#but i also need time in the day to wallow in solitude and darkness
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My Missing Piece
616!Wanda x 199999!Fem!Reader
Summary: You've lost your wife Wanda. Leaving you alone with your twin boys to try and pick up the pieces. What happens when the Scarlet Witch comes looking for her boys?
Word Count: 10.4K
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, R calls W Mommy, W uses pet names, enchanted strap use, Dom!Wanda, sub!reader, overstimulation, magic restraints, depressive thoughts/episodes.
A/N: Made this forever ago and forgot about it until like two days ago lol. I really liked the idea of this so I hope you guys enjoy~ Also I decided that world 199999 (which was the original MCU world number before MoM turned it to 616) is just a parallel world where no one died :)
Every night after tucking my boys, Billy and Tommy in to bed, I have a bit of me time. Sometimes I watch TV, sometimes I'll scroll through social media on my phone, sometimes I'll write because I was told that was supposed to help with grief, it hasn't so far, what helps the most is when I talk to her before bed, "I miss you Wands...our boys miss you too...of course they love their Mama, but you're their Mommy. You carried them for nine months, you were in labor for just over a day." Tommy was born first 12 minutes ahead of his brother Billy. "You gave so much for our boys and our life here and I wish you had never said yes to that mission after all these years..." I break down, quiet sobs wrack me as I curl up on her side of the bed. It still smells like her.
I let sleep take me as I have the same dream I do every night. Wanda, but not Wanda...some twisted version of her with black fingers, and she just seems off, but she's searching, as if she can see me? She's looking for our boys. Every morning just as she finds me, us, I wake up. Dried tears on my cheeks and my eyes red. The bags under my eyes have never been darker, but I cover them up as I get out of bed to start yet another day without my wife.
The alarm blares through the quiet of the room, jolting me awake from my restless slumber. With a heavy sigh, I reach over to silence it, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Another day begins, much like every other since she left us.
I stumble out of bed, the weight of grief still heavy on my shoulders as I move through the motions of the morning routine. It's a struggle to keep it together, but I have to be strong for Billy and Tommy. They need me, even though every fiber of my being aches for her presence.
As I make my way downstairs, the memories flood back, hitting me like a tidal wave. Wanda was always the light in our lives, her laughter echoing through the halls, her warmth enveloping us like a comforting embrace. But now, there's only emptiness.
I try to push the thoughts aside as I prepare breakfast for the boys, forcing a smile as they bound into the kitchen, their youthful energy a stark contrast to my own weariness. They chatter excitedly about school and friends, oblivious to the pain that lingers beneath the surface.
After they've eaten and headed off to catch the bus, I sink into the solitude of the empty house once more. It's in these quiet moments that the ache is most palpable, the absence of her presence a constant reminder of all that we've lost.
I find myself drawn to her belongings, unable to resist the pull of her memory. Running my fingers over the familiar objects, I'm transported back to happier times, when our love felt invincible, untouchable by the darkness that now threatens to consume me.
But amidst the despair, there's a flicker of something else. A determination, a resolve to keep going, if not for myself then for her. She wouldn't want me to wallow in sorrow, to let the grief consume me. She'd want me to live, to cherish the memories we shared and find solace in the love that still remains.
With a deep breath, I push myself to my feet, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall. Today may be another struggle, another battle against the pain, but I refuse to let it defeat me. For Wanda, for our boys, I'll find the strength to carry on, one day at a time.
The day went by quickly and soon enough the boys were home filling up our home with noise once more,
"Boys homework first or no ice cream!" I call from the kitchen when I hear them start to fight over player one controller.
"Awww but Mama!" They whined.
"So you boys don't want ice cream tomorrow night either I see." I hear them grumble and then the TV go off, the sound of the dining room chairs scraping as I look over my shoulder to see they're working. "There are my good boys." I turn back smiling as I carry on with prepping dinner. Suddenly something feels off. A pit in my stomach starts forming and I feel eyes on me, not the boys though these feel predatory.
I look up and through the window I don't see my own reflection, I see Wanda, the same one I see in my dreams.
My heart leaps into my throat as I freeze, the knife in my hand forgotten as I stare wide-eyed at the impossible sight before me. It's her, but it's not. The twisted version from my nightmares, black fingers reaching out like tendrils of darkness, eyes filled with a hunger I can't comprehend.
I feel a chill run down my spine as her gaze locks onto mine, a shiver of fear coursing through my veins. Instinctively, I reach for the pendant hanging around my neck, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the purple power stone embedded within. It's a comforting weight, a reminder of the power that pulses through me, but even it feels insignificant in the face of this apparition.
"What do you want?" I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. But she doesn't answer, only continues to stare, her presence suffocating in its intensity.
Desperation claws at the edges of my mind as I struggle to make sense of the situation. Is this some kind of illusion, a trick of the mind brought on by grief and exhaustion? Or is she truly here, some twisted echo of the woman I loved?
Before I can gather my thoughts, a sudden crash from the dining room snaps me back to reality. The boys, my precious boys, oblivious to the danger that lurks just beyond our walls. With a surge of adrenaline, I lunge forward, grabbing the nearest weapon within reach.
But as I turn back to face the window, she's gone, vanished into thin air like a wisp of smoke. The only evidence of her presence is the lingering sense of unease that hangs heavy in the air.
I rush to the dining room, relief flooding through me as I find the boys unharmed, their laughter filling the room once more. But even as I hold them close, a sense of dread lingers, a silent reminder that darkness still lurks just beyond the edges of our reality.
"Mama is everything okay?" Billy asks as I hold them, kissing the top of their heads.
"I just thought one of you got hurt. I'm happy you boys aren't." I lie to them as to not worry them, but Billy looks at me trying to search my thoughts. "Hey no mind reading little man." I ruffle his hair. "Everything is fine. If you boys are finished you can play one game, dinner will be ready in 15 minutes." The minutes tick by slowly as I finish preparing dinner, the aroma of comfort food filling the air. I glance at the clock, realizing that my boys are engrossed in their game, blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling within me.
With a heavy sigh, I take a moment to compose myself before calling them to the table. As we gather for the meal, laughter and chatter resuming, I try to push the unsettling encounter out of my mind. But deep down, I know it's not over.
As we eat, the boys share stories from their day, their infectious joy momentarily easing the ache in my heart. I force a smile, savoring these small moments of normalcy in our fractured world.
After dinner, as the boys retreat to their rooms for the night, I find myself once again standing by the window, staring into the darkness beyond. The pit in my stomach returns, the unease settling in as I feel a presence lingering just out of sight.
The room is silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the night. I close my eyes, summoning the courage to speak the words that linger on the tip of my tongue.
"Wanda, if you're out there, if you can hear me, please... don't hide. I don't know what's happening, but I can't face it alone. I need you, now more than ever." My voice trembles with a mix of desperation and longing.
The air remains still, the response elusive. I wait in silence, hoping for some sign, some reassurance that I'm not losing my mind. But the universe remains silent, withholding its secrets.
"Gods I feel like I'm going crazy Wands...how am I supposed to do this without you?" I feel the hot tears in my eyes, streak down my cheeks then suddenly a loud bang from the living room, the sound of a portal. "Stephan? Is that you?" It wasn't uncommon for Stephan Strange to pop in and check on me and the boys. Stephan had lost his love many years ago. Before I reach the living room, I hear the familiar sound of heels clicking on my hard wood flooring. Suddenly I'm standing face to face with the Wanda I've seen in my dreams...."W-Wands?" I questioned,
"A version. I've lost something precious to me and I've come to get it back." I look her over. It's Wanda, but not mine. As I get closer, Her hair is a different shade, her eyes are a little less of an emerald green and more of a sea green, this Wanda has a scar on her forehead, just above her left eyebrow.
"Oh...what has your universe done to you Detka?" I ask softly reaching out and she grabs my wrist with a force.
"It took everything from me." She seethed. "I want my boys back. I'm taking them." She tosses me aside like I'm nothing. Luckily with the power stone embedded in my chest. I push back, barreling back into her. Tackling her to the ground until I'm on top of her and it's then that she notices my stone, "You have the power stone...how? That's impossible. I've seen it kill people that touch it.
"I'm tough that's why my Wanda loved me." I had her pinned and used my own magic to subdue her. "I've been called the Violet Witch here for years. It became my code name."
"That can't be..." I give her a questioning look. "I'm the Scarlet Witch." She tells me, the scarlet witch? Wanda never said anything...? I stumble back off of her, reeling, "The Scarlet Witch." I let out a dry chuckle, "It makes sense, but I can't let you take my boys. If I loose them then That means I've lost my Wanda and them. I might as well die." I tell her,
"Wait so your Wanda is gone?" She asks. I nod,
"She was needed for a mission. I begged her not to go, we had retired from being Avengers 10 years ago when we found out she was pregnant. She told me everything would be fine. She promised me...and then suddenly I have Strange and Parker on my doorstep with Bucky and Sam behind them carry the casket." I feel my eyes blur as I walk over to the scarlet witch, "If you are another her then," I take her hands putting them up to my temples and ease my forehead onto her, letting my memories over the past ten years flood through her mind.
As our minds intertwine, I feel a rush of memories flooding into her consciousness. The love, the loss, the moments of joy and heartache that have shaped my existence since Wanda's departure. It's a whirlwind of emotions, a bittersweet symphony of love and grief that binds us together in ways I never thought possible.
For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding amidst the chaos of her own turmoil. She sees the depth of my pain, the desperation to hold onto the fragments of a life that's slipping through my fingers.
But as quickly as it came, the moment passes, and she pulls away, her expression hardening once more. "I'm sorry for your loss," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of sympathy. "But my pain is just as real. I've lost everything too, and I'll do whatever it takes to reclaim what's mine."
I feel a pang of empathy for her, a shared sense of anguish that transcends the boundaries of our separate worlds. But beneath it all, there's a primal instinct, a fierce determination to protect my boys at all costs.
"I understand your pain," I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging within. "But my boys are not yours to take. They belong here, with me, with their family."
She narrows her eyes, her resolve unwavering. "Then we're at an impasse," she says, her tone final. "I won't leave without them."
I take a step forward, meeting her gaze with steely determination. "Then I guess we'll just have to see who's stronger," I say, my voice echoing with a newfound resolve.
With that, the battle lines are drawn, two versions of Wanda Maximoff facing off against each other in a clash of wills and power. But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remains clear: no matter the outcome, I'll do whatever it takes to protect my boys and honor the memory of the woman I loved.
Her eyes meet mine, a mixture of pain and longing mirrored in their depths. The tear I wiped away lingers on her cheek, a testament to the shared sorrow we both carry. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions, and for a moment, time seems to hang suspended.
"I... I don't know if I can stay," she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. "But the offer, it means more than you can imagine. In my world, everything has crumbled, and I'm left with nothing but ashes and echoes of what once was."
I can feel the weight of her words, the burden of her grief, and I tighten my grip on her cheek, desperate to convey the sincerity of my plea. "Wanda, you don't have to face this alone. You're not just a version of her; you're your own person, with your own pain. But here, in this universe, you have a chance to rebuild, to find a new kind of family."
She opens her eyes, the sea-green gaze locking onto mine. There's a vulnerability in her expression, a crack in the stoic facade she wears. "I'm so tired," she admits, a raw honesty in her voice. "Tired of loss, tired of fighting. Maybe... maybe it's time for a different path."
A tentative smile plays on her lips, and my heart skips a beat. I wipe away another tear, this time a tear of relief. "You don't have to decide now," I say softly. "Take the time you need. But know that here, you have people who care, people who understand loss and are willing to help you carry the burden."
The room seems to brighten, as if the weight of the universe has lifted, if only for a moment. And in that moment, I see a glimmer of hope, a possibility for healing and connection that transcends the boundaries of our fractured worlds.
"I need to know one thing." She speaks, "Is Vision alive?" my brows furrow together.
"Vision? Who is that?" I ask genuinely confused.
"Wait...how did we meet here?" She asks.
"Oh well we met in Sokovia. We were protesting Stark together at a rally. Your brother flirted with me first and I never let him live that down especially when I married you and he was my best man." I smile at the memory. "Anyways, we were approached by Hydra and experimented on. They had the mind stone and the power stone. You and Pietro were exposed to the mind stone and I was too, but nothing happened unlike you two so they put me in a room with the power stone. It decided my chest was it's forever home. I ended up breaking us out from the Hydra base with the help of the Avengers who had caught word of the base. The three of us joined the Avengers and the rest is history." I tell her.
"So no Ultron? Sokovia didn't fly in the air? What about the Sokovia accords?" She throws question after question.
"No idea what you're talking about love. We carried on doing small missions, taking down hydra and radicals, but the three of us spent a long time training before they let us out doing field work." I tell her.
"Three? Is...is Pietro..?" Her voice breaks.
"Alive? Yeah of course." She falls to her knees and starts sobbing.
"Mommy?" Billy is at the middle of the stairs and the look in Wanda's eyes.
"Yeah baby it's Mommy." Wanda opened her arms and the little speedster found his way into her arms." Her eyes spilling over tears.
"Mama said you weren't coming back." Billy whispered.
"Mama didn't think I was, but Mommy always finds a way back to her boys." Wanda pulls back and looks up at me. "I'm staying...how could I say no when this is just about the most perfect version I could ask for?" I smile and start crying again as Tommy joins us before I can even blink. "Our little quick silver." Wanda smiles hugging the boys, her boys.
Tears of relief blur my vision as I watch Wanda embrace our boys, her boys, with a tenderness that speaks volumes. Billy and Tommy cling to her, their small arms wrapping around her tightly as if afraid she'll disappear again if they let go. And in that moment, I realize that this is where she belongs, with us, her family.
I join them on the floor, wrapping my arms around them all, unable to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatens to consume me. "Welcome home, Wanda," I whisper, my voice choked with tears.
She looks up at me, her eyes shining with gratitude and love. "Thank you," she says softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "For everything."
Together, we sit in the warmth of our embrace, a makeshift family forged from the ashes of our shared past. And as the night stretches on, I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness, a belief that no matter what trials may come, as long as we have each other, we can weather any storm.
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The days blurred together in a haze of longing and uncertainty, each moment tinged with the ache of what could have been. Wanda's presence in our home was both a blessing and a curse, a constant reminder of the love I had lost and the impossibility of reclaiming what was once mine.
I watched her interact with the boys, her smile forced but genuine, her laughter a melody that echoed through the halls. And yet, beneath the surface, I could sense the weight of her own grief, the burden of a past that refused to let her go.
I tried to be strong, to be there for her and the boys, but every smile felt like a lie, every laugh a hollow echo of the joy we once shared. And in the darkness of the night, when sleep eluded me and the silence pressed in like a vice, I found myself haunted by memories of another Wanda, a version of her that existed only in my dreams.
She was so close, yet so far away, a phantom presence that taunted me with what could have been. I longed to reach out to her, to hold her close and whisper words of love and comfort. But she was gone, lost to me in a reality that no longer existed.
And so I forced myself out of bed each morning, steeling myself against the pain that threatened to consume me. I buried myself in the routines of daily life, seeking solace in the mundane tasks that kept me tethered to reality.
But no matter how hard I tried to push her memory away, she lingered in the shadows of my mind, a ghostly specter that refused to be forgotten. And as the days turned into weeks, I began to wonder if I would ever find peace, if I would ever be able to let go of the love that still bound me to her, even across the vast expanse of the multiverse.
My Wanda and I had always had a policy of no mind reading since we could both do it, but this Wanda pokes at my thoughts constantly. Reminds me to smile through telepathy. One morning after a really good dream with another Wanda I can't get myself out of bed. Everything is too much. I know I had told her I'd be fine, but I'm not.
"Come on Y/N. Time to get up." I turn away from her, curling up into a ball further. "Y/N? What's wrong?" She asks.
"Nothing just tired. Just tell the boys I don't feel good. I need a Mama's day. So they can have a Mommy day. Take them out, get them ice cream. Do whatever you want." I grumble.
"Okay..." I close my eyes, letting myself drift back off just needed to see her again.
I don't know how much time has past when I'm being woken up, "Detka...come on wake up." My eyes blink into focus as I look at Wanda sitting above me and smile, forgetting my reality for a moment before my smile drops.
"What?" I ask.
"I dropped the boys off with their uncle for the weekend." I sit up straight,
"You did what!?" I screech.
"I left them with Pietro for the weekend. He was more than happy to have a boys weekend. Something about taking them to the lake?" Wanda mentions.
"He takes them every summer, usually it's a family thing and we all go." I tell Wanda.
"Well I figured you needed a Mommy and me weekend. I want to take you out. I want to get to know you. I already know my boys, but you. You're different, new, you aren't like Vision. You're human." She cups my cheek, smiling and I know it's a genuine smile. "I'm sure you've been feeling neglected and I wanted to try and do this sooner, but the boys were too excited to have me back." She says as I lean into her touch, Gods how I missed her touch. Though her fingers were no longer black her nails seemed to permanently stay black which made me laugh as I compared it to her emo phase which apparently this Wanda had one too.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. "For understanding."
She smiles, a warmth in her eyes that belies the weight of her own pain. "We're in this together. You don't have to carry the burden alone."
With her words echoing in my mind, I find the strength to push myself out of bed, to face the day with renewed determination. Wanda's offer of a Mommy and me weekend is a lifeline, a chance to rediscover myself amidst the chaos of grief and longing.
As we spend the day together, exploring the city and sharing stories of our pasts, I feel a sense of peace settle over me, a reassurance that maybe, just maybe, there's still hope for a future filled with love and laughter.
And as the sun sets on our day together, I realize that while Wanda may not be my Wanda, she's still a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder that even in our darkest moments, there's always someone willing to stand by our side, to offer a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on.
With her by my side, I know that no matter what the future may hold, I'll never have to face it alone. And as we head home, the weight of grief feels a little lighter, the shadows a little less daunting, as we embrace the possibility of a new beginning, together.
When we got back home, I pulled her to the couch, "Time to watch sitcoms." I tell her and her face lights up.
"Dick Van Dyke?" She asks.
"No Detka. I want to show you my favorite this time. It's a more modern one. It's an animated sitcom though is that okay?" I ask, realizing this Wanda maybe never experienced animated and only enjoyed live action ones.
"Of course dorogoya." Her accent popping out sent a wave through me that landed between my legs.
"O-okay good." I say and get 'Bob's Burgers' playing. As the show starts I settle in with a slight distance between us, but she pulls me in against her side.
"Is this okay dorogoya?" She asks looking down at me.
"Y-yeah...of course." I move slight, readjusting to get comfortable as we fit together like two missing puzzle pieces and I let out a sigh of relief, that feels like so much weight is taken off my shoulders.
As the episodes of "Bob's Burgers" played on, I found myself relaxing into Wanda's embrace, the tension that had been coiled tight within me slowly unraveling with each passing moment. Her warmth seeped into my bones, a comforting presence that chased away the lingering shadows of doubt and fear.
With her by my side, the laughter that bubbled up from the screen felt genuine, a reflection of the newfound camaraderie we shared. And as I stole glances at her profile, illuminated by the soft glow of the television, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the moment, the simplicity of just being together.
Her laughter mingled with mine, the sound music to my ears, a symphony of joy that filled the room with warmth and light. And as the credits rolled on the final episode, I turned to her, a smile playing at the corners of my lips.
"Thank you," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "For today. For everything."
She returned my smile, her eyes shimmering with affection. "Anytime. I'm here for you, always."
I sat there staring at her, getting lost in her eyes so much that I don't even realize that she's leaning in until she's inches from my lips, she stops and I can feel her breath on me, my own hitching,
"Is this okay dorogoya?" She whispers in a husk against my lips.
"Y-yes." I manage out as she kisses me softly at first, testing the waters, but soon enough she's kissing hungrily, like she's starving for my taste now that's she's had a nibble. My fingers find their way into her hair, getting tangled in her auburn locks. One of her hands is on the back of my neck and the other is on my hip, gripping tightly, I can feel her nails digging in.
The world falls away as our lips meet in a fiery embrace, a collision of passion and longing that ignites every nerve ending in my body. Her kiss is intoxicating, a whirlwind of desire and need that sweeps me away in a tide of sensation.
I lose myself in the taste of her, the feel of her lips moving against mine with a hunger that mirrors my own. Our breath mingles in the space between us, hot and heavy with unspoken desire, as the intensity of our embrace grows with each passing moment.
Her hands are everywhere at once, trailing fire along my skin as she pulls me closer, her touch igniting a wildfire of sensation within me. I cling to her desperately, losing myself in the dizzying whirl of pleasure that consumes us both.
Time loses all meaning as we surrender to the passion that binds us together, lost in a world of our own making where nothing else matters but the fiery connection that burns between us.
And as we finally break apart, breathless and trembling, I find myself drowning in the depths of her gaze, a silent promise of more to come lingering in the air between us.
In that moment, I know that this is just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, passion, and endless possibility. And as we cling to each other in the aftermath of our shared passion, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate that brought us together.
User
"Bed. Now." Her eyes lit up red for a moment. My Wanda had never been dominate, but this Wanda before me exuded dominance. I didn't waste any time getting up the stairs with her hot on my tail as we crashed into the bedroom, stumbling to the bed in a heat of kisses as she took the leading role.
The air crackled with electricity as we stumbled into the bedroom, our lips locked in a frenzy of passion and desire. Wanda's presence was intoxicating, her aura radiating power and dominance in a way I had never experienced before. And as she took the lead, pushing me onto the bed with a hunger that sent shivers down my spine, I felt myself surrendering to the raw intensity of the moment.
Her kisses were demanding, igniting a fire within me that burned hotter with each passing second. I moaned against her lips, my fingers tangling in her hair as I lost myself in the heat of the moment. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body as she explored every inch of my skin with a hunger that left me breathless.
With each caress, each whispered word of desire, I felt myself falling deeper under her spell, my body responding eagerly to her every touch. And as she claimed me as her own, I surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation, losing myself in the ecstasy of our shared passion.
In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of pleasure and desire where nothing else mattered but the intoxicating connection that bound us together. And as we moved as one, bodies entwined in a symphony of passion, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, lust, and endless possibility.
The sensation of relinquishing control, of surrendering completely to someone else's will, was both exhilarating and liberating. As I basked in the warmth of Wanda's dominance, I found myself embracing a side of myself that I had long suppressed, a side that craved the thrill of submission and surrender.
With each touch, each whispered command, I felt myself sinking deeper into the abyss of pleasure, my mind consumed by a haze of ecstasy that left me breathless and yearning for more. And as Wanda took the lead, guiding me with a firm yet gentle hand, I found myself surrendering to the overwhelming tide of sensation, losing myself in the intoxicating dance of pleasure and desire.
In her arms, I felt safe, cherished, and utterly alive, my body responding eagerly to her every touch and caress. And as we moved together in a symphony of passion and desire, I embraced the freedom that came with letting go, allowing myself to be swept away by the currents of our shared passion.
For in that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful surrender where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our connection. And as we surrendered to the ecstasy of our shared desire, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with exploration, discovery, and boundless pleasure.
"Ah...Wands..." A smack hit my thigh making me jolt and yelp.
"That's not my name Detka." I feel my stomach flip. I call her this all the time. I have for years now, but never in this setting. Another smack and then her teeth find my skin, biting and sucking harshly, marking me.
"Mommy!" I can feel the smirk against my thigh.
"Good girl. Go on. Show me how needy you are baby girl." Her fingers find themselves between my folds as I move my hips against them.
The sensation of her touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through me, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment. I arched my back, pressing against her fingers as they explored the depths of my desire, teasing and tantalizing with a skill that left me trembling with need.
"Please," I whimpered, the word spilling from my lips in a desperate plea for more. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body as she pushed me to the brink of ecstasy.
With each caress, each stroke, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of our shared passion. And as she whispered words of encouragement, urging me to let go and surrender to the pleasure that awaited, I felt myself surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation.
In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our connection. And as I succumbed to the ecstasy of our shared desire, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with passion, intensity, and boundless pleasure.
The sensation of Wanda's magic enveloping my wrists sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through me, a tangible reminder of her power and dominance. I tested the restraints, feeling the firm hold of her magic as it kept me securely in place, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and arousal.
"Safe word. Green, yellow, red. Green is keep going, yellow slow down, red is stop." Wanda husked.
"Green, yellow, red," I echoed, committing the safe words to memory as a reassurance of our mutual trust and consent. With each breath, each whispered command, I felt myself sinking deeper into the heady haze of pleasure, surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation.
As Wanda continued to explore my body with a skillful touch that left me trembling with need, I surrendered myself to the ecstasy of our shared desire, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive.
And as the intensity of our passion grew with each passing moment, I found myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of our connection. In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire.
I don't think there is a place she hasn't marked on me in some way and after hours of edging until I couldn't form sentences she finally let me release. A string of moans ripping through me as the most intense waves roll over me as I drown in them, covered in sweat and her marks.
As the waves of pleasure washed over me, leaving me trembling and spent, I basked in the afterglow of our shared passion, my body still tingling with the echoes of our ecstasy. But just when I thought the intensity had peaked, I felt something pressing against my entrance, a sensation that sent a jolt of anticipation coursing through me.
I gasped, my body instinctively tensing as Wanda's touch ignited a new wave of desire within me. Her fingers teased and tantalized, exploring the depths of my desire with a skill that left me breathless and eager for more.
With each gentle thrust, I felt myself opening up to her, surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation. The pleasure was exquisite, a symphony of ecstasy that echoed through every fiber of my being as I lost myself in the blissful abandon of our shared desire.
And as Wanda continued to guide me with a firm yet gentle hand, I surrendered myself to the pleasure of our connection, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive. In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire.
Wanda soon enough needed more and so did I, "Faster...ha-ah...harder..." My breath hot against her, panting like a dog and that gave her the perfect opportunity to place her fingers in my mouth, gaging me with them, but I loved every second as I sucked on them, moaning against them as I tasted myself on them from earlier.
The sensation of Wanda's fingers in my mouth sent a thrill of arousal coursing through me, a heady mixture of pleasure and desire that left me panting and eager for more. With each thrust, each gasp of pleasure, I eagerly sucked on her fingers, tasting myself on them from earlier.
The taste was intoxicating, a symphony of desire that heightened the intensity of our connection as we moved together in perfect harmony. And as Wanda responded to my pleas with a fervor that mirrored my own, I surrendered myself to the pleasure of our shared desire, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive.
With each thrust, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of our passion. And as we reached the peak of ecstasy together, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey, a journey filled with passion, intensity, and boundless pleasure.
In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire. And as we surrendered ourselves to the ecstasy of our connection, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, lust, and endless possibility.
As I slowly regained my senses, the cool towel on the back of my neck and Wanda's comforting presence helped anchor me in reality. Her magic gently caressed my mind, offering reassurance and care as I took in the aftermath of our intense encounter.
"Easy, Detka. You're okay," she murmured, and I found solace in the warmth of her embrace. I took the offered water bottle, sipping slowly as she continued to tend to my well-being. The realization that I had passed out from pleasure left me both surprised and amused.
"Never happened before," I admitted with a chuckle. "The other Wanda was more of a sub, so I was usually the one in control. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but being on the receiving end is a whole different experience."
Wanda's magic fetched a baggy shirt, and as I recognized it, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was a shirt from a concert we attended when we were sixteen, a tangible link to our shared past.
"It's good to know not everything is different," I remarked, smiling as she kissed my temple.
In the warmth of our makeshift cocoon, surrounded by blankets and pillows, Wanda's magic weaving a protective barrier around us, we continued to watch 'Bob's Burgers.' However, my focus was no longer on the show; instead, I found myself captivated by the woman holding me close.
A sudden wave of fear and doubt crashed over me as I wondered if this intimate encounter was just a one-time gesture to alleviate my grief. The fear of being tossed aside after a momentary respite haunted my thoughts, threatening to overshadow the joy we had just shared.
Wanda, sensing my internal struggle, gently addressed my concerns. "Hey, woah, Detka. Those thoughts of yours are the farthest thing from the truth. Do not listen to them. I would never do that to my soulmate," she reassured me, her forehead finding mine in a tender gesture of connection.
"I love you, Y/N," she confessed, her words washing away my fears and opening the floodgates to a cascade of happy tears. "I love you, Wands! I didn't think I'd ever get to hear you say those words to me again," I admitted, clinging to her shirt as I sobbed into her.
Wanda's promises echoed in my heart, a vow to cherish and reaffirm our love every day. She kissed away my tears, each tender touch a testament to the depth of her commitment. "I promise I'm going to say it every chance I get. I'm never going to stop. I'm going to remind you every day how beautiful you are and how much I love you, and I promise I'm never going to leave. No missions. Nothing like that. I'll always be by your side," she declared, her own tears mingling with mine.
In that moment, as we drowned in each other's love, I knew that this second chance at happiness was a gift we would both cherish. And as Wanda whispered, "I love you," over and over, I felt the weight of my grief lifting, replaced by the warmth of a love that transcended time and space.
========
In the midst of my peaceful dream, I found myself enveloped in a sense of tranquility unlike any I had experienced in well over a year. Waking up with a smile on my face I turn my head, looking over I gazed upon the sleeping form of Wanda, her features softened by the gentle embrace of slumber, I felt a rush of overwhelming love and affection welling up within me.
With a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips, I leaned in closer, pressing gentle kisses along the curve of her neck. Each tender touch elicited a soft moan from her lips, a melody of pleasure that echoed through the stillness of the night.
Lost in the intoxicating embrace of our shared intimacy, I continued to shower her with affection, reveling in the warmth of her presence and the depth of our connection. And as I whispered her name, a soft murmur of adoration, I knew that this moment, this fleeting glimpse of happiness, was a treasure to be cherished for all eternity.
As Wanda began to stir awake, her voice still heavy with sleep, I couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for her. Her words, though tinged with a hint of warning, only served to deepen the bond between us.
"You're playing a dangerous game, kotenok," she murmured, her voice laced with sleepiness.
"Shchenok," I corrected gently, a small smile playing on my lips.
Her eyes snapped open at the correction, surprise evident in her expression. "When did you learn that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
I shrugged, the memories of our shared past flooding back to me. "I was with her for like 20 years of our lives. I learned most Russian. Also Natasha, she..." My voice trailed off as Wanda's expression shifted, a wave of sadness washing over her.
"Oh my god, I forgot about Natasha. Is... is she alive here?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.
I nodded solemnly, feeling a pang of empathy for the pain she must be feeling. Crawling into her lap, I wrapped my arms around her, offering what comfort I could. "You really lost a lot there, dorogoya," I whispered, my voice soft with compassion. "But don't worry, everyone here is safe. We've apparently had it relatively easy here, it seems."
I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, my heart overflowing with love and gratitude for this woman who had endured so much. "Now you have your loved ones back. You aren't alone anymore, and you won't ever be again. I promise."
==============
As the weekend unfolded, Wanda and I remained entwined in each other's arms, our connection deepening with each passing moment. When the boys returned home with their uncle Pietro, the atmosphere was filled with warmth and affection, a tangible sense of family that enveloped us all.
Pietro's hug was tight, filled with an unspoken understanding that transcended words. In his whispered question, "Did you guys finally connect?" I detected a mixture of curiosity and genuine concern.
With a small nod and a soft "Mmhmm," I confirmed what he already knew. This Wanda wasn't his real sister, just as she wasn't the Wanda I had known and loved for decades. But she was here, she was special, and in her embrace, I found a sense of solace and belonging that I had thought lost forever.
==============
As the following Friday arrived, Wanda and I made the decision to gather our friends and family together to share the details of our new lives. It was a momentous occasion, filled with a mix of anticipation and apprehension as we prepared to unveil the truth about our extraordinary circumstances.
Gathering our loved ones in a familiar setting, we began to recount the events that had led us to this moment, explaining the complexities of our intertwined destinies and the newfound connections we had forged. With each word, we sought to convey the depth of our emotions, the challenges we had overcome, and the hope that now burned bright within our hearts.
As our gathering unfolded, the emotions in the room were palpable, each hug and embrace a testament to the depth of our shared experiences and the bonds that bound us together.
Wanda's first instinct was to embrace Natasha tightly, their bodies trembling with sobs as they clung to each other. For both of them, it was a moment of overwhelming relief and joy, the realization that they had been given a second chance to be reunited with someone they had feared lost forever.
Next was Clint, the stalwart friend and ally who had saved Wanda countless times in her timeline, offering comfort and support when she needed it most. As they embraced, the weight of their shared history hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the trials they had faced and the strength they had found in each other's presence.
In that moment, surrounded by friends and family who had become like kin, Wanda and I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the bonds that had been forged through adversity. And as we shared stories and memories, laughter mingling with tears, we knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, drawing strength from the love and support that surrounded us.
As our friends and family listened intently, their expressions shifting from surprise to understanding, we felt a sense of relief wash over us. To have our loved ones by our side, supporting us through this journey, was a gift beyond measure.
And as we concluded our explanation, surrounded by the warmth and love of those closest to us, we knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, united in our shared bond and unwavering commitment to one another.
As the night wore on and the festivities continued, Stephen pulled me aside, his expression grave with concern. "You know what she's done in her universe, right?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.
I bristled at his question, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within me. "Do not start this, Strange," I warned, jabbing a finger in his direction. "If I had gone through what she had, this universe wouldn't even exist. What she did, in my eyes, is child's play compared to the horrors she endured."
My words carried a weight of conviction, a steadfast belief in Wanda's resilience and the sacrifices she had made to protect those she loved. And as I met Stephen's gaze, I saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the depth of Wanda's strength and the magnitude of her courage.
"She threw a tantrum essentially. Took over a town for a bit and then went on a killing spree to get here. I saw it through her eyes. I know if it had been me, you'd be lucky if America had still been standing," I asserted, a hint of steel in my voice as I tapped the power stone embedded in my chest.
The reminder of the immense power at my disposal served as both a warning and a declaration. Wanda's actions in her universe were a testament to the depths of her grief and the consequences of unchecked power. In contrast, I recognized the responsibility that came with wielding such force, a responsibility I vowed to use wisely to protect those I loved.
As the weight of our conversation lingered, Stephen nodded in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between us. The night continued, but the specter of the past and the potential for the future hung in the air, a reminder that even in moments of celebration, the shadows of our pasts were never truly far behind.
"I don't think you understand, my strength isn't superhuman, it's otherworldly. The precision it requires to ensure I don't break everything around me at any given moment is a delicate balance. With one punch, I wouldn't just put a crater in the earth, I'd break it in half," I emphasized, underscoring the magnitude of the power I possessed.
The distinction between superhuman strength and the cosmic force I wielded was crucial to grasp. While others might possess extraordinary abilities, mine was on a different scale altogether, capable of reshaping the very fabric of reality itself. It was a responsibility that weighed heavily on me, requiring a level of control and restraint beyond what most could comprehend.
As I spoke, I could sense the gravity of my words sinking in, the realization dawning on Stephen of the immense power at my command. It was a sobering reminder of the delicate balance between strength and responsibility, a balance that I vowed to uphold no matter the cost.
"I'm sorry, Y/N, I just wanted to remind you-" Stephen began, but I swiftly cut him off, my tone firm yet understanding. "Don't, Stephen. I know you're just trying to help. I don't need the reminder though," I assured him, acknowledging his concern while asserting my own understanding of the situation.
With a nod of acceptance, Stephen backed off, respecting my boundaries and allowing me to return to the comforting embrace of Wanda, who had been engaged in conversation with Natasha and Clint. As I settled back into her arms, the warmth of her presence enveloped me, a reassuring reminder of the love and support that surrounded me.
In that moment, surrounded by friends and family, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a quiet reassurance that no matter the challenges we faced, we would face them together, united in our shared bonds and unwavering commitment to one another.
As Wanda continued her conversation with Natasha and Clint, her fingers traced delicate patterns on my hip, their touch a gentle caress that spoke volumes of the journey she had undertaken. Once stained with blood, those same hands now exuded a tenderness and compassion that belied the darkness of the past.
Feeling the soothing rhythm of her touch, I couldn't help but marvel at the transformation Wanda had undergone, the evolution from a place of pain and turmoil to one of healing and redemption. It was a testament to her resilience and strength, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, it was possible to find light amidst the shadows.
In that moment, as her touch danced across my skin, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the woman before me, for the love and forgiveness she had extended, and for the hope that now blossomed within our hearts. And as our conversation continued, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, bound by the unbreakable bond of love and understanding that had brought us to this moment.
As the room suddenly filled with the energetic presence of our children, along with Clint's youngest and Kate close behind, my boys bounded into mine and Wanda's arms with cries for help. "Moms! Save us from the monster!" they pleaded, their laughter filling the air.
I chuckled as I gathered them close, feeling their warmth and energy envelop me in a comforting embrace. Glancing over, I caught sight of Kate playfully tickling Nathaniel, the mischievous grin on her face confirming my suspicions.
With a smile, I joined Wanda in rescuing our boys from the clutches of the imaginary monster, enveloping them in hugs and laughter as we reveled in the joy of family and friendship. In that moment, surrounded by the ones we loved most, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the blessings that filled our lives, each smile and laugh a reminder of the happiness that awaited us in the days to come.
As the boys began to drift off to sleep in my arms, I couldn't help but smile at the sight. "I think it's time to go, my love," I murmured to Wanda, gesturing towards our sleeping sons. Despite their ten years, I scooped them up effortlessly, their weight feeling light in my arms.
A momentary look of surprise flickered across Wanda's face, her gaze lingering on me as she seemed to momentarily forget about my strength. At just 4'11, I was indeed petite for someone with such power, a fact that often caught others off guard.
With a soft chuckle, I gently adjusted the boys in my arms, their peaceful expressions a testament to the love and security they felt in our embrace. As we prepared to leave, I felt a surge of gratitude for the family we had become, bound together by love and the unbreakable bond of kinship. With Wanda by my side, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our shared love and determination to protect those we held dear.
As I glanced over at Wanda, watching the tender expression on her face as she looked upon our sleeping sons, my heart swelled with love and gratitude. The depth of emotion reflected in her eyes filled me with a sense of warmth and contentment, knowing that our family was complete and our bond unbreakable.
In that moment, as we stood together, surrounded by the quiet stillness of the night, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. The love that radiated between us and enveloped our children was a testament to the strength of our connection, a bond forged in the fires of adversity and tempered by the trials we had faced together.
As we prepared to depart, I reached out to take Wanda's hand, intertwining our fingers in a silent gesture of unity and love. With a shared smile, we turned and made our way home, our hearts full and our spirits lifted by the knowledge that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, as a family.
===========
Wanda and I are on the couch when she asks, "Do you have photo albums of the boys?" I look at her, peeling my eyes from the TV as I pause it.
"Of course." I get up grabbing several albums of almost everything of their lives. "After we left the Avengers I took solace in capturing moments so we have a lot." I tell her as she starts through her pregnancy photos one of every month. Then the hospital photos of her giving birth. The look of pure happiness and bliss on both our faces as we held the boys. Both of us having skin to skin contact with them. As Wanda goes through the albums she starts crying.
"I missed out on so much because of my magic..." she whispered solemnly. "They went from babies, to 5, to 10 all because of words I said...Y/N...I missed everything." Knowing that Wanda had used her magic to create our boys in her universe and not anything like how we had here made her incredibly sad. I hate seeing her like this.
"How about I show you. Their first words, their first steps, everything." With a gentle touch, I leaned in closer to her, resting my forehead against hers as I offered her a silent gesture of comfort and solidarity. Feeling her fingers against my temples, I closed my eyes and allowed the memories to flow, every precious moment from the joyous announcement of her pregnancy to the bittersweet final days we shared together playing out before her.
As the memories unfolded like a vivid tapestry, I watched as Wanda's tears began to subside, replaced by a sense of wonder and awe. Through the magic of our shared recollections, she was able to witness the milestones she had missed, the laughter and love that had filled our home in her absence.
In that moment, as we shared in the memories of our past, I felt a renewed sense of hope blossom within me. Though Wanda may have missed out on so much, I was determined to make every moment from this point forward count, to cherish the time we had together and to create new memories that would fill the void left by the past.
With a gentle smile, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as we basked in the warmth of our shared love. And as the echoes of our memories faded into the night, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our unwavering commitment to one another and to our family.
As I looked into Wanda's eyes, feeling the weight of her sadness and longing, I knew that I had to do everything in my power to ease her pain and make up for the lost time. With a gentle touch, I cupped her cheek in my hand, my thumb brushing away the tears that lingered there.
"Everything with them feels too quick and also a lifetime," I whispered softly, my heart swelling with love and determination. "But now that you're here with us, you'll get to experience it all with me. Together."
In that moment, as we shared in our shared resolve to embrace the present and forge ahead as a family, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. No matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our love and commitment to one another.
With a tender smile, I leaned in to press a gentle kiss against Wanda's forehead, silently promising to cherish every moment we shared and to make up for the lost time in any way I could. Together, we would build a future filled with love, laughter, and endless memories, united in our bond as a family.
Once we put the albums away, shut the TV off for the night we headed upstairs. Stopping to look in at the boys sleeping peacefully before heading to our own room, getting ourselves ready for bed. As I climb in, stretching out, Wanda climbs on top of me. I bite my bottom lip, looking up at her. I can see the look she has. I wrap my arms around her neck, gently trying to pull her down. She doesn't budge.
"Did you want something, shchenok?" Between the look in her eyes, the sound of her voice, and her in just a tank top of sleep shorts I'm weak to her completely under her not just physically.
"Want you. Need you." I tell her trying again to pull and when she still doesn't budge. I pout and whine. "Wands...please.."
As Wanda's hands worked their magic, binding mine above my head with a delicate yet firm touch, I felt a rush of excitement and anticipation coursing through me. With each tug of her magic, I was rendered powerless, completely at her mercy as she explored my body with a hunger that ignited a fire within me.
"Behave and we'll see where it goes," she husked, her words sending shivers down my spine as she pushed up my shirt, her lips finding purchase on my chest with an intensity that left me breathless. The sensation of her teeth grazing my skin, her tongue tracing patterns across my flesh, sent waves of pleasure radiating through me, making me squirm and writhe beneath her touch.
As I felt myself slipping deeper into subspace, surrendering to the heady mix of pleasure and vulnerability, I couldn't help but lose myself in the moment, giving in completely to the sensations that engulfed me. With each kiss, each caress, I felt myself unraveling, consumed by the overwhelming desire that burned between us.
In that moment, as I surrendered myself to Wanda's tender ministrations, I felt a profound sense of connection and intimacy that transcended the physical realm. With her by my side, I knew that I was safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure, and as I surrendered to the ecstasy of the moment, I knew that our bond would only grow stronger with each passing day.
Wanda plays with me and teases me for hours and I can't even remember how many times she's pushed me over the edge of ecstasy. As she brought me to another one as she slammed into me with a magic strap-on she'd conjured up, my mind already drowning in subspace, barely able to form words, but one slips out and then a few more,
"Mommy...gonna...ah-ha...ah..." After my words she sped up leaning down to whisper in my ear,
"That's right cum for Mommy like a good girl. Mommy's gonna cum with you. Gonna fill you up and breed you baby girl." As she whispered those final words in my ear, her voice a husky growl of lust and desire, I felt myself shattering into a million pieces, my entire being consumed by the ecstasy of release. With a cry of pure ecstasy, I let myself fall over the edge, my body trembling with the force of my climax as I surrendered myself entirely to the pleasure that engulfed me. Feeling her fill me up completely made my eyes roll back and the only word I could comprehend was, “Mommy.”
In that moment, as I basked in the afterglow of our shared ecstasy, I knew that I was exactly where I belonged, wrapped in the arms of the woman I loved more than anything in the world.
Taglist: @dorabledewdroop
#ley writes#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff smut#wanda x you#wanda x y/n#wanda maxmoff x y/n#wanda maximommy#wanda maximoff x fem!reader#wanda maximoff x female reader#the scarlet witch x fem!reader#the scarlet witch#scarlet witch x you#scarlet witch x reader#scarlet witch
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auughh i want to do too many things theres not enough hours in the day or dollars in my bank account
#heres my list of things i want to do in no particular order#get a personal trainer/steady gym routine - archery - horseback - horseback archery - play the flute - learn german - play with synths#learn to drum - learn to sew - customize all my clothes - get into every conceivable music genre - build endurance for marathons?#reads lots of poetry and literature - study philosophy and comparative lit - learn to brew my own beer (sorry lol)#i want to get back into russian impressionist art movements and composers - space technology history - honestly early american history is#rly interesting#i also want to maybe take a drawing class or teach myself the basics bc i can attempt things but dont actually know what doing - also paint#TO BE HONEST ALSO TAI CHI.. oh and i want to grow my own garden/herbs/make tea blends#not to mention. socializing ever.. like going to coffee shops and indoor rock walls and concerts#AND IM A TRAINED HERBARIUM CURATOR i could press my own specimens and mount them professionally. have a collection#my vinyl collection will continue to grow and i should try CDs too - and i want to learn tape manipulation te#ch. because why not#but i also need time in the day to wallow in solitude and darkness#Do You See My Problem
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The Legend of The Sea |Epilogue |
"You're crying? You must be turning human, the MerFolk don't cry."
"Of course we do. Why do you think the Sea is nothing but salt?"
Pairing: Choi Seungcheol × reader
Genre: Heavy Angst, Romance, Implied smut
Word Count: 4K
A/n: It's finally here! I felt the angst level in the original fic was too high I wanted to give some closure but also maintain the bittersweet nature of their story so I tried my best, I hope its a satisfactory to you guys!
Read the fic here first!
3 months later.
Seungcheol stared at his reflection in the water.
Dark hair toussled messily in the wind, dark circles stark under his eyes. He hadn't slept in days....he couldn't.
Every time he closed his eyes he would go back to that night in his room.
You taking a step back and then another.
Your hair fluttering in the wind of the sea.
Your eyes, when you looked at him for the last time.
He just couldn't get it out of his head. The scene would play over and over and over in his head, as nightfall would turn to daybreak, forcing him out of the confines of his room, forcing him into court, forcing him into his role as King.
That was the unfortunate thing about being one - Seungcheol didn't have the time or the luxury to wallow in his own sorrows. He had a kingdom to look after and people to protect. That meant everyday, he had to be a leader, he had to be the bravest man in the nation. It was only in the darkness of his room, standing before the window, taking in your lingering scent and the echoes of your words that he was his true self - a broken, broken man.
If there was any place that could offer him even a sliver of solitude, it was here, at the seacave. Seungcheol didn't know why he found himself here so often. Even though it was the waters that so cruelly took you from him, perhaps being close to the ocean made him feel close to you. Or perhaps because sometimes, the sea would take pity and wash up little somethings from your life onto the shore - your favourite sea weed, or the rare sea flowers you loved to talk about or those pretty pearls in the oysters.
Over the days, Seungcheol had been collecting those little tidbits, filling the cave with signs and memories of you. He had moved your favourite dresses, your favourite books, everything precious to you that was left in his possession out here. This was his haven, his sanctuary - his last reminder of you. His castle and the men in his court were unfortunately not gracious enough to entertain Seungcheol's misery - they needed him to leave you behind, needed him to find a queen, a political alliance that could strengthen the kingdom. Yet another reason Seungcheol often found himself in the presence of the ocean - even though it was taunting, it was where you belonged and where he freely belonged to you.
Today too the ocean is mocking him not so subtly, as Seungcheol's eyes fell on a little something that washed up on the shore, something he was actually quite familiar with - your seashell necklace.
Many months ago, right here, around the time day blended into night, you met him, speaking urgently. You rambled about some mission, something you had to do, something he had to help you with. Handing him this very necklace, you told him one day you'll come to Land like a blank slate and asked him to return it to you when you felt most lost - you said that it would remind you of what you needed to do when the time came. Seungcheol did not understand at all. It didn't matter though, all he had to do was just help you however he could. Your mission was his mission.
Bending down, he picked up the necklace, wondering how exactly it aided you. He had been noticing changes in you for a while by the time he returned it to you. You were asking more questions about the ocean, you were more quiet, lost in thoughts, lost in a battle with yourself. Seungcheol knew he had to let you figure things out, that's what you told him and that's what he did. By the time he came from war, the way you held onto him when he finally recovered told him something had drastically changed. Before he could even attempt to fathom what it was things had escalated - his father died, you were jailed for an assassination attempt and Seungcheol was forced to become king to free you.
Maybe if he hadn't let you go, you'd still be there, not beside him but at least he'd have the knowledge and the surety that you were okay. But Seungcheol couldn't bind you like that, he couldn't strip you of the one thing you valued the most about being in the ocean - your freedom. He had to let you go, but he didn't think you'd have gone this far away from him.
"She always manages to find a way doesn't she?"
Seungcheol stumbled back at the sound of a voice, completely taken aback. Before him was a woman who was definitely old but didn't seem it - she had a staff in one hand, and had donned clothes that made her look like she was in the waters though she was clearly floating above it. It was an apparition......this was magic - that meant she was a woman of the sea.
"The Sea Witch." She corrected his thought, pointing. "And the owner of that."
Seungcheol glanced at the necklace in his hand. "This is Y/n's."
The old lady let out a laugh, shaking her head. "I told you, she's a smart one that one. Always a step ahead, even of me." As she floated closer to him, Seungcheol did not take a worried step back. "Your lovely Y/n, she was an apprentice in my practice, all members of the Royal family are bound to work under me to understand sea magic-"
"Royal family?" Seungcheol blinked hard and fast. "Y/n.... she's....royalty?"
"Strange isn't it? Neither did you know you were in love with the youngest princess of the Sea, neither did she know she was in love with the only Prince of the land. Things would have been so different had you both known....."
"I don't understand." Seungcheol rubbed his head. "What do you mean?"
"Do you know why Y/n came to land King Choi?"
"I figured it was to kill my father-"
"The king." She corrected. "Y/n's mission was to kill the king. Did you ever wonder why?"
"I pondered about it day and night. The only explanation I could think of was...." Seungcheol recalled that fateful day. "It has something to do with my father setting sail."
"Indeed." She confirmed, making Seungcheol's heart sink in his chest. He knew that was a bad idea, he had voted against it. And with each word of the story that the Sea witch proceeded to tell him, it only made it worse.
"So...." He tried to process everything that had happened. It all made sense and also didn't at the same time. "Y/n had to kill my father or me to get back her kingdom. How did you or anyone think she could have done that without her memories? How could you expect that-"
"Was she not nearly successful King Choi?" The Sea Witch smiled knowingly. "Did you think the Hwangs would set her up to a mission that she could easily fulfill? Their plan was to tie her ancient sea magic, to ensure that she would fail in all ways possible, but your woman..... she's a warrior. She's one of the finest battle strategist the sea has ever seen and she had cleverly planned everything in her favour. That necklace...." She chuckled looking at his hands. "That is one of my most prized possessions, something she knew I would help her in exchange for and so she planted it with you and used it when the time came. She always finds a way King Choi, you see how its reached you again? How she sent me to you?"
Seungcheol stared at the seashell pendant. He had just thought of it as a pretty reminder of where you were from. He didn't know it was your secret weapon. That there was so much to this.
"And what do you want in exchange for it?" The Sea Witch stepped ahead, mistaking his wandering into the past as hesitance. "What is it that you want?"
Seungcheol let out a sad chuckle. There was only one thing he ever wanted.
"You can't give it to me." He held out his hand, returning the necklace to its rightful owner. "You can't bring her back."
"But I can."
The crashing waves were not louder than the racing of Seungcheol's heart against his chest.
"Only the dead can't be brought back King Choi. The living just need to be moved around."
The living.
"That's not possible." Seungcheol shook his head. "I know how Sea magic works, she's told me before, you just told me! I saw the sea foam myself....." He wrapped his hand around shell, its sharp edge bleeding him over a wound that never healed. "How is it possible?"
"Because of that." She pointed at the crimson of his hand dripping into the golden sand. "The Sea works in mysterious ways King Choi; magic works in mysterious ways too. When Y/n fell into the Sea that day, so did the dagger, with your blood on it. Blood for blood. I believe the sea magic was satisfied."
Seungcheol felt a ragged breath leave him. "She's.... alive?"
"Barely."
The Sea Witch waved her staff in the air, making the waters rise like a screen, the evening light behind it projecting an image. It was you, sitting down somewhere on the floor, hugging your legs, softly rocking back and forth. Your arms looked a lot thinner than usual, cheeks sunken in, eyes tired and fluttered shut.
"The Sea might have spared her but the Hwangs didn't. The mission was to kill the king. Your father died a natural death and if it had ended at that, there was nothing to argue but unfatefully, before the completion of 100 days, there was another king." Seungcheol felt his insides turn. "She failed to kill you and so she wasn't deemed worthy of the crown. When Hwangs took over, their first order was to imprison her to avoid any rebellion from her side against the new kingdom."
The Sea Witch tilted her head at him, smiling sadly. "Strange isn't it? What you did to save her was what ended up being her downfall. Fate too works in mysterious ways."
Seungcheol swore if fate appeared before him right now, he would crush it with his bare hands.
"I'll get her back." Never before did he feel the kind of determination coursing through his veins. The image of you slowly disappeared as the sea witch lowered her staff looking amused. "I'll save her no matter what it takes."
"Y/n doesn't need your saving King Choi. She went to prison willingly." Seungcheol’s lips parted in shock. "Taking into consideration that you became King only the night before a 100 days completed, the Council of the Sea offered her one more chance to go to Land and kill you. She refused. She said she would prove her worth for the throne in the Sea itself. Sure she's benevolent, loves her people and is loyal to her kingdom, but the fact is that she was simply not trained for administration - she was no match for the Hwangs and so the Council declined her claim to the throne."
You refused to kill him. Again. Even if meant saving yourself and everything you cared about. Seungcheol was determined to do whatever it took to get you back. Unite heaven and earth if it came to it. Bring hell from underground, whatever it took.
"Then I'll get her throne back. If that's what it takes to free, I'll do it. Even if it means war. I have been working on science that would allow us to breath in water - we'll set sail, we'll fight, we'll free her, I can do it."
The Sea Witch stared at him, at his pacing agitated self, his mind going mad with just one goal.
"Do you know how magic really came to the sea King Choi?"
Seungcheol blinked, taken aback by the irrelevant question but didn't show it. "The Kangs escaped into it with the spectre of magic....." His eyes focused on the staff in her hand, words faltering as he recognised it from the faint drawings in his old books.
"Escaped?" She laughed without humour. "That's hardly the word King Choi - it was an act of love." Seungcheol frowned in confusion as she continued. "Though both families were neck deep in war, of all the people in the world, the Prince of the Choi kingdom was deeply in love with the Kang Princess. It was his love that brought the spectre of magic to the Kangs, allowing them to hide from battle. It was his love that stopped the war, separated both worlds and ensured peace and it was her love that ensured her people survived. Its her love that still keeps them alive even after so many years."
Seungcheol felt like something stabbed him in his chest as he looked at the Sea witch, grip tight over her staff, looking older than time and in her eyes he recognised the look he always saw in his own - a pining, a fruitless longing for the ones they loved. It was her, she was the Kang Princess. "Their love saved the world, you cannot allow yours to end it King Choi. You cannot declare war between two worlds over a mere desire."
Every bit of hope that had risen in Seungcheol crumbled miserably. "Is there nothing I can do? How am I supposed to just sit still knowing she's not alright?"
"Forget her Seungcheol."
" I can't-"
"Listen to me," She urged urgently. "If you don't bring war to Sea, the Hwangs will eventually bring it to Land. There's a reason the people of the Sea do not want them on the throne - they don't care for anything before power. The only strength the Sea had over Land was magic, but now with people here slowly discovering it, with people like you letting your inquisitiveness take over, the Hwangs feel threatened. So I have a solution if you're willing to listen."
Seungcheol nodded.
"Relinquish your knowledge of the Sea and as King, give me permission to take the same away from your people. I will make a deal with the Hwangs - your memories in exchange for Y/n's freedom."
Seungcheol looked at her with hope. "Do you think that would work?"
"Do you think you can do it? Forgetting about the sea would mean, forgetting about her too. You won't remember anything about her, it will be like she never even existed." She looked af him sadly. "But she will be free and she will be home."
Not having even a memory of you? All Seungcheol ever knew was his love for you, if he forgot that, what would he be but a shell of a man? But if it meant you'd be free, that you'd be safe, what else could possibly matter to him?
Seungcheol didn't remember much of what happened after he nodded. He rememebered thick black smoke rising above the forest right from the castle, prompting him to immediately get on his horse and ride towards the fire. It was his library. He watched the guards pour buckets of water to douse the flames but unfortunately it only stopped after every single inch was reduced to ashes. As Seungcheol walked in the aftermath, he racked his brains to remember what exactly was in here and if it truly was valuable or not. Considering he could barely recollect what was here, he figured it must not have been too important and sent orders for the place to be cleaned and the room to be redone. After all, the new queen would need a space of her own.
8 years later
It all began again the day you woke up on the beach.
The air was cool, the sand was hot; the seagulls were flying across the blue sky, the sound of the waves was like a beautiful melody – it was like a perfectly painted picture. It felt serene and pleasant and like home, like nothing could make this moment feel better.
Then you heard the laughter. A familiar, beautiful laughter and so this time, you didn’t hide.
Adjusting your red dress, you pulled yourself up to your feet, leaning against the big boulder and there you saw them, Seungcheol laughing at Kkuma as the little ball of fluff rolled about in the sand. The tightness that did not leave your chest the last eight years slowly began to unravel. There was so much happiness in his laughter, so much life in the way he chased his dog in the sand. It was like he had none of the pain that you were carrying for almost a decade.
Of course, he didn’t. The Sea Witch told you what happened, that he had given up all his memories of the Sea to save you. That he had given up all his memories of you. You knew that meant he didn’t pine for you the way you did for him all these years, but you didn’t think you’d see him so carefree. Something about the way your existence didn’t seem to even affect him sent a strange sadness rippling through you. Maybe coming here was a mistake. What if he had moved on? What if he got married and had a family? What if you returning made no difference to him? You could understand Seungcheol not remembering you but the thought of you not mattering to him anymore? You don’t think you could handle that; you should have never come here.
You took a step back and then another, pulling yourself away from there, pulling yourself away from him when you felt yourself knock into something that let out a small cry. You turned around to see a small boy rubbing his head vigorously, looking at you full of accusation. He looked young, like he was five or six, dressed in the finest of clothes, his hair windswept to the side. You got on your knees, meeting him at eye level to apologise when you felt yourself being knocked over into the sand by a familiar ball of white. Kkuma barked excitedly, covering your in wet licks, making you laugh, the pain in your heart slightly ebbing. Maybe not everyone had forgotten you.
“Kkuma never plays with strangers.” The young boy narrowed his eyes at you. “Who are you?”
You looked at him at a loss of words, when a shadow fell over you making you look up to see a silhouette against the sun. It's only when he crouched beside you that you could see all his features clearly - he's gotten a little old over the years but he still looks like Seungcheol. Your Seungcheol.
“You’re not supposed to be here. The beach is off limits.” He stated and you looked at him pointedly. Somehow, he understood the question in your eyes. “I’m not supposed to be here either but…. Something about the Sea keeps pulling me to it and I am the King so…”
You politely bowed, as one would to a King.
“I’ve not seen you around. Are you from out of town?”
You nodded. You didn't know what else to say to him. How could you explain the events of the last 8 years? Before you were taken away to prison the one thing you managed to do was get a hold of the Sea Witch's shell necklace and guided it to reach him with the little magic you knew. You knew it would bring her to him like it did to you, that it would offer him and explanation and a closure but the result of that ended up so much different than you had expected - you'd lost him in ways you didn't imagine.
After you were released from prison there was only one thing to do - get the Hwangs out of power. So you spent years assembling an army, figuring out the best way to crumble this empire when you received news that your sister was not in fact missing but hidden away by the Hwangs in an attempt to take over the throne. After you had successfully plotted and managed to break her free, even though the Sea Council deemed she was the best fit for the throne, the Hwangs did not surrender. Days and nights you battled, the sea was plagued with storms and horrifying events until finally one day, the hwangs fell from power, returning peace to the waters. It was only after you put your sister on the throne, made sure that the Sea was in safe hands that the Sea witch confided in you - once you gained the ability to breath on Land, you'd always have it - you could go back to Seungcheol.
And here you were, with him right before you, with nothing stopping the two of you from being together yet in his eyes, you were nothing but a mere stranger. You wondered if this was how he felt when he found you so many years ago, when you didn't look at him with an ounce of recognition. It must've hurt, like the way it was hurting now but it did not stop him from looking after you, guiding you, making you fall in love with him all over again.
"So you don't have a place to stay?"
You shook your head.
"Can you not speak?" The little boy quipped, earning a glare from the older man. It made you smile as you nodded. Things had not changed on Land.
Seungcheol eyes though wandered over you like he was trying to see through you, figure you out. They stopped at the shell necklace resting on your neck, one last gift from the sea witch before you left the ocean for good. On it engraved were the words,
"Till death do us part." Seungcheol read and you nodded, echoing his words. "Till death do us part."
He met your eyes and you wondered if be could see how much you longed for him, how much you missed him. His lips parted like he wanted to say something but was interrupted by the little boy standing in between, holding the pendant in his hand.
"Is this from the sea?" You nodded, making his eyes shine in excitement. "My father loves the sea, he thinks there's life under it! He keeps researching and studying about it everyday. Do you know? Have you seen life under the sea-"
Seungcheol pulled the child away from you, mumbling, asking him to play with kkuma who just refused to leave your side. You nearly smiled thinking about how Seungcheol somehow gravitated back to the waters but couldn't bring yourself to when the boy's words ring in your head.
"Father?" You looked at Seungcheol hoping he couldn't see how broken your heart was. Of course he'd moved on.
"I adopted him when he was really young. He was found abandoned at the steps of a church. He needed a parent and the kingdom needed an heir, so....." Seungcheol wasn't quite sure why he was explaining so much to you, a stranger. Something about the questions in your eyes just compelled him to.
"And the Queen?" Your fingers played with the sand, trying not to sound too hopeful.
"I don't have one." Seungcheol confessed. "I could just not bring myself to have one, I don't know why....."
His words trailed odd as he looked at you and that little smile dancing on your lips. God you were so beautiful, why did you make his heart clench like that? He cleared his throat, shaking his head.
"If you don't have a place to stay, you may stay in the Palace till you can arrange for you accommodation. I shall personally look after the necessities, is that okay?"
You nodded slowly as Seungcheol stood up, but this time when he held his hand to help you, you took it, with an unsaid promise to yourself and him, never to let go again.
You were going to make this man fall in love with you all over again. Just like he did.
#seungcheol oneshot#seungcheol angst#seungcheol fluff#seungcheol romance#Seungcheol smut#seungcheol × reader#choi seungcheol#seungcheol scenarios#seventeen seungcheol#seventeen one shot#seventeen series#s.coups angst#s.coups smut#s.coups fluff#s.coups
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Ha nerds I rise again like mold from an apple! But this time I will be truly unhinged, I’ve embraced chaos and am ready to give it to everyone by mashing together my three brain rotting hyperfixations!
Today I will illuminate the hat ffxiv Job the Batfamily have as well as what Magnus Archives Entity they would be aligned with me! No one wants this, no one needs this, but everyone will suffer with me!
Bruce: Dark Knight, come on this man is too edgy and sad to not be the spooky shadow tank, but also he’s truly driven to protect his family and will use anything at his disposal to keep them safe. Like wise I think Bruce would be aligned with the Lonely. Bruce seems to so desperately want to foster a close and loving relationship with so many people but many times can’t help but push them away and wallow in his self inflicted solitude.
Dick: This was hard but ultimately I settled on Dancer, put the pitchforks down! Dancer is a flexible and spritely class that supports its Allies and helps them to rise up to their true potential, similarly Dick’s true strength shines when he is supporting and guiding his friends and loved ones through difficult situations. I think Dick would be associated with the Stranger. Aside from Dicks background as a circus kid and flexibility that borders of contortionist horror, Dick struggles with his mailable sense of self and even a bit of imposter syndrome, this is expanded by him spending half his life behind a literal mask.
Jason: Reaper, this bitch is dramatic as hell and everyone loves him for it. I think Jason’s closeness with death, and the fact he’s way more chill about cutting a bitch, makes reaper feel like a good fit, additionally jason can get a serious power boost from the Lazarus pit at the cost of his self control, similar to the reaper class. Again staying on theme Jason would obviously be associated with the End. He’s died and come back to life and has had an unstable grasp on reality and mortality ever since.
Tim: Machinist, boy loves his gadgets what else is there to say. Tim to me gives big Spiral vibes, this boy is a sleep deprived little liar. I mean seriously he can lie to Batman on 49 hrs of no sleep and no one suspects a thing. Also again with that imposter syndrome except instead of feeling like he isn’t who he is he feels like he’s tricked everyone into thinking he’s better than he is and is just waiting for the shoe to drop. Little does he know everyone loves him!
Damian: Samurai, nothing else to say it is what it is. I think Damian fits really well with the Slaughter, he is prone to acts of violence by very little and while I think deep down he wants to be less bristled to his brothers he struggles a lot with overcoming what he’s been taught.
Duke: This one is hard for me but I ultimately settled on Astrologian. I think it works with Dukes ability to manipulate light and even glimpse the future a little so the space fortune teller class seemed to fit. I feel like it is so hard to fit a fear with Duke sense the fandom interpretation of him is that he is the most hinged, not true by the way, but he just hasn’t been as deeply explored when it comes to trauma. I think Duke is also a bit of the odd one out, he works with light and operates in the day, he has powers, etc. For this reason I think Duke should be aligned with the Web. I don’t think it’s necessarily because he is perceived as normal but it is also that. Duke comes across as the most open and normal of the batfam but he’s arguably the least conventionally normal, he just passes the best, I also think dukes future sight could be connected with the webs complex plans and long term foresight.
Cass: Ninja, obviously. I think Cass fits with the Dark really well, not just because she’s quiet and spooky but also because she was raised in cult environment! Cass is more in tune with stealth and darkness than even Bruce and she has dedicated herself to not just navigating darkness but weaponizing it.
Alternatives:
Dick: The Spiral, Web or Vast. Dick has a complex relationship with long falls and also has experienced mind control and amnesia the most viciously out of many of the batfam.
Bruce: The Dark and the Hunt. Bruce struggles with not letting his person as Batman consume him, giving up everything for the mission, his kids are honestly what keeps him from crossing that line.
Jason: The Corruption, Slaughter and Flesh: Feeling like the Lazarus Pit has changed him so fundamentally that he isn’t who he was before also the murder. Also the Buried but we don’t talk about that.
Tim: The Eye, Slaughter and Lonely. Tim has HUGE Jonathan Archivist Sims vibes he also maybe likes killing people a little to much, also sad boi.
Damian: The Hunt and The End. He’s died before and it’s kinda the same thing as Bruce where he really refers on the edge of going full serial killer.
Cass: The stranger. Spooky dancing lady go brrrrrrrr.
Duke: The stranger and the vast: Fuke standing out so much from his family gives big stranger vibes bb. Also he can fly so he’s the vast automatically.
#TMA#bruce wayne#dick grayson#damian wayne#tim drake#jason todd#cassandra cain#batman#ffxiv#Alfred transcends all fear and class restrictions#batfam
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A Wife for Thor Pt.02
10/19/2020
No Lies in a Marriage
Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,150
Warnings: angst, anxiety, panic attack, language
A/N: As I said in the post earlier today, you’ll probably see updates for this story often right now because it’s at the beginning and I know where I’m going pretty clearly and how to get there and it’s kinda just writing itself for right now. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I love writing this reader with Thor...but I think it’s just because I love writing Thor. haha If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo
You sit up most of the night after talking to David, staring out your bedroom window at the small plot of land you call your own.
Your belonging. The only true one you’ve ever had.
It’s a small inheritance, sure but it’s yours. Yours alone. A sanctuary from the feeling of emptiness that you’d once felt wishing for something that felt like home. It’s more than even some will ever have.
You’re lucky.
And now you have to leave it behind?
There’s no denying your own part in this mess. You’d been given a choice and you’d made it, believe this outcome would never come. Yet here you are, betrothed and fated to be Queen of Asgard.
David comes to help you pack because he knows that you’ll be wallowing.
In shock you pack just as asked, essentials only which means for you, only your clothing, your laptop, and a very small collection of books are chosen.
You have no pictures to take with you. No family heirlooms or sentimental possessions. You fit it all into one large suitcase.
Funny. As you pack, you can’t help but imagine the lives your nomadic ancestors had lived. Much like you in these moments as you pack what little you have of your life away; they must have left everything behind over and over in their search for their own belonging.
It only takes you two hours to pack once David arrives and together you lug the suitcase down your little hallway to the front door.
There, a beautiful Asgardian stands waiting, her eyes on your own foggy expression with slight concern as David joins her and they lapse into quiet conversation as you continue to space out, thinking about the life you’re leaving behind.
Really, if you’re honest, it isn’t much of a life.
Yes, you have your routine. This is your house. Your things. But aside from that, there’s nothing here. Nothing but independence and solitude.
That’s enough, some would say. Others would wonder what you do with all your time.
Why hadn’t you found someone to share this life with? Someone who could appreciate the coziness of this place with you.
“Are you ready?” The Asgardian asks, Brunnhilde, her voice smooth but stern, yet not unkind.
You turn to look at her, hair gathered up on her head in a large bun. She’s dressed for the Norwegian weather she’s come from despite it being significantly hotter here.
She’s not bothered by it. Or if she is, she hides it well.
“Would it matter if I said no?”
“No.” She smiles at you, cheek bones so rounded and pretty you almost want to stroke them because you’ve rarely seen anyone so beautiful.
All of the Asgardians are beyond compare when it comes to looks. Even those that are plain radiate a golden aura. Godlike. Thor’s is the strongest and he’s most certainly the most beautiful to look at.
You’d been too afraid to admit it to yourself before because you’d been so decided against marrying him, but Thor is by far the loveliest man you’ve ever seen. Ideal. He’s exquisite.
And you get to marry him. Which doesn’t exactly feel like a bad thing.
Being chosen to marry Thor would be amazing, given the fantasies you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in since the day you met with him, if not for the fact that you know he’s in love with someone else. Someone who won’t marry him. Someone stupid, obviously.
And those fantasies you’d indulged in would never happen with someone else in his heart. So without that, all you have left is duty. Duty to Earth and its people, ensuring their safety and though you honestly don’t think Earth needs it, the assurance from the Asgardians that they will respect humans as the dominant lifeform on the planet.
Yes, the whole Queen of Asgard thing is a little daunting and will probably take over your life, so you can’t blame this mystery woman for not wanting to give up her own pursuits to take care of an entire people. To give up one identity for another? Yours is close enough to blank—your life nearly empty—that for you, this might not be such a great loss and yet, this leaves you wondering what this will do for you career.
Small as it is, you’ve had two books published. Limited releases with not much traction. Still, the accomplishment is your own. One you’re proud of.
Will you have to stop writing?
“There will be a dinner, to introduce you to Thor’s inner circle. Myself, Loki, a few others that serve directly under him.” Brunnhilde is saying, pulling you back to reality.
You look around, having zoned out so thoroughly that you hadn’t even realized you’d boarded a plane and taken off.
“The only one you’ll have to watch out for is Sif. She’s usually pretty nice, but she’s a little miffed about the whole marriage situation. From what I’ve heard, she’s had a thing for Thor since they were children. She’s a fierce warrior. Might want to avoid her altogether if possible. Asgardian women can be a little territorial.”
Lovely, another rival.
“So can human women.” You grumble, already hating the looks of what you suppose will be an onslaught of distractions for your future husband in the forms of beautiful women.
Brunnhilde quirks a brow, raising it high as she considers your words but doesn’t comment further.
“He’s never seen her as more than a comrade in arms. Or so he says.” She sounds unconvinced, but you recognize her attempt to calm you.
You stare, saying nothing more as your world is overturned.
“After dinner, you’ll spend some time with Thor. He wants to talk to you a bit. The wedding will be on Thursday. Thor’s idea. Full of himself, the idiot.” She’s smiling as she insults him, flipping the page of a magazine she’d grabbed from the pocket of the seat in front of her and you realize they must be close friends.
“Did he really pick me?” You wonder, knowing that her personality will only let her answer one way.
Brutally honest.
“Against all our recommendations.” She tells you. “Most of us were pulling for the Hungarian one. She had the schooling and the training. A little too eager for Thor, or so he said. And Loki. Loki was also in favor of you.”
“Loki?!” You gasp, remembering with great detail your chance meeting with the Asgardian prince.
“Oh yeah.”
Why would Loki want Thor to choose you? You weren’t exactly nice to him. Then again, you weren’t really mean either. Just…blunt.
More importantly, after the awkward conversation with Thor and his admission to marrying despite his feelings for someone else, his choice is the most confusing.
“Why did he pick me?” You plead. “Thor.”
“You’ll have to ask him tonight after dinner. I couldn’t tell you other than that he said he wanted someone real. Someone who knew what it’s like to be a normal person. Whatever that means.” Brunnhilde shrugs. “Normal is all relative. Odin, I need a drink.”
The plane ride is over too quickly and the ride to New Asgard even shorter. The village is large but not much larger than the town you’d grown up in. Plenty of houses and public spaces but nothing like a cityscape.
You’re surprised by the more modest choices they’ve made for their homes. Simple houses with wood siding and strong rooftops.
That is, most of the village is modest. Almost at the center of the largest grouping of buildings is a large multi-storied palace.
Just as it did the first time you saw it when you’d been brought for the meeting, you gasp when you see it, admiring the beauty of the structure bathed in afternoon sunlight.
It reminds you of an old Nordic home you’d seen online only on steroids. Four, maybe five stories? All roofs are tall and sharp, parts covered with moss.
Brunnhilde shows you into the main foyer, large and tall room that allows space large enough for people to stand and chat. Here she leaves you and David with a young Asgardian woman. She looks as if she can’t be more than seventeen but from what you know about Asgardian aging, she’s probably hundreds of years old.
She escorts you both to your new room, and you and David gasp at the sight.
Even though it’s smaller than the sitting room you’d been in when you met with Thor before, there’s a large bed immediately to the right, covered in luxurious plum and silver silk sheets. A large dark brown bear skin rug covers the center of the floor. To the left is an extravagant dark oak armoire, beside it a matching vanity with a low cushioned and backless seat.
On the far wall, between two sets of heavy wooden double doors that lead out to a balcony sits a desk and another seat with a black cushion, the same style as the vanity’s chair.
There’s a low hanging chandelier made of intricately twisted wood, reinforced with dark steel. The design of it makes you think there should be candles, but instead you find it furnished with small flame-shaped lightbulbs.
Along each of the walls are beautiful artworks, one of a singular mountain you’ve never seen on Earth. Another a golden palace with a sky of literal space above and behind it. There’s a smaller painting almost right above the bed and the likeness of it is so precise, you gasp again.
David follows your gaze with his mouth hanging open a little but then he chuckles. It’s a throaty sound as he turns away from you and moves further into the room with your bag while you deposit your purse on the bed, eyes glued to the painting.
“These Asgardians seem to be experts at everything.” David says, conversationally. “Their architecture, their music, their wits in battle. It seems even their art is exceptional.”
You’re still too busy staring to reply.
When David speaks again, he’s right beside you, voice dropped in volume.
“It must really look like him, to have you rendered speechless.” He observes.
“Yes.” You agree. “Just like him. Only now he has the eyepatch. He looks the same with two eyes. Less rugged but the same.”
“And he will remain the same, long after you’ve died, I think.” David admits.
“Yeah…” You swallow, looking down at the bottom of the frame.
The thought had only begun to occur to you when you’d been making your way through the city after Brunnhilde had confessed to being over a thousand years older than Thor and Loki.
“For Thor, this marriage will pass in the blink of an eye.” You sigh, feeling a little saddened by truth of that.
You turn around and sit down on the bed, resting your hands on your knees limply as you stare at the floor.
David squats before you, forearms on his knees.
“You’re serving a great purpose.” He tells you. “Ensuring the safety of the human race. You’re the white flag the Asgardians are waving. History will remember you, Y/N. It will not be in vain.”
Your eyes begin to water, and you nod, knowing he’s right.
“I know I just…” Your head gives an involuntary turn towards Thor’s portrait, but you manage to keep yourself from looking. “He’s in love with someone already. And, yeah, I’d never thought about being with someone before. But now that I’m faced with it, now that I know I’ll be his wife—I don’t know that I don’t want him to like me.”
“He may come around.” David consoles. “You’re a pretty girl and nice, even though you bite.”
His teasing draw a small curve of your lips. The levity however is quickly lost at the prospect of your life stretched out before you, never knowing love as your husband covets another woman.
This isn’t what you’d expected. To be fair you hadn’t expected anything, but now the idea of being married to Thor knowing that he’d much prefer if you were someone else hurts you in a way you didn’t know had been possible.
This ache in your chest feels strange and vivid and unbearable.
Your tears flow. David sighs and reaches up to wipe your cheeks, pulling you in for a hug.
Taking his offered comfort, you hide your face against his shoulder, allowing yourself these few moments to really feel the anxiety and sadness this whole thing has brought.
“I’m sorry.” David tells you, his voice steady but sad. “I wish I could give you a better life. I know that this is not what you parents would have wanted.”
You pull back, shaking your head as you gather yourself. “No, David. You’ve been the most supportive person in my life. This is how it’s supposed to be. Otherwise, why would I have the ancestors I have, right?”
David sighs, reaching up to wipe at your cheek.
“Besides, it’s not like I’ll be truly suffering. Not like other people do. I’ll have a good roof over my head, food, money won’t be a worry. How many other people my age can say that?”
David’s gaze becomes skeptical and he purses his thin lips a little. “Is that really how you feel?”
“Fuck no. This whole thing is complete shit.” You argue, then laugh as David chuckles too.
“There’s that fighting spirit. Keep that fire, Princess, and you’ll find a way through this.” He says, and the way the word Princess rolls of his lips makes you feel the way you’d always thought you’d feel had your dad lived to be a part of your life.
“You say that like it’s easy.” You sigh.
Before he can answer, there’s a knock on the door and it opens.
Both you and David shoot up to your feet as Loki walks in.
He’s smiling politely until he sees your face.
“I’m sorry. Am I intruding?” Loki wonders, as you quickly wipe away the tears left on your cheeks.
“No.” You shake your head quickly, voice thicker than when you arrived because of your break down. “No. Of course not. Come in.”
He doesn’t look convinced and his brow is furrowed as he looks you both over then stands with his hands behind his back. He looks neat and exotic wearing a pair of dark pants, a black top with embellishments in stunning emerald, a thin golden chain connecting each side of his high collar to the other.
“I’ve come to make sure that you find the clothing we’ve left for you.” Loki gestures at the armoire.
“I’m-I can’t wear what I brought?” You ask, pressing your hand to your chest, unintentionally sniffing.
“Tonight, you will meet with my brother’s court. It is a formal event that you must attend wearing slightly more traditional Asgardian garb.” Loki replaces his hands behind his back. “Brunnhilde has chosen something she thought would be your color. You have an hour then we’ll send your maid in to fetch you.”
You nod.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Loki asks again.
“You’re surprisingly worried.” You tell him, David moving to open the armoire and get a look at what you’re going to have to wear.
Loki’s face quickly shifts into a smile, his eyes averted as he nods.
“I hear you were the only person other than Thor who chose me.” You sit back down slowly, your hands softly skating over the cool silky sheets. “Why?”
“You were a breath of fresh air.” He admits. “Compared to the other candidates, you seemed the only one with her feet on the ground.”
Looking away from him you pinch the plum sheets.
“Is that why Thor chose me too?” You ask, knowing it isn’t the reason he chose you.
“Whatever the reason,” Loki begins, and his voice is stern enough to draw your gaze. “I’m certain my brother has nothing but honorable intentions. He’s always been the good one.”
“I think that’s true.” You nod, “He has always been the good one, if the stories are to be believed.”
“I make no excuses for who I was.” Loki assures you.
“But I think you and I both know that Thor’s intentions when it comes to me are anything but honorable.” You smile sadly. “I really hate lying. Let’s not lie to each other. We’re family, right? Or will be.”
Loki’s look remains somber, his eyes far away for a moment.
“You’re the right woman for the job. That is the truth.” Loki admits.
“I guess we’ll see.”
Loki nods. “One hour, your highness.”
His words give you a shock, and your left gaping at him as he leaves and shuts the door behind him.
“Well, that sounded strange.” David admits, “But not as strange as this dress. Well, perhaps strange is not the right word.”
You’re still reeling from the your highness as you get and walk to David that it takes your eyes a moment to process the sight before you.
“I am not wearing that.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“I can’t breathe in this thing!” You whine, hooking your fingers into the ultra-high neckline of your dress.
It’s more like a cage, this piece that goes around your throat and shoulders. It connects to a slightly see-through bodice with soft split threads lining the length of the dress, underneath the top, silver layer is a soft pink one that stands pretty against your skin. It gives the dress depth and offers a pleasant backdrop for the waterfall skirt as it fans out around your feet.
The lattice neckpiece connects to the dress’s neckline with four stiff wire connectors wrapped in the same silver fabric as the rest of the dress.
Your hair, your maid expertly gathered atop your head, shaping it to look as much like you as it can but also keeping it contained with several silver Celtic knot-looking clips. She’d added very little color to your face, telling you that Thor had requested you look as much like yourself as possible so that his court could see the real you.
Even so, you’re overwhelmed by what you see in the mirror as you pass a particularly large one as you and David make your way to the dining hall.
“Don’t fret.” David tells you, reaching over to stop your wringing hands. “Just be yourself. That’s why he chose you.”
“So, what you’re saying is to not be myself.” You nod. “Got it.”
David pulls you to a stop, turning you to face him. Your maid, Estrid, keeps walking a bit then stops leaving you both some space.
“I want you to remember something, Y/N.” David says, low and quiet so that only you can hear him. Well, he doesn’t know that Asgardians have better than human hearing, but whatever. “These people, they need you. They need you. More than you will ever need them.
“Without you, they might have to leave Earth because Thor will never turn against the human race. I don’t know why. We’re not that great.” David shrugs, and your mouth pops open as you breathe a pained gasp.
In this moment, with David’s helpful words, you’re provided with astounding clarity.
“She’s human.” You realize, eyes watering.
It happens so quickly, your breath catches, brain in a frenzy, hands shaking, sweating, your tears flow freely.
You’ve never cried so much in your life and you understand now that this will be your new state of being because what else can you do when you’ve knowingly given your life to a man who loves another human woman which only means that she will also only live for a short time and that means that Thor doesn’t have a lot of time with her so, of course he’ll want to be with her until the day she dies, because she’s the one he really wants to be with, and you’re just the tool to use so that he can stay here with her.
What kind of life have you fated yourself to?
“Your Highness?” Estrid asks, concern painting her voice as you shake your head, too panicked to speak.
David moves you towards the wall, pressing you against it to lean as Estrid moves closer to peek at you.
“Might I be of assistance?” She offers and David turns a smile on her.
“A glass of water, perhaps?”
Estrid hurries away giving you and David the hallway.
“Y/N?” He says, voice hard. “Breathe.”
You look at him, focus on the streak of white in his hair as it falls forward to hang across his brow.
It helps and you shut your mouth and breathe in deep through your nose.
He reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls from it a white handkerchief. With gentle fingers, he coaxes your face up so that he can carefully wipe the tear stains from your cheeks. He takes a bit of the blush they’d put on you, but you don’t care, and he doesn’t either.
“What is it that troubles you? Tell me.” He urges you.
“Um…” You begin, chin quivering and making your voice shake a little. “…I-I-I don’t know how I’m going to be married to him when I kn-know that he really wants to be with s-someone else. I don’t know how…how…how…”
David sighs, shaking his head as he caresses yours. “Then you look elsewhere too. If he sees fit to be with someone else while you’re married, then you deserve to experience love too. Take a lover. Be discreet. No one will know and you will both get what you want.”
“Isn’t that wrong?” You half cry. “I mean, aren’t wives and husbands s-supposed to be faithful?”
David smiles, pulling your head down to kiss your forehead. “Then give him a chance to change his mind. If he doesn’t love you by the end of the year, then he’s a bigger fool than I already think he is. A downright dumbass.”
“I don’t like the idea of someone being with me when they don’t want to be.” You admit.
And David doesn’t need you to explain that this stems from living in the school, waiting for adoption only to never be chosen.
You’ve finally been picked, and this is what it’s for?
“Do you want me to come to dinner? I can insist on it.” He promises. “I’ll even make a scene.”
You shut your eyes and sob once, David pulls you against his chest and once more you hide your face against his shoulder.
Both of you hear her steps before you see her and yet, when you turn to accept your water, you’re frozen as you find yourself face to face with Thor.
He’s dressed beautifully, in black leather trousers, stitched with thick visible charcoal colored strips of more leather. His torso is covered in what you’d consider light armor. More leather pieces in deep gold tones except for the arms which are covered in metallic scales that shine under the hallway lights. His shoulders are draped in a floor length cape, black, thinner than the one you’ve seen him wear before.
A more casual cape, you suppose.
Both you and David are absolutely still, confused by Thor’s sudden appearance.
“I uh…” Thor looks uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he gestures behind him with his right hand, in his left a glass of water. “Estrid looked upset. She said you weren’t feeling well?”
There’s genuine concern in his voice and it surprises you enough to wipe away most of your worries for now.
“I’m fine.” You assure him.
David clears his throat. “I should go. I have my own dinner to eat.”
“No, please. Join us.” Thor rushes to invite him, gesturing back towards the dining hall again.
“No, no. Really.” David uses his hand to refuse, then reaches down to give your hand a squeeze. “Can I trust you to escort Y/N to dinner?”
Your heart swells for David, once again, the father you never had.
“Of course.” Thor nods, smiling at David before moving to you, seeing this as permission to move closer maybe? “I take full responsibility.”
There’s a twinge of bitterness in your chest, a rolling in your stomach as you see David narrow his eyes at Thor.
“I’m going to hold you to that, God of Thunder.” He threatens, and Thor seems to realize it’s a threat because he looks startled. However, he smiles and plays it off quickly, nodding. “Have a good dinner, princess.”
David gives your hand one more squeeze before leaving you and Thor to whatever awkward conversation you’re about to have.
Thor waits until you’re both alone in the hallway before he holds out the glass of water he’d brought for you.
“Have you been crying?” He wonders, voice soft and gentle. Deep too, it settles in your chest and makes you feel stupid for liking it.
“Just a little.” You admit.
“Why?”
“I’m nervous.” And that isn’t a lie. “And apprehensive.”
Also, not a lie.
“And I don’t trust you.” You confess, feeling no qualms about the shock that flits across his rugged face.
“What did I do?” He cries.
“You told me you’re in love with someone else who won’t marry you.” You sigh, taking a long drink of your water. “I’m not exactly excited to be marrying someone who already wants to be with someone else.”
Understanding shifts his expression and he nods, reaching up to scratch at the side of his chin.
“I’ll be honest,” He begins, offering you his arm as you lower your glass. “It was never something I expected either. After watching my parents love each other for many years, their marriage was something I hoped I could experience.”
“Then why didn’t you fight harder for this woman you love? Convince your court! She’s human, right? I’m sure the Earth Ambassadors would be happy to have you marry any human.” You reason, still hoping to get out of this even if the only thing you hate about this now is the fact that he’s in love with someone else.
That fantasy marriage you’d painted for yourself has taken over your inexperienced brain and planted a seed within your heart and you feel like a fool for it.
“They were fine with it. Jane is not ready for marriage and I cannot force her to marry me if she doesn’t want to.” Thor laments, truly sounding sad about her refusal.
“Doesn’t she care that you’re marrying someone else?” You wonder, watching his expression as he begins to lead you towards the dining hall.
“In a way.” Thor nods. “She and I want to be together, but Jane is devoted to her work. She could not make the time for the obligations marrying me would entail.”
“Sounds selfish.” You observe, hating Jane a bit because she has what you didn’t know you wanted. Maybe not exactly Thor himself yet, but the love he has for her.
Thor says nothing for a moment, thinking probably. He stops walking and you stop beside him.
“I would not want her to give up her passions. In marrying me, Jane would lose her identity. Which is too important to her to give up. I could never ask her to do it.”
“Because you love her.” You agree.
“Yes.”
“Which is why you find it so easy to do it to me.” You explain, realizing it as you speak it. “Because you don’t care about me. Therefore, my identity has little value. To you.”
Thor’s speechless, staring at you as your own heart pounds. You don’t know where you conjured the audacity to say the words out loud as they came to you, but they’re true. Truer than even you know.
“I do care.” Thor argues softly, looking at your hand wrapped around his bicep.
“You don’t, Thor.” You shake your head, politely disagreeing.
“Yes, I do!” He argues, this time a little more heated.
“What do I do for a living?” You challenge and he stutters, thinking hard.
He furrows his brow, crinkly creases at the corners of his eyes as he ponders.
You observe it’s loveliness. Truly a creature of perfection even with the gold and black metal patch over his eye. If he cared about you, you might actually fall for him. If he gave two shits, you might be a goner.
“Your family left you an inheritance!” He points out, as if this is what you do.
“You don’t remember?” You ask, knowing the answer. “I told you when we met, though I only mentioned it in passing.”
“How am I expected to remember then? If you were not specific?” He retorts.
“If I’d been Jane, you would have remembered.” You tell him.
“No.” He disagrees. “I’m always this inattentive.”
You laugh once, shocked by his candor. “You’re such a liar.”
“I’m not! Ask anyone once we’re seated. They’ll all tell you that I never pay attention or listen. To anyone!” He insists, and you laugh again because he’s being sincere.
His gaze is slight shock as he looks at you, then it softens, and he chuckles with you.
“Why are you laughing?” You ask him.
“I don’t know.” He chuckles again. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, I suppose.”
This sobers you and your laugh dies off.
“Can I ask a favor?” You look at him, trying to read him like you’ve never tried to do so to anyone before.
“Of course.” He nods.
“I know you don’t love me. And I know that the likelihood of you loving me at any point in our marriage is nonexistent, but I really want to try and make this marriage work. I want it to be as real as possible.
“Which means I want you to be honest with me about everything. I don’t want any secrets. I don’t want to think you’re talking to or meeting Jane because you’re acting suspicious. If you have to see her,” And he seems to understand that you mean, if he feels like he needs to for his own sake, because he loves her. “I want to know that’s what you’re doing. Please, don’t make a fool of me, Thor.”
Thor considers you for a moment, absorbing your words as you wait for his response.
Instead of giving you what you want, he gives you a long head-to-toe. “I was right to choose this gown.”
He chose it?
“You look exquisite. Just as a princess should.” He admires. “Come, let’s go introduce you to my friends.”
As he pulls you towards the dining hall, your heart begins to pound again as nervous energy courses through your veins setting your limbs to white noise again. Tingly.
“They’re all very eager to meet the woman who will be Queen of Asgard.”
“I think I’m gonna throw up.” You worry.
Thor chuckles.
“I’m right there with you.”
#king!thor x reader#thor x reader#arranged marriage au#royal au#marvel fanfiction#king!thor x reader fanfic#king!thor x reader fanfiction#king!thor x reader fic#thor x reader fanfiction#thor x reader fanfic#thor x reader fic#thor x you#king!thor x you#marvel au#a wife for thor#a wife for thor pt02#thor odinson x reader
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Kinktober | Day 3 | Hate Fucking
Character - Hanzo Hasashi/Scorpion
Hate Fucking - The act of fucking a person that you despise. Such an act is typically characterized by name calling, roughness, and immediate departure after the act.
[Name]’s nails raked across his back, leaving deep scratch marks. She was intentionally leaving them there, to solidify and mark up the man that she hated. He let out a deep grunt, his thrusts never faltering.
There was a fire in his eyes that was filled with pure hate, almost visible through his stoic expression. She was not Harumi. No, she was never the woman Harumi was. So why then, why did her lithe figure and taut pussy bring him to such sinful lustful ways? Was adjusting back to his human body means for pent up frustrations? Or perhaps his undesirable solitude? Either way, the Lin Kuei were to blame, and she was going to feel all of his aggression.
With each time he was engulfed in her wet heat, his hate for her grew stronger. [Name] would always make him cum with such ferocity, that he’d feel nothing but shame after. He could never forgive himself for trying to “move on”, especially when he failed to save Harumi. And similar hate was also found in [Name]’s heart. She despised that her own Grandmaster was using her body to fill some deep void in his heart, knowing full well she’d fallen for him a long time ago.
Apart of her sympathized with him. He’d lost his family, not to mention see his whole clan be massacred before his eyes. He was lonely. But why her? Why did it have to be her he chose to throw those unwarranted role fillers to her?
Hanzo snapped his hips relentlessly into her sopping pussy, his dick fucking against her g-spot, forcing her out of her train of thought. Her neck arched against the futon, and a blissful moan forced its way from her mouth. Unfortunately, the bliss was but for a moment before her face was forcefully pulled down and a large hand covered her mouth. His hazel eyes stared deep into her own, sending a chill up her spine. The message, or rather, the warning was clear: be quiet.
This was already an established rule in their sexual relationship, no moaning or talking. Most of the time the sex was quiet besides the sound of sweaty skin touching. Anytime she moaned, the reminder that the body he was plowing into wasn’t his deceased wife became real.
The Shirai-Ryu man hooked one of [Name]’s legs around his waist, her moan had ignited the dark lust he’d held in for so long. Pushing down harder on her mouth, his pace changed from fast fucking to slow brutal thrusts that plunged deep inside her. Her nails pushed deep into his back as her hips came up to meet him, pulling him more deeply inside of her.
It was too much for her to handle. No matter how much she tried to bite back a moan, it just came out, still audible through his hand. Hanzo applied more pressure. She tugged, desperate, weak and useless attempts to wiggle free of his grasps, didn’t move him even an inch. Her hands grabbed frantically onto his wrist, in a desperate attempt to free herself from his grip. She needed to breathe. But it was like trying to move a mountain with bare hands. She was lacking air, the pressure was pulsing into her buzzing ears, orgasm coiling tightly in her apex. Again, a pathetic, weak pull on his arms, but his grip was still steady like steel. He was in total control. With the dark look in his eyes that bore right through her, accompanied by slow intense thrust, [Name] could tell he was mentally gone. All he could think about was his hate and desire for her.
Trails of sweet fire throbbed at her clit, eyes rolling back to her head. Her pussy tightened and convulsed around him, but the face she made while cumming really did it for him. No matter how much he tried to picture Harumi making that face and muffled noises instead [Name]’s face remained. Each thrust he angrily mentally screamed ‘I hate you’. Grunting heavily, he did one final thrust inside of her, painting her walls in complete white. His cock twitched and throbbed before he finally pulled out, removed his hand off her mouth, and laid beside her panting.
Her orgasm and his hand on her mouth left her dazed and breathless. It took her a few moments for her to snap back into reality, but when she did, [Name] wasted no time gathering her clothing and dismissing herself with tears in her eyes. “I fucking hate you…” she whispered to herself. Leaving Hanzo to wallow in his shame once more.
#hanzo hasashi#scorpion#mortal kombat#mortal kombat scorpion#hanzo hasashi x reader#scorpion x reader#mortal kombat scorpion x reader#mortal kombat x reader#hanzo hasashi imagines#hanzo hasashi scenarios#hanzo hasashi headcanons#scorpion imagines#scorpion scenarios#scorpion headcanons#mortal kombat scenarios#mortal kombat imagines#mortal kombat headcanons#MK Kinktober#kinktober 2020
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Worth - A Stormlight Fic
Back at it with my Jasnah/Wit crimes. Come. Feast on my content.
Title: Worth
Summary: Set pre Rhythm of War, probably fairly early on in Jasnah and Wit's foray into romantic territory (though tbh they're early on in RoW, so this is probably like...a month before or something). Anyway. Jasnah takes a moment to herself to Think Deep Thoughts about the world. Wit joins her and they Think Deep Thoughts together.
Honestly it's just them vibing with each other for the whole fic because I get a serious kick out of that aspect of their dynamic and I really enjoy writing it. I don't know how else to sell this to you. I feel like at this point if you're here you're here for good. So enjoy.
Teaser: "Jasnah was respected, certainly.
She might even be loved, by her family, whom she loved deeply in turn.
But she was rarely liked. And seldom wanted.
When the impenetrable tides of the Cosmere pushed someone towards her like Wit, though? Someone who not only seemed to actually like and want her, but also understand her? Well, then she was only human.
Human, and lonely. So lonely. Craving things others did not seem to believe she actually wanted."
Link: ao3
Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters
Sometimes, Jasnah forgot that the world was beautiful.
Academically, she knew that it was. She understood the quest of artists and poets to capture it, just as she sought to capture and unravel the mysteries of the past. Different types of scholarship, but both worthy, she now saw.
Yet practically, day-to-day, she did not often have the luxury of thinking about it.
So much of her life had been spent inside, enclosed by stone walls, buried in dusty books, surrounded by towering shelves, not mountains. The cold glow of spheres had replaced the warm kiss of the sun for her for so long now.
She had never resented her surroundings. They had made her feel contained, safe. The points by which she might have been approached, or attacked, could be easily identified, countered, and understood, when inside. It was a controlled environment, and that was the kind she preferred.
Strange, though, that close confines should make her feel protected now, considering…
Well, it did not do to dwell on that. Besides. It was the darkness that truly conjured up those particular Voidbringers.
She gave herself a little shake, refocusing on what unfolded before her, like a masterwork painting she had been included in. A single brushstroke in the centre of the piece, an afterthought, there merely to demonstrate how small humanity was in comparison to the expanse of nature.
Her chambers, by design, did not have a balcony. The danger it might allow in had not been worth risking for the sake of a pretty outlook and some fresh air. As a Radiant, she did not need to breathe, fresh air or otherwise. And if she needed something nice to look at while in her interior rooms, she’d ask Shallan for a sketch.
Still. It was pleasant to stand out here, for a moment.
The meeting she’d attended in Dalinar’s chambers had concluded, and the others had left almost at once to deal with other business about the tower.
This had left Jasnah to a rare moment of solitude and free time, when no-one expected her to be anywhere, so she had been free to simply be where she was.
In a rare impulse, she had taken the liberty of stepping out onto the balcony, and now she savoured this small gift she had afforded herself.
She missed the peace of being alone. Save Ivory, of course, but he was as much a part of her as her blood or bones, and did not count.
Urithiru was absolutely the place she needed to be. The goal of her long years of solitary research had been accomplished. It was time to move on to the next, and this tower was its natural staging ground.
Yet a part of her wished for those days. Solitude had been her blessing and her burden, back then, but now she only thought of it fondly.
She had been free, undisturbed by others and their needs, to do as she had wished to do. She had been unconstrained, unbound, save the pressures she had placed upon herself.
The burden of a dying world no-one else had noticed or heard screaming, as she had, had weighed upon her, and her alone. Like the Herald, Taln, for all those years, she had held the weight of Roshar and all those who lived upon it. Unknown. Unseen. Ignored.
Now that burden was shared. She had others that would listen to her, that could help. A good thing. For in bearing it alone, despite her torment, her pains, and her best efforts, she had failed. Again.
A part of her missed her peace, however. There was little of it to be found here.
She smiled wryly at herself, drumming her fingers on the balcony’s stone rail.
Wit would likely have had something to say had he been privy to her current musings. Something sarcastic, yet blended with enough insight to be profound all the same.
Satisfy a chull’s most basic wants and needs - food, water, shelter - and it would be content.
Satisfy a human’s most extravagant, outlandish and unnecessary wants and needs, and they would immediately discover new ones. Most likely contrary to the ones that had just been fulfilled.
Yes. he would like that idea. She tucked the thought away to share with him when he returned. He had been gone for a few weeks now, off doing whatever it was that he did. She did not begrudge him his travels. He had to do as he felt he must, and at her side was not always where he thought he was needed.
Though she did not chastise him, she did envy him, at times. What must it be like, to have the freedom to travel, not only across Vorin Roshar, but to other worlds.
He told her of it sometimes, at her urging. He would never say what he specifically was doing there, but she didn’t much care about that. She didn’t want the details of his adventures. She wanted to know of the places he had them. What other worlds looked like, felt like, what their history revealed of them, how they differed from Roshar, how and why culture had evolved there.
Some of their most stimulating talks involved these things. Jasnah had found herself dreaming, as she had as a girl, of fantastical places that felt so tangible, so real, yet out of reach.
Wit would return soon, she believed, and bring tales of other worlds. For now, she let herself simply watch her own as it turned around her.
Thick clouds swirled overhead, like blots of ink dropped into water, expanding and encompassing. They created a cavernous ceiling so far above, making her feel enclosed, but also free.
The vastness of it made her feel small. So small. So insignificant to this world she had tried to save. Likely it neither cared nor noticed. That gave her a strange sense of comfort. It was nice, for once, not to be seen, not to feel the weight of eyes and expectation upon her.
A wild songling flew past at her eye level, sculpting the sky with its wings, trilling in warning of her presence to others she could not see.
Wind blew through the mountains around her, rising, and falling, and echoing in a song that seemed just for her.
Yes. This world was beautiful. This was what she fought for. These quiet moments. The spaces between the words of the history books. The moments no-one thought to write of, but which they lived for.
She had become so deeply entrenched in saving the world, lately, that she hadn’t taken enough time to appreciate precisely what she was saving. It was good to look out, now, to take a moment, to remember.
This was her world. If Odium wanted it, he would have to pry it from her bloody, clawing fingers. And she would not make it easy for him.
The door behind her opened, and Jasnah felt herself tense, alert. Ivory, on her collar, always keeping watch for her, murmured, “Wit. He comes to find you.”
She smiled, in spite of herself.
“Thank you,” she told Ivory, whose careful observation of the world around her, covering her blindspots, was the only reason she felt even a little safety these days.
Excitement rose in her at the thought that Wit had returned. A part of her, that quiet, cautious part that whispered always of what might hurt her, warned that her eagerness in this moment was more dangerous to her than any blade or poisoned bread had ever been.
She acknowledged that. She would be a fool not to. She was no sheltered child any longer, believing that if a person loved her, they would be incapable of ever hurting her.
Yet, for all she valued her solitude, loneliness was something else entirely.
She would be a liar if she claimed to not have felt lonely these past few years.
Jasnah did not need people. She had built a life for herself that all but ensured she would never need anyone else for any reason ever again.
But she could want them.
That feeling was rarely mutual, however.
Oh, Jasnah was respected, certainly. She was renowned as a scholar and well-regarded in many academic circles. She was sought after and coveted as a means of cosying up to political favour or power. She was needed now as a queen, a thinker, a Radiant.
She might even be loved, by her family, whom she loved deeply in turn.
But she was rarely liked. And seldom wanted.
Jasnah did not often dwell on that. She would not waste her precious time wallowing in self pity like a hog in crem. She had far better things to do with herself than that.
When the impenetrable tides of the Cosmere pushed someone towards her like Wit, though? Someone who not only seemed to actually like and want her, but also understand her? Well, then she was only human.
Human, and lonely. So lonely. Craving things others did not seem to believe she actually wanted.
At times she had felt like the last member of a dying species. Alien. Unable to properly fit with anyone around her, no matter how hard she tried.
Then Wit. Another who did not fit his world. Someone who saw her, and knew, they were of a rare kind. And by some stroke of luck they had found another like them. Two topaz spheres in a basin full of diamonds.
She felt it as he stepped up behind her, slow, footsteps deliberately loud so she knew that he was there. Then he put his arms around her, clasping his hands in front of her, holding her to him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder.
“What makes you believe I’m thinking anything?” she replied, absently reaching up and carding her fingers through his neatly styled hair.
“When are you not?” he returned, smoothly, nuzzling at her neck. Not to entice, simply...For intimacy’s sake.
She had, incredibly, found herself missing his strange little physical displays of affection while he was gone. So she allowed this. He was always more prone to such bouts when he’d been away for a time.
“Mm, a point,” she allowed.
“Come then,” he said, breath pleasantly warm on her skin, “A clip for them?”
“A clip?” she repeated, frowning.
“Ah, yes,” he said, as if he’d just remembered something. Likely which planet he was on. Literally. “A small metal coin. Not from around these parts,” he explained, confirming her hypothesis.
“And what would I do with a small metal coin that’s not from around here?” she asked, amused.
It had likely been nothing more than an honest slip on his part, a forgotten habit, but she always liked to see what she could tease from these little lapses.
“Oh I’m quite sure you’d think of something,” he said, lightly, “Perhaps even something somewhat clever, knowing you.”
“Indeed,” she said, “And what will you do with my thoughts, should I give them to you?”
“Torment them,” he said, promptly, “Twist them, and turn them, and then make them dance for your entertainment while wearing that lovely purple havah that suits you so well.”
She smiled.
“Come then,” he said, “Tell me what wondrous, profound, revelatory thoughts the great Jasnah Kholin has been thinking on upon this lonely balcony of Urithiru?”
She breathed in the crisp mountain air, and said, simply, “I think that this world is beautiful, Wit.”
Another man might have made some empty comment regarding her own beauty, which would have done nothing but put her off. Fortunately, Wit knew better.
He only rested his head on her shoulder again and said, with uncharacteristic reverence, “Yes, it is.”
“Beautiful,” she repeated, “And worth saving.”
He perked up at that, and though she couldn’t see his face, she could imagine the expression on it as he planned to do with this thought exactly what he’d said he would.
“If the world were ugly,” he said, musing, “Would it then not be worth saving in your estimation, my dear? Very judgemental of you.”
“If I didn’t consider ugly things worth saving, I’d have allowed someone to assassinate you months ago, Wit,” she replied.
“How kind of you to forbid them,” he said lightly, not missing a beat, "It’s been attempted recently, then?” he added, with an indecent kind of interest.
“Yes. Three times.”
“Thrilling. A good assassination attempt every so often does wonders for one’s reflexes. Not to mention their sense of self-importance. After all, no-one ever tries to assassinate the unimportant,” he observed.
She might have noted how strange it was that someone was pleased to have been the subject of an assassination attempt. But this was Wit, and that was therefore expected behaviour from him. Not worthy of any special consideration.
Instead she drummed her fingers on the stone rail in front of her, considering.
“I’d permit the next one to slip through my defences to keep you on your toes,” she told him drily, “But I fear if your head becomes any more inflated than it already is, it may explode and ruin my new havah.”
Wit laughed loudly at that, and in so doing yielded their little verbal sparring match to her. A token of her victory.
He kissed her neck gently, and she could feel the smile on his lips as he did so. That made her feel warm.
“In any case,” she said, settling more completely against him, allowing him to hold her more firmly against him, their bodies melding more as she relaxed into it, “I don’t think a world is capable of being ugly, Wit.”
“That, my dear, very much depends,” he said lightly.
“On what?”
“On how you feel about sand,” he said, with a dramatic sigh.
“I feel that it’s coarse, stubborn, and irksome to find unexpectedly in your shoe,” she deadpanned in return, “Based on that I think we’d get on just fine, given that we seem very much alike.”
Wit huffed an amused laugh against her neck at that. “I assure you, I would be much happier to find you in my shoe than sand, Jasnah. Far more so were it my bed, in place of my shoe,” he added, his voice deepening as he said it.
She smiled faintly. She would not object to spending that time alone with him tonight after his absence. They always bonded more deeply afterwards, and she enjoyed the pleasurable distraction it provided. A nice reset for her mind.
“Later, perhaps,” she murmured softly, “If you earn your place there.”
“You wound me, Jasnah,” he said, allowing the mood of the conversation to flow smoothly back to light, neutral ground again, without the heat of loaded implications. “You know I always do my utmost to remain by your side as your Wit.”
“You have done satisfactorily in that area thus far, I will admit,” she allowed.
He did make a good Wit, and she had employed him on more than one occasion, to the general devastation of his target.
“And in other areas?” he prompted, resting against her once more.
“Mm, I’m still considering.”
Wit smiled against her once more, then stretched up and kissed her temple as he said, “I think that you’re right, dear one.”
“I may require you to be more specific, Wit,” she said, smiling slightly, “As I’m often right.”
He chuckled, “Quite correct. In this case, I believe that you’re right in saying that a world cannot be ugly. Not in a way that makes it unworthy of saving, at any rate.”
“No,” she agreed, softly, “Especially since this world still has heart, left, Wit, and that alone is worth preserving.”
He hummed softly in affirmation, then said, “Do you know, Jasnah, I do believe that I’ve missed you.”
“It’s been three weeks, Wit,” she said drily, “You’ll notice you survived my absence.”
But she smiled, in spite of her words, and that warmth flared in her again.
She believed him when he said things like that. In truth, she believed him when he said most things. They may be convoluted or misleading, but they were not outright lies.
“And you?” he said, nuzzling at her like an axehound puppy under a blanket again, “Did you survive without your Wit?”
“Barely,” she deadpanned.
Then she softened, because she enjoyed this game between them, this playful back and forth that kept them both sharp and engaged, but she was discovering something deeper that existed beneath the surface of it. And she felt that worth noting, too.
Placing her hands on top of his, she said quietly, “I am glad to see you back, Wit,” her smile genuine. “Life tends to be more interesting when you’re around.”
“My dear,” he replied, in mock outrage, “This almost implies that I have a purpose in being here.”
“Further evidence that you don’t count as art, Wit,” she said lightly, smiling.
“ Further evidence?” he repeated.
“Didn’t we already discuss your beauty? More specifically its lack?” she replied, falling comfortably back into rhythm with him.
“Jasnah!” he exclaimed, “I worked very hard when sculpting this face to make it as aesthetically pleasing as possible!”
“To chasmfiends?”
He snorted.
“You are truly irresistible, dear,” he told her, tone half genuinely fond, half playfully wicked.
“Really?” she prompted, expecting the follow-through.
“As irresistible as a man lashed to a chull being pulled irresistibly along behind it as it rampages freely through the plains,” he said, completing the sequence of their dance.
“Chulls don’t rampage, Wit,” she said flatly.
“Well then pretend that they do. For the sake of art , Jasnah,” he returned.
She smiled, then glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes bright, twinkling. He didn’t seem offended or at all hurt by her jibes but-
“Did I take that too far then?” she asked, bluntly.
She liked that she could ask him those kinds of questions, with the knowledge that they would be taken with the sincerity she intended, and without judgement. A part of her still feared the answer.
“Not at all,” Wit replied.
Though his tone was still light and jovial, she felt herself relax again. That was the truth, for he did not tell those sorts of lies.
“I haven’t had such a pleasantly stimulating conversation since, well, since our last,” he added, and there seemed a genuine fondness in his words.
She smiled again, as he punctuated this last with a soft kiss, which she dipped back slightly to receive. Then he pulled her close, hands resting comfortably against her, chin on her shoulder once more, following her gaze out over the mountains.
They stood in silence for a while, enjoying one another’s warmth and company.
Then he punctured the moment like a stray arrow to the lung by commenting, conversationally, “Have you considered that were I an assassin, this would be an excellent position from which to stab you?”
Jasnah tensed. She did not flinch, she did not . He was joking. She knew that he was joking. He had told her, quite openly, that he could not physically harm another living person. Curiously, she believed that.
She still reacted to his words as if they were an attempted strike at her.
Then she took a breath, and allowed her shardplate to manifest around her. It was always there, safeguarding her, protecting her, but it felt good to bring it into existence in this moment.
Wit laughed lightly, but the sound seemed to be lacking his usual humour.
She turned to face him at last, sliding out of his grip. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her face with his hand.
“Always prepared,” he said softly, “Always ready for the worst to happen at all times. I know that. I know your fears, and I should not have made light of them with a jest. I apologise.”
She nodded, allowing her plate to fade back into the cognitive realm again.
Choosing to ignore the latter part of his statement, and its implications, she said, “We’re at war, Wit. It’s only reasonable to be on your guard at all times.”
Wit smiled again, that knowing, almost sad look. His hand rested gently against her cheek and he said, “What a convenient excuse that must be for you, Jasnah.”
She turned away, out of his gentle caress. Yes. It was a convenient excuse. He was getting in too close, learning to read her too well, he-
No. She shut those feelings down and took a deep breath.
He was right, of course. It was hard to trust a world that had dealt so much pain to her. Hard to trust people when they always hurt you. Even the ones that loved you. Especially those. She couldn’t articulate that to him yet, however. She was unsure if she even wanted to.
Wit seemed to sense that, and he slid his fingers under her chin, gentle but firm, and coaxed her to look up at him again. “There will be a time you can relax, Jasnah. It seems impossible to conceive of it now, but you will feel safe again. Some day.”
She leaned forwards, pressing her forehead to his. How sweet that would be if it were true. How nice it would feel. She said nothing, because she did not believe, but did not want to undermine his sentiment.
“We will save it, Jasnah,” he murmured to her, “Your beautiful world.”
She smiled, “Then perhaps we might actually enjoy it,” she said, thinking back on her earlier musings.
Wit smiled, “No, my dear,” he said, and she withdrew, frowning slightly, to look at him, “Then I will show you new worlds for you to study and learn of and feast upon.”
She smiled at that, very broadly, for it was the first time he had so directly stated, without flowery implications or vague hints, that he would like her to accompany him.
“Even the ones covered in sand?” she asked, amused.
“For you, Jasnah?” he said, eyes twinkling, “Why yes, we can even go to Taldain. If you insist.”
“I do, Wit,” she said, turning back to look out across the mountains, taking his arm and coaxing him to put it around her once more, enveloping her in his warmth.
Safety, even in the open.
“I wish to see it,” she said, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment to imagine, “I wish to see them all.”
#jasnah kholin#Hoid#stormlight archive#cosmere#rhythm of war#jasnah x wit#wit#jasnah fic#jasnah x wit fic#text post tag#long post#fic#my fic#mine#I FORGOT TO CROSS POST THIS HERE
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La Sirena - Chapter Three
Captain Swan Supernatural Summer
My intent had been to post this latest chapter update for @cssns yesterday, but neither Tumblr nor my internet at home wanted to cooperate so Chapter Three was a little bit delayed. I decided with this chapter to jump a few days ahead so that Killian was partially recuperated and able to start exploring his new surroundings. He’s discovered that his “angel” is a mysterious, lonely woman who has been stranded on this stretch of shore for a very long time and he wants to learn more about her. Will he get more than he bargained for though?
I have to say thanks again to @courtorderedcake for her beautiful artwork featured here and to @kmomof4 for being an amazing beta reader!
The first two chapters can be found on AO3 and FF.net or here: One Two
Chapter Three: A Glimpse of the Unknown
By the third sunrise since arriving on this distant cove, Killian was at last feeling recuperated enough to venture beyond the protected thicket. He'd been gratefully accepting Emma's offered sustenance and had enjoyed the few, brief conversations they'd shared. The fruits she'd brought had served to nourish his weakened body, especially after a week or so subsisting on the unidentifiable gruel the pirates had shoved at him. More so, her pleasant words may have been few, but they had helped ease his troubled mind and he hoped to entice her into talking more now that he had recovered enough to carry on an intelligent discourse.
What had brought her here to such a seemingly lonely place? Was she truly alone here or were there others living nearby? He had no inkling whether she'd answer him, but with little else to do, he'd relish the challenge.
For now, he was anxious to stretch his legs and discover a bit more of the isle he'd landed upon. Using a nearby palm tree stump to aid in keeping his balance, Killian found his footing and pushed himself fully upright for the first time since he'd escaped the doomed pirate ship. He'd crawled about the clearing as needed and he'd of course been able to sit cross-legged in the sand to eat, but standing suddenly felt foreign. His legs protested the exertion, although not nearly as much as his throbbing head. He had to pause for a few seconds to allow the dizziness to pass, but he pressed forward despite the realization that he'd likely underestimated the severity of the blow he'd taken from the ship's rigging.
It was also at this moment that it dawned on him what a fright he must look. His uniform had been torn to shreds in battle, made worse during his imprisonment, and now hung in tatters on his gaunt form. The relentless waves had shredded the fabric even further but had barely touched the dark stains. His current state was completely unbecoming of an officer but he was a long way from a tailor so he'd have to make due. He was determined to do one thing to improve his outward appearance - bathe. He'd not bathed properly since he'd departed Liam's ship nor had he shaved. His chin itched of several days' growth of whiskers and he found himself idly wondering if his lovely companion might have soap or better yet - a straight razor - in her possession.
Taking each step slowly and deliberately, he followed a narrow, well-trodden path through the patch of cycads, emerging onto a pristine expanse of shoreline. The sand squishing between and beneath his toes was warm, but not uncomfortable as he trudged toward the water's edge. He'd not yet seen Emma this morning. Perhaps he'd risen before her? He was tempted to turn back towards the rocks and search for her, but he knew she'd come find him in time. Right now, he was eager to wade into the crystal clear bay that stretched out before him as far as the eye could see and allow the seawater to wash away the grime and ease the aches in his joints.
And if the fair maiden wasn't around to see him, he could shed his torn, bloodstained linen shirt and the stiff, uncomfortable wool uniform trousers. A least for a few minutes…
The scratchy trousers were the first to go, followed quickly by his shirt. He'd not even bothered undoing all of the buttons as several were already missing. By the time he reached the water, he'd left a trail of clothing behind but as long as he was still alone on the beach, his dignity remained intact.
He waded into the surf, noting that the shallows extended only a short distance from the shore before dropping into unknown depths. At least the waves were calm as they broke against his legs. He dared only to venture in waist deep, not prepared to test his swimming ability so soon lest Emma need to rescue him again. As he bent his knees to lower his torso into the cool, salty water, he watched the little fish darting around. He cupped water in his open palms and splashed it onto his face, careful to avoid the gash on his forehead as he scrubbed away layers of grime. His wound still stung enough without introducing more saltwater to it.
He wasn't normally a contemplative person but even he had to recognize how recent events had altered his perspective. For days in captivity, he'd had nothing but time to think about those he'd failed. His crew. His brother. Himself. Maybe he lacked the necessary skills to be a proper leader. He'd sailed his crew into certain death and yet, here he was - left to wallow in guilt. Liam would have fought harder. He wouldn't have allowed his crew to be taken prisoner.
And yet Liam was the one who'd given the order to scout the uncharted island. The order had come from him. He was the Captain. Liam had imparted this fate upon them with his order…
Killian squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, willing himself to banish those thoughts. No, Liam was a good captain. He would never knowingly endanger his crew, especially not with his younger brother leading the expedition. It had been an unfortunate series of events that Killian alone had survived to lament. Fortune had intervened and spared his life, bringing him here to another uncharted, idyllic locale. The cove and its beguiling inhabitant were both ripe with beauty and intrigue.
At some point, his senses became aware that he was no longer alone. He didn't know how long she'd been watching him but he couldn't halt the flush of embarrassment from darkening his cheeks as he splashed an abrupt about-face in the water.
"Apologies," she shouted from the shore. "I didn't intend to startle you."
"'Tis alright," he replied, stupidly arguing with himself as to whether he should cover himself.
"I followed your trail from the grove," she began, waving an arm in the direction of his discarded clothing littering the beach. "If I had known you wished to bathe, I would have recommended the spring-fed pool inside the cavern as being more preferable…"
He chuckled to himself as he gave his head a little shake. Of course, it would have been… "I'll remember that for future reference."
"I am pleased to see that you're feeling stronger today," she smiled while a breezy tradewind fluttered the hem of her tunic, giving him a glimpse of her pale but enticingly shapely legs.
"Yes," he gulped, suddenly even more aware of his current state of undress. "I am feeling much better this morning…"
"That is wonderful. I've refilled the carafe for you back at the grove and brought you some fresh fruit. Is there anything else you might need?"
"You wouldn't happen to know where a man might get some new clothing and perhaps a straight razor around these parts? Is there a town or village nearby where I might find such things? My former uniform is rather an unacceptable mess at the present."
"I'm afraid that the nearest place you'd call a village is more than a day's trek up the peninsula from here and it's certainly not a place where you'd find such goods."
"Ah, pity. We truly are quite isolated here, are we not?"
"Afraid so, but you might be surprised by what this bountiful cove can provide. I believe I may be able to locate some clothing for you and perhaps some personal implements as well. Come join me in the cavern and we can take a look?"
"Ehh…," he stammered, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson. He'd not thought of himself as a prudish person but he was far from a brash braggart who would dare reveal his nudity to an innocent maiden yet. "That sounds like a wonderful idea…"
She seemed a tad confused when he didn't exit the water but after a moment, she understood his hesitation. "Ah - I am truly sorry… I have had little need for modesty in my solitude. I'll leave you be and meet you back beneath the trees in a few minutes."
"Much appreciated," he responded as she turned toward the swaying palms, all the time hearing the ghostly echo of Liam's laughter ringing in his ears.
**********
After ensuring that the coast was clear of prying eyes, Killian padded self-consciously out of the sea. He collected the remnants of his threadbare shirt and used it to give himself a precursory drying off as he fetched his trousers. He would have preferred to burn them rather than don them yet again, but with no other option for clothing presently available, he'd have to suffer and make due. He didn't have the foggiest notion of what Emma had meant when she spoke of the provisions of this bountiful cove, but he had to trust her. He was the outsider here and even though he still knew little about her, he doubted she would have mentioned anything if she couldn't be of assistance.
He chose not to bother putting what remained of his shirt back on as he followed her footprints back into the cycad grove where he'd spent nearly every waking moment since being marooned on this shore. The canopy had provided shade and shelter to him, although he was thankful the skies had been fair. He'd spent the past decade and a half aboard various ships, his leave in port usually brief so this was an unfamiliar experience for the seasoned mariner.
Not necessarily an unpleasant one though, he thought to himself as he arrived to find Emma kneeling in the sand, splitting apart a fig. She silently offered him one half as she bit into the other. Killian accepted it with a nod, popping it into his mouth before realizing she was staring at him with her intense green eyes.
"Have I done something wrong?" he queried with a furrowed brow, concerned he had offended his host with either his actions or his partially clothed form.
"No, no…" she assured him, averting her eyes with a hint of shame. "I was just admiring your pelt…" Her face scrunched in disgust at her errant choice of words. "No, that's not the right word…" She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with the proper term as Killian looked on in confused amusement. "I was drawn to the dark hair that covers your limbs and your torso… The males of my people, they simply do not possess body hair in such patterns."
"Your people don't have body hair?" he asked, incredulously, lifting a curious eyebrow as he wondered how they'd gotten to this conversation.
"Not to the extent of yours… They are able to grow facial hair but only fine, pale hairs adorn their bodies…" Her attempt to explain what she meant only began to exacerbate her awkwardness. "A thick coat of fur is not needed for warmth in our land so I have never seen anyone with such an impressive display of hair…"
"Well, it isn't really for warmth where I come from either. I inherited it from my grandfather, I believe…," he realized he was blushing while he rambled on, suddenly wishing he had something to cover his bare chest.
"Please - do not be embarrassed. I had no intention of shaming you and I should not have been staring - it's not polite - but it has been a very long time since I've been this close to anyone."
"How long?" he caught himself asking, cringing immediately as he blurted out the insensitive question. "Forgive me, please. That wasn't proper for me to be asking."
"It's no matter. We've both made our blunders, have we not?" She mused with a shy grin, the first time he'd truly noticed her smile. It was only visible for a split-second as she abruptly changed the subject, reverting back to her stoic front. "You should come with me to the cavern now. I believe you shall find some of what you seek there."
"Inside the cave?" There was a heavy dose of disbelief in his voice. What on earth would be inside that cavern that would be of use to him?
"Please, just follow me. You will see."
He might have still been skeptical but he was also of the opinion that if a beautiful woman asked you to follow her, you followed her. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to do as requested.
The mouth of the cavern was deeply recessed into the jagged outcrop, making it virtually invisible from the bay. It was dark and uninviting but as they made their way over the ridge and passed into the void, Killian was pleasantly surprised to learn that the interior was relatively well illuminated. Streams of sunlight filtered in through cracks in the cavern's ceiling and he also recognized the acrid scent of smoke lingering in the tempered air, likely residue from the series of torches and lanterns lining the rock walls that Emma used to navigate the tunnels.
With Emma leading the way, they rounded a shadowy corner in a dim passageway that became ablaze with light as they neared. Emma was only a few steps ahead of him, but suddenly there were torches roaring to life. He'd not seen her stop to light the flames, but he shook it off as a trick of his weary head. His injury must be toying with his imagination.
The chamber they'd now entered was clearly Emma's living quarters and Killian swallowed back a swell of unease at invading her private dwelling, although she didn't appear fazed. He noted its simple furnishings as they passed, this not being her intended destination. Tucked away in an alcove, he saw only a mattress fashioned from woven raffia grasses and a series of colorful ceramic carafes like those she'd used to bring water to him. She seemed to have little need for creature comforts or material goods, so different from the women he'd encountered in various ports around the realm.
"Just a bit further," she stated, drawing his attention away from her dwelling and back to the passage. He noted the trickle of water off in the distance, likely a stream or brook formed from the spring she'd mentioned earlier. They pressed forward into another chamber that again seemed to illuminate as they drew closer. The experience was a tad disconcerting to Killian but he was determined to keep his mouth shut - at least until his jaw fell slack by the revelation of stunning wonders all around him.
The narrow corridor weaving through the rock opened into a broad, expansive subterranean room, awash in brilliance from its own natural skylight which opened directly above a sparkling pool. Faint tendrils of steam arose from the surface. This must be the spring Emma had recommended for bathing and it looked incredibly inviting.
"This is the spring you spoke of earlier?" he queried.
"One of them. This is the mineral hot spring. There is also a cool, sweet water spring around the bend. It feeds into this pool as well as one deeper into the cavern," she advised.
"This cavern… I've seen others similar on my many adventures. It's an old lava tube, is it not?"
"Very astute and yes, this entire cove was formed by an ancient lava flow."
"It is quite a lovely place and I see now many of its provisions, but I still fail to see what assistance this is to be for me…"
"It was not the cavern itself that I was referring to. This happens to be where I have stored some unusual items that originated in your world."
"My world?" he asked, confused as she lowered herself to her knees and lit a lantern conveniently sitting at her feet. When she raised the lamp, he could now make out the objects she'd been so cryptically taunting him with - four large marine chests in varying states of decay.
"Are these not from your world?" She brought the lantern closer to the nearest chest. It was covered in faded, cracked leather and decorated with ornate brass fittings and latches that were marred with heavy patina. He surmised that there was once a matching padlock that was lost to time but there was no evidence that it had been removed by force. The whole thing had seen better days, bearing extensive visible water damage. Depending on how well it had been constructed and the quality of the leather casing, it could potentially still be watertight. "I find these washed up on the shore from time to time."
"They appear to be merchant chests, used for transporting goods. We had many like these on my ship, although these appear to be much older."
"I assume they came from ships that have sunk in the treacherous waters surrounding this land."
"Around this placid bay?" he scoffed. "These waters are far too tranquil. These must have traveled here from afar…"
"Do not allow the tranquility of this cove to fool you. These waters are teeming with untold dangers. Your very survival was nothing short of miraculous!" Even in the half-light cast off by the flickering lantern, he noted the stern admonishment that spoiled her visage before she hastily turned her face away from his view. She paused with a haunting silence as she calmed herself before continuing with the prior topic. "These chests, I have searched through them, though they contain little to serve my needs, save for the bits of fabric and notions. I do believe that you will find objects that will conform to your needs so please, feel free to peruse their contents at your leisure. I am going to return to the bay so I may find some shellfish for our next meal. If you need my assistance, just shout. Voices carry well in this cavern and I have excellent hearing."
She extended her arm towards him, offering him the lantern she held. She wouldn't require it to make her way out of the cave. He took hold of the handle as she pushed herself back to stand. Emma paused momentarily as Killian crouched, flipping open the latch on the first chest to uncover the hidden treasures beneath.
"Thank you. This was not at all what I expected…" he said as he poured over goods that had survived their journey well. He glanced over his shoulder with a wide grin crossing his lips, one that instantly faded when he discovered she'd already departed.
How? He'd barely averted his attention for a minute or two… How had she vanished so rapidly and so stealthily? One more mystery to add to his growing list…
When he emerged from the cavern, he sported a billowy black silken tunic featuring tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and linen trousers that were the color of the sand. He'd needed to draw the laces quite tight to prevent them from sliding off of his slender hips, but they were exceedingly more comfortable than what was left of his woolen uniform pants. He'd fretted over not finding a razor in any of the chests although he did locate a short-bladed cutlass within a chest full of treasure, likely once the property of a long-dead pirate. It didn't sit as comfortably in his grip as his service rapier but it was a solid, capable weapon. It would certainly prove useful to split a coconut or filet a fish.
He tucked the blade back into its scabbard as he caught sight of Emma on the horizon. He was prepared to thank her for the clothing he'd found, but there was something about the expression on her face… She looked worried, even frightened and she was running toward him.
"Emma? You look vexed, love…"
"Get back inside the cave!" she ordered. "There's a storm coming. It isn't safe here…"
Killian's brow lifted in confusion as he glanced skyward, seeing only a few sparse, puffy clouds against the azure backdrop of the heavens. There was no foul wind blowing to indicate an impending storm. Whatever was she talking about?
"What storm? There's no sign of rain clouds above…"
"Killian…," she pleaded, catching his arm as she hurried past him and tugging him back to the shelter of the cave. "Don't argue with me. Just return to the cavern, back to the pools. You can not be caught up in this…"
"In what?" he pressed for more information while trusting her judgement and retreating beneath the rocky overhang. He expected that she would remain here with him for the duration of this coming storm but once he was safely out of the elements, she released her grasp and scrambled back toward the ridge. "Emma? Where are you going? I thought you said there was a storm coming? That it wasn't safe?"
She stopped at the crest of the ridge and lowered her head. He wasn't sure what to make of her body language or the consternation etched into her face as she glanced over her shoulder.
"It isn't safe for you," she replied sternly. "but this storm - it's here for me."
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Day 11 & Day 12, Wearing Kigurumis & Making Out
Yesterday I felt like shit and couldn’t find enough power in me to write, so today I wrote one fic with two themes.
Percy liked wearing his skeleton kigurumi. He only bought it because Rachel was in an anime-phase and when she bought one for herself, she made him buy one for himself as well. But after trying out, he fell in love with the black and white onesie. It was comfortable, warm, and soft against his skin. It was big enough to move in it without tripping over his own feet, and he liked to snuggle in it. Also, it reminded him of Nico because of the skeleton print, so that was also a positive aspect of the kigurumi.
He felt cute in it. When he wore it, he didn’t have to be the great hero, the leader of the camp, the protective fighter, or the almost adult, he could be just himself. He had never been just a kid, he didn’t have a real childhood, but in the adult onesie, he could pretend that he was just a normal guy, who had only two problems in his life: trying to find out which university to go and figuring out how to get the boy.
After the war, he finally had time to figure out himself. He talked to his mother, to Paul, to Annabeth, even to Will, the only gay guy he knew, and came out to them as a pansexual. They were very supportive, Annabeth even offered him her help getting himself a boy- or girlfriend, but he declined. He knew who he wanted, but now he also knew he couldn’t have him without changing who he was. But he wanted Nico. Oh, how much he wanted him!
But alas, even is Nico came out as gay, Percy wasn’t his type, so the only mature thing he could do after that revelation was stealing the Hermes cabin’s secret stash of chocolate ice cream, dressing up in his kigurumi and snuggling into a pillow-fort in the solitude of his cabin. He took the tub in his lap and dug his spoon into it.
If he had to wallow in self-pity because he was dumped before he could confess his love to Nico, the least thing he could do is eating ice cream. Well, it would have been better if it was blue ice cream, or his mother’s blue chocolate chip cookies, but at least it was the good, pricey stuff, so this would do.
He was lost in thought, so he didn’t hear the knock on his door, but when he felt an intruder in his cabin, he immediately picked up Riptide. He took off the cap before he realized that it wasn’t a monster or an irritating god, but the cause of his current state.
“What are you doing here?” Percy asked with a sullen voice and ate another spoonful of ice cream. The son of Hades just stood there like he was rooted there and blinked surprised at the strange sight. It is not an everyday sight that the son of Poseidon huddle in a pillow fort in a black onesie while eating ice cream like no tomorrow. “I asked something!”
At Percy’s second sentence he came out of his stupor and answered. “You weren’t at dinner and you also missed the campfire and I was… I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine, so you can go”, said Percy pouting. “…and be with your type, who is not me”, added almost inaudibly, but not quiet enough for Nico not to hear it.
“What?” asked dumfounded and slowly walked closer to the pillow fort. Percy looked like a deer in headlights – he didn’t want Nico to know how much he hurt him. “What do you mean?” Nico crouched in front of Percy and waited for the answer. He couldn’t let himself to hope, because if Percy didn’t mean that way he thought, he’d be crushed even more. But if he did…
“I said you should be with that type of yours and let me wallow in self-pity alone”, said Percy defiantly. He snuggled more into his kigurumi, the only visible part of him was his sad but sullen green eyes.
“And why are you wallowing?” asked Nico tentatively. It was a bad question to ask. Percy straightened himself and his gaze was like the stormiest ocean.
“Because someone broke my heart before I could confess to him”, his voice was strong and deceptively calm but Nico could feel the threatening water in the air. He should have felt afraid, but the only thing he could feel was relief, hope, and love.
“You… you wanted to confess me? You like me?” asked hopefully, with a small smile on his face. Percy assumed it was because Nico thought the notion was so ridiculous he laughed at him, so he looked away from Nico to hide the tears gathering in his eyes.
“Fuck you”, whispered the son of Poseidon.
“Wait! I wasn’t making fun of you! I promise! I just… I’m happy. I lied before – when I said that you are not my type. You are. You are the only one for me. You were always the one for me”, explained Nico hurriedly. Percy tore his eyes away from the wall and looked at Nico. He shook his head disbelievingly but he could see the truth in the boy’s eyes. He loved Percy.
Percy dropped the long-forgotten spoon from his hand and grabbed Nico’s shirt to pull him close. “You are an idiot!” said with conviction but his actions contradicted his words. Before Nico could say anything, he crushed his lips tightly against Nico’s. The boy’s lips were cold and unmoving, but everything Percy ever wanted. After a few moments of bewilderment, Nico came to the conclusion that yes, his first and only love is kissing him, he closed his eyes and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. “You are lucky that even so, I like you.”
Now it was Nico’s turn pulling Percy closer, one arm wrapping around his waist, the other sliding to his cheek. The kiss was not like the previous one; Percy’s mouth opened under Nico’s as if giving permission to take whatever Nico wanted. Everything was perfect – the way their lips touched, the smell of their combined scents, Nico’s hand in Percy’s hair, his mouth on his jaw, moving down his throat.
At the feeling of Nico’s mouth on his throat, he hummed softly with approval, and when Nico bit the sensitive area, he let out a pleasure-filled moan. Percy brought his hand to Nico’s dark curls and pulled at them to make Nico come up to another passionate kiss. Percy let Nico lead the kiss, his tongue roaming in the green-eyed boy’s mouth and brushing against his teeth. The kiss was hot and wet and dirty. Percy smiled into the kiss, and they broke it to look at each other. Their gaze was filled with love and want – they needed more of the other. So, they closed their eyes again to resume the kiss. Nico wanted all of Percy. He wanted him before, but now that he could taste him and feel his body against his, he wanted more. Every gasp, every hitch of breath, and every moan. He wanted to taste every inch of his skin, to feel the other boy’s naked body pressed against his own.
The only obstacle was that damned onesie. He grunted disappointed when he couldn’t disrobe Percy, who tore away from Nico laughing.
“Hold your horses, we have all the time in the world”, said Percy to the pouting son of Hades with mirth in his eyes.
“I can’t help it. You are so irresistible and now that you are mine, I can’t get enough of you.” At Nico’s words, Percy’s face reddened but looked very, very pleased. He felt the same way, so he leaned to steal another kiss – not the last time that night.
#percy jackson#nico di angelo#pjo#nicercy#percico#percy jackson x nico di angelo#fanfiction#30 day otp challenge#Gen's Nicercy Challenge#pjo fandom
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Muse | K.T.H
Taehyung/Reader | Fluff, Slice of Life | Photographer!Taehyung x Artist!Reader
Word count: 3.7K
Summery: Run dry from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, you find yourself without inspiration and a blank page of your sketchbook in front of you. That is until your eyes fall on a handsome stranger who sees through a lens of a camera.
A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve written but I’ve felt so inspired by writers on here that I began to write again. So if you are reading this one, thank you for the support!
It was a sunny day, one of those days where all you want to do is in some way spend it outside. You had decided when you had woken up that it was exactly what you were going to do; spend it outside. It wasn’t out of your element to spend every nice day you encounter outside, since nature seemed to be constantly changing. It gave you new things to be inspired by. Yet, with work and school, finding the time to go out and enjoy yourself and create some art had became almost absent. It had started to drain you, being in a cycle of classes, work, then sleep. All you needed was a little kick to get back into the thing you loved.
You had decided on going to this park located somewhere in the middle of town. It was a few blocks down from this coffee shop you really liked that served the best muffins. It was a guilty pleasure of yours to stop by there on the way home and snag one of those pastries, whether it be coming home from classes or spending the day sketching in your pad. There was just something about how moist and fluffy those muffins were that made you want to keep going back for more.
Searching the park, you looked for a spot to sit and pull out your sketch pad. You were waiting for something to catch your eye and trigger inspiration. You didn’t necessarily need to draw what was sitting in front of your face. Honestly, you were looking for a certain feeling to pull you to where you needed to be.
Defeated, you went and sat by this giant oak tree located in a clearing, farther away from the chatter of the park. It was off the main path of the park, so no one seemed to be around it. The closer you got the more it seemed to feel like a good decision. It was quiet and had a great view of the rest of the park. You let your bag drop down your arm and land in the soft grass by the roots of the giant. You followed suit, plopping down next to your bag and tucking yourself comfortably into the trunk of the tree.
You rummaged through your bag before pulling out a black spiraled book you purchased a few months back when your other one had become so full with sketches you hadn’t had room to continue to use that one. The old one was safely tucked away at home on your desk, waiting to be picked up and examined someday in the future. The current one you had in your hands held nothing on the pages because there had been no time or inspiration to do anything with it. Flipping to the first page, you stared at the blank paper in front of you.
With pencil in hand, you let the tip rest on the paper without movement. You waited for something to strike you but again, nothing did. Sighing, you leaned your head against the trunk of the tree and closed your eyes. You heard a distant scream of some kid playing on the playground on the other side of the park causing you to reopen your eyes.
That’s when you saw him.
He stood out, but not in the obvious way. It wasn’t like he was trying to stand out. But even from the distance, you could tell he had a face that made people want to keep looking at him. His caramel skin was complemented by his dark curly hair and brown coat. In his hands he held a large camera, strap slug around his neck. You watched as his eyes scanned the surroundings and he slowly brought the camera up to his face, finding just the right image he wanted to capture.
Part of you was jealous he was able to find inspiration while you sat by yourself at the base of a tree wallowing in your own self-pity. Shaking your head, you looked down at the blank page in front of you and started sketching him. You had spent a good while at the park, and he seemed to be the only thing to truly catch your attention. You weren’t about to let that go to waste.
This was how your sketchbook started to become filled with nothing but a few pages of this handsome stranger who seemed to love to take pictures of nature.
Another day free from the stress of adulthood and you had found yourself back at the park; your eyes catching a yellow flower and finding yourself wandering over to it in wonderment. You sat down on your knees, taking your bag off your shoulder and pulling your sketchbook out. You started sketching the flower out on the blank page, a small smile creeping on your face as you found inspiration far easier than the other day.
Even with the inspiration flowing, your mind wandered back to the handsome man you had sketched the other day. For some reason something about him intrigued you. Maybe it was because he carried himself in such a way that he exuded confidence but didn’t come off as cocky. Or maybe it was because you felt like your drawings were incomplete knowing you couldn’t get the tiny details from the distance you sat at. You could only really imagine the small features his face might have held.
When you arrived home that day from the park, you confided in your roommate about the handsome man you came across and sketched. Of course, she had gotten all excited, telling you to make contact with him if you ran into him again. If you remembered correctly, her choice of words were ‘If he was as handsome as you sketched him, I would take the chance’ though you realized that in reality things don’t necessarily line up how they do in stories. She reminded you that sometimes things do indeed line up.
You did owe him for sparking the creative flow that had taken over your body. You weren’t sure if there would ever be a time to thank him in person so you were left appreciating him in your own head and thanking him mentally every time you drew something new within the pages of the spiral book in your hands now.
The flower was on the page after a few minutes. Nodding in approval of your art, you closed the sketchbook and held it to your chest. You then proceeded to throw your bag back over your shoulder before making your way in the direction of the tree you had found solitude at a few days prior.
You felt a buzz in your back pocket. Grabbing the source of the buzzing, you peered at the reminder going off on your phone. Rolling your eyes, you swiped away the reminder your roommate had snuck onto your phone before you had left to the park. It was a reminder to introduce yourself to the guy if you saw him. Sighing, you put your phone back into your back pocket to be forgotten about.
Once back at the tree, your bag was back on the ground and you sunk back into the spot you found comfortable the other day. You pulled the sketchbook from your chest and opened it back up, looking at the new addition to the book. You lightly shaded part of the flower you deemed not shaded well enough.
When you peered up from the page, your heart sipped a beat. He was back. Again, he was sporting the brown coat which you were sure was protecting him from the cool air of spring. He seemed preoccupied with one of the trees of the park, finding it interesting enough to capture in picture.
You thought briefly about setting your sketchpad down and walking over there to introduce yourself but the idea was soon discarded as you determined that you may have all the confidence int he world of your art and were comfortable and confident with yourself, but there was just not enough to convince you to speak to him without rhyme or reason. Yet you couldn’t keep your mind off him. There was just something about him you couldn’t shake, and it didn’t help that he kept showing up. You hummed to yourself and shook your head, bringing your pencil back down to shade the flower.
What you didn’t notice while your head was buried deep in your sketches was the curly haired man’s attention had landed on you.
He had been capturing a picture that had pleased him when he turned around and saw you sitting against the tree, pencil in hand, and attention focused in some kind of book. He couldn’t determine what kind of book, though you seemed very invested in what you were doing. He could see your passion from the distance and he himself was kind of envious of you. Your hair had fallen in your face and he watched you tuck it behind your ear, still completely focused at your task in hand.
Though you had a majority of his attention, his artistic mind had also noticed how perfect the image was in general. He noticed how you fit perfectly leaned against the trunk and how the tree was placed in the perfect spot where no bystanders could get in the way of the image. The tree itself was magnificent. It was quite old, he had determined by size, and the branches framed it well.
He slowly brought his camera up to his face and snapped a picture of the tree, and you. He looked down at the image he took and nodded in approval. It was the first picture he truly felt confident about in a while and he had gotten it first try, which he deemed a success on top of it.
It had been a week or so since you had found time to do art. Though you had somehow found time to escape your apartment and your responsibilities for a bit today. You had wandered the park for a little bit adding a few pages to your sketchbook before you had made your way to the coffee shop you were so fond of.
You smiled, peeling the wrapper of the muffin back so you could take a bite. It was just as great as you remembered it; Moist and fluffy. It was exactly what you were craving after a long day of sketching, along with the cup of coca placed on the right side of you. Setting the muffin down onto the plate they provided for you, you flipped your sketchbook to an empty page. You sighed to yourself as you bent down to your feet to access your bag, wondering where you had put your pencil. Finding it, you resurfaced to the table and started to put your imagination down on paper.
You heard the bell of the front door of the café echo throughout the business and out of curiosity, you looked up to see who had entered.
It was like time had stopped. The murmur of the other customers had been drowned out by the own sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You didn’t even notice your mouth dropping slightly at the person who had entered.
He looked like he always had, perfect. His dark hair falling in curls around his face, almost blinding him because of the length. He hadn’t worn his jacket today which you could only assume was because it was a warmer day, but he still opted for an oversized grey sweater. He also didn’t have his camera, but you were more than willing to bet your life savings that the bag he was carrying around his arm held the camera in question.
You were too preoccupied with him being there; you didn’t notice that he too was shocked to see you. You didn’t notice the way he paused when you two met eyes, or how his own lips parted at the sight of you. And you for sure didn’t notice how his eyes grew huge and he had to quickly look away to hide his own reaction. Instead, you just saw him turn his attention towards the barista and proceeded to move in that direction.
You shook your own head, staring at the almost blank piece of paper in front of your face unable to focus anymore. You could still hear your own heartbeat in your ears as the adrenaline slowly ran its course through your body. You took a deep breath to calm you down, before trying to go back to working on what was in front of you. Well, until you heard the chair on the other side of the table slide out and the sound of a bag being set on the floor.
You didn’t want to look up because you knew. You knew that the mysterious and oh so handsome man you had been thinking about for weeks was sitting across from you. You could feel his stare bare into you as you focused on the page at hand. You could also smell his cologne which was musky but not at all overwhelming. It was almost a comforting smell.
“Who comes to a coffee shop for hot coca?” A voice said, sending shivers down your spine at how deep and smooth it sounded. You took a deep breath and looked up at him for the first time since he had sat down moments before.
Up close, you realized your assumptions about him being attractive were very right. You realized that when he walked in the shop, but now that he was only a mere tables width away you really knew. He sat with confidence, leaned back with his legs parted covering as much space as possible. He seemed to make that chair his own and it really was a show of confidence. His plump lips held a small smirk, the corner tilted only slightly upward. His eyes were a deep brown that you felt you could melt into. And on his perfectly shaped nose, was a faint beauty mark which seemed to actually make him seem less god like and more human. Though in your professional opinion, you still found it attractive.
The worst part wasn’t that you were suddenly confronted with this inhumanly attractive male you’ve been mulling over but the fact that you were totally right before. The smaller details mattered, and your sketches were rightfully incomplete.
“I’m not a huge coffee drinker but these muffins are to die for.” You respond, setting the pencil down. You watched as he nodded, taking a sip of his coffee before setting his cup back on the table.
“I don’t like coffee either,” He said. He watched one of your eyebrows raise and your eyes zoned in on the cup at the table. A laugh escaped his lips, “It’s tea. But now I might have to go back up there and get myself one of those muffins since you’ve talked so highly of them.”
“I recommend,” You said, a small smile playing on your lips.
“You know,” He said, pausing for a second, “I’ve been wanted to talk to you for a while, but I just haven’t had the opportunity to do so.”
You felt your heart start pounding again, and just when you thought you had gotten it back under control. How long had he known you existed? You had gone to the park for a few weeks now and you seemed to always find him there as well.
“I’ve been wanting to since I saw you sitting underneath that huge oak tree at the park down the street. You seemed so engrossed by whatever you were doing that the world didn’t seem to matter to you. It’s sort of driven me to start getting absorbed by photography again. I had quit for a while and I had been going to that park for some time before and I just couldn’t get past the judgement I put on myself. But I saw your passion and I wanted that back.”
He reached down in his bag and pulled out his camera. He seemed to be looking for something specific, skipping through picture after pictures until his eyes grew wide when he found what he was looking for, “I sort of ended up taking a picture of you under the tree that day. It just reminded me to be as passionate as the girl under the tree. I will delete it of course, if you don’t want me to have it.”
You looked at the picture he had pulled up on his camera. It was just like he said, you were perched in your usual spot under the old oak at the park. The way the shot was framed was exquisite to say the least. The branches of the tree framed the picture perfectly and the way the sun peaked through them had added a really nice contrast to the very green picture. Overall, your artistic brain could see why he couldn’t pass up the picture. Your average human brain was on fire with the idea that you had sparked passion within such a talented person without even speaking to him. You also couldn’t shake the similarities.
“I love it,” You said to him, watching his tanned skin be graced with a twinge of pink. He smiled and shut his camera off. You sighed as he did, “I have to admit something to you too.”
You flipped to the front of your sketchbook and opened the first page before turning it around, so it faced him. You watched as he slowly grabbed it, his face becoming slightly pinker at the realization that his own features were sketched onto the first few pages of the sketchbook.
“I had this huge creative drought. I was staring that the first page of this sketchpad for weeks hoping something would catch my attention or my mind would drum up so cool idea to put down, but nothing came to me. I had gone to the park and sat down at this huge oak tree and stared at the page some more. I saw you. You seemed to be so sure of what you were picturing. I guess distance could be misleading, but you still were the first thing that truly caught my attention that day and I just had to draw you. I’ve been able to sketch since so, I guess, thank you.” You spoke softly, watching him slowly leaf through the pages.
“You are talented,” He hummed, still absorbed within the pages.
“I sure would hope so, I’m an art major. If I wasn’t my teachers have been lying to me for years,” You joked, “Though I probably could have done better.”
“You’re your own biggest critic, or so the saying goes,” He closed the book and slid it back over to you. He then leaned forward, looking you in the eyes, “So, girl under the tree, do you have a name?”
“Y/N.” You told him, ripping a piece of the almost forgotten muffin off and popping it in your mouth, “Do I get the pleasure of knowing yours?”
“Taehyung,” He introduced, “I’m happy to finally get to meet you.”
You were back under the oak tree, this time the leaves were finally turning shades of red and yellow and the cool breeze was knocking them loose causing them to fall to the ground. The ground had become cooler, but you had reminded yourself to bring a blanket to sit on instead of the dirt.
Your pencil danced on the page before you, sketching an individual who you could probably draw from memory now. You could remember exactly how his hair falls into his face and how the corners of his mouth turn upwards when he spots something he likes. You knew just how his eyes sparked in wonderment and where exactly that faint mole sat on his nose.
You could sketch him from memory but why would you give up the chance to keep looking at him any chance you got.
You heard a click of a camera and you looked up at him slowly from the page you were focusing on, a huge smile gracing his face making him seem almost childlike. You raised an eyebrow at him, and he plopped down on the blanket next to you, peering at the paper in front of you.
“Don’t you ever get tired of drawing me?” Taehyung asked, meeting your eyes. You could feel your pulse quicken. You had known this man for seven months now and you still couldn’t get over how your body reacts to the way he looked at you.
“Don’t you have a billion pictures of me on that camera of yours?” You asked. He licked his lips and looked away knowing damn well he did have many pictures of you on his camera and you had proven your point.
He then looked back into your eyes, “So, girl under the tree, is there any way I could talk you into kissing me on the lips right now or is it too much to ask?”
You rolled your eyes at him and pushed his chest away from you. He chuckled and turned back towards you, eyes finding yours again. He slowly closed in the gap between the two of you and placed a soft kiss on your own. Even the smallest thing could make your heart soar. If there was any problem, it would be that you were absolutely and utterly engulfed in everything that Taehyung was. He was genuine and passionate, and it fueled your own drive. You both fed off each other’s energy and to be honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Just go take pictures of something,” You mumbled, his face still inches away from your own. He cracked a lopsided smile and backed away, pushing himself back off the ground and putting his camera back around his neck.
“Don’t miss me too much,” He teased, and you were just happy that he had turned around quick enough he couldn’t see the red in your face because the last thing you needed was another reason for him to keep flustering you.
#bts#bts oneshot#bts preferences#bts fanfiction#kim taehyung#taehyung#bts kim taehyung#bts taehyung#bts v#v#bangtan boys#bangtan sonyeondan#bangtan#bts one shot#bts writing#taehyung x reader#bts au#katewrites#katewritesbts#Muse#Muse!Taehyung
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A Work In Progress: Memory in G Minor
A lil Bellow Diamond snippet that fits in with the events of my stories from bellow week but after the movie(though it doesnt matter much) Also my beta reader left the country so excuse and mistakes.
~~~~~~~~~
Another day on Homeworld in Era 3 started as it typically did in the confines of Yellow Diamonds palace, with the low hum of machinery and the clinking and clanking of metal.
Though it was no longer the hum of large scale weaponry, or the clinking and clanking of metal plates being constructed into battle ships.
Now it was just Yellow herself, alone in her personal workshop, a place nearly abandoned after the end of Era one. There simply hadn’t been the time, between the other diamonds courts and her own she was mildly surprised she hadn’t cracked under the strain. A burden made all the more apparent by the sudden surplus of free time she suddenly had.
There were still things to see too but it was nothing like before and for as much as she knew Steven did enjoy spending time with them, she was well aware that he had his own life to live on Earth and that the three of them, especially White, could be a little much.
She was resolved to try and respect that.
They had Spinel with them now but they all still needed time apart, herself especially. There was only so much of White she could handle in any given rotation.
Thus how she had rediscovered her workshop, the place limb enhancers, destabilizers and rejuvenators had been birthed.
She now felt some modicum of shame at the last two, but there was no use wallowing in past mistakes. It was what had been required of her at the time.
She was however reminded of the great pride she felt whenever pieces slotted together and worked as they should, a fulfillment she had felt long ago, when she was a much younger gem. A time before she had conquered her first planet, a time before Pink or even Blue had existed.
Now, when she wasn’t needed or in the presence of her fellow diamonds she retreated to her workshop for quiet and solitude.
A small concentrated zap of her powers soldered two plates of metal together, connecting their circuits. Yellow hummed to herself as she inspected the tiny circuitry with a critical eye before nodding to herself as she slotted the new piece into place in the circuit board.
Her newest project was something she had wanted to work on for a long time, a very long time. It was only now that she finally had the chance. It had been in the works for several months and she was very nearly finished with it now.
It had been so long and yet her hands moved as though it had barely been a rotation since last she had tinkered with the tools strewn about the table.
Her gem would glow periodically as she infused her power into the small circuits, hopefully ensuring it would do what she had planned for it to do.
She was so absorbed in the small device in front of her that she didn’t even notice the pneumatic hiss of the workshop doors.
Brows furrowed in concentration as she worked a small part into its rightful place between a set of metal prongs.
“So this is where you’ve been.” A melodic voice at her back broke the silence, making the golden gem jerk up in surprise.
“Blue!” Yellow nearly yelped, turning to her azure counterpart, standing their with a small smile on her lips. “What are you doing here?” She turned around fully to face her.
“Looking for you of course, darling.” She said as her eyes roamed around the workshop and the many partially completed projects from eons past. “I had forgotten this place even existed.” She admitted, openly admiring the many devices hanging from the walls
“I nearly did as well.” Yellow admitted, rolling her shoulders, only now realizing how long she’d been hunched over the work table. “You’ve grown tired of White and Spinel’s company already?” She cocked a brow.
“The two of them are completely engaged in one of Spinel’s games so I thought I might come keep you company for a while, if you don’t mind that is.” cobalt eyes settled back on her, a soft smiling pulling at her lips.
“You know I don’t, though I doubt you’ll find my work of particular interest.” She turned back to her current project, well aware of Blue peeking around her shoulders, gazing down at fist sized cube Yellow held gently in her hand.
“The things you come up with are always interesting.” She assured, brushing her fingers through stiff golden hair teasingly.
“I think you mean deadly.” Yellow grunted, twisting a small bolt in place with a satisfying click.
“Well, some of them have been that, certainly.” She agreed, moving to the side to better view her love at work. “That doesn’t lessen the brilliance or ingenuity.” She insisted.
Molten gold eyes slid to regard her from the corner of her eye for a brief moment.
“You flatter me.” She said in a deadpan voice, though the subtle upturn of her lips held a different tone altogether.
“I do try.” She admitted with a small grin. “So, what are you working on?” She turned her gaze back to the device that enviously held her lovers attention so strongly.
“I can’t say.” Yellow said after a long moment, turning to look at the perplexed look on Blue’s face. “It’s a surprise.” She finally said, a certain look in her diamond shaped eyes.
“I don’t care for surprises…” Blue crossed her robed arms, a pout settling on her face that made Yellow snort in amusement.
“Be that as it may you’ll have to wait just the same.” She went back to fiddling with the device, well aware of the look Blue was giving her.
“Very well.” She acquiesced. “Keep your secrets, I simply came to keep you company.” She flipped a hand nonchalantly as she sat in the chair near the bench but Yellow knew better. It was eating her up.
In the ensuing quiet she was able to concentrate again on the task at hand, completely forgetting about her counterpart watching her quietly as she cut and molded pieces to fit her needs.
She wasn’t sure how many cycles had passed when she finally stood up straight, holding the completed device in her hands.
“Are you finished?” She nearly jumped when Blue spoke.She had all but forgotten of her fellow diamonds presence.
“I am” Yellow turned to face Blue and her curious expression, holding out the device on her upturned palm.
“For me?” Blue blinked back at Yellow in surprise.
“For you.” was all the other diamond said.
Reaching out carefully Blue plucked the device from her lovers hands. It didn’t appear to be anything special. A small metal cube, with deep lines carved across every face, meeting at a small crystal at the center of its top face and a diamond shaped button on it’s left face.
Blue glanced up at her companion who gave an encouraging smile before Blue pressed the button.
Yellow light glowed in the crevices that lined the device on every side, reaching up and lighting the crystal at its top.
Yellow, needlessly, held her breath.
Blue waited and it seemed like nothing was going to happen for a moment, just as she was about to turn back to Yellow did she hear it.
It started quiet at first, a soft, almost humming melody.
A song.
Wordless and quiet but growing stronger and louder till the beautiful lilting melody filled the air around her.
It was beautiful and there was something eerily familiar about the sound of the singer. It most certainly wasn’t Yellow or White, both were incapable of such quiet singing.
The voice pitched to another note and realization smacked Blue so hard she thought her gem might crack.
“Pink…” The name ghosted across her lips unbidden. It was Pink singing. Blue remained mesmerized by the boxes song as Pinks long absent voice crooned in delicate, wordless notes before the song faded out and the crystal went dark.
Watery ocean eyes looked up at Yellow in silent question.
“This…” she started, cupping her hand beneath Blue’s still clutching the small device “...is something I began working on when we first gave Pink the Earth. I knew how much you missed her and I wished to ease it.” She explained the boxes purpose. “It was forgotten in the wake of the rebellion and...other things.” She trailed off. None of them particularly liked talking about Pinks fake shattering.
“Why now?” Blue glanced down at the device before looking back up at Yellow.
“It seemed like you could use it now, now that the memory isn’t so... painful.” She gave an awkward little shrug.
“However did you make it sound like her?” Blue marveled at the little metal box.
“It doesn’t sound like her, it is her.” She sniffed. “We didn’t have any recordings of Pink singing so I built this, to access and record audio memories from a gem. I simply used my own” She explained to her amazed counterpart.
Blue stared down at the box clutched in her fingers before looking back up at Yellow.
“This is… your memory of Pink singing?” She asked slowly once the implication of what Yellow was saying sank in.
“It is” Was the simple answer. Blue clutched the box close to her, as if it hadn’t already been precious before. A small piece of Pink returned to her, through her darling Yellow.
“It’s wonderful, Yellow.” She smiled despite the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she leaned against the other diamond. “Thank you.” She pressed a kiss Yellow’s cheek.
“Anything for you, Blue.”
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Hi! Congrats on the college professor! I'm starting a PhD myself and am always happy to see people succeed in academia! But that's not why I am submitting my request. I would love to read some headcanon on Team Neoborg, their habits and individual relations, if it's not too much. :> Thanks a bunch! I enjoy scrolling through your tumblr a lot!
Mod Note: Congrats on getting into a program!!! That’s such an amazing accomplishment and I hope it’s everything you want/need it to be. You are going to do something wonderful - I just know it. Now let’s talk about our favorite Russian dumpster fires.
When we see the Blitzkrieg Boys in the media, they are often portrayed as stoic, hands-crossed-over-the-chest, strong-and-silent types that always seem to be in solitude. Even on their private plane that takes them to their international matches, they’re just sitting in a dark and poorly lit body of the plane completely silent and not even looking at one another. On the surface, this might imply that they never speak to one another and are simply together for the sake of the tournament, but in truth, their ability to sit in silence comfortably reflects a very deep sense of empathy and trust everyone has. Someone like Spencer might be well attuned to Tala’s feelings and the small habits Tala tends to adopt whenever he is feeling anxious. For example, Spencer might see that Tala is gripping his arms while they are crossed, implying that his mind is in a very stressful space, thus causing him to react physically. Spencer then might embrace silence just to give Tala a chance to think through everything that’s bothering him.Meanwhile, someone like Bryan is also attuned to Tala’s subtle habits that form from specific emotions, but his method is addressing the situation is completely different. Bryan is invasive. He thinks that conversation is a distraction. He’ll be the first to break the silence and say something, if only to get Tala to think about something other than his current issues. Sometimes Tala does snap at him, but Bryan would rather take the temporary heat than let his best friend and teammate wallow in their own misery any longer. Although Tala might actively express annoyance, Bryan always finds a way to laugh it off. In truth, Bryan’s carefree and abrasive attitude sometimes relieves Spencer, because Bryan is able to intervene and make an impact when Spencer feels like he cannot. Both Bryan and Spencer are aware that Tala does not talk about his feelings whatsoever and especially in the presence of Kai, they will not say anything that will force Tala to emotionally expose himself.
Kai stands out like a sore-thumb within the team. Everyone is aware of his skill, but they do not trust him by any means. It’s an interesting relationship, because although they respect and understand Kai’s constant need to look out for himself and be the best, they are also overly cautious, because if Kai could betray his own team...then he has the potential to do the same to them. Tala doesn’t really care about those kinds of concerns. He knows Kai’s intentions and why he’s here, so he knows that if Kai does drop the team, it’s not like he intends to sabotage them in any way. Kai doesn’t make much of an effort to really be a team player due to being hyper-focused on his own goals. However, it is Bryan that ultimately tries to make Kai feel and be included. In the series, we see these one-liners that Bryan exchanges to Kai and many of them are casual and playful remarks that attempt to disarm our favorite stoic punk. Bryan doesn’t exactly intend to embrace Kai as a new best friend, but he wants someone on the team that he can at least be comfortable around, thus his desire to get close. Bryan does get physical with Kai through playful mannerisms like putting his arm around Kai’s shoulder, or even gently punching his arm when they speak. These mannerisms are meant to test Kai, to explore his boundaries, and to get an idea of his reactions. Bryan has always been (and continues to be) a boundary pusher, so the more Kai gets angry, the more amused Bryan gets to continue with his actions.
After the events of G-Rev, I do see members of the Blitzkrieg Boys developing a level of sympathy for Kai. They weren’t too crushed about losing the tournament and they were pretty happy that Boris got the punishment he deserved. When they returned to Russia, everything was working out for them and they became very engaged with their community, but it almost felt like Kai got the short end of the stick. After seeing how hard he worked to climb to the top only to lose it all, they were able to relate that to their own experiences. They worked hard and without much validation, because they always had one another in the end. Kai, despite his history with the bladebreakers, was ultimately willing to sacrifice that for some kind of validation and success. Kai does become a powerful businessman, but it was so evident that he was empty inside. I imagine that after everything was over and some years had passed, someone like Tala would reach out to Kai again. Tala isn’t usually the type to make the first move about anything, but through his engagement with community members, he was able to gain a few life lessons in regards to leadership, responsibility, ownership, impact, etc. Kai was never seen as someone who he could easily dismiss or leave behind. There was something pretty powerful there. At one point, these two did in fact need each other. Although the stakes are no longer the same, those emotions have not been discarded. Tala’s intentions when reaching out are genuine, but someone like Bryan would be more excited to see Kai again after all that time. In fact, the first words from his mouth could be complimenting Kai on his strength and how he remembers how amazing he was in his last official match. Those words would honestly hit Kai pretty hard. Everyone’s been so afraid to speak about that day, but Bryan brings it up so easily and doesn’t even insult him. That should say a lot since he’s so antagonistic. Despite the initial distrust, Kai was apart of their history and that does speak volumes to a team that only clings to familiar faces.
Many of the members of the Blitzkrieg Boys are seldom ever apart. Granted, they do have their times when they wander off. Spencer might want to sight-see or gets lost in his thoughts, Bryan might be off looking for trouble, Tala might need some space to think strategies through, and Kai is just...Kai. But ultimately, everyone’s aura is interwoven and they always find a way to come back to one another. They have accustomed themselves to sleeping and occupying very harsh and unfavorable conditions. Sometimes, the only thing they could do was sleep on the floor and sometimes the only warmth they received was from the sleeping body next to them. They have conditioned themselves to find comfort and ease through one another’s presence, thus making companionship a necessity for relaxation, survival, and a sense of home. Even someone like Kai is drawn into this un-explainable need to be around his teammates or else he can’t get any rest. They usually don’t have individual rooms and often sleep in the same space (and even sometimes the same bed to save money on hotel fees). Although this through someone like Kai off at first, he never complained. Somehow, despite the chaos that sleeping bodies can impose, they always managed to leave room for him.
#beyblade#beyblade imagine#blitzkrieg boys#kai hiwatari#tala ivanov#yuriy ivanov#bryan kuznetsov#boris kuznetsov#spencer petrov#sergei petrov#headcanon#Anonymous
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Put Me Back Together
Grizzam Reunion Fic
Another one...bc there are a good handful of amazing reunion fics from our talented fandom writers.
Disclaimer...it started as one thing and then grew into this monster a crazy thing that’s probably all over the place but c’est la vie...so here it is people. From the depths of my unfinished drafts list to you. I just Thank the Lord it’s one more unfinished work finally finished.
LOWKEY NSFW and some trigger warning for brief suicidal ideation.
============================
When Grizz returns, it’s to an angry and chaotic New Ham, now under moronic leaders puppeteered by a literal psychopath, Allie and Will in jail, his friends manifested into some modern type gestapo and his relationship with Sam as uncertain as the future of New Ham.
Threat of burning into ash is strong and imminent.
He longs to march straight to wherever Sam is, start anew from where they had left off that day he decided to put down his hurt and pride and promise Sam he’d return. Wants to steal him away far from everything and into the woods. But he heads instead for the long trek to the other side of town towards his childhood home, empty and unused since New Ham happened.
He ignores how his lips still smart from their last kiss in the clearing by the woods, so sudden and ending too quick. Ignores how he can still feel Sam’s hot breath, hurried and aching against his neck, hear the quiet whimper when he hugged back, tight, that almost made him fuck it all and stay.
Almost.
But he can’t. He won’t. He mustn't.
Eden has arrived and Sam needs to step up to necessary obligations. Put all focus on keeping some semblance of peace and safety for his family. Becca needs him more. More than Grizz believes he does. Because he does not fit into the equation that is Sam’s life now.
Grizz had promised to come back safe, he did, but nothing more.
Perhaps if Campbell wasn’t sitting on the throne, orchestrating their little world to fall into rubbled ruin....
But things are different now then they had been two weeks ago. So much, too much has transpired.
A new born baby, a young mother and the possibility of everything ending in violent dissonance trumps romantic love.
Because it’s love for Grizz. For years, even from afar, it’s always been love.
Others would argue it was infatuation or some concentrated form of obsession for the forbidden. But you don’t ache like Grizz did or know for certain without hesitation you’d step into the line of fire if ever Sam’s life was in question if it wasn’t love. He would have sacrificed everything if it meant Sam would hurt a little less.
And that one night that had been so perfect he had stayed awake, his eyes wet long after Sam fell asleep, happy and sated, his head nestled close into Grizz’s chest. Stayed awake, tracing sonnets onto Sam’s arm in the dark, because he lacked the courage or his own words to say I love you in the light.
Even if the gnawing sting from his chest to his throat does not ebb after his fifth shot from the secret reserve in the bottom drawer of his dad’s home office. Even if the pain that pricks his eyes and makes his nose run wants to rip him in two when his mind clears once again from the haze and he’s left with nothing but a quiet that screams and won’t let him sleep.
And when he does it’s always filled with brilliant blues, freckled skin that tasted of salt and cinnamon, strong limbs tangled with his and a “Come back to me” whispered in his ear.
==========
A couple weeks pass and he’s proud of his resolve.
Though there is a small part that thrums with an ache. Wonders where Sam is, how the baby and Becca are doing. If she has the same brilliant blues of her father’s. Wonders why Sam hasn’t tried to contact him. He is quick to tamp it down and bury it deep with earth and cement.
He keeps his head low. Stays home if he can help it, only ever venturing into town when summoned by the current counsel to report about there findings. He and the explorers inform with vagueness, a silent understanding and agreement to not divulge everything to the coup government.
Because something is brewing. It is with lack of words or official declaration, but the air is thick with promised revolution. If Campbell knew this he had yet to act. But it was a matter of time before everything would come to an angry and bloody head.
And there will be bloodshed. It’s certain when Campbell has an artillery to his disposal of almost half of the town’s confiscated guns. If only Allie had destroyed them all.
But there was a lot of things Allie should have done.
It would be a matter of time before plans materialize and a new leader defacto arises among the rebels to free Allie and Will and save New Ham.
Matter of time.
But for now he’ll be a coward. He’ll turn from the pointed looks Gwen and even Gordie keep giving him. Refuse to open or read the growing ignored texts from the explorers and the committee for going home after catching them in a huddle one day hearing “Grizz” and “leader” among the heated but hushed exchange. Because for once he wants to be selfish.
Wants to wallow and be miserable and miss Sam and forget everything that has to do with starving to death, trials and killings, and growing up.
==============
Week three begins and a brief snow storm falls, turning into sleet and icy roads. Activities lessen, tho the garbage piles still grow in heaps across town. The cold giving small mercies as the stench is not as potent if it had been under smoldering heat of summer. Everyone stays inside with the roads becoming dangerous to even walk the small distance from home to the cafeteria.
No one thinks to salt the road. But there’s not much thinking done under the new regime. At least for rational decisions that will benefit and keep the town afloat.
Grizz is forced to venture into town. His food rations had gone down considerably low and he needs some type of ointment for a stubborn cut he’d acquired from the expedition that has turned into a rash on his forearm.
He laughs, the sound maniacal and foreign. This human thing to want to survive and live, despite the times when he’d flirted with dark thoughts. Skimmed his fingers against the plastic, orange containers in his mother’s vanity cabinet. Solitude can be loud in letting monsters you never knew you had take havoc. Can be frightening in it’s influence. But he could never do that to Sam.
He’d promise he would come back. Even if he had to stay away.
=============
Its a slow and bitter cold walk as he inched his way to the nearest store, hoping the free for all terms Harry has laid out to the people hasn’t already depleted there food reserves. He’s careful not to slip and bash his head on the iced concrete below, but the harsh wind is a welcome distraction from cabin fever. He also admits to the sudden sharp want that perhaps he might see Sam today.
His head falls down quick onto his chest as he submits to an almost frenzied energy. It’s chanting incoherent nothings, forming into images of Sam’s lips on his. He can almost taste him.
Fuck it all to hell because he needs to see him.
As his feet move by some force that’s tethered to the direction of Allie’s, a pained almost animalistic cry cuts through the air and a thud as something or someone falls fast and hard on the icy ground. He thinks he hears a crack on impact.
His head turns so quick towards the fall, he almost snaps his own neck, eyes blurred against the flurries from the sky.
The figure is laying on its side at the bottom of the steps leading to the loading dock of the convenient store. Its unclear who at first, but it’s favoring its right arm, cradling it against their chest, their head curled into itself.
When he sees the rust red hair against the garish white, curls peeking through a dark green hood, he knows its Sam. He almost takes a fall as he runs with a speed that threatens to pummel his ribs into his lungs, needling cuts into his already cold, dried and split lips.
Please be okay, the thoughts taste acrid and sour.
He skids to a stop and lands on his knees, immediate in taking Sam’s hooded head into his lap. He’s gentle but shaking, trembling hands cup Sams face, thumbs soothing against cheeks frozen and pale. The smaller boy is unusually quiet, no wails of pain. Its more choked and gutteral, broken hitches of breath, his eyes shut tight, jaw tense and clenched.
“Baby!” he gasps “ I’ve got you--Fuck!” his lips against Sam’s furrowed forehead. One hand moves down the line of Sam’s bent and cradled arm to see if he can feel exposed bone. Sam winces sharp against the pressure but Grizz feels nothing although its hard to be sure against the layers of coat.
“I’m here now, it’s gonna be okay” he whispers against Sam’s temple.
It’s futile assurance. But he needs to hear it out loud.
Then he feels a sticky wetness against his lips.
It’s blood.
He blanches but swallows his panic, lifting the hood and combs back hair with a finger to see it’s but a small cut. He wipes the red from Sam’s hairline and from the corner of his mouth into the snow by his thigh, then moves one hand to feel into Sam’s hood and the underside of his head. He steels himself but his fingers feel only matted curls.
He breathes, pressing once again his lips against Sam’s forehead. Sam has yet to open his eyes, but he’s leaning his head into the kiss.
He lets out a pained sigh, “Grizz?”
And Grizz almost weeps.
He tighten his grasp on Sam’s face, gives him another kiss, firm and on his cheek and moves himself back on his haunches.
He squat and his thighs strain as lifts Sam to a sitting position, gripping the underside of Sam’s uninjured arm and holding steady over his bent one.
He waits against Sam’s back when Sam breath becomes more labored and heightened. Grizz sooths his fingers against Sam’s waist and can feel Sam’s stomach move in sporadic spasms.
They need to get to the hospital now, but Grizz realizes that Allie’s house is closer, hoping to God someone will be there, preferably Gordie or Kelly.
Gripping his back and the underside of Sam’s uninjured arm Grizz hauls him up as gently as he can, gritting his teeth to the pained hiss from Sam’s twisted mouth. They stand for a minute, Sam’s back flush against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around his waist. Then he feels Sam nod twice against his chin, a small but brave sign and his heart is so full for this boy.
He maneuvers himself to Sam’s side, tucking with one hand Sam’s head into the crook of his shoulder, the other still wrapped around Sam’s back and holding firm, Sam’s bent arm against his chest. With careful steps he leads them both towards Allie’s.
============
It’s a long walk as he tries his best from moving too quickly as to keep from hurting Sam more, the only sound is the wind that’s grown angry and harsh, whipping the loose strands of his hair from its topknot hold into his stinging eyes, and Sam’s low whimpers he can feel the younger boy is trying to hold back.
There’s also a small feeling of shame. Perched itself in the corner of his eye, shaking its judgmental finger in his periphery.
Because it feels entirely too good to hold Sam again.
The panic and the fear of the moment is gone and now he’s drowning because Sam is in his arms and the universe would have to pull tooth and nail to get him to let go.
He looks down when he feels a movement against his neck. Tears have fallen now, a blue gaze is looking back at him, dull but coherent.
And he has to summon some unearthly strength from reaching down and touching lips against lips.
So he faces forward, blinks hard against the telltale pricking of his eyes, tightens his grip on Sam as they walk onward, a hand cradling Sam’s cheek against his chest and tells his heart to fucking stand down as Sam nips at the knuckle of his thumb that has somehow found its way to his lips.
============
The house is empty as they pass through the foyer and God he had missed this place. It’s warm and looks as it had more than a month ago before the coups and expeditions and heavy things like Sam being a father.
He brings Sam to sit on the weathered leather couch closest to the living room archway and motions for him to stay. He’s relieved Sam’s breathing has evened and a warm blush has crept on his cheeks as well as a redness to his lips.
Lips so lush and taunting, he finds himself moving closer and closer for a stuttered minute.
But he forgets himself.
With Sam he’s come to realize he always will, because the circuits in his brain backfire and synapses no longer synapse and he’s mush. Pathetic gooey mush.
He can’t help it.
Like he even wants to.
So he forces himself to remember.
Remember Sam is hurting something awful and he needs to prioritize and compartmentalize. Needs to go find the first aid kit and text Gordie or Kelly to get there as soon they can. He knows the basics of splinting a break if there is even one, hoping again to God there is none, but he needs help.
Turns from the flash of disappointment that flits through Sam’s eyes as he heads towards the kitchen. Pays no mind the feel of Sam’s gaze following him, burning into his back through so many layers until it reaches skin that’s grown coal hot, marked with memories of tongues and teeth. He almost moans as he grips the edge of the kitchen counter, willing himself to stop.
Now is not the fucking time.
It’s a quick search when he finds the a large first aid box in the wood framed glass case by the fridge. He grabs it and hurries back.
Hurries back to something so precious he both wants to swoon and go “Awe” with the same lilt he once heard from Bean after she’d found a baby orphaned squirrel near the football bleachers at school.
Sam has laid himself back, clutching his right arm tight, like a cocooned little thing. His shoes are now off, polka dotted socked feet propped up on the coffee table, and his long lashes against freckled cheeks with his mouth in a pout.
Grizz is sure he’s grinning like fucking goon, but he’s feeling all soft from the lightness he hasn’t felt for a long time that wants to swallow him whole and he’s okay with that.
“Stop standing their like a creeper and come fix my arm..it still fucking hurts”.
Grizz starts, a piece of errant hair falling in front of his brow, and brushes it back, a nervous tick that always seemed to appear whenever Sam’s around. The boy in question is squinting back but there’s a quirk to his lips and the crinkled lines are showing in the corners of his eyes.
Grizz shuffles forward, with a rolling of his own and slowly helps Sam back up, propping him with several couch pillows as Grizz settles himself on the edge of the coffee table, the first aid kit by his side.
He taps his finger on Sam’s chin when the younger boy’s gaze gets preoccupied in following the movements of his hands and an almost glazed hungry look stares back at him, lips slightly parted.
Lips that almost always looks bitten and swollen and made for kissing.
He’s definitely going to hell at how fast he feels himself go hard. There has to be some hidden commandment. Thou shalt not lust after ye patient.
He blames whatever Sam is feeling to the drunken haze of pain from his arm and busies his focus on telling the younger boy he needs to take off his coat so he can properly see his arm. Its slow work and he’s trying to be careful but he almost jumps up desperate, wanting to find scissors or something sharp and pointed so he can cut Sam from this damn thing because Sam’s breathing is heavy again and his lips have gone pale from the pain.
And when it’s finally off he tosses it angry across the room, almost clipping the framed picture of some Pressman ancestor from its hang on the wall.
The muffled chuckle that answers is worth it.
He’d miss Sam’s laugh. Sam’s laugh, which was some addicting thing he felt he was always chasing to get a high from.
He thanks the Lord above, who’s been unusual in his merciful generosity that the shirt underneath is short sleeved. The freckled skin of Sam’s forearm has turned a mottled angry mix of purplish red and there is slight swelling near his wrist, but there is no broken skin or exposed bone. He signs for Sam to move his arm at the elbow, which he does with little difficulty but when Sam moves his wrist it’s with a pained grunt, his eyes shuttering tight.
Grizz is quick to grab his other hand, squeezing and encouraging to squeeze back, anchoring his thighs to steady Sam’s own that has now come to be between Grizz’s legs. He wants to spout some poetic line of how he’d take on his pain.
Let me be the balm to your hurt. Can I kiss it away?
But instead hes rifles through the kit for gauze and anything else he can fashion into a makeshift splint while they wait for Gordie or Kelly to answer and arrive.
He finishes wrapping the gauze securely around the splints that’s keeping Sam’s arm straight to the wrist and shakes to activate an ice pack from the kit, placing it firm against the gauzed covering. As he keeps the ice pack in place, he keeps his head down focused on Sam’s arm, anywhere but his eyes and lips, a finger trails the edge of his untucked shirt and slips under to skim against skin now pebbled with gooseflesh.
His breath grows shallow as he looks up to see Sam’s stare, intense and unwavering, his bottom lip between his teeth. The blue in his eyes have gone a midnight hue.
Grizz almost drops the ice pack. Or punctures it with how tight he’s now clutching the bag.
“You have anything in there for the pain?” Sam slurs, half signing with his left hand, his gaze travel to Grizz’s mouth, eyes fluttering languid and with purpose.
He can only nod, his tongue grown thick, words having lost meaning or connection, his brain matter having melted into a liquid mess as he turns slight to rip open a small sachet of aspirin. When he attempts to place the pills into Sam’s free hand, Sam pulls away shaking his head. He tips his chin up and opens his mouth.
Grizz swallows the “Fuck” that wants to spill out, his nose flaring as he exhales and proceeds to offer the pills into Sam’s eager lips, his tongue darting out and its tip licking at Grizz’s forefinger.
Grizz slips and catches himself with his hands on either side of Sam’s hips before he can fall onto Sam’s injured arm, but theirs a smirk on Sam’s lips as he leans forward, cutting the distance between them.
Sam has a fucking pain kink, his heady thoughts conspire. It’s the only explanation how Sam is currently trying to seduce him rather than writhing in pain.
Fucking wrong choice of words because it goes straight to his already hardening groin. And now surely he’s headed for the deepest level of hell.
“My head still hurts...kiss it better?”
The words pull him from the fog in his head and he’s all too quick to comply.
Because fuck it all he wants to play too.
He holds himself up, careful not to put any weight onto Sam and shift his head until his lips touch the clotted cut near Sam’s temple. He nips the spot twice then parts his mouth slight, leaving lazy open kisses that travel down until he’s sucking onto the soft pad of Sam’s ear that’s got the younger boy clutching tight onto the collar of his t shirt, his head lolled back, his spine arching and desperate.
“Kiss me! I want you!”
The plea is wanton, dripping with sweat and dirt, that the sudden urge to rut and shed his skin to howl at the moon is strong and overwhelms.
Pushes him over the edge as he grabs Sam’s nape with a growl, crashing hungry lips against hungry lips.
And its fire and ocean water salt and a spice he has no name for but heats the tips of his toes to his tingling scalp as he grapples and wrestle between control so he doesn’t crush and hurt Sam and the encompassing desire to devour him.
He is drunk on the mead of Sam tongue against his; wants the taste to become imprinted into the strands of DNA; wants this to go on and on forever.
Because he doesn’t know if he can stop.
Until a loud rapping on the wall and a clearing of one’s throat has him jumping back as if scalded, leaving Sam to chase after his lost lips, brows knitted together, eyes still shut.
“Um...I guess Sam’s all better now?”
Kelly stands outside in the foyer having the decency to act sheepish.
But Kelly’s always been kind. And Grizz is tired of pretending and running and staying away.
==========================
Hours later, Sam returns back to Allies from the ER, his arm having been xrayed and confirmed to have a minor hair line fracture to the wrist and forearm and his splint reinforced. Kelly is nothing but professional, doesn’t try to wheedle out details he feels others would.
“Becca’s staying over with Gordie at my place to wait out the storm with Eden. She won’t be home until later this week. But I’ll let them know Sam’s ok and wants to stay at Allie’s since its closer to the hospital.” She offers this with a small smile as she hands Grizz a packet of prescription grade painkillers.
Kelly had always been kind.
And now Grizz, has, once again, Sam’s back flush against his chest as they sit up against the cushioned headboard of the guest room Sam has adopted as his own.
“It got too dangerous, with Campbell and all.” Sam whispers this, trailing a finger down Grizz’s arm wrapped around his waist, his breath steady and calm, lids heavy, the painkillers doing their job well. Whispers it before Grizz can even ask.
“That’s why I didn’t bother to talk to you. I heard you’d returned. I wanted to see you I really did.”
Grizz reassures that he believes with a soft kiss into his palm, intertwining their fingers.
“And I know why you had to stay away and didn’t come back to me” Sam lifts up and turns his neck to kiss him.
There is no need to repent.
It’s a moment he wants bottled and preserved, placed high above some tall shelf that no one can reach. Not even Campbell and his militia and guns and the need to destroy and hurt and kill.
But he knows he can’t hide forever. Doesn’t want to really anymore.
Sam is back in his arms, where he belongs and soon he’ll meet Eden who he certain he’ll love fierce, as much as he does Sam.
And it’s fucking time to fight back. Stop being afraid.
Because he has been.
Stop using reasons of staying away because it’s safer for all against monsters with human skin. when in reality they are invincible together.
I Love You, he signs onto Sam’s chest and he holds him closer, the moonlight twinkles and casts shadows from the filtering light through the window.
#Grizzam Fic#IDEK#from my drafts graveyard#it's actually come to see the light of day#grizz visser#sam eliot#grizz and sam
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Title: Nights Like This
Summary: human au - It feels odd to be the one awake at 3AM while his partner, literally practically the embodiment of anxiety itself, rests peacefully beneath the covers beside him.
Warnings: just some mild princey angst. mentions of anxiety and past abuse.
Word count: 2088
Pairings: Prinxiety (Roman/Virgil)
Tag List: (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed) @monikastec@persepinecone @horsesquid @sassy-and-messy @ilivetoexist@lizaelsparrow @galaxy-warping@insanityandimperfection @musikasworld@sander-fander-sides @swlotakulady34 @llamaavocado@applecannibal@helloisthisusernametaken @wildhorsewolf@justanotherpurplebutterfly @beautifully-terribly @awkward-avocado-of-death@ab-artist @toujours-fidele @an-awkward-gay @anaveragegayfan@gingergiraffe101 @i-just-punched-malfoy @useless-asexual273
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It’s always difficult for him to identify what is causing the cinder block of pain weighing down his heart. Sometimes, he can just ignore it and go about his day until his friends and his lover unknowingly cheer him up enough for the feeling to dissipate. But in the middle of the night, it’s hard to get that reassurance. In the middle of the night, he can’t simply go about his day as if nothing is wrong. All he can do it sit and think, which, admittedly, has never been his forte.
Roman sits quietly on his side of their bed, eyes trained on Virgil’s sleeping form beside him. Chest rising and falling with every even breath. Dark circles beneath his eyes significantly reduced. Muscles relieved of their usual tension. Features soft. He looks so at peace like this. Roman’s heart pangs at the sight.
He awaits a response from the only other person Roman knows of that might be awake at this hour. His phone rests in his hand at a low brightness as to not disturb his lover’s sleep, the conversation with Logan open and waiting. He’s sent several texts already.
Roman (2:47AM)
hey u awake?
Roman (2:49AM)
lo i know you suck at this junk but youre the only one i can think of to talk to and i need help with emotions
Roman (3:02AM)
please
He’s about to give up, to wallow in solitude, when a soft ping emanates from his phone and his heart rate increases. It reminds him to turn his sound off; Virgil is a light sleeper. After quickly checking to make sure his angel is still dreaming, he brings his attention back to his phone.
Logan (3:12AM)
Roman, you are correct in assuming that I... “suck at this junk.” Why are you contacting me?
He chews at his bottom lip, worrying the skin of it more than he should; he knows he might break the skin and have an obvious tell in the morning, but he tries not to think about it.
Roman (3:13AM)
youre the only person i thought might be awake rn
There’s a long, disturbing silence after he sends it. Logan reads it but doesn’t respond for several minutes. Roman’s heart sinks further down in his chest. Of course Logan doesn’t want to deal with his emotional ramblings; Logan is the most collected person Roman knows, aside from when he gets heated or annoyed to his limit. He’s the least emotionally vulnerable person Roman knows. He makes it seem like nothing gets to him.
Roman’s gaze returns to Virgil. His heart aches for a reason that he can’t seem to place. It feels odd to be the one awake at 3AM while his partner, literally practically the embodiment of anxiety itself, rests peacefully beneath the covers beside him. Again, just as Roman is about to give up, Logan responds.
Logan (3:20AM)
Fair enough. Go on, then. What’s bothering you at this hour?
Roman sighs with relief. But his fingers cant find the motivation to type out his feelings, and he isn’t sure he’d be able to get the point across with text anyway. He rises from the bed, slowly and carefully, eyes on Virgil just in case, and tip-toes out of the room. He closes the door as quietly as he can behind him and pads down the stairs of the small apartment he shares with his love. He sits himself down on the couch and takes a deep breath before hitting the call button.
It rings a couple times. But Logan picks up, the sounds of quiet shuffling in the background before a soft, “Hello, stranger.” The corner of Roman’s lip lifts at that. He rises from the couch despite having only sat down seconds before, and begins to pace the living room.
“Hi.”
“Mind if I ask why you decided to call?”
“I just thought it’d be better.”
“I see.”
There’s a short silence. All of Logan’s words have been rather quiet so far, and Roman winced, realizing why.
“Is Patton nearby?”
“He is asleep in the next room.”
“Ugh... Duh. I’m sorry, Lo, we can go back to texting if—“
“No,” Logan interrupts him. It takes him by surprise, though it really shouldn’t. Logan has a tendency to interrupt. “No, if you felt the need to speak rather than to type, than this is what we’ll do.”
“Right,” Roman says, though he’s still hesitant. “Okay.”
Another short silence as Roman takes a calming breath and thinks over what he wants to say. How he wants to express what needs to be expressed.
“Lo?”
“Yes?”
“I’m scared.” He sounds like a child, and he knows it, but it’s the truth, and he isn’t going to waste anymore of Logan’s time by dancing around the subject.
“You’re... scared?” There’s a hint of surprise in Logan’s voice. “You? Of what?”
“Virgil.” It comes out like a wheeze, and he drops into a crouch, one hand in his hair. He can immediately sense Logan’s tension on the other line.
“What do you mean?” Before Roman can answer, Logan draws in a small gasp and says in an even quieter tone, “Is he hurting you?”
“No!” Roman grimaces, shaking his head to himself. He feels terrible for even saying anything that could imply that. Virgil would never hurt him, and vise versa. “No, absolutely not.” Logan seems to relax, and voices a small humming sound that Roman takes as an ‘Elaborate.’ So he does. “It’s... I don’t know. I’m scared. Not of him, really but of... of how I feel, I guess. Most of the time I’m fine, but there are times, nights like this, where I just freeze, and I panic, and my mind is reeling and I’m so unsure of everything. It’s awful, Lo, it’s so awful, I feel awful for being so scared. But I can’t help it. I love him. And most of the time it’s wonderful, and I love loving him and being loved by him. But other times it’s terrifying.” He takes a deep breath, hands shaking, as he finishes his rant. Logan goes silent. probably thinking, and Roman doesn’t notice he’s crying until he rubs his face and his fingers come back wet.
Logan sighs on the other end and it hits Roman like a brick. At first he thinks Logan is judging him, for being so erratic and confusing for no reason. But then, “Roman, you have had your fair share of heartache, have you not? This is not the first time you’ve come to me in emotional crisis.” Roman sniffles and nods, though he knows Logan can’t see it. “It’s not uncommon for someone who has been hurt as many times as you to feel this way while in a loving relationship.”
That makes him feel a little better. Just a little. “Really?”
“Of course. It doesn’t mean that you don’t love Virgil, or that you don’t appreciate your partnership with him. It simply means your heart is on defense, you might say. But you’re a theater man so sports references may not be the way to go.” Another soft sigh, and then he continues. “Your heart... has stage fright. You’re ready to go on stage, you know your lines and you’ve got the entire play memorized down to the gestures. But let’s say that in the past, you’ve messed up. You’ve forgotten a line or two, you’ve stumbled over your words, perhaps forgot to even go on stage for one of your scenes.”
Roman grimaces. “This analogy is a little close to home, Lo.”
“Let me finish.” So he does. “Due to your past mistakes, you might find yourself nervous to perform, especially when you think back and dwell on those mistakes, even if they weren’t entirely your fault. Despite your memorization and skill, you still feel afraid to go on stage. You’re afraid something might go wrong.”
The more Logan speaks, the more it makes sense. He thinks for a long time, his teeth returning to abuse his bottom lip, taking slow and deep breaths in attempts to calm his emotions a bit. “That makes sense. So... There’s nothing wrong with me, right? It’s not... Ridiculous, for me to be scared like this?”
“Of course not,” Logan says, his voice sounding more genuine than Roman may have ever heard it before. “You’re not broken, Roman. Everyone gets stage fright at some point, to some extent. You’re not alone and there is nothing wrong with you.”
“Thank you, Lo.”
“You’re welcome. I suggest you talk to Virgil about this, at a healthy hour, and perhaps Patton too. Virgil deserves to know how you’re feeling, and Patton may be of more help than I am with this sort of thing.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, I’ll do that.”
“Get some rest, Roman.”
“Alright. You too, nerd.”
“I will try. Good night.”
Roman bids Logan goodbye before they hang up, and he stares down at his phone afterwards with a small smile on his lips. The tears seem to have stopped falling, but he’s vaguely aware that his cheeks are still wet and his eyes are no doubt red and glossy. He stands to go back upstairs just as he hears footsteps doing the opposite. He freezes, guilt immediately flooding his chest. He must have waken Virgil somehow.
His lover comes down the stairs in a pair of pajama pants that he totally stole from Roman, and an over-sized sweater that he also stole. Roman huffs a little, the sight bringing upon another smile.
“Good morning, night owl,” Virgil murmurs, making his way over to Roman. He sounds and looks tired, his hair disheveled in an absolutely adorable way, his voice thick with sleep.
“Morning, storm cloud.” When Virgil gets close enough, Roman presses a kiss to his forehead and wraps his arms around his waist. “Did I wake you?”
“I wake you up in the middle of the night all the time, no worries.” Roman hums and rests his chin on the other’s head that’s now buried in his chest. “Why are you up?” Roman purses his lips, not sure if he should answer that quite yet. Logan did say to talk to him, but it’s late/early and it can probably wait until morning when they’re both well rested. But Virgil looks up at him with those worried eyes and asks, “Everything okay?” and he can’t lie to him.
Roman ends up bringing Virgil back up to their bedroom so they can be sitting comfortably while Roman explains everything to him. He expresses the same thing he expressed to Logan, though a bit more composed and better explained now. He tells him about the phone call, about Logan’s analogy. Virgil’s expression is unreadable the entire time, but he listens intently, his hand resting on Roman’s and his thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin. When Roman finally finishes, he meets Virgil’s eyes cautiously, not sure what to expect.
“Okay,” is what he gets. He tenses a little, shifting in his seat.
“Okay?”
Virgil nods and laces their fingers together. “Okay,” he says again. “That’s... actually sort of relieving.”
Roman’s eyes widen. “Really?” Virgil nods again. “Why?”
He hesitates to answer, a nervous smile on his lips, his gaze everywhere except meeting Roman’s. “Cause I’m sort of the same way.”
It isn’t particularly surprising, but Roman is still taken aback and has to ask, “Really?” again.
“Yes, really, you dork. I don’t really talk about it, but I haven’t exactly had a sparkly clean past with healthy relationships that ended on happy notes. I...” He takes a deep breath, clearly preparing himself for what he’s about to say, and Roman gives his hand an encouraging squeeze. “I still get nightmares, sometimes. I get nights like this, up late, afraid. You’re not the only one that’s scared, Roman. I’m scared too. But... This is good. Talking about it. Fear feeds on loneliness, so... If you ever feel like this again, don’t be afraid to bring it up, wake me if you need to. Alright? And I’ll do the same. We could both use a little comfort from time to time.”
Roman is perfectly aware that he’s begun crying again, but there’s a smile on his face and he pulls Virgil in close, his arms tight and secure around his partner. “I love you,” he whispers into the other’s hair, kissing the top of his head.
Virgil gives him a muffled laugh and drags him down to lie on the bed, exhausting filling his head as soon as it hits the pillow. Their legs tangle together and they hold each other as they both begin to drift. Roman just barely hears “I love you too, you royal pain,” before sleep claims him.
#wow this was so therapeutic and self indulgent#nice#my writing#prinxiety#angst#roman angst#roman princey sanders#virgil anxiety sanders#sanders sides#logan logic sanders#patton morality sanders#thomas sanders#lots of sanders in these tags#human au#hurt/comfort
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