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badassbuchanan · 3 years

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No Goodbye

Part 2 Part 3

Plot: Bucky’s left to pick up the pieces of a broken heart

Warnings: you will cry, angst, this is very very sad, sweet Bucky

Word Count: 4295

A/N: decided to branch out and do a non-smut angsty fic - it’s my first one please be nice 💕

“Bucky?” Y/N’s voice whispered worriedly as she watched the small team walk back through the compound with their heads hung low. The long haired super soldier looked over at her with saddened eyes, his heart sinking when he saw the hopefully look on her face.

Y/N’s hearted thudded against her chest, her bottom lip quivering as she watched the team look at her sympathetically. “Bucky, where’s Steve?” Worst case scenarios fled through her mind as she noticed the heartbreak in Bucky’s eyes, she’d never seen her boyfriend’s best friend look so sad.

Bucky’s eyes closed for a moment too long, the raw emotion in her voice breaking his heart. He felt tears begin welling up in his eyes, knowing he had to be the one to break the news. He let out a deep sigh, trying to steady his breathing and keep his sadness at bay as he braved a glance over at Y/N.

“Steve’s gone, Y/N.” Bucky mumbled, hearing a whimper of pain leave the girl’s lips as she broke down in front of him. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, loud sobs filling the room as Bucky flinched in weakness, he couldn’t stand to see her like this. “He’s not coming back, Doll.” He was still trying to process the fact himself, saying it out loud only made it that much more real.

“No,” She shook her head in denial, tears streaming down her face as Bucky let his head fall back to conceal his tears. He started walking towards her, only knowing too well how hard it was to lose Steve. “No, Bucky, he promised.”

“I know,” Bucky blew out shakily as he tugged her almost lifeless body towards him, wrapping his arms around her tightly as she sobbed against his chest. He sighed solemnly when he felt her hands clinging to the material of his t-shirt, her tears soaking through the thin material and onto his chest. “I know, Doll.”

Bucky knew more than anyone how it felt to have a promise broken by Steve. Bucky had just had to say goodbye to his childhood best friend, but Y/N had just lost the love of her life.

She’d fallen for Steve the first day she met him. He was like a prince in a world full of frogs. She didn’t know if it was a forties thing, or a Steve thing, but he was everything she’d ever dreamed of. Steve loved Y/N just as much, she was his little piece of light in a cruel world. She reminded him of what was important and made him feel like part of him was still normal.

Shhh.” Bucky soothed her quietly, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he rested his chin against the top of her head. Her head began to spin, trying to process what was happening as she cried helplessly against Bucky’s chest. “It’s gunna be okay.” Bucky breathed out shakily, repeating the words that Steve had said to him before he left, hoping it would somehow calm her down. Although right now, he didn’t even believe those words himself.

———

It had been a few weeks, but the days seemed to all blur into one for Y/N. She didn’t leave her room unless it was to run errands, but even then, she avoided everyone. She felt so out of place, like everywhere she was, it was wrong. It didn’t matter if she was making a cup of tea in the kitchen, reading a book in the living room, taking a shower in the bathroom or trying to have a nap on her bed. It all seemed so wrong, like she shouldn’t be doing anything without Steve.

“I don't know who I am anymore, Buck.” She sighed numbly, her mind spaced out in mourning, her eyes damp with tears just as they had been every day before. Bucky was the only person she’d spoken to, and that was only because she knew he needed someone to talk to. Maybe he liked talking to her because she reminded him of Steve.

Bucky’s heart ached as he watched her face, so straight and emotionless. She was so broken, he heard her crying when no one else was around, especially at night. It was as if she was so tired of being in pain that her face was no longer able to show expression.

“I think if anyone can relate to not knowing who they are, Y/N. It’s me.” He pursed his lips together in a sympathetic smile, leaning his hands against the edge of the mattress from where he sat on her bed. He watched her carelessly fold the clean washing, trying to harden the pain inside her heart.

“Yeah and who helped you through that, Buck?” She hissed out sadly, angry at herself for still being so helpless and lost after weeks. She hadn’t said Steve’s name since the day she’d found out he’d gone. Bucky had noticed it, but he wasn’t sure if anyone else had.

Bucky sighed as he tilted his head absentmindedly, he hated Steve for leaving him, but he hated him more for leaving her. A frown crinkled on her forehead as she concentrated on stopping her tears from escaping her eyes, letting out a quiet sniffle as she kept her eyes focused on the washing in front of her.

“God, I just feel so alone.” She sighed in frustration, throwing the pair of shorts she was folding down on the bed. Her eyes closed as she wrapped her arms around herself, a tear trickling down her cheek as she sniffed again.

“You’re not alone, Doll.” Bucky whispered sadly, trying to be supportive as his eyes softened and he carefully reached his flesh arm out to hold her hand.

“But I am, Buck.” She pulled away from his hand as soon as she felt it, the action so sudden it made Bucky jump as she took a step away from him. “You’ve got Sam and Sharon.” She gritted her teeth at the mention of the girl that Steve had once kissed, her hands balling up into fists out of frustration. “Pepper’s got Morgan, Clint has his family, Peter’s got May, Fury’s got Maria, T’Challa’s got Shuri. But who do I got?” Her lips trembled as she pressed them together in a hard pout, looking down at the space in front of her. “He was everything I had and now he’s gone.”

Bucky listened silently to her rant, hanging his head as his heart broke at the shakiness of her angry voice. He fiddled with his hands, he knew nothing he could say would make her feel better. All she wanted was Steve.

“I don't even know why I’m still here.” She mumbled weakly, looking around the room that had once been filled with happy memories. It hurt, everything hurt. Living at the compound was a constant reminder of the life she had once shared with Steve. Her anger faded back to sadness as she closed her eyes tightly, breaking down in silent sobs as she thought about how they’d planned to spend their future together. They’d talked about it a lot. “When all this is over, we’ll move to Brooklyn. We’ll get married, pop out a couple of babies. Oh, and we have to get a dog.” The memory of Steve’s words caused an aching cry to leave her lips, his voice ringing through her mind as she felt her whole body go weak. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Bucky’s watery eyes widened in panic at her words, his head immediately turning to her as he instinctively reached his arm out towards her again. She was too helpless to pull away this time, letting his strong hand pull her body into his lap as she collapsed against him.

He was worried about how she was handing the process of grieving, knowing how much it had the power to manipulate thoughts. He didn’t want her doing anything stupid, anything irrational, anything harmful. He’d become so protective over her, knowing that she was the only other person who really understood what it was like losing Steve. Anytime she cried, Bucky was right there holding her.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky sobbed out, unable to control his emotions as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as tight as he could. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck as she cried against him, a position she’d come to know so well. “I’m so sorry.” Bucky felt guilty, like he was the one responsible for Steve not coming back. He was there, he should’ve tried harder, said something to make Steve change his mind.

She whimpered against him, erratically breathing against his chest as she felt her throat closing up. The all too familiar feeling of heartache took over as her hand dropped to his metal arm, clinging to him tightly as she relaxed against his chest.

Bucky rocked them back and forth lightly, trying to soothe her as he broke down. He rubbed her back with his flesh hand, his head dropping close to hers as he held her close.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” She sniffed sadly, her eyes puffy and cheeks red from the crying. Her face was lightly stained with red lines from where her tears had fallen, the salty liquid stinging her skin.

Bucky let out the breath he’d been holding in shakily, his heart aching at her words. Their burning cheeks touched as Bucky’s hand came up to massage the back of her head. He felt so responsible for Steve not coming back. “I’m sorry.”

She stayed there in his arms, his chest rising and falling against her side as she closed her stinging eyes. She inhaled the scent of his cologne, feeling safe in his lap as her heartbeat began to steady itself.

Bucky noticed the way her head pressed limply further against his bearded cheek, turning his head to face her as his hand cradled the back of her neck. “It’s gunna be okay.” He whispered as a soft smile washed over his reddened face, noticing her falling asleep in his arms.

”Will you stay with me tonight?” She whispered tiredly, her eyes blinking rapidly as she fought the inevitable exhaustion. “Please Buck, I don't want to be alone.”

A selfish wave of relief washed over Bucky as he held her, still processing Steve’s absence himself, he thanked his lucky stars that at least for one night, he wouldn’t have to be alone.

———

Weeks of Steve being gone had turned into months, his absence left a void, an emptiness that was inevitably never going away, both for Bucky and Y/N.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice deepened with concern as he threw the car keys in the fruit bowl, being warned of her bad state by F.R.I.D.A.Y as soon as he’d walked in through the front door. “Y/N.” He called out again, picking up his pace as he rushed through the compound to find her.

“She’s in Mr Roger’s room, Sergeant Barnes.” the AI spoke as Bucky began to panic, his heart sinking as he burst through the door of Cap’s old bedroom. No one had gone in there since he’d left, not even Y/N.

But that’s where she was, lying on the floor, looking up at the blank ceiling. Bucky sighed with his eyes closed before he walked over to her slowly, aware of her almost unconscious state.

His heart sped up immediately as he was hit with wave upon wave of memories of his best friend. The smell of the room, the shelves covered with small trinkets that were important to him, his record collection, the framed photo of Y/N and Steve next to his neatly made bed. It was all too overwhelming.

“What did you do, Doll?” He breathed out sadly as he crouched down next to her, his flesh fingers tracing over the empty bottle of asgardian liquor that lay in her limp hand. He carefully took the bottle from her, his eyes looking up at hers, glazed over with dilated pupils.

Y/N kept her head facing the ceiling, only moving her eyes to glance over at him. “I got lost.” She mumbled almost inaudibly, catching a hiccup in her throat as her eyes closed.

How could she tell Bucky the truth when it was so silly. She’d gone in there to talk to him. No, she wasn’t crazy, she knew he wasn’t going to be there. She thought she would find comfort in being around his belongings, that it would make her feel connected to him. But it didn’t work.

Bucky sighed, letting his fingers intertwine with hers as he held her hand. His thumb rubbed over her skin soothingly as he bit the inside of his lip, the helpless feeling inside of him was starting to become permanent. He desperately wanted to help her, to make everything okay. But there was nothing he could do except be there for her.

“I wasn't good enough for him.” Her words made Bucky’s heart ache with sadness, his eyes closing as he squeezed her hand a little tighter. “Maybe if I was better, he would've stay-”

“Don’t say that.” Bucky shook his head, his voice cracking a little. Y/N was the most beautiful, funny, talented girl he’d ever met. The more time he spent with her, the more he realised that. It hurt him to hear her say that she wasn’t good enough, that she had convinced herself that was the reason Steve had left. Bucky cursed Steve in his head, frustrated with what his decision to leave had done to her.

Y/N blamed herself for Steve not coming back. She hated herself for not being a good enough reason for him to stay. She sat up most nights trying to figure out exactly what it was that made him decide to go, but she couldn’t understand it.

"I thought he loved me.” Bucky felt the tears streaming down his face as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. It physically pained him to hear how much she was hurting, the constant torment going on inside of her mind. How lost she felt, how deep Steve’s leaving had cut her up inside.

“He did, Y/N. He still does.” Bucky’s words spluttered out between sniffs. The alcohol was helping to numb Y/N’s pain, her tears silently rolling down her cheeks instead of her usual aching whimpers and heavy breathing.

“He didn’t even say goodbye.” She mumbled painfully, her wording changing from the perspective she’d had a few weeks ago. Her sleepless nights had given her more than enough time to think, and she’d come to the conclusion that Steve knew what his plan was, so he had the chance to say goodbye, to be upfront and tell her, but he didn’t. Why? The most obvious answer in Y/N’s mind was because he didn’t care, not about her anyway. “Don’t sit there and tell me you do that to someone you love.”

Bucky stayed silent for a moment, pondering in his own thoughts as Y/N went back to staring at the ceiling. At some point since he’d left, Bucky had questioned continuing to defend his best friend. Bucky had watched what Steve’s decisions had done to Y/N, what his actions were still doing to her and in Bucky’s eyes, nothing on earth was worth causing her this much sadness.

“C’mon, Doll. You’re tired, I know. Let me take you to bed.” He whispered through his heavy breathing as he scooped her up, lifting her body effortlessly as he cradled her in his arms. Y/N didn’t object, nuzzling her face into his chest as her arms wrapped around Bucky’s neck.

Bucky going go bed with Y/N had become routine most nights since the first time she’d asked him to stay with her, they both enjoyed the company and knew neither of them expected anything more than a warm body to hold.

He carried her down the hall until they reached her room, laying her carefully on the bed once they were inside. He pushed the loose hair away from her face, rubbing his thumb lovingly over her cheek as he admired her.

“I’m just getting you some comfy clothes, I’ll be right back.” Bucky whispered as he leaned over her, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead. She nodded softly, not taking her eyes off of him as he she watched him move around the room.

Y/N was beyond grateful for Bucky, he’d been by her side the whole time. Whenever she needed him, he was right there. She felt guilty for lashing out at him sometimes, when all he’d ever done was shower her with love and patience. She wondered if he’d had time himself to process Steve leaving, or if he was suppressing his emotions in order to support her. Either way, Bucky had always made sure that she never felt completely alone, he took pride in looking after her, sometimes it was the only distraction from his destructive thoughts.

“Here you go.” He hummed sweetly, sliding his hand under her back to lift her torso up from the mattress. She sat up obediently as Bucky’s hand let go of her, turning around so that she could get changed privately.

She smiled shyly at his gentlemanly ways, somewhat reminded of the way Steve was. She looked down at her body as she pulled her shirt over her head, maybe if she looked like a supermodel, Steve would’ve stayed.

She blinked rapidly to contain her tears, her lips dropping into a pout as she quickly changed into the clothes Bucky had set out for her. A sudden wave of self consciousness hit her as she turned her body to face away from Bucky, laying back down on the bed to hide her body under the covers.

“It’s okay if you want to leave, Buck. I understand.” Her voice came out as a whimper, her eyes dropping to look down at the mattress as she heard Bucky turn back around to face her.

He sighed sadly as he looked down at her curled up alone on the bed, wishing she knew that he needed her as much as she needed him. He knew after tonight that she was blaming herself for Steve leaving, forcing herself to feel unworthy and unloved.

“Hey,” Bucky called out to her softly, pulling back his side of the blanket as he slid in beside her. He gently rotated her body to face him, her eyes avoiding his as he pulled her against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. I pro-”

“Don’t.” She cut him off, shaking her head as she slid her arms up around his neck. “Don’t make any promises.” Her heartbeat quickened as the sadness engulfed her. “Please.”

Y/N woke up the next morning in a dream like daze, feeling strong arms wrapped tightly around her, her cheek pressed against a warm chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

“Steve?” She whispered out sweetly, it was the first moment of peace she’d had in months. Then reality came crashing down on her, remembering Steve was gone. Bucky heard her say it, it was the first time she’d said Steve’s name since he left, his whole body froze as his heart ached sympathetically for her.

Y/N sighed sadly, pressing her face further into Bucky’s chest as she began uncontrollably sobbing. Wave upon wave of misery flooded her body as Bucky rubbed her back under the thin material of her t-shirt, trying his best to soothe her.

“Shhhh,” Bucky whispered gently, his metal hand playing with the back of her hair as he held her close. “It’s gunna be okay.”

Bucky had repeated Steve’s words to her almost every day, not that she knew they were Steve’s words, but he didn’t know if he was saying them to comfort her or himself. Either way, as time went on, it was getting harder to believe that it was going to be okay.

———

Y/N had taken a nap for the first time in almost six months. She’d woken up to an empty bed, an unusual occurrence, especially since Bucky had been wrapped up in her arms when she’d fallen asleep.

They’d grown so close since Steve had left, their friendship had blossomed into an unbreakable bond, a deep connection that no one could explain. They understood each other on a level of complexity that formed so rarely it was unheard of. They relied on each other.

She padded softly down the hallway, heading towards the sound of Bucky’s voice coming from the common area. She slowed her steps, gliding her palm along the cold wall as she caught part of his conversation.

“No, I can’t do this anymore.” Bucky hissed to whoever was on the other end of the phone, his voice agitated yet quiet, as if he didn’t want to be heard. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m leaving.”

Y/N’s heart sunk deep into her chest, her head spinning in disbelief as she moved into view of the doorway just in time to see Bucky hang up the phone.

“Bucky?” She whimpered sadly, her chest heaving as it tightened around her heart, her eyes widened innocently as her bottom lip quivered. “You’re leaving?”

Bucky looked up at where she was standing, his eyebrows arching in panic as he realised what she’d walked into. “Y/N.” He started deeply, a lump forming in his throat as he watched her react. “I can explain.”

She shook her head rapidly as she squeezed her eyes shut, a bubbling sense of betrayal and anger erupted in her body. “You’re just the same as he is!” She yelled as she felt tears welling up in her eyes, turning to run back to her room as she thought about going through the process of losing someone again. She couldn’t take it.

She slammed the door behind her, bursting into tears as she paced around her room, slightly hyperventilating as the fear overwhelmed her.

“Y/N,” Bucky burst through her bedroom door, shutting it loudly behind him without a care as he walked over to her. “Calm down.”

She shook her head as Bucky grabbed her by her upper arms, forcing her to stop pacing as she hung her head to avoid his eye contact. “Were you even going to tell me?”

“Stop.” Bucky’s voice hardened as he tried to get her to listen, his eyes softening with worry as his heart raced.

“Or were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?” She disobeyed his command, her anger turning into sadness as she looked up into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Listen to me,” He spoke softly, gripping onto her arms tightly as his thumbs rubbed over of skin. She looked away from his eyes, her eyebrows arching in sadness as she anticipated what he was going to say. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I can’t lose you too, Bucky. I can’t.” She panicked as she thought about losing Bucky the same way she’d lost Steve. She wanted to believe him, but how could she possibly know if he was telling the truth? Her lips stayed in a pout, her eyes glued to the right of his body.

Bucky sighed in frustration, his heart broke knowing she didn’t believe him. “Look at me!” He spoke loudly, shaking her arms a little as her glossy eyes finally met his. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Y/N lifted her hands to hold onto the material of his shirt over his stomach, holding him close as if it would keep him there forever. “I heard you on the phone, Buck.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bucky smiled softly, slightly relieved that she was listening to him now as he admired her face. His flesh hand moved up to cup her cheek, rubbing her temple with his thumb. “You heard me telling Fury that I’m leaving, as in leaving the team, not leaving you.” He shook his head, his eyebrows arching as a sympathetic look covered his face.

Her eyes looked up at him with a soft sparkle that he hadn’t seen in a long time, he let out a shaky breath, his eyes softening as he smiled down at her. “You’re really not leaving?”

He shook his head as he watched her sigh in relief, his arms wrapping around her to hold her close. “I’m not going anywhere, doll.”

“Trust me, Y/N.” Bucky whispered as he admired her face, his thumb rubbing across her cheek soothingly. “It’s gunna be okay.” Something about the way Steve said those words made it sounds true, but when Bucky heard himself say it, it was hard for him to believe.

———

“What the hell am I supposed to tell Y/N?” Bucky looked over at his oldest friend, his eyes saddened with stress and responsibility. “She’s gunna ask questions, Steve.”

“Tell her I’ve left. That I’m not coming back.” Steve instructed the long haired super-soldier, sadly running his hand through his blonde hair.

“And you think she’s just gunna accept that?” Bucky shook his head as he kicked a pebble next to his foot absentmindedly. He looked back up at Cap, trying to make him understand. “She loves you, Steve.”

“Bucky, you know I have to do this.” Steve pressed his lips together as he looked sympathetically over at Bucky. His decision wasn’t an easy one, and his best friend trying to change his mind was only making it harder. “I’m leaving her with my best pal.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s shoulder reassuringly, witnessing the distress on his face, what Steve was asking him to do was huge. “It’s gunna be okay, Buck.”

Bucky sighed, trusting that Steve knew what was best as he wrapped his arms around his friend to say goodbye. “No matter what happens, she can never find out the truth, Buck.”

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ray-ray-writings · 3 years

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Actually Pretty Funny-Technoblade

Hello! This is a platonic!brother!Technoblade x fem!reader and a hinted Niki x fem!reader. I made the reader female since the request was the reader coming out to Techno as a lesbian. I hope that you enjoy!

Not in the dreamsmp but also isn’t real life. This is a Sleepy Bois inc fic where Techno, Wilbur, Tommy, and reader are all siblings with Phil being their father.

Warnings: Mentions of skipping meals

Like this and want more? Check out my masterlist here!

Y/N opens up to her big brother as to why she has been avoiding her other brother and his friend.

Y/N’s POV

I let out a sigh as I flopped face first down on my bed. For the past few days, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my room after school. Why? Well thanks for asking, ambiguous voice. My brother Wilbur has been bringing his friend Niki for the past week and a half. The two had been assigned to work on a project together and they found it easier to work at our house because of the close proximity to the school. So the two would spend hours sitting at the kitchen table working on their project, talking and laughing at the jokes they made with one another and I couldn’t be around it. But not for the reason that most would think….

Many would think that I couldn’t be around the two because I didn’t like Niki. But it’s really quite the opposite. I like Niki. I mean, really like Niki… Really really like Niki… I have a giant crush on Niki. That’s why I can’t be around the two. I either get so jealous that it makes me feel sick or I make a complete fool of myself because I can’t handle Niki smiling at me. I haven’t told anyone this. Not even my brothers. No one knows how I feel and I would like to keep it that way. I love my brothers and I know they’re very supportive of the LGBTQ+ community, but I can’t help but fear that they’ll tease me or look at me differently and I don’t want anything to change.

So I decided to just hide myself away from all of it. If I don’t acknowledge my feelings, do they really exist? If I hide away in my room, nothing can get out and no one can find me out. I shouldn’t have to do this much longer, the project should be done soon, maybe even tonight. Maybe tonight will be the last time Niki and Wilbur will sit at the kitchen table laughing over how dumb their teacher is. I sure hope so.

I was interrupted from my self-pity party by a knock on my door. Letting out another sigh, I rolled onto my back and sat up, “Yeah?” The door swung open and I was greeted by the sight of my blonde haired brother. “What?” I questioned with a raised eyebrow. Tommy almost never knocks before coming in so I was a bit surprised. “Dadza is letting us get pizza to celebrate Wilbur and Niki finishing their project. What kind do you want?” Tommy asked, pushing hair out of his eyes.

My eyes widened slightly at the question. I was right, tonight was the last night that she would be over. But the way that he phrased the question left me with one of my own, “Is Niki staying for dinner?” Tommy rolled his eyes at my question. “Of course she is, idiot. It wouldn’t be a celebration of them finishing without her. Now what do you want?” He pressed. “Oh… Umm..” I stuttered. This had never happened before. Niki never stayed for dinner. Of course Phil made sure she knew she was always welcome, but she didn’t accept the offer. She would always say she had to get home to Ranboo and make sure he hadn’t burned down the house. This always allowed me to fly under my family’s radar. I would go to my room and come down for dinner, claiming that I had a lot of homework and didn’t want to get distracted. Everytime they all bought it. Now what am I supposed to do?

“Umm. Actually, I’m not that hungry right now so I’ll just skip out. Thanks though Tommy.” I smoothly lied to my little brother. At least I thought I was smooth, but Tommy remained in my doorway with a cocked eyebrow and hands now on his hips. “You’re not hungry… For pizza? One of your all time favorites? Yeah I don’t believe you…. Are you skipping meals again? Do I need to go get Techno?” Tommy questioned. My heart began pounding. “No!” I blurted, standing up. I cleared my throat before responding once more, a lot calmer now. “No. No you don’t need to get Techno. I’m not skipping meals. I’m just not hungry.” For a moment, Tommy actually seemed to believe me. But then out of no where, my stomach let out a really loud growl.

Tommy and I stared at each other for a long while. I silently begged him to not do what I knew he was about to do. If Techno came in here, I knew I would have to spill everything. For some reason I couldn’t lie to my pink headed brother. He always knew how to get me to tell him what he needed to hear. “Tommy,” I whispered, “Please don’t-” “TECHNO!” He screamed, cutting me off. Tommy bolted out of my room and down the hallway toward Techno’s room. I heard Tommy begin to pound on Techno’s door as he yelled his name. In a panic, I rushed forward and slammed my door shut. I then rushed back to my bed and crawled under the blankets, bringing them up to cover my face.

Tommy’s screams stopped and it was silent. The calm before the storm. A rhythmic knock sounded against my door once more. I didn’t answer, hoping that maybe they would just go away if I didn’t respond… I knew better than that though. After a few moments of silence, I heard the door creak on it’s hinges letting me know it had been opened. It’s moments like this where I silently curse Phil for not letting me have a lock on my door. There was a small click as the door was shut once more. Footsteps echoed through my room and when they stopped, a pressure dipped my bed down as that same person sat next to me.

The tension in my room was extremely thick as we waited for the other to speak first. I was surprised by the blanket being pulled off of my face. My eyes quickly adjusted as I stared at my brother’s stoic expression, “Hello Technoblade” I greeted softly, looking away from his eyes. “Hello Y/N… Would you like to explain to me why Tommy nearly busted down my door to tell me that you're skipping meals again.” I rolled my eyes and adjusted myself so that I was now sitting up and resting against the headboard, “Because he’s a snitch that can’t keep his mouth shut” I huffed, looking everywhere but my brother. Techno let out a sigh and moved so that he was now sitting criss-cross on my bed. I felt a hand underneath my chin and my head was slowly moved so that I had no choice but to look at Techno. “You want to try again?” He prodded softly.

I took a deep breath before letting it out and swallowing harshly, “I can’t be around her.” I admitted softly. Techno’s face morphed into confusion, “Niki? Why? Has she been mean to you? That’s really surprising to hear, she’s usually a total sweetheart! I’ll talk to her and let her know-” “No” I cut him off. “No, it’s not that at all… I can’t be around her for another reason…” I trailed off. Techno was still confused, “You’re going to help me out Y/N. What other reason?” I took another deep breath before finally answering, “I like her. I really like her Techno. I’m either sick with jealousy at what her and Wilbur have or I fumble and embarrass myself in front of her… Techno… I’m a lesbian.” I admitted, closing my eyes tightly, not wanting to see his reaction.

He was silent for a while. I was about to speak again but was cut off by arms being wrapped around my shoulders. Techno pulled me into a tight hug, pressing me close to his chest. On instinct, my arms wrapped around him, my hands clutching the back of his shirt. All the emotions I had been bottling up for the past week and a half came crashing down. Tears began slipping out of my eyes as small sobs choked their way out of my mouth. Techno simply held me closer and began rocking back and forth, smoothing my hair down with one hand and the other rubbing up and down my back in comfort.

After a few minutes, my tears and sobs came to a stop. Techno tilted his head down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “Thank you for telling me,” He murmured against my hair. I sniffed and let out a hum, “Yeah… I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” Techno pulled back and gave me a stern look, “Don’t apologize okay? You weren’t ready to tell me and that’s okay. No one is entitled to information that you’re not ready to tell.” I processed his words and nodded, “You’re right,” I croaked, my throat raw from sobbing. Techno let out a laugh in triumph, “Always am kiddo. I always am.”

The two of us sat in comfortable silence for just a moment before Techno spoke again, “I just want to let you know that this changes nothing. You’re still my little sister that I love very much. Just now, instead of beating up your boyfriends, I’ll have to have civil conversations with your girlfriends.” His words caused me to giggle. The thought of Techno gearing up to fight the first boy I bring home only to open the door and find a woman. I giggled more as I pictured him quickly hiding his weapons and ushering the girl to the table and questioning them. “You know Techno, you’re actually pretty funny.” I giggled, shaking my head. A huge smile graced Techno’s face as he fist pumped in the air. “A lesbian refering to me as ‘actually pretty funny’? I’ve won life. Poggers!” I couldn’t help the laughter then burst from my lips at the sight of my pink headed brother fist pumping to me telling him he’s funny. Techno joined in on my laughter, causing me to laugh harder.

After our laughter died down, Techno stood up and offered me his hand. “Come on. Let’s go get some pizza.” Without even stopping to think, I took his hand and let him lead me downstairs to the kitchen. “There you two are!” Dadza greeted with a warm smile. Everyone was seated at the kitchen table, pizza boxes spread out in front of them. I didn’t realize that enough time had passed to where they were able to order and get the pizza. “Y/N your pizza is right there and Techno yours in next to hers.” aid, pointing to the two empty spots. Techno was quick to sit down and begin eating.

I took my seat next to Techno and Niki across from me. “Hey Y/N!” Niki greeted with a bright smile. “Hey Niki,” I greeted her back with a shy smile. “I felt like I haven’t seen you much this past week! How have you been?” She questioned, setting down her slice of pizza. “I’ve been good. How about you?” I asked back. “I’ve been good too! Hanging out with your brother has been fun, but it would have been better if I was able to see your face every once in a while.” Her words caused my face to flush a deep red. “Maybe we could hang out, just you and me sometime?” She offered, getting a little shy now. I glanced around at the table and found three shocked faces and one smirking. I cleared my throat and nodded enthusiastically, “I would love that, Niki.” I claimed with a smile. Niki smiled sweetly back at me before going back to eating her pizza causing me to also go back to my pizza.

There was a silence that fell over the table as the four guys stared at us. “What’s the matter?” I asked in general to the four. Wilbur, Tommy, and Phil seemed to shake out of their surprise and all murmured “nothing” before all going back to munching on their pizza and having a casual conversation. I let out a breath of relief. I knew that I would have to address what just happened after dinner, but for now I was off the hook. I allowed myself to look over to my oldest brother, who was shoving his pizza in his mouth. When his eyes met mine, he gave me a bright smile and a sly wink causing me to giggle and smile back at him. Perhaps it’s a good thing I can’t lie to my pink headed brother sometimes… Sometimes.

There you go! I really hope that you enjoy! If you did, please be sure to leave a like!

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randomingoftherandomness · 3 years

Note

Prompt! WKX is an omega who's been suppressing his heats for years with the help of Aunt Luo. When he leaves the Ghost Valley, his heat comes unexpectedly because of prolonged suppressant use. Alpha!ZZS helps. Smut or not, up to you.

A/N: I see Omega WKX and just like that it’s on like donkey kong 😝 No smut for this one though I may revisit this. I had to take a pause in writing the Smut Dialogue Prompts because I had to work for my Taobao WoH merch money. But keep sending them in!

I place this fic as taking place somewhere on the journey to the Longyue Cabinet.

This fic is longer than I had anticipated...

—

It hits him that he’s out of tea three days into the constant discomfort of aches on the base of his spine, the almost debilitating need to scent Chengling as if he was his young, and the embarrassing urge to bare his neck to the Old Toad Monster whenever they argue. But above all that, the most mortifying thing of all is the distracting awareness of where his Ah Xu was at every given moment and the insanity that rages through him to kneel and submit to him even when the man still looks at him with nothing but a suspicion that makes him want to keen and whine.

Wen Kexing is supposed to be above all this, not just as the Lord of the Ghost Valley, but as someone who is trying to prove to this Alpha that he was the right--

He perishes the thought before it can even finish.

The nondescript brocade pouch is empty save for a few remnant leaves that would barely be enough to tide him through even the first hour of what’s coming next. It’s fine, he tries to reason through the rising panic in his mind that this was missing the mark of ‘fine’ and hitting the bullseye of ‘you’re completely fucked’. This blend is unique to Aunt Luo’s stores and if Ah Xiang was still by his side, she would have a backup pouch for him. As a Beta, she would have no need for it herself.

Unbidden, the memories of the scant few times he had let his Heats run their course comes flooding through him; the pain and ache of being untouched, unfulfilled, the taste of blood and sweat as he rides through the terror of his heart burning through the fever, the fear of that lone door being broken down by some crazed Alpha and being mated against his will. He remembers the rawness of his throat for weeks after, screaming and crying for that boy who balanced a cricket on his head and promised him good food when he could come home with him.

Wen Kexing swallows tightly around the knot of emotions drumming thick in his throat. It’s an old fear and it is the nightmare that he has survived and lived through by the grace of Aunt Luo’s protection. He’d presented early; far too early by the sounds of Aunt Luo’s recollections and the theory was that the trauma of his parent’s deaths coupled with the Mengpo Soup being administered to someone so young, was the cause of things.

“Lao Wen?”

“Hm?” He quickly plasters on a smile, blinking up at his Ah Xu before darting his gaze somewhere over his shoulder instead. This is dangerous.

He’s sweating through his inner robes and it won’t be long now before his scent draws every Alpha in the 15 mile radius from where they are in the forest. He finds himself simultaneously surprised and disappointed that Ah Xu has barely reacted to his scent when the Old Toad Monster had taken a sniff at him this morning and declared that he was taking Chengling along with that strange child-man off their hands for a few days.

It’s ridiculous and he reminds himself that he has nothing to fear when Ah Xu has been nothing but courteous this entire time even when knowing from the beginning that he was an Omega with a bloodlust that could fill entire oceans.

“Lao Wen, are you alright?” Ah Xu asks. Wen Kexing looks at him then; meets his gaze and decides it is all or nothing at this point. Should Ah Xu say no, he won’t press, he won’t push and he won’t beg. His heart will break but that wouldn’t be anything new.

He has survived worse things than a broken heart.

“I’m going into Heat,” He admits, eyes fixed on Ah Xu, gaze strong and unwavering. “It’s going to be bad because I’ve been on suppressants and I need you to know this.”

Ah Xu remains impassive, quiet and still, before he asks gently, “So what are your plans?”

The words twinge something awful in his chest and he forces himself to keep smiling. “Find an Alpha. Pay for one if I must. The last Heat I went through was horrible and I nearly died. I’m not keen to repeat the experience,” He inhales and finds himself stuttering on the sour scent of... Anger? Jealousy?

Ah Xu’s tells are still things he is learning but even with this shallow pool of knowledge, Wen Kexing can tell that he is displeased.

His immediate instinct is to go on his knees, wrap his arms around that slender waist and rub his cheek to his belly until that cold, unhappy scent sweetens into something warm again. But he restrains himself, tries to stand his ground even when he can feel the quickening of his heart demanding that he submit, he surrender, he give himself over to his Alpha; to just reach out and touch and kiss and love and be loved--

“Am I not enough?”

The slow enunciation of the syllables breaks through the cacophony in his mind. Wen Kexing thinks he must be dreaming and half convinces himself that this is some Heat wrought dream, and that there is no way that Zhou Zishu would ever--

Careful hands hold him by the cheeks, wrists placed close to the corners of his lips and he can almost taste the way he can be owned and marked and belong to this Alpha. This same Alpha who is looking at him with eyes of liquid gold and is saying, “Lao Wen, please let me share your Heat with you.”

“But you...” He trails off.

“Me?”

“You haven't even reacted to me,” Wen Kexing says a little dumbly, body swaying into the promise of an embrace.

On that, Ah Xu smiles a little wryly. His hands move, trailing fingers southwards to rest right against Wen Kexing’s nape. The heat of his palm, right over where a Bond Mark should be shouldn’t be this thrilling, but the promise that is etched in the heady weight of his gaze is enough to steal a soft whine from the cages of his ribs.

“It’s the Nails. I’m slowly losing my senses. I can’t smell much anymore,” Ah Xu admits with a gentle press of his fingers to sweat slick skin for the briefest of a moment, before pulling away, huffing with fondness. “Was that what worried you? That I wasn’t reacting to you? I thought I’d held your hands enough times and touched you more than was appropriate. Even Senior Ye could tell.”

The gentle whining that comes from within him builds into something needy that bellies the spreading damp on his inner clothes.

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to,” Ah Xu says, leaning in to press their cheeks together. When he speaks again, his words come on heated breath that has Wen Kexing spreading his legs, letting him occupy the space between them. “But I can say this. If you spend your Heat with me, I won’t hurt you, I’ll make it so good for you. I promise you won’t remember all the Alphas you’ve shared them with before.”

Wen Kexing bites down on his lip and ducks his eyes. Ah Xu has never been so forward and yet, with just these few sentences, he has turned his entire world axis on its head. “There weren’t ever any other Alphas,” He confesses in a quiet rush. “I...”

“You’ve never...?” Ah Xu’s eyes widen.

“Never. I’ve never trusted anyone enough.”

Ah Xu seems to ponder on this. “And now?”

Wen Kexing closes his eyes, surrendering to the need to press his brow to Ah Xu’s strong shoulder. The need prickles deep in his groin and he knows Ah Xu can feel it even through the folds of his robes. There is no mistaking where this will go and Wen Kexing finds that there is no fear in this desire.

Here was his Alpha, the one who will catch him when he falls. Here is the one he had chosen as a child when the world was bright. Here he is for him to love, to hold, to cherish.

Beyond any measure of rhyme and reason, Wen Kexing knows that even if this is the only Heat he ever gets to share with him, it will be enough. “You’re it for me,” He says softly, pouring every bit of sincerity and honesty into those words. Even if Ah Xu still suspects him, even if he never loves him the way Wen Kexing has loved him for a lifetime, he has been Zhou Zishu’s Omega from the very beginning.

Whatever Ah Xu finds on his face must be enough, because their lips meet, at first, in an inelegant kiss that was too much teeth that clacked and bump, and then again, in a kiss that was half-laughter and many parts delight.

“Then, let me take care of you,” Ah Xu says, thumb tracking the curve of his jaw, pressing his body close.

Wen Kexing shudders, hands moving to hold him by the waist.

“Alright.”

#wenzhou #word of honor #gab writes stuff #wen kexing #zhou zishu #this was hella longer than I had anticipated #it's the heat verse

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Note

hc of jake and amy hand holding before dating (i’m convinced they did a few times before they ever dated) and also in the beginning of their relationship + getting teased by the squad 🥰

(this has definitely turned out far more emotional than you’d probably thought, anon, but I don’t make the rules when it comes to fic inspiration)

Amy Santiago is sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of her friends has said, and she feels a warm hand slip into hers under the table. Jake Peralta is laughing next to her, too, but then he’s also smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them.

-*-

He’s lying in a hospital bed, and Amy thinks she’s never seen something more unsettling than a quiet Jake Peralta. The only sound in the room is the beeping of some monitors he’s hooked up to, and the only movement is his chest rising slow and steady. Something it didn’t do about two hours ago, when she was kneeling over him in some alley and screaming while the medics finally arrived and brought him back. It was a fairly ‘minor’ injury in the end, one bullet wound that the doctor’s had to close up, but it had hit some sort of vein that was important and that lost a lot of blood and that stopped his heart for the few moments she remembers stretching like hours in her mind. She doesn’t remember much else, especially not the medic’s or doctor’s explanations. They’d taken her along in the ambulance, because she was his partner, and she was allowed to sit in the hospital room he was recovering in now, because she was his emergency contact, too. She could’ve been nothing after today. Because the bullet from that gun wasn’t aimed at Jake before he pushed her to the side.

Amy looks down at her hands, folded in her lap, pinching each other to remind her she’s awake, she’s here, and so is Jake. Not awake, but here. Still here. They’re squeaky clean, her hands, because she’s spent a good fifteen minutes in the hospital public toilets scrubbing them free of his blood after he was rushed into surgery and she was left behind, alone in the waiting room, her sensible grey pantsuit coloured red all over her arms. She had a list of things to do in her head - contact Captain McGintley to follow the chain of command, and Terry so something would actually get done. Figure out how and who can transport Peralta home and take care of him, if he gets to go home. (He will. He has to. She will take him.) Call Rosa to find out if they booked the perp properly, and that they add assault with a deadly weapon to his rep sheet (not murder, although that’s what he did, that’s what happened). But she couldn’t do any of that, because she was still shaking, her heart was still racing, and all she could see was his blood on her hands, warm and sticky and dark and drying into a rotten brown shade already. So she washed them clean, and then scrubbed some more, and some more, until she felt as red and raw as the wound in his chest had looked in the ambulance when they got his shirt off. (The jacket of her suit is rotting away in the toilet trashcan now, and she’s shivering ever so slightly in only her short-sleeved blouse, but it is clean and there is not a hint of Jake’s injury anywhere anymore, except in his gaunt cheekbones and the pale colour of his face, and the silence of the room.) His hand twitches while she’s staring at her own, and if it’s instinct or reflex of whatever that makes her reach out and grab it immediately, she doesn’t care. His hand is warm under hers, and it twitches again and then wraps its fingers around her and holds her, steady and calm. He blinks awake, a little disoriented, but then he focuses on her and - smiles.

“You’re okay.” He says, and that’s what breaks her in the end.

She doesn’t outright sob or anything, but she does let her head drop so her hair is hiding her face, hiding the tears he doesn’t need to see first thing after waking up from literal death. She feels his hand pull on her to make her look at him, though, and she can’t deny him, even if her tear-streaked face is probably not a good view.

“Hey, no- don’t-” He rasps, his voice still coming back, “I’m okay too.”

She laughs through her tears, a short little snort, but it helps calm her down - and him too, it seems, because he smiles again.

“You’re far more than just okay, Peralta.” She smiles back, and feels his hand tighten around hers, three little, but distinct squeezes.

-*-

She shouldn’t feel this nervous. She’s a cop, a detective. A good one. She’s done this before, and it’s never been nice, but it’s always something she’s gotten through.

But she fears tomorrow’s court date more than anything else in her life right now, which is why she’s trying to drown the thought of it at Shaw’s. The hangover will probably not be helpful with her witness statement that could possibly make or break this ruling, but her panic demands more alcohol. However, the next beer she orders at the bar is intercepted by a larger, more calloused hand than hers.

“Alright, Santiago, that last one was your sixth, and I really don’t need to deal with Seven Drink Amy tonight.” Jake says as he settles down next to her, hands the beer over to Rosa, who leaves them alone at the bar before Amy can whine and complain.

“I need that drink, Jake. It’s my only friend right now.”

“We both know that’s just Six Drink Sadmy speaking.” He pats her arm as she spreads out over the slightly sticky bartop and whines some more.

“You’re worried about tomorrow.” He continues, reading her thoughts like he sometimes does, which is such an annoying thing he can do. His hand is still on her arm. “You don’t have to be.”

“That girl’s entire life is at stake. And the gang boss is going to kill me and her if he gets off-”

“He’s not going to get off. Not if you tell them exactly what you told the lawyers taking your written statement.”

“Says you.”

“Says Sofia.” There’s a weight to those words that hits her stomach, and it’s only partially the fact that a damn defense attorney is on her side. The other part of why those words from the woman Jake started dating just recently hurt her, she doesn’t want to think about. “Look, I’m gonna drive you home, you’re gonna take a hot shower to detox, then you’re gonna get your perfect 8 hours of sleep, show up at court tomorrow in your best, darkest pant suit, and rock this like you rock everything else.” His hand has wandered down her arm to her hand, now, flips it over to hold it, and it’s pure coincidence that their fingers spread and interlock, surely. “Okay?” He asks one more time, and she sighs.

“Teddy can pick me up-”

“Teddy’s at that conference, remember.”

Oh, right. Something that had been lost to memory between drink three and four, the fact that her boyfriend had booked himself into a seminar the week the court date was announced. It’s a really good one, he’d said, if she wasn’t already busy he would’ve asked her to join, too. Already busy. Regular Amy doesn’t get punchy a lot, and maybe it’s her closeness to Seven Drink Amy right now that makes her want to knock him out for that, but she felt that way when she helped him pack his luggage two days ago too, and she was stonecold sober then.

“Okay.” She nods and tries to get off of the barstool, wobbles quite heavily. “Take me home, Peralta.”

He snorts a laugh and obviously swallows down some sort of joke as he pulls her into a standing position, their hands still locked together. She thinks she imagines it at first, but even after she’s sobered up the next day, she remembers those three short, tight, almost painful squeezes before he let go and steered her to his car.

She doesn’t have much time to think about it, or about how she basically held hands with her best friend while both of their partners were out of town, either. Or how he helped her into her apartment and waited until she was showered and had downed some water and aspirin before tucking her into bed. She can’t think about any of that, because she has to get ready for court.

And when she sits down in the witness’ chair, the gang boss on the bench before her staring her down with murder in his eyes, she notices a set of dress blues in the otherwise thin crowd of people who were allowed in to watch the trial. Three rows down, Jake gives her a silent thumbs up when their eyes meet, and she feels the phantom of his hand again, squeezing hers three times before she begins to speak.

-*-

They’re gonna die. She’s certain. They’re gonna die in here, in this cramped little closet, wedged between some industrial shelving and a broken down sink.

Jake had pulled her in and locked the door behind him, squished her against the wall and himself against the door, and killed the radio on her shoulder as well as his own. The last thing they’d heard crackling through it was “four officers down”. Someone had fallen behind her when she ran for safety, and for a second she thought it had been Jake. That he was standing here now, almost pressed against her in the tight space she would usually panic in, that she could feel his erratic breath on her ear, his racing heart under her hands, was pretty much the only comfort she had left.

She wonders how long it’ll last.

The mission had been an absolute bust. They had expected a gang. They had not expected a well-armed mafia. And now officers were wounded, or dead, and they couldn’t use their radio to find out anything, for fear of being discovered. She can hear gunshots and shouts from further away, and it’s only her paranoia that make them sound as if they're getting closer, but Jake is listening just as intently. Amy thinks of Rosa and Charles, who were on the other side of the building. She thinks of Terry, who’s probably trying to reach any of them by radio from his station in the surveillance van. She thinks of Holt, and can’t see where he might be right now, still next to Terry or commanding whatever backup might be coming in or-

She feels Jake’s hand wrap around hers, still pressed against his chest, and realises that she’s been hyperventilating. If she gets any louder, she’ll give away their position. His forehead against hers is cold, colder than he usually is, clammy with sweat, but the simple pressure of it helps her focus. She can hear him breathe deep, slow, exaggerated, and understands that he’s doing it for her. He probably thinks she’s having a panic attack because of her claustrophobia, or maybe all things at the moment combined. He’s not that far off. She breathes with him, feels the air from their exhales swirl between the few spaces were they don’t connect. There aren’t many. If she looks up, she could kiss him. She’s not quite that sure that she’s going to die in here anymore, but she would definitely hate herself if she did and never found out what that felt like, or if her last kiss on Earth was really from Teddy the night before they broke up. But when she moves her head, she meets his eyes instead, pupils blown wide in the darkness around them. He looks scared and terrified, and his heart under their combined hands is still racing, and the last thing he needs is for Amy to confuse him before they go out in a hail of bullets, action-movie-style, which he’d probably love if it wasn’t so real right now. She wants to say something, anything to calm him down, but she can’t speak, and not just because there are footsteps approaching outside their door.

She feels his hand tighten around hers, three times, faster than before. And then he pulls her into a close hug when the door behind his back opens to reveal blinding light, and she realises he’s shielding her, has been ever since he pushed her first into this storage space. He only lets go when they both hear Terry’s voice, and the Captain’s, the first telling them they are safe, the second immediately trying to update them on the situation with the SWAT team. He holds her hand a second longer than the rest of her, and the three squeezes that follow are far softer and slower than the ones before.

-*-

Amy Santiago and Jake Peralta are sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of their friends has said, and she feels his hand slip into hers under the table. For only a split second, she’s tempted to pull her hand away. It’s still so new and shaky and unsure, their whole thing, yet at the same time it isn’t. It’s been growing for so long, between them and around them, it feels like it’s always been there. But the rest of the squad is still pulling excited faces whenever they get a little closer, Charles still squeals at every mention of their ‘evenings together’, and Rosa has rolled her eyes so hard she almost strained a muscle the first time she heard Amy refer to Jake as ‘babe’ in front of her. It’s all a little bit embarrassing, and sometimes she wishes they’d stuck to just one of their rules, of not telling anyone until they figure it out. But then she wonders, what was there left to figure out? She was with Jake, and she wanted to be with Jake, and deep down, she could see none of that change at any point in time. Forever, possibly.

Charles is still talking, riding the wave of getting their laugh, but then Jake’s smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them. She remembers them from before, from tense moments and situations of fear, from where he’s been there for her at the worst parts. Holding on tight and feeling the three little bursts of pressure, only wondering a long time later if he did it on purpose, or if it was some sort of reflex.

She feels it again now, and she can finally hear it.

I. Squeeze. Love. Squeeze. You. Squeeze.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet

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selfdestructivecat · 2 years

Note

Virgil, since I know he’s your favorite.

WOW YOU REALLY CALLED ME OUT LIKE THAT HUH SNSJDJDHDHE

(I mean you’re right but XD)

Realistic Headcanon: He curses like a sailor. It’s something I headcanon he picked up from Remus, and by now it’s more of a nervous tic than anything. If he’s stressed, startled, or even just incredibly anxious, his first instinct is usually to swear.

When he was first accepted by the Light Sides, he tried his best to tone it down, even struggling to eliminate it completely. However, old habits die hard, and he was scared that the others would change their mind about him, thinking that he is still a “bad guy” because of his behavior. However, this was never the case, and besides Patton occasionally chiding him playfully and asking him to put a coin in the swear jar, the others never really cared.

Besides, they know that he’s actually just a big softy under his sharp and gruff exterior. A few curses isn’t going to change that.

(More Headcanons Below!)

Unrealistic (but hilarious) Headcanon: Not only does his eyeshadow change color and glow, but his hair does as well! His usual hair color (which I headcanon as black and dyed purple at the tips) slowly gains more purple the more excited he is, eventually becoming entirely purple and glowy to match his eyeshadow. The others absolutely love it, and while it’s incredibly embarrassing, Virgil’s usually too giddy off of his euphoria to really care that much.

Heart-Crushing and Awful Headcanon: I talked briefly about the sides’ powers but didn’t go into detail with Virgil, so I’ll do that here.

(This is a long one so fair warning!)

The current hierarchy of the sides ranked by power would be, in order of most powerful to least: Patton, Roman, Logan, Janus, and Remus. With Janus’ recent acceptance, his power is much closer to Logan’s than it was when he was first introduced, and Patton and Roman’s powers were lessened a bit after SvS. I also went into detail in a previous ask (the one linked above) about how Roman and Remus’ powers are connected, and that Remus is limited due to him being allowed less influence than Roman (which, in turn, makes Roman more powerful). Overall, however, this hierarchy hasn’t changed.

Virgil, however, is an anomaly. Anxiety isn’t exactly a function like the others. Logic, Morality, Creativity, and Deceit are like tools, things to be used when a situation requires it. Anxiety, however, is a response, something out of your control. While fear is undeniably useful, as discussed in Accepting Anxiety, it isn’t something that you choose to use to enhance your senses or to give you a boost of adrenaline. It just happens.

Virgil’s power is similar. It’s much more volatile, fluctuating depending on the situation and his reaction to it. When he was Paranoia (another headcanon I have) he was incredibly powerful, his influence even rivaling Patton’s. This makes sense, since fear can become all-encompassing if you let it get away from you.

Now, he’s usually in a more subdued state, a buzz of anxiety that keeps you sharp but isn’t too overwhelming. In the hierarchy, I’d probably put him below Logan but slightly above Janus. That can change in an instant, of course, whether it’s due to a dangerous situation, a panic attack, or (on a slightly happier note) a burst of triumphant euphoria.

Virgil is extremely powerful, yes, but not all the time. Remus and even Patton are slightly similar, due to their additional roles as Intrusive Thoughts and Emotions. Again, these aren’t tools, instead something that just is. When c!Thomas’ mind is working against him, throwing bad thought after bad thought at him, Remus gains a huge power boost but is also harder to control. Similarly, Patton can gain a huge boost in power (and loss of control) when c!Thomas is feeling a particularly strong emotion, although his role as Morality grounds him more than Virgil and Remus, giving him more control.

But none of them can match the power of raw, overwhelming fear. When Virgil is at his strongest, he is uncontested. Not even Patton can hold a candle to him. He hates this power, wishes that c!Thomas didn’t have such overwhelming anxiety and that he could be more in control, but there is nothing he can do about it. He just has to keep trying, hoping that the others will be enough to help him when it all becomes too much.

(That was a lot, sorry about that! But hey, you did play the Favorite Character card, so you asked for this!)

Unrealistic Headcanon that will probably never happen: I want him to get more hugs from the other Sides! Due to the nature of the show, the Sides can’t physically touch each other, but they SHOULD! I absolutely can’t get enough of fics where a touched-starved Virgil receives lots of hugs and cuddles from his family (if you want recommendations, hit me up! I’ve got so many lol) and I wish he could also get more hugs in the show, but that’s what happens when all the characters are played by the same person. Guess we fanartists and writers gotta do everything ourselves, huh.

Thank you for indulging me, dear anon! Hope this wasn’t too much, but I’m weak for my emo son XD

Send Me a Character Ask, and I’ll Give You Some Headcanons!

#myasks #anon ask #ask game #my headcanons #sanders sides headcanon #virgil sanders #sanders sides virgil #headcanon ask game #oops you played the favorite character card #oops you activated: hyperfixation!#y’all can’t stop me now brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr #lol thx for letting me talk more about Virgil #I cant get enough of him ^.^

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gureishi · 3 years

Note

A #14 with Saeyoung. I love your fics ❤️ Thank you

Thank YOU, dear! ♡

Writing this one was cathartic af. I don’t often write them fighting, because I don’t think they fight much—but the prompt was begging for it and I think a lot about the unexpected ways they find themselves grappling with their trauma.

fourteen: hurts like hell to be torn apart

SaeyoungXReader, T (referenced violence, angst with a happy ending), words: 2912

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Bang.

The sound reverberates off the cobblestones and the colorful storefronts. It’s as loud and dark as the street is cheerful and bright. You feel it in your bones.

And for some reason that you have neither the time nor the emotional capacity to explain, you take off running. Away from the blue-and-white awnings of the little farmers market. Around a corner. Down the alley. Toward the sound.

I know someone’s been shot, says your brain, and you don’t notice the general absence of panic in the crowd—don’t register that no one is yelling, no one else is running. Your sandals slap against the pavement, hard. Your blood rushes in your ears and your heart is in your mouth.

I have to find them, or else… Your vision blurs, your thoughts scramble. Or else.

You’re halfway down the alley, running straight into the setting sun, and you still can’t make out what’s happening at the end of the narrow, dark, trash can-lined street. You squint, expecting at any moment to see a body on the ground, blood pooling on the uneven concrete…

…and your line of sight is cut off as you run face-first into something firm and warm. Someone. You let out a muffled cry and try to pull away, but there are hands gripping your arms and you find you can’t move.

“What do you think you’re doing?” hisses a familiar voice, and although his scent hits you then, and you know you should feel safe, you continue to struggle—hands balled into fists, striking his chest.

“Let me go!” you yell, raising a hand to shove him. His long fingers wrap around your fist. “I have to…” you gasp.

“Nope,” he says. He wraps his strong arms around you and you give in, slumping against him. There’s literally no way out now—you know him too well. How did he catch up to you, how did he cut you off…? He’s not even out of breath.

“Saeyoung…”

“Look.” He’s still got you in his firm grip, but he lifts one arm so you can see through the triangle it makes with his torso. Now that you’ve stopped your insane sprint, you can see more clearly. The end of the alley is…empty.

Your throat feels raw. You realize that at some point you’ve started to cry.

“It was a car backfiring,” he says stiffly.

“A car…”

Rationally, you understand: why the sound was too quiet, why nobody else took off running. Why there’s no body slowly growing cold at the end of the alley. But you can’t quite think rationally. Your heart is pounding so hard you feel like you might throw up.

Saeyoung spins you around and half-drags you down the alley, back the way you came. You know you should feel relieved—comforted by his arm around you, thrilled that your instincts were wrong. But his grip on your shoulder is bruising and you feel yourself wriggling, trying to turn around, trying to check the imagined crime scene just one more time.

You turn a corner, back to the shopping center. Here, nothing has changed. There’s the same group of kids in brightly-colored outfits lounging on the steps to the ice cream place. There’s the same harried-looking mother struggling to get her three toddlers in a stroller. There are couples walking hand-in-hand and friends calling to each other over the crowd.

Why, you think, a bitter taste in your mouth, was I the only one who ran?

The dissonance between the cheery atmosphere and the way you are feeling makes your head spin. You sneak a glance at Saeyoung’s face—he has a frozen expression, unmoving, like a statue. His grip on your arm is growing painful.

“Saeyoung,” you say, forcing your voice into a semblance of evenness. “Will you please let go of me now?”

He jumps almost as if he’s forgotten where he is. He drops his arm and it swings aimlessly at his side. He’s not looking at you.

“Let’s go home,” he says at last, and his voice takes you by surprise. His expression is carefully arranged, stoic, but he sounds like he’s ready to hit someone. He takes off walking—away from the pleasant shopping center, down a quieter street, toward the garage. You don’t follow.

He feels your absence, pauses, turns. The sinking sun sets his hair ablaze. Beautiful, you think—if not for the hard look on his face.

He looks, to you, like he’s powering down, turning himself off. There’s no light in his eyes. On some deeply-buried logical level you know that he’s feeling the same echoes of the past that you are, riding the same wave of terror and remembrance. But you feel anger bubbling under your skin and you want to shake him and scream don’t look at me like that in his face.

He spins around and stalks toward the garage. You follow him in silence. Through the entrance. Up the stairs. He picks up the pace and, stubbornly, you slow yours.

He’s unlocked the car, opened your door, and gone around to his own side before you’ve caught up to him. You can’t explain why—just as you couldn’t explain the irrational bolt of horror that struck you when you turned and ran down the alley—but you feel like you could strangle him.

Still in silence, he starts the engine. You can’t stand it anymore.

“So,” you say. Your legs are shaking. “Are you not speaking to me?”

He pulls out of the parking spot. Your head is pounding. Answer me.

He pays at the automated meter. Inches the car down the driveway. Then, finally: “Don’t be so childish,” he says.

Something snaps inside of you.

“Childish? From the man who’s giving me the silent treatment?” You clench your fists, leaving little half-moon imprints in your palms. You look at him sideways; no reaction registers on his face. “Would you mind at least telling me why you’ve decided you’re not talking to me anymore?”

“You don’t—” For the first time, you see anger flash across his face; it disappears as quickly as it came. The car speeds up a tiny bit; he corrects it instantly. “You don’t know why I’m mad at you?”

You feel yourself crumbling—a chain reaction that began when you heard the not-gunshot moving on to its inevitable conclusion.

“If you’d tell me, I bet I’d know,” you snap.

He exhales slowly, as if willing himself to be patient enough to deal with you. You want to wipe that expressionless mask off his face.

“Why did you take off like that?” he asks. His face remains impervious but the anger is in his voice and it scares you a little.

“I thought it was a gunshot,” you say. “Obviously.”

“So did I,” he growls. “Which is why I’m asking you why you ran toward it.”

His words are like a slap in the face and, stubbornly, desperately, you want to hurt him back.

“You’re being condescending,” you say. Your voice shakes, giving you away. “I’m not a child.”

“Then don’t act like one!” Every word is like an icicle to your heart. “It was stupid. Do not ever do something like that again.”

It’s too much for you—the reprimanding tone, the fear you still feel in your bones, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach. You feel tears coming again and you hate yourself for it.

“Don’t speak to me like that!” you say, and it comes out every bit as harsh as you’d intended. He flinches.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says through clenched teeth. “I need to make it clear to you just how—how dangerous and idiotic—”

“So whenever there’s something dangerous—and there will be again, because this is our lives—I’m meant to, what? Let you take care of it and hope for the best?” You feel hysterical. Your throat is raw.

“Yes!” he yells, and it’s your turn to recoil, shrinking into your seat. “That is. Quite literally. What I was trained to do.” He’s tried to lower his voice but the quiet derision is somehow worse than when he shouted.

“You don’t trust me. At all,” you say. There are the tears again. You turn to hide your face, wiping them furiously from your eyes.

“No, I don’t,” he says. “Acting like you did today just proves to me that I shouldn’t.”

Your insides are caving in. You want to grab him by his stupid hoodie strings and make him look into your eyes and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

Your head turned, your forehead pressed against the cool glass, you spot a familiar exit. You pounce on a different instinct—because it’s there, because it’s easy, because you know it will would him.

“Take the exit,” you command. You’re shocked by how cold your voice is. How mean you sound.

“What?”

“Saeyoung, take the exit. Right now.”

He does.

He drives in silence, slowing the car to a stop at a red light. You peek at him. There’s realization in his dark golden eyes—and hurt, too. Good.

“This is the way to Jaehee’s house,” he says. He sounds numb.

“Yes,” you say. “Take me there.”

“But…but we should go home,” he says quietly, and in that moment you feel so angry you want to laugh at the vulnerability in his voice. It’s so easy to hurt him. You can still feel the hot lava anger bubbling under your skin, can still hear the way his voice sounded as he told you he didn’t trust you.

“I don’t want to go home with you,” you say.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

Jaehee opens the door, takes one look at your face, and ushers you inside without a word. You can’t help it—you turn as she closes the door behind you to watch Saeyoung’s headlights slowly pulling away. He’d waited till you were inside.

Right. Because I can’t be trusted on my own.

Jaehee doesn’t pry, and you love this about her. She ushers you into her warm, familiar living room. She gives you a blanket. She offers to make you a coffee.

It’s late, but you say yes anyway.

It’s only once she’s brought you a mug filled to the brim with foam and dusted with cinnamon that she folds herself onto the couch beside you and fixes you with a knowing look.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

And you have been—fine as you stormed out of the car without saying goodbye, calm as you watched him drive away, steady as you sat alone on Jaehee’s small-yet-squishy couch. But now that she’s asked it all crashes down around you and you burst into tears.

Wordlessly, she opens her arms for you—a bit awkwardly—and you slip into them, burying your face in her chest.

“We never fight,” you sob, knowing you’re soaking her sweater. She runs a soft, small hand over your back—stiffly, like she’s not used to it, but gently, like she wants to be. “We never…and I don’t even know—w-why…”

Jaehee hums soothingly. She takes a deep breath and you follow her lead, choking a little on your own tears.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” she asks softly. She adjusts you, tucking your head against her shoulder. “It might help.”

You sniffle. In this warm, comfortable room, with this warm, comfortable person, suddenly your actions feel so irrational. Why did you run toward what you assumed was a gunshot? Why did you respond to his concern for you with such unbridled rage?

You tell Jaehee about it—the sound, the alley, the way his face looked when he caught up to you. The things he said in the car. The things you said.

She listens patiently, steady as ever. She tucks your hair behind your ear.

“I’m not entirely surprised to hear that you had that kind of reaction,” she says when you’ve run out of words and are sniffling into her neck. “You’ve been through quite a lot.”

“What, today?” You wriggle into a sitting position. She hands you a tissue box and your coffee.

“Certainly today, but I was actually referring to the past year.”

Oh.

You blow your nose. Take a sip of the coffee. It’s delicious.

“You’re saying I freaked out like that because of, um. Because of what happened at Mint Eye?”

Jaehee looks down at her hands in her lap. “Obviously, I don’t know everything that happened,” she says carefully. “But I can imagine that what you witnessed isn’t something you’ll get over easily. It will take a lot more time.”

When she says it like this, it feels obvious. You can still feel it ringing in your eardrums: the gun, the shouting. The sound of a body hitting the ground.

“Yeah,” you say. Your hands are shaking again.

“Saeyoung should know this,” she says. She places a hand over yours; it stills them.

“He does,” you say. “But he has his own—things—to deal with. From that day, and also before.”

“Yes.” She pats your hands once and then rises. With your eyes, you follow as she goes to the entryway, retrieves your bag from where you dropped it. Pulls out your phone from the outer pocket. “As I suspected.”

She hands you the phone. The screen’s lit up—you’ve just missed a call. Several calls.

“I’m going to make more coffee,” she says, slipping politely toward her kitchen—out of earshot. Your cup is still almost full.

You hesitate for a moment—just a moment—looking at the rows of his name on your screen. The shape of it makes your skin tingle.

You call him back.

“Hello?” He picks up after a quarter of a ring. He sounds breathless. You wonder if he’s made it home already.

“Hi,” you say.

“You called me back.” He’s talking quietly. His throat sounds raw. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Of course I did.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you can hear him breathing—hard, ragged.

“I’m so, so, so, so sorry,” he says, and you can tell that he’s been crying too, in the way his voice catches at the end of each word.

“Saeyoung, I—”

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I should never have spoken to you that way. It’s no excuse, but I was just so scared when you ran from me, I—I panicked, but I didn’t mean to…I never meant to—”

“I know.” He shuts up right away. He sounds miserable. You want to stroke his pretty head. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s okay. I did deserve it.” His voice is small and suddenly you want to be home, want to kiss his silly, perfect face and squeeze him till the sob is gone from his voice.

“You didn’t,” you say. “You were scared. I can understand that.”

“I was terrified,” he says. “I thought the same you did—you know, that it was a gun, and so I went to get in front of you, but you’d already taken off running toward it. I just—it felt like my soul was getting ripped from my body. I haven’t felt like that since…since—”

“Me neither,” you say. “I mean, me too.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to run toward a gunshot,” he says, and he laughs a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “You’re supposed to be somewhere safe and warm where nothing can hurt you. I can’t—if anything happened to you, I’d—”

“Me too,” you repeat. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”

It’s quiet. You breathe together. In, out.

“I love that you want to protect me,” you say. “But I need you to trust me, too.” He hesitates, and you know that a part of him wants to say so don’t put yourself in danger. Once, he would have. He’s grown up so much since then.

“I do trust you,” he says. His voice breaks. “I didn’t mean what I—I promise I’ll try to—you’re my whole world,” he finishes. Desperately, miserably. Hopefully.

“I want to come home,” you say.

“You do?” The optimism rushes into his voice and you want to bathe in it.

“Please.” You smile and taste your own salty tears at the corners of your lips.

The doorbell rings.

No way.

“No way,” you say into the phone. You cross the room, tug the door open. “No way,” you say to his face. His arms hang at his sides and his eyes are wide and bright as if he’s still not sure if you’ll slam the door in his face.

“I only drove like a block away…” he mutters, trailing off nervously. Sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Should’ve known.” You throw yourself at him and he tears his hands out of his pockets in time to catch you, a surprised laugh bubbling in his throat as you catapult into his chest.

“So you missed me even though I’m a sad, miserable excuse for a boyfriend?” he says into your hair. You stand on tiptoe and kiss his face till his eyes are glazed over and the goofy grin is back on his face. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, dummy.” You kiss his throat and he shivers. “Take me home.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Friends! Let me know if you’d like to be added to this list so you’re tagged in my future mysme writings~ <3

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta

#mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #mysme #request #gureishi writes requests #marilu100399 #saeyoung choi #707 #saeyoung x reader #707 x reader #is this loosely based on a fight I once had with my real-life partner #hmm #who can say

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

Text

Cross My Heart (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.7k

Chapter-specific Warnings: Descriptions of blood from a gunshot wound, alcohol consumption, talk of drug addiction, more death talk, mentions of entitled kid + parent, everyone being in denial and uh I think that’s about it

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

The strangest thing about dreams were how quickly they disappeared: you could be passed out in bed, a million miles away from the waking world before the rays of sun started to shine over the horizon to rouse you from your slumber, and just like that - whatever world you were in would vanish, being replaced by an often disappointing reality in front of you. For Jack, vivid dreams weren’t too often of an occurrence for him, not that he really remembered anyway. Nightmares were even more rare, though at one point in time they’d plagued him for months on end. That was how he’d spent the first few months after his wife’s passing: waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing in panic from the lingering remnants of dream clung to the back of his mind, horrifying scenes of loss and tragedy playing out to torture him in his most vulnerable state. Usually the nightmares involved him being forced to watch Lily’s death with his own eyes and being powerless to stop it, the illusion always shattering just as her body hit the ground. Other times he’d be confronted by her, blood cascading from the bullet wound in her head and onto her skin while she stared at him with harsh eyes. He’d try to reach out for her, only to feel her hands had gone cold. And then the blame would start. The words that were repeated over and over by her until he felt his brain was going to break.You couldn’t protect me. Those ones were always the worst, and thankfully, the most rare.

All of this being said, Jack hadn’t dreamt of Lily in a long time. As the sting of her passing began to fade with time, leading into hate and anger towards the world for taking her away, the dreams slowly stopped. He still mourned for her every day, feeling frozen in time no matter how many years passed, no matter how fine he seemed on the outside, but the worst of it had left him. Or, so he thought.

Jolting out of bed with a fierce start, he could feel the rough material of the duvet in his hands, his hands grasped around it with an iron grip. He felt compelled to scream, though no sound was able to escape his mouth, and as he took note of his surroundings he started to feel less afraid when he realised where he was. He didn’t know what the time was, if he had to guess it was probably after midnight. Hesitantly, he placed the back of his hand to his temple, feeling the stray beads of sweat running underneath. It’d been a long time since something had managed to scare him to that degree, much less a nightmare. He probably should have felt relaxed once he realised that none of what he just went through was real, but he still felt spooked by the entire experience. Jack couldn’t even remember most of what happened - it all blended together in a frightening blur. The only moment he could still make out in his mind from the dream were its final moments: his wife was standing in front of him, in the middle of the convenience store where she died, with a man holding a gun to the back of her head. He remembered screaming out, pleading for her to be spared. It was too late - the sound of a gunshot rang out and her body fell limp to the floor, a pool of blood forming underneath her head. That wasn’t even the worst of it, as when he looked down upon her corpse he realised that it wasn’t Lily’s body lying dead on the ground anymore. It was yours.

“God fuckin’ damn it” he cursed, placing his head in his hands. On top of everything else that had already happened, he now had to deal with the return of old haunting nightmares that somehow were even worse than the ones he had years ago, because now you were involved. He sat up abruptly, grabbing onto a discarded shirt that he’d thrown over the foot of the bed and pulling it over his head, using nothing but the moonlight pouring through the curtains to guide himself out of the room and into the darkened hall. He stole a glance towards where your room was, a droplet of fear etching itself into his mind. Before he entirely knew what he was doing, he was opening the door to your room, being careful not to make any sound lest you were awakened. His fears subsided when he saw you curled up beneath the covers, sound asleep and none the wiser to his presence. Exhaling gently, he untensed his shoulders and looked over at your sleeping form with a small but sweet smile on lips. Of course she would be fine. You’re being paranoid.

Pulling the door behind him softly, he turned his attention to the end of the hall where the stairs were, the vague recollections of the nightmare rattling in the back of his mind. If he didn’t do something soon, he would keep himself up all night mulling over the implications of it all, and he wasn’t keen to spend the early hours of Sunday morning losing sleep because of his fucked head. He supposed it wasn’t that out of nowhere to dream about his wife, as he had been talking about her with you just last night. What scared him more so was that you were there, taking the bullet and ending up exactly as she had: dead. He couldn’t begin to fathom its meaning. Did it have to have meaning? Was it nothing more than a nightmare?

Scooping up a glass, he poured himself a generous amount of whiskey to sip on, returning the bottle back to the corners of your liquor cabinet. He probably should have asked before helping himself but it wasn’t like you were awake to answer to him, and he had a feeling you wouldn’t notice anyway, considering he’d found the aforementioned bottle pushed to the furthest reaches of the cabinet. When he noticed the label on the bottle, he couldn’t keep himself from smirking at the irony of it - of course you’d keep the Jack Daniels whiskey towards the back. Reclining into the couch with the glass in his hands, he took an absentminded sip while his mind further delved into the worrying implications of such a dream.

The only part of it all that made sense was that the dream had been about his deceased wife - with the discussion that happened between the two of you last night about her it was only logical that his subconscious had lingered on some parts of it. After you’d turned in for the night Jack had stayed up for a little while longer, seated out on that veranda with a pensive look and the bottle of bourbon you’d neglected to bring back inside. Your words made rings around his mind, sparking a debate of sorts with himself as he considered your criticisms towards him. The emotional part of him wanted to blindly hate, and to keep on doing exactly what he’d always been doing. But when he realised that blind hate had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place, he’d allowed himself to listen more carefully to your words, and to examine them on a deeper level. Upon knowing your own past with loss and pain at the hands of another, it made him take a step back and actually look at everything that had transpired in Cambodia, all the little things that led him to working against an organisation that he once devoted himself to. Whereas you’d taken steps to try and live in a world without your parents, he’d remained angry and hurt, stuck in a world that had long moved on from the tragedy and still feeling every raw cut of emotion that losing her dealt. Sure, he wasn’t exactly inconsolable over it constantly - he had been able to live for sixteen years without Lily. If he went to a psychiatrist, he knew exactly what they’d say to all that: “You’ve externalised your hate onto someone easier to blame, in this instance addicts, when really the only person you feel should be to blame is yourself for not being there to save her”, or something like that. He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the ludicracy of it all. Never in a million years did he think he’d be one for deep introspection. What in the goddamn has this world come to?

Even so, your words wouldn’t leave his mind. Did you have a point? Was it wrong to blame every addict on the planet for the actions of a few? In a rational sense, he could see what you were saying. His actions hadn’t been based on rationality though, it was all emotion. His instincts wanted him to reject the notion of him being ideologically wrong in this, a notion he in turn fought to reject from himself. One thing in particular that Eggsy had said to him during their final confrontation had stuck out to him at that moment: “You’re working for the president?”. He’d denied it at the time, and there was truth to his denial: as he put it himself, he didn’t want any kind of association with that asshole. At the same time, his feelings on the matter did happen to crossover with the president's own agenda, and some part of that in general hadn’t sat right with him.

Would it even matter by this stage if he’d accounted for his errors? He’d already single -handedly destroyed all that he had by then, the only thing that could properly atone him in his own opinion would probably be death, and he’d be damned if he was gonna let himself die any time soon. The realisation that he might have to spend the rest of his days with the guilt of the incident in Cambodia eating away at him wasn’t too kind on his psyche, but he was ready to accept it in lieu of the alternative. And damn it, if there wasn’t something about that judgemental way you’d looked at him that gave him enough of a kick in the teeth to want to do better. You’d said it yourself that you didn’t believe him to be a bad man. Maybe somehow he could redeem himself enough to even be half of what you’d described of him.

Drumming a lone finger along the fine seam of the couch cushion, his thoughts circled back around to the disturbing dream and everything it entailed, including the part that had shaken him the most. Why you? Why were you of all people appearing in his nightmares? And not only that, why did you take the place of his long dead wife at the end? His mind was ticking into overdrive to decipher every little detail. There was only one other time in his life he remembered seeing you in his dream, and that was when you two were dating. He could chalk up your sudden appearance in his subconscious to the conversation the both of you were having the night before - it would explain the return of his nightmares about Lily too, although his mind swayed towards ruminating on a much more confronting possibility.

What if it means I’ve fallen back in love with her?

As soon as the concept crossed his mind, Jack frantically sought to purge it from his mind altogether. What a foolish idea, he reasoned to himself, taking a larger sip of whiskey out of the glass. There wasn’t anymore to this, and he shouldn’t be throwing out such wild theories based on a nightmare of all things. He went and thought back to the small moments you two had shared throughout the weeks together, times where one lingering touch almost seemed to convey something more. He realised just how many times he’d caught himself staring at you the last few weeks, or the times his touch lingered on yours a second longer than it should have, things he hadn’t noticed until he began to pick apart his own behaviour and examine it underneath a microscope. Old habits die hard, I guess. He may have teased you about making him coffee by “accident” a couple of weeks back, but there wasn’t meant to be any insinuation behind it. It was just that - a harmless tease, a simple reflex of his infamous flirtatious charm. None of this necessarily meant there were any reignited feelings, and furthermore, if by some insane stroke of dumb luck that did happen to be the case, then they were only small at best, fleeting in nature. He couldn’t fall for you again. He couldn’t. Not after putting you through so much pain.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was nothing, even he wasn’t buying it tonight. If he was falling for you again, how would you take it? Not well he guessed, as you still felt hurt by his actions. Why wouldn’t you? He was the one that hurt you then came back into your life without warning because he had to go screw up the one good thing he still had. It was painful to be reminded of how little still had left by that time: his status as an agent stripped from him, everyone he ever loved being dead and buried, and not able to return back home as he was still on the run. Him being at your ranch at all was putting you in enough danger, a fact that made him uncomfortable in of itself. Falling for you would make things more complicated than they already were.

She doesn’t have to find out. Keep it to yourself, and she’ll never know.

That’s it. That’s what he’ll do. He won’t ever mention these returning feelings of affection towards you, and in doing that, hopefully they will run their course and die out. Jack would still be courteous towards you, it went without saying since you were implicating yourself in all of this by hiding a fugitive. He could do that, right? Ignore it all, and avoid anything more than general amicable gestures. A part of him hurt to think of that, especially when those thoughts he had when you two were on the veranda together last night pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind. The way your hair had looked splayed out over your shoulders under the dim porch light, the burn in your eyes that gleamed as you’d admonished him for every mistake he ever made that shouldn’t have made him so entranced. He chastised himself for thinking so lewdly of you in that moment, hating how the very image of you in such a light darted straight to his groin. Finishing off the last dredges of whiskey, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and let out a heavy sigh.

Forget about it. Leave her be. You’ve hurt her enough.

_______________

At long last, there was finally a lull in the day, giving you some off time to relax and decompress a bit. There was still an hour to go before the ranch closed for the night, though nobody else had any riding lessons booked and it was unlikely that anybody was going to show up unannounced at five in the evening. To say the day had been busy would be selling the whole experience short - downright exhausting would have been a more accurate way to put it. There was a function going on for a good chunk of it, a birthday party for the son of some big-shot oil tycoon. You’d been worried your injury would slow down your progress with getting tasks done but to your pleasant surprise you were able to manage just fine, though having your other employees and Jack around had also been a huge help. It’d been four weeks since you’d gotten injured, and according to the doctor during your semi-regular checkups the recovery process was coming along nicely, which had been more than evident to you with the lessening pain. Sadly, you wouldn’t be able to get the cast off for a while, despite your protests. You didn’t see why it all had to take so long: you hadn’t been in any excruciating pain for a good while so it was clearly healing. As well as the cast being a nuisance when bathing and the like, it was also annoyingly itchy, leading you to talking yourself out of shoving a coat hanger down the side of it in an attempt to stop it several times. If only you didn’t have a ranch to run, then you could take an antihistamine pill and be done with it.

Dragging yourself back into the house, you headed straight for the stairs, eager to lie down and doze a little - normally a long day like that would call for a bottle of scotch. This time round, however, you decided to forego the alcohol in favour of a more straightforward way to relax. Once you’d come to the door to the guest bedroom upstairs you felt compelled to stop, your mind wandering to where Jack was at that very moment. Last you’d seen him that day he’d been bringing the horses in. The two of you had stopped to chat for awhile, your usual bitter-edged banter being exchanged, things playing out just as they should when suddenly that same familiar feeling started to make itself known, the same thing you’d felt when he’d handed you the painkillers, or when you two had been out on the veranda a little while back. That spark, so to speak, the frightening feeling of something burning in you, something that shouldn’t be there in the first place. You’d instinctively ended the conversation soon after, making up some excuse about needing to take care of some accounting and hurrying off. Thinking about it now you couldn’t stop yourself from going a tad pink in the cheeks at your behaviour, thoroughly embarrassed for daring to act like you were inflicted with something as trivial as a schoolgirl crush.

Don’t be soft on him. Don’t do this. You’re better than this, those words you repeated to yourself like a mantra started to wear thin during those weeks, especially after the conversation you two had shared where you’d divulged some of the pain closest to your heart. You never thought that you’d tell anybody what you felt after your parents had died, not in a million years, so to have you in a position where you were comfortable enough to reveal such details was nothing short of astounding, particularly when one took into account the exact person you’d told it all to. You could justify these choices with the flimsy excuse of being drunk, but even you knew that in order to run your mouth about something that personal, even while intoxicated, meant you had to feel a certain amount of trust to the other person. Did you trust Jack? Was that what was happening here? To that, you couldn’t fully answer, as you didn’t really know.

Glancing from the doorknob to the stairs and back, you twisted the handle and allowed yourself into the spare bedroom, letting your feet move you towards the closet at the back of the room. Like a woman possessed, you didn’t stop yourself from doing any of this, the feeling of your heartbeat ricocheting through your chest. It had been years since you permitted yourself to look at any of this stuff, let alone giving any of it a second thought. Out of sight, out of mind, you’d thought to yourself when you’d originally boxed it all away, not being able to bear throwing any of it out. Sliding the doors open, you took note of the fact that everything was left in its precise location indicating that true to his word, Jack hadn’t meddled in any of it. A small sigh of relief escaped your lips while you sunk to your knees, poking your head through the rows of old coats that you kept neglecting to donate or sell to the very back of the closet where your eyes locked onto what you’d been originally seeking: a plain velvet blue shoebox shoved underneath an ugly knitted blanket that you plainly despised.

For as much of a hardline no-nonsense woman others perceived you as, a huge part of you was deeply sentimental towards both people and things, or more specifically, things people had given you, hence the choice to simply box up every gift and memento he’d ever given you rather than setting fire to it in some overly dramatic yet cinematic manner. When Jack and you had broken up, you’d gathered up everything that reminded you of him, thrown it in a box and then tossed it into the back of the closet of your apartment to be forgotten forever. When you’d taken over the family ranch from your parents, the box had ended up in the guest room closet instead due to you not wanting an object holding that many sorrowful memories anywhere near where you slept. Taking the box out and setting it down in front of you, you stared at it frostily for a minute, considering throwing it back into the closet and forgetting that you ever wanted to open it. Ultimately you caved, lifting the lid off and opening up the treasure trove of mementos, symbols of a love that used to be that became tarnished with time.

A lot of the items in question were photographs, a couple of polaroid shots of the two of you out at some bar in New York thrown in with the myriad of photos depicting you on various other dates with him. One in particular that caught your eye was a polaroid that had a heart drawn in red permanent marker on the white margins - you were wearing Jack’s Stetson and had one arm thrown around his neck, looking as if you hadn’t a care in the world while he looked up at you with those heart-meltingly gorgeous brown eyes of his, as if nobody else in the world existed except for you. You could still recall the smell of the cigarette smoke from that day, how the loud music reverberated through your ears the entire night you’d spent there with your head rested against his shoulder, ignoring all your other friends in favour of him. You caught yourself grinning at the memory as if you were some kind of lovesick fool. Back then you might’ve been. Not anymore though. Not now.

That’s what you continued to tell yourself while you sorted through the box’s contents, pulling out items ranging from small bits of jewelry to a small cat plushie that he’d won for you at the county fair. Your gaze zeroed in on a small silver chain necklace with a little horseshoe charm dangling on the end, earning yet another foolish smirk from you. Jack had bought that for you as a Christmas present, although you had insisted to him that he didn’t have to go all out on a gift for you. He’d even gotten the underside engraved with your name, which you traced over with the pad of your finger at that very moment.

Looking through all these gifts and the significance they once held to you, your mind started to wander back to the possibility you’d considered during your last proper talk with Jack, questioning once more if he deserved such harsh hostility being thrown towards him. You didn’t want to let yourself be hurt again, so it only seemed logical to make yourself guarded and keep him at an arm's length. With that said, time and time again he’d managed to surprise you - he hadn’t been pestering you as much you thought he would. Sure, he did jokingly insinuate that one time you made him coffee that you were growing fond of him but other than that he’d kept the charm to a minimum, or at least, less than you were used to in the past. It all made sense to you after you’d learned what happened to him that brought him back to you, his magnificent fall from grace so to speak. You meant what you said to him that night - you didn’t think he was a bad person, rather just someone who’s done bad things out of hurt and anger. With everything he told you about his wife’s death, you couldn’t help feeling a sense of powerful empathy towards him, a feeling that scared you a little to tell you the truth. It’d been easy for years to write him off as a liar and a player, but in reality, Jack was far more complicated than that. How ironic: the advice you gave him ended up being a hundred percent relevant to yourself at the same time, you huffed with an absence of amusement.

If you had to be completely honest with yourself, without any kind of lies or facade to keep up, you didn’t know what you felt about Jack anymore. You couldn’t say you hated him, no, hate was far too strong of a word. Actually, you couldn’t really say you even disliked him that much anymore. But you didn’t really like him either. Or did you? Once again, the thoughts of how his touch had made you feel over those last few weeks invaded your mind, things that by all means shouldn’t make you feel some type of way but did. Hell, even how you continued to make his coffee exactly how he liked it every morning, not bothering to question it anymore than necessary for the sake of your own sanity.

Shaking your head, you let out a heavy sigh as you glowered down at the box witheringly. Great, now you’d made yourself confused on your own emotions, all because you felt the need to reminisce on the past. You’re being ridiculous about this. You don’t feel that way about Jack, and if you did, you can’t have him. He’s on the run, he’s a criminal now, and more to the point he broke your heart once. Who’s to say he won’t do it twice? Do yourself a favour for once. Ignore those feelings. Ignore it, and they’ll go away.

You quickly boxed up everything soon after that, pushing it to the back of the closet as if you’d never been there at all. Lifting yourself to your feet, you neglected to look back when you maneuvered yourself out the door and back into the hall, pulling your mind back towards any kind of ranch duties you could muster up out of thin air that you had to attend to, anything that could distract you from the small pink tinge that had crept across your cheeks that refused to leave, or the racing of your heart with every step you took.

__________

After a day that felt like it dragged on forever, you’d been looking forward to turning in for the night. For whatever reason, everything that could have gone wrong that day decided to go wrong - one of the horses had done a runner during one of the riding lessons and you’d had to go out and try to catch the bastard. It took forever to rope the damn horse back into the property. Jack, you and another one of the instructors managed to catch him in the end but it ended up setting your schedule behind for the rest of the day. Later on in the day, some entitled kid had come down and decided he didn’t like the horse he’d been assigned to ride, waltzing right into the stables and picking out one that he deemed more suited for him. The horse, one of the older boys, was understandably annoyed by this random loud kid appearing out of nowhere and being rough with him, leading to said entitled brat getting chomped on the arm. The rest of the day had to be spent dealing with the screaming kid and his mother, who was every bit as entitled as her son was. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Despite your damndest to put on a smile and placate the woman who was screaming threats of a lawsuit, she still wasn’t letting up so you’d metaphorically thrown your hands up in frustration and told her straight to shut up. She’d left soon after that, huffing and threatening to get your entire business shut down. You weren’t scared in the least of her empty threats: you’d dealt with hundreds of other people just like her in your stint running the ranch and nine times out of ten nothing ever came from their tantrums. It was still supremely exhausting to deal with, draining your energy and putting you in a foul mood for the rest of the day.

You’d been angling to end the day as soon as the first instance of idiocy started, so when it was finally late enough in the night and you’d grown tired of the bottle of merlot that you’d been speeding your way through, you’d taken yourself upstairs, thrown on a random t-shirt and sweatpants, and sunk right into bed ready to forget it all and start over.

However, you weren’t so lucky. From the moment you’d first entered your room that night, something had felt off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it at first, so you’d tried to ignore it, writing it off as feeling slightly on edge from the rough day. The weird feeling wouldn’t go away though - everytime you closed your eyes, you felt like someone else was there, like there was another presence nearby. Five minutes passed before you’d flicked the lamp next to your bed on and looked around the room. You knew Jack had already gone to bed before you, and you couldn’t hear any sort of noise from downstairs that would indicate someone else being there. Nevertheless, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was there, maybe not in the house precisely but somewhere on the property, as if there were a pair of foreign eyes staring at you from afar. Your eyes darted towards the window, the curtains open to reveal the glimmering starry sky outside, your breath becoming shallow as you were finally able to place the exact feeling that was making you tense up in fear:

You felt like you were being watched.

Diving out of bed, you scrambled towards the window and scanned the vast expanse of countryside surrounding your property, searching to see if there was anything out there that was unfamiliar to you. Nothing - all you could see were the stretches of field that lay beyond your ranch, with a lone few collection of trees situated off the edge of your property, exactly as it always looked. That alone should have eased your nerves a bit but for whatever reason that feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away. You glanced back at your bed, trying to talk yourself into downplaying it all as you being paranoid. There isn’t anyone out there.You’ve had a rough day, and about three glasses of wine so you’re a little bit tipsy too, you told yourself as you trudged back to bed and pulled the covers over your head, a useless action that did nothing to quell the anxiety festering in you. For the next twenty minutes or so, you did everything you could to push your unease away in favour of sleep to no avail. The entire time you’d been lying there you felt like there were a pair of eyes burning into your back, directly across from where the window was, yet every time you sat yourself up to check there was nobody there.

Fantastic, guess I’m not sleeping tonight then. Clearly, that creepy feeling wasn’t going to leave and you didn’t feel comfortable in that room anymore. Briefly you contemplated going down to sleep on the couch but that idea was dismissed almost as quickly as it came to you - if you felt like someone was watching the house, then moving sleeping locations wasn’t gonna solve anything. A part of you wanted to go grab a firearm and go on a patrol around the property to be safe, though once remembering that you were a little bit tipsy you didn’t feel it would be the best course of action to go hold a gun right then. Throwing a single glance towards your bedroom door, another idea popped into your head, and before you could try and talk yourself out of it you were already out the door and down the hall to where the spare bedroom was.

Opening the door as quietly as you possibly could, you poked your head inside and peered over to where Jack was laying in bed, covers tangled up around him and facing away from you, appearing to be fast asleep. “Jack? Are...are you awake?” you called out hesitantly.

It took a minute for him to respond, by that time you’d come close to convincing yourself that you were being a baby about all of this and that you should go back to bed. “Darlin’? Is there somethin’ wrong?” he replied, his thick southern drawl sounding groggy, matching his dazed expression he wore while he fought to keep his eyes open.

“Sort of...maybe, I don’t know...I can’t sleep” you admitted.

“Having nightmares or somethin’?” he asked, sitting himself up in bed to properly face you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down his torso ever so briefly - it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen a million times before but damn, he did look good. Shaking your head fervently, you attempted to ignore that fleeting thought and focused back on what you’d come there to say, proceeding to reply. “No, no, nothing like that. I just...ok, this might sound a little bit crazy but I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched in there, and it’s freaking me out”.

You could see Jack’s brow furrow through the darkness, a look of concern creeping over his face while he thought on what you’d just said. “Watched? Like how?”.

“I don’t really know how to explain it, if I’m gonna be totally honest. All I know is that everytime I close my eyes I feel like there’s somebody outside. Whenever I go to look out the window though, I don’t see anyone” you explained, and at almost the very second you finished your sentence you could see Jack’s eyes widen, the last remnants of sleep falling away and being replaced by an alert and alarmed expression. Before you could say anything about it, he was already throwing the covers off him and sliding out of bed, hustling over to where you were standing by the door. “Stay right here. I’ll go take a look for myself” he instructed sternly, pushing himself past you and making a beeline straight for your bedroom. Instinctively, and in all honesty against both his wishes and your own better judgement, you followed in behind him, seeing him linger close to the wall just enough so that he was out of direct sight of the window. Slowly, he advanced forward to a position where he could properly take a look out, his eyes steely as they examined the landscape, the tensity of his demeanour feeding into your own feelings of concern.

“Jack, what’s going on?” you asked in a small voice, something that was uncharacteristically meek of you. In all fairness, something like this had never happened before. You’d hoped that Jack would come in, take a quick look, confirm there was nobody on the property and give you a little bit of peace of mind but the way he was acting made the possibility of someone actually being out there all the more real to you.

“Darlin’, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need you to be quiet for a second” he orders, not tearing his eyes away from the window for a single second. You didn’t know how long you two stood there for - it was probably no more than a minute or two at most, even so it felt like an eternity to you, until at long last you saw some of the tension in Jack’s shoulders dissipate and he finally slunk away from the window. “Give me a second, I just gotta go check something” he mumbled, dashing back out of your room and still looking vaguely distressed at the entire predicament. This time around, you did as he said, not wanting to leave the house on the off chance there really was something to worry about. You heard him run back into his own room briefly before darting off downstairs, hearing the unmistakable click of the front door lock opening. You had no idea what to make of any of this - why was he acting so weird? Was there something you should know? Was there really something to your weird feeling and should you be genuinely scared?

The sound of gravel crunching from the ground below alerted you, leading for you to wander over to the window for what felt like the millionth time that night to see for yourself what was going on. Your eyes first landed on Jack, who was pacing the gravel and looking off into the distance, searching for something. You could see he was holding something in his hand but couldn’t quite get a proper look at it as he was angled away from you. He disappeared from your view and a moment later he was back upstairs with you, appearing to be infinitely more relieved than he was before. Now you could properly see what he’d gone to fetch from his room once he’d left: his gun from his days as an agent, the moonlight streaming in through the window glimmering off the silver barrels and onto the floor.

“Nothin’ out there, thank fucking christ” he sighed, giving you a smile that was meant to be comforting. His gesture did nothing to ease your worries, despite the confirmation that there wasn’t anything out there like you’d originally hoped. Along with still feeling uneasy being in that room, there was also the matter of what you’d witnessed in Jack before, the plain and unconcealable look of suspicion and worry that had been showing on him.

“Are you alright? You...seemed worried. The way you were looking out that window, it was...like you were searching for something in particular...”.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty little head off about it” he dismissed, obviously wanting to put this whole incident behind the two of you. You were having none of it, so you pressed further, taking a single step closer to where he was standing in the door. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you kinda got your gun out” you pointed out, your eyes flickering down to the weapon resting in his hands knowingly. “Did you think it was Statesman or something?”.

Jack looked surprised that you’d dared to be that direct in your line of questioning. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected any less from you, following your eyes down to where he was holding his gun. “Well, if I’m gonna be honest, yeah. For a moment there, I was worried they’d found me somehow. But there isn’t anybody out there - besides, if they were doin’ surveillance on the house they woulda had me led away in cuffs already. You’re safe as pie, sugar” he confessed.

Exactly as you thought. You’d wondered if Statesman would ever make an appearance, suddenly becoming hot on Jack’s tail. So far nothing had happened, thankfully, and seeing as your strange feeling tonight turned out to be nothing, you permitted yourself to relax a little, despite the still present feeling of discomfort from being in that room. “Alright...thank you for checking. Sorry I woke you up for something stupid”.

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I haven’t been sleeping great this last week anyway so I wasn’t even fully asleep when you came in. You make sure to get plenty of rest, ok?” he nodded towards you, turning to leave the room, the comfort of his presence slipping away from you and leaving you to feel the same odd and uncomfortable unrest that plagued you all night.

Glancing back over towards your bed, you dreaded the thought of trying to go back to sleep in that thing tonight. It sounded so childish and silly for you to say, or rather think, but you really didn’t want to be in that room tonight. If you stay in here you aren’t gonna get a wink of sleep.

What you did next was something you never thought you’d do in a million years. In your defense, it’d been a long day, you’d had some alcohol earlier, and you just had to deal with the intense unnerve of being watched only to discover that your feeling was nothing more than a spate of paranoia. With all that taken into account, it was only logical that you asked what you did next. “Jack, wait” you called out before you could stop yourself, freezing once you saw him stop in the hallway and turn back towards you with those sweet eyes of his. “Look, I know this is an odd request but...can I sleep in your room? Only for tonight. I don’t know, I still feel a little on edge and it’s dumb but I’d rather be around someone else right now” you mumbled, simultaneously hating yourself for asking in the first place and feeling utterly embarrassed at your own audacity.

Some part of you wanted him to laugh in your face. Laugh at you and make some stupid little quip about you being a “big girl” who could handle herself. It would be easier to hate him still that way. Of course, he didn’t do that at all. What he did instead was give you the sweetest damn smile you’d ever seen from him, different from those charming smirks you were used to and harkened closer to those rare moments from when you two were together that he would lay down the bravado and be vulnerable. “Sugar, you don’t need to feel bad for askin’ at all. I understand completely where you’re comin’ from” he reassured, holding his hand out and beckoning for you to come forward. And come forward you did, following him out into the hall and into his own room, the anxiety from before fading into nothing and being replaced by relief.

“Thank you. I know we’re not...like that anymore but…” you stumbled dumbly as you glided over towards the bed, fatigue overcoming your brain and making you more impatient to be in bed and asleep as fast as possible. It had to be extremely late by then and you wanted to get a decent amount of sleep before having to get up and go about with business as usual the next day.

Jack, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room throwing his gun back into a chest of drawers. “Say no more, honeybee. If you want, I can sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable” he posited, to which you promptly snapped your head back up and stared at him as if he were crazy. “You don’t have to do that, Jack, I’m not about to be kicking you out of your bed”.

“Technically it’s your bed, not mine”.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flopped down on the pillow and sighed. “Doesn’t matter, just...stay here. I’d rather have someone close right now, ok?”. If you weren’t already tired beyond all reason, your brain might have been fretting over the oh so horrific implications of staying in the same bed as him, though if you were really being honest you couldn’t care less right then. It’s not like sleeping in the same bed meant anything, plenty of people did that all the time. So what if you wanted someone near after feeling scared? Wouldn’t someone else do the same thing in your position?

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart. I’ll keep to the other side of the bed if you’d like” Jack assured you, sliding into the other side, doing exactly as he said and keeping a safe enough distance from you. It might’ve been silly for you to care so much, but you had to admit it was nice having someone else be there, and at the least it calmed your anxiety enough for you to feel fine sleeping. Stealing one last brief glance over at him, you wished him goodnight and let yourself relax truly for the first time in hours, letting the world fall away and fade into nothing as you closed your eyes and passed out in mere minutes of being there.

___________

When you awoke the next morning, it was to the strands of sunlight streaming through the parted breaks in the curtain, shining right over your face and rousing you from your slumber. Through bleary eyes, you became aware of the room around you, memories of the night before flooding back to you instantaneously. You noticed you felt warmer, becoming aware of the heavy feeling on your body, which caused your eyes to snap open fully. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw Jack, still sleeping and curled into your back, his arm lazily stung around you. You knew you two hadn’t fallen asleep like that, reasoning that he must have reached out to you during the night, leading to the position you were in now. You could feel the light tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck, something so small managing to light an unexpected spark in your heart. You should have pushed him off. You should have woken him up. You should have done a million other things in that moment instead of the one thing you did.

When instead of flinging him off you and darting out of bed like a skittish cat you curled yourself further into his light embrace, the mortifying realisation hitting you right then with a full force - Jack Daniels, the man who’d broken your heart, was caressing you in his sleep.

And you didn’t mind it, not one single bit.

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moiraineswife · 3 years

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Do No Harm - A Witsnah Fic

Guess who’s back...Back again. IT’S ME. Y’all didn’t think you had escaped my Witsnah content forever did you? Because you DIDN’T. I’m back with some Highly Indulgent Content. Pls enjoy.

Title: Do No Harm

Rating: M (for violence and cursing) Content warnings: blood and stabbing

Summary: Jasnah is dying and Wit goes a little bit feral as a treat. AKA: Wit realises he's in love with Jasnah via the power of terror. AKA: Wit discovers he can pine while in a relationship because he’s just That Dramatic.

Someone makes another attempt on Jasnah's life within her chamber of Urithiru. Wit realises he's willing to do whatever it takes to save her. Even if that means risking his own life.

Teaser:

Wit liked to think himself largely shock proof.

Not electrical shocks, of course, he was still working on that. But startling shocks, the jump scares of life, unexpected occurrences around every corner. Those he felt he was damn near immune to.

Jasnah Kholin stumbling from their shared chambers at sixteen minutes past three in the morning wearing nothing but her nightgown and a considerable amount of blood, gasping his name and seeming near unconsciousness? That did it.

Link: AO3

On a list of things Jasnah hated, assassins were definitely in the top five.

She felt that was reasonable. They had killed her father. They had killed her brother. They had attempted to kill her multiple times. They had threatened everyone she loved, at one time or another.

And they were also responsible for the large bolt currently protruding from her chest.

Jasnah had been asleep in her bed within Urithiru when the fabrial device cleverly hidden in the canopy had fired the projectile directly down into her body.

Ivory's split second warning had woken her and allowed her to shift aside. Not avoiding it, but it had meant that it hadn't plunged directly into her heart. He'd likely saved her life.

"Something is not, Jasnah." Ivory said, his voice more curt and clipped than usual. His way of expressing concern.

Dimly, using one of the corner posts of her bed to haul her to her feet, Jasnah recognised the same thing.

She had experience with having things stabbed into her. Which had only increased during recent years. Though the bolt embedded in her chest would prevent the Stormlight healing the direct wound, it should still have sealed the skin and muscle around it by this point. She shouldn't be losing this much blood.

The silk nightgown she wore was soaked in scarlet. Blood was still gushing from the wound in rather alarming torrents. The wheeze to her increasingly laboured breathing told her blood was slowly filling her lungs as well, so there was no internal healing either. Wonderful.

She had to get it out to give her body a chance to fix this.

Forming that rational thought was more difficult than it should have been.

Panic was starting to gather in the blackening edges of her vision, like a Highstorm threatened in the sudden gathering of clouds, and it was becoming harder and harder to push it back.

Trembling, legs bowing with fatigue, she grasped the bolt in her left hand and willed it to change, to become air, free, and fluid, and no longer fatal.

Nothing.

It didn't refuse her, as objects first had during the initial fumbling attempts to Soulcast them. No. It simply didn't exist to those senses that had become so attuned to the world around her.

That confirmed the fear that had been building within her, and did nothing to still her rising panic.

Stormlight thundered in her veins, a fill, raging Highstorm's worth. She was a Fourth Ideal Radiant, with more experience and knowledge of her powers than almost any other. She had survived shipwrecks, and battles. She was faster, and stronger than any human had a right to be, and had the power to warp the world to suit her whims.

Yet Jasnah felt utterly, gut-wrenchingly helpless in this moment.

She couldn't Soulcast. She couldn't heal. Her strength was fading with every pounding beat of her heart, trying to help, but only forcing more blood from her body.

Escaping to her safe point in Shadesmar was out of the question. She had lost the ability to so much as peer into that realm, she-

She was dying.

"Jasnah," Ivory barked, both out loud, and in her mind through their bond.

No. No. She was not going to go like this. Taken out by a single aluminium arrow. Alone in a blood drenched nightgown, cowering on the floor of her bedchamber. Helpless and terrified like that child locked in darkness.

She was not that child any more.

She was a Storming Knight Radiant. She would die defiant and fighting to her last breath. Or not at all. She would accept no other outcome

Parting, she wrapped a blood slick hand around the bolt and tried to wrench it free. Her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it. Pain and she were old allies in this fight called life.

"Jasnah you have not." Ivory said, standing beside her at his full height, something like anguish chiseled into his sharp features.

The fear in his voice nearly reduced her to That frightened animal of panic and raw, foolish instinct. She'd never heard such a tone from him before in all their time together. Where she was logical, Ivory was logic. Any emotion that slipped into his voice told of an extreme reaction.

What was worse was that he was right.

Her trembling muscles couldn't have pried a splinter from her finger, much less a thick bolt that had pierced her chest, the sharp point of which erupting between her shoulder blades.

She needed help. She needed- Wit. Wit was in the sitting area of their chambers, deep in his books when she'd left him to rest.

The cry of pain that would have issued from her bloodied lips was strangled by her flooding lungs as she lurched towards the door, pausing only to grab at a bundle of cloth on the floor and press it to her chest, in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.

It took several attempts to force the handle to turn. She would have cursed, if she'd had the breath for it. Black spots were starting to dance across her vision, though, so she had far bigger problems than an inability to unleash profanities at a door.

Agonisingly, inch- by- inch, spattering blood in a grisly breadcrumb trail behind her, Jasnah clawed her way down the passage that would take her to Wit. Her last hope.

The logical thing to do would have been to send Ivory to bring him to her. But she couldn't stand the thought of ordering him away and leaving her utterly alone. Not now. Not with the darkness crooning to her on all sides.

It was irrational, she knew. But was also deeply human. And she hadn't felt so terrifyingly, nakedly, human in a long time.

Wheezing, she dragged herself to the break in the wall that opened out into the study.

Her heart lurched painfully as her eyes fastened on the desk she'd left Wit at and found it empty.

If the storming man had gone wandering now and wasn't here when she needed him, and so she died, she'd spit into the Beyond until she could personally kill him and drag him there with her.

With the last bit of breath and strength she could summon she rasped his name into that awful, waiting silence.

Her body was failing her. She could feel it. Every muscle shaking as though she'd been exposed to a Winter Highstorm. Her legs were buckling. Her vision was fading.

Then movement.

A rippling shadow in the corner of her vision.

Wit, or an assassin, or the personification of death fabricated by her fragmented, dying mind, she didn't know.

Then she did.

Warm , strong arms wrapped around her and gently lowered her to the ground.

Wit. Without doubt. He was saying... Something? His voice seemed horribly distant, but she thought that he was seeking permission. She nodded to him, tried to tell him to do it, whoever it was, but ended up only tasting blood. Still, for the first time since the bolt had pierced her chest, she felt her heart calm, and steady.

Maybe that meant that she was dying. But if she did, she would die feeling strangely safe. And she would not die alone. That was strangely comforting. Wit was speaking to her again, but she was slipping away from him, like smoke drifting free of a Soulcast object.

The last thing she was aware of was Ivory's terrified scream shattering through her mind.

Then she was darkness once again.

***

Wit liked to think himself largely shock proof.

Not electrical shocks, of course, he was still working on that. But startling shocks, the jump scares of life, unexpected occurrences around every corner. Those he felt he was damn near immune to.

After all, he'd been alive for a very long time. In the same way fans of horror plays began to sense the tell-tale warning signs that something strange and frightening was looming.

The smart playwrites began avoiding the tried and tested tropes and clues in a bid to shock the frequent theatre-goer.

Unfortunately, the truly savvy horror aficionados were able to still identify the deliberate absence of tells as tells themselves. And so, the drama reward was, one way or the other, ruined before it was ever reached.

Wit had been attending the theatre of life for a very, very long time. The writers were trying their best to catch him out, but with so much experience under his belt, it was just really very difficult to do.

In the flicker between heartbeats he had to assess the situation, his assessment wasn't good.

Jasnah's normally deep tan skin had turned a worrying gray. Her eyes, usually so sharp and focussed, were glassy and glazed with pain and fear.

Most of the blood that should have been in her body seemed to be staining her nightgown instead.

And there was a thick, wicked bolt protruding from her chest. A quick pulse of burned Steel told him it was aluminium based, which was less than ideal.

He met Jasnah's gaze and recognised her legs were about to give way under her. Flaring his pewter, he launched himself towards her and pulled her to him.

Then he eased them both to the ground, giving her fascinating new things to bleed all over, such as his shirt, and the fluffy rug Navani had decorated the sitting area with.

She was growing cold already.

It took everything in him to ease her away from his warmth and lower her to the ground so he could take a look at the damage.

Flipping a simple hunting knife from his boot he split her dress down the front to expose the wound. She'd forgive him if she lived. And if she didn't, he'd see to it that he was appropriately punished on her behalf.

"That is not a good pattern." Design observed, pulsing with concern over his shoulder.

"No," Wit agreed tightly, feeling his hand tremble even as he streaked forward to probe the bolt.

The pain he knew doing so would cause burned warningly in his chest. The Dawnshard’s lingering influence had forged a connection between himself and all living things.

If he physically harmed them, the same damage would be reflected back to him on a far grander scale, naturally. It had become so ingrained within him now it was physically impossible for him to do it in most cases. Instincts reinforced over millennia took care of even the strongest pulses of anger and desires to inflict pain personally.

“Design, can you please find Lift, bring her here? Now." he said, with such grim finality in his tone that she didn't pause for one of her usual facetious comments before she left.

If he could get the bolt out himself the Stormlight he could sense pounding futile within her, like a trapped whitespine, should take care of the wound. If he couldn't... That was why Lift was coming.

"Jasnah, love," he whispered softly, hoping her permission, such as she was capable of giving in this state, might make this easier for him. "I need to remove this thing that's made its unfortunate home in your chest. I'm afraid that it's going to hurt."

She nodded, and he was sure her lips formed the words 'do it' before she choked on her own blood.

Fuck. He didn't have time to waste wondering whether he could do this. Or worrying about what would happen to him if he did. She was dying, and he couldn't let that happen.

Her body shuddered, and Ivory let at out an anguished cry as she lost consciousness in his arms.

Time stopped.

Reality blurred.

Something deep inside him became suddenly very dark and impossibly cold. It took him a moment to realise it was his heart.

That fickle, feeble thing, more scar than soul at this point. It had withered, like a once beautiful blossom that since lived devoid of light and warmth and air. Both lost to dust and decay.

Yet he felt it, now.

He felt it on this quiet, unremarkable day, as he held Jasnah Kholin in his arms and contemplated the weight of her death.

And he knew.

Whatever the cost to fix this, he would pay it. If he had to endure untold agonies, or shred another piece of his shattered soul, or rewrite the ending of worlds, or break an unbreakable contract, or pray to gods he'd renounced millennia ago...

He would do it. He would do it all.

Because, ah, sweet fool, he loved her. He loved this woman. He loved the breath and bones of her. The blood and soul. The logic and dreams. The wit and wonder. And the spit and bile of her, he loved that, too.

Without conscious thought, he wrapped a hand around the bolt in her chest, and pulled.

Once before he'd come close to death. True death. Not of the sort he'd described to Jannah as 'inconveniences’. That had been a permanent threat, a permanent end.

A Shard had managed to capture his essence, in his earlier years, when he’d been less careful, and more easily fooled. Then they had begun to methodically shred it, with no small amount of gloating glee.

Emotion by emotion, bit by bit, bloody chunk by bloody chunk, he'd been ruined.

In those horrifying moments, he'd felt sure he'd finally reached the last of his luck. He'd thought he was facing his end. And an end it would have been. One that would have been more final than even the Beyond. For if it had been completed, there would barely have been a memory left of him to echo through the Cosmere.

This was worse.

This was so much worse.

He had not known agony such as this in a long time.

None of the Investiture he held helped in the slightest. It was but a flickering candle flame before the hurricane of consequence that currently ravaged him.

Some time ago, he’d learned that the line between help and harm could be incredibly thin. And that blurring it would not always work in his favour.

A part of him was sure that he was dying. And a larger part was begging for that to simply make all of this stop. But another, sharper, harsher part was convinced that if this had been going to end him, it would already have done so.

The first time he had nearly been rent into oblivion, all that had saved him had been the Shard's determination to not only end him, but to do it with as much unnecessary pain and drama as possible.

Wit enjoyed overzealous theatrics, especially when they gave him an opportunity to escape with the final shred of himself intact. Barely.

From there, over long centuries, he had painfully rebuilt what had nearly been taken from him.

He'd been careful never to go near the flame that had nearly consumed him again. Until now. Until he'd throw himself into it for her.

She returned that favor beautifully.

For this time, all that saved him was her.

Her permission, in her final moments of lucidity, the trust she had given to him, in a way she had perhaps never given to anyone since she'd been a child. The faith she yielded to no God, she'd granted him in her deepest moment of vulnerability.

It had saved him.

It had given him an anchor of certainty to cling to in his agony. Her conviction that, no matter the pain, he meant her no harm. And never would.

That act of love from a woman who saw harm and assassination in every flickering shadow, but had managed to find safety and salvation in him. It had been enough to save him, and now he only had to hope, in the slightest, most distant corners of his soul that were still capable of doing that, that it had been enough to save her, too.

On his knees, muscles violently shaking in spite of his Stormlight and his Pewter, Wit forced his eyes open to find Jasnah on the floor in front of him, still as a corpse.

Blood still seeped from the wound, which was smaller than before, but still deadly. Her Stormlight had run out keeping her alive as long as it had and now...Now she was not breathing.

"No," he breathed, dragging his pain ravaged body closer to her. "No. We're not yet done here, Jasnah Kholin. Not by any stretch of even my imagination."

He breathed out, expelling all of his own remaining Stormlight in a shimmering cloud above her. Doubling over as the wave of nausea rolled over him, he clenched his fist and forced himself to lift his head so he could see her.

Breathe he willed her. I know you're too stubborn to die like this. Breathe damn you.

She did.

First a 'breath' to draw in his Stormlight, then a wheezing rasp as she forced air into her rapidly healing lungs.

Wit slumped down onto the furry carpet, dizzy with relief and with the consequences of his foolish decisions.

He listened to the rhythmic sounds of Jasnah's chest rising and falling. And strained his Tin until he could hear the pleasing accompaniment of her heart beating, strong and defiant, like her.

She really did make such sweet music.

He closed his eyes, and listened to the ragged sounds of her breathing. The life he had bought with his gamble, and his pain. Worth it. So absolutely, completely, undoubtedly worth it.

Her logic would have condemned that thinking. He’d bought her a few more decades of life with the potential sacrifice of millennia on his end? He could almost hear her voice telling him he was a Storms damned fool.

It just made him smile. Because she was breathing beside him. And her heart was still beating. And she was still here, and still his, and that was all that mattered to him in the whole fucking Cosmere at the moment.

This symphonious serenade was interrupted by a chaotic donor at the door. Hauling himself to his feet he answered it and found Lift.

"I have obtained the strange Edgedancer!" Design informed him helpfully, sounding very pleased with herself.

"I ain't strange," Lift insisted, barging into the room and heading for Jasnah, gliding across the floor, bagel in her left hand.

"It was a compliment," Wit told her tiredly, closing the door and turning to face the chaos of the room with a wince.

"It was a factual observation," Design corrected, sliding across the wall alongside him, “I took a survey to back it up."

"Design, please," Wit groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He was neither drunk nor Invested enough to deal with that conversation right now.

Lift was crouched over Jasnah, examining the still healing wound. Aluminium injuries sometimes took longer to fully heal, even after the offending object had been removed. Lingering traces of the metal still caused problems with the Investiture healing. It was horrible stuff, truly.

"Damnation jester man," Lift said, whistling between her teeth, "What kind of freaky starvin' stuff have you two been doing in the bedroom? "she demanded, incredulous. "Pretty sure you're meant to stick it in her downstairs bits, not her chest. Figured you'd know that."

Regret. Yes, that was that feeling knocking against the inside of his skull like an insect trapped in a glass.

"I didn't stick it anywhere" he replied, with far less levity than he would ordinarily have mustered. It had not been a very levitous night.

"Yeah, I've heard that can happen." she said, tone half- knowledgeable, half -sympathetic.

In hindsight, he should have just let Jasnah bleed. The rug wasn't getting any less ruined. Unlike his sanity.

"If, could you please-"he began wearily, gesturing impatiently to Jasnah.

"Alright, alright," she said, sounding exasperated, as though he were being unreasonable in redirecting her attention to the woman slowly bleeding all over the floor.

Her power flared, and a moment later she said, proudly, "There, see, she's waking up already."

Wit stopped his pacing and knelt down by his queen once more, placing her head gently into his lap and stroking her hair back away from her face. Lift, for once wise, made no comment.

Jarrah stirred and groaned as he trailed his fingers gently through her hair and Ivory stood on her chest and minutely examined Lift's progress.

As her eyes opened and her vision clarified on him, those words were on his tongue.

Those foolish, damning words that had nearly gotten him killed tonight.

The sudden powerful rush of emotion that hit him as she looked at him nearly knocked them from his lips, like a High storm wall dislodging a boulder.

But he smothered them with a smile, and held them inside. He wasn’t totally sure why. It just didn’t feel quite right. Not now. Not like this.

She stiffly raised herself enough to survey the damage.

Then she pursed her lips and said, "Rather unnecessary treatment of my best nightgown, wouldn't you say?"

Wit choked on a laugh and pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers, keeping himself from covering her mouth with has only through millennia of cultivated restraint.

"Hello! You're welcome!" Lift’s loud, irritable voice burst in on the intimate moment, like a chull lumbering into a banquet and demanding to know where the sweets were.

Her arms spread indignantly wide to remind them she was still there and was responsible for Jasnah's current consciousness, she glared pointedly at both of them.

"Thank you, Lift." Jasnah said graciously, even as she gripped Wit's arm painfully to pull herself upright. “You may go to the kitchens if you wish. Tell them I approve the making of any dish you request."

A gleam of near feral glee flickered into her eyes at this and she squinted at Jasnah before clarifying, “The royal kitchens, right?”

Jasnah nodded, and Lift’s grin became absolutely and undoubtedly feral a moment before she saluted Jasnah, then shot off as fast as she could go.

"You may regret that," Wit said lightly, knowing only too well what kind of dish Lift was likely to order.

Jasnah, who probably had a shrewd idea too, allowed, “Perhaps. But it's a regret I'll deal with tomorrow. For now-" she began to rise with difficulty," My chambers must be investigated. The fabrial trap must be sent to my mother for examination. Then we must have the guards on duty interviewed, as well as any servants or maids who have had access to my quarters, and-"

" Jasnah," Wit interrupted quietly, one hand resting gently on her arm, drawing her back to him for a moment before she rose and drew away.

Some deep, instinctual part of him that he usually kept such an excellent hold on after all these centuries of civilised existence, it needed her. It needed her here with him for just a moment longer. He was not yet ready to let her go. Not when he’d come so close to never being able to hold her again so recently.

She obliged and turned back to face him, seeming to understand, though she too leashed those parts of herself as well.

Ever grateful, he dipped forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, tender and intimate, then rested his forehead against hers.

Again, his traitorous tongue almost told her, but instead he murmured sleepily, “I'm very glad you're not dead."

Her lips quirked into a faint smile at that, “You say the sweetest things," she deadpanned in that way of hers that he loved so well.

"I know," he sighed, with an appropriate and expected level of drama, "I spoil you so much."

She pulled back a little and studied him with a keen eye, “I feel I should be expressing to you, too, that I'm pleased you aren't dead,” she said with a slight frown.

"Only if you really mean it," he said, with mock seriousness.

She ignored that, except for a slight frown. Then she asked, blunt and direct as ever, "What happened?"

"You ate all of my Stormlight." he returned smoothly. Technically it was true. But it was so far from the full truth of what had passed between them that it felt more like a lie, somehow.

"How rude of me," Jasnah said quietly, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.

He could tell that she was not fully satisfied with that, however, and would likely return to it before long to tease further information from him. Damnable woman knew him too well.

"We have work to do," Jasnah said, getting to her feet with a poorly canceled wince and a wobble.

"Yes, we do," Wit agreed grimly, also rising and readying himself for a fight as he added, “We need to rest and recuperate and follow the advice of a healer on how best to recover."

Janak, as anticipated, didn't much like this suggestion.

She frowned slightly and said, “There will be time for rest and recovery later, Wit. There was an assassin in my personal chambers who made a very good attempt at killing me. I-"

"They did." Wit said very softly.

"What?"

"They did kill you," he murmured, meeting and holding her intense violet eyes as he spoke, seeing something shift within them a moment before she blinked and turned away, unable to hold his gaze and whatever she saw within it.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and took her hand, gently twining his fingers with hers, as the Cosmere had tangled their fates.

"You died, Jasnah." he told her softly. " I watched you die."

They both let that statement echo, done and unchallenged in the silence that followed.

Then he squeezed her hand and said, "Please."

She studied him hard, considering his words, hisintent, then she sighed faintly and nodded, yielding to his good sense.

“Vey well." she agreed, “But I am not comfortable remaining here," She looked around at their quarters with a slight shiver.

Once her sanctuary, now it would forever be the place where she had died. She did not get overly attached to places, or things, in general. She was the least materialistic aristocrat he’d ever met. Yet this had been a place of safety, and refuge, and the violation of that would probably haunt her more than the injuries themselves, already swiftly on the road to being fully healed. Smooth skin spread over another scar that she would never forget, regardless of the lack of physical reminder.

As if to illustrate this point, she said, with a grim expression, "But in the morning, we find the bastards that did this."

"I've no objection to that whatsoever," he said smoothly, even though that was a lie.

Right now he never wanted her to go to work again. He wanted her to remain in his arms, safe, and whole, and unharmed.

He couldn't have that. He knew he couldn't have that. He shouldn’t want that. That was the point of this relationship. That they each had goals larger than one another, that they had always known and accepted that from the very beginning. It was what they had both wanted. A relationship beyond simple wants. A relationship of deep, nuanced understanding of two of the Cosmere’s most complex creatures.

And now...Well now he’d gone and fucked that right up, hadn’t he? He’d gone and fallen in love with her. Because of course he had. How could he not?

It had been centuries since someone had challenged him as surely as she challenged him. On every fundamental level of his existence, she met, and even exceeded him.

It was thrilling, and intoxicating.

And more than that. More than the challenge. More than her ability to go toe-to-toe with him and even come out on top. It was her understanding of him, her acceptance of who and what he was. Even as he understood and accepted her, and-

What an idiot. What an absolute, Adonalsium damned idiot he was.

He could not contain this woman. He could barely even keep up with her most days. He would never be allowed to hold her gently in his arms and keep her safe from the world. No. She would not permit that.

So he settled in the short term for pulling her into his arms now, one hand held about her waist while his other tangled in her long, black hair.

I love you. His heartbeat said, where it pounded against his ribs, pressed so close to her an irrational part of him thought she must feel it. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

It was not some impulse foolishness from a boy panicked with his first crush. No. He was old. Old and stupid. So much so that he'd walked this path before.

The woman in his arms was not a fleeting fantasy conjured up by a frantic, terrified mind. She was solid, and real, and warm. And every inch of him was in love with her.

Truly in love with her.

Not in love with that desperate moment. Not in love with the unattainable idea of her that she could never be. No. His idiotic, foolish, witless little heart loved her in all the way it was possible for one person to love another.

Fucked. That's what he was. Well and truly fucking fucked.

But he didn't tell her. Because he was not yet that stupid.

He just held her.

Held her and kissed her and cared for her, for the few hours in which she would allow him to do so.

He helped her out of her ruined gown. Wiped the blood and gore from her skin as she bathed. Braided her still damp hair. Helped her into a clean nightgown and a different bed.

Then he held her again as she finally managed to drift off in his arms. And as he did, he thanked whichever Shard, or God, or raw force in this world had let him save the woman he loved.

The woman he loved.

Oh fuck him, this was unlikely to end well at all.

He did it anyway.

#witsnah #jasnah kholin #hoid #stormlight archive #rhythm of war #post rhythm of war fic #jasnah fic #wit fic #witsnah fic #my fic #mine #there is MUCH DRAMA HERE #Wit manages to pine while in a relationship #what a dramatic doofus #text post tag #long post

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priory-of-stars · 4 years

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“Hope” -A Rowaelin fic

I wrote this because your girl got all nostalgic and reread Thorne of Glass. Also, it’s been a while since I’ve written any fanfiction (I’m a little rusty), and lockdown has left me with little to do other than watch Netflix and eat ice-cream.

Here’s a little Rowaelin finding out a wee surprise. I’m sure you can’t possibly guess. Obviously there are spoilers to the series. I don’t own the characters, just this story.

--------------------------- hehe --------------------------------

Aelin woke to a callused hand softly curling around her flat stomach, caressing the exposed skin. A blissful smile spread across her face as she shifted to face her beloved. That warm, soothing hand tugged her close, now tracing down her smooth tattooed back. Aelin snuggled closer, resting her head on a broad chest and tangling her long lithe legs with powerful male ones. She finally opened her eyes to peer up at her mate, almost nervous to open them in case this really was all a dream. But after three years of blissful peace, Aelin was finally getting used to waking up as Queen.

Her breath caught for a split second, in awe of her mate’s beauty. Every night she went to sleep with his face being the last thing she saw, and every morning, she marvelled at how even more breath-taking he was when she awoke. Those pine green eyes searched her own as their souls spoke to one another, words not doing justice for the love they felt. Her face however must have looked particularly emotional that morning for Rowan reached with his other hand to lightly flick her nose.

“You are looking at me with a rather sentimental expression this morning, Fireheart” he chuckled quietly, for it was still early in the morning. “Even more than usual.”

Drawing her eyes away from his, she remarked innocently “Well it’s just that I can spy a bit of chocolate cake on your nose, and I’m wondering how it got there. I would kill for a slice.”

Looking confused, Rowan’s eyes crossed as he attempted to get a look at the offending article. Not being able to contain herself, Aelin reached up a hand between them and said sweetly “Here, let me get it”, then suddenly flicked him just as he had flicked her.

Rowan’s eyes uncrossed to glare at her as she quietly laughed in his arms. However his glowering could not last long, especially when he beheld her smiling in these early moments of the day, raw and sleepy and entirely his. He still couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to have such a beautiful and strong mate. Her laugh worth the stars and more.

“Now who looks like the soppy one” Aelin teased, tightening her arms around her mate, as if she couldn’t get close enough to him. As Rowan reached down to kiss that spot where her life thrummed in her neck, he suddenly paused, mouth inches from her skin. Aelin frowned as her anticipation was not met, and looked up to see her deathly pale husband staring back at her.

“Rowan, are you okay?” She inquired, automatically pulling away slightly to survey his body for damage. Just because she was used to being queen didn’t mean her assassin instinct had left her. Rowan continued to stare at her almost blankly, his mouth parted slightly as if his muscles had gone slack with shock. “Rowan” she said more firmly this time, panic now coursing through her.

“Fireheart… Aelin I… This can’t be…” Rowan stammered, something her rarely did. His eyes searched her body, as if he had never seen her before.

“Tell me” Aelin demanded, fear building for the first time in what felt like a long, long time. Her brow furrowed as she ran a list through her head of what could be possibly wrong.

“But it has only been a few months, it couldn’t possibly happen so soon” he whispered, as if he was conversing with himself, trying to understand his own thoughts before he could tell her what they were. His eyes shifted back to hers, silver lined and wide.

“What do you-“ Aelin began, stopping as a thought whispered through mind, a feather on the wind. Her own face slacked to match her mate’s as she stared at him in disbelief. All thought but one left her head as she searched in her mate’s eyes for the answer to her silent question.

“Are you sure?”

A tear ran down Rowans face as he sat up, his wife following his movements. Lost for words, Rowan simply nodded to his wife, knowing in his soul that what he had scented on her was real.

Pregnant. Aelin was pregnant.

Her hand absentmindedly drifted to her stomach as she faced forward, trying to collected her thoughts, collect anything from the swirling of emotion inside her. A gentle hand came to rest on top of her own, both of them cradling the miracle beneath. Fae conception was a rare occurrence, especially between two fae partners. Rowan’s own parents had nearly faded into the Afterworld before they had had him. For Aelin to fall pregnant after mere months of trying was near impossible, a gift from the Gods they would have said, if those same gods hadn’t their world years before.

But Rowan had missed the scent of a pregnant female once before, and vowed to never make that mistake again.

So when he had scented it, that sweet new layer to his mate’s existence, he knew. Tears came flowing down both their cheeks as they looked back to one another, in joy as pure as gold. Unable to contain her magic, Aelin’s skin began to glow, as if the sun itself lived within her.

“No wonder I felt extra soppy this morning, my hormones must be going wild” She rasped, glancing down at her glowing stomach as if she could see the life within.

Rowan’s answering howl of laughter broke quickly into a sob as he clutched Aelin to him, as if he would never let her go. He had yet to speak, words failing to convey the storm of emotions raging in his body. But drawing back once more, Rowan let his heart guide him, knowing Aelin would understand

“In all the years I live, no gift or honour will be as great as this.” He began, tears still flowing freely. “We have faced darkness together, Fireheart, fighting and surviving to see the sun rise again. We have lived though fear, sadness and triumph. But this…” Rowan breathed, his brow meeting hers as it had once done in Doranelle,

“This is hope.”

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antialiasis · 3 years

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Morphic: the Musical

The Thousand Roads forums have a fanfic music thread. While I don't really do those kinds of threads usually because I don't really listen to a very wide variety of music and generally have a hard time associating music that already exists with unrelated fiction, one of the questions in it is this:

Talk about what would happen if some Broadway hit-maker scooped up your fic and turned it into a script. What songs would be in it? Describe a dance number/dance battle?

And immediately, the musical analysis glint lit up in my eyes. This question was presumably intended in a lighthearted jokey sort of way - imagining some fight staged as a dance battle, a hypothetical Broadway hit-maker doing the adaptation. But that's not enough for me, say I! Musicals are a good and interesting medium for serious fiction that I care about and I am going to serious this up.

See, to me, the musical format has two major strengths as a narrative medium. The first is that it can explore the inner worlds of characters in a pretty unique way. Characters get to monologue in a sort of heightened, non-literal manner, intensified by music: we can learn what they're about, what makes them tick, what's going on in their heads in a particular moment, in a way that wouldn't really make sense presented as actual inner monologue in another medium. The music aspect itself then adds a layer to it that's impossible to replicate in any other.

The second strength of the musical format is that it's really good at highlighting recurring themes, parallels and contrasts. Reprise the same melody, the same lyric, a parallel but opposite lyric, and you've instantly connected two things together. Is there a character arc? You can highlight what has changed. Are there two characters going through something similar? You can draw that out. Is there a recurring theme throughout? Use a recurring lyric, a recurring melodic phrase! Nudge the viewer into forming connections! Delicious! And you can do subtler things on the music level itself - particular instruments with particular connotations, recurring motifs...

So naturally I decided I should think up what a musical adaptation of Morphic would be like. It'd be a fun exercise in putting all my thoughts on musical adaptations into practice, but also an interesting way to help sort out some of my thoughts about characters arcs, etc. for the actual Morphic rewrite. And in the process, I may have gone slightly overboard. I regret nothing.

(I'm about to spoil most of the fic here, if this wasn't obvious)

Morphic: the Musical - tracklist

(Note: this musical is not sung-through; there are regular non-musical sections with regular dialogue in between. Morphic would almost definitely not make for a good sung-through musical.)

Act I

[Intro song] (Brian)

A monologue by Brian at the TV studio as he tries to work through what to say, how to explain or justify any of this (which conveniently serves to exposit to the audience as well as introduce his character). He makes nervous false starts and cuts himself off, starting the verse over each time, and through these false starts we learn what's going on, that the press has been calling them Pokémorphs, that this was all Dave's idea, that alcohol was involved, that it was meant as a basis for further research, that there were never supposed to be *children*, that he doesn't know what he'd even do with a kid, that Dave roped him into going on this show because he couldn't.

[Dave song] (Dave)

This musical properly introduces us to Dave via Jane walking out on him followed by this song, wherein he contemplates chucking baby Jean out the window. It's a dark rock song with big emotional contrasts and raw lyrics that is almost definitely my favorite song in this musical in the hypothetical reality where it is an actual musical and I didn't write it, because I am me. Probably starts with a couple slower lines of desperate disbelief before launching into wild anger about fuck that fucking whore, followed by what I will be referring to as the everything-is-shit verse (please bear with me), just a general cynicism rant about why the world is a shitty place not worth living in, followed by him wildly fantasizing about killing his infant child. What a delightful human being that I adore. The song ends abruptly, he's standing there staring at her in his arms for a moment, then he silently goes to feed her. On the soundtrack you probably might think he just did it.

Fatherhood (Brian)

A montage song covering the timeskip, which probably reprises [Intro song]. Brian initially has no idea what to do with his new squirming horrorblob child and is convinced he will screw it up the way he tends to screw up everything. Makes a couple of false starts again, but then gains confidence as time passes as he genuinely bonds with Gabriel and legitimately thinks he's a pretty amazing kid. There's a repeated line along the lines of that Gabriel's a weird, weird kid, but he's his, initially in a tone of "oh god I'm responsible for him what do" but towards the end is said with pride and fondness.

[Villain song] (Isaac and Jacob)

A duet between the two brothers, exploring what makes them tick. Isaac is all about this heavy pressure and sense of responsibility, originally imposed by his father, that he continues to impose on himself. He's been appointed to take over leading the family/cult and was raised with that constantly in the back of his mind as his future, and he believes that they're God's true righteous people and he cannot go wrong. He has dreams with some regularity that he interprets as visions from God, as he has been encouraged to since childhood by his father. When he has one about murder, it frightens him but he sees it as basically a divinely-appointed mission.

Jacob privately doesn't really believe any of that. He is trapped in this cult and goes through the motions but is not actually driven by any of the things that are driving Isaac. He's fairly quiet for most of the song - as Isaac is going on about his vision, Jacob has a line here and there obliquely challenging it, but Isaac has an answer for everything, and he doesn't press it, instead moving seamlessly on to suggestions for how he should do it. Jacob gets a quiet variant of part of the everything-is-shit verse from [Dave song], expressing the same kind of cynicism in a more reproachful, apathetic way - all in his own head, of course.

Just Like My Hero (Jean and Will)

Jean sings about how she is just like her hero, Sarah Hooter! Starts off describing how they look the same, moves on from there to how she will torch anyone who's mean, etc., just like her hero. Halfway through, Will joins in, and it becomes a counterpoint duet: Jean may be immature and ridiculous, but he deeply wishes he was confident and adored and nothing would get to him, and he admires and envies that about her. His just like my hero has a bit more of an ironic vibe, he'd hardly properly call her his hero, but he looks up to her more than he'd normally admit nonetheless.

Storming the Castle (Jack and Gabriel)

Jack and Gabriel are playing a D&D game with their friends, arguing about the best course of action. Jack is eager to waltz into the bad guys' fortress, storm the castle, while Gabriel urges lying low, says they're too weak. Jack wants to take the leap and try it; Gabriel insists no, we're not taking the leap, it's stupid. "It's brave!" Jack counters. (In the end, Gabriel gives in and they go ahead with it, and it goes fine.)

Unique (Mia and Lucy)

Mia and Lucy play one of their games. The song is about how Lucy needs someone like Mia to challenge her and let her actually indulge her powers, which are otherwise unsettling to people and she's ashamed and self-conscious about them, while Mia needs someone like Lucy to get a real outlet for her hunter's instinct. The word the lyrics are built around is unique; by being the precise way they are, they are each the only person who can provide this for the other.

Mia doesn't sing. She speaks her lyrics in her usual monotone, not even rhythmically. They also don't rhyme. It's technically a duet but really it's just Lucy singing and Mia talking.

[Peter/Katherine song] (Peter and Katherine)

A counterpoint duet between the siblings, contrasting their experience as Pokémorphs. Peter can pretty easily hide that he's different and be treated mostly as a normal kid, and feels free in his privilege, not confined quite the way the others are, able to be a bit reckless and incautious. Katherine, meanwhile, has a very different experience, being extremely noticeably different, getting stared at, and struggling with basic activities, and feels a huge sense of responsibility weighing her down, worrying about Peter and grounding him and reining him in. There's a lyrical contrast involving something something bird freedom plant rooted down something.

Brian's Death (Isaac and Dave)

This is one of those mostly-instrumental pieces that they include on the soundtrack anyway, but Isaac gets a couple of sung nondiegetic lines in here, a sort of frantic excitement, realizing in a brief panic that he shot the wrong guy before rationalizing that God must have planned it this way.

Dave is probably also in there screaming and attempting to call the police, because I am always in favor of screaming and panicking on musical soundtracks.

The Funeral (Gabriel and Jack)

Begins with Gabriel at the church during the funeral, singing about his vague discomfort being there, but slowly becomes increasingly frantic and anxious, working up to a breakdown where he exits and finally manages to cry for his dad. There's a verse about little things, how they ordered pizza the night before he died, etc., culminating in the bit about him having been in the middle of this mystery novel and never getting to learn who did it; the verse trails off quietly there, backing instruments gone, as Gabriel breaks down. Jack follows to comfort him.

Act II

[Montage song] (everyone)

A montage of the days after the attack, where everyone gets a couple lines about how they're coping, scared and grieving.

Dave's lines are like, spoken slightly too desperate annoyance at having to do some work that Brian didn't get to finish, or rebuking somebody who asks how he's doing by saying he barely even knew Brian. He is not singing along with this kind of grief-porn bullshit, fuck you.

[Villain song II] (Isaac and Jacob)

The brothers come up with a new plan. Isaac is agitated, reprising some of his bits from the original villain song in a quicker, more frantic tempo, while Jacob picks up the slack, walking him through a new idea. Isaac takes to it with conviction and goes back to the original melody/tempo, talking again about his God-given purpose. Jacob does not join in with any of that, only with the bits about the actual plan.

The Kidnapping (instrumental)

I'm just going to say this is on the soundtrack too and contains panicked Gabriel noises because I want it to be.

Storming the Castle Reprise (Jack)

Jack tries to rally the others for a rescue mission, echoing the D&D game from Act I. The lines about storming the castle and taking the leap make a reappearance.

Just Like My Hero Reprise (Jean)

Jean, on the bus, miserably contemplates how she is unlike her hero. Again, it begins with a verse talking about how she looks - not a thing like Sarah Hooter anymore - but then moves on to how she's scared and pathetic and running away, unlike anything a hero would do.

Church Sequence (Will, Jack, Mia)

A single track, largely instrumental/dialogue/sound effects, with a couple of brief song snippets:

- Will reprises "Just Like My Hero" as he wills himself to go on. He is cut off mid-line as he is shot.

- Mia slits that guy's throat and she actually sings a few words, for the first and only time, before she is also cut off mid-line by a gunshot. The line is something about, like, warm blood in her face or the guy's satisfying death throes, reprising part of the melody of "Unique".

Strong (Gabriel)

Gabriel discovers his powers. Starts slowly, calling back to the bits from "Storming the Castle" about lying low, being weak. But as the song continues and he makes his discovery, the tempo builds, and he starts reprising Jack's bits instead: he is strong, taking the leap, storming the castle.

Perish Song (Lucy)

Another brief reprise of "Unique", distorted and deafening and terrifying, mourning her sister.

[In the Hospital] (Jack and Gabriel)

The two of them work out their feelings about what happened. Includes Jack going "It was stupid" (i.e. the rescue mission) and Gabriel responding "It was brave", echoing the bit where they said the opposite in "Storming the Castle". Jack blames himself for how it all turned out, feels stupid and weak, while Gabriel actually felt kind of awesome. (This is also calling back to their opposite bits of "Storming the Castle".) They end with a shared duet verse as they realize they've both got that same innate desire to fight and win. Possibly calls back to the weird, weird kid line from "Fatherhood".

Eulogy (Dave)

Dave's eulogy for Mia (which also touches on Will, but this is Mia's funeral). It reprises "Unique". There will never again be anyone like the two of them, two of the only truly unique people on this Earth. (And, while he doesn't say it straight out because hahahaha, he needed Mia, too).

Taking the Leap (Jack and Gabriel)

Jack's suicide attempt and his swirling inner turmoil as he tries to talk himself into taking the leap once again. Gabriel, of course, comes in with don't take that leap. Am I overusing this one line by putting it in like half the songs in this thing? Well, who's going to stop me.

[Peter/Katherine song reprise] (Peter and Katherine)

The two of them contemplate indefinite house arrest (in contrast to the freedom Peter's enjoyed most of his life) and Katherine's failure to stop all this (despite her sense of responsibility). In the end, they both find their own ways to accept the new state of things and support each other through this.

Finale (Dave and Jean)

After Dave breaks down on his couch and Jean comes in to ask what's wrong, Dave sings a reprise of the everything-is-shit verse, going over the many things he's angry about, because that is the only emotion involved here clearly. At the exact point where Dave's song originally went from there to fantasizing about throwing her off the balcony, Jean throws her arms around him and sniffles "It'll be okay, Dad," and after a stunned "What? Jean, I'm--", he continues with a slow, hesitant *inverted* reprise of the everything-is-shit verse, "Everything'll be fine", constructing a little fantasy reality for her (and himself) where everything turns out all right in the end. It's backed by, like, a simple, quiet, slower piano rendition of the original melody, and trails off at the end, never quite coming to a satisfying conclusion before he tells Jean she should go back to bed.

#morphic #musicals #I spent far too much time thinking about this #except it was also exactly the right amount of time

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voltagesmutter · 4 years

Text

Safe Sex HeadCannon

“Safe sex is an act of self love.”

Suggestive topics ahead, all promoting safe sex with the 2D men of MLQC

Victor:

Only uses premium condom brands, buys ribbed because this man is all about your pleasure.

Supports your choice if you wish to want to take the contraceptive pill or have the injection, but will refuse to finish in you, always pulling out on to your thighs (Can not risk having little baby Victors without being married, whatever would the investors say).

Most sensible across all the others when it comes to protection, wants sex to be extremely pleasurable for you both however also safe. Will go down on you if your out of condoms (An extreme rarity), refuses to risk it, couldn’t bear to put you in a situation you was not prepared for (WOULD GLADLY BEAR VICTORS BABIES ANYDAY).

After a heavy petting session in his office, things getting getting heated quickly but ended in oral due to him having nothing on him (This man never actually thought he would get to fuck you in his office). Now keeps a big stash in his desk draw.

However, he loves you regardless and doesn’t care what anyone else thinks so if you get pregnant you have a truly wonderful man who will be there throughout your side through thick and thin.

Once married, you finally sit down and talk about the future together, deciding to wait for kids until Victor has someone trained to co-manage the company for him so he can dedicate all his time to you and your budding family.

When you finally decide to try for kids, all protection is out the window. The first time you feel Victor raw as he finishes in you, it’s addictive to you both, unable to hold back from the sensation. He indulges in you everywhere he can, work, home, car, souvenir, your husband can not get enough of filling you.

It’s not surprising your pregnant within 4 months of trying, the man’s cock is practically buried in you 24/7.

Kiro:

This boy has one of the highest sex drives ever.

Condoms literally scattered everywhere, he has to have you whenever you're alone, wherever that maybe.

Best believe this boy has his own brand of condoms “Kiros ‘K’ondoms” available world wide. His face and cheeky wink plastered all over the box, sold out within minutes of release in shops.

He loves sex with you and wants to use his status to promote sex safety and sexual consent as best he can.

Kiro rigorously tested them on you, claiming it was ‘product testing’.

You consider the option of the injection to help ease the pain of your periods, especially since they have a timing to sync up to when Kiro is finally free for a few days.

You face a issue once where a condom split, neither releasing until it was too late, however luckily Kiro thrusted at a missing angle spilling inside the broken rubbed against your clit. Panic rushes into both of you. The embarrassment as you have to speak to Savin about the situation as both of you are unsure what to do. Savin gets you the emergency pill for you to take, the world knows you as Kiro’s girlfriend therefore unable to go in and purchase it yourself, it would send social media into an online frenzy.

Kiro cuddles you and supports your decision to take it, even though he didn’t come inside you, it was a risk you both weren't ready to take. He held you tight as you cried, heavily embarrassed over the situation, him apologising over and over until he could speak no more. You spend the next day with the worst stomach cramps but Kiro’s right next to you, bring endless supplies of snacks and video games for you to play.

Kiro loves you deeply so regardless what happens, he’s there standing with you and supporting you through it all.

Luckily, your safe this time, but it makes both of you realise the seriousness of safety and therefore invest in other contraceptive methods, educating you both after your little incident.

Gavin:

Gavin gets so lost in the heat of the moment the first time you have sex he spills inside you, you extremely grateful you was on the pill.

You take the opportunity to talk about your contraceptive methods, you with a latex allergy, it made sense for you to be on the pill or the injection.

Gavin loves you purely, he wants the best option for you so books in with you to have consultations with the doctors, him attending (Only as long as it’s okay with you, which it is seeing how red he goes when you begin to talk about your sex life).

With the recommendations from medical professionals you opt for the injection, the coil and implant in your arm was a close second but both options frightened you and Gavin refused to put you in an uncomfortable situation.

Sex becomes much more intimate with Gavin since, him admiring your body each time, still unable to process that you picked him. That you love him. That you give your body to him, over and over again, letting him fill you with his seed.

When Gavin proposes, you talk about your future with children, both of you desperate to create a child together (Which would be the most loved child within the world). 5 months before the wedding you stop taking the injection due to it taking up to a year for your fertility levels to settle as soon as your married Gavin plans on spending every moment getting you pregnant.

Girl please. This man got you pregnant on your wedding night.

The raw emotions and passion between you both as neither of you expected to find out 3 months after your wedding that you were pregnant, a true cliche but the most perfect sign that you were made and meant for each other.

Lucien:

A god of knowing your body. This man knew you like the back of his hand, tracking your cycles and ovulations as to calculate the risks of your intimacy.

As a scientist, he knows the best contraceptive methods for you and wants to help you understand. He gives you in-depth talks about options before pointing out what is most suitable for you which you both decide is the mini-pill which stops your periods completely. This is due to the pain you experience on your period, cramps forcing you off work as you lie doubled over in bed after vomiting. It breaks Lucien's heart to see you in so much pain and suffering hence why he slightly pushes you towards the mini-pill.

He will never finish in you, not unless you're begging for him to do so (Which lets be honest you are almost every time)but he also likes to paint your thighs, lower stomach or breasts with his release. A marking claim of him on you.

He downloads an app for you to remind you to take your pill if he’s not with you, he knows how forgetful you can be at times! But the routine quickly falls into sync and throughout all your time together you’ve never missed a pill once!

You’d never spoken about children with Lucien, you presumed the conversation would come up after you was engaged and married however it came faster than you thought. You had been babysitting a close friend's newborn in your shared apartment with Lucien, his face focusing on the sheer glow of you as you cooed and tended to every need, the smile radiating off your face as you cuddled the newborn close to you.

“Motherhood suits you,” He smiles as you watch the baby slip into a peaceful slumber in the cot in your living room.

“I think it’s just a woman's motherly instinct,” You laugh back, unable to take your glowing eyes off the tiny bundle of joy. You don’t take your eyes off of her until you feel Lucien pulling you in his lap.

“I want to see you this happy everyday,” He hugs you close to him.

“I’m always happy with you Lucien,”.

“I think you could be happier,” His words making your heart race, was he about to break up with you?

“No-one can make me happier than you,”.

“I’m not so sure on that, I think a perfect balance of us could,” Your heart pounding, almost fluttering.

“Lucien, are you suggesting-” You start.

“Let's have a baby”.

It wasn’t even a discussion, both of you wanting and giving into the idea.

Lucien had a timeframe of your fertility mapped and printed out, refusing to do anything on your most fertile days, even making you phone in sick to work so he could try to impregnate you.

It wasn’t easy and it didn’t happen overnight, months of endless trying until one day the pregnancy test changed from blank to two solid lines.

Shaw:

Wdf is a condom?

Literally the definition of accidental or unplanned pregnancy.

Basically expects you to take care of contraception, what ever method you choose he is happy with as long as he finish inside your or over your thighs.

Seriousness kicks in, deciding to become part of the contraception discussion, when you have a pregnancy scare after a missed period but it’s due to the change over of your contraceptive pill. However he loves you truly, through he’s too stubborn to admit it, will stick by your side whatever happens.

Secretly loves the idea that one day you might carry his child and he can’t wait for that.

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trashmenofmarvel · 3 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 42

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your captor loses patience.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, brief but intense torture

AO3

It was the beginning of the fourth day when your captor spoke with you again. The Alp had been delivering your meals and exchanging your buckets lately, so you’ve been without conversation and another human presence for a full day.

His appearance was not comforting. He was unshaven with hollow bags around his eyes, his lips chapped and his expression thin. He looked as if he hadn’t slept.

Good, you thought with no amount of sympathy. I hope you’re sleeping on a bed of nails.

He dragged the folding chair in front of the bars and sat down, staring at his hands for a moment before speaking. When he did, the words were heavy and drawn.

“My name… is Helmut Zemo.”

You watched him carefully. Learning the name of your captor wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Why reveal it now?

“I am formally an officer of the Sokovian Armed Forces. I was there, when the Ultron army attacked my country, and I was called upon to defend it. I did so with pride and determination.” He glanced down, voice flat as if he was recounting a report. “I lived in Novi Grad with my wife and son. It wasn’t safe for them, so I took them to stay with my father. It should have been safe.”

You digested what he said; it made sense and his accent did sound Sokovian now that you thought about it. But you couldn’t figure out why he was telling this all to you now, so you decided not to speak.

“My son was excited. He could see the Iron Man from the car window. I told my wife, ‘Don’t worry. They’re fighting in the city. We’re miles from harm.’ When the dust cleared, and the screaming stopped, it took me two days until I found their bodies. My father… still holding my wife and son in his arms. And the Avengers?”

He shook his head, emotions creeping back into his voice.

“They went home.”

A hollow pit of dread grew in your chest.

“The irony of it is, I was a great believer of the Avengers, once. I always wished to see them, especially the Iron Man, and fighting alongside them should have been an honor. Instead, my dreams turned to nightmares and my hopes to ash.”

He met your eye and the rage in them was so palpable you drew back a fraction. It was the gaze of someone who had nothing left to lose and would stop at nothing for revenge.

“I knew I couldn’t kill them. More powerful men than me have tried. I have been seeking the solution for years. An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead. Forever.”

You fought to suppress the chill that shot up your spine. It didn’t work.

“But how to do it? What weapon could I wield against the Avengers that would achieve such a goal? I turned to HYDRA for answers. I explored their old labs, the ones that were left untouched. There are many with evidence of their demonic experiments. And there was one in particular that caught my eye…”

Zemo leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he peered at you.

“Do you know what secrets it held within it? A large stone archway. Ancient. Powered by a piece of the Tesseract itself. It could create portals to other realms. Or at least, that was its purpose. I had no intention of walking through something so untested. HYDRA’s idealism is more realized than its creations. But… I was able to summon a demon. I bound it to me. And it had a very, very interesting tale to tell about another demon in this world… along with the human he protected.”

His smirk was thin.

“I’m sure you can guess who the demon was referring to.”

The Alp that Bucky had banished… had ended up in this lunatic’s hands. The odds had to have been astronomical, and either this man was lucky or you had the shittiest luck in existence.

As if he knew your thoughts, his eyes brightened with dark amusement.

“It was as if the universe was answering my prayer, and the opportunity to end the Avengers was within my grasp.”

Zemo rose to his feet, adjusted his brown coat, and looked you in the eye as he added:

“Who better to kill a Stark than a demon who has done it before?” He clicked his tongue. “Captain America’s own childhood friend.”

You jumped to your feet, prepared to scream every obscenity you knew at him, but then Zemo snapped his fingers. Black smoke poofed next to you and a pair of claws grabbed you by the shoulders.

Your shout was choked off as the Alp teleported you out of the cell. Even the short distance was enough to disorient you, sulfur cloying in your nostrils as you stumbled and gagged.

“I did warn you,” Zemo said, the regret there surprisingly sincere. “Your cooperation will be given. How painful it will be is your choice.”

You were still coughing, unable to respond, and the demon dragged you beside its master as you left the room for the first time in days.

The hallways were made of cold stone, much like your cell, with bulbs spacing the ceiling every few feet. There was nothing to be heard except scuffling footsteps and ragged breathes as you tried to break out of the demon’s hold around your neck. You might as well have been trying to fight with a statue all the good it did you. The Alp was very strong despite its jutting bones.

The room where your journey ended was considerably large and cylindrical in shape. You glanced around in confusion, and it took you a minute to realize you were in some sort of silo. Metal catwalks spanned overhead, tied to them were strings of bulbs, but the thing that drew your eye were the glyphs. Covering the walls, the ceiling, and there was even a large, elaborate circle carved into the floor made out of chalk. It looked like an especially evil children’s game.

Your struggles increased when Zemo pointed toward your destination and the demon obeyed. Directly in the circle was a table with wrist and ankle restraints built into the metal.

Every primal instinct in your body screamed that this was a bad place, but the demon dragged you onto the table and fastened the shackles around your limbs without difficulty.

“Don’t do this!”

You didn’t exactly know what he was planning, but you desperately didn’t want to find out.

Once the demon stepped out of the circle, Zemo bent down, and you had to turn your head to see what he was doing. He had a piece of chalk and scribbed in the last piece of the circle.

You wanted to know what it meant, but when Zemo approached a lectern a few feet away from the table, you grew still. It was covered with black cloth, and what he lifted from the surface froze your heart. A dagger, curved and constructed of ink black metal, flashed sinisterly in the light. Glyphs were carved into the handle and blade, leaving a cold wash of fear across your skin.

“This blade is called an athame. It’s necessary to the process of creating and binding demons.” Zemo drew closer, studying the blade as he slowly turned it, appraising it with quiet reverence. “It’s a sort of demon-bane. No doubt you are feeling that affect right now. The part of you tied to a demon will respond very strongly to this blade. But don’t worry. The human part of you will not be harmed beyond a physical wound.”

He was right—just staring at the blade filled your stomach with a sick churning, and you flinched when he used the blade to rip open the shoulder seam of your jacket and shirt. You tried not to whimper, heart racing as your chest tightened in panic. He lowered the blade toward the unchanged, faded mark on your shoulder.

You could have sworn the faint lines of the pentagram turned red as the edge drew closer. Once the flat of the blade touched your skin, you couldn’t watch anything at all. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but scream as cold agony ripped through your body.

The blade was removed from your skin long enough for you to take a breath, and then it was applied again, sending you into another ripple of agony. You thought Zemo might have been talking to you, telling you this was a last resort to draw in Bucky short of killing you, but you were already dying. How could your body tolerate so much pain and still survive? How could your mind continue to function and not break as the agony lit up your nerves like a power grid?

And then, something changed. Through the electric pain that was so intense you thought you would catch fire, there was a shift. Small at first, like a leak that had sprung in a dam, and then all at once it released, flooding your body with warmth, a balm against the pain.

It felt so wonderful you actually laughed, throat raw from the screaming so the sound came out broken, but it was unmistakably a laugh.

Zemo pulled the blade away, but you ignored him. All of your thoughts were turned to the golden thread in your mind, no longer cold and dead, but alive and thrumming with… with… confusion, and then worry, and finally…

Rage.

Your smile died. The emotions you were feeling weren’t your own.

“That’s enough for now,” came Zemo’s soft voice. He seemed pleased. “Your cooperation is appreciated.”

“Nnn…” You struggled to speak, finding your control over your body was sluggish and distance. “No…”

His retreating footsteps were your only answer, leaving you tied to the table where you were helplessly bound.

You squeezed your eyes shut as tears leaked from the corners. You should have fought harder. Should have resisted instead of letting that crack form within you.

Because of your carelessness… Bucky was awake.

And he was furious.

Next Chapter

#demon!bucky x reader #branded #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

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wickedgamesoyaoya · 4 years

Text

Freudian projection is characterized by some as a defence mechanism employed by those who are struggling to accept difficult emotions or truths. Rather than admit or addressing the feelings, the emotions are projected onto someone else. Perhaps that is why Osamu Miya was particularly willing to accept your unfaithfulness. After engaging with his friends and brother in the group chat, the Onigiri Miya owner’s lack of satisfaction in the answers compelled him to further research the matters discussed. There were threads on social media of what conspired earlier that day. Some accounts were evidently false while others held a candor that could not be falsified. The more information he consumed, the lower his heart sunk until it had reached the pit of his stomach, soon to be tormented by the acids inside.

Was it solely a coincidence that the description provided in most accounts on Bokuto’s mystery girlfriend fitted you perfectly? Of course, it was not. The MSBY Ace admitted to being in your company for the evening. Hell, the proof was slathered across social media. There was no shame.

But why label yourself as his girlfriend publicly? It was obvious that he would learn about it sooner or later.

Some spectators had posted to elucidate that the mystery girlfriend arrived only to save the MSBY player from hoards of fangirls who were bordering on harassment. So, did you do it to save him? You were never one to abandon your friends, despite the situation.

“She loves you, idiot.” He mumbled the reminder to himself in a scold. It was stupid to believe that you would cheat on him with his friend. He knew you loved him.

Of course he knew it. You loved him, and only him.

Yet a little voice in his head questioned whether his recent neglect had forced you into the arms of another. But the Ace was the last person he expected you to turn to. Your relationship with Iwaizumi, or even Oikawa held far more potential to evolve into something romantic. Ache spread across his chest like a wildfire at the mere thought of you with someone else.

The tiny noise of the lock clicking to an open hauled his attention from the nightmares projecting inside of his head back to the living room apartment. Removing the cap from his head, he attempted to burn the insecurity embedded in his thoughts as he proceeded to greet you at the front door. A weak smile twitched at the ends of his mouth disguising the flood of emotions he was drowning in.

“Oh, hi there. I didn’t expect to see you waiting for me like a little kitten.” A titter expelled from your lips as you stepped into the apartment, with the food containers held snugly against your stomach. Intoxicated by the excitement of finally spending some quality time with your fiancé, you were unable to detect the hints of pain scattered across his visage. “Here, you can start eating. I’m just gonna change into something else.” The plastic bag containing layers of food was offered out to the black-haired male, who was losing to the battle of insecurity waged against his mind.

“Okay.” As he accepted the bag, his fingers brushed against yours, drawing his attention subconsciously to your hands. He was not actively searching for confirmation of your unfaithfulness. He certain was not… because you loved him.

But if you loved him, and only him… Why was the ring symbolizing your love no longer snug against your finger?

The threads woven neatly together to disguise his emotions slowly loosened until all that remained were shrivelled pieces, serving no purpose. But you were already making your way to the bedroom, unaware of the torment that your carelessness had bestowed upon him.

Did you want him to suffer? Was that it? Were you seeking attention? Was this all a revenge ploy after what occurred with Ichika? Did Atsumu tell you something?

Truthfully, he would prefer that than knowing you loved someone else. You could seek all the revenge in the world, as long as you remained with him. He would accept it willingly.

But first he had to know – did you still love him?

Once the food containers were placed onto the table, he immediately began walking towards the bedroom, his quest for answers outweighed his appetite.

Inside of the bedroom you were sat at the vanity, attempting to unhook the necklace from around your neck, but upon seeing your fiancé’s reflection, the hook was released from your fingers. The slightest hint of tears could be traced at the bottom of his eyelids, and with his greyish irises, it resembled a storm seconds from brewing.

“Samu?” Instinctively you rose from the chair, quickly removing the space between you two before taking his hands in yours. His eyes landed on your intertwined fingers praying he was incorrect in his observations earlier. But alas there was no ring. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you love me?” The inquiry was voiced dejectedly as he searched your face for an answer. Generally, you were an open book with your emotions. Whether it was love or hatred, each emotion would alter your features in a noticeable manner. Right now, concern prompted little wrinkles to form at the edges of your eyes. But with the question registering upon your ears, disbelief brought your eyebrows to narrow.

“Oh god. That’s what has your panties twisted? I thought it was serious. You know that I love you, gremlin. Sorry to break it to you, but you’re mine forever now.” Irritation gnawed at your heart – how could he question your love? Was he really in any position to do so?

“Where’s your ring, y/n?” The words were whispered softly, barely overpowering the sounds stemming from the television in the other room.

“My ring?” A quizzical expression contorted your features, instinctively your gaze travelled from your left hand to the purse located on the vanity. “Right, it’s in my purse. I took it off for the shoot, but I guess I forgot to put it back on. Give me a second, I’ll go get it.” To retrieve the handbag his hands first had to be released, but to Osamu the loss of physical contact resembled a physical blow. Weakly he caught your shirt, forcibly halting your movements.

“Did you tell everyone that you’re Bokuto’s girlfriend?” Relinquishing the control he was struggling to maintain allowed his insecurity direct access to his vocal cords. There was no stopping him now.

“What? Well… Yeah but …”

“Why?” His voice sliced through yours, despite the fact it was quite clear that you were seconds from explaining yourself anyway. The unexpected interrogation was beginning to damage the limited patience you had. Drained from the activities of the day, it was only natural that you were not mentally capable to handle the additional stress. Not when it stemmed from misguided assumptions.

“Because he was being harassed by some crazies, so I had to save him!” There was much more you desired to add, harsher sentiments but to silence your rage, you bit the insides of your cheeks until they were raw.

Osamu paused evaluating your answer, your version of events aligned with the spectators. As he thought, you took it upon yourself once more to save a friend. So why was he still taunted by the voice in his head?

“Is it true?” He instantly regretted it, seeing how it sent any restraint you mustered to wither away.

“What the fuck, Samu. Are you kidding me right now? I’m not cheating on you!” Hurt laced with rage shimmered in your y/e/c irises. Instantly you swatted at the hand confining you to him. Hearing the sincerity laced in your declarations awoke him from his fever dream.

You wouldn’t lie to him. No. He was the one lying to you. He was the idiot.

“I can’t believe it. You’re the one who is always missing. You are the one who hasn’t barely looked at me for months. You are the one who ditches our plans. But you’re accusing me? I can’t…” Desperate to focus on anything but him, you ripped your gaze from him, subconsciously searching for an escape from the situation. “I… I’m gonna stay at Akari’s tonight. I can’t do this. There is only so much I can take.” The ache weaving into your bloodstream would not stop you from leaving. The weight of his words poisoned the usually welcoming atmosphere of the apartment. It no longer felt like home. But if you were being honest, it hadn’t felt like home in a while.

Osamu thrusted a palm against his face, panic surging from his heart into his muscles. They had all warned him, and somehow, he still managed to dig his own grave.

“No please… Y/n. I’m sorry,” The little cracks in his voice constrained your movements, bringing your hands to lower from the dresser containing your clothes. “I’m just stressed, and I said some stupid shit. I know you love me, and if there’s anyone who needs to explain it’s me,” He knew his words alone would equate to a band-aid on an open wound, and so he slowly proceeded in your direction, his fingers twitching before he rested them lightly on your hips, guiding your back to align with his chest. “Don’t go. Please.” His whispered pleads were followed by a gentle kiss that was applied to the area behind your ear. The gesture ignited a fire in your chest, one that began melting away the rage that was clouding you.

“Listen to me,” With an intake of breath for courage, you adjusted yourself to face him. “I’ll be anything you need me to be, but I will not be your punching bag. You don’t get to question me when it’s my heart on the line.” Your heavy eyelashes fluttered up at him as you squinted just a tad, challenging him to even try to dispute your words.

But he knew better by now.

“I know. I’m sorry. Please.” Slipping an arm around your waist, your frame was ushered to his as a small kiss was placed against your lips. “I don’t need you to be anything but my wife.” His response prompted your heart to complete a flip, and for once you hated yourself for loving him more than life itself.

But when his mouth returned to yours, urging you to forget the accusations that were made against your character – your loyalty, you did. At least for the night.

Let’s do it again, shall we - Freudian projection

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A/N: if this hurt just wait lol.

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