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ashotofeuphoria · 3 years

Text

As I Hold You

Pairing: Firefighter! Jongho x Injured! Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: character death (not member or reader), ANGST, car accident, blood, injury, fire, v brief description of a dead body, trauma, potential miscarriage (hinted at), let me know if i missed anything!

Authors Note: First fic! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

You don't remember the impact. The sound of metal crushing, of horns blaring, and tires screeching. Everything just went black.

You had been out running errands all day with your younger brother, Gabriel. You needed to pick up some more supplies for your baby who was soon to arrive. Your first baby shower was scheduled for this upcoming weekend. While you knew that your family and friends would support you and buy you most everything you needed for your baby; you still wanted to buy cute outfits and toys in the anticipation of their arrival.

Your final stop was a new boutique that opened across town, and your younger brother was eager to chauffeur you. He knew that you were a little scared of what the future held and wanted to ease any stress he could, by doing little acts of service for you.

You were living with your family and would remain there throughout your first year of motherhood. You hadn't meant to become pregnant. In fact, you were rather scared of the idea of children and pregnancy. But accidents happen, as they tend to, and your (ex)boyfriend ended up knocking you up.

It was an amicable split when you broke up. You both knew it wouldn't last, and children don't fix broken relationships. He did agree to support you the best he can and you're thankful for that much. It's overwhelming honestly, having the amount of support from everyone that you do. One thing is for sure, this baby will be so loved.

Your brother walked you out to the car, all the bags in his hands, opened the door for you and helped you in. You were only about 4 months along, so you just barely had a visible bump on your small figure. But he held your hand and helped you step into the car regardless. He shut the door and ran around to the driver's side before opening the door and hopping in.

"Thank you for driving me today, buddy. I know you have other things you could be doing," you said as he started the car.

"You know I'd rather spend time with you than do anything else. All I do is read and listen to music in my room, it's not like I do all that much," he chuckled, finding it amusing how appreciative you are of a simple car ride.

"Yeah, alright," you smiled towards him, "Still I know you aren't required to help me out, so thank you. Love you, bubs."

"Love you too, y/n," he said as he glanced towards you with a soft smile.

The car pulled out of the parking lot with the GPS routed 20 minutes down the highway to the boutique. Gabriel took a left out of the neighborhood, and you asked him for the aux.

"Sure," he replied, keeping his eyes on the road but reaching for the cord to hand to you.

You began playing your K-pop playlist, something that's been getting you through the days recently. When you hit shuffle, Love Die Young by Eric Nam started playing. You started to harmonize with the chorus as Gabe pulled the car onto the highway.

"Not this sappy shit, y/n, really?" he giggled as he watched you dramatically act out the song, clutching at your heart as you sing, staring at him with a smile plastered on your face.

"His voice is so smooth I can't help it Gabe," you exclaimed in a sing-songy tone. "So, what do you think I'm gonna have? A boy or girl?" you ask him as the car hits the speed limit and he puts on cruise control.

"Honestly, I think it'll be a little girl. I hope it is at least. We gotta buy so many cute outfits today. I can't wait to help you take care of them. Whatever they may be," he laughed glancing over at you.

"I have this whole idea for their room, I want to do a taupe and mossy green color for the walls. And I think I want a lot of cute pictures of plants and different animals. Ya know, to keep it pretty but neutral, something that can age well with them," you explained to him as he steadily controls the car.

"I think it'll look perfect," he responded. "10 more minutes and we'll be there."

You nodded your head and looked out the window at the greenery. Ideas of outfits and nurseries swimming in your head. You closed your eyes, propped your arm up on the window, and leaned your head against your hand as the car drifted down the highway.

Your eyes jolted open when you suddenly hear Gabe go from a whisper to a shout "fuck, fuCK, FUCK Y/N HANG ON!"

A car had swerved and jumped the median and was driving directly towards you, mere meters away. Showing no signs of stopping, and Gabriel having no real way to swerve to avoid them, he threw an arm in front of you, and you brought your hands up to cover your face, your knees coming up on instinct to protect your belly.

And everything went black.

----

When you came to, the first thing you noticed was the smell. Metallic, and smoky, like something was burning. Then you felt a searing pain in your head. You struggled to open your eyes but when you did you couldn't believe what you were surrounded by. The airbags had deployed, but there was blood splattered across the car. You could tell smoke was rising out of the engine, but you couldn't see much else through the cracked windshield.

You look to your left and see Gabriel covered in blood, eyes closed. And you immediately feared the worst.

"Gabe! GABE!" you reached over to shake him, to hold onto his cheek and try and get him to face you. To open his eyes. To do anything. Your ears are ringing, and you can feel your eyes stinging when he won't respond. Your hands are desperately grabbing at his shirt, and hair, willing for him to wake up, for him to be okay.

"Gabe," your voice barely bubbling out of your throat as sobs begin to overtake your body. "Gabe, please, please, wake up. please, you can't, no, please, Gabe, bubs, you're okay, we're okay, please," the sobs wrack your body as you gasp for air between each word. Tears are streaming down your face and suddenly your focus is on your hands, and you see they're covered in blood.

You hold your hands in front of you and stare at them in horror when your vision redirects to your legs. You're crushed in the car. Your legs trapped under the dashboard. Your hearing is slowly coming back as you hear sirens somewhere in the distance, but from what direction you were unaware.

You remember a car had hit you head on when it crossed into your lane going well over the speed limit. As you glance out of the passenger window to see what happened to the other car (and if you're even still on the highway) you're met with a ghastly picture of your face in the side view mirror. Your forehead has been deeply cut, and blood is dripping thickly down your forehead and has mixed with the tears falling down your cheeks.

You cough when you begin to inhale smoke. Your vision blurring, your head falls back onto your headrest as you pass out.

----

As you come to, a faint knocking sound begins to grow louder, until you can hear a man yelling "Ma'am! Ma'am! Can you hear me! You gotta wake up! Ma'am!"

You cough the smoke out of your lungs, your head throbs from the movement and you wince in pain. You're brought back to the situation you've found yourself in and remember Gabe is next to you. You look over to him and the feelings become overwhelming again, as you stare at what you can only assume is his dead body.

As a sob erupts from your throat, you look out your window at the man who was calling for you, and are met with desperate, soft brown eyes staring at you through a helmet and face guard. He's a firefighter dressed in full gear. He yells something to you, trying to overpower the other noises happening on the busy highway but you can't connect the sounds with words in your brain. You can only stare at him in confusion, tears falling faster down your cheeks, your breathing uneven.

You see him reach for the handle of the car door and try and open it mumbling a quick "fuck!" in frustration. You're trapped in this car, and he needs to find a way to get both of you out before the whole car goes up in flames.

"Get the jaws! The doors are jammed!" He yells at the team of firefighters surrounding the car and the truck.

He looks back down to you and says as clearly and reassuringly as he can, "Hey, it's okay. It'll be okay, we're gonna get you out of there, okay?"

You begin to nod your head in response when a knock is heard at your brother's window. You whip your head around and see stars for a moment. When your sight clears you see a taller man in uniform shouting to your brother, who isn't responding. Your voice is small and cracks as you try and tell the man outside "he can't, he's not-" and you feel your chest become tight once more.

You hear the man at your window begin talking to you.

"Ma'am, please try and stay still. We must make sure your head is okay. Alright? Please don't move too much. Can you do that for me?" he politely asks you, empathizing with your situation.

You meekly nod your head. Your eyes are stinging. You don't know if it's the smoke or the tears, but it's probably both. As you focus on the man in front of you, you hear the man near your brother begin yelling at his team about the window and needing to check Gabriel's vitals. The man in front of you can tell you're not paying attention, so he speaks up.

"Yunho is going to break the glass to check the man next to you, okay? Just look at me, don't look away from me, okay? My name's Jongho. Just look at me, okay? What's your name?" Jongho asks you to keep you preoccupied and focused on him.

"Y/N," you try and get out of your throat. It's so dry and scratchy your voice isn't much higher than a whisper.

"Okay, y/n. Listen to me, you'll be okay. I'm going to get you out, okay? Who is that in the car with you?"

"M-my brother, Gabe, but he, I-I don't thin-nk," you choke out as you stare at Jongho, unable to say the words. That Gabe is dead. But you don't want him to be. You don't want it to be true. You look down at your door, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, unable to breathe. You hear glass shatter. As you begin to turn your head, Jongho raises his voice, keeping your focus on him.

"Your brother? Yunho is going to check on him and make sure everything is okay." you hear him say.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" Yunho calls out from the driver window. "Try not to breathe the smoke in, Jongho is gonna break your window to get to you, I'm going to take your brothers vitals and make sure he's doing okay. We're going to get you out of here as quickly as possible, okay?"

You glance towards him and nod your head, finding your eyes drawn to the way he checks for a pulse on Gabe, his slender fingers dancing on his throat, his wrist, anywhere he could find a heartbeat. And seeing the increasing worry on Yunho's face does nothing to reassure you. You see his eyes widen, and yours follow. He leans back and yells over to the team, "There's a pulse. It's faint, we need to get him airlifted asap! San, I need you over here!"

While you're fixated on Gabe's pale and limp figure, you hear glass shatter next to you followed by a warm hand turning your cheek towards him. You involuntarily gasp and sputter at the influx of fresh air.

"Deep breaths for me, Y/n. Please look at me." he gently demands. You look into his eyes as he shines a flashlight above them checking your pupils. He can see how bloodshot your eyes are from crying, and he glances over at your brother, then back at you. "Hey, it'll be okay, we're here now. Just look at me, don't look at him. You're okay. Everyone is here to protect you." he rushes out.

His hand rests under your chin as he uses two callused fingers to check your pulse. Then he gently tilts your head to each side to inspect the gash on your forehead as quickly as possible. He glances down your body to check your arms, and torso seeing they're mainly just bruised, when his eyes land on your bump.

His eyes widen as he asks you urgently, "Y/n are you expecting? Are you carrying a child?"

You hadn't even thought about your child. You had been so distraught over your brother; you didn't even consider the health or wellbeing of your unborn baby. Your heart rate rapidly increases as panic begins to set in.

"y-yes I am, I'm 4 months. I-I'm, do you think, are they? god please don't tell me-" you start blubbering as all the possibilities begin to tumble through your head.

Before he can reassure you, he checks down the rest of your body and sees your legs are trapped under the dashboard. And that even when the door is off you won't be able to get yourself out of the car. Jongho defaults to reassurance as he really can't even begin to answer the questions you're asking him, "I-it's okay. Everything is okay. Let's get you out of this car."

Smoke is becoming thicker around the front of the car, and you watch as it blows around Jongho's figure, flooding out the highway from where you sit. Tensions are growing higher as the crew knows there isn't much longer before the car is gone. Four men are teamed together and grab the Jaws of Life from the truck as they begin walking toward your car. Setting up on your brothers side you begin to hear metal cracking and snapping as the four men work to pry the car open with the heavy machinery. You're itching in your skin wishing to jump up and run now that you're trapped, and Jongho can tell. He has his hand braced at the back of your neck, keeping it steady, as you once again begin to panic; he rubs circles on your arm, and pushes your hair back from your sticky forehead and out of your eyes.

You can hear the Jaws stop and in the reflection of the side view mirror you can see Gabe's lifeless body being pulled from the car, his body pale and bright red from blood, blue and purple littering his figure. He's placed on a gurney and run towards the truck where someone begins CPR.

You redirect your eyes to meet Jongho's, whose eyes are looking deeply at you searching for any sign of pain or discomfort, any sudden changes in your condition. "Is he going to be okay? He has to be okay. Please tell me they can fix him." you plead with Jongho, who looks at you with nothing but the heaviest of hearts.

"We're going to do our best. I promise you we will do everything we can. But right now, we need to get you out of here too." he explains. "I'm going to go bring the Jaws over this way and we are going to get you two out of here," he asserts, gesturing at your bump. "I need you to stay still just like you have been, okay? You're doing so great. Keep your arms as close to your body as you can, and don't look at the window in case anything splinters. Do you understand me?" he asks you.

"Please don't leave me. P-please don't, don't go. Please stay." you sob as you realize you'll be left alone in your wrecked car.

"I'll be right here. Remember stay still and close your eyes." he reminds you as he drops his hands from you and gives his team room to operate on the car door.

You sob quietly to yourself. You can't believe this is happening. How Gabe could be here one second and now he's gone. The image of his pale bloody face is burned into the back of your eyelids as you squeeze them tightly shut. You hear the metal of the car frame crunching and cracking once again, as all four men yell commands and directions at each other. Your sobs are uncontrollable as you wish it had been you and not your brother. You wish with all your heart that you could've taken his place.

The door hits the asphalt and almost instantly you hear Jongho next to you, "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here. I never left." He notices how black the smoke has gotten and decides to check your legs to see if he can carry you out before the rest of the car is disassembled.

"Can you feel your legs?" he urgently asks you.

You nod your head as you cough so hard that you gag.

"shit-" Jongho mumbles under his breath, looking all over your figure and the car, knowing he must move now or never. With his mind moving a million miles a second, he makes the decision that your legs are likely not broken and brings out a blade from his pocket to saw your seat belt off you. You watch as the sweat beads down his forehead and across his dimpled cheeks as he grits his teeth.

Jongho puts his arms under yours, pulling you into his chest, getting your upper body mostly out of the car. When your legs are more visible, he puts one arm under your back and the other under your knees and lifts. You slide out from under the dashboard and with your neck cradled by his bicep and forearm he jogs you away from the car towards the firetruck. He gets five strides in when you hear the explosion. You peek past his arm to see your car engulfed in flames. You can feel the heat on your face, and the sound has left your ears ringing once more.

The team must've anticipated the event as hoses immediately start spraying to drown the car fire. Jongho gets behind the firetruck away from the fire and sets you down making sure you are stable, with no further injuries from his manhandling. He gently places a hand on your bump and hopes against everything that this baby is okay. Just as he's about to stand to find his captain and report your status he feels your hands fist into his uniform jacket holding onto him.

"please don't leave me. please don't leave. d-don't go." you hiccup as you stare pleadingly up at him. With the way you're gripping onto him, he knows there's no way he can walk away from you right now. Instead, he stands up and grabs a clean towel from just inside the truck and begins to tenderly wipe the blood and tears off your face, avoiding the gash on your forehead.

He doesn't have the heart to tell you that Gabe didn't make it, his body covered with a sheet on the other side of the truck. He also doesn't know how to explain that if Gabe hadn't reached over to protect you, he might've been in less critical condition. That he died protecting you. So, for now he wipes away the grime; and, after seeing you shaking, unbuttons his thick uniform jacket so he can hug you; until the paramedics arrive and will inevitably pull you away from him. You don't hesitate to wrap your small arms around his waist, and he holds you, pressing your head against his chest where you can hear his steady heartbeat.

"It's okay, y/n, it's going to be okay. You're okay. I'm here. I've got you." he repeats it like a mantra, over and over, convincing he thinks, both you and himself.

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dont-tempt-me-frodo · 3 years

Text

Only For You

have some soft geraskier just because

also available to read on ao3

The midday sun filtered through the sea of leaves above, dappling the stream with gold. The mossy ground was springy underfoot and the warm air was thick with the smell of wild garlic.

Geralt knelt by the water’s edge, delicately plucking the leaves off a dark green plant and folding them into a cloth. Their sweet scent wreathed around him, almost chasing away the tang of the garlic.

He sighed heavily through is nose and gently pocketed the herb filled cloth before rising slowly to his feet. He cast his amber gaze along the bank of the stream and spotted another plume of the rare plant so took the opportunity to gather more of its pungent leaves. He would use them to brew his potions later. For now, he was content enough to take what he needed then make his way back to the clearing where he had left Jaskier and Roach.

When Geralt had paused their travelling to look for herbs, Jaskier had dramatically flopped down by the base of a tree, complaining about his sore feet and encouraging Geralt to go on with out him.

Geralt couldn’t begrudge the Bard a short rest. They had been on the move now for almost four days with very little respite, camping under the stars, and although Geralt could relax into the journey astride his chestnut mare, he knew the constant walking was hard going for Jaskier.

Jaskier didn’t usually complain about the long days of endless walking. He filled the journeys with his relentless chatter and impromptu lute playing. But at night, when they curled up together, cocooned in each other’s warmth, Geralt could feel Jaskier’s weariness, his exhaustion.

The next town was only half a day’s walk away, and he had promised Jaskier that they could spend some time there. The Bard’s delighted smile sent a ripple of affection warming through him, and his slow heart skipped a beat. Hopefully there would be a contract or two for Geralt but failing that, Jaskier would always drum up some coin in the local tavern.

Geralt always enjoyed watching Jaskier perform. His masterful lute playing, his rich singing, his animated charm and boundless energy never ceased to amaze him. And afterwards, they would go up to their room and make good use of the lumpy straw mattress on a pallet that passed for a bed in these parts. If Geralt had his way, they would go a few rounds before Jaskier was delirious with overstimulated pleasure. And then he would tuck his Bard close to his chest and hold him as he slept.

The Witcher smiled to himself as he folded the last leaf into his cloth then pushed it into his pocket.

He plucked at the nape of his shirt, trying to fan away the stifling heat building around him, then started the slow trek back the way he had come.

Geralt focused on the noises of the forest. The bubbling of the stream, the twittering of a finch, the cautious steps of a deer, the rustling of leaves high above his head where the slight breeze didn’t quite penetrate the thick canopy. He frowned though. There was a sound he was anticipating but didn’t hear. The strumming of a lute.

Jaskier’s melodies had followed Geralt into the forest and he had fully expected them to lead him out again. But the lack of plucked lute strings was deafening and worry coiled in his gut.

He quickened his pace, ready to draw the silver sword strapped to his back as he approached the clearing.

If anything had happened to Jaskier…

The Witcher thundered through the thicket and then stopped dead.

There was Roach, tethered to a sapling just like he’d left her. And there was Jaskier, bundled up at the bottom of a sprawling oak tree, lute in his lap just like he’d left him. But, and Geralt wilted at the realisation, the Bard was sound asleep.

A painful ache of affection burned in the Witcher’s chest. The weariness, as well as the heat of the day must have caught up to Jaskier, and Geralt was once again remined how human his companion was.

Geralt stepped into the clearing softly, taking off his swords with the intention of slinging them over Roach’s saddle. The mare lifted her head as he approached, blinking slowly at him and snorting. Geralt hushed her with a pat of her velvety nose. Roach flicked an ear at him then went back to nibbling at the sweet grass. Geralt gave her neck a rub then made his way over to the dozing Bard.

Jaskier was propped up between two roots, his doublet jacket folded neatly by his feet, the laces of his embroidered shirt plucked open to try and let in the air. He looked so peaceful and utterly beautiful that Geralt didn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead, he carefully removed the lute and placed it to one side then slid in next to the bard, tucking his arms around him and guiding him into his broad chest.

Jaskier shifted slightly, a mumble escaping his lips but he didn’t wake, instinctually nuzzling into Geralt.

The Witcher leaned back against the tree, letting his own eyes flutter shut for a moment as the comfortable weight of Jaskier in his arms sent curls of warmth through him.

He was vaguely aware of their surroundings, trusting Roach to alert him if anything, or anyone, was approaching. The sweet scent of the soap Jaskier favoured chasing away the lingering forest and Geralt breathed deeply, a content smile twitching his lip.

Geralt half dosed for a little while but cracked open one eye when Roach stamped her foot. She was regarding him with those glassy black eyes and the Witcher sighed.

“I know,” he rumbled softly, glancing up at the sky half hidden by the interwoven branches.

If they were to make the town by nightfall, they’d have to make a move. And Roach was growing impatient, stamping the ground again and snorting.

Geralt shook his head at her, then shifted slightly, blinking down at the bard still asleep in his arms. It felt cruel to wake him.

Very gently, Geralt brushed Jaskier’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, back and forth, a steady rhythm to bring the bard back to wakefulness.

Jaskier’s breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered. A soft yawn fell from him and Geralt’s heart melted.

“Hey,” the Witcher hummed.

Jaskier gazed up at him, his expression still lax with sleep and his smile was crooked.

“Hey,” he yawned, and the Witcher leaned down to press a kiss to the bard’s forehead.

“We need to get going,” Geralt mumbled, ��Still a fair way to go before we reach civilization.”

Jaskier made a noise that could almost be described as indignant, and he curled up tighter into Geralt, burying his face in the Witcher’s neck.

“Nope. You’re too comfortable. And I’m still not fully awake yet,” Jaskier whined, but Geralt could feel his grin.

“Come on bard,” Geralt chuckled, love for the man in his arms thrumming through him.

“Fine,” Jaskier lifted his head to make sure Geralt could see his pout, and Geralt cupped his cheek and captured that pout in a soft kiss.

Jaskier melted into him, his own hands coming up to clasp at either side of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt rubbed noses with Jaskier, kissed his cheek, his jaw, his cheek again, and Jaskier bubbled with laughter.

“You’re ridiculous, Geralt,” he sighed fondly.

“But you love me anyway,” Geralt hummed, his amber eyes bright and his smile coy.

“How lucky you are,” Jaskier patted Geralt’s shoulder then tucked a lock of his silver hair behind his ear.

“Very lucky,” Geralt agreed, turning his head to kiss the inside of Jaskier’s wrist.

He heard Jaskier’s heart skip a beat, and the bard’s hand lingered in Geralt’s hair so that the Witcher could lean into the touch.

“Come on bard,” Geralt said again, shifting now to let Jaskier know he was being serious.

Jaskier huffed out a breath and let Geralt stand before reaching for him. The Witcher took his hands and hauled him to his feet, curling an arm around Jaskier’s waist and encouraging him in closer. Jaskier let himself be guided flush against his Witcher and he rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Love you Geralt,” Jaskier preened.

“Love you Jaskier,” Geralt rested his cheek against Jaskier’s head as he walked him over to Roach, “up you get. I’ll grab your doublet and lute.”

Jaskier paused, leaning away from Geralt to fix him with an incredulous look.

“Who are you and what have you done with Geralt?” he gaped.

“Very funny,” Geralt grumbled, going back to the tree to retrieve Jaskier’s things. He thumbed Jaskier’s doublet absently as he flicked those amber eyes back to his bard. “You’re tired and I feel bad for having to wake you up,” he admitted sheepishly, “it’s only fair I do a bit of walking for a change.”

Jaskier’s expression softened, and he ducked his gaze, his smile wide.

“Softie,” he said to his boots.

“Only for you,” Geralt came in close, took a gentle hold of Jaskier’s chin and tilted his head up so he could press a kiss to Jaskier’s lips.

Jaskier quivered and Geralt smiled.

“Let’s go,” the Witcher rumbled, “and hopefully there’ll be a nice soft bed for tonight.”

“There better be,” Jaskier grinned, mirth dancing in those blue eyes, “absolutely no sexy times for Witcher’s if we end up on the floor. Again.”

Geralt laughed.

“Well, we’d better get a move on then,” he gruffed, “if there’s any hope of finding a bed for the night.”

Jaskier winked at him and Geralt’s heart flipped in his chest. Gods he loved this man. This wonderful, ridiculous bard. And as he helped Jaskier up onto Roach, he couldn’t stop smiling.

#my writing #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geraskier fluff #geraskier fanfic #the witcher #netflix the witcher #henry cavill #joey batey #roach

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tuagonia · 3 years

Text

sunflower - mason x f!detective

pairing: mason x f!detective (mia garcia)

Summary: mason thinks about mia at the town’s florist.

rating: T

warning: i think there's like...one swear word.

word count: ~1.7k

note: lol ok since i flopped at getting mason x mia done for the hotwayhaven event.... i have been waiting to write this for a while and the amazing event organisers at @wayhavensummer finally gave me the excuse I was waiting for to fully indulge in this. thanks for hosting and putting in all the great work!! This is for Aug. 18 - Flowers.

They remind him of her.

Large and dangling free from her ears; brightly painted papier-mâché “monstrosities”.

That’s the word he’d used to describe them, making no effort to mask his distaste.

Instead, Mia smiled widely in response, reaching up to touch one at its faux-stalks. It stopped that distracting swing, back and forth with every slight movement of her head. Chuckling, and pride lifting her cheery tone, she told Mason she made them herself.

Lemony-yellow, mossy-green, the burnt-chestnut centre.

All crammed together outside of the tiny flower shop. Dozens upon dozens of them staring back at him; yellower under the blaze of the mid-August sun.

A makeshift sign stuffed among the mass of summer-ripe bouquets reads: “TOP QUALITY. Giant Sunnys £14 per bunch”.

Mason is just looking.

He tells himself there’s no harm in just looking.

And anyway, they’re hard to miss under the hot sun. It’s not his fault they’re in the way of his usual patrol route. Quite literally.

Bundles and bundles of large sunflowers, taking up the pavement. Usually, grey and cracked, now overrun with the sight of them. The florist’s quaint store looks like a child’s plaything next to the dramatic assortment.

He has to blink, thinking the sunshine and its heat has started playing tricks on him. It’s almost as if they multiply; little suns with their earthly centres, drawing him closer.

From the moment he rounded the corner to the main square, he never stood a chance against the brilliance of them.

Mason should have kept moving. He doesn’t have time for this— to stop mid-patrol, to idle in front of flowers.

But they remind him of her.

Not just of the — and his lip curls at the memory — weird handmade jewellery.

(A set for every occasion.

Cakes and candles for colleagues’ birthdays, candy canes for Christmas, glittery hearts the size of her fists for Valentine’s Day. Tiny pieces of reflective plastic shedding onto her delicate neck).

They remind him of the sunshiney smiles. The ones she so easily tosses his way, like they’re never any work, like they could never go to waste. Always patient, always bright, always...happy.

And as he glares down at them, he realises they don’t offend him. The observation renders him sceptical, partly convincing himself he’s stopped to figure out why he hasn’t felt repulsed at the overwhelming powdery aroma.

It’s not floral. No. Instead, it reminds him of...reminds him of… Mason racks his brain and frowns accusingly at the vivid flowers opened up at him.

Mason reaches for one, fingers wrapping around its surprisingly sturdy stalk.

He’s still just looking. He just— he just needs to get a closer whiff to figure this out.

Honey. That’s what it is.

Mason’s frown deepens at the realisation. His grip on the flower shifts, the skin of his palm uncomfortable against the fuzzy stem.

Bright and honey-sweet.

(There’s that memory of her kiss, soft and saccharine as powdered-sugar; should make his teeth hurt.)

The crown of gold petals distracts him, fills him with a warm something that he’s more desperate than annoyed to figure out. He can’t place it, can’t place it, can’t place it— wants to know it.

Maybe it’s the frustration of chasing after the unnamable thing that makes him forget the purpose of stopping, the reason why he plucked the flower to begin with.

...so distracted he doesn't hear when the round-cheeked vendor pops their head outside of the shop, all smiles that he feels nothing for (not her like smiles, though. Nothing like her smiles).

They mention the weather and ask if they can be of any help, but Mason’s attention slides back to the sunflower in his fist. But he shakes his head, unconvincingly but he’ll never know.

It’s the heat, he thinks. The arse-end of nowhere town at the tail-end of an unforgiving heatwave.

But just as he’s about to slot the stalk back into its bucket, the vendor stops him— shaking their head emphatically, their grin growing by the second. They sweep of their hands in a take it, take it, please motion, and send Mason off. They shoot him wink from overly-kind eyes.

Like they might be in on some big secret, and Mason will be the last in this entire godforsaken town to know.

There’s no harm in taking the flower, Mason insists, staring down into its dark-brown centre.

He’ll hold onto it until he can find the next rubbish bin, and in the mean time he’ll try not to think about how it reminds him of the dusting of dark freckles across her nose.

(He gets it now. He gets it when he’s with Mia.

He understands — finally — why everyone before her kissed his freckles like they wanted to taste the stars.

Her galaxies, his constellations. Every time they meet, Mason expects a seismic shift to take them asunder.)

His usual strides have shortened, his pace slower than normal, his senses overwhelmed by the true yellow of its petals.

For a moment, Mason forgets all about the patrol and just...walks.

It’s a quiet and lazy summer day. The sun (high and hot) urges residents to stay in the shade, seeks refuge in cool indoors. The streets are empty. Sleepy. So, he takes his time, the crease on his brow deepening with every side street he takes.

It’s hot inside his boots. That’s the only reason he’s leaning against her tin can of a car, outside of the station, holding this ostentatiously large flower.

A quick detour for some shade. That’s all it is. And when there’s a whisper of a breeze, rustling the leaves of the tree above him and the little crown of petals in his hand, it’s all the more cooler.

Mason can hear her colleagues moving in and out of the station, but pays them no mind as time moves on, still staring down at the flower in his grip. It’s far too large to twirl it with sturdy fingers, forcing him to keep studying it and wondering what exactly about it brings Mia to mind.

Lively, but not intense.

(Her laugh, he guesses. Loud and clear, broken up by giggles. The sound of it never jarring.)

A drop of sunlight, buried underground. Persists and blossoms through cracked earth.

(Her kindness, he ascertains. Not to be mistaken for weakness. As easy as she can dole-out radiant smiles, her sharp tongue can just as quickly follow.)

...like he’s been holding a piece of her this entire time.

The taut pull at his cheeks is foreign, and he lets the corners of his mouth drop.

Pointless because Mason hears a familiar drumming, a quick skip he’s grown used to over the last years.

He looks up just in time to watch Mia push through the station’s glass doors. At the top of the steps, she stops to survey the car park, and he feels a flutter in his chest when he realises those brown eyes are searching for him. He confirms it when her gaze lands on him and...that smile (the beating inside his chest is ten-fold) breaks out across her face.

She shields her face with a hand, squinting against the harsh glare of sun bouncing off windshields. With easy, unhurried steps she walks towards him and he drinks in the sight of her.

That scratchy yellow cardigan that’s become synonymous with Detective Garcia is nowhere to be seen. Probably thrown over the back of her office chair and forgotten, along with whatever work she’s been putting off all afternoon.

Dark curls scooped up and away from her neck, gives Mason a great view to the line of her throat and down her naked shoulders. A sage strappy shirt stretches down her small frame, trying its best to keep her cool in the heat...reminds him of the stalk in his hand.

He tenses.

Mia’s eyes flicker to the sunflower he’s holding and her smile (fuck, that smile will be the end of him) grows and grows.

All teeth (white, and...harmless with the dull edges) and she gives an airy chuckle.

“That for me?” she asks with one eyebrow lifting into a curly fringe.

Pushing off the car, Mason musters up his best grimace and fights back the fear fighting its way up his spine. He doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know why fear is the first thing that possesses him when she stands this close and gestures to the flower with a tilt of her head.

Before he can respond, before he can let his tongue and fear get the better of him— Mia makes for the sunflower in his grip.

Fear tells him this should be a mistake. This memory must be a mistake; one that he’s sure will be the only one to matter in a dizzying spiral of time: Mia smiling down at this sunflower.

The leaves rustle again, and sunlight filters through, dappling the deep brown of her hair.

She makes it easy, never has to wrestle with the feeling for too long before she distracts him. If it’s not a quip, it’ll be an expression that should not be equal parts funny or cute. Spears Mason somewhere deep, somewhere he doesn’t think he’s touched before— doesn’t know if it could ever be before her.

Mia speaks to the flower, a lone fingertip running over its petals. “It’s very pretty.”

Mason watches her stroke the large leaf at the stalk, leaning in nose-first to catch its scent at the centre, eyes fluttering shut. Dark lashes meet her cheeks, and he follows the line of her freckles (darker in the summertime).

He wants to take his time here too, with the same pace as he did those side streets (seeing parts of Wayhaven he would have never traversed without coaxing).

“Yeah…” his voice is rough and unused, studying as she looks up at the way the branches move above them. Sunlight casting down on her, and that easy smile fixed on her lips. “Very pretty.”

#not proof-read we die like men or w/e #wayhaven summer #rbs whs #twc mason #twc m #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #mason x mia: cigarette with my tea #queue but said like moira rose #tuagonia writes twc

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milkbaer · 3 years

Note

Hi! I found your post and, if it's okay to you, I'd like to send a request! My request is maybe a bit "unusual", so feel free to tell me if you don't like it! It's a Matthias/Female Y/N but... platonic instead of romantic. I'd love to see a cute friendship. This the situation: "After a year, Matthias meets the young doctor who saved his life and, this time, it's his turn to save her." Thank you so much, free to tell if you want me to change it!

Summary: 1 year ago Matthias made friends with the doctor, who saved his life. Now it’s his turn to save yours.

Pairing: platonic! Matthias Helvar x doctor/physician, fem! Reader

Warning: not edited

Wordcount: 3.4k

A/N: I’m very sorry it took so long and it’s probably not exactly what you’ve wished for, but I hope you still enjoy it! The cursive parts play in the past.

Wandering through the woods with his drüskelle, Matthias wondered why sticks and stones felt eerie familiar to him. The young man couldn’t remember having ever roamed these woods. The ground was covered in leaves, bushes and stones, white and brown trees all looked the same to him. A forest was a forest, there was nothing special to it.

But why did he feel like he had been here before? Passing trees, bigger and smaller rocks felt so familiar to him. Was it possible to know and remember these kinds of things? Woods looked the same after all – they were full of dirt, leaf covered grounds, shrubs, stones, trees and other flora. There was nothing striking about forests, especially not this one.

But why did Matthias know this specific tree, and this certain rock formation?

Had he been here before?

“Stop daydreaming, Helvar,” one of his pals called to him, acting as if he was ranked higher or older. But they were all roughly the same age. Young, slightly unexperienced – some more than others – drüskelle, wandering these woods. “Hurry up.”

Matthias didn’t question it when they got ordered to split in two. Scattering into smaller groups was more effective than looking for witches in a big batch. And after all witches where the reason why they were roaming this strip of land.

Witches were always the reason.

He got paired up with a boy roughly his age, maybe 1 or 2 years younger, Matthias couldn’t really tell. They both stepped through the woods, careful to not make any major telling sounds like the infamous crushing branches with the weight of their bodies. His younger drüskelle ambitiously looked for any sign of the godless enemy - or just a sign between all this greens and browns in general - while Matthias couldn’t escape the haunting feeling of having roamed these corners before. Could he really distinguish mossy trees and stones?

Didn’t they all look the same?

But then why told him his brain that he knew this place without further clue?

„Drüsje!“ Matthias heard the young boy cry, following his cracked voice with big, fast steps.

It was cold and yet he was sweating so much. Was it even sweat? Matthias didn’t know but his hands felt awfully wet and sticky. His body hurt but what bothered him more was his itching dry throat, making it impossible for him to utter any coherent words. “I need you to talk to me,” someone said and all he knew was, that it wasn’t one of his comrades.

He felt pressure on his body but couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

What happened?

Matthias didn’t know.

But he tried to talk but all that came out were dusty mumbles, lips sticking together. It didn’t feel like talking but the voice encouraged him to go on. “You need to get out of here,” he heard. “This might hurt a little.”

It didn’t hurt a little. It hurt a lot.

Pain washed through him, and he didn’t know he was able to, but he screamed. Matthias couldn’t tell what was happening exactly, all he felt was pain. A long, torturous stab went through his body, he just couldn’t tell where or why, or how it happened.

It just hurt.

He didn’t know until he saw you, pinned to the ground by the knees of his comrade, telling him that he had indeed found a witch. “I’m not a witch!” You cried at him, trying to toss and turn around but the young drüskelle kept you steady on the forest ground.

“I found her in the bushes,” he told him in Fjerdan. At first it had looked like the young boy had the upper hand, pressing you effortless to the ground with everything he had learned Djerholm. But Matthias could hear by the slight shake in his voice and the change of breathing that it wasn’t as easy as it looked to keep you pressed against the ground. “She keeps claiming that she isn’t a witch, but I know one when I see one!”

Matthias should say something, he knew that. But he couldn’t do anything else but stare at you, while parts of his memory began to unfold. He had been here. But how long had it been? He remembered the cold wind, pain everywhere and your voice telling him that he needed to get out of the woods.

“I am not a witch!” You hissed at him. Matthias remembered that you told him the same when he woke up in your house and accused you of using healing powers. He knew that not all Ravkans were able to craft magic.

But one: You never knew.

And two: A witch would tell you that she isn’t one, right?

When the young drüskelle ignored you to inform Matthias further on you being a drüsje, you spit at him. Both surprised and disgusted he hit you with his elbow before wiping it off. Matthias couldn’t stand it but halted when he almost ordered for him to stop. You needed his helped. He owed you. It was the least he could do after you saved his life. But it would be too suspicious of him to simply stop one from hitting the enemy.

“That’s enough,” he said instead. The younger drüskelle was confused and by looking at his face Matthias could tell that the boy felt offended, but when he told him to leave the job to him and go look for another, he obeyed. But not before handing you over to him. It wasn’t comfortable or painless, Matthias didn’t treat you as if you were made of porcelain. He needed to keep the façade up while shackling you up, until he saw the boy leave.

“Drüsje,” the tall blonde spat at you. His head spun, his body felt sticky and hot, and a fire was burning in the room, keeping it warm. He laid on a soft, comfortable bed – comfier than the one he had in the Ice Court. His body was bandaged and bleeding, apparently. You stood before him, looking both exhausted and offended, with gauze and linen in your hands.

You didn’t understand much Fjerdan, not even at the boarder but you knew what drüsje meant and you weren’t one and never had been. “I am not, and I told you that before!”

The whole ‘being a witch or not’ discussion was going on forever and it was tiring. Not even showing him your medical supplies, all very used and made for people with no unholy powers, made him stop his accusations. You were really getting tired and bored of this strong, injured man. He didn’t stop his rant until you threw a dripping wet cloth at his face.

“Thank the saints, you shut up,” you said while he removed and looked at the wet rag. For a minute he wouldn’t stop looking back from the cloth, dripping onto his lap, to you. It seemed he was absolutely bewildered by your action. “As your doctor I’m telling you to stay calm, or else your wounds will open again, and I hate ruining my good work.”

“Do you understand me, Fjerdan?”

He looked at you.

“What have you done to me?” It wasn’t really something you expected to hear from someone, who’s life you had saved.

“A ‘thank you’ would be appropriate for the saviour of your life,” you told him, scooting closer. “And now sit back, I need to change to take a look at you.”

You meant to gently push him down with your fingers, but he didn’t budge. Rather the tall, wounded man kept staring at you, looking more confused than ever. Didn’t he know what happened? That he got injured, most likely by inferni? Instead, he tried to get up, only sit back immediately, hissing in pain.

“I guess that’s what you get for treating a man.” It was almost funny, if it wasn’t so frustrating, that most men reacted the same way when their got fixed up by a woman. The Fjerdan wasn’t the first stupid, hurt man you encountered in your life.

“What have you done to me, witch?” You sighed annoyed and chose to simply ignore his words. Taking the wet cloth to dab his face, he scooted away, eying you and the rag warily. “Stay away from me,” he hissed.

This was really getting annoying.

You whacked his head, made use of his baffled state by pushing him back down onto the pillow and began to gently clean his face. The cuts on his face looked much better already and the little burn too. “Did you–did you just hit me?” You had ignored his dazed stare and continued to do so, focusing more on patching that rude guy up.

“Don’t worry, I’m a doctor,” you said, trailing further down, inspecting every cut and burn for a sign of infection. But they were all doing great. “I know what I’m doing.”

When you reached the part of his body, that was mostly covered in dirtied gauze and linen, you ordered for him to sit upright, which he refused. You thought of hitting him again, but you discovered there was no need for that. He shot up when your fingers barely touched his bandaged torso, hissing about how you, a witch, should stay away from him. Having heard these accusations a million time by now, you simply continued with your work. “As I thought, the cut has teared a bit.”

The look you gave him was very telling, even he understood that it was his fault. “Told you to stop turning and tossing around. See,” you said, dabbing his opened wound and making him hiss in pain. “That’s what you get for accusing me a witch.”

After that you put some ointment on, stitched it back together and took care of his burns. His flesh still looked red and very sensitive, but it looked much better than before. While he had been unconscious you had managed to remove the necrotic pieces successfully. You knew that some batches of skin would never look the same again. However, you were glad that most of it hadn’t been as bad as it looked.

Matthias was very confused that you used normal equipment for his wounds. He had expected for witchy healers to use … well, witchcraft and forbidden things.

“You still get called a witch these days?” Matthias asked while escorting you back to your house, careful that no other drüskelle saw him sneak away a ‘witch’.

You scoffed, looking offended as ever for being called anything human. The past year he hadn’t noticed it, but now he knew that he had missed you. “Only by Fjerdans, apparently.”

“I don’t know why you always accuse me of being one. Am I simply as stunning as a Grisha or do you tell that every Ravkan woman you meet?”

Matthias chuckled. “I tell that every Ravkan woman.”

You whacked him on his chest, regretting it as soon as pain welcomed your wrists. Matthias simply enjoyed your bothered expression but not the hiss. The young drüskelle must have hurt you. He wasn’t a doctor but even he could see the forming bruise on your face, and it looked nasty.

“How often did that happen now?” Matthias asked you, looking as concerned as he sounded. Drüskelle often roamed near the boarder towns and villages. It was the easiest way of capturing witches for the fair process. But it they simply accused you based on your looks or activities – collecting firewood, herbs and other stuff you needed as a physician – then your home wasn’t save for you anymore. When he had been stubborn enough to be convinced otherwise then other drüskelle might carry you to the Ice Court.

“After you, hmm …. I think today was the third time?” You told him, sounding perfectly unbothered as if trained witch hunters weren’t a match for you. Back then Matthias wasn’t but he had been injured and confused. Maybe today’s youngling would’ve managed to carry you to back to Djerholm.

“You know, they’re no match for me. The last one didn’t even saw a glimpse of my fists and feet before I outrun him,” you said proudly, knowing very well that these encounters were indeed a problem. One, you might one day not solve.

In memory of Matthias rubbed his brows. “Do you still hit your patients?”

You gave him a – not to threatening but you loved to believe otherwise – side-glance. “Only if I need to.”

Nipping at a cup of soup with not much taste Matthias looked at you, mixing a new ointment for him. Your medical skills were amazing; however, your cooking was not, he learnt that much in the weeks he had spent at your house. The meal you made him tasted like boiled water with pieces of uncooked potatoes in his mouth.

“How do you keep yourself alive?” He asked. Over the time Matthias had grown comfortable around you. It was weird. You two grew from witch accusations to something other’s might call a friendship. Usually, you didn’t make friends with your patients. It kinda happened with Matthias.

Maybe certain circumstances require a certain outcome.

You didn’t look up from your work, you never did when you had your eyes on something. Matthias learnt that much. “Huh? I manage like everybody else.”

“Really?” He took another sip of his uncooked potato water, wishing it was something different, something tastier. He tried to ignore the tasteless cooking malfunction in his hand, instead he focused on your skillful hands, grinding herbs and other ingredients. “It is a miracle to me.”

“Why’s that?” You mixed them all together with a pinch of fat.

“Because you can’t even cook potatoes. They’re still raw. – Can you cook at all?”

That made you look up, hands smeared and stained with different ingredients. You even had some on your cheeks and nose. “Excuse me? Are you really questioning my cooking skills?”

Matthias raised a brow. “There’s nothing to question, they simply don’t exist.”

Seeing your offended face he fished a cut potato, with two fingers, out of the cup and threw it at you. It landed in your new lotion, spilling some of it on your hand and wooden table. “See, rock hard.”

“Are you insane? That salve was for you!” You fished the tuber out of the bowl, hoping that the drops of soup hadn’t influence your mixture too much. With a spatula you tried to save it. Scooping parts, you believed were stained, out and stirring it again until it looked good in your eyes. “You’ve more luck than wit, Matthias.”

“You need to boil them in water or throw them into the fire until they’re soft,” he told you, ignoring your concern for his treatment. “You can’t eat them like that.”

Annoyed you huffed. There were more important things than the cooking time of tubers. “I don’t have the time for that.”

Matthias looked at you baffled. Through the weeks you had only three different patients besides him. “You don’t need time for that.”

Carefully let Matthias you down onto your old, rotten armchair, propping up your leg with firewood. He wasn’t a physician, she sat injured in an old chair before him. But from all the years as a drüskelle he knew at least how a sprained ankle looked – and felt – like. He knew sprained all too well and the pained sounds you made whenever he touched your foot was quite telling as well.

“Do you’ve something to cool?” Matthias asked you, the expert, since putting some ice on it was the only idea he got. From his experience he knew that ice was good for both swollen ankles and bruised faces.

“Try drenching a cloth in water, they should be there in the drawer.” Following the wave of your hand Matthias found them quite easily … after rummaging through some cabinets.

“Wait,” you told him when his hand was near the drawer with different kinds of self-made ointments. “Take one of the lotions too–uh, I think it was the first one.”

He nodded, doing so as you said, bringing you a wet cloth and the first tin from the tray. As he wrapped the rag around your bruised ankle, the touch making you hiss, you opened the tin and smelled at it. The odour was awful, telling you that this was the right mixture. When Matthias opened it, to rub it on your ankle, his face scrunched up as the odd smell hit him.

“Are you sure it’s the right one?” He asked, trying not to puke from the stench. It even bit his eyes, making them all teary – he couldn’t even describe this godforsaken smell, but it was more than awful, even worse. “Shit, that reeks!”

“Well, of course it does. It has to be,” you said, completely unbothered by the odour that began to spread in the room. Your poor nose was already used to stuff like that. “If it stinks you know that it’s going to work.”

With a grin you watched him taking care of you – and suffering in the process. One would think a drüskelle would’ve seen, done, and smelled more gruesome and brutal things. But here he was, sitting in the house of a friend, doing his best not to puke.

“Did the stuff you gave me reek as much?”

“Even worse.” You grinned proudly. “But see, it worked.”

Matthias couldn’t remember the smell of it. His mind was foggy when it came to all that pain, which was a good thing he thought, since he must’ve smelt awful. He didn’t want to remember that.

“Are you okay?” Matthias wasn’t a physician; he wasn’t even close. He probably made more damage than ever mending people. But it looked like he had done a good job with you, his doctor and friend. “Is there anything more I can do?”

You smiled, which was barely visible under the large piece of meat Matthias has brought you to cool your face. “You did well. I only need to rest for some days, and everything will be fine.”

“So, you’ll run around, letting drüskelle catch you?” It was meant as a joke, he knew that, and you did too. But none of you could bring up a smile, not even a little. There had been something serious, something chiding in his flat, joking tone.

“They won’t catch me,” you chuckled drily, trying to ignore the changing mood of the room.

“Yes, they will.”

“No.”

Matthias sighed. “You need to leave.”

“No!” You cried in protest. “This is my home. I won’t leave! The people need me, I’m their doctor!”

“Other people need you too!” His voice carried almost the same volume as yours, even though he had wanted to remain calm with his friend. You were just so goddamn stubborn. He wasn’t always there to save you.

“Like whom?” You scoffed. “You?”

Yes.

“Other villagers need medical treatment too,” he said instead. Matthias knew that his care for you wouldn’t change much, especially not if he expressed that you were an important, a live-saving friend for him. You wouldn’t believe it. Mostly because you hadn’t seen each other in over a year and he wouldn’t be able to take you with him all the time. Djerholm was his home but not as a drüskelle, not really.

“So, I should just leave the ones here?”

“Y/N,” he sighed. “When I was with you, you only had like five different patients. They don’t come to you. They rather go to the next village.”

You knew that this was true. You always hated to admit it, but you mixed far more tinctures and lotions than you could use, mostly because there wasn’t much to do here. Most villagers rather walked hours to get treated by an older, male physician than you. You never knew why they didn’t trust you as much. Maybe they suspected you to be a witch too.

Still, you didn’t want to leave.

You weren’t a witch. You were a physician, what where they going to do to you anyway?

“Y/N, please.”

“Tell me,” he said, body all healed by now. Some patches were still a tint of red, but they’d probably stay like that. Otherwise, Matthias felt fine, maybe even better than ever. “Why did you save me?”

He had asked himself that for months. You were Ravkan, he was Fjerdan, your countries were at war – not the best soil to grow a friendship on. If he was in your potion, he wouldn’t know if he had let himself die. As enemies it was the most logical thing to do, right?

Right?

But then neither he or you were soldiers and fought in the war. Matthias only caught drüsje. He would help others survive.

“It was the right thing to do,” you said, preparing everything for his leave.

“But–“

“A life is always worth saving. Especially when you find a friend.”

#matthias helvar x reader #matthias helvar fanfic #matthias helvar imagine #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone #grishaverse #crooked kingdom #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows #grishaverse fanfiction #sab fanfic #matthias helvar #grishaverse scenario

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ziee · 3 years

Text

Blinky x Reader (18+)

Arcadia. Back once more after the 15 years you've been gone. You were a friend of the Domzalski's, and the un-paid babysitter of their baby son. The day they won the lottery, you cheered in excitement for them. And the day they fell into the sea, you cried for them.

The heartbreak of your 2 best friends struck you so severely, you couldn't stand being in Arcadia any longer. The memories, the high school all 3 of you went to, the restaurant you went to after every celebration. You just couldn't bear it. The last memories of the small town were bidding little Toby and Nana goodbye.

But now, you're back.

Nana had contacted you, saying she needed help with Tobies. Half-blind and all, old and raising a teenager, you could see why. You didn't want to be out of your best friend's childs' life completely at the loss of his parents, so once in a while, you phoned your adoptive nephew. Just checking up on him, seeing how he was.

You had accepted, of course. Slightly jumping at the opportunity and a reason to come back to Arcadia, you called in sick for an indefinite amount of days and packed a suitcase. Filling up your car, you hopped into the driver's seat and started the long drive.

You were kind of thankful that you didn't have to buy a plane ticket, hating planes and airports, but the long, lonely roads brought into account new emotions. This is the first time you're going back to your hometown in 15 years.. You're going to see the high school. And the restaurant. And.. Their house.

The house you saw them buy, build and love. You remember watching them set up a room for the new baby. Deciding the colors, layout, and designs of the wall. You remember getting sloshed in the living room, accidentally breaking one of the photos upon the fireplace. Your kind of glad you did, seeing as you took the photo and hung it in your house.

The photo of the 3 of you.

The days were long in your small car, the best you could afford. Stopping at family dinners and shitty motels to rest. The cycle stopped on day 6, finally reaching the sign with bold letters spelling out, 'Arcadia'.

You picked up your phone and dialed Nana. She picked up after the 3rd time. "Hello dear! Y/n, are you coming soon?" She spoke happily, a bag crunching in the background.

"Hi, Nana. I just got into Arcadia, I'll be there in less than 10 minutes!" You smiled as you heard the old lady scolded one of her many cats.

"Alright dear. See you soon." She ended the call before you could bid farewell. You chuckled and rolled your eyes, setting your phone down into your cup container. You took in a deep breath as you entered the small town.

Driving past the buildings that seem so familiar but have changed so much, you felt an array of emotions. Happy your here. Confused as to why they would change things. Sorrow as you remembered multiple memories in the areas you passed.

Driving into the neighborhood, your car stilled at the infamous yellow house. Their house. You stared at it through your window, looking into their own as light shone from within. You sighed and started your car again.

Eventually, you pulled into Nana's driveway. Strolling up to the doorsteps, you knocked 3 times before waiting. A shuffle, a huff, and then the door opens. You smiled as your eyes suddenly felt teary. "Y/n! Oh dear, come inside, come inside." She urges you inside, holding a foot out to prevent a black cat from escaping.

You enter the warm house, the smell of bread and... Burritos filling the room? You shrug it off as you're ushered to the couch. Sitting down, you let out a heave of relief. You're not sure why. "So, how have you been?" You ask as Nana moves towards the kitchen, presumably to make you some tea.

"Oh, I've been fine. Toby and the cats keep me busy." She laughs as she grabs 4 cups. 4 cups? You could understand that the other 1 would be for Toby, so who was the other one for?

"That's great Nana." You smile, sinking into the soft cushion. Your car was not the worst, but my god the seats were terrible. It felt like nails were digging into your back and ass. Not that good for almost a week's road trip.

"So how are you dear?" She spoke as she took the kettle off the burner as it began to scream.

"Oh I've been better, I mean- WAIT- NANA, LET ME HELP YOU!" You shout, running towards the old lady, taking the opened kettle out of her hands. Unbeknownst to her, she had almost poured boiling water onto her cat.

"Ohoho, your so helpful already." She mumbles, skittering off into the living room. You look down at the tea bags sat in one of the empty cups. Orange Pekoe.. She still knows what kind you like after all these years. Your heart swells as you pour hot water into the cups, your lips rising like a goofball.

Stirring the drinks, 2 of the cups had hot chocolate and the other 2 had tea. You could guess which is which, so you handed Nana a cup while placing your own on the table before grabbing the other 2 mugs.

"I'm gonna bring this to Toby and..?"

"Oh! Toby has a friend over. His international friend, his names Arthur-San." You nodded and headed upstairs. From the top, you could hear loud cheers from inside the room you thought to be Tobies'. You knocked and waited, but you don't think they heard you from the loud volume of a video game.

You sighed and opened the door. Inside, 2 backs were turned to you. One, obviously being Toby and the other.. It was a white sheet. A large, very large in fact, figure was sat beside Toby, wearing a bedsheet. Uh-

"Hey Toby, and Arthur, Nan-" You stopped mid-sentence as the heads turned to you. A large, circle-ish face appeared from the draped sheet. A green, mossy beard decorated its chin, a mouth with 4 long teeth sticking out, and are those- HORNS??

"T-Toby.. Who is that?" You cautiously, and very slowly, set the drinks down onto a nearby dresser.

"Aunt Y/n?! What are you doing here?" Toby gets up and comes near you. You quickly grab onto him, wrapping your arms around him as you run out the door. "Wait- Auntie Y/n, he's a friend!" You turn around and quickly shut the door as you place Toby back down.

"Toby, go get Nana and run!" You scream. He just stands there, sighing. A knock from the inside of the room startles you. "Wingman?" A gruff voice speaks. You shriek as the knob is pulled from your grip, the door opening as the large head sticks out, right in front of you. Its black nose presses against your shoulder, pulling in a long sniff.

"Oh go-" And your fainting. A stone hand stops you mid-fall, preventing you from hitting a hard bottom as your eyes closed.

"I'll call Jim."

You awoke on a soft plush. Feeling around, you realize you're on a bed. "Master Jim, Lady Y/n is awaking." A deep voice calls out, sensing that you knew he was close to you from how loud he was. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you adjust to the light of the room. Looking around, it was just a regular room. Including a monster with 6 eyes.

"AHHHH!" You scream, scrambling off the bed. The moment you do so, 2 teenagers including Toby run into the room. You move near Toby, your eyes locked on the monsters.

"Woah! Calm down Miss Y/n, if we can just explain everything-" You cut the boy with twig legs off.

"Oh, you kids better explain as to why there is a- .. A-"

"I believe the word is 'Troll." The blue monster says.

"Yes! That! Why there is a troll with 6 eyes and 4 arms staring at me right now!" You pointed to Toby, "And you! Explain what happened earlier, with that big guy. Right now." You huffed.

"Is she talking about Aaarrrgghh?" The girl with a blue streak in her hair spoke.

"Aaarrgghh? Wait a minute.. Arthur?!" Your brows furrowed. "Toby, have you been lying to Nana about this 'International student'?" You made finger quotes as you looked upon your nephew's embarrassed face.

"Uhhh, maybe?" He shrugs. You sigh, disappointed in your nephew.

"If you'll allow me to explain, Lady Y/n,"

Oh- no man, or at least you think it's male, has ever called you lady..

"Aaarrrggh and I are trolls. Master Jim as you see over there," He points to chicken legs, "Is the troll hunter. Underneath your world, there is a magnificent other world, filled with trolls and things you couldn't possibly believe." He waves his hands up in the air.

You nod, taking it all in.

"Ugh, this hurts my head." Another world? Trolls? Troll hunter?? Jim moves beside the blue troll whose name you don't know and speaks to him softly.

"Hi, I'm Claire." There's a hand that's shoved in front of you, in which you awkwardly shake.

"Hey, I'm Toby's aunt. Not biological but I knew his parents well." She nodded before removing her hand from yours. You leaned down, whispering into Toby's ear.

"Who's 6 eyes?"

A voice answered you before Toby's mouth even opened. "My name is Blinky. A pleasure to meet you, lady Y/n." The troll paddles over to you, his stone feet making satisfying clicking sounds as he walks. He holds one of his upper hands out for you to shake.

He didn't seem like such a threat, in fact, he seemed like a gentleman. You smiled and shook his hand. His skin was stone, as you could feel the cracks engraved into it as your hand flooded with a strange warmth.

"Nice to meet you too, Blinky." You release his hand after a few seconds of shaking.

"Master Jim and I were discussing a matter regarding you. If you would like, we could show you Troll Market."

"Troll Market?" You question.

"The home of trolls such as myself, and Aaarrrgghh over here." He points behind him, your eyes wander over to the window as you see that large head. The large troll waves a hand and smiles, seeing as everybody's eyes are now on him.

"Has he been out there the whole time?" You ponder. Why isn't he just in the room?

"Rooms too small." You look around, finding it is indeed smaller than your nephew's room. Oh well. You think about the opportunity to travel to this unknown world. Eh, why not. You would be keeping an eye on Toby as well, so that's always good.

"Um, well, if your offering then, of course, I'd come. Thank you for inviting me." You smile at the blue troll. He smiles back, his 6 eyes staring into your 2. His eyes just seemed so soft.. And mesmerizing, having never seen anyone like this before. Your eyes ghost his face, inspecting upon closer details on the stoned troll.

...

"Ahem." Jim coughs. You both suddenly break eye contact as Blinky coughs, making his way towards the exit.

"Aha! Yes, we should be going. Daylight is rising." He muttered as the teens follow him out. You follow, exiting the house as the breeze of the night flushes your already pink cheeks. Your lead to the bridge you had driven over while entering the town, but now under it.

Aaarrrgghh is tossed a glowing stone by Blinky, creating a semi-circle on the stone of the bridge. He punches the wall, creating a crack before it starts to fall apart. Yellow swirls around the stone before creating something like a portal?

The trolls head in, followed by Jim and Claire. "Cmon auntie, it won't hurt you." You begrudgingly sigh and follow him inside the glowing portal. Stepping inside, you wince as you close your eyes.

Not even a second later, you could feel your area darken. Opening your eyes, you see everyone else staring at you. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Goddammit. The kids laugh as Blinky looks at with you an indescribable expression.

Is he disappointed? Shocked? Unbeknownst to you, the corners of the blue troll's lips rose. "This way, lady Y/n." His 4 hands motioned you to the crystal stairs, swirling downwards in a circle. Oh my god- Wow.

Everyone makes their way down the steps, in comfortable silence. Coming further down, you stop as you take in the view. The magnificent, one-of-a-kind, breathtaking, OH MY GOD, view. "Wow." You mumble in awe, looking up at the enormous, orange crystal in the center. Everything was so beautiful.

"Welcome to HeartStone Troll Market!" Blinky exclaimed from behind you. The other smiled as they watched your reaction. Stepping down the steps, you ended up beside the 6 eyed troll as you stopped.

"Where should we go first?" Toby asked as you gazed upon the well-spoken mystery. Now taking a better look as the others speak, you watch as his eyes blink simultaneously. How the 2d tooth on both sides of his mouth is cracked. The deep grooves into his stone skin. You paid minor attention to what he was wearing before, but now looking closer you see the 2 satchels sporting each hip on his brown overalls.

Your gazing ventures further down, looking at his flat feet. Heh, they look stumpy. "Great! We'll take you to the forge, where you can see my impressive hammer skills!" Toby proclaimed, steering your head up from your gaze.

6 eyes met yours. Oh god, did he see you staring at him? Did he see you staring below his waist??? He doesn't bring it up if he did, instead leading the 5 of you to the 'forge'.

"This is the forge, where many of our great warriors have trained." Blinky gestures around the grand room. You look around in awe, feeling a little overwhelmed by such a beautiful realm.

"It's amazing." You whisper, settling yourself on the sidelines of the giant arena as the kids grab weapons. Weapons?! Oh god.. Aaarrrgghh comes and sits behind you, jolting you with a loud thud as he sits. Blinky stands beside you, gazing out at the children.

"Indeed they are." Your eyes meet his 6, a glance before breaking contact. You smile, proud of your little nephew.

"Aunt Y/n! Look!" The ginger boy yelled from across the large expanse. You watch as he pulls out a small item, before smashing it to the ground. It sprouts a large, flaming orange hammer. Your mouth widens in shock as you see him swish the weapon around. "Impressive, right? It's my war hammer." He says as he trudges over to you.

"Uh yeah, just please be careful with that." He laughs before skittering off. Guess he gets that from Nana. You sigh as you watch the kids spar, rather impressed by Jim's armor and Claire's staff. After they were done fooling around, you see as Claire checks her watch.

"Guys, it's almost 6:30. We should get going." Mumbling as she puts away her shadow staff. Toby groans, retracting his hammer as Jim takes off the amulet.

"Ughh, I forgot we had school today." You slightly chuckle at the kids' words, being the exact same as a child. Jim, Claire, and Toby all run towards the exit of Trollmarket whereas you stand still. Toby looks behind him, seeing your unmoving form.

"Are you coming, auntie?" He cocks his head.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, I just thought I would have more time checking the place out.." You trail off, glancing at what you thought to be your last look at the mysterious underground world. From behind you, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh look towards each other.

"Ahem, if I may, Aaarrrgghh and I will accompany Lady Y/n down here while you're at school. If.. That is alright with you?" His dark, red eyes turn to your form. You nod excitedly.

"Yes! Yes, I would love that." His lips form a smile, 6 eyes gleaming at you before turning back to the other 3 humans.

"Now, run along kids. Aaarrrgghh and I will keep Lady Y/n safe." 2 of his hands form a 'shoo' motion as they smile. You move towards Toby, wrapping him in a hug before bidding goodbye. Turning towards your new-found troll friends, you couldn't help but grin as your leaded into the busy streets of the market.

"This place is so beautiful. How long have you guys been living down here?" You wonder, looking around at all the shop stalls.

"A few centuries, after the battle of Killahead bridge, we had traveled until we found the heartstone you see today." Blinky gestured a hand to the bright, orange crystal towards the center wall of the market.

"Hated boat." Aaarrrgghh chimed in from behind, his large statue circling both the conundrum troll and the female human.

"Yes, we all did." Memories flashed in his 6 eyes before he shivered, obviously not liking that part of his life.

"Killahead bridge? What's that?" You question. You're stopped in front of what looked to be a bookstore. The 2 trolls enter, you following closely behind them as you take in the view. Books littered the walls everywhere. Bookshelves, books on tables, and some even on the floor.

"Ah, and that's the reason why I took you here. You seem like a lover of history, as I am. Therefore, Lady Y/n, I have taken you to my lodgings to learn about troll history!" He exclaims, clearly excited.

"This is your house?" Looking around, it does suit him.

"Indeed, now make it as if your own. I will fetch you some books you can read that will fully satisfy a craving for troll history." He runs around the room, 4 arms stacked full of large books that would most likely take you hours to read. Aaarrrgghh yawns from the corner, bored.

A few minutes later, he sets the books down with a thud on a large table. You sit in one of the chairs presented, grabbing one of the books from the top of the stack. Opening it up, you stare blankly. Turning the pages, you realize you can't read the language.

"Blinky, I can't read this." You say, head popping up from the pages, meeting his 6 eyes. He walks over to you, standing closely behind you as he looks over your shoulder. Your heartbeat quickens as you can see the strands of each of his hair. His long ears softly flap as his eyebrows furrow while reading what you can't.

"Hmm.. That is an issue." He sets a hand on his chin, pondering for a quick while before getting an idea. Sliding a chair over, he sits in front of you, grabbing the book from the table into his 2 upper hands. "Well, I'll just read it to you!" He smiles as you nod, eagerly wanting to learn about something you didn't know existed until 2 hours ago.

And so began the many hours of Blinky reading trollish to you. At some point, Aaarrrgghh decided to leave the hole, leaving you and the conundrum troll alone. You arch your strained back as he finished reading the last sentence of the 3rd book. "And those were all the creatures starting with an A!"

"Wow Blinky that was really, informational." Stretching your legs outwards, you bump onto his foot with your own. Recoiling your legs, you speak quickly, "Oh, sorry." Your cheeks flush.

"No worries Lady Y/n." He sets the book down on the table. "This may sound a bit odd," His eyes find yours, "but I've always been fascinated with the human body. If it's alright with you, lady Y/n, may I take a look at you?"

You thought for a second. Of course, you would also be curious about a different type of species other than your own. Plus, although you've only known him for a few hours, you trusted him. You nod, "Yea sure." He visibly relaxed at your answer. "But," You continue, " I want to look at you too."

He blinked, processing your words before smiling. "Of course." You were unsure of what to do now, sitting in silence as you both watched each other. It was only when he scooted closer, the sound of his chair scraping the ground broke you from your gaze.

"If I may..?" He gestured towards your resting arm. You quickly lifted it up and bent closer, showing him your fleshy arm. He told ahold gently, stone hands that were surprisingly warm against your skin. He traced up and down your arm, squishing a few times.

His breath tickled your skin, resulting in tiny goosebumps forming. "What are those small bumps?" He mumbled, eyes fixated on your arm.

"Those are goosebumps. Humans get them when we're cold." You answer, enjoying being the teacher for once.

"Fascinating." He moved down from your arm towards your fingers, squishing, prodding, rubbing. Your hands tingled in his own as he poked your fingernails. "And these?" He pointed towards them.

"Those are fingernails, they're made of keratin." He nodded, placing your hand down.

"Thank you for allowing me to look at you, lady Y/n." You smiled, waving your hand.

"No problem. Now it's my turn." He lifted his lower arm and extended it towards you. You grab hold, a bit taken aback at the size. His hand could easily fit around your whole face. You rub the warm stone, strumming your fingers along it as you play a rhythmic tune.

Unlike you, he only had 4 fingers, every one of them very large. While your head is down playing with his hand, his 6 eyes gaze upon you. Never did he allow a human he just met to poke and prod at him, so why did he allow you? The moment you had awoken in Toby's house, a scream and a stumble he had expected when you saw him, but he didn't expect you to shake his hand for so long.

He would have sufficed a quick shake and a fearful let go, leaving you in his 'ok' books. But, you just kept staring at him, even now, he feels his heart shake a little as you examine his arm. Standing near him willingly, refusing to leave with Master Jim and the others, but to stay and explore more of his world? Oh dear.

"You know," Your voice snaps him out of his daydream, "even though you're made of stone, you're actually very warm." You note as you caress his arm.

"Ah, yes, rather strange isn't it?" He brings an upper hand of his to his mouth and coughs. He could feel as you trace the engravements on his skin, your fingernails scratching him a little.

"Can I touch your belly?" He sputtered at the question.

"My stomach?" You lift your head, watching as his face contorts into a confused expression.

"I mean, uh- never mind." You release his hand and try to laugh it off. Well, that was embarrassing. You feel your cheeks rise in heat as you look at the ground.

"You may." A soft voice beckons you to look up, staring at the oh-so-kind troll, looking down at you with gentle eyes. You smile, giving a small thank you before moving your hand towards the troll's exposed stomach. Settling your hand on the stone belly, you felt him jolt slightly.

Tracing the engravings upon his skin once more, you lean closer and place your other hand onto him. Your eyes focus on his body, not daring to make eye contact. Whereas, his 6 eyes stared intently down at you. Watching, feeling your every move. He could somewhat feel your breath on his stone skin as well. Although he did find it odd you would want to touch his stomach, it did feel nice.

Your hands caress his body, leaning your face in as you stare into the cracked stone. Wonderous. As you slid your hands up, you went a bit further than you assumed as your hands went upon his chest. "Oh- sorry about that, getting a little handsy heh." You remove your hands and scratch your neck as you mentally slap yourself. Goddammit Y/n. You could feel your cheeks reddening.

He says nothing, so you look up at him. His eyes, half-lidded, staring at you with an unexplainable expression. What is..?

"May I smoosh faces with you?"

"Pardon?" You lower your hand from your neck, head shooting up from his words. Smoosh faces? Wait.. Did he mean kissing? "Do you want to kiss me?" You whisper.

"Yes! That's the word." He nodded.

"Then, yes." You nod, slowly leaning back towards him. He swallowed as you closed your eyes, coming towards him ever so slowly. He pushed his face towards yours, his large lips pressed against yours. His teeth touched your cheeks, but he was careful not to hurt you. 2 of his arms came and clutched onto your shoulders.

Unconsciously pulling you closer towards him, you lifted yourself out of your seat and onto his lap. Lower hands settle onto your waist, holding you close as you continue the kiss. He pulled away first, 6 wide eyes settled upon you.

"That was.." You try and find the word.

"Magnificent." He breathed out. His arms slowly slid up and down your waist, caressing your clothed skin. "May I.. Remove your shirt?" Struck with lust, you nodded, lifting your arms up as he removes your shirt. Discarding the shirt to the floor, he leans in and breaths in your scent.

"Blinky," You whisper in his ear, "take off my pants." You slowly grind against him in his lap, breathing heavily. He aides you in removing your clothing, until your sitting on him with only a bra on. You unclip your bra and toss it to the side, your breasts free from the barrier. Your nipples harden at the cool air, gaining the troll's attention.

He asks for your permission, "Blinky, I wouldn't get naked just so you can't touch me." He removes his upper hands from your shoulders and placed them over your breasts. He experimentally kneads, pushes, and rubs your fat lumps. You softly moan, encouraging him to continue.

"You are very squishy.." He mumbles, softly pinching your nipples. You arch your back, pushing your chest further into him as one of his lower hands moves to support your back. You grab his hand attached to your waist and pull it between your legs.

"Touch me here." You release the stone as he complies, his large fingers fiddling between your folds. He takes experimental rubs into you, finding your clit with your help as you release a loud moan. His hands continue to rub your tits, rubbing your nipples with soft strength.

"O-oh.." You grind into his hand as he rubs your button.

"I'd like to take a closer look, if I may?" He puffs in your ear. You nod, frowning as he removes his hands from your body, only to lift you up and carry you towards a back room. Entering the new room, you see a pile of pillows and blankets littering the floor. He sets you upon them before removing his overalls.

You move a hand between your legs and feel your wetness, circling your clit a few times as you beg for him in your mind. He lays his clothes on the side before returning to your side. Settling his face between your legs, he inhales your scent deeply through his large orange nose. "Human anatomy is rather fascinating up close."

He says it as if he.. You sit up, bumping against his nose before he brings his head up, a confused expression on his face. "Blinky, is this the first time you've done it?"

"Done what?"

"Had sex..?" He smiles at your worried expression. "Cause we can stop if you want to-"

"My dear, this is only the first time I've done anything with your kind. As well, I am positively overjoyed to be with you right now. Rest assured, I want to do this." You exhale and smile, flopping your head back down.

"Well, that's a relief. And I am too, Blinky, really happy to do this with you." You avoid eye contact, your cheeks too flushed to be seen. He returns his head back down, his fingers spreading your lips as he explores you.

He blows air, rubs, licks. As his mouth plays with your outer part, a stone finger gently prods your entrance. Sliding into you with ease, you gasp as you thought how a single digit was so thick. You're having sex with a troll, duh.

Soon enough, with all of his stimulation, you came around his finger. "AhhH~" Crying out, he halts his movements as you come down from your high. He leans up as your thighs twitch, bringing his soaked finger to his mouth before licking.

"Was that alright?"

You panted, holding up a thumbs up. "Amazing." He gave an innocent smile, amusing in the situation that had just occurred. You leaned up, sitting on your butt. "Blinky, so um," You gestured towards his blank pelvis.

"Ah, for me to release my, 'intimacy', I will need to be coaxed open. Protective plates will shift, revealing myself." You nodded, crawling closer towards him as he leaned back, parting his legs. You didn't know exactly what to do, so you started with rubbing the stone. Looking up towards your lover's face, he seemed to like it as his 6 eyes fell half-lidded, staring down at you.

You continued rubbing until what he had said happened, his plates parted, revealing not one, but 3 appendages. The middle, being the largest, whereas the other 2 were shorter. "Ah.. Yes, the middle one is the functioning one, carrying the sperm. The others are for added stimulation." He muttered as your hand softly caressed his cocks.

"So, how do you wanna do this? You lie down or me?" You stroke him as he ponders.

"It is your first time with a troll, so allow me to take command." A breathy voice mutters, hands removing yours from himself as he sets you on your back. "I fear the other way around would have you in pain." He was right, cowgirl position usually gets deeper.

You settle down as he scooches near you, hands ahold of his larger phallus. The smaller ones swirl and wrangle as their placed near your thigh creases. He angles the middle one to your hole, as 2 of his hands grasp your waist. Pushing his hips forwards, he slowly slides in, stretching you no man, or toy had ever done to you.

Your hands find his attached to your skin, grasping onto his hand and signal him to slow down. He does, waiting for you to adjust to his girth. It takes a long while as you wait for the pain to settle as he pushes himself in little by little. After a couple of minutes, you finally have him all inside without any pain. Discomfort? Yes, but nothing you cant handle.

As he pulls out, the first few pushes are testing. Testing your levels and discomfort. Hearing the soft sounds you make as he slowly enters you, he speeds up his thrusts. Rocky digits hold onto your skin, moving upwards towards your breasts as another set comes onto your skin. He leans over you as he rhythmically pounds into you.

His smaller tendrils wiggle and surround your opening, gently prodding your hole. You couldn't dare to fit another one inside, could you? He stares at your form, looking for any signs of pain. "Are you alright so far?" He rolls his hips against you.

"Yes! It feels so good.." You lift your arms and place your hands onto his cheeks. He gives you a toothy smile before returning to the task at hand. Your arms fell to clutch his own around you as he gives a sharp thrust. You moan as he bites his lips.

A deep growl resonated within the bookworm's chest as one of his smaller tendrils slowly pushes its way inside of you. You whine as it snakes its way through your hole, wiggling against your walls. You feel so full. You could feel yourself coming undone, a ball in your stomach forming as he slithers inside of you.

The outer phallus slides up your vulva, towards the top of your lips, finding your little pink button. You squeal as you are overwhelmed with pleasure. He grunts over you, clenching his teeth as he continues to thrust. Wet sounds surrounded the room, the slapping of him against you is the only sound in the room.

You clench down around him, both of his cocks still moving as you release onto them. Soaked in your juices, they glisten in the light as they're pulled from you in mere milliseconds before pounding back inside you. You cry out from the overstimulation, your face contorting into many expressions as your opening's abused by large cocks.

As he nears his end, his chest rumbles as he begins to make curious sounds. Deep throaty rasps, before a loud yelp lets out from his tusked mouth. Hot seed envelopes your insides, soaking your walls. He continues to thrust, riding out his orgasm before he settles down. Pulling out from you, he leans to the side and flops down.

You pant and turn towards him, grabbing onto his hand as he heaves. You both lay in silence, catching your breath from such an exhilarating activity.

#tales of arcadia #trollhunters #blinky #blinkous #blinkous galadrigal #blinkyxreader #blinkousxreader

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arthur-rex · 3 years

Text

Sir Elyan + Arthur Pendragon // Mini-Fic for Albion Party 🔥

The firelight cracks and throws sparks out in the darkness. Seated on a worn stone tablet beside the burning embers, Sir Elyan looks into the red flame and ponders.

The knights and their king had been following the tracks left ever so carefully by the witch for the better part of a fortnight. Leon was the expert tracker in their midst, and together with Arthur, who had learnt from his previous knight mentor how to read the shadows that fall across the branches of trees, to decipher the hue of the green ivy leaves twisting around their trunks - they were all well on their way to rescuing his sister.

Gwen had been taken by Morgana.

It made a brother’s blood boil. It also gave Elyan a chance to reflect. Life had a funny habit of throwing a mirror up to oneself in the darkest and most perilous moments.

The earlier chattering and banter between travelling companions has ended. The other knights are fast asleep; Percy is spread out on the mossy ground a short distance away from the fire. Gwaine is snoring soundly by his side. Leon is dozing with his back pressed up against a cracked statue of an ancient king.

Arthur eventually stirs, re-settling his limbs to sit closer beside his silent friend on the cold granite of their stone seat.

The crackling fire continues to burn, throwing light and shadow over both of the knights’ faces. The young Pendragon is quite content to let them both enjoy this silence. Neither of their minds are idle. Therein existed a curious understanding between the two; they were both of them: Elyan and Arthur, deep thinkers.

“She never came to me, she never let me know the torment she was going through.”

Elyan’s voice breaks the silence at last. Arthur lowers his eyes; he knows better than to offer his opinion right away. His friend is only just beginning to open up.

“Gwen, she… she always knew she could come to me, for anything. Any problem big or small, I would help her with it. When we were children, she used to tease me with the hot iron in our father’s forge. Don’t go getting the wrong ideas, she’d say. I knew she was a strong woman, Arthur. I’d never. I never wanted to feel I was patronising her. I was just her big brother. I simply felt a need to- I felt-”

“You felt it was your duty to keep her safe.”

Arthur sighs.

The fire continues to crackle and spit flame into the night.

Elyan turns his head, sobering up. Glancing over at his king, the true-hearted man recognises the same sadness reflected in his friend. And Elyan knows. He’s always been the most emotionally perceptive of the blond’s knights.

He nods his head, making a promise within himself.

“If there’s a chance, Arthur. I won’t kill Morgana. I’d tear that witch apart with my bare hands if she weren’t- but I understand. I will do what I must to rescue my sister. As I trust, you would do the same for yours.”

Arthur pauses for a long moment before replying.

“Morgana… made her choices.”

Silence. Reaching down, the blond picks up a stick, tossing it into the fire. The flames show no mercy, setting at once to consume the fuel they are given. Arthur clenches his jaw.

“I can’t fathom to know her mind in its entirety, but she knew what she was doing when she took my wife from me. I do not see a woman who needs saving from her demons, Elyan. Not at this point in time. When we reach this dark tower, the rescue of your sister and my wife is my priority.”

And the heat provided by the fire is warming, life-giving. Arthur smiles at last, despite himself. “We are united in that aim.”

Turning his head, the lines on the young king’s face appear to melt away as he gazes fondly at his brother-in-law. The marriage of Guinevere Smith and Arthur Pendragon has brought two unlikely families closer together than once thought possible. Royalty and Commoner are now bound by love and understanding.

But there is a deeper joy still. Arthur had never known the effect having a brother would bring while growing up as a child under Uther’s stern paternal influence. Alone and without such a sibling, the boyish prince had no one to model his male behaviour on once, except for his father.

This bond he shares with Elyan now is perhaps one of the most profound and transformative of all.

@albionparty // Week 3: Knights (also dedicated to a fellow team mate who asked for some Elyan + Arthur bonding fic (I can write lots more dw)

#Albion Party #Week 3 #Knights #Fic #Sir Elyan #Arthur Pendragon #//fun fact but in the days without compasses people could look at shadows and ivy leaves to reorientate themselves when lost #//obviously that's the basis of how a sundial works #//and look! I mentioned the word GREEN #//GREEN IVY LEAVES #//so double points for the team please #Artsy things

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lightbeyondeden · 4 years

Text

Lullaby

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

a/n: dis is my baby. please be nice to her. i lub her. this is my ultimate romantic fantasy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kUeDkPMFOuQ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zl0rJvz2N6g

if you want to listen to readers song.

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

Spencer sat upright as he once again heard the opening notes of the same piano ballad he had heard three other times this week. The melody just barely echoed through the room, passing through the thin walls like a ghost.

When it started it was three forty eight on a Tuesday morning - the Virginia sun still sat deeply below the horizon and the chill of February was keeping Spencer awake. The song was just loud enough that only someone who was already awake would be able to listen, a secret ode to insomniacs. Spencer attentively listened, shifting to the edge of his bed and straining to hear. On particular nights, such as this one, he would be compelled to crawl out of the warmth of his bed to sit with his back against the door of his apartment, just to be close to the sound.

Some nights he just took in the music, most nights however, he was curious. Spencer Reid was incapable of leaving a mystery unsolved - and thus he took on the case of the mystery lullaby.

It was times like this that he wished he knew his neighbours better - or knew them at all for that matter. His ‘unsub’ surely wasn't the old man who sometimes received his mail, nor was it likely that the chronically hungover group of college boys who only seemed to play rap music were the ones spending their nights playing classical piano.

So he sat, for the fifth time this month, desperately trying to internalize the sound. He so badly wanted to know what the piece was, maybe if he knew it would help him figure out who was behind the playing.

The song ended at three fifty four - cutting itself two minutes short. Spencer began to fear something had happened, why would the song just stop? Should he go investigate? No - he shook the thought. That was a ridiculous notion, it was an ungodly hour - making it entirely probable that the player of said song had just tired of sitting up and wondered back to their bed. With no hope of accomplishing anything by doing the same himself, he got up to go put on a pot of coffee. Spencer’s socked feet padded across the hardwood, the only sounds left echoing in the apartment were his footsteps and the never ceasing hum of traffic on the street that lay under his window.

A long few hours later Spencer found himself sitting cross legged in his desk chair hunched over a stack of files. He was mildly grateful for the numbing paperwork, not sure if his tired mind was up to trying to track down a serial killer today no matter how much coffee he fed it. Not that he was getting much paperwork done anyway, though. He just couldn’t stop replaying the melody in his head.

He was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice Derek and JJ make their way over to his desk, holding a breakfast sandwich out to him.

“Food, Spence” JJ mused when he hesitated to take it, “That big brain of yours needs it.”

Spencer obliged, taking a gratuitous bite. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he started eating, the whole sandwich was gone in a mere minute or two. He stopped and pondered for a moment, egg still in mouth; he pondered what could draw him so strongly to a person he had never even seen before. He had felt this with Maeve of course, but that was very different. Music can’t replace a conversation, can it?

He decided to ask the only person he knew that was good at this feelings stuff.

“Garcia?” He said tentatively, stepping through the threshold of the batcave door. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course my sweet baby angel, what can I do for you?”

She could see the hesitation in his eyes. Motioning for him to sit, she put down her lunch and turned her attention towards him fully.

“So this is really strange, and I know it's strange,but I just can’t get it out of my head. There's this piano that plays in my apartment - always late at night, always the same song. It’s driving me crazy. I just want to know who it is, what it is. It's classic for sure, maybe beethoven based on the composition style alone but that isn’t always a definite-”

“Spencer.” Penelope mused, stopping his already derailing train of thought. “Someone is playing piano, and you want to know what it is. What’s the most efficient way to do that?”

Spencer looked up, blinking softly.

Penelope giggled. “You ask.”

“But Penelope I don’t think you really understand, plus what if-” Spencers head was already full of a million hypotheticals.

“No.” He was cut off again. “Go ask.”

Three thirty eight AM came faster than it should’ve. A stack of several different books sat discarded upon Spencer's bedside table, all flimsy attempts to distract his buzzing mind. When it started, earlier than it had been many times before, Spencer felt his whole body tense. Was he really about to go knock on some stranger's door? At this hour?

His feet, clad in rubber bottomed slippers, found their way to the door before his mind had time to stop them. He slipped a key in his pocket, turning the latch ever so gently behind him. When he stepped into the hallway it felt infinite. He walked on tiptoe for what seemed like hours, but was really closer to seconds.

The mossy green door stood like a barricade, Spencer's own pulse drowned out any semblance of melody that he could’ve heard before. He raised his hand to knock, it stood surprisingly still in the air, and left three short raps.

The sudden silence was deafening. The crescendo of the melody could never reach its climax, as the pianist was now taking quick, small steps in Spencer's own direction.

In that moment he willed himself to turn around and run off, to let the person on the other side of the door believe they imagined the knocking. Let himself believe he was hearing things, a reminder to call his doctor and his mother.

But alas the chain slid across and let the door fall open, behind it revealing the most beautiful person Spencer had ever seen, which certainly did not ease his anxiety.

“I’m so sorry! Did I wake you? I thought nobody could hear me.” The stranger seemed as anxious as Spencer, but seeing them like this gave him some sort of false security.

“What song is that?” His voice cracked as he spoke, tender from hours of rest.

“It’s-” They faltered, “It’s beethoven. A romance piece.”

It was quiet again, the very thing the music had been used to prevent. They stood like teenagers who were waiting to be scolded. Silently anxious, regretful of their individual curiosities.

The pianist spoke first again.

“I can stop. I really didn’t mean-”

“No. I- uh, I quite like it.”

A soft smile replaced each of their worried faces for a second.

“Do you want to come in? For a cup of tea perhaps? I could use the company.”

Spencer smiled again. He felt a warmth from this stranger that he hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe since Maeve's death.

“I would like that.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x gender neutral reader #criminal minds fanfiction #dont let this flop pls #lullaby #lightbeyondeden

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radiantroope · 4 years

Text

Lonely Heart || Rafe Cameron

Chapter Four - Tainted Love

chapter summary: Janelle comes over to talk and starts to show her true colors. You and John B. go surfing where he gets you to open up to him about your mom. An unlikely friend saves you from falling into what seems like a trap.

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of familial death, a beer is mentioned

word count: 4.3k+

author’s note: yeah uhhh don’t hate me for this lol. i wanna fight her too. as always, please leave me some feedback and let me know if you’re enjoying this series <3

read chapter three here!

series playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

You didn’t leave the house much. You didn’t want to risk running into Rafe or Janelle anywhere. Topper had dropped by a couple of times just to check on you and see how your mother was doing. Sarah was over the most, refusing to let you waste away in your room by yourself. She was going back to school at Chapel Hill, splitting her time between the mainland and the island. You’d tried to insist she didn’t have to come over every other day, but she wasn’t taking no for an answer. ‘You’re my best friend. You can try and shut everyone else out, but not me.’ she’d said.

Your mother had an appointment that day to have a brain MRI. They wanted to check the tumor and make sure the chemotherapy was helping slow the growth or at least keep the tumor at bay for the time being. Her form of cancer was aggressive and there was a chance the chemo would only work for so long. Eventually the tumor would stop reacting to it and continue growing rapidly. Your parents told you the visit was boring and you’d be in the waiting room the whole time so they made you stay home.

You stared at the fresh cup of tea in front of you, robotically dipping the tea bag in and out of the scalding water. Your mind was consumed with thoughts of Rafe, as much as you tried not to think about him. You couldn’t comprehend why he’d ghosted you and started dating your best friend. Was he ashamed of loving her and feared you’d think you were replaced? Truthfully, it is how you felt. He pushed you out and made more room for Janelle in his life, letting her fill a place you thought would always be yours.

Your whole perspective on your life was forced to change. The dreams and goals you’d had when you were younger, picturing Rafe by your side, you’d instead achieved and chased by yourself. You went to college parties and drowned yourself in booze to ignore how wrong it felt being there. You had mindlessly hooked up with fraternity douchebags, hoping it would fill the void in your chest. It never did. You had tried to go on dates with guys who were so sweet and nothing short of gentlemen, but none of them managed to wow you. They weren’t rough around the edges with just enough attitude to keep you in check. They were soft, men you could walk all over and they’d let you. They weren’t Rafe. You hated yourself for comparing them all to him, but he was all you’d ever known. He was all you ever wanted.

Guilt started eating away at you for focusing so much on the boy who unknowingly broke your heart. Your mother was dying for God’s sake. You should be putting all of your attention on her and making sure she was happy in what was going to be the last year of her life. You were upset with yourself for being so angry with her for not telling you about the engagement. It wasn’t their fault your closest friends were a couple of backstabbers.

The shrill ring of the doorbell ripped you from your thoughts. You abandoned the now cold cup of tea at the coffee table, sock clad feet sliding across the hardwood as you moved through the house. You glanced down at the oversized shirt you were wearing, biker shorts poking out underneath. You had a feeling your unruly hair was sticking out in all directions from the bun it was in but couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

The moment you ripped the front door open, you tried to slam it right back closed. Bile rose in your throat as you pushed against their body, growling, “Get the fuck off my porch.”

“I’m here to talk, Y/N, please!” Janelle protested, trying to look at you through the crack in the white painted door without having it crushed. “Just give me ten minutes.”

You hesitated, pausing against the door. Words couldn’t describe how hurt you were that she’d kept this from you for years. She had been one of your best friends. She knew things about you that your own parents didn’t know — that Rafe himself didn’t know. Could it hurt to at least try and hear her out?

You finally pulled the door open, avoiding her striking green eyes and waving your arm out to let her in. You shut the door loudly behind her and moved to the couch. “Ten minutes,” you stated, sitting at one end while she took a spot on the other.

“How’s your mom?” she started, giving you a sad smile.

You shrugged once, responding monotonously with, “Fine.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Janelle said softly, seemingly sincere as she stared at her lap. You kept quiet and didn’t show any change in emotion on your face, so she continued, “I should have told you. The second things changed with Rafe and I, I should have come to you about it.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply as to collect your thoughts. There were a million things you could say to her right now, most more unpleasant than others. You sighed, “You knew how much I loved him, Janelle. You were the only person I told. Do you understand how much of a slap to the face this is?”

“I know. I broke, like, the first rule in girl code. I suck,” she replied, shaking her head a bit. She had been avoiding your eyes but looked back over, “We didn’t expect it, you know. It just kind of… happened. Things were really rough for both of us for a while and I guess it made us closer. We were able to connect on a deeper level.”

You stared at her, unable to read the expression on her face. You couldn’t pinpoint one sort of emotion swimming in her eyes. A weight settled on your shoulders, something within you feeling unnerved.

“Do you love him?”

There it was, a smile. The first real emotion the dark haired girl had shown you since she stepped foot in the house. Did she even care about you at all? Did she care that this was ripping you apart inside? “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have said yes to marrying him if I didn’t,” her response lit a fire within your chest, spreading through every nerve ending in your body.

“Then why did you never seem interested in him before?” you questioned, watching the creases form between her eyebrows. “You chased after Kelce for two years without giving up. You never once gave any indication that you were remotely interested in Rafe until I left, apparently.”

You were simmering in pent up anger and betrayal, jealousy sitting just below the surface. Though, you kept yourself calm, refusing to let those emotions through. You knew Janelle like the back of your hand and you knew there was more to this. You wanted to push her until she said exactly what she was thinking. The slow contort of her face into an angry scowl proved to you that it was working.

“You don’t just wake up one day and decide, hm, I’m in love with this person now, Janelle. How do you even know if what you have is real?”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so conceited and wrapped up in yourself you would have noticed,” Janelle spit, the olive toned tan to her face turning a light shade of pink. “Everyday I had to listen to you bitch and moan about how he’d never love you back. All you did was cry because you were too scared to tell him how you felt. I always loved him but you always made everything about you.”

You blood boiled under your skin. Your face became hot and you clenched your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking. Your bottom lip was sure to start bleeding soon with how tightly you bit it between your teeth.

“You weren’t there for the fights with Ward, when he called him names and made him feel less than. You weren’t there for the nights he got black out drunk because he wanted to forget. You weren’t there for the fucking cocain addiction that almost ruined his whole life,” Janelle seethed, leaning closer to you with every word she spoke.

Your jaw clenched painfully as you grit out, “How was I supposed to be there when he’s the one who cut me out of his life?”

“He cut you out of his life to send you a message, Y/N!” Janelle shouted through a laugh, a condescending smile settling on her lips. “He was so happy when you moved to California because he was finally free! He wasn’t being suffocated by you anymore!”

“That’s not true,” you whispered, shaking your head quickly. Your mind flashed back to your going away party. The soft voices and gentle touches. The way he looked at you like you were the only person he had eyes for — at least that’s what you thought.

“It is, and the sooner you accept that, the better. Rafe doesn’t love you,” the raven haired girl stated. Your glossy eyes flickered to hers. The bright green in them was gone and replaced with a cold, mossy color. “He never loved you. He never will love you the way you’re so desperate for him to. You moving was the best thing that ever happened to him — to us.”

You stayed seated on the couch as she got up and slung her entirely too large of a purse over her shoulder. Your eyes were full to brim with tears that you refused to let fall in front of her. You wouldn’t let her see how much this was ruining you. This wasn’t the girl you’d met back when you were ten years old, it was a completely different person. Or maybe she had been this person the whole time, and you had just been a pawn in some sick game. Only did you look at her when she opened the front door.

“And Y/N,” the sweet tone replaced the venomous one she used only moments ago. “Stay away from him. I don’t need you messing with his head before the wedding.”

The door slammed and you sat there, allowing the tears to flow down your flushed cheeks. You didn’t sob, you didn’t scream and throw things around like most would have thought. It was just a silent flow of saltiness that felt never ending. A numbing feeling came over you as you let Janelle’s words absorb into your head. Had you really been so blind by your own love for Rafe you never saw hers? Had you been so stupid to think the Kook Prince would fall for someone as ordinary as you?

You don’t know if it was only minutes or maybe hours that you sat on the couch, blankly staring at the wall. Eventually, you finally pulled yourself up and located your phone. There was one thing you knew would help you escape the depression spiral you were heading down. And there was one person you could call who would be willing to do it with you — despite hardly knowing you at all.

“Hello?” John B. sounded utterly confused as to why you were calling him.

“H-Hey, I uh, I know this is weird,” your voice was dry and you cleared your throat, “Do you, i dunno, maybe wanna go surfing with me?”

—

You sat on top of your board out where the water was calmer, watching John B. pull off an intricate trick with his own surfboard. You hummed in thought, wishing you could pull off some of the moves he did. You tended to just catch the biggest wave you could and ride it out for as long as possible. You’d picked up some things over the years, but just riding out a long wave was your favorite feeling. You loved the rush, like you were flying.

“You’re really good,” you complimented the brunette as he made his way back out to you.

“Thanks,” John B. chuckled, moving to straddle his board just as you were, “You’re pretty good at riding out the big ones. I bet I could get JJ to teach you some things. He’s better than I am.”

You laughed softly and shook your head, brushing your wet hair behind your back, “JJ would rather scrub Heyward’s boat to the bone than hang out with me.”

“He’s not that bad,” the Routledge boy tried to defend his friend. “Well, not anymore. He’s more… tolerant.”

You hummed in response, staring out into the open water where the edges curved at the horizon. The sun was beginning to go down, casting an orange glow over everything around you. John B. watched you, seeing the gears turning in your head. He’d barely seen you smile all day and from what Sarah had told him, surfing always made you happiest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You turned to look at him, his soft hazel eyes saying It’s okay, you can trust me. You sighed heavily and averted your gaze to the purple and white board below you. You could feel that you wanted to cry again but your eyes remained dry, like you had nothing left in you. The hollow feeling in your chest felt like it was going to swallow you whole.

“You sure you want my demons weighing on your conscience?” you asked playfully, the corners of your mouth upturning slightly.

John B. smiled softly, shrugging a bit, “We all have our demons, Y/N. Some worse than others.”

You nodded and eyed him for a moment longer before asking, “What was it like.. to lose your dad?”

The curly haired boy sucked in a breath. It had been four years but it never got easier. His dad was all he had and then he was alone, still a child having to grow up entirely too fast. He let out a soft breath, “It was hard. I didn’t know what happened to him for nine months, and then to find out he was dead? It was like a part of me died with him.”

You nodded, silently listening along as he opened up to you.

“It was painful and ugly. I lashed out at my friends… It’s still painful sometimes. I try to think about the good things though. The fishing trips on his boat, going to work with him.. His horrendous endeavour to find The Royal Merchant,” he paused to laugh at the memory, and you did too. You’d heard enough stories about him and his friends searching for the lost gold as well. “I know he’s still with me. He watches over me. Your mom will too.”

You nodded again, bottom lip quivering slightly. Your voice was strained as you spoke, “It fucking sucks seeing her like this. Everyday I feel like I can tell she’s getting worse.”

“I regret not being around more the last couple of years. If I had known this was going to happen I would have done so many things differently.”

John B. waded his board closer to you, resting his hand on yours that was gripping your knee. His eyes were remorseful, lips turned down in a frown. His father’s death was sudden and unexpected. He understood your pain but he also had no idea how to handle knowing the inevitable was coming. He couldn’t imagine watching someone you love slowly slip away.

“Don’t think about that. Don’t beat yourself up for what you didn’t do or wish you did. Spend this time reminding your mom how much you love her and helping make these last moments she has some of the best. Make more memories with her that you’ll look back on and smile at,” he told you, squeezing your fingers softly.

You met John B.’s eyes again and nodded, giving him a soft smile. It was nice to talk to someone who didn’t exactly know you on that personal level but could also relate to you. He had experienced a loss like you were about to and it was refreshing to hear how he coped with it and get some advice. You wondered exactly how much Sarah had told him but it was nice that he was judging you. Maybe years ago, he would have thrown it back in your face, called you a snob and any other insult he could think of. Maybe it was dating Kook that changed his outlook, or he’d grown up and matured and realized the stupid rivalry wasn’t worth being a complete dick all the time.

John B. drifted away from you again when he saw you seemed more relaxed, he looked out where the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. He offered, “Why don’t you come back to the Chateau with me? Sarah’s coming over and I know she’s dying to get you to hang with us.”

You contemplated for a moment, unsure how inviting the other Pogues would be to another Kook in their company. But for once, getting out and being around other people sounded a lot better than going home and burying yourself in Ben and Jerry’s while binge watching a show you’d already seen. So you nodded and smiled, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

—

Rafe didn’t listen to Topper’s advice of leaving you alone. He couldn’t pretend like seeing after all of these years wasn’t a sucker punch to the gut. He kept replaying everything over the course of five years in his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he could’ve done differently. The different outcomes of his actions replayed in his head like a broken record. What could have happened if he hadn’t cut you out of his life? Would you have ended up together in the end, despite the distance? Should he have told you how he felt that day, when it felt like your gentle touch was the only thing holding him together?

He traveled out onto the South side and watched from his truck as you and John B. left the beach. He thought about getting out and speaking to you there but instead he watched from the shadows as you strapped your surfboard to the top of your mother’s car and drove away behind the Volkswagen.

Against his better judgement, Rafe followed you. He stayed far enough behind that you wouldn’t recognize his truck. He knew his way to the Routledge boy’s house anyway. Many a night’s he had gone there when he was younger and looking for trouble, or when he got older, to pick up his sister when she didn’t have a ride. He knew that’s where you were heading. He would pretend it didn’t bother him slightly that you were hanging out with the Pogues. He’d grown more accustomed to seeing them around but the roots of the rivalry were still deeply embedded within him. He still thought they were at the bottom of the food chain.

You didn’t think much of the headlights that pulled up behind your car, thinking Sarah had just arrived. You dug around in the backseat, trying to gather the things that had spilled from your bag. The headlights shut off and it was quiet for a moment. You heard John B. curse softly and your heart nearly stopped when you heard the voice.

“Sup, John B.?” Rafe’s gruff voice filled the air, nodding his head at his sister’s boyfriend.

“Rafe,” the Routledge boy greeted back, an edge to his tone.

You slowly removed yourself from the car, turning to face the last person you wanted to see, next to Janelle. You hated the way your heart skipped a beat when his azure irises met yours. He swallowed thickly, waiting for you to make the first move, which you did.

“What are you doing here?”

“I- I uh,” Rafe’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck, eyes leaving yours to stare at the ground. “I don’t know. I wanted to see you.”

You scoffed and shook your head, reaching back into the car to get your bag. He hesitantly moved closer and continued, “I’m worried about you, Y/N. I know things are weird right now and I’m sorry about your mom but I-”

“Don’t,” you snapped, standing upright and slamming the car door, “Don’t pretend like you fucking care.”

“I do care. I just want to talk.”

“You had five years to talk, Rafe!” you shouted, voice shaking as you did so. You bit the inside of your lip and begged your body not to betray you. You didn’t need him seeing you cry. “I waited and waited for you to talk to me. I asked myself ‘why’ for years! You’ve moved on with your life, that’s fine, I can accept that. But don’t expect me to be a part of it anymore. Just go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

Even from a distance Rafe could see the glaze to your eyes. He could see your body shaking as you tried to keep yourself composed. It looked like you were about to fall apart in front of him and it made his chest ache. You always were the one to pretend to be strong for as long as you could until it crushed you. He shook his head and tried again, “Y/N, please, you don’t understa-”

“Yo, Rafe! Didn’t know you were stopping by!” you turned to see JJ Maybank bouncing down the porch steps, an arrogant smirk painted on his chapped lips. His unruly hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards baseball cap. He was shirtless, flaunting his physique in only a pair of grey cargo shorts. He’d heard you yelling and figured he may as well come investigate.

“Maybank,” Rafe greeted the Pogue stiffly, a lot more tense than he’d been around John B.

The younger blonde boy threw his arm around your shoulders as he came to your side, catching you by surprise. You glanced up at him, but his eyes never left Rafe, his smirk widening. You didn’t see the look of anger that flashed across your former best friend’s face, a fire igniting in his eyes — JJ caught it though, and he was going to run with it.

“I heard about the engagement, man, congrats!” JJ spoke enthusiastically and you had to resist rolling your eyes. You suddenly had the urge to throw up like on the Druthers, but you swallowed the feeling down. Your eyes met Rafe’s again as JJ kept going, “Don’t you have, like, a cake tasting to get to or something?”

Rafe’s hands curled into fists, knuckles cracking as he squeezed. If anyone knew how to get under his skin in just the right way, it was the Maybank boy. He breathed out slowly through his nose, choosing to ignore the comments from the Pogue. He pleaded with you, “Can we just talk, real quick? Please?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, bro. Y/N’s really busy right now,” JJ answered for you, tilting his head to look down at you, “Aren’t you, bubs?”

You stared up into the tan blonde’s indigo eyes that were screaming at you not to go to him. You knew he was trying to help you, but you weren’t friends. You didn’t understand why he came to your defense so quick. He could have just let you stand out there and allow Rafe to rope you back in like you knew he could.

“She can speak for herself,” Rafe snapped at JJ who looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. You hadn’t moved out from under his arm so clearly you had no interest in going to the Kook.

“Go home, Rafe,” you said, turning with JJ to walk up to the Chateau. “Wouldn’t want to suffocate you anymore,” you took a dig, repeating what Janelle had said to you earlier in the day.

Rafe stood there, watching as you walked to the porch, wrapped in someone else’s arms — someone he despised. His heart pounded harder in his chest the further you got away from him, like you were taking it with you. He silently got back in his truck and backed out, tires squealing as he peeled off down the road. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, breathing raggedly. Wouldn’t want to suffocate you anymore. Those words bothered him, knowing he’d heard something like that before but he couldn’t recall when, where or more importantly, who.

“Well that couldn’t have been anymore awkward,” John B. stated as he led you into the house.

You’d expected JJ to drop his arm the second Rafe was gone, but he didn’t, guiding you into the kitchen for you to put down your bag. You sighed heavily and rubbed your face with the hand not pinned to your side, “I’m sorry about that. And thank you, JJ, you didn’t have to do all that.”

The boy hummed and waved his hand, finally stepping away from you and moving to the fridge, “The guy’s an asshole and needs to learn he can’t always get what he wants. Especially after what happened on daddy dearest’s boat.”

You felt your face flush, looking over at John B. who held his hands up as if he was surrendering, “I didn’t say anything, swear.”

“Word travels fast ‘round these parts,” JJ clarified, walking back over and handing you a beer. He sat down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, patting the one beside him for you. “C’mon, tell your good pal JJ what the Prince fucked up this time.”

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aloysiavirgata · 4 years

Text

In The Gale

Title: In The Gale

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG

Category: MSR

Author's Notes: For @perplexistan, who asked and helped me make it better. This is shortly after settling into the Unremarkable House. I tried making sense of their legal status, but it’s simply impossible and I gave up.

Our heroes quote from Melville, Shakespeare, Sagan, Baudrillard, and (Emily) Dickens.

***

Because I know that time is always time And place is always and only place And what is actual is actual only for one time And only for one place I rejoice that things are as they are and I renounce the blessed face And renounce the voice Because I cannot hope to turn again Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us And pray that I may forget These matters that with myself I too much discuss Too much explain Because I do not hope to turn again Let these words answer For what is done, not to be done again May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

***

She recites The Raven to herself on the drive in, lists all the state capitals in alphabetical order, and goes through the periodic table. Her body fizzes like a shaken soda, tiny anxious bubbles rising through her blood. They’ve done so much for this, called in so many favors. Mulder put his book on hold for a month, quizzing her with dog-eared notecards.

“Immediate treatment of myocardial infarction,” he’d call, and she’d say “MONA TASS.”

She feels a pang for the simplicity of the other life, the hiding one, where she just had to ring up cigarettes and herbal Viagra at gas stations.

***

She’s the new girl at the cafeteria table, awkward and alone. Mulder had prepared her a lunch like it’s the first day of school, and she stares at it, wishing for an appetite.

From the corner of her eye she sees two colleagues - an MRI tech and an obstetrician, she thinks - talking softly and glancing over. Scully thinks she hears “FBI,” and she looks up and smiles, uncertain.

They blink at her, look away.

***

Ybarra comes around the corner, gliding in his cassock like a disapproving ghost. “Dr. Scully,” he says, in his pinched voice.

She smiles thinly. “Father Ybarra.”

“Nurse Mossing was looking for the chart for Mrs. Sullivan. Imagine my surprise when I found it in Room 314 instead of Room 413. That’s a potential HIPAA violation, Dr. Scully. That’s a federal law.”

Scully curls her hand so that her nails dig into her skin. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “Father Ybarra, please forg-”

He holds up his palm. “It won’t happen again,” he says, and glides onward.

Scully closes her eyes and leans against the wall. She breathes through her nose until the ringing in her ears stops.

***

She wants to collapse into his arms and cry when she gets home, but that would be giving in. It would be letting them down.

“How’d it go?” he asks. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a Knicks shirt, a five o’clock shadow.

She smiles brightly. “It was good. Learning curve, but good. I think Father Ybarra might be a tough nut to crack, is all.”

Mulder rubs his cowlicked hair. “Put your feet up, Scully, since you won’t wear sensible shoes.”

She does, and accepts the glass of wine he holds out. “Thanks. I’ll sleep well tonight, anyway. There are miles of hallways.”

He sits next to her on the couch. “I wrote a few pages,” he says. “I deleted a bunch, but I think there was a multi-paragraph net gain.”

“I’m glad you’re able to stop focusing on my stuff now,” she says. “Both back in the saddle.”

“Go team.”

She clinks her glass against his. She drinks her wine too fast.

***

Ybarra had come in during her rounds that morning and startled her into knocking a metal bedpan onto the floor. Scully thinks the reverberations of that sound will follow her to the grave.

She’s now in the chapel, tucked into a back pew. She’s been staring at the small altar, at the stained glass windows flanking the crucifix. The Blessed Virgin smiles beatifically down at her, a wretched sinner.

Scully laces her fingers on the back of the pew in front of her and bows her head against them. “Please,” she whispers. “Please.”

***

Mulder wakes her with tea and eggs. “You haven’t been eating,” he says, brow furrowed.

She rubs her eyes, yawning. “What?”

He sits next to her on the bed, sets the plate and mug on her night table. “You just push your food around your plate, you hardly talk when you get home. What’s going on, Scully?”

She sits up, looking at his worried face. He’s sun-browned and tousled, beautiful, with a mouth that still makes her weak in the knees. “Nothing. It’s just a lot to jump back into.”

“I’m sure it is. And I still want to help you with it.” He pulls the flash cards from his pocket, touches her wrist with his other hand. “Let’s see - causes of upper zone pulmonary fibrosis?”

She looks at the ceiling, back at him. “I don’t need help.”

Mulder blinks, stung.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. You just don’t need to hover over me. You have your own things to work on. Work on your book, patch up your henhouse. ” Her voice sounds snappish to her own ears.

His changeable eyes, now mossy green, darken. He chews his bottom lip, nodding slowly. “I thought you were one of my ‘things.’ Sorry to bother you.” He rises, walks downstairs.

“Mulder,” she whispers.

The tea goes down fine. Scully tries to eat the eggs but feels bile rise in her throat. She flushes them down the toilet instead of leaving them behind, because that is love.

***

She arrives at the nurses’ station on the second floor with three dozen donuts and two cardboard boxes of coffee. She deposits them on the desk. “Good morning, Annabel,” she says.

“Anneliese,” the woman says.

Scully nods, walks away.

***

He slides his hand up her pajama top, tracing circles on her ribs, sliding his fingers around to her breasts. He kisses the back of her neck. “Scully,” he whispers, his breath warm and ticklish in her ear.

She wants to pretend to wake up, to turn towards him and lose herself in his body. She wants to tell him everything, to be held and loved and petted and reassured. She wants him to remind her that she once stared down Congress, that some backwater priest and his prickly staff should be a joke to her. She wants them to laugh together at these silly, petty people.

But she can’t, she can’t disappoint him. He’s been so proud of her.

Scully stays still, breathes evenly until his hands move away and she’s alone again.

***

Her car rattles over the driveway, through shimmering waves of heat that rise from the crisping grass. It is the kind of late July afternoon where the sun is a hazy white ball in the west, and clouds of gnats are a permanent feature of the landscape.

Scully parks, avoiding a puddle in which a peacock is standing. Mulder has recently become enamored of yard fowl. She narrows her eyes at it while opening the car door.

“Good boy, Kevin,” she calls to it, wary.

Scully picks her way over the gravel in her thin heels. The peacock mews an alarm as she approaches, but doesn’t charge. She lets herself inside, shuts the heat and sun and wildlife outside. The house smells of coffee and microwave popcorn.

She walks into Mulder’s office and finds him hunched at his desk, typing. “Hey,” she says, and drops a kiss on his head. There’s a sketch of Baphomet taped to his monitor, her worn flash cards atop a tome about Raëlism.

He turns in his chair. He puts his arms around her hips. “Hey.”

“Kevin behaved himself,” she offers.

“You two will be friends yet, you’ll see.”

She peers at the computer. “You get a lot done today?”

Mulder shrugs. “Eh, a bit. Waiting on a few emails, and I had to run that tubing to drain the sump down into the woods. Ate up most of the afternoon.”

Scully shakes her head in admiration. “I don’t know how you manage all the multitasking.”

“Well, the book helps me avoid the house, and the house helps me avoid the book. It’s a perfect system. That Ybarra guy still riding your ass?”

She chews her lip. “No,” she lies. “I think we’re okay now.”

“Good,” he says. “I’d hate to have to beat up a priest.”

***

Scully gazes at herself in the empty locker room. She looks thin and tired, and her hair is frizzing up, even pulled back like this. All her makeup has sweated off except for smudged crescents of mascara. Her bra is the color of a Band-Aid, her underwear white and sensible. Between the two is the hard white rose of her gunshot scar, like a second navel, an artifact of a second birth. It is numb when she touches it, indifferent. There are no stretch marks from William, a tale missing from the anthology of her skin. She unhooks her bra, lets it slide down to the damp floor. Scully turns to observe her body in profile. The scar is gone this way, the tattoo hidden as well, and she smooths her hands along her ribs. Her breasts seem out of place to her when they are unbound, frivolous somehow. Vestigial.

She looks away.

***

The hospital is labyrinthine, having been constructed of various additions when funds allowed. There are dead ends, pointless staircases, and a mysterious storage closet filled with old televisions. She makes little maps on notepaper.

“So where did you work before this?” an orthopedic surgeon asks her.

A diner in Wyoming.

“I was out West for a while,” she says.

***

A week in, and Mulder has made a cake to celebrate. A bouquet of Kevin’s shed tail feathers ornaments the table.

An offering, Mulder calls it, tickling her chin with one.

A week down, she thinks, and blows out the candle. She wonders when she’ll stop counting the time.

***

Shy, he gives her a chapter to read. It’s good, and she tells him so. It’s very good. She hears his voice in her head when she reads it, his passion. She loves the esoterica tucked into his gyri and sulci.

“Your prose was never this clear in your reports,” she remarks.

“Hey if you can’t blind them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.”

Scully laughs. “You want to read a few medical reports?”

He looks at her, suddenly serious. “Yeah,” he says. “I would. It would be nice to hear about your day for once.”

She wonders if love is the weapon that lets them wound so casually.

***

“You’re late,” Ybarra says softly.

She doesn’t explain that she’d somehow ended up at the TV closet again, that the room numbering system in this hospital had been designed by nihilists, that the nursing student had Dermabonded her glove to a patient’s forehead.

She lowers her eyes like she did at Catholic school. She promises to do better.

***

“What’s going on?” Mulder asks her for what feels like the hundredth time. “Talk to me, Scully.”

She presses her hands to her face for a moment, drops them to her sides. “Nothing,” she says again, frustrating them both. “I’m tired. It’s a hard schedule.”

He places a throw pillow on his lap and pats it. “Come here,” he says. “Please.”

She acquiesces, curling on her side with her back to him. He runs his fingers through her hair, traces the Fibonacci spirals of her ear. She wants to relax, to melt into his touch. She indulges in a Mulderesque conspiracy theory that the hospital microdoses the water with tetanus toxin to keep everyone rigid and tense.

Scully gazes at the windows, at the hard white light of summer streaming in. The curtains are blue with an arabesque pattern, and they looked very chic in the store. She wonders now if they seem desperate in this odd little house. She thinks of Meg March, dressed up in borrowed finery at the Moffats’ ball.

***

Scully clomps up the steps to the porch and kicks her rain boots off next to the umbrella stand. It contains four umbrellas and a gnarled hickory limb that Mulder claims is going to be polished into a fine walking stick one of these days. She goes into the house and is dismayed to find it stale and stifling and dark. Dust motes waft in Brownian motion through shafts of sunlight, undirected by fans or air conditioning.

“Mulder,” she calls, and there is silence.

She twists her hair into a bun as she pads upstairs, old wood satiny under her bare feet. She pushes open the bedroom door, and the air is hot and still.

“Mulder?” She needs his help with her zipper, but there is no reply.

She wrestles herself out of her silk sheath, sticky and irritating, and lets it puddle on the floor. Her bra follows. She feels guilty, as Mulder has turned out to be a surprisingly diligent housekeeper. His office is filled with perilous stacks of home improvement books and arcane journals about lake monsters, the walls papered with clippings and blurry photographs, but he seems able to quarantine his own entropy.

She is trying to do the same.

Scully pulls on soft cotton pajama shorts, a gray tank top imbued with the compressive powers of Lycra. She uses lotion to rub away the mascara beneath her eyes. She goes downstairs and out the back door, shielding her eyes against the piercing sunlight. A mosquito whines at her ear and she pinches it out of the air.

“Still got those reflexes, kid,” Mulder says from somewhere off to her left.

She turns and sees him crouched next to the hulking green block of the transformer. “All the lights are off, and the house feels like a rainforest. I take it you’ve had an eventful day?”

He sighs. “Not really. Well, not the event I was hoping for, which is the power coming back on. There was a pretty heavy thunderstorm around one and that’s when the electricity blew.”

She sits on the bottom step, knees drawn up. She likes to watch him working, a side of him they’re both still learning about. There was never much call for home maintenance at Hegal Place, or living out of cash-only motels. “You call the power company?”

He huffs. “Yeah, they told me they had no reported outages and the power should be fine. I explained that I was trying to report an outage and that it definitely was not fine and she promised someone would be here between tomorrow and eventually.”

Scully smiles. “And that’s why you’re out here toying with death?”

“Not much else to do, really. Can’t write with the power out.” Mulder sits back on his heels and shrugs. “You, uh, have a good day?”

She hadn’t. “Yep. Starting to feel like part of the team.”

“Good. You need to get your career standards as high as your standards for men,” he says, getting to his feet.

“Oh, well, that’s an obviously unattainable bar.”

“Obviously.” He sits next to her on the step. “You wear that to work? You know I think bras are a tool of the patriarchy and you shouldn’t bother, but I’m just surprised Our Lady of Perpetual Shame takes such a liberal view.”

She laughs a little. “I figured as long as I tossed a lab coat over it, I’d look like a real doctor. It worked when I was a kid.”

“Hey, that’s what I did with my badge half the time. Listen, Scully. The house is pretty tropical. You want to bunk up in a hotel until they get the power sorted out?”

Scully thinks about the convenience it would afford. Maids and room service and maybe a pool, depending. But she is tired of hotels, even nice ones. She is tired of polite signs that remind her that the pillows and towels and hairdryers aren’t hers, the tiny toiletries an indicator of her temporary status. She is tired of living out of suitcases and dressers that made her clothes smell strange, tired of running from her own life. She wants to be home.

“Nah,” she says. “We’ll manage.”

Mulder looks surprised, but doesn’t question it. “I’ll call Lowe’s about getting a generator delivered tomorrow. We ought to have one anyway out here.”

She’d always had a vague idea that Mulder had money - it was the only explanation for his complete disinterest in it. But when they’d come back, when they’d talked to his lawyers, she'd been staggered. The Vineyard house alone explained his casual international jaunts. They can have things now, endless things, and there is something frantic in her that wants to spend the money. Bingeing chocolate bunnies after Lent.

Mulder peels his shirt off, wadding it into a limp ball. He tosses it so that it hooks over the doorknob. “Still got it,” he says. He preens.

“Does the NBA realize the tremendous talent they’re missing out on?” she asks. “Do they even know that, at this very moment, a six foot tall middle aged white man is out here flinging his clothing a distance of several feet?”

He snuggles up to her, wrapping his sweaty arms around her shoulders.

“Ugh,” she says, and pushes at him. “Mulder, you’re disgusting and it’s a thousand degrees out here.”

“Hoping that cold, cold heart of yours might cool me off.” She sniffs disdainfully, and he releases her. “Scully, how do you feel about bees?”

“We have a history, bees and I,” she observes, tapping the back of her neck.

Mulder curls his hand over the scar, kneads the muscles there. “Well, these wouldn’t be fancy bees.”

“Hmmm,” she says. “I’m not inherently opposed. Why do you want bees, Mulder?”

He shrugs. “I’m getting older, and I’ve got to consider funeral plans. The last one didn’t really go as expected, so I thought maybe I’d mellify myself this time.”

She nods. “Makes sense. I mean, of course, there’s no actual proof that mellification actually occurred, but that’s never stopped you.”

“I also like honey,” he adds. “And bees are good for the planet.”

“Honey often contains botulism spores,” she remarks. “Botulinum toxin is the most lethal toxin known, and it’s estimated that as little as 40 grams of it would be enough to kill everyone on earth.” She doesn’t say you shouldn’t give it to babies, that she sweetened her smoothies with dates and maple syrup so that -

“Well, nobody better piss off my bee army and me,” he says darkly.

“Everybody eventually pisses you off. Mulder, is that old tent in the shed still? We could sleep in that tonight.”

He shakes his head. “Heavy mildew and dry rot, so I threw it out. We could sleep out here if you want, though. We’ve got that big air mattress.”

“Let’s do that,” she says. “We can put it on the porch. Tell you what - you get stuff together, and I’ll even make dinner.” Scully doesn’t like cooking, but she wants to create order, to complete a finite task. She can be domesticated again, like a lost house cat finally returned to a hearth.

“We having eggs or peanut butter?” he asks, smirky.

“I’d hate to spoil the surprise,” she snips, and goes back into their sauna of a house.

In the kitchen, she stands in front of the open fridge, letting the delicious leftover cold soak into her skin. She’ll deal with the spoiled food later. Eggs had, actually, been her plan but it’s just too hot. The stove doesn’t work, and she doesn’t have the fortitude to turn the grill on. She finds some leftover shrimp pasta that Mulder has made, some vegetables, and assembles it all into a passable salad.

There, she thinks, pleased. I’d pay twelve bucks for that somewhere. She uses her foot to scratch a mosquito bite on her calf.

Her skin is clammy, hair stringy and damp from sweat. Maybe they should just go to a hotel after all. Perhaps she should stop ascribing symbolism to every damn thing and enjoy herself once in a while. But she thinks of packing, of driving, of unpacking and somehow it’s all too much and her eyes start to fill and her sinuses sting.

Scully pinches her wrist until it passes, feeling weak and hating the weakness in herself. It’s the heat, it’s the exhaustion, it’s the heavy mental load. She considers going outside for a dip in the pond, but suspects the water will be unpleasantly warm. Instead, she drags herself back upstairs for a cold shower.

She sits on the edge of the bed, weary, and stares at a framed picture of a sea turtle on the far wall. If she lets her eyes drift out of focus, it looks like it’s swimming. She tips her head back for a better angle, watches it float across her vision. It slips away then, into the black of the deep waters.

***

She startles awake when he touches her shoulder, gasps.

“Jesus,” Mulder says, and sits next to her. “Bad dream?”

Scully sits up, dazed. “What? No, was I asleep?”

“You’ve been out cold for over an hour, but I wanted to make sure you got some food. Water at least, it’s too hot up here.”

She blinks, confused. “I don’t remember,” she says. Peering to her right reveals night outside.

Mulder holds a hand out and she grasps it, letting him pull her to her feet. She wavers and he steadies her, arm about her shoulders.

“I just need some water,” she says, defensive.

He guides her down the stairs and out the front door onto the porch. The air outside is substantially cooler, a light breeze kissing her face. She settles into a chair, stares deep into the felty dark. She still can’t remember falling asleep.

Mulder hands her a water bottle from the little table and she rolls it between her palms, the plastic crinkling. “Hey, I thought you were setting up the air mattress out here,” she says.

“No air flow behind the wall,” he replies. “Drink that up like a good girl and I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

Scully obeys and feels better. The water tastes stale, but it’s cool and wet. “Maybe you should have my job,” she says, looking up. “Caring for live people is so much work.”

“Everybody eventually pisses me off,” he reminds her. “Come on, Doc.”

She follows him down the steps and around the side of the house. Their property is vast and feral, pocked with mole burrows and rabbit nests. The floodlights are out with the power, and the house is nearly swallowed up by the vast night. Scully glances up at the Milky Way, at the waxing moon, and marvels again at the sky they have out here. We are star stuff, she thinks.

“Moonstruck?” Mulder asks.

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars.”

“As long as you can tell a hawk from a handsaw,” he says, and tugs her along.

She follows him to the back of the house and then stops, smiling. Mulder has hammered some old two-by-fours into a frame, draped the structure in white bedsheets. Inside, the air mattress is piled with sofa pillows. Outside, camping lanterns, candles, and two strands of solar lights make it into a kind of fairy circle.

“Mulder,” she says, delighted. “This is ridiculous.”

“Indian Guide saves the day,” he says.

“Your architecture badge is definitely more impressive than your fire badge,” she says, walking over to the little tent. He’s brought her salad inside, and there is a cooler packed with ice and water bottles. Cans of bug spray sit at the flap. She crawls inside, suddenly ravenous.

Mulder joins her on the mattress, which bounces in response. “Remember my water bed?”

She laughs, piling food on a plate for each of them. “What a swinging bachelor you were.”

She remembers the water bed fondly, the leather couch and the fish and the postage-stamp bathroom in his apartment. It shouldn’t hurt still, but it does. She knew herself there, her place on the map. She eats her salad, wistful for Chinese food and beer at that battered coffee table.

“Scully,” he says.

“What?”

“Scully.”

“Just middle-aged nostalgia, I suppose,” she murmurs.

He reaches out to take her hand. “You’re scarcely middle aged.”

She smiles, squeezes his fingers. “If you go by life experience, we’re both about two hundred years old.”

“Like those Galapagos tortoises. But you need to tell me what’s going on at work. You won’t disappoint me.”

It can be very disagreeable to live with a profiler.

Scully drops his hand. She bites at the fleshy part of her thumb. This is real, she thinks. This place. It is not down in any map; true places never are. She can only deflect for so long, and her armor is rusting away. “I’m afraid,” she whispers, then chances a look at his face.

His eyes are soft, searching. “Why?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, I don’t…” Her sinuses sting again and she presses her palms hard into her eyes. “Please.”

Mulder’s hand on her back, in endless, gentle figure eights. He pulls the elastic from her hair and lets it tumble down to her shoulders. He shifts so that her back is to him, his long legs on either side of her body.

“Mulder, what -”

“Shhhh,” he says, and gathers the hair at the crown of her head. “It’s not a real sleepover if you don’t get your hair French braided.”

Scully blinks. “Since when do you know how to braid hair?”

“Little sister, absent parents. Now stop moving and talk.”

She keeps her head very steady, thinking of her own sister’s deft fingers when their mother was too busy for anything but ponytails. Mulder tugs at another little section of hair. Scully thinks she might be okay if she isn’t looking at him, if she can’t read herself in his eyes.

Moth shadows dance across the white sheet wall, drawn to the flickering candles outside. It fascinates her that they never figure out that fire burns. “I don’t know how to do this,” she says, and her voice is thick.

“To talk, or to be still?” he says in his Oxford psychologist voice.

She isn’t sure of what she means either. “Yes,” she says, with a hiccupy laugh. “Both.”

“Me too,” he says, slipping his thumb through the strands behind her ear. “I don’t know how to do this.”

She swallows hard. “I just...I’ve always had something to consume me. I had the FBI, we traveled all the time, and then we were running and I thought it was hard but it was so easy to just survive. There were no decisions. I didn’t care about, I don’t know...plates.”

He pauses in his work. “Plates?”

Scully chews at a hangnail, frustrated. “Just things, the things you buy for a house. Long term things. I did with William and then…” she trails off, her chest tight. “I feel like I’m playing a game sometimes, like improv theater. Fox and Dana Build A Home.”

“Fox and Dana?” he repeats. “Surely not.”

“Well, we’re hardly Mulder and Scully anymore, are we?” Her stomach clenches and that’s it, she sees. That’s the fear.

He finishes the braid and fastens the elastic at the end of it. “Of course we are,” he says. “We are who we are.”

She turns to him then, the whispering anxiety back with a roar. “And who is that, Mulder? I was plain old Dana Scully until I met you. And we had this life, this strange and wonderful and terrible life where I was Scully because I was your partner and now that’s over. It’s all nothing.” She’s crying openly now, quietly, and it feels cleansing.

“You’re still my partner,” he says, and his eyes are shining too.

She wipes her nose with a paper napkin. “Am I? At what? I go to work and see patients but I forgot there’s no closure with the living. People get sick and get better and get sick again. It doesn’t end. And this house, the power is always going to go out and the chickens will always be hungry and -“ she stops, feeling hysterical.

“You don’t have to work,” he says softly. “The settlement from the FBI, my inheritance…”

She shakes her head. “You know I have to work.”

He sighs, rubs her knee. “I know you do. But it doesn’t have to be this. It doesn’t have to drain you.”

He’s right, of course he’s right, but he’s also so terribly wrong that she wonders if he knows her at all. She has to be a doctor for her father, for William. For him. She has to see something through. Scully smooths her hand over the back of her head, feeling the even ridges of the braid. Mulder is so competent with everything he does, so easy with himself. He’ll get his damned bees and become some kind of honey magnate in no time.

“People at the hospital, they ask me what I did before. And I don’t know how to answer. How can I possibly answer that question? I just say I was with the government, but that isn’t really the answer, is it?”

Mulder shrugs. He’s never felt the need to explain himself to people. “It’s true.”

Scully stretches out on her stomach across the mattress, chin on the pillows, watching the moths again. They tumble like acrobats, untethered in the thick air. “There’s this number called Graham’s number, used in Ramsey Theory, which is, well, nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, it was in the Guinness Book for being the largest specific number used in a proof at the time. And Mulder, this number is so big that writing out all the digits would exceed the bounds of the known universe.”

“Nobody likes a math nerd, Scully.”

She rolls onto her back to glare at him. “Yes they do, they give them Nobel prizes. Anyway. A whole new notation system, Knuth Notation, had to be developed to express these massive numbers. Graham’s Number, Tree(3), et cetera. And I feel like that at times. That there’s this endless amount of vital, inexpressible information inside of me that is so essential but that I have no way to share.”

She blinks a few times, spent by this unburdening.

Mulder stretches out next to her, propped on his side. “You can express it to me,” he says, massaging her temple with his thumb.

Scully closes her eyes. “I feel like a ghost sometimes. How do you do it, Mulder? How do you just keep moving forward without getting lost?”

He sighs. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have a tendency to compile people into perfect specimens, then measure yourself against that imaginary standard. It’s the precession of simulacra.”

She looks at him, indignant, then realizes he could be right. “Well,” she says. “It’s possible. But Mulder, is that such a bad thing, to want to hold myself to the highest goals?”

He tugs her onto her side so that she’s facing him, nearly nose to nose. Her lips feel tingly. “Yes,” he says, stroking her hair. “When the goal isn’t attainable. And when it puts everyone else on pedestals where we’re ill equipped to balance. And when it puts you in a constant state of frustration and anxiety. No one is perfect. Not even you.”

“I don’t want to be perfect,” she lies. “And I don’t need you to be either.” That part is true, at least.

He laughs in reply. “Apropos of being Galapagos tortoises, Charles Darwin once said ‘I am very poorly today, and very stupid and hate everybody and everything.’”

“He rode the tortoises,” Scully says, calming. “I can’t defend his methodology.”

“See? You’re better than Charles Darwin.” He kisses her forehead.

“Well,” she says. “Well.”

“Scully, look. You’re not alone here, feeling at sea. I went to the feed store and some guy picked a fight, shoved me pretty hard with his shoulder. And this reflexive part of my brain wanted to grab my badge, stick it in his face, and put him against the wall for assaulting a federal agent. But I ignored it and bought the chicken feed and just headed out. And I felt like, is this who I am now? Some pushover with yard birds and home improvement books?”

“You made a little fast and loose with your authority sometimes,” she says, thinking of Roche. She curves her palm against his cheek, thumbs the fine ridge of his zygomatic bone.

He bumps her nose with his. “You broke into a secret morgue.”

“You made me.” She sniffles, laughs a little. “The good old days.”

“These can be the good days too,” he says. “They can, if we work at it.” He traces her mouth with his finger.

“Okay,” she says. Hope stirs in her, a thing with feathers. “Partners?”

“Partners.”

He kisses her, in their small tent, in their ring of light.

#xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #my fic #iwtb

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undeadgoathead · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021- Prompt # 4: Trust Fall

Devilsclaw was traveling alongside Tarragon, Bitterclover, and Dandelion, when suddenly he was grabbed from behind. He tried to scream, but a hand covered his mouth, and another throttled his throat. He grabbed at the hands that choked him, and tried to kick himself free, but he was already subdued.

“Shh, be still now, Thorn prince. We do not wish to hurt you. Come with us quietly, and do as we say.”

The unseen captor eased their grip on Devilsclaw, but he still couldn’t speak. He pawed at his own face, and was horrified to feel a strip of parchment sealing his mouth.

“We put a scroll of silence on you. It’s a demonic spell. A curse, if you will. But never fear. We know the counter-spell, an angelic blessing, to take it back off.” This voice was different. Higher. There were two people here.

One captor grabbed Devilsclaw’s wrists and held them before him, and the other bound them with a long rope. Devilsclaw struggled and screamed, even though his voice was muffled and he was outnumbered. He recognized one of them. The blue hair styled in an undercut was a dead giveaway. Brambleberry, a Wildflower Nomad. The other was a stranger. But their pink skin, green mohawk, and face full of piercings betrayed their identity. Horsecrippler.

Brambleberry finished tying the final knot, and Horsecrippler struck the backs of Devilsclaw’s knees with a wooden staff. Devilsclaw doubled over,, falling to his knees, wincing with pain. Brambleberry and Horsecrippler towered over Devilsclaw as he knelt on the ground.

“I warned you.” Horsecrippler sneered. “Obey me or you will get hurt.” They grabbed Devilsclaw under his arms, and hoisted him back on his feet.

“Are you well enough to walk?” Brambleberry asked.

Before Devilsclaw could answer, Bramleberry yanked on the long rope that dangled from Devilsclaw’s bound hands, forcing him to stagger a few steps forward.

“Yep, he’s alright to march.” Horsecrippler snipped.

“Alright, come along now, Thorn prince. We have plans for you.”

They brought him toward the Wildflower Palace, a magnificent tower of intertwined grass, trees, and stones. Even from a mile away, they could see the green spire as they approached its living walls. Brambleberry walked in front of Devilsclaw, leading him by the rope. Horsecrippler walked behind, with their needle-sharp blade aimed at the small of Devilsclaw’s back, forcing him to keep up his pace. Devilsclaw hung his head, ashamed of his capture.

They finally reached a massive, mossy door of their destination. Brambleberry pounded on the door. Devilsclaw mewled against the scroll that gagged him, and struggled against the ropes, but Horsecrippler held him down. “Shut up! We’ve taken you this far. We’re not letting you get away now.” But Devilsclaw continued to resist.

Just then, the door swung open, revealing a beautiful fae with long blue braids falling over her dark brown skin.

“Larkspur! Just in time!” Horsecrippler called out, still struggling to control Devilsclaw.

“Horsecrippler. Brambleberry.” Larkspur nodded in a curt greeting. “Who have you got there?”

“We’ve captured the Thorn prince!” Brambleberry boasted.

“Is that so? I’ve never met Devilsclaw in person before. Sovereign will be most pleased! Come now, take him inside.” Larksur stepped aside, welcoming them within.

Devilsclaw stared at Larkspur as Horsecrippler and Brambleberry dragged him in. She didn’t look like he had pictured her. She was an ancient and wise elder mystic, yet she appeared so young. But why did he even know her name?He had heard of her before, but where and when? Could she be the one who had stolen Bitterclover from the Bisti Badlands?

“You’re lucky that our Wandering King happened to be in the palace tonight. Our Sovereign travels extensively, even for one of our nomadic clan of Wildflowers.” Larkspur led them down the earthy hallway. They came across a wooden door, with brass knobs and knocker, at the end of a narrow passageway. Larkspur rapped her knuckles on the door three times. “Lord Sovereign, it is I, Larkspur, your royal Mystic. Your faithful soldiers, Brambleberry and Horsecrippler, have come to seek your audience.”

After a few moments, there was a rattle at the brass doorknob, and the door opened with a creak. Someone with blonde hair peeked through the crack.

“Marigold! Is our king in the throne room?”

“Yes, lady Larkspur. Please come inside. Horsecrippler, Brambleberry. Welcome.” Marigold gasped when she saw Devilsclaw, bound and gagged. “Is that-?”

Larkspur put a finger on her lips to hush her. “Shh. It’s a surprise.”

Marigold nodded silently, and ushered them all into the grand throne room.

Devilsclaw gulped. The roome was supported by columns of red marble, and the floor was pink granite. The walls were adorned with impressionist oil paintings framed in ornate brass, bronze, and gold. The throne was similarly jeweled and intricate. Before the grand throne, stood a tall, lean man with locks of golden hair spilling out over his suit of armor. He wore a robe of red velvet. He stood proud, holding his mighty broadsword, pointing ceremoniously downward.

Larkspur and Marigold curtsied, while Brambleberry and Horsecrippler bowed low, taking Devilsclaw down with them. Horsecrippler pushed down on the back of Devilsclaw’s head, forcing him down even further, as he tried to crane his neck to look Sovereign in the eye.

“Welcome to my court, subjects. What brings you to my palace this evening?” Sovereign spoke in a smooth, soothing voice. Even as he spoke softly, his voice commanded respect and reverence.

“Your majesty, Brambleberry and I have captured the Thorn prince, Devilsclaw.” Horsecrippler said.

“I see. Let go of him. I want to take a closer look.”

“My lord?”

“I command you to unhand him!”

Brambleberry and Horsecrippler obeyed. Devilsclaw was still kneeling, but straightened his back up straight in defiance. The king grabbed Devilsclaw by the chin and peered into his eyes.

“Hmm. Purple irises. Long black hair. Golden hoop earrings. This certainly looks like Devilsclaw.” Sovereign grabbed the rope falling from Devilsclaw’s wrists, and hoisted his hands up, inspecting his arms. “I don’t see any cuts or bruises on him, though it is difficult to tell, with these tattoos. Still, well done. You know I want our prisoners treated fairly. Especially my fellow royalty.”

Devilsclaw winced. Sovereign could not see the welts behind his knees, where Horsecrippler had hit him.

“Thank you, my lord. We followed your orders to treat our captives humanely.” Brambleberry said.

“Indeed. “ Sovereing replied. “ We shall ransom him back to the Thorn Empire. They will have three days to give us our money and collect their prince. Until then, keep him locked up in our holding cells. But unbind him, and give him something to eat and drink.”

“Yes, my liege.” Horsecrippler and Brambleberry said in unison. They picked Devilsclaw up, back on his feet, and walked him down another hallway. His new home was a chamber deep underground beneath the palace.

Brambleberry took Devilsclaw’s bound hands and hastily untied them. Devilsclaw massaged his sore wrists. Horsecrippler recited an ancient, gutteral spell, and the scroll of silence fell from Devilsclaw’s lips, and burned itself off in a wisp of crimson smoke.

“Thank you.” Devilsclaw gasped. He still resented his captors, but hi was relieved to finally move and speak freely again.

“Silence, little weed.” Horsecroppler snapped.

“Excuse me?” Devilsclaw bristled. Nobody had ever insulted him like this before. At least, not too his face. Sure, the Thorn Empire was invasive and all-consuming. But to be called a weed was the ultimate humiliation.

“You heard me. Sit down and be quiet. You Thorns are so barbaric. Even a prince like you.” Horsecrippler scoffed.

“It’s you Wildflowers who are savages! You ambushed me, and now I’m your prisoner!”

“Yes, we captured you. But we didn’t kill you. We didn’t even maim you. We have nothing to gain from torturing a weak little sapling like yourself. We’re holding you hostage for ransom. We need your money more than we need you.”

“But-“

“And we took only you. You were the only valuable one. Tarragon has lost all her former status, glory, and riches. Her brother, the former king Basil, is now a common soldier, as lowly as myself and Brambleberry. Dandelion and Bitterclover are merchants. Their modest fortunes wouldn’t even be worth the trouble of kidnapping them. But you? Emperor Tribulus and Widow Witch Belladonna will pay a fine price for your head.”

“Joke’s on you. My father hates me. And the merchants will help Tarragon find me.”

Horsecrippler cackled. “Your father loves you, at least as an heir to his empire and legacy, if nothing else. That alone is worth a prince’s ransom. Or perhaps it will be your beloved mystic, Sagebrush, will pay for your safe return. Or your lover, Tarragon, who you said will find you anyway. But even if she and the merchants find you, they’ll still have to pay the price to have you back.”

“Thorn warriors would have captured all, or captured the prince and killed the rest. But we Wildflowers show some sophistication and restraint, a testament to our virtuous chivalry.” Brambleberry bragged.

Devilsclaw paused. He remembered the legends, tales, and stories about valiant Thorn warriors, like his grandmother, Woodspider, who was notoriously ruthless in battle. In his heart, Devilsclaw knew that Horsecrippler and Brambleberry were right about Thorn military tactics, thought he hated to admit it.

“Here’s your rations, damn it.” Horsecrippler threw a flask of water and a loaf of bread on the ground at Devilsclaw’s feet. Horsecrippler slammed the barred door shut and locked Devilsclaw in the cell.

#whump #whumptober #whumptober2021 #sovereign #fantasy #fae #faerie #fairy #mythology #magick #dark fantasy #captured #ransom smut #to be continued #undead #goathead

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kingsuckjin · 4 years

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Just Smile -2

✷Paring: joker!jk x reader, robin! jin x reader, bts x reader

✷ Genre: bts batman au

✷Description: Description: All you’ve ever wanted was to help, that’s all. When you landed a job at Arkham asylum (possibly unjustly), you thought maybe you could help the poor souls locked away there. You were apprehensive about meeting one in particular, the worst criminal of his time, the infamous Jeon Jungkook, well known around Gotham as the Joker. But what if this man isn’t what the rumors and his records say he is? What if he saw you as the one needing help? You only had to do him one small favor and he could make every dream you’ve ever had could come true, he could take all the pain away and you would never want for anything ever again. Could what he offers be the truth? You can’t say you weren’t warned about him.

✷ Warnings: mention of kooks facial scars and self harm, the security isn't nice to kook, talk of mental disorders, talk of violence, depression, self loathing, idk if I forgot something please let me know

✷Words: 3.9k

prev // Next

--Series Masterlist--

"Jeon Jungkook: age 22, displays sociopathic behavior, physically aggressive."

The last two words were ones that no therapist wanted to read, it was intimidating.

You thought about just closing the case file and just thinking about how to approach this.

You were told you had to see this guy every single day, more than the hand full of others you were assigned to. You thought maybe your new boss was giving you the toughest case first just to see if he could break you, get you to quit.

You sighed as you glanced back down at the file of Jungkook on your desk and urged yourself to read further, it was important that you knew what he's done and what he could do.

The lists of things he had done read like a novel and was probably just as long as one too. "Sentenced to Arkham Asylum by pleasing insanity under the sentences and accusations of: poisoning the city's water supply, which was considered an act of terrorism. Also thought to be involved in causing the disappearance of over forty people." the list just kept going on and on.

You felt sick at your stomach making you close the file.

You wondered how you would even go about making a treatment plan for a man this vicious. You decided you couldn't, not until you met with him first. Meeting with him would be most of the battle. Would he try to snap your neck on the spot? Would he yell and scream at you?

To be honest, you were afraid. But all you could do was suck it up and act like the professional you were.

"He's ready" a member of staff poked his head through the cracked door of your new office. You knew who he was talking about, you knew who was ready, but were you?

You plastered a fake smile across your face and stood from your seat.

"Okay- I- I- um. That's great!" You tried to act as cheerful as you could given the unsettling feeling you had in your stomach.

"I'll be taking you to where you'll be meeting with him. You've had time to look over his files, right?" He asked as you left the office with the hospital staff and walked out into the too brightly lit hallway.

"Yes, of course." but you felt as though “barely” would have been more accurate reply.

"So you've seen the list of what this piece of shit has done."

"I-I-" it was hardly professional to be calling a patient a name like that "I have." But you agreed anyway.

"Just making sure, you really need to be warned about this guy. Last week he tried to bite another guy's finger off and he's been in isolation ever since."

"Oh." Left your mouth as your thoughts blanked out with it, all but one which was”

Dear god, what did I agree to?

"Is locked up though, on his meds, and there will be a guard in the room just in case."

Well that calmed your fears somewhat.

You passed door after door, some with yelling and screaming behind it, another with creepy singing, some patients just beat on the metal door with no regard, some were silent.

You saw two armed guards standing beside one of the doors just up ahead and you just knew that this was your stop, sure enough, the security man pulled out a card and ran it in front of a small box by the doorway, it let out a single, short, high pitched beep.

"You should get one of these soon" He told you as he opened the door and showed you his key card, but you couldn't concentrate on anything else but the man that was revealed to be inside of the stark white room. He sat at one side of the table in a cheap folding chair by a wall. The more you looked, you could see that he was handcuffed to a metal bar, bolted to the white concrete wall. His head, with a mess of toxic bright green hair, was tilted downwards, looking at the table and not you as you walked in. Hair was wild and stuck up in random places as if he had just rolled out of bed.

Your eyes flickered to the guard standing directly behind him, a tall muscular man with a large gun held across his broad chest, ready if needed.

The metal door shut behind you and you admittedly jumped just a little at the unexpected sound.

You walked slowly over to the table, wondering when your new patient would look up at you. Even without him looking up you could see that his skin looked a pasty white shade and you thought maybe he hadn't been outside in a while, that being inside here had done this to him.

You had a seat in the chair across from him and cleared your throat and did your best to sound not nervous although your palms were covered in sweat.

"Hello I'm Doctor y/l/n"

He didn't answer or say anything for a moment, you thought he might be asleep.

"I know" His voice was calm, yet he still didn't look at you. The sound of his voice was much more peaceful than you expected, more soothing, velvety sweet like his vocal cords had been dipped in honey. You had expected a gruff deep voice that would invoke fear upon hearing a single word.

"What's your name?" You did your best to try to make conversation, you'd take what you could get at this point, you just had to get him talking, but you weren't sure that he would, judging by his demeanor and opposition to look at you.

"You know my name." His voice continued to stay calm, and he didn't seem upset at all, he just seemed to point out a fact.

"I do, but introductions are important. I would like to hear your name from you." You urged gently.

"Jeon Jungkook, patient 2354" he complied nicely with you, even giving you his patient number that you recall being beside his name in his file.

"Jungkook? Why don't you want to look at me?" You asked hoping that if he did then maybe he would feel more connected with you

"Skipping to the straightforward questions already?" his head bobbed a little as he let out a huff of amusement that wasn't sassy, but actually seemed like he was a little surprised by your basic request.

"You don't like that? Would you prefer to talk about other things?" you wanted to be careful just in case you had read him wrong, you wanted him to feel comfortable, you wanted him to know he could switch topics at any time.

"No, that's alright, I figured you'd ask, they all ask me to eventually."

You didn't know who he was referring to, they as in other therapists or staff or what. You were confused, but you decided to let him continue to speak other than asking more questions.

"My face... is... you haven't heard about my face?" He seemed so apprehensive to speak about it.

"No, I've only read your file, and it said nothing about your face." You informed him.

"It's pretty scary."

"Well that's okay. I won't judge you. I don't mind at all." You did your best to reassure him. "But if looking down makes you comfortable I'm not going to-"

"You promise you won't scream if I show you?" He cut you off. It seemed like he wanted to show you.

"I swear." You were sure of your words.

You watched as he slowly lifted his mossy colored head up until his brown eyes met yours. He had a strikingly beautiful face, his eyes wide and brown almost deer-like, a strong jaw but gentle curves on his face that told you he was young. He had a few tattoos that you could see, a sad face with X’s for eyes on one of his cheek bones. The second was a few words near his collarbone that you couldn't quite read due to it being mostly obstructed by the collar of his white patient jumpsuit. To be honest, the tattoos suited him and his rather odd but soft features.

"I see nothing but your nice brown eyes." You were honest, his other nice features seemed to draw attention away from the not so nice one.

"Don't lie to me." He still didn't seem angry or upset or like it was a warning at all, just disbelieving of your comment.

You did however do your best not to look at the jagged scar of marred skin coming from the sides of his mouth to his mid cheeks. It looked like it had been cut so roughly, so carelessly, almost ripped. You did feel the very slightest urge to reach out and touch it, run your fingers along the long healed rugged scar, simply out of curiosity of what it felt like. Of course that would be inappropriate, and you knew better than to put your hand near the mouth of a man who almost bit someone’s finger off of course.

"I'm not going to scream, I'm not judging you, I'm not disgusted by you or anything you might think." You told the truth once again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Sure, I don't mind." He gave a shrug and the chains that bound his wrists slightly jingled with the movement.

This was not at all how you expected the meeting to go. He seemed so quiet, calm and gentle. His current attitude was almost jarring compared to all the awful things you had read about him. You still weren't about to let your guard down thinking he might switch personalities at any moment to a more violent one, you were waiting for it just in case. In a way you wanted to see it, see what he might be like at his worst. You wanted him to match up with what you read in his file, but you were also very terrified of that.

"Do you want to tell me how it happened?" You asked and he gave a small nod.

"I-uh-I did it to myself." He was being so honest and open, yet his muttering and stuttering reflected his apprehension in talking about it, but you were still glad he was.

"Why? How?" You continued to prod, to see what he would and wouldn't answer and feel out his boundaries.

"I was tired of not smiling, so I took a knife and I cut my cheeks into a permanent smile."

You had to will your eyebrows to not raise at his answer in slight shock or furrow with worry.

"You seem ashamed to show people, is that why your head was down and you didn't want to let me see?"

He nodded.

"I don't enjoy looking like this anymore, especially not in front of someone seemingly so flawless. "I regret it."

You were aware he had just insinuated you were flawless, he had complimented you, but you decided to say nothing about it and move on.

"What was going on in your mind at the time? Do you want to explain your thought process behind it?"

"I-" he took a deep breath and once again looked down at the plastic grey table top. "I was younger, eighteen I think… eighteen is when it all happened. I was in an accident, hence my skin and hair, it- it really altered my mind. I was doing horrible things, and my mind… well it wasn't in the best state, I just kept falling further and further into a dark dark hole. My skin was ruined, my hair was ruined, my mind felt ruined, I was depressed. I thought no one would want someone like me- someone who looked this way. I was tired of being sad and in a bit of a psychotic rage, I cut the sides of my mouth into a permanent smile. Do you like it? If its not scary is it at least surprising to you?”

"Well,” you began with a playful tone, “I don't know if I can be surprised much anymore, especially by my line of work. Do you like surprises?"

"I do." He smiled a genuinely sweet smile and you could see his two front teeth were just a bit more prominent than the rest.

"What kind?" You wanted to keep him talking and any conversation going, and this seemed like a pleasant one, but to your dismay he gave a shrug. He almost seemed a little shy now, and that was once again very different from the violent man’s case file you had read.

"Well what else do you like?"

"A lot of things. I like pretty things." He looked and you "and I like... I just miss the outside world."

"Did you find beauty in the outside world?” you genuinely wanted to know what he liked about being free.

“I do.I like the least expected things, those are the most beautiful, the chaos. Busy streets, hives of bees. There’s beauty in chaos I suppose, people don't like it but it’s underrated. So are imperfect things, imperfections are beautiful, unique, interesting.”

His answer spoke volumes about him, it seemed to begin to tell you why he did the things he did, but you were sure it was only the tip of the iceberg of reasons why he was the way he was, and you now found yourself more than curious about the whys and hows of him and what made him tick. He seemed so soft spoken,calm, and so open but you knew there had to be another more violent and brutal side of him.

“Tell me about how you grew up.” you clasped your hands together on the table until you thought better of it. Somehow thinking that your arm freedom would be like rubbing it in his face that he was bound by chains and limited in mobility.

“Hmmm, I’m not sure what there is to tell, I grew up like any other kid in the suburbs of Gotham… at least I believe I did… I don't know things are blurry before the accident.”

“Accident?” you urged him to continue noticing he had mentioned this just a few moments ago but had not elaborated on it.

“The chemical accident.” you noticed him stare down at the table once more, his jaw seemed to clench. It seemed hard for him to talk about it, but talking about things was good, it was the only way to get breakthroughs. For a moment you didn't think he would go into it, you were about to change the subject and come back to the question at a later time in a more gentle way.

“I fell… into some chemicals… I was an employee, my first job. A janitor. It didn't pay much, I felt like I never had any money and it was hard with… I just couldn’t…” he stopped himself and struggled.

“Take your time.” you said gently.

“It wasn't making ends meet. I started to steal things, burglarize homes. I never hurt anyone, I didn't want to, it was never my intent. I just had to find a way to make money for…” he let out a sigh “I just needed the money. I don't remember much from my childhood or teenage years, if I played a sport in school, who I was friends with, hell even my parent’s names. I do remember the struggle I went through right before the accident.”

“That's alright I-”

“Times up.” The big man from behind him boomed cutting off your sentence. You felt like he was really opening up to you though and it was only the first meeting.

“Five more m-” you wanted to barter with the man, but he cut you off once more with the same phrase.

You scooted out your chair and stood in defeat.

You didn't even flinch when Jungkook also stood quickly and attempted to reach out a shackled hand for you to shake.

Your hand went towards his but in a matter of seconds he had stumbled backwards onto the floor. You looked at the chain in the guards hand and assessed that he had pulled it, sending Jungkook to the floor.

You felt a tinge of guilt, especially when the man dragged him to his feet and back into his chair by the deep green hair. You just stood there gobsmacked with wide eyes at the abuse you had just witnessed. The man still had his large fingers in Jungkook’s shaggy hair.

“It was nice meeting you.” he said as he grunted in pain at how tightly the man held him by the hair. “I don't know when I’ll see you next… or the condition I’ll be in” he threw in making the man twist his fingers in his hair earning a series of ouches from Jungkook for the smart remark that might have hid a secret fear. “But I look forward to it.”

You were unsure of what you could do, it was obvious you held no power here.

“Yeah…” you scooted in your chair “I-me too.”

All you could do was turn and walk out, hoping the guard would release his hair once you left.

----------------

The way he was treated bothered you, even long after you were home. You had showered, tried to eat but you couldn't shake how he had been treated. It wasn't your place to say how things were run there though, which is why you flopped onto your sofa and flipped through Netflix to try to forget or at least ease how upset you were with the movie.

That was until a pretty, velvet bag had caught your eye on the coffee table. It sat in the same place where you had haphazardly thrown it last night, untouched and forgotten.

Suddenly you were lunging out of your seat for it and dumping its contents into your lap.

You couldn't believe you had forgotten about it, that weird cat man could've given you anything, drugs, stolen jewelry, human teeth. What fell out onto your lap though wasn't any of that though.

"What the fuck?" You whispered in awe as you looked down at the thick stack of rubber banded together stack of cash that had fallen into your lap.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" You thought out loud. You had never seen so much money in one place at one time, you couldn't even pretend you knew how much it might be.

All you could do is stare until your phone buzzed from its spot on the couch cushion beside you. You directed your eyes away from the obscene amount of money you now possessed, and glanced at the name "jinnie" surrounded by hearts popping up on the screen making you sigh. You wanted to answer it, you wanted him to ask how your first day at work went, you wanted to continue to pretend last night didn't happen, pretend he felt the same way about you like you had before. But he lied to you, he led you on, he broke your heart, made you cry, you were never anything real to him and you refused to forget that now.

You let the phone ring as you stuffed the money back into it's nice bag and contemplated taking it to the police department. You thought hard about it, but if it was stolen from the party would you be arrested? You had been at that party, you were seen with the stranger, you could be seen as an accomplice. You picked up your now quieted phone and headed to your room where you tucked the money neatly into a shoe box under your bed before getting in.

In your mind Seokjin had once again ruined another night.

You drifted off thinking about Jungkook being tugged by the chains to the floor, unfortunately leading to dreams you're the one stuck in that white room, being hurt by the big guard with the gun. Feeling so trapped, dragged by the hair, knowing there would never be a way to leave and see the bees and hear the sounds of traffic out your apartment window ever again. You were thrown to the floor over and over and it seemed as though the sound of it grew louder and louder until you woke up and sat up in bed only to realize there was knocking at the door.

You reach for your phone on the bedside table in the darkness as you throw back your comforter with the other hand. The time reads thee in the morning as you head into your living room, but pause.

The knocking had stopped.

You were still curious and irritated at who would be knocking on your door this early in the morning, so you once again head towards it, unlock it, and throw it open to see absolutely nothing, no one, not even a stray cat.

You stepped out to look around a little and your bare foot stepped on something that was not the concrete of your front porch.

You picked up what looked to be an envelope and took it in, making sure to lock the door back up behind you, just to be safe, before flipping on a light.

The envelope was a bright green and had one of those very old fashioned smooth looking, red wax seals binding it closed, within the wax was the shape of a question mark.

You opened it to find a short but very neatly written note.

"People make me, save me, change me, raise me, what am I?

I believe the cat has given you something that doesn't belong to you, a terrible burden to put in your hands. So smart not showing him where you live, but I'm smarter. Peek-a-boo, I found you. Don't worry, I don't wish to hurt you, on the contrary, I simply wish to pardon you from your involvement in this. Leave it in your mailbox at midnight tomorrow night."

You thoroughly read the note a few times before your sleepy brain figured it out.

"The money." You whispered to yourself. The note felt a little foreboding despite the promise not to hurt you. Nervousness began to wash over you as you just stared at the note now with eyelids heavy from not enough sleep. This money was definitely someone else's and that someone else knew where you lived.

"Thanks cat boy." You sarcastically muttered to yourself as your feet dragged your exhausted body back to bed.

No matter how tired you felt, you were unable to sleep. The nightmare combined with the note and all the thoughts you had before bed had left you in a permanent state of unease despite having to get ready for work in just a few hours.

With very little sleep, all of the strange things happening and your broken heart, tomorrow was bound to be a bad day as well.

"Mind over matter" you said out loud "it's only going to be as bad as I let it be."

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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

Text

Bred For Blood - Part 17 - The White Flag

Title: Bred For Blood

Warning: 18+ - sex/mature language & themes/gun violence/substance abuse etc. *mentions of blood/injuries/death/weapons/coma/unconsciousness in this part*

Characters: AU Axel Cluney, AU Ivar Lothbrok, AU Valter x OC

Description: A bright, young survivor meets an acid-gun slinging headhunter with a knack for melting faces and connections to a prodigal Utopia embedded in the heart of a deadly forest. Violence and passion incite a battle of fealty while betrayal nips at Zed’s heels.

Note: This one’s for Team Cluney. I really hope you guys enjoy reading! This part was very exciting for me to write for many reasons. Please reblog/like/comment if you like my work and want to give me a virtual pat on the head. I would really appreciate it, please and thank you!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

The doctor stomped over the rocky terrain, muttering and snickering to himself as the sun cast blistering rays on their backs. The heat never bothered him, only tanned his skin to a deep brown shine. It was the walking that made his knees burn. He'd long since shed his white coat to cover the bulk of the man draped over Rudie's wiry-haired hump, trudging along at leisure. The unconscious hunter he'd found needed all the protection available from the vicious star reaching its highest point in the sky.

The doctor halted his gangly steed every hour to force a measure of water down the burnt man's ululating throat. He often succeeded, and the hunter swallowed without issue, but sometimes, the water came back up as white foam, trickling down the sides of his face and down his neck. The onset of heatstroke turned his skin apple-red, and the doctor sprayed him down with water and gusts of hot air produced by a tattered paper fan he carried with him to ward off flies. Rudie attracted the pests who made a chariot out of the man on the camel's back. They fled their caravan whenever the doctor stopped to check on his patient and settled back in for the ride after he threw the stained coat back over the hunter's burnt shoulders. This went on until nightfall when the dry land showed signs of mercy, and water and shale gave way to the soil.

Rudie let out a guttural complaint when they reached a crop of tall, spindly trees. The diamond-shaped leaves provided shade. The doctor tethered the bleating animal, pressing his finger to his lips for a silence that would not come. Upon unsaddling the groaning man, Rudie threw his hump and sent Axel slumping to the ground, his deadweight at odds with a lengthy fall. His head cracked on a root, and a dusting of earth dried his palette, clinging to everything pink in his mouth. The camel clopped away from the whining mass who'd hitched a ride on his back, and in his wobbling dance, mashed the smallest of Axel's fingers into the soil.

"Rudie! You bumbling old idiot! You gaffer! Shoo!"

The beast side-stepped, snorting and sputtering, indifferent to the further damage done to the man. He shook his proud head, throwing ropes of spit that webbed his lashes. The doctor punished the creature by re-wrapping Axel's hand after a stern disinfecting, withholding the proverbial oats until the animal wandered away to dine on low-hanging leaves. Rudie chuffed whenever the doctor came to retrieve supplies from the riding satchel.

"That wasn't very nice, Rude. This man is our patient! We don't trample the patients. You've no idea the level of harm you caused! He'll be lucky if we don't have to amputate, and you don't have thumbs, so you're even more useless!"

Rudie wrapped his leathery lips around a clutch of grass and ripped it free, chewing and turning away from his master and the unconscious fellow. The camel minded his business and relieved himself on a nearby rock, huffing and chomping any strand of green he sniffed.

Axel vomited throughout the night. The doctor gave up his rest to make sure the man lying comatic didn't swallow his tongue. Then came the shivering and sickly shade of purple flaking his lips. Flaps of the doctor's paper fan spread droplets over his inflamed skin, another courtesy at the behest of his sore arm. Still, Axel moaned and scratched at the earth beneath him in bloody heat and delirium.

"If you can hang on until tomorrow, son, perhaps we'll find some proper shade and build a hut. Hm? How's that sound? Shade and water. For now, just rest, and don't die on me."

When the sun came up, the doctor cleaned Axel using the rest of the clean water from his reserve and stitched the open flesh splitting his eyebrow in two.

"That'll leave a nasty scar. Not that you need any more ruggedness in your act. You're just a lost soldier, sonny. But maybe one day you'll make a brilliant assistant. Better than Rudie, I hope. He hasn't even apologized for breaking your finger. Lookit him over there, shitting all over the camp, the scoundrel. But I'm the one with the oats; therefore, I make the rules!"

"M-muh... muuuh."

"Ah, in the worst of times, we still call our mothers."

"Mmph. Muh—"

"I wonder what's on the other side of those trees," the doctor said, shading his eyes with his hand, peering to the West. "You look well-travelled, sonny. Any ideas? Hate to run into any of those yawners, not knowing when your last shot was. But I suppose I shouldn't expect any valuable input from a man who can't look me in the eye."

After patching him up, the man hauled Axel to a stand and hoisted him onto the camel's back using a tree for leverage and a series of ropes to fasten him down. Once secured to Rudie's hump, the doctor took a few minutes to catch his breath. "Dunno how many more times I can get you up there, son. You must learn how to walk soon. Or I'll build you a sleigh. But that might take some time."

Far off above the foggy treeline, a sheet of ashy cloud broke to reveal bright blue sky. The doctor liked the look of cerulean and the absence of sand, so the begrimed trio lumbering through thick bush where dew still clung to the undersides of the leaves. The doctor went ahead, collecting globules before they evaporated. Rudie answered the doctor's constant rhetoric with wild groans that muffled Axel's whimpering, and they led their procession over uncertain ground.

"I reckon there's nothing but more trees over that ridge, Mr. Soldier. Maybe some mountains we can find a crevice to hide out in. Just until you get your strength back. The only thing I worry about is those damn yawners. Rudie and I will be safe, but you... I'll scout ahead to make sure it's clear. It'll rack up daylight, but you'll thank me when you're not a bubbling pile of soldier juice. Don't worry, sonny. They didn't immunize me for no reason! I count myself among the elites, but that doesn't mean I fancy myself better than you or more deserving of life. We're all in this, you see. Brights and Uns... We're still together, despite it all. They may have tried to kill you, but look at you now! Alive and well. Isn't that a slap in the face? They send you out to war and hope you never come back. They don't even have the decency to immunize you. What a world we live in."

Rudie let out a gaseous bellow. The doctor whipped around and pointed his walking stick at the quadruped. "Don't interrupt, you vile sow. Nobody needs a camel's opinion."

"Ma... Ma."

"We'll look for your mama after we get you looking presentable. Hang on tight, we're going uphill!"

As the ridge climbed, the trees grew denser. The doctor had to guide his camel through a maze of mossy trunks. Thin, whip-like branches prodded at Axel's tender skin. What leafy arms brushed Rudie's head bent back and snapped against the hunter's raw shoulders. Axel didn't notice, lost in the chimeric slurry of recent injuries. They maneuvered over stones and wove between crumbling stumps, avoiding the deadfalls. The steepled ground sloped upward like a great brown ramp of torn earth. Through the thickness, they muttered, minding their footwork, up and up, stopping here and there so the doctor could take in a few wheezing breaths. The camel—finally wary of obstacles—blew wind and groaned, hesitant on the incline.

"Boy, there had better be some more forgiving land over this ledge. I don't think it's workable to keep climbing. We might have to turn back, depending on what I see at the top. Fingers crossed for a lake. A bath would do me good," said the doctor, fanning his underarms and thighs with the paper fan.

"What do you say, Mr. Soldier? Should we keep going? See if there's anything worthwhile over that lip?"

"Muh."

"That's what I thought. You may not be the finest soldier I've ever met, but you're persistent, and that's key. Come on, fellas. Let's pray for water, and up we go! Can't be worse than the blasted desert."

~*~

Ivar's mood reflected his recent successes in bed. When Trinity brought his meal, he thanked her, even asking about her morning and if she was sleeping all right and eating properly. Trinity laughed nervously, sensing a test, and answered with a practiced air of casualty. Did he know of the plan they'd executed to get Zed in to see him? Was his toothy smile a front? Despite her unease, she humoured the leader and left when he dug into his stew and fresh bread. Trinity also noted Zed's absence, and with the King in lively spirits, assumed everything had gone well with the plan.

Ivar inhaled his late breakfast and dressed for comfort to walk the courtyard. With a bounce in his step, he traversed the throat of the Chrysalis, emerging on the other side to a nest bereft of activity. The morning stalls had cleared out, their occupants and merchants returned to their hovels. Even the young ones—usually at play in the courtyard by now—were nowhere in sight.

Ivar passed by the last remaining group gathered around a low podium, whispering over their berry reductions and leafy salads. Like a cluster of threatened barnacles, each mouth clamped as Ivar strode past. He held his head forward, flexing his palette to clear his airways. None of them made a sound until he was far enough away. Their chattering was undiscernible as distant chirping birds. He stopped at the incline of a foothill, spinning to catch them staring at the back of his head. They snatched their eyes away and made like they weren't gawking.

That wasn't the only peculiar thing that happened to Ivar that morning. Since his prolonged absence, the people seemed to have grown used to keeping to themselves. There was no merriment in the air, only sterile drafts pouring in from the filtration system. Ivar shivered from the brisk air, stopping to consider paying Zed a visit at her apartment. A morbid urge pulled him along, and he continued his walk. Ivar waited until somebody approached him—whether it a man or child—to greet him with customary courtesy. Still, nobody shuffled forward to ask him about his day or to offer him a portion of their recent gardening.

Ivar reached the frosted glass doors to the lab and stood still, thick hands hovering next to his narrow hips. Frozen in place, Ivar bit the tip of his tongue. Something told him Zed was inside the lab, and if he wished to see her, he had to set foot beyond the parameters of his expertise. The lab always put him in a bitter mood. It was the only place in the village that wasn't for him. Though he could visit any corner of Kinderfeld he wanted, he'd never felt welcome in the laboratory. The floors and surfaces' sterility made him cower from touching anything, and the lifeless stares he received from the few staff only reminded him of the responsibilities he'd shunned in favour of hedonism. None of them ever begrudged him his appetites, but he was confident they whispered of his ineptitude behind his back.

He wondered if Zed ever talked about him or if she'd ever vocalized displeasures regarding his leadership. Her request from the day before echoed in the corners of his mind, festering and swelling each hour they were apart. There was a bitter drop of ulterior motive in Zed's visit, and he let it slide down the back of his throat when she asked him to open the gate. But they'd made love, and that was more than Ivar expected. In his heart of hearts, he'd feared Zed would demand more; to let her fly the nest in search of Axel, but she'd taken his refusal graciously and kissed him all the same. Still, a nagging suspicion remained. Something was circulating in the air, whipping about the courts and apartments, squeezing under doorways and filling the citizens with doubts.

A stranger on his own land, Ivar lowered his eyes to the ground and turned away from the lab before he recognized any more scrutinizing glances. He powered along, ignoring the guards, their dutiful nods, cutting over the knolls as fast as his muscular thighs could take him without breaking into a run. The loneliness chased him back to his palace, and even its mouth gaped in question.

Ivar noticed Sheraya nearby, spreading dark red petals, a gained cigar of smoking sage held between her fingers. He craved nicotine the moment the fumes peppered his nostrils. Tears coursed down her round cheeks, though she made no sobs, no whimpers. There was only gentle muttering under her breath and more tears. The king stood waiting for her to acknowledge him and then realized she had no intention of breaking her prayer mantra.

Shunned, Ivar turned away, retreating to his house of lush fabric and solitude where he should never have left.

~*~

Vee insisted Zed stay put while he fetched them dinner. Their setting was the top floor of the greenhouse where he'd played cards and got drunk with his brother some nights. Nobody ever bothered them up there. Zed sat in waiting, enjoying the greenery, the twisting vines and canary yellow zucchini blooms. She stretched an arm out to pluck a flower and nibble its petals. Her stomach gurgled for heavier fare, so she ate another. Vee didn't keep her waiting long after, showing up with a basket of seed-crusted bread and a bowl of sliced potatoes slathered in basil paste and cooked to a crisp. For dessert, he brought dried fruit and freshly harvested cashews.

Moonlight vaulted through the trees, defusing over the glass and casting milky shadows on the greenhouse floor. The air was moist with freshly irrigated soil. Baked in the dimness, Zed couldn't take her eyes off the man sitting in front of her. He'd brought with him the game from their youth, but neither of them suggested opening the box. They smiled as they ate, breathing in the deep aromas and savouring their food together. And in the balmy atmosphere decked in silver light, Zed swore Vee was his brother's twin. Her heart shuddered in remembrance. It was what brought them together; the shared sense of guilt and the strengthening suspicion they'd both lost someone, both failed and scorned by the people who'd invested too much faith in their competence. Zed felt at peace beside him.

The scientist was still a welcome member of the village, hence his aptitude for finding rarer delicacies like wine and ripe figs. They split the skins and scooped out the sweet innards, indulging their tongues on the fruit as if it was the richest of luxuries.

"You know what I would absolutely love to eat again?" Zed asked, sucking seeds from between her teeth.

"Popsicles," Vee answered.

"Close, but no. Chocolate ice cream. I'd kill for some chocolate ice cream right now. "

Vee shook his head. "No way. Strawberry all the way."

"A hot fudge sundae with peanuts and a big maraschino cherry."

"Peanut butter sauce."

"Oh, my God. Don't say that," Zed groaned.

"It's so good. I can't remember the last time I had ice cream. Remember when you could walk a couple blocks in the Summer and buy an ice cream cone?"

Zed smiled, but the thought pricked her memory. "The last time I got ice cream was with my Dad. I got the biggest chocolate sundae, with peanut butter cups and chocolate sprinkles. He told me there was a full day-and-a-half's worth of calories in it, but I didn't care. It was after a soccer game. I didn't like soccer, but if I went to practice every week and scored at least one goal, he'd take me out for ice cream. Two goals meant I got ice cream and five dollars."

Zed sighed, continuing, "I hate thinking about the last times. Like at one point, you did something for the very last time. The last trip for ice cream. The last time you told someone you loved them."

"If you hate thinking about last times, then why are you doing it right now?" Vee asked, eyes blank as discs.

She grimaced, reaching out to touch the toe of her shoe to his, then softening her face. "I can't help it sometimes. Don't tell me you've never thought about how it used to be. You don't have to look at everything so logically."

"I don't," Vee said. "I just rather not think about those times."

"I'm sorry. Is it?—Never mind."

"My fiancé and my kid? Yes. It's always them."

Zed set her dish aside and scooted beside Vee, pressing her back against the wooden barrier of the melon patch, mirroring his position, her mouth just as dead grim as his.

"You seem to handle it well enough. But I understand. I think everyone lost something important to them," Zed offered.

Vee sighed, turning his face to the floor, cutting off the glistening whites of his eyes from view. "Found out she was pregnant the night before I left to work for the army."

"The army?"

"Yes. I had a knack for inventing. You've seen the ammunition I designed for Axel. And it takes a special gun to fire something that lethal without complication. They wanted that kind of technology and offered me a nauseating amount of money to oversee mass production. The only smart thing I ever did was refuse to sell myself. It cost me my family, but I can say with certainty Axel is the only person besides me who's fired one of them. Could you imagine what the world would be like if those had gotten into the wrong hands?"

Zed bottled talk of acid and bloodshed with a shiver and a firm hand on Vee's wrist. "Enough of that. Please. Tell me about her—your fiancé. Let's just... Remember them fondly. I don't want to think about the bullshit out there."

"You'd rather stay inside these bubbles, ignoring a second societal collapse in the making?"

"Yes. I'd rather enjoy my time here with you, listening to nicer stories. This is all that's left. I don't want to think about where we went wrong or right. Let's just talk about what made us happy."

Vee nudged her shoulder. "Why can't we talk about what makes us happy now?"

She giggled and rested her temple on his shoulder. Vee curled his wrist around her knee, and their fingers intertwined. He leaned his head on hers like they had in his apartment before Lora caught them, this time with his heart pumping in double-time.

"What makes you happy now?" Zed asked him.

"Not talking about dead relatives."

"Okay, true. Let's not. So... What are you content with?"

"You," Vee blurted.

Zed's chest tightened. Vee let go of her hand and angled his torso toward her. "I'm sorry. It's difficult for me not to... Stick to you. If I'm honest... You look like her, Lea. I really hate how much you remind me of her. And I don't want to use you to fill the void. It's wrong, but I can't help it. Everywhere I look, I'm reminded of how much I lost. And you're so understanding. You don't have all these expectations."

"Vee—"

"I don't want you to think I'm coming onto you. You don't owe me anything. All I'm saying is, I'd be happy to stick together."

"We will! I want to stick with you, too."

Vee combed his blond hair back, pinching his brows together. "Lea... I want you to tell me no, right now."

"No? What do you mean?" Zed asked.

"Tell me there's no chance in Hell we'll ever get together. If I have it planted in my mind, then that's that. But if you don't, and we continue hanging out like this, getting closer... I might... Think there's a way."

"Valter..."

"Axe knew what he was doing when he brought you here...when he introduced us. Yes, he wanted protection for you, but he also wanted you and me to hit it off. I could tell. He'd never admit it, but I know him. You're perfect for me, but I've seen how others treat you, and I refuse to do the same. I don't want to perform tricks to impress you into sleeping with me like Ivar, but I don't want to stifle my feelings like... Axel. So you need to shut me down, right now. If there's a firm barrier, my mind will reroute, avoiding any possibility—"

"Stop," Zed said. "Please, just stop."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought any of that up."

"No, it's good to speak your mind. I appreciate the honesty, even if it took months to hear."

"It would have been inappropriate if I brought it up. When we had research and pressing issues, it was easy to ignore how familiar you seemed. Now I'm at a stalemate, and you're still here, and Axel's gone. I can't pretend like I don't want to spend my time with you. But I'll stay off your heels, I swear. Just friends."

"I'm not telling you no," Zed murmured. "Maybe at some point, I wanted to fall in love, but now I know that's foolish. Love can't exist in this world anymore. Not without great suffering, and I don't want to suffer anymore. Truthfully, I don't even want to get close to you, Valter, because I'm afraid someone or something will take it away."

"Nothing will take me away."

Zed shook her head, knocking a tear loose. "Don't say that. You can't make that promise. I don't want any more broken promises."

The scientist nodded while a cloud of vapour seethed from the sprinkler heads above the raised garden beds, thickening the air and clinging to their skin. A long silence pervaded, and Zed held her breath until Vee shuffled away to retrieve Wayfare of Austea. He dropped the box before her feet and grinned widely.

"Come on then, let's play. No more doom and gloom for a while."

~*~

Ivar spent the same evening pacing in his room. He went to the private alcove he assigned to the woman on his mind. Zed was fickle, and he didn't want to dash his chances with her by smothering, but something in his stomach wouldn't settle. He'd even dismissed his guard, encouraging another visit, yet she hadn't shown. Ivar buckled under the suspicion that she was angry with him, and her absence was his punishment.

Never the man to deny himself, he made for the Hives. If Zed was alone, surely she'd welcome his company. She'd said it herself: she wasn't one to sleep with just anyone, and he was far from just anyone. He was King, and this was his realm.

Despite his self-reassurance, Ivar carried doubts that manifested on his face. He passed a few citizens, drawing eyes with his acidic mug and ignored them all the way to Zed's door.

She didn't answer the door after he knocked. He reasoned she might be asleep, though it was shy of nine o'clock—early for most but not an unusual time to sleep. Before he turned away, he twisted the handle and cracked the door open an inch, letting out the dark.

"Lea? Are you in here?"

Stagnant silence answered, and he shut the door before anyone saw him. Ivar went to the door on the left and found that one locked. He grimaced, turned from the apartments and left for the lab.

On his way through the courtyard, Ivar saw Nalani and Trinity walking arm-in-arm, engaged in private discussion. Their frantic doe-eyes widened to see him.

"Have you seen Lea?" Ivar asked.

"She should be home, I think," said Trinity.

Nalani shrugged her bare shoulders, still clutching her friend's hand. "I thought she'd be with you, Ivar."

He sneered at the women. "No curtsy? No formality? Has everyone forgotten who's in charge around here?"

The two pressed their arms together, quietly apologizing and stepping aside for Ivar. He stalked toward the lab, holding his breath while throwing open the doors and turning the corner to find the rooms gutted of materials. The refrigerator hummed, and the overhead light flickered, barren and reeking of sterilization.

Ivar examined the dustless surfaces, curious but not enough to go digging through desk drawers. He went down the hall and stopped in front of Vee's door, clearing his airways again to sharpen his ears. There were no voices. Ivar knocked and went unanswered.

He turned in time to see the first door in the hall open and Lora's head poking out. She wore the same displeasure on her face, adjusting her reading glasses while her body caught up with her neck.

"If you're looking for Vee, he's hiding away with that woman everyone is up in arms about," Lora said.

"Hiding away? With Lea?"

"Yeah, whatever her name is. They haven't been here since I caught them getting up close and personal in Vee's room."

Ivar's stomach flipped, his head buzzed. Lora took great pleasure in the snagging of his mouth. She had been fuming by herself, finding specks of dust to brush away to keep her mind off her superior who'd run away with the girl she'd grown to distrust. Lora was a woman of insecurity, easily threatened by others but quick to bite back when given a chance. After she'd found Vee shoulder-to-shoulder with Zed in his apartment, Lora waited for any opportunity to drive a wedge between her beloved head scientist and the newcomer from the desert. Now was the perfect opportunity to damage Zed.

"What do you mean?" Ivar asked.

"You know what I mean, sir. They were practically on top of each other."

Ivar had no reason to discount Lora's claim. She'd proven herself a trusted and valuable member of the village long ago and never caused a ripple of dispute. The folding of her face and iron-clad seriousness was all the King needed to believe what she told him.

"Where are they?"

"I assume—if they're smart—hiding in one of the greenhouses. I wouldn't be surprised if you caught them naked in the strawberry bushes."

Ivar scoffed and rushed away. Lora watched until he disappeared, then went back inside the incubation room and put on a pair of gloves. There was an electric cooler housing blood samples, one from each member of the village. Lora selected a sample from the bottom tray and shuffled to the sink, turning on the tap while reading the label. Popping the top off the vial, she upended the sample and drained the blood away.

Ivar did better than storming the greenhouses in search of Zed. There were slinkier things on his mind. If he caught her in the act with the scientist, only then would he justify blowing up. For now, he snuck through the grounds with his focus tuned and his breath steady.

"What's next for me? I've tried to convince him to let someone go, but he refuses. Do we just exist here now, with no way to move forward? Forever trapped in this moon unit."

"He'll come to his senses," Vee said with meagre hopefulness. "Ivar's full of himself, but he's not stupid."

"Well, let's count on those senses coming soon," Zed snorted.

"Speaking of Ivar... Do you think he's wondering where you are? You did just... You know. If that happened to me, I'd be thinking about it for a while. Wondering after you. Well, not you—'cause we never... Heh. Ah, shit. You get my meaning, right?"

"Mr. Cluney, are you flustered? I don't think I've ever heard you fumble your words before."

"I don't mean to be coarse."

"Don't worry. We'll get through this. Ivar has to see reason… We need to tell him about the ones who died."

"I'll tell him. It should be me," Vee said, stacking the playing cards back in the plastic tray lining of the frayed box.

Zed helped by gathering pieces, separating them into their individual quadrants next to the cards. She set her eyes dead on the floor after they finished packing the game away, sighing in contemplation.

"Who will go?"

Vee frowned. They shared a strained minute of silence interrupted by another burst of spray in the air. Their shirts stuck to their backs, legs aching from crossing and uncrossing. Zed handed the box to Vee.

"Maybe it should be me," she said.

"Absolutely not. You can't leave. It's too dangerous out there, and you don't have to put your life on the line. There's only two people who should go. Me or Ivar."

"You're too important to lose, Vee. That's what Axel wants. I know if he had a dying wish for me, it would be to look out for you. For us to do everything we can to survive."

"Within capability. I'm not a killer, Zed. I'm not like Axel."

Zed smirked, the merciless flames dancing in her belly again, the same ones she'd felt when she screamed at Lora. She'd harboured the noxious warmth before. It was a friend to her.

"But I am...I'm a killer."

Vee set his jaw firmly, scoffing, unable to disagree. "Listen, Rambo. Even armed to the teeth, you're still not going out there alone."

"And neither are you if you go."

"You think Ivar will leave his precious cocoon? I don't think so. He'll probably send one of his guys out to never come back."

Zed shook her head, tired of the speculation. "This is ridiculous. Anyone should be able to come and go as they please. It's tyranny to tell them they can't leave if they want to. I thought this was a place of free will? What happened to the promised land?"

"Same thing that always happens when one person is left in charge."

"On that, we agree."

They left the greenhouse with much to think about, hugged goodbye in the courtyard and separated—Zed toward the Hives and Vee following the path to his room.

The next morning Zed awoke to guards butting on all the doors, yelling for everyone to get to the courtyard. The racket came after a long night of tossing and turning. Her eyes were tight with unrest, her head throbbing, but she put on jeans and a plain white t-shirt with a single breast pocket, similar to the ones Ivar wore.

The citizens filed from the Hives, murmuring and looking around worriedly. Guards stood by to direct the traffic to the medical tent-turned-backdrop. The booth topped the steepest hill in the plaza, out of use for the past few weeks. They pooled around the base of the hill in collective confusion, looking up as Ivar took advantage of the blank vinyl behind him.

Ivar cast a proud smile over the congregation. He summoned everyone from their hiding spots without having to lift a finger and brought them into the light spilling through the checkered dome on high. He waited until he spotted Zed and Vee coming in from their separate tubes, relaxing a bare inch when they didn't arrive together. They cut their ways to the front of the throng and noticed each other right away. Ivar saw the troubled looks they exchanged and sneered.

"Is this everyone?" Ivar called to the head of his guard.

An armed man standing off to the East with a few others gave Ivar a thumbs up. The King nodded, then proceeded, his expression toward his people fresh with tenacity.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Kinderfeld. I've asked you all here to bring you some news. It has taken me a long time to come to this decision, and for my delay, I apologize. I don't take this lightly... We've lost members of our family, and my heart is broken. I've spent too long trying to think of a way to bring trade back to our village. We need supplies, yes, and medics. I understand these things because I've survived before. All of us must exist as a unit, each one pledged to the survival of our crew."

The people looked on with widening eyes. Hearts that once sang for Ivar's monologues found their tune. All of them but Azalea and the other Cluney brother. Ivar burned them with ocular venom, hoisting his smile into a morbid curve. Zed let shoulders and legs swallow her back into the crowd, but not deep enough to block her view of the head scientist glaring back at the leader.

"I forbid travel for your protection. There are dangers outside of our walls. People whose only purpose is to hunt and kill. I don't have to remind you of the horrors we've suffered or the love we've cultivated here in our home. You were all there. Some of you longer than others. They built these walls to protect us—the ones who choose love instead of hate."

Ivar clasped his hands behind his back and took splinted steps back and forth on his makeshift stage. He fashioned himself contemplative, but his eyes shone with intent.

"With that being said... We cannot wait for luck to come to us. This planet is evolving each day. Nature is reclaiming the land, and it will swallow us in its majesty. We will be lost if we don't take action."

"What do we do?" Someone called from the center of the gathering. The fiery-haired father who'd earned his keep cooking and training his son stood out as the shouter. Ivar didn't smile at him so much as he cast his grace upon the redheaded man clutching the freckled boy by the shoulders.

"I'm glad you asked, sir... We are a unity. A tribe of people who want to live in harmony, am I wrong?"

Several shook their heads, others muttered together, a dull drone of tired voices.

"Then we should vote. Does anyone care to nominate themselves or another?"

The apprehension pivoted and picked up with a few gasps. Heads swivelled in search of somebody bold enough to champion themselves for exploration. Vee continued glaring at Ivar. The king returned the glower.

"I'll go!"

Zed gasped after the words left Vee's mouth. He stepped forth, unbreaking under Ivar's challenging eyes.

"So we have one volunteer. Our beloved head of research and weapons development. A very noble gesture! Does anyone else wish to nominate themselves?" Ivar asked. He opened his arms, beseeching a reply with postured hope.

"Nobody should go alone!" Zed shouted.

"Yeah, we need a team!"

Ivar motioned for the crowd to quiet down. Once they simmered, looking on with palpable anticipation, he inhaled deeply for the next addressing.

"We're running low on men to keep our hold. The brunt of the firepower needs to remain here in case of attack," Ivar reasoned.

"I'll go alone. I don't care. We can't stand around any longer!" Vee said, his chest puffed, much to the surprise of the people who knew him.

Ivar barked a few dry laughs, disguising his pleasure to everyone but Zed and the man who'd volunteered to brave the elements. "I suppose if nobody has any objections...Vee will be the one to go. As badly as it tears me to say so... You are the perfect man for the job. Brother, I wish you all the luck."

Zed broke away from the gather and hammered her legs up the incline toward Vee and Ivar, pumping her fists until she reached them.

"Ivar, you can't do this! We can't send people out alone. At least let me go with him!"

"No!" Ivar and Vee shouted at once.

"What are you going to do to stop me? After your decree about peace and harmony, what will you do to keep me from leaving Kinderfeld?"

Ivar adopted her heated expression. "Azalea, stay out of this."

"No. I won't! Not after what happened to Axel. We have to assemble a team! Don't tell me to stay out when neither of you has seen the carnage!"

"Of course you want to go, Lea. All you care about is finding Axel. You used me and hoped I wouldn't figure out you're trying to leave. You never cared about me. You try to act like you're so innocent and respectful, but you're just like everyone else."

"Because I don't want people to die? Ivar, I understand you're trying to protect everyone, but sending men out for slaughter won't help our cause. Please," Zed whimpered. "Set aside our personal issues and try to see the bigger picture."

Ivar cooled suddenly. He patronized Zed with a frantic nod and a forced grin. "All right, Azalea. Consider our personal issues permanently set aside. You got your way. One of the guards will go with Vee. Now, go. I have heard your voice."

The guards gathered around Ivar and Vee, their conversation clipped and sheltered from the citizens by a lineup of broad-shouldered men carrying weapons of varying levels of brutality. Zed stepped away, cowering under the firm looks she received from Ivar's men. Though she bowed out of the political bubble, she stayed close by, watching Vee's sour face muttering umbrage at the King. The other citizens broke off into smaller clusters, chosen families and cliques gathering to discuss the ruling.

A hand slid over Zed's shoulder, and she whirled to find Sheraya bowing her head. "You've done what you can."

"No, I haven't!" Zed nipped. "I should go with him. I'm not afraid of the outside anymore."

"You don't have to be the hero, Azalea. You must survive."

"I have survived. I'm good at it."

"You're needed here. The young ones have to learn from the women."

"Sheraya... I can't let Vee go. I can't."

The elder took hold of Zed's clammy palm, pressing the lines with her thumb. Zed buckled as tears sprung from the corners of her eyes. "He's all I have, Sheraya."

"The only one you ever truly have is yourself. Think about that before you take your heart's path and not your brain's. Look hard into the future."

"I'm trying," Zed sobbed.

"Azalea, I mean it. Your future is important."

Sheraya left her with a warm peck on the cheek and a growing sense of bewilderment. Zed looked around at the people, the hills and the courtyard beyond, the flatland where they set up their booths and entertained each other. Envisioning life beyond the safety of their walls overcame Zed with grief. She'd won, but the conditions were too heavy for her to bear. Now her last friend prepared for expulsion.

Vee took his charge seriously. Zed saw his raw determination as they hashed out a plan. Several times, she stopped herself from storming their parley, anchoring herself to the ground with locked knees and her arms folded over her breasts.

For a long time, the conversation went on, and most of the villagers went about their morning routines, gathering to cook and gossip of the turbulent state of politics. Zed stayed close enough to catch Vee when they finally broke for action, but the men showed no signs of agreement. Ivar had to hush some more uproarious guards, leashing them down with an assuring hand on the shoulder to stop them from infecting the others with their rancour.

Zed spotted a guard sprinting from the warehouse limits. The desperate look on his face alerted her, and she stepped out of sight around the corner of the medical tent, still close enough to listen.

The man approached, panting and calling for Ivar's attention. Zed snuck a peek and saw the group retire from their conference, distracted by their comrade.

"Jackson, what's the matter?"

"It's Zee. It's him! One of the guys found some doctor dragging him through the forest."

"A doctor?" Ivar repeated. "How do you know?"

"He says so. Says his name is Simpson... Or was it Samson?"

"Samson!" Zed yelled, running from her cover toward the reporting guard. "Did you say the doctor's name is Samson?"

"Yeah, Samson," the man huffed, stunned by the woman's sudden appearance.

"Bring him in! Right now. Go get them and bring him to me!" Zed demanded.

"Now, wait a minute," Ivar said. "How do we know we can trust this guy?"

"If it's the Samson I know, we can trust him. Ivar, please. I'll vouch for him if it's who I think it is."

"Who gives a shit, he's got my brother!"

Zed vaulted after Vee, tailed by the guards and Ivar. The march heralded interest from the citizens, and soon, onlookers roved toward the warehouse. Vee turned to the guard who'd brought the news and slapped him on the shoulder. "Go tell them to let Axel and the doctor inside."

"Sir," the guard nodded, jogging ahead to the entrance where two other men stood, baffled and conflicted without orders.

"Let them in!" Zed cried out.

They waited with bursting lungs. It seemed an hour crawled by before a shadowed heap of arms appeared at the mouth of the entrance. Flanked by two guards holding him upright, they carried Axel inside, his head of matted brown hair dangling lifelessly between his shoulders, limp tattooed arms slung around their necks. Zed ran to him and propped his chin up in her hand, heart palpitating, head rushing.

"Axel! Oh my God. You're alive!"

"Now, now, miss. Don't waste too much breath speaking to him. He can't understand you."

Zed turned toward the familiar voice. Samson hobbled in next to a guard who'd taken on his load—a heavy satchel, a duffel bag and two tweed suitcases. Filth and the briny stink of body odour and piss wafted through the tunnel with them. Most recoiled from the stench.

"Doctor Samson, do you remember me? From the bloodbank."

"Ah, yes, of course, I remember you, Zed! You used to zip around on your motorbike, looking for scrap metal and something to eat."

"Yes, yes! I didn't think I'd see you again."

"The chances of us meeting were rather slim, I agree, and I have to say it's lovely to find you in this magnificent bubble here. You can see this splendid little valley from the North. We were hoping for water, but this is much better. Um, speaking of water, where might I find some? Mr. Soldier and I are rather parched. Oh, and I left my camel parked outside. Do you validate?" Samson said with a jolt of wild laughter.

Zed didn't mean to be rude, but turning away from Samson was far too easy when Axel hung before her like a damp towel on a clothesline. She wanted to hold him, to join in as support to get him a surface to lie upon, but she resisted.

Ivar butt in and directed the escort to take Axel to the laboratory, then turned to Zed, scorning the tears in her eyes.

"Looks like you got your wish, Lea. Axel's back. Your life can go back to normal," Ivar said as the rest of them rushed away with the hunter and the doctor in tow.

It was only them, facing off on the hill. Zed quelled the wildfire in her belly with a painful swallow. A debate with Ivar served no purpose, so she turned from him, solemn and absolute.

"You've given me a lot, Ivar. I thank you for that. Hopefully soon, you and I will see eye to eye again, and we can live peacefully, as you said."

She angled down the hill, hurrying toward the laboratory.

Nobody stopped her from entering the stand-in hospital room. Vee had been worrying over his brother, grimacing at his crudely wrapped hand, violet dark and lame at his side. They'd already stripped him naked and laid a blanket over his lower extremities, so the bruises spraying his ribs screamed in the whiteness. His skin was bright red and glossy, shoulders scabbed with burns. With all his muscles slackened, Axel spilled over the bed, deadweight and loose-jawed.

"What happened?" Zed asked, turning to the doctor propped up in a gurney, sipping from a jug of water.

"I can't say for sure," said Samson. "He was comatose when I found him baking in the desert. That's one lucky man, right there. Lucky he crawled his sorry ass to where he did. Otherwise, I might have missed him by a mile."

"What should we do, Samson? How do I make him come out of it?"

"Oh, we can never be sure. It could be a few days, weeks... Months. My suggestion is to regulate his body temperature, treat his wounds and burns, and hope for the best."

Zed turned back to the unconscious man. She spotted the clumps of dirt in his hair, the scrapes on his elbows and mud-caked fingernails and her panic increased.

"Somebody bring me washcloths, soap and water right now!"

"I'd be mighty careful cleaning those burns, Zed. He's got some good blisters forming. And mind his hand."

"I will, I will," Zed nodded. "Just tell me what to do."

"Can I bother someone for a snack?" Asked Samson.

The guards who'd toted them into the lab stuck around until no longer needed. Zed refused help from anyone except Vee after Trinity brought them a bucket of warmed water, and Lora provided antiseptic. They started cleaning Axel gently, beginning with the grime under his nails. Samson ate from a bowl of mixed fruits, humming in delight from the nectar sliding down his throat.

Zed moved Axel's injured arm with great care and washed away the smears of dirt marring his tattoos, applying disinfectant to the cuts. Vee worked on the opposite side of the bed, combing out the chunks in his hair. Once in awhile, Zed met Vee's eyes, and he'd nod or give her a forced grin.

Axel's unconsciousness only registered later in the night after they'd cleaned him and swapped a few words of astonishment. Zed stayed nearby, wishing his eyes open, but every hopeful breath gave way to disappointment. Lost in the blankness of his mind, Axel floated.

Even Lora surrendered to the sobering tension, making herself available to Vee only. Zed didn't concern herself with the woman. Her mind was awash with relief and worry for the friend who'd found his miraculous way back home. Nothing else mattered but the battered man lying in slumber on the hospital bed.

Samson fell asleep, and Vee left after long, touching Zed's shoulder before excusing himself. He promised to come back as soon as he'd had some rest. Zed nodded, squeezing his hand for a lingering moment, then releasing him. Sleep had no chance of overtaking her, so she stayed next to Axel, balling herself up in one of the office chairs, listening to his wheezing and sticking her fingers under his scruffy jaw to check his pulse every time he went silent.

When it was only her, Axel, and Samson sleeping in the room, she leaned over the bed and brushed her palm over Axel's scaly forehead. She avoided his singed nose, the curving laceration above his left eye and the peeling skin on the crests of his cheeks, touching his jaw and stroking his hair a few times.

"Don't worry, everything's okay now. You're back where you're safe."

The woman slumped into the chair, propping her heavy head on her elbow. She watched his chest rise and fall for a few minutes, plates of seared skin stretching tight over his ribcage, and fought off the urge to doze alongside him.

"Mmph-uh... Muh."

Zed's eyes snapped open. "Axel? Did you speak?"

"Hmm," he thrummed.

"Can you hear me, Axel? It's me, Zed. Azalea. Do you recognize my voice?"

Axel's throat went quiet, the enfeebled notes fading back to obscurity. Zed tried to get him mumbling again, but the hunter remained still.

"It's okay. I promise, I'll make you better. You're home now, and I'm not going anywhere until you’re better, okay, Axel? Don’t worry. You’re at home with me."

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nakedmossy · 4 years

Text

Depth Over Distance - Part Three [Rudy x Reader]

[A/N: I haven’t found a hometown Rudy fic yet soooo I wrote one. I have no idea where this story is going to go and I’m honestly finding it hard to get out of writing JJ and get into writing Rudy, but here we go anyways. I wanted to write something where the reader and Rudy were hometown friends before he moved to LA, and to explore the idea of how that would change/what it would look like when he comes back. Get ready for a S L O W. B U R N. my dudes. Peace and love, Mossy x]

There were very few people in the world that could make you smile at 7 in the morning when it was raining outside, but Rudy was one of them.

You forced yourself awake as your car wound around the dirt roads, swerving pot holes and washboards, the rain starting to patter lightly on your windshield again. You followed Rudy’s tail lights away from the beach parking lot, your hula girl bobbling on the dash board, and you smiled as you were instantly transported into a flashback of the first time you had followed him down this road.

————

It was the day you bought your car, the week of your sixteenth birthday, and Rudy had asked you to meet him out at the beach alone in the afternoon before your party later that night. You had driven your car to the parking lot where his old beaten down and barely drivable Chevy was parked and pulled in beside him. He applauded graciously as you got out of the drivers seat and you took a deep bow, laughing.

“Look at this absolute TANK!” He said, taking his sunglasses off and walking around the car, inspecting it. It must have passed his inspection because he got up off the ground after looking under the wheel wells and wiping the dirt off his knees, beaming. “Its perfect”

“Isn’t it?” You gushed, unable to contain the smile plastered on your face. “I can’t believe its mine. It feels so weird.”

“Come on” Rudy bumped your arm with his and grabbed his pack out of the box of his truck. You followed him down the trail, jogging lightly to keep up with his long, comfortable stride. When you got to the beach, he laid a blanket out and patted for you to sit down beside him, you had been telling him about how the car drove and all its quirks you had noticed and how sticky the gear shift was, and didn’t notice when he pulled two beers out of his pack.

“Oh” You said quietly, stopping talking and staring at him. “Rudy, I can’t. I have to drive to my party after this.”

Rudy smiled at you and chucked the beer underhand at you so you had to catch it. Your eyes wide, you looked around, checking to make sure nobody was watching.

“Relax, Y/N. I will drive in front of you...if anything happens ill get stopped first.” He winked at you, knowing that one beer wouldn’t get either of you in trouble but knowing how conscious you were, and cracked his can. You apprehensively cracked your own, some of the spray from it being shaken up landing on your bare legs. You clinked cans and smiled at each other. Rudy looked at you intently and dipped his head towards you.

“To you. My wonderful best friend. I hope you have the best night ever. Happy Birthday. Congrats on the car. Can’t wait to christen it-”

“RUDY!” You smacked his arm and laughed until your face was beat red. “Cheers”

He echoed you and you both lifted your cans, drinking a few gulps. It was hoppy and made your throat burn, you squinted and shook your head.

“-AND, and,” He tipped his can towards you. “I have a present for you.”

“No.” You looked at him, feigning anger. “You know the rules. We don’t do presents...”

He ignored you and smiled cheekily, lifting a box out of his pack. Unwrapped and the cardboard torn, you snorted as he passed it to you. You hoped he mistook your blushing for the beer making you flush. As you opened the box, you could feel your legs tingling and your chest pumping quicker. Rudy had never given you a gift before - you had agreed as kids that you weren’t going to be those friends. This felt weird and intimate. First you saw the black hair and the green skirt, then the lai and the bikini top. You looked up at him and raised your eyebrows before you started laughing.

“Oh really, Rudy. Really, you shouldn’t have. Thank you.” You mocked sincerity, putting a hand on your chest. “So thoughtful...I just...”

“Alright shut up” He laughed, tearing the box up and stuffing it back in his pack.

You smiled genuinely at him, and held the dashboard hula girl gently in your hands.

“Thank you” You said without laughing now, making Rudy wiggle his nose and shift his position on the blanket, scratching his hand through his hair nervously.

“Well. You know...no beater is complete without one.” He said with mock seriousness.

“Hey! She’s not a beater. She’s...just...very well loved.” You emphasized the last words, hoping to convey how loved you felt at that moment.

You smiled at each other now, then the smiles faded and you held each others gazes silently. You couldn’t tell if it was the beer or the sunset or Rudy’s cologne or the proximity of how close you sat on the blanket, but the air shifted between you and you felt your head loosen on your shoulders. It was as if Rudy was leaning towards you, but you felt wobbly so you couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that he was staring at you, your eyes, your lips, and your chest was pounding and you felt light headed.

You swallowed and broke eye contact, looking at the water.

“We should probably get going. Can’t be late to our own party.” You smiled at him, his eyes still lingered on your mouth then hazily looked back up at your eyes and returned the smile.

“Yeah” He agreed, then stood quickly, offering you his hand to help you up.

You white knuckled the steering wheel the entire drive from the beach to your house, the hula girl on the dash wiggling in between Rudy’s tail lights.

————

You blinked and looked at the road again, Rudy’s rental car tail lights disappearing around the corner onto his street. You looked at the hula girl and stretched your hands out on the steering wheel, your palms sweaty.

You pulled into his driveway behind his car as he emerged from the drivers seat, taking his sunglasses off and hanging them off the neck of his shirt. You shoved the gear stick into park and reefed on the e-brake (you couldn’t trust the brakes on flat land let alone a slight hill) as Rudy walked towards your car, waiting near the hood. He placed his hand on it and smiled, you watched as you took off your seatbelt and opened your door.

“What, did you miss her?” You asked sarcastically as he feigned shock and lifted his hand to his chest.

“Of course I did” He bumped your elbows together when you stepped in beside him and you both started towards his front door.

His house hadn’t changed a lick since you were there last - you stopped visiting a few months after Rudy left, even though his mom invited you over every single time she saw you. The gutters were still rusting and the front door looked like you could kick it in if you tried hard enough. You spent more time at this house than you did at your own in high school, and walking up to it was like muscle memory, you knew to sidestep the root in front of the first step, to skip to the third step because the second was rotten and your foot would go through it.

Rudy’s mom was already coming down the hall towards the front door, making all sorts of noises and probably crying, and you could hear the family dogs scuttling on the hardwood around her feet.

“Good lord, my boy.” His mom stopped in the frame between the main door and the screen door, then she broke into hysterics, throwing the screen open and pulling him into a huge, very Rudy bear hug. He came by them honestly. He looked at you like he needed help before she turned her attention to you and did the same thing.

“Hi Mrs Pan-Hi, yep hello-“ She squeezed you so hard you felt your back crack.

“Mom - you literally see her once a week, chill.”

Rudy was laughing but also courteously trying to pry his mother back inside the house. It was true - she did see you every week when she came into the bookstore to pick up her newspapers and magazine subscriptions, but it didn’t matter. She was like a second mother to you and always made you feel like it was the most exciting day in the world when you came to visit.

When you finally made it into the kitchen, you and Rudy sat down at the barstools as his mom flew back into whatever she was making, both of you knowing better than to get in her way when she was cooking. She started talking to Rudy about how the trip had been and how much of a ‘weiner that Alan was, messing up your schedule like that’. Rudy placed his phone on the counter and the screen lit up briefly - showing over 20 missed calls from someone who’s name started with an A. The screen went dark before you could read it. Wow - he really was famous. Or had a stalker.

You watched Rudy and his mom convalescing over their separation (his parents flew to LA to see him at Christmas every year since he had left, but still) and felt yourself relax into your seat, smiling. Watching her rolling dough and washing fresh berries, smelling the spices and being in the same seats you had spent numerous summer mornings in in high school, you actually felt somewhat hungry.

Rudy’s mom passed you a cup of fresh coffee and you nodded a thank you at her as you began to sip it, listening to their conversation shift from how the trip was to how his acting classes were going to how Anna was doing. Anna? The name jogged your brain and you realized that was who the missed calls had been from. Rudy’s face dropped and his eyes flitted to your briefly, you lowered your cup from your mouth and held his gaze, then he regained composure and smiled at you before looking back to his mom.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah no she’s good. Actually I was gonna talk to you about that later.” His eyebrows rose and he smiled shortly at her, to which she made a confused expression and continued.

“But I thought-”

“Mom. Later.” He said finally, cutting her off. She nodded once and returned to her dough, continuing to talk to him about some of the things they had lined up while he was home. You barely heard a word she said, your gut was screaming at you that something was off about the way Rudy had reacted to her bringing up this Anna person and how odd it was he had so many missed calls from her. His body had gone completely rigid, and he had completely dodged the conversation, like he was keeping her a secret. You and Rudy had never kept secrets. Besides, if he had told his mom about a girl, it was serious. He hadn’t even told her about his high school girlfriend and they had dated for over 4 months. Why was he being shady now?

Then it hit you, and you felt like an ignorant little girl. It had been 4 years since he was home, he lived in LA and was a professional actor. He led an entirely different life that you knew nothing about now. It had been so easy, so comforting, to slip back into your old routine with him, being in his family home, visiting with his mom. But it wasn’t the same as it had been before, you were both different people now. Of course he had been with girls, was probably with girls right now, apparently her name was Anna, and who were you to him? His high school best friend? He didn’t owe you an explanation. But it did feel like a mistake coming here, expecting everything to just... be as it was. You felt silly.

As his mom brought plates of food to the table and motioned for you to sit with her, you grabbed your phone out of your pocket and checked the time. It was just after 8am.

“Actually, Mrs Pankow, I would love to stay but I’m actually not super hungry and I have to help my dad get ready for this trip he has coming up this weekend...it was really nice to see you though.” You rushed your words and scurried towards her, forcing her into a hug and then separating and moving towards the door, walking backwards as you talked.

“Wait, but honey I made you a plate.” She stood, confused, looking at you while holding the tongs.

“I know I’m so sorry, I just didn’t realize the time. I’ll see you soon, though. Promise. Bye Rudy”

As you spoke you spoke only to her, avoiding Rudy’s eyes which were watching you intently as he rose from his seat. You put your back against the screen and apologized again before pushing through it and jogging back down the stairs, tripping on the root at the bottom and walking quickly towards your car. You heard the screen door slam as Rudy called your name from behind you.

“Hey, Y/N, woah woah woah.” He was behind you before you reached your car, his hand wrapped around your arm. “Where are you going?” He spun you to face him, his face full of concern.

You smiled, tight-lipped, and nodded to your car.

“I lost track of time. I have to go.” You said curtly, waiting for him to let your arm go.

“Look if its about the food...I mean, you don’t have to...” He looked down at your arm, that was so devoid of fat and muscle anymore that his hand could wrap fully around it, and frowned.

You let out a breath and looked around, pinching the bridge of your nose before speaking.

“Its not that, Rudy. I just...I need to go. I’m sorry.” You backed away, tugging your arm free as you walked towards your car again, your face hot and feeling embarrassed. Of course he would think it was about you not wanting to eat.

“Y/N wait” He said hurriedly, jogging to catch up to you and pressing your door closed as you began to open it. You looked up at him now, his eyes were intensely focused on you.

“What’s going on?” He was scanning your face, desperate. You felt yourself crumbling being this close to him and feeling him watching you so intensely. His expression faltered and his features relaxed. “Please talk to me” he said quietly.

You took a step back, away from your door, and let out a breath, swatting a mosquito away.

“I don’t know Rudy, I just....a lot has changed since you left. A lot. And I can’t just waltz around and pretend like we’re still in high school and nothing is different. We’re different...and...I mean if there are some parts of your life that you don’t want to share with me then that’s fine, but-“

“Hold on, what are you talking about?” His brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes, taking a step towards you.

You raised your eyebrows at him and looked around, putting your hands in your pockets.

“You don’t have to...hide...stuff. From me. Of all people.” You said slowly, urging him to pick up on it so you wouldn’t have to say it. He looked stunned. “Anna?” You finally relented, taking half a step back.

His shoulders relaxed and a small smile crept onto his face, then a small laugh.

“My agent?” He said in a half mocking tone. “Anna is my agent.”

“Oh. Oh...that’s...weird” You felt the gears in your head turning slowly, trying to think if you had ever heard her name before or maybe it was normal to fool around and date your agents in LA? “You’re seeing your agent?” You said sceptically, trying not to look too judgemental.

He let out a full belly laugh then.

“No I’m not dating my agent, you loser. I just didn’t want to...talk about work yet. Its all my mom ever wants to talk about and I’m kinda trying to...have a few hours to relax first.” He said quietly, his eyebrows raised as he watched you, ready to laugh again at any moment.

You rolled your eyes and looked at your feet, nodding and pursing your lips.

“Yeah alright laugh it up. I don't know...you just seemed really on the spot when your mom brought her up. It was weird.”

He looked around and put his arms up, resting his hands on his head before his eyes settled back on you. He licked his lips and took a step towards you, dropping his hands to his sides.

“Look. There are some things about work I haven’t shared with my mom yet, and probably never will. And what I said on the beach this morning...about needing to come home for awhile. I meant that. Its...complicated. And trust me, please trust me when I say that I want to share that with you but....�� His eyes were heavy on you then, he set his jaw and stepped towards you. “Y/N, please don’t go yet. I just got here.” He said firmly, his eyes locked on you.

You nodded once, scratching your forehead, and throwing your hands up dramatically.

“Fine. Alright.”

Rudy chewed his cheek and smiled, taking a deep breath and releasing it as his dad appeared on the porch behind him, the screen door squeaking.

“Hey! Kids! My breakfast is getting cold over here!” He shouted, smiling as Rudy turned around to wave at him. Rudy looked back at you once to make sure you were still coming, to which you nodded reassuringly, before he took off and hiked up the steps to greet his dad with a hug.

____________________________________________

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#rudy pankow #reader x rudy #depth over distance #nakedmossywrites #jj maybank #outer banks #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #obx imagine

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