbeat picking up a little at his words, but before you are able to question him further, he interjects.

“How are you, sweetheart. How are the pups?” he asked, moving you away from him slightly, so he could place both his hands comfortingly on your stretched skin.

“Okay.” is all you mumble. In truth you hadn't felt the babies move for a few days, but your mind was too busy with worrying for your Alpha, you hadn't the time to worry about your pups.

“Okay? That’s it?” Steve asked you, searching your eyes, already sensing your trepidation.

“Where’s Alpha? I want to see him.” once again you try to get off the bed, but Steve holds you firmly onto the gurney.

“In a minute, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong.” Steve’s eyes stare directly into yours, you watch as his pupils dilate with concern.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong I just needed you. And I need Bucky.” Steve flinched slightly when you said Bucky’s name. You hadn't called either of them by their first names in a long time, he knew this meant that you were in serious distress.

“I know, honey. But something tells me, that you’re not so sure about something.” he rubs under on of your eyes, with the pad of his thumb, you wince a little, your eyes still tender from the level of crying you had done the night, and most of the week, previously.

“It’s just....” you didn’t know how to tell him. He probably had so much more on his mind, with Bucky being in God knows what state. The last thing he needed was his Omega telling him, that you couldn't even grow some pups, with out his constant vigilance.

“It’s okay, baby. You need to tell me, whatever is worrying you.” Steve holds your face in his hands, you have no choice, but to look at him.

“It's the babies.” you final force out.

“What about them, darlin? Are they hurting you?” One of Steve’s hands drops from your face, and rubs over the top of your bump, once again he frowns, when no little kick is felt against his palm. “They aren't very wiggle today are they.”

That was all it took for the tears to come spilling out once again. It made one of your eyes throb, still exhausted from its previous use.

“Oh baby.” Steve pulled you tight against him, “what is it, sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

“I haven't felt the babies.” you sobbed.

“For how long, baby. How long has it been?” Steve pulls away, he doesn't seem angry, but you can sense the pick up in his heart rate, as he waits eagerly for you to answer, his leg was already twitching to run and grab Dr Cho.

“A couple of days, I’m not sure.” you whimper, you rub at your pulsing eye, the pain almost worst than your fear. Steve pulls your hand away, as he can see that it is only further irritating your eye. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m so sorry. I’m such a failure.”

“No Y/N. No you are not. This my fault, I should have been with you.”

“No, Alpha. You had to stay with Bucky. He needed you, more than me.” now it was your turn to hold Steve’s face in your hands, Steve overlapped you hands with his own.

“I should have been with you. It’s gonna be alright. I’m just going to get Dr Cho, she’ll check you over-”

“But-” you look to the door hopefully, but Steve holds his finger up, and you instantly fall silent.

“And then I will take you to see, Alpha. But only after Dr Cho has given you and our little ones, the all clear. Understand?” his voice is stern, but you can detect the underlying worry.

“Yes, Alpha.” at that Steve quickly leaves, returning briskly with Dr Cho.

“How are we feeling, Y/N?” Dr Cho asks snapping on a pair of gloves, Steve sees you growing hesitant, and strides towards you, squeezing your hand tightly. You look up at him, and he gives you one reassuring nod, and a quick smile.

“I’m okay. I just want to see my Alpha.”

“Honey, tell Dr Cho what you just told me. You’re okay I’m here.” he kisses the back of you hand, and you draw a shaky breath before you explain to Dr Cho, about the lack of your babies’ movement.

“Well, I think the best option would be for me to perform an ultrasound. That way we will really be able to get to the bottom of what’s going on. But I also want to examine your eye, it appears to be swollen, and the redness around it could indicate something slightly more sinister.” She gives you a warm smile, that doesn't really fill you with reassurance, nevertheless; you return her gesture briefly.

She disappeared, before promptly reappearing, the sound of the wheels on the ultrasound machine, squealing and sliding over the hard floor. Steve grasps your hand with both of his, you can feel the vibrations of anxiety, tumbling from his being, and you give his hands a gentle tug, and he looks down at you.

“I’m scared, Alpha.”

“You’re aright, baby. Alpha’s here. Everything’s going to be alright.” he kisses your forehead, but the vibrations don't change.

You flinch when Dr Cho squeeze some of the cold jelly onto your stomach, before she lifts the wand from it’s holder, and begins to manipulate it, across your skin.

You hold your breath, and you can tell, Steve is doing the same. The familiar whooshing sound fills the room, as Dr Cho glides the probe over your stomach.

It’s only seconds, but it felt like hours, when suddenly the room is filled by the steady thrum, of one of your babies’ heartbeats.

“The boy looks all good, nice healthy size, not much change at all since the last appointment.” you relax a little at her words, but your tight grip on Steve’s hand remains unchanged, as she moves away from your son, in search of your daughter.

You felt like your lungs were going to explode, until you were finally able to break for air, when the sound of a second heartbeat, made it’s way into the room.

“And there is, your little girl.” Dr Cho smiles, hovering over the still, semi-alien looking being, that resided in your stomach.

“Is she okay? Is there anything wrong with her?” you rush, clinging to Steve, who has relaxed his own grip on your hands.

“Again, she is a little smaller than, what I’d like, but her heartbeat is nice and strong. So I’m not concerned.” Dr Cho turns to you, and places a hand on your knee, and gives it a quick squeeze.

“There’s absolutely nothing to worry about, Y/N. Your babies are nice and healthy.”

“But they didn't move, they haven't moved for almost a week. That’s not like them at all.” you reason, the anxiety still high in your voice.

“Tell me Y/N, how much sleep have you been getting the last few weeks?” she speaks, as she wipes your belly clean of the gel, and turns the machine off, pushing it to the side slightly.

You look down at you stomach, not wanting to make eye contact with the doctor or your Alpha, knowing your response was not going to be pleasing for either of them.

“Baby, it’s okay. You need to answer Dr Cho honestly. I’m not going to be angry, we just need you to be honest.” Steve reassures you, as he crouches down, taking your chin into his hand, making you look up.

“If I’m honest...not a lot.” you stumble.

“Roughly, how much is not a lot, Y/N?” Dr Cho coaxes you.

“Probably, a few hours at most.”

“How much is a few, Y/N?” Steve asked you.

“1-2 hours, a night.” you squint, managing to drop your forced gaze.

“Oh honey. I should have been with you.” Steve sighs, he pulls you into an embrace once more, your face instantly going to the crook of his neck, you nose jabbing at his scent gland, his odour instantaneously making you calm.

“It’s not your fault, Alpha. I promise.” you kiss his neck, he presses his head closer to you.

You reluctantly pull yourself away from Steve, to look at Dr Cho, in wonder of her question: “What would that have to do with the babies?”

“The reason your babies haven't been moving around a lot, recently, and the reason for your seizure, is because they’re exhausted. You are exhausted. The only way your brain thought it was going to get any rest, was if it completely shut down.”

“What does that mean?” you were still confused as to why their movement had been so limited.

“Your babies are fine, Y/N. They’re just asleep.” you could have had another seizure there and then, when Dr Cho gave you the world’s simplest explanation.

“They were asleep.” you repeat, in utter disbelief. She nods, giving you a assuring smile.

“Now, I need to look at that eye.” she turns her back, shortly, before she turns back, clutching, a ophthalmoscope.

“No I want to see, Alpha.” you stubbornly say, before trying for the third time to leave the bed, but Steve held you strongly on the bed.

“We will soon, sweetheart. Let Dr Cho look at your eye, and then we’ll go.” Steve kisses your cheek, but you’re not satisfied.

“I just want to see, Alpha.” you look at him with puppy dog eyes, and you can see he wants to cave, but he knows your eye needs to be examined. He hushes you, before he squeezes himself behind you, holding you close to his chest. A feeling you had missed greatly.

“I know, baby. I know. Be a good girl, and let Dr Cho look at your eye, and then we will go straight there.” Steve convinces, you lean back against his chest, giving a silent agreement to Dr Cho, who steps forward with the eye scope, clutched in her hand.

She brings it up to your eye, and you wince a little at the bright light.

“I know it’s hard, Y/N. But I need you to try and keep your eyes open for me.” Steve kisses the back of you hair, and whispers encouragement.

“That’s my girl, baby.” Dr Cho removes the light, which you’re grateful for, until the invasive light, is replaced by the prodding of her fingers.

You mewl and pull your head away from her interfering fingers, a bruising pain running across the bottom of your eye socket.

“Shh little one, it’s okay. Dr Cho’s nearly finished. Come on, baby. You were being such a good girl.” Steve tries to coax your head back to looking at Dr Cho, he kisses you neck, you let out a faint gasp, as he sucks a little on your mark, eliciting comforting hormones around your bloodstream.

You unwillingly allow Dr Cho to continue her examination of your eye, Steve rubbing over the back of your hands with his thumbs, and kissing along your neck, and shoulders, eventually it came to an end.

"It appears that you have suffered a subconjunctival hemorrhage.”

You tense in Steve’s arms, and begin to panic once more, that didn’t sound remotely good, hundreds of scenarios flash through your mind, Steve grips you closer.

“It’s okay Y/N, don't panic. That’s just the medical term, for burst blood vessels, in your eyes.” you lean back into Steve, he wraps his arms tightly around you, you turn your head into his chest.

“See everything’s alright, darlin. It’s all going to be okay.” Steve consoles you, “what’s the cause of this, can it be treated?”

“It could be a number of things; it doesn't need to be treated, it’s more of a cosmetic issue, it should resolve itself on it own, unless there is something preventing it. Has your morning sickness returned, Y/N?”

You shake your head in Steve’s chest, Steve doesn't try to scold you for not using your words, understanding you just needed the comfort of his bodily warmth, and scent.

You sense Dr Cho, bending down, out of the corner of your eye, next to the side of your bed, and her hand ghosts over your back.

“Y/N, sometimes this can happen, when someones been exerting a lot of force and pressure on their eyes. This pressure can often be caused by crying.” You felt Steve tense slightly from behind you, you push your face further into Steve’s chest, desperate to hide the burning of your cheeks.

“Honey, it’s okay. Have you been crying, a lot?” all you can do is nod at Steve’s words.

“I’m sorry, Alpha. I just...” you look up to meet, Steve’s eyes, “needed you.” you sniffle. Steve pushes your face into his neck.

“Shh, baby. I’m so sorry. I should have come to you, the moment Bucky became stable. I’m sorry, Alpha has neglected you for so long. I’ve been such a bad Alpha.” you can’t even form a reply, Steve is desperately trying to stop you from releasing anymore tears, not wanting you to worsen your eye.

“Don’t cry, baby. You don't need to anymore. Alpha’s here now.” he rubs your back, and you just fisted his t-shirt, breathing in his scent, that was finally there to help you keep your tears at bay.

“Shall we go and see Alpha?” Steve tentatively asked you, hoping that might distract you. You nod your head, Steve repeats your nod, before slipping out from behind you. Holding his hands out for you to take, you slip off the bed, and Steve helps you steady yourself.

“Okay?” he asks you, taking you chin.

“Yes, Alpha.” you give him a warm smile, before he places his hand on the small of your back, a touch that you gladly lean into, as he began to lead you out of the room.

Your knees were a little shaky, but you soon got into your stride, and it wasn’t long before you were nearly matching Steve’s pace.

“Slow down, baby girl. There’s no rush.” Steve tries to curb your enthusiasm, but you were too focused no the prospect of seeing your other Alpha. Just as you reached a closed door, Steve pulled you aside.

“Now listen to me, baby. Alpha isn't very well, and he doesn't look very well. Don’t be scared, by what you see. Dr Cho and Dr Banner are doing everything they can to make him better. And he is getting better. Why’s that?” Steve asks you. It doesn't take you long to decipher an answer.

“He’s strong.”

“That’s right, little Omega.” Steve smiles at you, and kisses you on your forehead, before stepping in front of you, and grasping the door handle.

Turning it, he peaks his head in.

“Hey honey, there’s someone here to see you.” Steve pushes the door open, and leads you in, you rush forward only to stop short, at the foot of the bed. You’re eyes are wide, as they observe over the man laying in front of you.

You almost didn’t recognise him, the bruising over his face was extensive, and made his face swell, he didn’t have a hospital gown on, as you notices a large bandaged wrapped around his chest. His right arm, matched your’s when you were in the hospital, his too were covered with IV’s, the familiar sound of an irritating heart monitor, set the tone in the room.

“Go closer, baby. Don't be scared, it’s just Alpha, he wants to see you.” you feel Steve’s hand go on your back, gently nudging you towards Bucky’s bedside. Eventually you begin to feel your toes, and drag your weighted feet, to the side of the bed.

Bucky winced as he turned his head, watching you come to him, he opened his arms as best he could, and tried to lean towards you, but stopped abruptly, when he appeared to pull on a tube in his side.

“Careful darlin, your chest drain.” Steve warned, going to you at Bucky’s side. He pulled the chair that was already there, closer, and sat behind you, as you stood playing with your hands.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Come and give Alpha a cuddle. Don’t be scared it’s me.” Bucky croaked, all you wanted to do was fling your arms round him like you had Steve, but you were afraid you were going to hurt him.

“Don’t want to hurt you, Alpha.” your voice trembled slightly.

“It’s alright, doll. I know you’ll be as gentle as you can. Right now, I just need a big cuddle from my babies.” you caved as he said that, and as skilfully as you could, you wrap your arms around Bucky. He quickly reciprocated.

You push your head into his neck, but the scent you were hoping to find, was not there, instead he smelt of dried blood, and sweat. You couldn't help but recoil slightly the smell was not the familiar one you were expecting.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Bucky asked you, when he felt you move away slightly.

“Nothing, Alpha.” you didn’t want to upset him, despite his scent changing, you could still feel the wave of emotion he was feeling, having you back in his arms.

“No tell me, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” he pulls you away from him, and your gaze drops to his chest, and your eyes fix on the large bandage covering his chest. He catches your chin, moving you eyes back to his bruised ones.

“What happened to your eye, my beautiful girl?” you scoffed a little at his pet name, right now you were everything, but beautiful.

“She’s burst a few blood vessels in her eyes.” Steve explained for you, Bucky was rotating your head from side to side, performing his own examination.

“How?” Bucky asked shocked.

“Dr Cho said it can be caused by large amounts of pressure, often the pressure can occur from excessive crying.” you silent curse at Steve in your head, Bucky didn’t need that one his mind, not now, when he’s clearly needs time to recover, without having to worry for you.

“Baby girl, is this true? Have you hurt yourself, from crying?” Bucky’s own swollen eyes swim with hurt and guilt, already knowing that your answer will condemn him as the culprit, causing your tears.

You nod, unable to tell him directly. Bucky caresses your cheeks, you can literally see his heart breaking through his eyes.

“I’m sorry, darlin. We won't ever do that to you again. I promise, Alpha and I are not going anywhere else for the rest of this pregnancy.” Bucky vows, you lean in careful of his cracked and split lips, and place a soft kiss on his lips, as your confirmation that you liked his agreement.

For the first time in weeks, you felt a yawn creep up your throat, and you cover your mouth, as it escapes.

“I think it’s somebody’s bedtime, Stevie.” Bucky chuckles, moving strands away from your face.

“I think so too.” Steve stands from his chair, and tries to take your hand, but you hold onto the only space on Bucky’s arm that isn't covered by an IV.

“No I don't want to leave, Alpha on his own.” you whimper, your bottom lip began to tremble, at the thought of being apart from either of your Alphas for a moment longer.

“It’s alright, darlin. Alpha will bring you tomorrow.” Steve tries to reason, but you don't let go.

“No, please I want to stay.”

“Baby, there’s no where for you to sleep comfortably.” Bucky tries to point out, rubbing a hand over your bump, you push into his hand, the feeling of him touching your belly, makes your insides glow.

“Please, Alpha.” you pout, and give Steve puppy dog eyes, and it’s not long till he caves.

“Alright.” he sighs. “Hang on a minute, we need to make sure we support your back.”

You feel movement to your side, and your head turns to see Bucky moving over in his bed.

“Careful, Alpha. What are you doing?” you grab, Bucky’s arm, but Steve is already by his side, helping him get comfortable.

“What are you doing, baby?” Steve asks Bucky, as Bucky hands him an assortment of tubes, making him hold them, while he shuffled towards one side of the bed.

“Making some room for my little ones.” he spoke bluntly, eventually he was satisfied, by the amount of space he had made, and patted it, encouragingly.

He didn’t have to ask you twice, as you gladly, but cautiously laid next to him. He rested one hand on your tummy, whilst the other wrapped around your shoulder.

“You can turn into me baby, it’s alright. Remember you can’t lay on your back.” Bucky reminded you, helping you to roll into his side, Steve was taking your shoes off, and pulling your leggings down, before covering you with Bucky’s hospital blanket.

“But what about Alpha?” you asked, as Steve fixed the barriers around you and Bucky, so that you wouldn't fall off the bed.

“I can’t fit on there, sweetheart. And anyway I’m happy in my little chair, watching my two favourite people snuggle.”

“You can at least hold my hand.” Bucky smirks, Steve grinned back, and pulled his chair closer to the bed.

“Of course, my darlin. I wouldn't have it any other way.” he clasps Bucky’s hand, and brings it to his lips.

You snuggled closer to Bucky’s warm chest, feeling the most content, you have ever felt in the last 2 weeks.

Finally, your men were home. Your family was together.

A/N: Fun fact, my mom thought that she had lost me, after she did a load of long shifts in a row, and she hadn't felt me move in a few days. But the Doctors told her that I was in fact just asleep!! Not much has changed!

TAGLIST:

@mikariell95 @sexyvixen7 @booboobella01 @rororo06 @vickstaahh @krazykatkay456 @winchester-wifey @nightlygiggles @coonflix @broco8 @animegirlgeeky @amanda-the-fangirl @brunettebabylou @flyaway1221 @frozenhuntress67 @colourforanamee @bisexualbaby2001

#alpha!steve #alpha!bucky #reader insert #omega!reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #a/b/o dynamics #avengers a/b/o #pregnant reader #pregnancy #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve fic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fic #stucky x reader #stucky

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kidofthekat · 4 years

Text

Salty Outcasts chapter 4 - Juleka

(link to masterpost).

“Hi Kagami!” Marinette called as she jogged up to the other girl and pulled out a seat next to her.

“I have already ordered your juice.”

“Thank you.” They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they waited for someone to bring them their drinks. They were sitting in a small juice bar close to the Eiffel Tower that the two had discovered a couple weeks ago. The interior was a cool relief to the burning heat outside, and although not that large, it had a selection of juices that satisfied even their very different tastes. A dark haired server brought them their juices as the girls began to talk.

“I know we normally have juice only once a week, but this is super fun. Thank you for inviting me Kagami!”

“It is my plea-”

“And you know I’ve had quite the week,” Kagami settled into her chair, awaiting the rambled rant that was coming, “Did you know that all the stores within a one mile radius from my house get delivered bananas early Saturday, today, which means they are all out on Friday’s? And that dried fruit is super expensive and only sold in whole food stores near me? Like why don’t normal supermarkets sell dried fruit?”

“They normally do, it must just be your area.” Mari-chan really went to a lot of effort for on banana.

“I know! It’s like the world is out to get me. Honestly I blame Plagg, his bad luck seems to transfer to me for no good reason, like excuse me Tikki, aren’t I meant to have good lu-ow” A harsh pinch on Marinette’s thigh snapped her out of her rant. She immediately went wide eyed at what she had said, realisation having come a little too late.

“Are you okay Mari-chan?”

Staring at Kagami for a second Marinette nodded and reached for her orange juice, hoping with her whole heart that she wouldn’t be questioned about her rant. Don’t know whether it was lucky I stopped when I did , or unlucky I started talking in the first place.

Kagami was at a loss, nothing Marinette had said made sense, but none of it had been about school either. Marinette usually wore her heart on her sleeves so why wasn’t she upset about this? She ended up deciding that for some reason or another Marinette must be too distracted to have noticed the world falling apart around her, but she wasn’t going to question what was distracting her friend as it made her job of keeping Marinette’s spirits up much easier.

“So… how is fencing recently? You have that big competition that Adrien is helping you with right?”

“Yes, it is in a months’ time from now in London, I must admit that the extra time with - ” Kagami was cut off by the ringing of Marinette’s phone playing a tune she was unfamiliar with. Apologising, Marinette picked it up and answered.

“Juleka?” Kagami put down her juice, Juleka was fake bluenette’s sister, right? “Woah, slow down. Okay. Hold on, we’ll be there in 10. Oh yeah, I’m with Kagami, she’s Adrien’s girlfriend,” oof that kinda hurt to say, Marinette shook her head and resumed speaking, “can she come? Thank you, take care!”

“That was Luka’s sister, no?”

“Yeah it was,” Marinette was already walking to the counter to pay, “She recently went through a break up, yesterday actually.” Paying the server, she pulled Kagami out of the café, “She is currently really hurt by it, and she has a right to be, so I’m gonna go and cheer her up, oh!”

Marinette suddenly stopped, causing Kagami to bump into her, “I’m sorry, I forgot to even ask if you wanted to come!”

“I will help Mari-chan, girl code and all that.” Kagami’s dead serious tone caused her friend to burst into laughter confusing her deeply. Though she shrugged it off in favour of enjoying the designers change in mood from the past few weeks, maybe their statement had been freeing to her? Those sheep definitely held Mari-chan back.

Juleka lay in her room on The Liberty feeling more alone than she could remember. Her mum had gone on the mundane task of grocery shopping and Luka had gone to find a song ‘in need’ that he had heard earlier that day.

The houseboat being unusually quiet had freaked her out a little, recently, more often than not, she had friends or kitty section over, livening the whole place up. But now, they were gone, and she didn’t think they were coming back, no matter how thought out the plan could be.

Pulling herself off the floor, Juleka trudged up from the lower deck to be greeted with the morning sun and a light breeze blowing her fringe into her eyes. Huffing, she made her way to the edge and sat on the low wall surrounding the deck with her feet dangling above the water.

Tuning out from the city noises, Juleka focused on the steady rhythm of the water below her and the swirling patterns created by passing boats. She took a deep breath and finally let herself cry, no longer holding in her hurt, knowing her friends were nearby.

Each sob was more heart-wrenching than the last to Marinette, she and Kagami had just reached the Liberty and climbed on board, their conversation drowned out by the broken goth. Kagami held back as Marinette sat beside Juleka, pulling her into a tight hug and whispering soothing words.

After a few minutes, Juleka’s sobs became small sniffles and Kagami had joined them by the boats edge.

“Thank you Marinette.”

“Please don’t thank me, just know I’ll be here whenever you need me, as will your brother and many others.”

“I don’t know, since we had the same friendship group, everyone would be torn on who to comfort anyway, and this whole Lila thing…” Juleka trailed off, her head hung low as she leaned into Marinette, looking over the river she had always called home.

Marinette had long ago realised that being Ladybug changed her ‘aura’, or, as Pollen had once put it, ‘you’re like a silent walking lullaby, everyone calms down in your presence whether or not they want to’. She also figured out that she could direct her ‘aura’, so that’s exactly what she did, focusing on the invisible mist that surrounded her and navigating it towards Juleka, though it seemed to have been a bit too strong as a yawn broke the silence.

“It’s gonna be okay, you just gotta push through and we will help you, you did nothing wrong.” As Marinette continued to encourage Juleka, Kagami got increasingly confused until she decided to speak her mind.

“I do not understand.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you upset? Surely this is a good thing.”

“Uh, Kagami? Her girlfriend just broke up with her.”

“Yes, but her girlfriend did so because she believed a liar over her. Juleka, I believe she has done you a favour as she clearly didn’t trust you enough and trust, or so I have been told, is very important in a relationship. She saved you from wasting more ti- oh I see, you are upset that you didn’t see who she truly was earlier on.” Kagami nodded her head as if to show understanding, oblivious to the other two girls silent giggles.

“I don’t think that’s quite it.” Marinette ventured.

“But thank you Kagami.” She released herself from Marinette’s hold and gave the fencer a quick yet fierce hug.

Smiling, Marinette stood up, “come on, lets go somewhere and do something to cheer you up.”

“Juleka I’m assuming you skipped breakfast, typical of your blood type when going through a break-up, and since Marinette and I haven’t eaten either, brunch at the bakery seems good.” Kagami led them off the boat as Juleka looked to Marinette curiously.

“Blood type?”

She giggled a little as she answered, “Yeah, it’s kinda like a horoscope in Japanese culture.”

“How does she know my blood type though?”

“Vampire?”

“Maybe, another time though, your parents’ macarons sound like heaven right about now.”

Thanks for reading. Sorry it took a while but in the bright side I have finally figured out how I’m gonna write the rest of the story! Also thanks @flufflepuffle296 for proof reading, don’t know what I would do without you! Masterpost.

Taglist:

@kanamexzeroyaoifangirl

@lilkymilky

@shippernaturalsanderspjoandscifi

@mythogaychic

@aestheticnpoetic

#mlb #miraculous ladybug #juleka couffaine #kagami tsurugi #marinette dupain cheng #rose lavillant salt #lila salt

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gerbiloftriumph · 3 years

Photo

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3)

His name was Gwydion–but that wasn’t his name. He lived in Llewdor–but that wasn’t his home.

Alexander escapes Manannan’s grasp and flees to Daventry, hoping he might find a place that he might call home after years of loss and loneliness. While Daventry embraces him, loves him, shows him all the stories it has within it, the country is also suffering under the worst winter in memory. But it might not just be a hard season: there might be something out there, something chasing the lost prince. Something malevolent, intent on destroying the kingdom snowflake by snowflake, spreading a curse across the lands and infecting its king.

~*~*~

8/8

(1: Found Family)(2: Footprints)(3: The Stories that Really Matter)(4: A Rose Among Thorns)(5: Snowbound)(6: Fractals)(7: The Ice Queen)(8: Belonging)

~*~*~

The fixit fic didn’t include the ch4 prologue, because I didn’t see the point in writing it word for word. But just in case, maybe you might want a refresher on [Graham’s Lullaby.]

Seriously, again, special thanks to @captmickey and @theicemancometh for being my betas in part or in full. It wouldn’t have worked at all without you.

~*~*~

Each room in the tower was shrouded in ice. They looked like ordinary rooms, but with their contents replaced by strange facsimiles. He glimpsed a frozen table, frozen curtains, a frozen bed. The furnishings were all as one might expect, but they were cold. Cheerless and unwelcoming and flat and hard, and now he was paying attention, hauntingly familiar.

This was the tower, he knew without a shred of doubt, that had carried him, Valanice, and Valanice together through the clouds. Vee and Neese, his friends. Then, it had been cursed in a way that ensured its inhabitants could never leave. Now, it was cursed with ice, and it spread its curse boundlessly. It had taken on additional buildings and courtyards and walls as it had traveled. Whole huge rooms for its labyrinth. He wondered whose castle walls these had been. Whose courtyard had been stolen. That stable, those barracks, that lamppost. What had been lost to this traveling curse?

He thought of the sculptures of people, in their dizzying array of clothes and styles and features, frozen in the labyrinth, and he amended: who had been lost to this traveling curse?

Valanice...Icebella. Icebella had been lost to it.

Daventry was losing more to it by the moment. It was going to take his family next.

The guards pushed them into a small room and left them alone. The door locked behind them, a cold sound that reminded Graham nauseatingly of the prison he’d been locked in as a brand-new king, shivering and alone and afraid of the dark.

This room wasn’t a proper cell, at least. It was possibly a workroom of some sort, full of tables and chairs of a utilitarian nature. He tried to remember, twenty years ago, what this room would have been, but nothing came to mind. It was now filled with more of those frozen people-sculptures. People like Graham, people from other countries this castle had visited, cursed and frozen and dead.

Manny, recent addition to Icebella’s court, apparently hadn’t known about the ice curse itself spreading to people. Or, at least, hadn’t known the particulars, hadn’t seen an example of it in action. He had been surprised by Graham’s slow conversion. But it definitely wasn’t a secret now. He knew about the power of this place and he could do so much with it. Could freeze anything, anyone, who stood in his way. Steal the pieces of their countries he wanted, grafted onto the original tower like mashing clay toys together.

Did Icebella know how this curse worked? Could she stop it if she wanted, or had all these people frozen beneath her helpless hands? Had she acted maliciously or accidentally, or had she anything to do with this at all? Had it been something Hagatha had done, corrupting everything while Graham and Valanice just barely escaped?

Icebella....

He shivered, pacing to keep warm, the chattering of his teeth setting a rhythm. “We spent that whole spring together. She was Valanice’s best friend. She was at my wedding, Valanice’s maid of honor. She danced with us all through the night, laughed with the royal guards, loved us wholly.” The memories were warm, hazy, bathed in a golden glow of nostalgia and joy. But for the first time in years, he let himself really think about the time after that spring in Hagatha’s tower, this tower.

Somehow, he realized, the wedding was the last time they really spent time together as a trio. And even earlier than that, during the courtship of his soon-to-be-wife, she had stayed distant, less willing to spend time with them. She broke herself away from them, and they didn’t reach out to her as frequently or as hard as they ought to have.

“She wore gloves,” he muttered. “Even in fine weather. At the wedding. I never saw her hands after we left the tower. And I didn’t think. I didn’t ask. I should have thought. I should have noticed.” He stared at his own icy hand, locked up and clear and blue, and it hurt, a cold ache that gnawed his bones. And he wondered. Had he seen her shivering in the sunshine, had he dismissed it as a trick of the light?

“I should have known.”

And, in her fear of being alone, she had carved her own guards with her newfound ice magic in mimicry of Royal Guard Number One’s uniform, had kept a piece of Daventry close by her side, to protect her, even as she sank deeper and deeper into a curse, even as she forgot where the designs had come from, why they had ever mattered to her at all.

“I should have known.”

He paced, and paced, and his steps were slower, and slower, and his breathing grew laborious. The white clouds of condensation from breathing in cold weather were heavier, almost like dark little clouds full of snow. Like the curse was spreading through his chest, crystals spiderwebbing across his lungs.

He realized in his distraction he didn’t know where his son was. The room was small, but the young man was good at finding little nooks and crannies and burying himself in them. Graham found him curled in a corner behind a table, surrounded by reaching ice sculptures, clutching his head in his hands.

“Alexander?”

“Gwydion,” he whispered. “I’m Gwydion. That’s all I’ve ever been. All I’ll ever be. This is my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. Everyone is going to die because of me.”

Lost. So lost. Alone and lost.

Graham knelt stiffly. “My son, my dear Alexander, please, don’t. This is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong. You deserve the world and the chance to make what you want in it. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. Alexander, none of this is your fault.”

“Manannan wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t cursed him.”

“You couldn’t have escaped him if you hadn’t. And we never would have been blessed to meet you.”

His son said nothing. He curled deeper into himself, shaking with fear and cold, sure he had brought all this on the sunny kingdom of Daventry, sure he had brought its destruction.

Graham leaned against the leg of a statue, clutching his arm. In a voice laced with frost, he whispered the words to an old lullaby, not sure if he was speaking to his son or himself at this point. An old memory stirring up from the dust as he remembered his friends and his hope. He didn’t sing. He didn’t feel like he could get enough air in his chest to sing. But he could speak, and he repeated the words to a song that he hadn’t thought of in almost eighteen years.

I may be king but you are my prince. If life gets too puzzling, I’ll give you the hints. Your quest has begun, my kingdom you’ll run, I’ll love you forever, my son.

They sat in silence. Graham just tried to breathe. Thinking about cats and curses. Staring off into the cold shadows of the room, the chill seeping into his heart.

After a while, Gwydion said, softly, hesitatingly, “You never finished the story.”

“I didn’t? What story is that?”

“About the goblins. How you escaped. That July. I want…I want to hear the rest of it.”

Graham told the rest of his story, then. It was abbreviated. It lost all of the usual polish and storylike qualities it had earned over the years. He told it haltingly, painfully. Without the fairy tale sparkle, he started remembering the fear more. The fear that his friends were going to die while he watched helplessly from the other side of a locked door. All the smoothness was worn away by the ice in his throat, revealing an uneasy ripple that he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t tell it any other way, with his son watching and the cold strangling him.

Manny had tried to kill him, and he would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Graham’s refusal to give up, for his reliance on his friends. It ended with hope, but the road had been hard.

And then, Gwydion told his own story. For the first time, from start to finish, willingly. He couldn’t remember all of it. There were eighteen years of it, and much of it was the same: menial tasks for a wizard who was quick to punish if Gwydion didn’t work as fast or precisely as expected. But parts of it were memorable. The manor house itself, for instance. It was just him, and Manannan, and Mordack.

Mordack would watch him with cold pity, and that was almost worse than Manannan’s cruel anger. It meant Mordack didn’t necessarily agree with any of this—but wouldn’t do anything to help. So Gwydion worked, and hid, and scrimped, and survived, but he had a growing fear that something was reaching an end. Something about turning eighteen frightened him, like something major was going to change in the manor and that something wasn’t going to be good for him.

Deciding to escape had been relatively easy. Actually escaping was another matter all together.

The fear of not knowing when the wizard would catch him, where he should hide the tools of magic he stole, if he would be discovered. The challenge of the magic itself, the near misses and tight scrapes. Triple checking every step, every line, again and again, mouth dry with the thought of failure, or worse, being found. Practicing the wrist movements, chanting the ingredients needed, reading the books, sneaking down to the hidden cellar with stolen wand clamped in his shaking fist, afraid of breaking it or marking it in some noticeable way. Finally building his confidence to craft the one spell, the curse, that would save him, to break the cat cookie in Manannan’s breakfast and to try not to give the whole game away too early. To wait for the magic to take. And the difficult decision of what to do next.

“I ruined it by coming here. I should have gone far away, where there wasn’t anyone for him to hurt.”

Graham reached out and touched his son on the shoulder. His Alexander. His brave Alexander. Not Gwydion, never again. “You deserve a place to call your own as much as anyone, and you can carve your place out anywhere. But you came here, Alexander. If you’ll have us, we want you. In Daventry. That’s all we ever wanted. To have you with us, to have you call this place with everyone—Amaya, Whisper, the Feys, Acorn, everyone. To let you, Alexander, call this place home. You shouldn’t allow someone like Manannan decide where you go, who you are. You shouldn’t even let us decide for you. That’s your freedom.”

Alexander, nervously, leaned into Graham’s hand, and then into him, his shoulder pressed against Graham’s chest. He was shivering, but his warmth helped ease Graham’s pain. The king felt like he could breathe again, like the ice in his lungs was melting.

Gingerly, he embraced Alexander, and for once, he didn’t flinch away. His dear son, full of magic, of fire and heat and fear, stifled by the cold but powerful nevertheless. He’d escaped. He’d used Manny’s own tools against the wizard, and he had chosen to come here. He was stronger than he’d ever know. Graham smiled, resting his cheek against his son’s wavy hair, thoughts drifting like icebergs. If only he could somehow convince his son to see that. But it would take more than Graham’s words. It would take a heartfelt conviction. A fiery intensity and determination to change.

Heat. Warmth.

…wait a second.

Warmth. My fiery son.

But the guards burst in, and pulled the two up by their arms (Graham bit back another yelp, wishing people would stop yanking on his aching arm) and it was time for their audience with Queen Icebella.

~*~*~*~*

Valanice was dizzy. She didn’t feel like she could stand for more than a moment, and her boots couldn’t seem to keep traction on the slippery floor. The queen of the castle had linked arms with her and they were proceeding down the castle halls in silence. Despite the normally friendly sort of gesture of walking arm in arm, the queen was haughty and detached, ramrod straight with her cold gaze fixed firmly down the hall, unwavering and unblinking. Valanice walked beside her, feeling slovenly and slumpy and hazy and unfocused. Her vision kept blurring in and out.

She had the strangest sense that she had done this, had walked like this, arm in arm, with this queen before, giggly and full of joy. But that was silly—the queen, Icebella, was frosty and blue and distant, and they had never met.

At least, she thought so. It was so hard to focus. But no one was actually blue. Probably. Maybe. Maybe fairies. Maybe she was with a fairy.

Her head hurt.

“Come, Valanice,” the queen said, and there was a slight echo to the words, like she was speaking from the back of a snowy cavern. “I have asked for a chair for you, by my throne. I am sorry to wake you when you are so exhausted, but I want you to meet this amusing visitor to my castle. He claims he is a king, and his bright red cloak is most grand.”

Bright red cloak. Sounded familiar, somehow. Valanice nodded blearily, not trusting herself to speak and walk at the same time.

The throne room was remarkably bright despite the late hour. Valanice had to squint against the white reflective ice, and she dizzily sank into the chair offered her, only realizing after a few moments that it, too, was made of ice, like everything in this place. She started shivering. Or maybe she’d never stopped shivering.

The cat sitting on the throne beside her seemed to smile at her, pawing its ear. As though cats could smile. She would have given it a friendly pet had she been able to lift her hand, but that seemed too complicated and wearying a thing to do.

Ice guards lined the walls of the room, hands on swords sharp as icicles. She supposed they were meant to protect her and the queen from whoever their visitor was about to be. She wondered if this audience would be safe. But with so many guards, surely she need not feel concerned. She was grateful to them and their grim silence.

It was a lovely red cloak, she decided, as the supposed king stumbled in, propelled along by one of the ice guards. That was about all she could say for it. It didn’t seem to be keeping him very warm. His lips were turning blue. How interesting. Maybe he was a fairy too. A fairy king.

Wait.

~*~*~*~

Gwydion.

Alexander...?

Gwydion. He stood in front of his former master, and Gwydion was all that he could be. He didn’t have a choice. He was clumsy, and he was foolish, and his attempt to escape, to take a different name, had failed. He was before Manannan, as before, as always.

Not entirely alone this time. Gwydion could feel the cold radiating from the king despite standing several paces away. The king’s teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. He tried wrapping his cloak tighter, but there wasn’t any warmth to hold in. And that was Gwydion’s fault, too, for not stopping him from touching the roses, Gwydion’s fault for leading the ice castle here, Gwydion’s fault for believing, even for an instant, that he could be this man’s son.

From the dais, a voice called, “Graham!” The lady of Daventry half stood from her chair, but a wave of dizziness seemed to overwhelm her, and she sank back down helplessly, clutching the chair arms as though that was the only thing keeping her upright. Powerless to do anything but speak.

“V-Valanice,” Graham managed. But he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on Icebella.

“Do you refer to me? I did command you to stop calling me so,” Icebella said. She stood straight before her throne, her gaze haughty. Frustration made her icy cheeks turn white. “I wished to begin differently, sir, but you try my patience immediately. Perhaps Cat was right, and you are too foolish for my attention. My name is Icebella. It was given to me. My special name.”

“How was it g-given?” Graham shivered.

“Cat is sweet, and Cat said the name suited me, and Cat gifted it to me when I had no other name.”

From the throne, Manny stretched long and luxuriously, tail flicking. He yawned, showing off a fierce row of sharp little white teeth, and smiled, sitting straight. “Names do matter, don’t they, Gwydion? They indicate so much. They tell others who you are, where you belong. Speaking of names, Graham, I’m wondering what name we should carve under your ice sculpture in a few hours. I can’t decide. Maybe we should workshop it. You should pick a pose now, I think.”

Graham ignored this. “Icebella,” he said, stepping forward and bowing to her stiffly, icy arm locked into place at his side. “I apologize for my rudeness and b-beg your forgiveness.”

“I may grant it,” she said. “I have questions for you as a supposed king, after all, and I would regret not being able to ask you about your kingdom if I ordered you thrown out a window for impertinence.”

“Of c-course. But. May I ask you a question f-first, in earnest?”

She hesitated, probably knowing where this was going, and then said, reluctantly, “You may. It does seem only fair, from queen to king.”

“With the full respect owed, and you may ch-choose not to answer me: how long have you been Icebella?”

She frowned, and for a moment she looked like she wanted to lash out again. “I suppose not long,” she finally admitted, after deep consideration. “A few months, at best. Before then, I was no one, I fear.”

“You weren’t no one,” Graham said. “You were special, Valanice.”

“Icebella,” Manny interrupted smoothly. “You are only a person now that you’ve been named. Your name is ice, your name is beauty. Before, you were no one, as you say. You were dark and sad and alone, and I named you, and I saved you, and you are Icebella.”

“Stop calling her that,” Valanice said. “Her name was Valanice. She loved adventures. She loved sunshine. She was competitive and sharp and creative and energetic, and she was all those things as Valanice, and I would bet she is still all those things.”

“You wouldn’t know,” the cat hissed. “You didn’t reach out to her, find her. You didn’t let her know she was still Valanice. She was lost, and I found her, and I named her, and I saved her, and she is mine.”

Gwydion felt the chill, then, in a way he hadn’t before.

Names.

Ownership.

Names are crucial. Names matter.

And I’m not the only one Manannan hurt.

Someone else here had lost her name, and someone else was using her powers to lash out, guided by a monster who only wanted her to do his bidding. Who only wanted to own her and use her.

I was that person too, a slave to a wizard. Lost name. Lost self.

But...he had run away, hadn’t he? Gwydion. Alexander. The power of a name. And...maybe...?

“Icebella,” Graham said. “Valanice. You loved books, and music. You loved puzzles, and you loved art, and you loved stories, and you loved games, and you shone like the sun, not ice. You could d-dance and—” his voice broke off with a crack like snapping an icicle, and he coughed hard, little puffs like snow clouds floating around him, shivering so violently it looked like he was going to splinter into shards of ice.

“And you could sing,” Valanice, the queen, picked up where the king could not, “And you knew all the names of all the constellations. And you could embroider, but you thought it was boring. And you could beat all of us at chess every single time, and you knew every fairy tale, even the rare ones. And you loved us. You were so full of love and life and compassion and care. You weren’t no one, Valanice, even in the darkness. You were Valanice, and you could do so much. And we’re sorry, so sorry, we left you.”

Icebella hesitated, hovering over her throne, looking at Valanice with something unreadable in her expression—perhaps sorrow? But then she glanced toward Manny, and her eyes hardened again. “If what you say bears even a shred of truth,” she said sharply to the Daventry family, “then you have done me a disservice. You spoke not to me when I was...that other person, and I was lost, and I may blame my years of darkness and wandering upon you. Cat came out of the darkness, and Cat saved me, then, and I am Icebella, and shall remain so.”

The smug grin on the cat’s face made Gwydion bristle, made him angry. Alexander had once been angry enough once to teach himself magic, to take his fate back into his own hands, to turn his fear into determination, and to escape.

And he would do it again.

“Your castle moves,” he said. Both Graham and Valanice turned and stared at him, and he stammered nervously, but he had to speak. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, if he could help or hurt, and none of this was considered, but he had to speak.

“Your castle moves,” he repeated, “but do you ever feel like you have a home? Or do you always feel lost, even now, as Icebella?”

Icebella’s gaze was haughty and angry and he cowered beneath her authority. But he rose again, feeling the heat of the magic he’d taken for himself in his chest. “I always feel lost,” he told her. “I lost my name, too. I lost my identity and my purpose, and I was given another one, one that I didn’t want by someone who didn’t love me, and I walked away from it, and I’ve been wandering, looking for a place that could be mine, a name that I could have.”

“You do not understand loss,” Icebella said, and her voice was colder than the deepest ice cave.

“I lost my home,” Alexander countered. “I lost my family. I lost everything. I wasn’t anyone. But here, in Daventry, I’ve seen people who know where they belong. The bakers, the blacksmith, the knights, the guards, everyone. They live here, and they build stories here, and this is their home. They know their names, and who they are, and they’ve all been trying to help me learn a name I could take for myself. They look frightened when they remember I was once Gwydion, and they want to call me Prince Alexander. But I think I’m just Alexander. I think that’s my name. And I think I’ve found a place where I could overwrite my loss. A place that welcomes travelers, that tells stories, that is sunny and warm even when it’s snowy and cold.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Manannan said. “Shut up, Gwydion, the adults are talking.”

“No, I won’t. I’m Alexander, and this is my home, and I don’t want it to be cold and heartless like you’d want it to be. This kingdom is full of life, and I will protect it in any way I can.”

He looked at his father. “I learned something,” he said, and he was worried and quiet again, like he was taking something from Graham that he didn’t feel he’d earned. “It didn’t help me at first, because I didn’t really understand the point of it, even with all the stories. But it’s a salute that you can do to center yourself, to feel brave when you don’t want to be, to be compassionate when you’re upset, to be wise when you feel confused.” He gave an Achaka salute, thumping his fist into his open palm. “It’s to remind you that you aren’t alone,” he said. “That there are people who will always support you and care for you if you look. People who will tell stories with you and help you belong.”

“This is drivel,” Manannan said. “This whole family is a waste of air.”

“But you admit that he’s part of our family,” Graham said, his voice almost as hollow as Icebella’s now, crackling out. “This kingdom has opened its arms to him and taught him our stories and let him become part of us. If he wants.”

“And I think I do want that,” Alexander said, and he stood tall. “I think that’s what’s important to me. The stories they tell here always show what matters to them. What’s important to them. What’s important to you, Icebella? What was stolen from you? Was it a name? Was it a home? Was it a family? What do you want back? And did Manannan—that cat—give it to you? Has he ever even given you a choice?”

She didn’t have an answer to that.

“This is all very sweet,” Manny said, his tail thumping on the throne, voice oozing disinterest. “But I just don’t see the point of any of this. I’ve still won this game. I’ve captured the entire Daventry family”—he spat the word with disgust—”from the king and queen to the lowly castle guards, and I can dispose of them whenever I see fit.

“Gwydion, you claim this place as your home, fine. It won’t matter, because it’s going to belong to me now, since the king is in-deposed. But first I’m going to ask very politely, very pointedly, for you to lift this curse, and we can be as pointed as we must for as long as we must until I get what I want.” His tail thumped again in emphasis. “I’ve won, and all of this is pointless, pandering, meandering tripe. I have ice guards. I have goblins. I have the queen herself. I always get what I want.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that at all,” said Rosella.

~*~*~*~

Graham’s neck was starting to lock up now too, but he managed to turn just in time to see his daughter standing inside the throne room exchanging...yes, exchanging a high five with Royal Guard Number One. “An excellent riposte, Princess Rosella,” No1 told her.

Royal Guards Two, Three, Four, Kyle, and Larry were standing in a loose semicircle at their sides, swords drawn. And, crammed into every inch of space between the guards, vibrating with barely suppressed excitement, were rock goblins. The goblins were all colorfully decked out in every color of Acorn’s winter stock, scarves and hats and socks, and they were all bristly with picks and shovels. One or two of them had even managed to recover their regular spears. They were all, to a goblin, glaring at the ice guards. Except for that old familiar forward curl goblin—it graciously tipped its snowcap at Graham.

The room hummed with anticipation, both sides carefully observing the other. Number One especially seemed to be running calculations and expectations: his head never stopped moving, checking every angle while he stood otherwise perfectly poised. There was a breathless pause, and in that pause, Icebella stood, furious about this unexpected intrusion to her audience.

“Guards!” Icebella said, flinging her hand out in command, “to the dais! Protect my royal self and my guest Valanice from these ruffians!”

But the ice guards hesitated for a fraction of an instant, looking to the cat for true instruction, and that was plenty of time for Manny to smoothly intervene. “That seems like an unnecessary waste of resources. I have a better idea. I have no need for this charade anymore, no need for you, my dear—everything I want is right here and I will take it. Guards! Kill Icebella, and take Graham and Gwydion alive. Kill the rest, and the goblins. I won’t need them anymore, not once I’m free of this curse. My magic will be enough.”

Icebella whirled, skirts twisting around her, to stare at the cat sitting in her throne, but ice guards stepped between them, protecting the smug wizard, and she stumbled backward, hands raised not in command but imploringly now, startled and afraid of her own creations. Of her once-upon-a-time friend.

“Goblins,” No1 snapped, drawing his own sword, “defend the royal family!”

“Including the ice queen!” Alexander yelled.

“Really? Very well. Including the ice queen,” No1 amended. He raised his arm, and the goblins streamed around him, whooping and laughing.

The ice guards lining the walls had drawn their own swords. Some took defensive stances, but many of them sprinted forward to fill Manny’s order. They were immediately driven back: there were too many goblins and a crew of very annoyed and very determined royal guards. The ice guard standing near Graham did grab its opportunity. Specifically, it grabbed the king and yanked him off balance, drawing him close and pinning his arms behind his back. His stiff shoulder bent awkwardly. Graham yelped, sure his ice arm was probably going to snap in half considering how many people kept pulling on it.

But forward curl goblin knocked the ice guard out by the knees, swinging its shovel hard enough for the ice to splinter. Graham staggered forward as the ice shattered around him, pieces glittering like dust motes. The goblin gave him some sort of complicated gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring but instead looked rather menacing before scampering off to take down someone else. No1 stepped up beside Graham in its place, sword raised to defend, giving his king a determined nod. Graham returned the nod, clutching his aching ice arm with his good hand.

Around them, chaos reigned, goblins wailing and gleefully attacking their hated bosses, royal guards hacking left and right, ice cracking beneath their swords. The ice guards were fighting back, their icicle blades scraping and tearing winter wear but unable to penetrate rock goblin armor or Crimson Colada platemail, making the fight a series of quickly timed events in favor of the Daventry team. When the Daventry team wasn’t caught unawares or desperately outnumbered, they were quite good at their jobs.

One enterprising goblin managed to tug a frozen tapestry from the wall and went sailing through the air, clutching it like it was a vine and warbling a war cry, its little stocking’d feet slamming into an ice guard. Another pair had gone for the Kyle and Larry route, one charging in with another on its shoulders, both deadly at short range, while the real Kyle and Larry did the exact same thing a few feet away. Still others just went for the general bashing and tackling and pouncing methods. Graham remembered being on the wrong end of those pounces and winced in sympathy.

Near the dais, Icebella drove her attackers back as best she could with her ice magic, but the sheer number of guards that had been close when the fighting began would have overwhelmed her in moments had she been alone. But she wasn’t alone, not now. No2 and a pack of goblins leapt to her side, shouting and slashing and kicking and, at least in the case of one or two goblins, biting. No2 didn’t bite anyone, though he may have considered it. Nearby, Numbers Three and Four and their own small group of goblins stood guard over Valanice. The Queen of Daventry was still dizzy, and she clung to her chair watching everything unfold in silence. Her gaze never left Graham, not once, not even when No3 desperately struck with her sword and took off the arm of an ice guard reaching for Valanice.

The outcry and laughter and mayhem echoed around the throne room, but all told, the fight lasted not much longer than a few minutes. The scuffle had kicked up frost motes, which settled after a moment, revealing goblins sitting on, lounging against, and generally mocking the ice guards, all of which were broken or helpless under their new captors’ hands. On the dais, Icebella, safely ringed in by a handful of determined goblins, stood glaring at one very guilty looking black cat. Manny’s ears and tail drooped, and he seemed very small, all his plans quite suddenly cracked like shallow ice.

“Cat,” Icebella said, sharp and cold. “I do not wish you to be part of my court any longer. Get out.”

“I think that might be for the best,” Manny agreed. He jumped out of the throne and started sheepishly creeping away, until one of the goblins, who had clearly been in this room before and seen this sort of thing happen already, pushed aside a curtain, grabbed a lever, yanked, and opened the floor up beneath the cat’s paws.

“Oh, zards.” And Manny disappeared down the slide. It slammed back into place behind him, silencing his startled cry.

Valanice stumbled off the dais, pushing aside her goblin guard, and ran to Graham. She was still off kilter from whatever they had done to her earlier, and she stumbled, and she fell into him, hugging him tightly. He tried to lift his arm to hug her back properly, but it was completely dead now. Everything was locking up. His vision was blurring, and everything was so cold. Her breath on his icy cheek was warm and nice, but it did not melt anything. She tearfully kissed him, like that could break the curse, like a story would have it, but nothing happened, and Graham’s body was simply giving up. Rosella and Alexander and his guards stood around him, and Valanice flung an imploring look back toward Icebella.

“Please,” she begged. “He’s freezing to death. Please, can’t you help?”

The ice queen stood alone, in front of her ostentatious throne and her frozen tapestries and her snowy carpet and her broken ice guards, and her imperious stance seemed to be diminished. She looked anxious, and confused, and she was shivering. “I don’t know how, Valanice,” she said, and her voice was softer, gentle and sorrowful. “I’ve never known how. If I could have lifted my own curse, I would have. But I couldn’t. I can’t help. I’m sorry.”

“But I...I might be able to help,” Alexander said.

Valanice stepped back. Graham could feel her absence, could feel the cold rushing over him without her, could barely breathe now. He realized his heart had been slowing down, choked by ice, and the lethargy was almost overwhelming, but his knees had locked into place so at least falling wasn’t a concern.

Alexander continued, “This is a curse. It’s greasy, and sticky, and dark. You don’t stop a curse. You break it. Icebella isn’t the origin of the curse. It’s the castle. It moves, it never settles, it’s always looking for a place to belong, right? It’s stealing everything it can to make itself strong. All the buildings in the courtyard, all the people in the labyrinth, and you, Dad. It’s always traveling, always searching, and always taking, and it’s never satisfied. But, Dad, you know exactly where you belong. You belong here, in Daventry. And I think that’s the answer to this, what will break it.

“I’m new at magic,” Alexander admitted. “And it seems to work best if I can use something extra to give it strength. Either my own emotions, or…or I think music might focus it, if it has meaning. And this one…I think it means a lot to you, and to me, and it might be a way to show the curse belonging. I hope.”

Alexander started humming a familiar song. An old lullaby. A song Graham once sang over a cradle minutes before Manannan burst in, stole his son, ruined their lives.

Graham would have stumbled backward in surprise if he could. “You remember your lullaby,” he said, and his voice was as hollow as an ice cave.

“I didn’t remember the words,” Alexander said. “When you spoke them, earlier, they were just words. They didn’t mean anything to me. But...but they fit the melody I remembered. Something soft, this old song that I could rely on when I...when I was upset. I used to hum it at night, when my chores were done. When I felt lost. But I remember them together now. The music and the words together.”

His voice was quavery, and small, and it didn’t seem to have any power to it, but he willingly hugged his father for the first time, and he sang the words gently, and Graham sang with him, stuttering and broken, his voice locking up with ice and fading away, until Valanice let her voice join theirs, and Rosella joined the embrace, and they were warm and gentle and strong together. And Alexander had a warmth to him, some deep spell he was drawing on, some magic he had stolen and turned to his own purposes, the same way he’d melted a hole in the tunnel, a power of his own devising. It was almost too hot, this brilliant shimmering intellect and care and ability, and he channeled it with the music, focused it, and….

Graham’s knees melted, buckled beneath him and he went down in a heap, and his whole family reached out and caught him, and everything was different and everything had changed, and the cold had left him, and he grabbed hold of his son, keeping him squeezed tight in the embrace, and Alexander let him without any complaint, and Graham breathed freely again, and he stared at his hand over his son’s shoulder, flexing his fingers in wonder.

And they stayed like that for a long time, royal guards standing by watching and waiting and protecting, until Graham could finally stand again, smiling.

At least he was smiling until he realized he was also being hugged around the leg by two goblins. They tilted their heads to look up at him, apparently grinning beneath their helmets. The rest of the goblins were staring, too, long fingers flexing on their picks and shovels.

“Rosella, Number One, what did you do?”

“Funny story,” Rosella said brightly. “So, like, under the castle, there were these goblins, and they were building the snow storm, and I didn’t want that, and I...” she frowned, and looked to No2. “I’m telling this badly again,” she complained.

“I think I know a better way to tell the story,” No2 agreed. “Who wants to do a reenactment play!” he called over the goblins, and every single one of them raised their hands eagerly.

No1 groaned. “I will not,” he said.

“Then I’ll play you, that sounds neat, and...that charming looking goblin right over there can be me. Rosella, do you want to be yourself, or maybe an ice guard?”

“Definitely an ice guard.”

“Okay, then I need someone to play Rosella. Hands up again, who wants to be a princess?”

The story, as it worked out, was like this:

One lone goblin, after being abused by the ice guards one too many times, was having a very hard time, hiding behind an ice cart used as a component to generate the perpetual blizzard that powered the castle, helped it move, gave it fuel, gave it strength. Rosella called out to the goblin, tempting it, by whispering, “Once upon a time, there was a very brave little goblin.”

The little fellow had jammed its helmet back on and followed the story like a trail of bread crumbs, until it found itself surrounded by Daventry Royal Guards and its princess a good distance up the tunnel from its companions. It shrieked, and it would have turned and fled, but Kyle and Larry had jumped it and held it, and Rosella said, “Don’t you want to be a brave goblin like the one in the story?”

And that had made it pause, just for a second, just long enough for Rosella to tell another story about a little goblin who was sick of doing everyone else’s chores, and who got all his friends together, and when they were together, they were very strong indeed, and could throw off their tormenters and make the terrible people do all the chores instead. Which the goblin liked very much, it being both rather violent and promising that it wouldn’t have to do any more chores. And also, the story ended with the goblin getting to go home and enjoy the warmth of a dark, damp cave, surrounded by its glowing mushrooms, content and happy.

The goblin had slipped back into the mines, with Rosella and the royal guards watching anxiously after it in case it decided to betray them after all and turn them into the ice guards for the promise of some time off. But it did as they’d suggested, sneaking up goblin by goblin, whispering the plan, and then those two goblins spread out from there, whispering to another two, until suddenly the whole mining operation was giving the ice guards shifty glances and the little goblin gave Rosella a sly thumbs up, and Royal Guard Number One had pulled out his sword and they’d all gone charging in. The ice guards had spun around, ready to fight the royal guards…but they hadn’t been expecting to have to fight their goblin charges, too.

It had been quick work from there on, whispers of Rosella’s story passing from goblin to goblin to goblin, until all the ice furnaces grew still, and all the ice guards were dispatched, and the new and improved team of Daventry could move on and help their king.

The story was told with rather extravagant and overblown gestures, goblins pouncing and leaping and taking each other down to replicate the tale No2 was narrating, having an especially good time telling about the attack, and at the end they all took a ragged bow, out of breath and tired and very, very happy for the first time in what must have been ages.

Graham, Valanice, and Alexander applauded. And then a fourth person started clapping, too.

Icebella had retaken her throne and was watching the story with rapt delight on her normally stern features. She was smiling, her teeth like little ice chips. “That was delightful,” she told the goblins. “I did not know I had such talented people working in my castle. You must have come with Cat, yes? You are much better company.”

“Ice…Vala…” Valanice bit her lip, unsure what to say.

“You may remember me as Valanice,” the ice queen said, and her face wasn’t nearly so dark now, “but I’m afraid I still do not. Your stories of who I was are kind, but I prefer Icebella. Even if it was a gift from Cat given in possessiveness, it was still a gift, and one I have become accustomed to. I should like Icebella, please.”

“Icebella,” Valanice repeated. “Icebella, I’m sorry. I can make every excuse I want, but in the end, you’ve still been hurt by us. We never reached out to you as friends should have, and I’m sorry. Perhaps we can do something for you now? My son…”

But Alexander was shaking his head. “Mom, I can’t. It’s a stable curse. I don’t know how to lift it now it’s been in place for so long. I think only the person who cast it can lift it at this point. I don’t even know who that would be.”

“Hagatha,” Graham said. “I think it was Hagatha. I don’t think she meant to hurt you, Icebella, but. I think her curse spread from this tower to you. I’m sorry, but we don’t know where she is, or if she’s even still alive.”

“I do not mind,” Icebella said, though there was a hollowness to her voice that betrayed her sorrow. She twirled her fingers, and a rose, clear as glass, formed from ice in her hand. “There are many things I can do this way, and I have been Icebella for longer than I can remember being anyone else. But…your story,” she said, looking at No2. “You indicated that my home is hurting yours. And so, I should depart this place, and quickly, so that your home may recover without me.”

Valanice looked stricken. “You can’t go,” she said. “Please, we’ve lost you for so long. Don’t leave us again. Don’t wander lost. You said you didn’t know yourself, before Icebella, and that darkness sounds frightening and lonely. Please. Don’t let that happen again.”

Icebella looked at her ice rose, and crumpled it in her hand. “You cast me away before,” she said, though she bore no hatred in her voice now.

“We were young and silly and in love and these are pointless excuses,” Valanice insisted. “You can’t leave, not when we’ve found you again.”

No1 muttered, in a stage whisper that nevertheless carried around the room, “But the castle needs to leave.”

Valanice nodded sharply. “Then, let’s take the castle away, and return to Daventry after it is safely hidden somewhere, up high in the mountains where it can’t hurt anyone anymore. It is as my Alexander said: this kingdom is a place of stories, where we welcome travelers. It doesn’t have to be your home, unless you want it to be, but you won’t know unless you try it. Daventry castle is enormous. We have a place for you even temporarily. If you don’t have a destination, at least stop with us for a little while to decide. I’ll stay with you into the mountains, and we’ll travel back together.”

“Valanice,” Graham said, warningly.

“No, shush, Graham. It’s a girls’ night and you’re not invited.”

Graham stepped toward her, wobbled on his freshly healed leg, and almost fell over. She caught him and they leaned against each other, and he whispered in her ear, “She did try to kill us. She doesn’t remember her past. Is this fully thought through?”

“It’s Valanice, and you know it, and this has all been Manannan’s fault, as per usual,” she said back. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. This isn’t some plan for martyrdom, this isn’t some silly rescue that only I can do. But I’m not going to let anyone, especially not a friend we’ve already lost once, go wandering alone in the world with no one she can call on. Not again.”

Graham considered, then nodded. There was relief there, a keen desire to see his dear friend content and happy again. “Okay. But you’ve got to take some royal guards with you.”

“I’ll take Number Three with us, if she agrees.” And she pulled the guard’s arm.

“Agrees to?” No3 asked, warily.

“Girls’ night,” Valanice grinned. “Or, rather, girls’ couple weeks while we take this castle up to the snowy mountains and leave it there and come back.” She looked up at Icebella. “Of course. This is all if you want to do so, Icebella,” she said. “I’m sorry that Manny thought he could own you. I won’t do that to you. If you do want to leave, we shall step aside and let you. In the end, every choice should be yours.”

Icebella looked at her broken rose, at the stem splintered in half and the shards glittering in the light.

“I am a queen,” she said, “of nothing. Of one tower. Of some ice guards. And that’s all. I think in my travels I have hurt people. Stolen people. Even though I don’t think I meant to do it, the curse on this tower absorbs and encompasses and consumes everything. It all seems fuzzy without Cat telling me what to do. But I think…I think I would like to rest, for at least a short time, and your young man’s tale of Daventry makes it seem…like a warm place to do that. May I please rest with you?”

“For as long as you want, my dear friend.”

~*~*~*~

The sun was shining both outside and inside Daventry castle.

Outside: that was perfectly normal. It was the beginning of spring. The snow was melting away, and if you knew where to look, little green sprouts were resolutely starting to poke out of the earth.

Inside: well, that was perfectly normal, too. With the warmer weather came the opening of the tapestries, the huge windows letting sparkling sunlight pour into the castle, making dust motes glitter. But, now, the place shimmered in a way it hadn’t before. It helped that Icebella had created a large number of small ice diamonds, stringing them in every window—their unmelting magic caught the sunlight as it passed through them, splintering each beam into dozens of flickering rainbows.

But it was more than just the passing of the season.

The whole castle felt the change. It was brighter and warmer here, the King and Queen no longer lost and afraid and lonely. The royal guards had more of a bounce in their step, less wary of what might be around the next corner. The townsfolk felt it, too, energized to create more and share more as they realized how curious and excited for life the two newest, recently rescued, members of the castle were.

Graham and Valanice walked through the courtyard, hand in hand, feeling the warmth of the sun. Rosella sat on the balcony above them, glaring at the Duel of Wits board game spread out on the table in front of her and wondering how she’d lost to Alexander yet again. Maybe if she tried moving her pieces like this she wouldn’t lose as often. She couldn’t wait for him to get back so she could try it out.

Alexander had taken Icebella on a stroll through the forest, like his father had done for him. He had so many things he wanted to show her, and now that the snow was disappearing, he wanted to take her to the little overlook that showed off the entire valley, so they both could see what it looked like in the new season. And they could return the next season after that and see the changes in their home. Because it was their home, their place, that had welcomed them. They might both move on, someday, as was their right and ability, but for now, they had both found a place they belonged. And that was all they needed.

For now.

~*~*~*~

The sun had set, but the lanterns had been lit. Little pools of glowing warmth dotted the garden, and night insects chirped. Gart was sitting in the garden on a bench, knees drawn up to his chest, looking very young in the torchlight. His arms were wrapped tight around his legs, and he was staring at the floor. There was a crumpled letter next to him, pinned into place by a rock so it couldn’t blow away.

Gwendolyn took a deep breath. She thought of the stories, of how brave everyone had been, how they had learned so much about identity and home, and she walked into the garden. As she walked, the grass broke beneath her feet, and the warm sweet scent of life surrounded her. The bushes were in bloom, too, filling the air with soft fragrance. Even this late at night, she thought she could hear the distant sound of some passing minstrel with a lute strumming his way along the forest paths, reveling in the safety of the country.

She loved it here. She loved Daventry. It wasn’t her home, not like Green Isles were, but she still had a right to share it with Gart, even for a little while.

But when he looked up at her approach, she saw he’d been crying, and she saw the letter at his side was tearstained, and it looked like he’d crumpled it and opened it and crumpled it and opened it again, smearing the handwritten note that, even from here, Gwendolyn could tell was Grandpa’s handwriting, his signature. Some official looking addendum, with his signet ring’s crest stamped into the wax near the bottom of the page.

“Gwendolyn,” Gart said, his voice thick, “I’ve been a beast, and I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a perfect brute to you lately. It wasn’t fair. You’re still just a child, after all.”

“You’re just a kid too, y’know,” Gwendolyn said, and she tried to smile at him, to make him smile with her like Grandpa would with her, but his gaze dropped to the ground again. “What’s going on? Is it because of…what you said? It…it wasn’t nice.”

“And I’m sorry,” Gart said, and buried his face in his arms. Muffled: “I shouldn’t have said those things. I knew they were wrong. They weren’t what a king should say.”

“First off, I forgive you, honest. Second off, you aren’t a king yet,” Gwendolyn said. “You don’t have to get things right all the time. At least, not right away.”

“I might never be a king,” he said. “Not…not with you here.”

“Gart, you just apologized. Don’t start it again.”

“It’s not that.” He nodded toward the paper, without looking at her or unfolding himself.

Gwendolyn reached down, picked up the letter, and scanned. “This is an addendum about…” she paused, struggling with the level of official legalese the council expected addendums to have. “Oh. This…this says…that the crown of Daventry’s tradition should be reinstated like Edward had it, allowing the crown to pass to any person the king chooses, not just the first male heir in the existing line. Does…that means that I could…?” A sudden image of Grandpa’s crown on her head as she stood in front of the magic mirror flashed before her eyes, and she almost staggered.

“It’s not that,” Gart said, sniffling. “I mean, that’s why I said those things to you, why I wanted you to leave. I was scared of it. But. Read the rest, too.”

And she did. And she dropped the letter, and she sank next to her cousin, and the two turned into each other and pulled each close, because King Graham had written of his illness, what was keeping him bedridden, and his rapid decline, and his imminent death, and the changes that he foresaw coming to Daventry.

But that story was yet to happen.

#this is silly long i'm sorry there wasn't a good place to break it #back to our regularly scheduled art posts again now next week ahahaaa sorry if fic hasn't been your thing #King's Quest #kings quest #King Graham #alexander (king's quest)#rosella (king's quest)#icebella #Manannan #vee #neese #this post is protected by the royal guards #goblin appreciation blog #ch4 #fic'ing

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shotosprincess · 3 years

Text

When he loves me — Iwa ♡︎ Oikawa

LISTEN TO: “ CLOUD 9 “ — BEACH BUNNY

ART: UNKNOWN ( i found it as a sticker on picsart since i couldnt find any good iwaoi screencaps so if yk who the artist is plspls lmk !! ty !! )

｡･:*:･-: ✧ :,｡･:*:��ﾟ☆

pairing: iwa x oikawa

summary: iwa shyly plays oikawa a song he wrote on a whim ,, and years later ,, after they fell apart ,, oikawa attends one of iwa’s concerts and hears their song,, the song,, once more .

genre: angst + fluff !! <3 ugh i love oikawa my bby but i absolutely love him and iwa together sm too ajjdjjf

a/n: 3am writing for comfort innit (•̀ᴗ•́)و smhsmh it’s lowkey so dramatic ?? idk why i was feeling so melancholic ?? but i live for the yearning anyways lmao <//3

“ Hey...wanna...hear something I’ve been working on? “

Iwa’s voice shifted to one of a far softer tone, unusually uncertain of himself as he gripped the bedsheets beneath him in an anxious hold, turning away from Oikawa whilst a deep vermillion blush tainted his shy-stricken face.

The hazel-haired setter lifted his mouth into a gentle smile, skin mirroring a similar red to Iwa’s. His head lolled to the side, and Iwa swore he felt something flutter within him. The fist which he clutched the bedsheets within closed even further.

“ Sure, Iwa-chan! “

A hard gulp. Iwa swallowed his nerves down, fingers hovering over the strings of his freshly-purchased guitar, hesitant. Trembling, even.

Light wisps of brown swept just over Oikawa’s eyes as he put down the volleyball he had been mindlessly spinning, and covered Iwa’s hands with his own. He looked up with a reassuring grin, deepened-honey gaze colliding with one of the enchanting midnight sky.

“ It’s okay. It’s just me. But of course, you don’t have to play if you don’t wan— “

Iwa swats his hand away. “ Of course I wanna, dumbass! “ He barked.

With a frustrated huff, his fingers find a home amongst the sound as they begin to delicately strum the translucent strings. His eyes fell closed, lost in the music, albeit fairly cliche, as he wordlessly played the song which was most special to him.

For what reason it held such a cherished place in his heart, he did not know. Not truly, at least. Admittedly, he had written it purely on a whim, clutching onto the fleeting remnants of a foreign euphoric high. The crazed rush of fingers furiously clacking against the keyboard filled the silence of his room, lasting well into the evening. He had so much to say, so much to express, and yet it was only through the words appearing on the screen in which he could ever hope to communicate it.

He had never even planned on sharing it. After all, it was merely a crappy, rushed song put together purely by the rawness of an unknown emotion, and during ungodly hours of the night out of all times. It was nothing special, really.

To him, at least.

And yet in a hushed, timid tone, he began to sing:

“ I don’t wanna seem the way I do...but I’m confident when I’m with you... “

Oikawa’s lips parted in sheer awe. The delicate swirls of the instrumental blended flawlessly into the angelic quality of Iwa’s singing. His muscles tensed. He shook it away.

What the hell is this? Was he...nervous? No, no, it can’t be. This is Oikawa-fucking-Tooru we’re talking about!

He could do nothing but stare intently in a silent adoration as he allowed his heartbeat to meld with the smoothness of the melody, sweeping him out of Iwa-chan’s bedroom and into a whole other universe entirely. One where there exists no pain, no sadness, no fear. One where tears dried before they could even splatter upon the ground. One where everything was happy and perfect and...good.

—

IWA

Five years have passed, yet I miss him all the same. If anything, the ache has only grown to, somehow, prove itself increasingly unbearable over the time we’ve spent apart. My stare falls upon my guitar. Not the new one, which is this modern, flashy model with a bold red design, but my first-ever guitar, boasting its worn-out strings and dulled body. The hole in my heart digs itself impossibly deeper.

We had dated not long after that night—the night I played my song to him, and suddenly it became our song. We would whip it out like a handy party trick whenever we’d hangout with the rest of the team, and it was...nice to say the very least. Well, while it lasted, of course. Highschool love, teenage love, is constantly fleeting. Temporary. That was my philosophy at least, until Oikawa Tooru appeared and changed everything. I disregarded every sense of rationality, and all for the blissful rush of romance which he offered. The sneaking out, the small notes snuck into each other’s lockers, the way he draped his jacket over me when I got cold, the tender kisses shared in a darkened room.

I loved it. All of it. And when I lost him, I missed him too. All of him.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised, though. After all, teenage love is but a transient feeling, is it not? I had to drill the reiteration of my old motto back into my head when we split, so that I may never allow myself to yield to the temptations of love, or at least the attractive promise of one, ever again. Eventually, we had to go our separate ways. He pursued volleyball, and I chased relentlessly after a different growing passion of mine, though honestly rather unexpected; music.

And now here I am. Sitting backstage at my own show, waiting patiently for my cue. My foot taps a random rhythm against the floor as I mentally debate with myself whether or not my choice for the opening song truly was the best option.

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

He might be watching.

Fair, but would he even recognize me? Does he even remember me at all? I mean, it’s been so long...

I think he’d remember something as sentimental as the song you first played him. I mean, you were the first guy he ever dated.

Yeah, keyword: “ dated “. He’s probably moved on by now.

Shit, do you think he’s found someone new already? What if he brought them to the show?

Nah, nah. That’s highly unlikely. Impossible, even. The latter, that is. It’s not exactly that popular of a show.

Right, you’re right. So there’s nothing to worry about. Hakuna-fuckin-matata, right?

I suck in a sharp breath as the lights come on, laughing dryly.

Hakuna-fuckin-matata.

—

OIKAWA

My hands fiddle with one another as I push my way past the busy crowd to find a spot amongst the front row. A cheery girl with astonishingly-saturated red hair and an almoat-overwhelming brightness about her, greets me. I scoff, amused.

A fangirl, no doubt. Charming.

“ Oikawa! Ohmygoshohmygosh, Oikawa Tooru!! Hi!! I’m—I’m— “

I glance at the front row, which is only a few steps away, as her blubbered words start to blur together. I laugh.

“ A fan, right? Want my autograph or something? A picture, maybe? “

Her eyes light up vastly and she begins to bounce up and down with the same enthusiasm I’ve noticed to be common among practically all fangirls.

“ YES! Ohmygosh, yesyesyesYES!! “

My grin widens as I click my blue pen, which I carry around for autographs ( oh, the pains of being famous ), and hurriedly sign my name on her collared shirt. It was a fairly pretty garment, I’ll admit, but at this moment I didn’t really care, and I’m sure neither did she, judging by the way she squealed excitedly and took a spam of what had to be a million-and-one selfies with it.

I finally find a place among the jumping people at the front, taking in the atmosphere. The lights dim, and brighter white ones turn on in their place.

The show is about to start.

—

IWA

“ Hey, everyone. I— “ The mic whines with feedback. I wince, wrapping my free hand around it and trying again.

“ I’m—I’m opening with a song that’s very dear to me. I wrote it way back in highschool, but it’s always stuck with me, kinda like a safety net...of sorts. I uh, hope you enjoy. “

Shit, why am I being so damn awkward? I’ve never been this awkward before a show. Maybe it’s because of that damn opening song. Oh well. Too late to back out now.

Irritated, I push the thought away, wetting my lips as the drowning claps and whoops from the crowd cheer me on. My hand hovers just over the strings. It’s shaking. No matter. I close my eyes, and imagine him holding them. Him encompassing my hands within the warmth of his, just like he did all those years, which were now lost in the past. Him looking at me, him telling me it’s okay. Him.

I breathe all my nerves out.

Him.

And I begin to play.

The awkwardness melts away almost instantaneously as I pour every dripping ounce of my heart out into the song, the music swelling wildly with every emotion I had forced in for the dreariness of these five years. My eyes shoot open when the chorus hits. I feel like I’m king of the world.

I catch a familiar set of eyes. Richly brown. Deep.

Oh shit.

My breath hitches when I realize who they belong to; Him. His. He-

No, no, it couldn’t be. Could it?

It felt too real, as if I’ve somehow managed to reduce his very existence to nothing but romanticized self indulgent daydreams of what we once had, woven into the vast vagueness of song lyrics with a naïve hope of what could’ve been. And now here he was, at my concert of all places, for god knows what reason. The colourful lights fell upon his face in the most flattering manner, though admittedly I suppose anything would be flattering on him either way. But under this light especially, at my concert, he looked nothing short of perfect. Of lovely.

But of course he was. This was Oikawa-fucking-Tooru, after all.

The chorus hits with a sharp accent. I belt with all that I am, for the boy who took a rough sketch of a dream and made it reality, for the boy who found an unmatched sense of home among those of his highschool volleyball team, for the boy who wound up so foolishly falling in love with his best friend. For him, for my fans, but most of all, for me.

“ But when he loves me, I feel like I’m floating, when he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody— “

I maintain eye contact with him. It’s scary, burning holes into my tattered soul, which I had pieced together so carefully with cathartic lyrics scratched into the pages of creased notebooks. I’m secretly scared that his gaze will somehow break it all down again. But that’s when I finally understand; it’s him. This, this song, it’s about him. It’s always been about him. There will be no one else, could be no one else for me. That...sheer elation, the unfiltered emotion which sparked this song to begin with—I understood now. That was love. More specifically, love which my chest held for Oikawa. It’s as if I’ve been harshly disillusioned to see what I’d been unconsciously denying all these years, seeing him here. It’s always been Oikawa. How could I not have known? After all, I’m constantly recalling the day he held me in a tight embrace after one of our best matches, happy tears staining my damp jersey as he whispered in my ear the praise I’ve subconsciously always wished to hear.

“ You did good. “

Though it seems painfully mundane, simple to anyone else, it was...different, coming from his lips, hearing it in his voice. I took that compliment and kept it close to me for all eternity, immortalizing it within the varying notes of this song. I stare right back at him with a newfound fervour, an unknown intent, a epiphanic strength.

“ Even when we fade eventually to nothing, you will always be my favourite form of lovely. “

His eyes widen.

—

OIKAWA

My heart clenches as Iwa freely powers through the rest of the song. But during this moment, it feels as though it was created solely for us. As if the universe, as if fate itself had decided that despite the harshness of this world, and every little force fighting to keep us apart, this one moment, if anything, was ours. Truly ours. Our song, our moment. Ours. Time suspended itself indefinitely as the onyx hearth of his gaze finally met with mine. Unexpectedly enough, it stayed there.

And everything fell into place.

The song didn’t take me to a paradise without tears, or pain, or sorrow anymore. It took me to a place with Iwa in it. I realize now that...I want the tears. I want the pain. I want the grief. I want the good and the bad and the light and the dark, so long as I can have Iwa there with me through it all. I want him. All of him. I’ve want to love him enough to love his “ unglam “ moments and his admirable aspects all the same. I want to be there with him through every body-wrecking tear, every hearty laugh, and every glimmer of happiness. I want to be able to see the face he makes during a scary movie, to open an umbrella for him during the rain. I want to see the sunlight glow upon his cheek, I want to count the stars with him until I fall asleep. I want everything about him, for to me, he is everything. And it’s this song...this damned song which brought it all back.

It was ours. And I realize now...it was about...me. I mean, I’ll admit that I’ve always been a little more on the conceited side, but how could you deny it? It had to be. It had to. Had to. I wanted it to, at least. I wanted it to be about me so desperately, it sent a cold pain through my chest. A single, lonely tear falls down my cheek as the crowd around me erupts into a sea of laughter and off-tune singing from the audience.

What if it wasn’t? I mean, you guys broke up. You told him you moved on. Yes, it was a lie to lessen the pain, but he didn’t know that. What if it was about someone else completely and you’d just been an idiot this whole time? What if—

The concert comes to a close much faster than I thought it would, much faster than I would’ve ever wished for it to. I don’t know what I’m doing, what I’m thinking, but my legs move before I even have a chance to question them. I’ve always been one to think before acting, hence why I’m such a star on the court, but this time, my emotions seem to be taking over. I don’t know what’s come over me, what this unusual, hot feeling is. It’s exciting and intimidating all at once, and I hate it because I know what it must be. In a hot flash, I find myself standing at the door of Iwa’s changing room. How many bodyguards I must have recklessly shoved out of the way to get here in the blur of adrenaline, I don’t even want to begin to think about.

My hand freezes over the door. “ Iwa “ is engraved in bold gold letters with a deeply-etched star sticking out at the bottom. Taking a deep breath, I knock frantically.

“ I-Iwa-chan? It’s uh...it’s Oikawa. “

—

IWA

I pause in the midst of buttoning up my shirt. A solid three are left undone. But his voice...how could I ignore it? Ignore him? I haven’t heard his voice in what feels like eternity, but I’d be kidding myself if I had said I’d forgotten it. The constant yearning was always so irritating. Such a pain. At least it made for decent music, I mean, I’ve been booking shows. But alas, one problem before another.

“ O-Oikawa? “ I slowly pace to the doorknob as I twist it open.

Holy shit.

It is him after all. He hasn’t changed a bit. He remains the charming, handsome man I remember him to be, even after all this time has passed.

“ How’d you get—why are you here? “

“ Iwa, there’s...there’s just...there’s something I need to ask. “

“ Huh? “

“ That song...our song.... “

“ Shit, right! I, uh...sorry. I didn’t ask you about it because I honestly didn’t expect you to show up at all. It’s been what, five years? “ I stumble subtly over my words, rubbing the back of my neck.

He turns away sheepishly. Almost...longingly, even.

“ Yeah...it has. “

He clicks his tongue.

“ Who, uh...who was that song about? The curiosity’s been eating at me. “

A heat rises to my cheeks. A pause.

“ I—It—Ugh, fuck it. “

I’ve never been the best at talking directly to Oikawa, not since I realized that what I felt for him extended to something past the bounds of friendship. So I decided to do the only thing I knew to do in that moment—show him instead.

My lips crash against his as he slams the door behind him. The palpable tension between us is shattered immediately, and everything is faded out into insignificance. All that matters is the man in my arms, the man I’d been longing so desperately, so hopelessly for all this fucking time. I kiss him against the smoothness of the door, hands immediately trailing to his soft locks. I twirl and twine them as I see flashes, bright hues of heaven itself. His lips upon mine are the most perfect fit. His touch is painfully intoxicating, and I show him, wordlessly, with an unparalleled fervour—just who the song was about. He melts into it, matching my energy with a foreign sense of passion.

—

OIKAWA

“ Do you think...the universe is gonna try to separate us again? “ I ask softly, voice barely even a whisper. Tears wet my lashes at the very thought of being without him again. For those five years, though I was living my dream...it didn’t feel complete. Not without him. I blink them away aggressively, focusing on the night sky above us. My head is resting in his lap, and we’re simply...existing together beneath the curtain of darkened pools which hung above our twined bodies.

Iwa strokes my hair nonchalantly as he interlocks his fingers with mine. “ Of course. It always will. But we found each other didn’t we? And even after...even after this life has passed and we’re reduced to nothing but ash, I’m convinced we’ll meet again. One way or another. “

He tucks a straying tuft of hair from brushing my lashes.

“ Even then...even then you’ll still be my favourite form of lovely. Or whatever. “ He scoffs at his own over-poetic response, looking away with a tiny smirk.

“ Okay, Mr. Songwriter! “ I tease, nudging his side in a playful manner.

He rolls his eyes, bending down to kiss me once more.

For the first time in a long time, I feel complete. I’m on cloud 9.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu!!#fanfic #oikawa oneshot #oikawa scenarios #oikawa fic #iwaizumi x oikawa #iwaoi #iwaoi fic #iwaizumi imagine #iwazumi imagines #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime

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