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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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Miles Between Us Chapter 8 ~Light vs Dark~

Previously in All in a Day's Work ...

A voice raced through her consciousness, telling her this was the way forward. She knew he needed his control back before he would be able to speak to her. So she got down on her knees and pulled his pants down.

When he wrapped her hair in his fist and tilted her head back, she smiled. "Now, let's get dirty and exorcise those pesky brain chatter, shall we?" Before he could reply, she took him full in her mouth and worshipped him with her love, absorbing every frustrated growl that ripped from his throat and every emotion that poured out of him with every roll of his hips.

She pushed him to the edge and over until he found his release, and his loud cries echoed in the air. When he shattered around her, his body slumped onto the floor and into her arms.

Claire knew they had a long night ahead of them, so she cradled him, waiting patiently for his breathing to calm. Later after she bathed him, they would talk, but for now, she was contented just to hold him a little while longer, as she wondered how many of Jamie's demons she would have to slay tonight and if love would be enough to conquer his hell.

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Jamie reached over to the other side of the bed and stilled when all he grabbed was air. His eyes instantly flew open, and he wondered why he was in bed. He jackknifed into a sitting position, his muscles tensing against the sudden alarm that spiked through his nerves, but when he saw the sliver of light under the door and heard Claire's movement in the bathroom, he eased back onto the mattress with a sigh.

Memories from earlier suddenly came rushing back to him. He'd arrived home, reeling with the need to expend energy, but not in the healthiest of ways. He'd ran from work after Willie had sent him home, and when he'd arrived to find Claire in the kitchen, the rush of adrenaline had buzzed through him like mad. Though he'd made up with his sister after their confrontation, the run to the cottage hadn't relieved the buildup of anxiety and guilt, but one thing had been clear throughout ...the need to see Claire had been paramount. She'd sensed something was off, but he hadn't anticipated her reading what he'd needed at that moment when he'd himself had no words for the volatile sensation raging within him. Ever since she'd arrived in his life, she'd been unintentionally rearranging everything, and all the painstaking layers he'd patched together over his broken parts were slowly being stripped away, little by little, to reveal what he'd buried underneath.

Earlier, she'd ripped another layer off when she'd offered her body for his own release. Despite rebelling against it, his body had a mind of its own, taking his fill like a starved man and pacifying the storm within. It had troubled him to see her pleasuring him on her knees and not had been able to reciprocate back, but she'd soothed him with words and her hands. He recalled the shame and fear that had shot through his bloodstream when he thought he'd hurt her with his rough play, but the moment she'd touched him, he'd lost track of everything, the mind-bending pleasure obscuring all reasons, making him feel depleted and whole at the same time. After she'd bathed him as if he was a bairn, she'd towelled his body dry and massaged his back until his limbs had gone pliant and heavy. And just before he'd dozed off, she'd whispered into his ears, "Rest now, my love and later we'll talk." He couldn't argue, even if he'd wanted to. Because, in her, he found his equilibrium, and his skeletons didn't rattle as much whenever she was around.

He'd just switched on the bedside lamp when the bathroom door opened, and Claire walked in wearing his bathrobe, the sheer size of it almost drowning her small frame. He couldn't help the smile forming his lips. It looked ridiculously too big on her but at the same time too adorable for words. He pushed himself up and patted the space next to him.

Watching her climbed the bed and crawl on all fours, he extended his arm out in an invitation to nestle against him. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"An hour tops," she replied, kissing him on the lips. Instead of huddling into his arms, she sat cross-legged, facing him, a touch of worry dimming her eyes. "You were knocked out."

"Really? Only an hour? I had no intention of falling asleep. I must have been tired. I feel like I've slept the whole night." Feeling slightly disappointed he couldn't put his arms around her, he took her hand instead and twined their fingers together.

"Willie dropped off your car, and I have your keys here," she said, pulling them from the pocket of the bathrobe and placing them on the mattress. "How are you feeling?

"Relaxed."

"That's good," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. "What ye did earlier ..." He felt a stirring in his loins when he remembered her mouth around him. "I would like to verra much do the same for ye if ye'd allow me."

"Jamie ..." she sighed, giving him a small warning look.

He shrugged, his mischievous smile telling her, Oh well! I tried. They eyed each other for a few heartbeats, a silent understanding passing between them. Jamie knew she was patiently waiting for him to initiate the talk. There was no way around it. Not even sex was going to get in the way. It had been a long time coming, and he owed her some explanations. "So ye want to talk ..."

"Would you like to have your dinner first? You haven't eaten yet."

"No, I'm good."

"Good. Let me know if you need anything."

"Aye ..." He moved into a more comfortable position. "Let's get this done and over with."

She gave him an encouraging nod. "Take your time. Whenever you're ready."

"Just a wee warning, Sassenach." He winked at her when he noticed her frown. "If this starts to feel like a therapist appointment, bear in mind I've noted all the available exits," he joked to lighten the mood.

It worked. The corner of her lips twitched. "I'll try my utmost best to keep that in mind."

He settled against the headboard and took a couple of cleansing breaths. It cleared his head a wee bit, allowing him to formulate the right words. Words that wouldn't sound like he was losing his mind. "Guilt," he began. "I told ye already before ...I have a bad case of it." His throat closed up. "It's what keeps me awake most nights, replaying all those things I didnae do right. As most insomniacs would know, nothing solves sleeplessness like a nice warm glass of despair and regret."

A flicker of worry flashed across her face. "Jamie, you told me you were feeling better." She scooted closer to him. "Have you been keeping the truth from me? Because if you are, it's not helping matters."

"No, Sassenach." He shooked his head. "I was telling ye the truth. I was feeling better, but there have been many strange things happening in the past that's just coming to light. The more I try to piece things together, the weirder it gets." He massaged his temple with his fingers. "Christ! Where do I begin?"

"Alright, one thing at a time." She paused, and he saw the cogs behind her eyes, turning. She appeared to be contemplating the best way to make it easy for him. "Did something happened at work earlier?" she asked.

He sighed. "Aye. I blew my top at work. It's unlike me to lose my head like that, especially in front of the other workers. It's kind of frightening when your emotions are beyond your control."

"Did it have anything to do with your episodes?"

"Probably. I'm not sure anymore."

"When you came home earlier, you really looked stressed, Jamie."

He stared at her and thought of the events that day. Ah, shite! Why is this so fucking difficult? They're only in the early phases of their relationship, and already she's tangled up in his web of messed-up issues. Surely this wasn't what she'd bargained for when she decided to take a chance on him? She only had a few days before she returned back to London, but here they were, it's early evening, cooped up in his bedroom trying to sort out his fucked-up head when they could be out on romantic dates. No one, except for his family, had really seen the true depths of his issues, and he'd coped fine for a long time without talking about it. Man up, Fraser - get to the bottom of it! Think of Harry!

"My sister and I had a fight," he finally said. "But I dinnae think the fight triggered anything. Or maybe a little. Ye see, it's no' the first time we've had a squabble like that. I think the beginning of the episode has more to do with something that has been building up for the last few days. Odd dreams, memories coming to the surface and such. And the sibling bicker was the last straw."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Has this something to do with your dream the other night? You told me you had a strange dream and you had trouble sleeping."

His heart lurched as he recalled the dream. "Aye. But it goes way before that. Partly, it has something to do with that ..." He hesitated for a moment. "...and with ye."

"With me?" She visibly braced herself, a worried frown appearing on her brows. "Jamie ...if you're concerned about me not being able to cope with your condition and leaving you, you thought wrong. I care for you, and I want to help. But I can't help you if I don't understand what's going on. Whatever you're going through, we'll face it together."

He felt encouraged by the hopeful look she gave him. "But ye dinnae ken half of it."

"No, I don't," she agreed. "But we'll get through it together. Painful as it is to talk about what's hurting you, suppressing it will only make it worse, and there's a danger you could lose yourself and forget the person you are and all the good you have done in the process. If you're waiting for time to erase all those emotional pain, it's not going to happen, Jamie. I know this because I carry a lot of pain, too, and time has done nought to erase it. You just have to acknowledge it and learn to let it go."

His heart pounded. "This can open up all sorts of hurt, Sassenach ...for ye."

She studied him closely. "Why are you so worried about me getting hurt, Jamie? Ye're the one suffering from this condition."

His gaze lifted to meet hers, and a throbbing began underneath his collarbone. He wondered how much he could reveal about her parents' death without him disintegrating in front of her and scaring her away for good. This is the part where the room would normally close in on him, and then he would start to fidget and eventually clamp up. An uncomfortable pressure stretched against his rib cage, making it difficult to suck in a breath. They were already at the point of no return. But Claire's eyes instantly grounded him, turning the chaos in his head from a bright, blazing red to a cool, soothing blue.

He swallowed his mounting anxiety, focusing on healing what had been damaged inside of him. "Before anything else, Sassenach ...what do ye remember about yer parents' death?"

"Wot?" Her voice sounded throaty. "Why is it relevant?"

He loathed the sudden uncertainty sneaking into her expression. He wished he could go back and take back the words. "I'm sorry, but it's pertinent that I know."

She let go of his hand and rubbed her palms repeatedly along her thighs. "I -I was with my parents when the accident happened. I never told you this part before."

The image of young Claire trapped at the back seat of the car flared to life. His head fell forward with a groan, and when she touched his shoulder, he waved a hand and motioned for her to go on.

"I don't remember much except for the feeling of being very frightened and wanting to be with my mother. After that, everything was a blur."

"Have ye ever talked to your uncle about it?"

"Sort of," she said, scrunching up her shoulders. "When I was old enough to understand. But never in-depth." She stopped and eyed him suspiciously. "Jamie, what's with the questions about my parents? Are you trying to change the direction of this conversation?"

"No! No' at all!" He shifted position and squeezed his eyes shut for a beat. When he opened them again, he puffed out a breath. "Your parents ...the car ...I was there when it happened." She looked bewildered, but he didn't stop. "I was on my way to see my godfather. I-I was ten. And I had this ..."

"What do you mean you were there?"

Oh, God, give me strength. "I saw yer parents' accident," he said rapidly. She gasped and cupped a hand over her mouth. Shaking his head, he continued. "I ...I always thought my condition began right after my best mate died in the war zone. But it was way before that. I saw something that a child should never have to see, but I did. I would have told ye all these sooner if I had known. The dream ...I had the other night brought back all those horrific memories. Christ, Sassenach ..." He dropped his head into his hands. "I wish there's an easier way to say this. I'm so sorry for bringing this up, and I just cannae ..."

"Jamie ..."

Then the dam shattered, and everything came pouring out of him. He told her how Harry had first appeared into his life, coming to his aid in Glasgow when he'd fallen down onto his knees while going through an episode. And the mysterious ways the older man would pop up whenever he was in dire need of help. He spoke of his suspicions of what or who he'd thought Harry might have been after his family had questioned his friend's identity over New Year's Eve lunch at Lallybroch. And how his theory had been further validated the moment Murtagh had mentioned having known Claire's parents. Then his voice faltered when he told her what his godfather had told him the other day, about him being witness to her parents' accident as a young boy. And how seeing uncle Lamb's similarity to Harry had triggered the dream and brought back all the suppressed memories. He told her how he'd held her that fateful day and how the memories of that event changed him forever, vowing to himself nothing like that would ever happen again under his watch.

By the time Jamie finished, he felt weightless. Like he'd been lugging around sandbags on his shoulders all his life, and they'd just been ripped open, dumping their contents onto the ground.

When he finally glanced up, Claire was immobile, staring at the wall behind him. The unfocused expression he'd seen the other night when he'd asked about her parents was back, only this time she appeared more thoughtful.

"Sassenach?"

Her gaze cut to his. "So you knew my dad."

"I did." She must have sensed his sincerity because she closed her eyes and her lips quivered a bit as if she's trying her hardest to keep her emotions in check. Christ, he wanted to drag her away from all the pain he'd just brought up. He didn't like seeing her like this. He'd told her more than he'd been prepared to, and they should call it a wrap for now. But he needed to know if there were any mental scars she'd been nursing and if so, he wondered if he'd made it worse. If he did, he'd never forgive himself. "Sassenach, please tell me ye're alright."

Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she hugged herself close. "I think so," she whispered. "Just give me a few minutes to let it all sink in, alright? Don't give up on me just yet." They simultaneously took a deep breath, making her smile at the realisation. He resisted the urge to pull her onto his lap and focused on what she had to say. He'd already said his bit, and now it was her turn. So he listened. "That moment at the pub, when I first laid eyes on you, I had this strong feeling we've always known each other. I even said to myself, maybe we did ...in another lifetime. All this while we had no idea we were both connected through my dad."

"Aye, I felt the same way, Sassenach, and I put it down simply to a strong attraction between us. I even thought it would pass, but the more I got to know ye, the more I wanted more of ye. It frightened the hell of me, firstly because of where ye live. I didnae think our relationship could work with my condition. And secondly, because I didnae want my burden to be yer burden. It would kill me if ye had to go through what I've been going through almost all my life."

She seemed transfixed as she made a move towards him, reminding him of the way she'd looked just before they're about to make love. Pressure rolled off him the moment she straddled his lap, leaving him almost light-headed when she tenderly placed a hand against the side of his face. "Do you realise what an extraordinary man you are?" She tunnelled her fingers through his hair, making his eyelids fall to half-mast. "You see, Jamie ...only good men feel the load of their burdens. And exceptional ones like you persist on taking more. Because of you, I want to be a better person and take some of your burdens. The same way you've carried the burden of my parents' death all this while." She laid her head into the crook of his shoulder, snuggling into his neck in a way that somehow mended a broken part of him. "Growing up without them has been hard, and it still pains me a lot when I think of what could have been. But I realise now, sometimes death has a heart, and we can't beat ourselves up for recognising it." A few heartbeats passed before she met his gaze. "Out of tragedy, we found each other, and that means their death must count for something, don't you think?"

The simplicity of her words, her acceptance of their past, the vulnerable girl he saw underneath the confident woman she was today reached every damaged corner of his being. There was no choice but to press their bodies together.

He pulled her closer and gently combed his fingers through her curls as he brushed his lips against hers. His thumb caressed her cheek before cupping it in his hand. When she smiled, his fingers tugged her chin to bring her mouth back to his. The kiss deepened, his fingers fumbling with the ties of the bathrobe she's wearing before pushing it down over her shoulders. Fluidly, never breaking contact, his lips travelled down her throat, her back arching to offer her breast. He was about to take a nipple to his mouth when he noticed a band of bruise circling her arm. He jerked back and realised there was an identical one on her other arm.

A sick feeling settling in his gut, he touched one of the bruises with his index finger. "What's this?" he asked, even though deep inside, he knew the answer already.

She rubbed it with a hand as if it was nothing. "Jamie, don't worry about it. I have pale skin, and I bruise like a peach."

He ground his teeth and shook his head. "I did this earlier, didn't I? When I came home from work, right after the fight with Jenny."

When she flinched, he felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown over him. He lifted her off his lap and got out of bed, and went to stand by the window.

"Jamie, it was nothing. We were playing rough, and these things happen."

He could feel the darkness coming back again, trying to shroud him. He needed to concentrate on his breathing. When a woman like Claire loved with such fierceness, surely that love should have enough light to push the dark away. But he was coming down hard and fast, and the sick feeling in his guts was trying to make its way up, making him want to gag.

He heard her approach, and he steeled himself when she wrapped her arms around his middle and laid her head on the centre of his back. "Jamie, you didn't hurt me. You have to believe me."

How could he want Claire's love and feel the unshakable compulsion to run away at the same time? Her arms were circled around him so tight, he thought she might be trying to join them together as one. A huge part of him wanted them joined together, but the darker side of him was scared to death. He'd allowed her to soothe him with every word, every touch. But now it was high time to get rid of the blinders. His chest hurt, and every fear he'd succeeded to overcome throughout the last few days poured down on his head.

Claire shouldn't want the man he'd become, who had a tendency to inflict pain and bruises on her skin when under the influence of his episodes even if it wasn't intended. He thought of Jenny earlier and the frightened look on her face, his fists curled, ready to cause injury. This relationship with Claire would be over as soon as she realised she'd saddled herself with a sick man with the potential to be violent, and he knew he wouldn't be able to bear it when that day came. It was up to him to make sure she didn't make this mistake because she deserved more, and he loved her too much to allow her to be blinded by their love. He didn't want her to make that error.

"Claire ...I need to go."

Claire turned him to face her, weariness dimming her normally bright amber eyes. He'd done this to her, snuffed out the light in her. But she was so beautiful, her curls, wrecked and wild, mouth puffy from their kisses. "I'm not letting you go, Jamie. We're in this together. You have to believe me when I say you didn't hurt me and that you are a good man. You don't have it in you to hurt anyone."

Her words were hot irons branding his insides. "Dinnae say those things in the heat of the moment. Ye're too good of a person to realise when something bad is standing right under yer nose."

"You're not making any sense Jamie. Come back to bed, please ...and we'll talk it over." She was close to tears, and it was breaking his heart to see her like this. "I meant it when I said I love you and nothing ...not even this condition that you have will drive me away from you."

Jamie exhaled a sharp breath. "I need to clear my head." He walked away from her and grabbed the jeans, hanging neatly over the chair.

"I know what you're trying to do, Jamie. I can see right through you. You want to leave me because you think you're a danger to me. You're wrong." She tugged his arm and attempted to pull him towards her, but he remained still, looking anywhere but into her eyes. She grasped his face with both her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Look at me! I want you to know I'm not afraid of a fight. Just tell me what I'm up against so I can knock it down for you."

It took a lot of willpower to remain upright and resist the urge to voice out his fears. He knew she would be able to defeat his doubts, but for how long? Those fears would grow back even bigger and more persistent once time had passed and the outside world began to encroach on them. "Let me go, Sassenach."

"Never, Jamie. You said on the day before I left for London we were in this together, you and I. I'm holding my side of the bargain, and I will not let you go. So you better get used to that."

He turned away and started to scramble for the rest of his clothes. When he finished pulling up his jeans and putting on his t-shirt and shoes, it took him what seemed like an eternity to face her. Her face was ashen as she drew the bathrobe around her. "I'm done talking, for now, Claire."

Tears streamed down her face as he grabbed his phone and keys and made his way out. He couldn't get out of the cottage fast enough. His heart hammered, his ears started to ring, his lungs squeezing out the last air. He'd hurt her. He'd seen the bruises with his eyes, and now she's crying because of him. He needed to get out fast to clear his head.

She followed him closely behind. "Please tell me where you're going, Jamie. At least give me that," she pleaded.

He couldn't stand to see her tears anymore or hear the plea in her voice. He was doing what's right for her because he loved her too much. He wasn't even sure where he was going or if anyone would be safe in his presence. All he could think of was how frightened his sister had looked at him and the bruises he'd inflicted in Claire's arms. He needed to get as far away as possible, away from the people he loved.

He got into his car, slammed the door, and started the engine.

Claire banged on his window, her face wet with tears. "Don't do this, Jamie. We can fix this together. Please don't go. I'm begging you."

"I love you, Sassenach. I love you so much," he mumbled under his breath as he jerked his car into gear, reversing from his driveaway. The wheels spun and screeched as he pulled away, his body shaking and his heart shattering into tiny pieces.

Claire's safe now, he reassured himself, gripping the steering wheel tight, safe and far from the stifling darkness closing in.

..........

Claire watched Jamie's car disappear into the darkness. She wanted to scream and crumple to the ground out of sheer despair and fear. But she realised her presence of mind was needed at this moment. She needed to call someone and alert them to what happened. Jamie could be in danger. Willie!

She ran back to the house and grabbed her phone. With shaking fingers, she wiped the tears from her eyes and tapped on the screen. She'd just managed to find Willie's name when her phone rang. She saw it was her uncle Lamb. Oh God now's not the time. Though frustrated, she answered. "Hello?"

The line crackled before uncle Lamb spoke. "Sweetheart, it's me. I hope the Scottish weather is holding up because I'm on my way for a visit. We had another setback at work, and I didn't want to hang around, scratching my arse doing nothing. I'll be arriving in four days. I hope you'll still be there; otherwise, I'll change my flight ticket to London."

Not wanting to alert her uncle with her worries about Jamie, she cleared her throat and tried to sound cheerful. "That's great! I'll be here, and I can't wait to see you! But I really need to run along. So many things going on." It wasn't a lie, but she would call him back once she'd sorted out this mess she was dealing with. "I'll call you later."

"That's fine, darling. I can't wait to meet, Jamie ..."

Oh, dear, God, please help me.

Dear Readers,

Firstly, I'm sorry if this took slightly longer to update. My excuse: my computer has gone funny on me. I need to buy a new PC, and I've been busy looking on the net for one, hence the delay of this update.

Moving along, I'm asking you to please bear with me with this chapter. I understand it's a bit heavy and slightly dark, but it had to be done because it is necessary if the story is to gel together. Despite the heavy undertone of this latest update, I hope you've enjoyed it, and you get what I'm trying to put across. On a much brighter note, thank you so much for your feedback from the previous chapter. I love it when I read your thoughts about a scene or plot. They are so appreciated, and I'm already looking forward to what you think of this latest instalment. Meanwhile, wishing you a great start to the week. Take care of yourself always and be safe. Much love.X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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bubblyani · 4 years

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Bail Out: 03

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi-Chapter Series

Chapter 03: The Dark Knight

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault. However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne, surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your choices in life, career, and in love.

Word Count: 5000+

Rating: Mature

Author’s Note: The more I write and delve into this story, the more feels I am drowning in. Can you blame me? Anyways, Enjoy! And would love to hear from you guys.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2

The buzz in the police station did not seem to influence Officer John Blake’s concerned expression, while he stood silently. With his hands on his hips, he stared at his neatly arranged desk, for he sensed an irregularity the moment his night shift commenced.  

“Did uh…” he began, "Did anyone see the-”

“Felton Center Robbery File? Here you go!” Officer Langdon replied, handing him a thick folder.

“Thanks…” Taking it from her hands, John nodded with a soft smile of acknowledgement while maintaining subtle, yet unbroken eye contact. Responding with her lips curved upwards, she passed by his desk. And suddenly, the chaos in John’s face was no more. He sat down, at peace to work once again.

Langdon’s eyes widened with relief as she caught the sight of her colleague Officer Ramirez, enter the station.

“Dave! Finally see him yet?” She inquired. Dave Ramirez, shook his head with a dejected sigh. “Nah! He…” he began, “…had left already when I got to the scene..” “Typical…” “But he did leave these three…” Dave added, pointing behind him, “…gift wrapped for us…”, he said, tempting most in the precinct to look. Three Officers brought in three men, wearing ragged, dull clothes and disgruntled expressions.

“The person who got attacked…she looked so familiar…” Dave muttered in mid thought, attempting to regain his memory with the snap of his fingers, “Ah! The Bruiser! That’s the one…” “The who?” John asked, with his eyebrows raised. Pointing at him, Dave continued: “You know…” he began, “….the woman you brought in two week ago…for punching that Henderson guy?” he said, “The one who recommended the coffee? Which was actually good?” He exaggerated, motioning towards the coffee Langdon poured from the coffee pot, “That chick was rig-”

“Wait!” John interrupted him, standing up, “So you’re telling me she was attacked…tonight?” “Almost attacked…” Dave corrected him, leaning against his own desk, “…but Batman showed up right on time…” he said with admiration quite similar to a fanatic, “And I missed it…like an ass!” He said sadly. Sighing, he looked up dramatically, “Guess The Bruiser must be quite popular now…”

Shaking her head slowly, Langdon proceeded to drink her coffee, amused by the whole situation. However, John was far from amused. Suddenly trapped in ponder, John sank back to his seat.

“Guess so…” He muttered to himself. A question mark will definitely will remain in his mind over the woman known as “The Bruiser”, and the trouble that had seemed to follow her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Bold of Lillian Foster to arrive into work the next morning, right after the Annual Charity Dinner the night before, no less. But fortunately for the good health of her and her unborn child, she worked with much enthusiasm. Any Head would. If it was the last day before their maternity leave. While she thrived on energy, you were certainly hung on the low end of it.

Close colleagues paid kind visits to her office, offering her last minute baby gifts, and well wishes in the form of cards and verbal statements. All the while you stood beside Lillian’s desk, with your arms folded. And you obliged to do so, to her special request. Ever since her pregnancy, you involuntarily had been nothing but accommodating to your mentor. If it were any other day, the sight of Baby Gifts and cards would send you to the edge of over excitement, clapping hard and jumping up and down, filling the room with coos and aww’s. But this morning, you showed much contrast with an unusually quiet self. For only you knew of the more pressing matters that were at hand. Namely, dealing with a terrible hangover, losing your wallet, and almost getting killed by complete strangers.

“So…What did the hotel say about your wallet?” Lillian’s question made you turn to her. Hiding in your own thoughts for so long, little did you realize it was finally just the two of you at her office now. Unwilling to make her worry, you only mentioned about the lost wallet to your boss, and nothing more.

“They are still looking for it…” You answered, moving over to sit on a chair, “Clearly they don’t seem to be a ‘fan' of me ever since the Henderson incident.” You said, using air quotes. Sighing, you continued “…wonder if they’re just being difficult…”

 “I can call again for you, if it makes you feel better…” 

“You’re really sweet, but it’s okay…” you said, sad eyes overpowering your smile, “I already froze my credit cards, just in case…” you assured, looking back to find Paula entering the room, “They said they will call me back once they find it” you whispered, looking back at your mentor. Paula Yang handed over a file to Lillian with a sincere expression of sadness.

“Lillian, we’re really gonna miss you…” She mumbled, possibly for the third time that day. And just like you, Lillian admired her sincerity. “Thank you Paula…” she replied, keeping her elbows on the table, “But she’s gonna be here…” she pointed at you, “….and it will be like I never took maternity off-You’re alright?” Lillian’s inquiry made you flinch. Blinking hard, you realized to have dozed off for a few seconds with your own elbow on the table. With your boss and Paula staring at you with concern, you sat up straight. “Yeah I just…” you paused, stifling a yawn, “ I need some coffee…” you said, silently receiving Lillian’s approval as you slowly got up to leave.

The smell of coffee seemed to hold your brain and consciousness in place as you took in a sip. The massive hangover certainly did some damage to your system that morning. With an empty stomach, it seemed quite obvious. After a large sip, you stretched your back, trying to relax. Safely hidden in the confines on your own office, you slowly took off your heels. Finally liberated from the tight shoes, your toes managed to move about and breath in fresh air under the table. Heels were never an issue for you, especially being a member of the corporate world for a decade, yet taking them off, there always had been something pleasurable about that.

A knock on the closed door made you jerk. When it slowly opened, you sighed heavily. “Paula…” you began “…not now-” “Am I interrupting?”

Except it was not Paula, but Bruce Wayne instead.

You stood up in lightning speed, to see him standing by the door with a smile on his face. A bright reciprocation smile appeared on your own, for you felt nothing but a thousand sunflowers bloom inside you at once. “Mr. Wayne!” You blurted, “What-” you paused, “Are you-? Can I-?” “Did you by chance lose…this?” Bruce inquired, putting you out of your misery as he drew out an object from the inside of his jacket. Your eyes widened. “Oh my god!” You clutched your chest, For it was indeed your wallet. “Yes I did! Thank you…” you piped, quickly leaving your desk when he walked towards you, “Wait!” You paused, “When did you find it? And Where?” “Late last night…at the Hotel” he stated, extending it to you,”… but you weren’t there…”

“Late last night…” you repeated, suddenly silent. Silence was essential for you just recalled everything, “…right…” you murmured flatly. The moment you took your wallet, you caught Bruce looking down, giving you a playful smile. Looking down yourself, you gasped. As your exhaustion had forced you to walk over to him barefooted.

“Oh! I’m so sorry…” you cried out in a hushed tone, quickly turning as you rushed to your desk in your tipped toes.

“No… it’s alright” Bruce chuckled, to which you shook your head frantically. “No!” You exaggerated, “…it’s not right”

Putting your wallet right next to your handbag that was on the table, you proceeded to put your shoes on. You were embarrassed to the riches. And you were also suddenly very stressed. How could a task as simple as putting one’s shoes on take such time? You did not dare look at him during, for you knew you would blush.

Finally, with your feet secured by the shoes, you stood straight once again. Looking at him you realized how he had been staring at your bag for quite a while.

“Thank you for coming all this way…” you began, “… for this…” pointing at your wallet, you added sincerely with a smile. Funny how he managed to save you in some way or another. Bruce shook his head.

“I was just in the neighborhood” He replied, standing in front of your desk, “…couldn’t help but be a good Samaritan…” he smirked.

You could not help smiling. Yet at the same time, a strong urge grew inside of you. An urge you had to act upon. Or else you would regret it forever. Especially when Bruce Wayne was standing there right before you.

“Mr.Wayne…” you began shyly, causing his smirk to disappear. Taking a deep breath, you felt your fists clench, “Do you have a minute…to talk?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thanks to your heels, your hips involuntarily swayed while you walked towards the office door. Opening it wide, you were greeted with the sight of many of your junior female staff straightening themselves up before you, from what possibly could be an eavesdropping position.

“Can I help all of you?” You inquired with authority, and a raised eyebrow. They all shook their heads frantically, walking back to their booths with giggles and whispers.

“Did you see him?” “He’s just as gorgeous as I imagined…” “What’s he doing here?” “Are they friends now?”

Watching them, you suppressed a smile. Having the great Bruce Wayne in the HR floor, was a surprise in itself. Truthfully, it was an honor for the Department. Never did you care to witness the sight of him on your floor ever since he returned to Gotham City. Shaking your head slowly, you left the door open wide before returned to your seat. However, Bruce Wayne seemed quite confused as he remained seated across you.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” He asked, pointing at the open door. You smiled.

“I understand your confusion…” You empathized, getting your hands together in a professional manner, “But uh…you see…” you pressed your lips together, “Ever since the ‘Bruiser’ incident…” you used air quotes before continuing, “…the staff is being told to be careful about me…” you added with a sarcastic smile.

It seemed that the Billionaire Socialite could not help but chuckle at that. But that meant more embarrassment for you.

“It’s not funny at all, Mr. Wayne...” You said, with an unexpected playfulness springing out , to your dismay, “I’ve never been the type to do any of that…so… it really hurts when everyone assumes that I am…” you bleated. The more amused he appeared to look, you weaker your defenses became, forcing you to chuckle back in return.

“Ahem!..” Clearing your throat, you stopped the chuckle, “Anyways…” you took a deep breath, “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last night…” your words echoed well through the somber expression on your face, “It was…very insensitive..and highly inappropriate” It was true. You admitted it. Recalling the entire scenario, you were cringing to the core. That drunken attitude, leading to the dance of liberation, thus followed by your sassy one-sided banter that hinted insults. You were an absolute disappointment. Oddly enough, you could not help but avert your eyes and chuckle. “What?” Bruce asked, crossing his legs while he sat. “Come to think of it” chuckles continued as you looked up, “I’ve always been nothing but unprofessional in front of you”. You shook your head at your own shame, “So I guess this is me…” you said, sitting back on your chair, “…redeeming myself” you added, shrugging your shoulders, “…and me realizing that whiskey is not the drink for me…” Bruce smiled.

“I can agree on that” he confirmed, making your eyes widen. “Oh no! Was it that noticeable?” “Well, did you punch Henderson after some Whiskey?” “….yes?….”

Bursts of laughter erupted as intense as a volcano out of both of you. And it was certainly unexpected manner. But in all honesty, was it really unexpected? It was so difficult for you to fathom how comfortable you seemed to be with him. Perhaps it was the aura he presented to you. No wonder you fancied him.

“Please…” Bruce said, his laughter dying down, “…there’s nothing for you to apologize…”.

“No! you don’t understand” you objected, “Last night…it made me reflect on a lot of things. It gave me clarity…and I know…I don’t want you to have a bad impression of me…not anymore…not ever…”

You were surprised by your bravery to express yourself this deeply in front of him. Bruce nodded, warmth soaking his eyes. “I understand…”

He said. Pausing his nod, his eyebrows were raised, “I’m guessing you’re not finished talking…” he observed. Your jaw dropped with shock. As if he just read your mind. Or perhaps he was observant enough to notice your tensed jaw and your tightened temples. Relaxing them, you exhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry to even ask but…” you paused, looking around before lowering your voice, “…was everything okay with all of you last night?”

“Yes we were…” Bruce nodded providing a nonchalant answer, “….why?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

For some reason, You had remained tight lipped about the entire incident. Though many would jump at the chance of sharing the story of how they were almost mugged, and close to being killed, you had decided to pretend like nothing of the sort had happened. Until Bruce Wayne was in your sights once again.

With the enthusiasm of an excited child, you found yourself babbling on about the thrilling events of the night before, which ended with the unexpected visit from a crime-fighting vigilante.

“…And he so close to stabbing me. But suddenly…baam!” You cried out, with your hands extending wide, “There was batman, just… showing out of nowhere…”. Though Bruce stared at you with furrowed brows, you chose to continue, “…and just…kicks ass like no ones busines-”

“Why-Why are you talking so quietly ?”

Bruce interjected, seemingly unable to accept this confusion any longer. The moment you sensed how he had sat on the edge of his seat just to listen to you, the realization dawned on you.The volume of your voice had dove down to incredibly soft, you were almost whispering, even in the comfort of your own office. Chuckling shyly, you leaned forward:

“I suppose with the door open, I figured everyone was gonna wanna eavesdrop on what I’m telling you right now…” you explained, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you Mr. Wayne but, your employees are…” pausing, you looked around once again, “…gossip mongers” you whispered, sending him to a streak of chuckles.

His laughter was soft yet distinctively sharp, and his smile was a sight to indulge. You could identify every line on his face, all contributing to that smile. There you both were, leaning forward from both chairs, with just a table in between. Even so, the proximity seemed dangerously close, for a corporate meeting. Not professional in the least. With your face heating up, you moved back to your chair, clearing your throat. Bruce managed to do the same, except in the most subtle manner.

“Anyways…” you began, “…then they start firing shots and he just avoids them so effortlessly… breaking their defenses and ties them up faster than I could wrap a present…and just disappears…” you added, leaning back on your chair with a deep exhale, “I never thought I’d see him in person… and there he was…swift and incredible, so brave”

Staring at the man before you, you realized how long you’ve been keeping the owner of Wayne Enterprises in your office for so long. Was this a form of punishment for him? You could never know, for he never showed. He may be the man deemed most powerful in your company, yet he acted far from such in your presence. It was proved, it was confirmed by the level of relaxation he had indirectly offered to you. Beaming, you clasped your hands together.

“This was the first time I had told someone about this in such detail…I hope you understand” you said, embarrassingly. Bruce however, responded with a mischievous smile:

“Looks like someone’s got a crush”

“What?” You were stunned, “Who? About Batman? NO no no no…” Incessantly waving your hand, you refused, which amused Bruce even more.

“Honestly I have nothing but respect for the guy…” you added defensively, taking a huge sip of your coffee with evident nervousness, “and frankly I feel…I feel quite sorry for him.”

The amusing expression left Bruce’s face, replacing with an expression of curiosity. Though no words sprung out, you knew his eyes begged the question: Why?

“I mean…” you scoffed, extending your hand, “…putting his life out there like that, all for the sake of this city. And…possible having no one to be responsible for his life…” you sighed, “It just breaks my heart…” bowing your head down, you sensed sadness in your own tone, “…I sincerely hope he’s okay, wherever he is… and his loved ones too, of course”

“So…” Bruce began, breaking your trail of profound pondering, “…you’re not in love with him?” He inquired with a smirk.

Nervous laughter was all that exited you. For you the truth was all you could disclose, just with a few details hidden.

“I’m not…” you said as soon as the laughter died down, “…Besides…” looking up, your eyes caught his, “… my heart’s dying to get in somewhere else..” You admitted, “….somewhere impossible, unfortunately…”

Amazing. This possibly could have been one of the bravest feats you ever performed. If only Bruce Wayne knew. If only he was aware of how much you had begun to care for him. But then again, if he knew, what would his reaction be? You felt your fists clench and loosen soon after, forcing him to look at your right hand. The mere sight of his eyes washing over the dried scabby lines of your scars embarrassed you.

“How did you even learn to throw a punch like that, anyways?” You heard him ask. Guffawing, you finally loosened up. And all the sudden, you were in good spirits once again. He was good at that. But before you could answer, a young man knocked on your door.

“Mr.Wayne…Mr.Fox is ready to see you now” He said, as you both looked over to him.

Nodding, You and Bruce slowly got up. Except the manner in which he stood up, it was evident he was waiting for your answer. Suppressing a grin, you folded your arms to look at him.

“Took boxing for a month…got busy so I stopped” You replied coolly, “No big story there…”

Bruce smirked, birthing baby butterflies in your stomach.

“Too bad…you should have continued…” he said, “That was a good punch”

Smiling eventually, you watched him walk away. You watched him in his swagger, making his way through the office, causing everyone’s heads to turn once more. Suffice to say, you were on his good side, apologies made and resolved. All seemed fine once again.

But that did not mean you were not disrupted by the irresistible feeling of warmth. The warmth that attempted to glaze your heart. Getting over him seemed to be difficult than expected. You sighed to yourself.

Why must he be so wonderful?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Gotham skyline at night was simply a wide opened jewel box. Glancing upon it was simply a blessing to the eyes. And the blessed view was especially superb from the Wayne Tower. Admiring the view, you slung your handbag over your shoulder, making your way out of your office. No one worked on your floor at this late hour tonight, except one. Catching the lights of that one office, you could not help but smile, as well as feel a strain in your heart.

“Why are you still here?”

Lillian Foster inquired, when her senses caught your staring at her from the door. Leaning against it, you grinned widely.

“I was studying the stuff you handed over and time just…flew by…” you replied with honesty, “..What about you?” You folded your arms questioningly, “Shouldn’t you be taking leave by now? To have a baby? Isn’t your due date tomorrow?”

Chuckling maniacally with a comedic element, Lillian leaned back on her chair, “Not before I leave you more homework …”

“Yay for me!…” you chuckled nervously, compelled to sit down. With her eyes focused on you for a few seconds, Lillian’s expression turned soft and quite concerned.

“I need to tell you something…” she said. Her tone forced you to lean forward, “I found out that…” she paused, “…the management is gonna hire a consultant to oversee operations in HR…”

Your eyes widened. The body began to grow hot with panic. “Wait! They think I need babysitting?” You scoffed. When Lillian nodded in acknowledgment, you knew it was no joke. You shook your head, “Unbelievable…” you muttered, trapped in thought for a few seconds, “Do you think it’s cause of the fight?” You asked, looking at her.

“Honestly…”shrugging her shoulders, Lillian began desperately,“I don’t know…This never happens. But please ! This is not the time to make any drama. Just…” extending her hand, her fingers collectively imitated a water stream, “….go with the flow, okay?”

You nodded begrudgingly.

“I don’t want you to lose your job” she continued, “…especially because of this stupid assault case. You can be tough. But fists don’t exactly need to be in the picture, you know?”

By the sheer desperation and the conviction in her tone, it was quite evident how Lillian was fighting your battles for you even before leaving. As if she was trying to leave remnants of her courage with you to weather all the coming storms. Moved, you pressed your lips together.

“Okay…”

You agreed, not looking away, “Shit!” You chuckled, “…Now I’m finally getting nervous…” rubbing your hands together, those pressed lips formed a tight smile, “I’m really gonna miss you…”

You would for certain. When opportunity arose for you to prove yourself and your experience to the Management, a sudden surveillance would be deciding the course of your career path at Wayne Enterprises. And that made your heart patter with fear.

But Lillian’s smile made that patter slow down.

“Only a few months…” she said, “…be strong”

You nodded. Cause that was all you could do. That was all you should do.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When a yellow taxi halted in front of Wayne Tower, it felt like salvation had finally arrived. Similar to an angel in disguise.

“Go on! Take it!”

You cried out, looking at your boss. Reluctantly, Lillian got into the vehicle slowly while you held the door for her. As you closed the car door, you caught her guilty eyes quiver.

“Are you sure?” She inquired.Looking around, she bit her lip, “It’s late…” she said, throwing hints of concern at you. Relieved you were to not tell her about your mugging incident. If not, she would have never left your side.

“It’s okay…just take it. I’ll get another one…I promise! ” you assured her, “Go home safe. uh! Sir? ” you addressed the driver, whilst tapping on the roof of the car, “Please be careful, okay? This woman might give birth any minute”

“HEY!” Amidst Lillian’s yelling, You giggled.

 “You gotta use your pregnant perks, Boss!” You said coolly, smiling with a wave as the taxi departed. The further the taxi was from you, the curious thought was planted in you. What if tonight’s the night? Hopefully she will not give birth in the car like you actually joked about. Your lips formed a silent prayer for her while you waited for another cab.

But the waiting did not work out that well tonight either. Not even after waiting for half and hour.

“You gotta be kidding me?” You muttered to yourself with disbelief, looking at both sides of the road. “Better take the subway before it’s too late, Ma’am” Bill the doorman suggested.

Sighing, you began to walk in the direction of the nearest subway station. Thanks to muscle memory, your feet guided you through a small alley road. There you were, walking down the streets of Gotham on a late night once again. With fair reasons, your mind could not help but wander over to the horrid memory one night before. Your heart could not help but increase its heartbeat with concern by the thought of it. Indeed, this was your paranoia taking over your conscious. Why must you be worried when you practically grew up in this city?

Lightning never strikes twice, doesn’t it?

Besides, you were far from alone tonight. With this being a usual shortcut to get to the subway station, a few people would always linger in this alley road, making their way home. You even walked watching an affectionate couple far ahead of you, holding hands and grabbing each other for a kiss every once in a while, and with another pair of footsteps following a few feet behind you.

The couple disappeared from your sight as they turned a corner, leaving you walking alone with the other stranger behind you. Gotham city folk were normally always in a rush, shoving people past just to walk ahead would not be a surprise. Yet with all this space, the stranger kept walking behind you, even when your pace was relatively slow.

“Damnit!”

A greasy, burger wrapping paper got stuck under your shoe, forcing you to stop in your tracks. Whilst you were on a dire attempt to wipe it off, you realized the stranger did not pass you by, even if it was already one minute past. You looked behind you. There he was, a few feet away, also halted and looking at his phone. A surge of suspicion came over you. Were you being paranoid now?

Turning back, you resumed walking, only to realize his steps were loud once again. Pulse quickening, you prayed for safety. Only to be answered with a sudden ring of your phone. You looked at the screen anxiously. Your eyes widened:

Unknown Number

With your feet involuntarily planting you to the ground, you had no choice but to answer. “H-Hello?” You stuttered. “DUCK!” It was a voice, hoarse, yet familiar. “Wha?” Before you knew it, your body responded by lowering itself to the ground in a flash.Only to find Batman landing on to the ground in front of you, covering you like a shield as he threw a throwing star to the building in front. You gasped as the small object spun over to a sniper, who had positioned himself in one balcony. Electrocuted, the man let cries of pain, before losing consciousness within seconds. Batman turned to you swiftly:

“It’s you again!” He growled. His tone was in-distinctive, but you wished he was not angry with you.Getting up, you panted.

“I guess you remember from last time…” you breathed, “Wait! How did you get my-WATCH OUT!”

Your warnings were too late, as Batman fell on to the ground by a sheer force. It was indeed the stranger that had followed you. Paranoia had truly made sense. Pushing the man away with strength, Batman got up. And so did the man.

Dressed in a trench coat and a fedora, his features were hard to identify amidst the shadows. You lost all form of breath when you saw him draw out an exotic shaped sword from his jacket. And like the man from the night before, he did not waste time with the use of words. Backing against the brick wall, you clutched your chest when he jumped at Batman.

Blocking the sword with his hands, Batman kicked him in the stomach, sending the slender man flying back.

“What the hell is going on?” You cried out, almost on the verge of a nervous breakdown, “First last night…now this! Why?”

“Better figure this out another time” Batman grunted, motioning towards the man.

The caped crusader made perfect sense. For it seemed that Mr.Slender, as you called him in your head, seemed to was adept in martial arts. Jumping back up in an instant, his expression remained unchanged, proceeding to pick up his sword once again.

“Just go!”

You heard Batman yell. You looked at him with alarm. “But…But-” “GO!!!!!”

His roars were the last straw, urging your feet to drag you out of there as fast as possible. He was right. It made sense. Just when he was trying his hardest to save your life, it would be selfish to risk everything and waste the efforts taken. You ran fast, yet simultaneously you did not want to be the mere damsel in distress.

Taking the phone out, your fingers shook as you dialed for emergency services.

“911…what’s your Emergency?”

“Hello! Yes I’m calling to report an attack…” you spoke breathlessly, “uh….about half a mile away from the Gotham East Subway Station I think…” you continued, looking at the two figures who fought from afar. Given the intensity of the attack, you felt your legs turn wobbly, “Who? Well there’s me and-oh my god!”

You exclaimed, the moment Mr.Slender managed to attack Batman with a mini smoke bomb, bringing his defenses down, kicking him hard in the face. Your heart clenched, dropping your phone in response when you saw Batman crouch down in pain.

However, to Mr.Slender’s dismay, Batman took the advantage, kicking him in the knees while he crouched, bringing the man to the ground, finally punching him unconscious.

It was over, finally.

Relief washed over you. With your breathing slowing down, you wanted to run over to Batman. You wanted to show your concern. More importantly, you wanted to thank you with all your heart.

Except you could not. Especially when you froze.

Especially when you stood from afar, hidden from sight, only to witness his cowl shatter into several pieces. Only to reveal a face underneath, a face you never expected to see.

Bruce Wayne’s.

——————————————————

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grumpyhedgehogs · 3 years

Text

lord, consecrate this ground (if you can't consecrate this love)

Summary: On the run as everyone they know and love are turned to vampires or die in the process, Padmé and Obi-Wan search for a safe haven. They are followed by a shadow with unfinished business.

Notes: Vampire AU. Blood, injury, fire, death, manipulation. Canon-typical violence. Codywan and Anidala. Open ending. I have no excuses for this.

AO3

“Stay with me, Padmé.” Obi-Wan shuffles her arm further up around his own shoulders, choking on the hysteria rising in his throat. He has taken most of her weight on himself already but her knees are beginning to become unwieldy. “You must stay awake.”

Her voice is faint, wavering and thin. “We’re not going to make it.”

She is almost certainly right. She’s lost too much blood; thick rivers of it trickle from her throat into Obi-Wan’s collar as they stumble toward the church courtyard. It will dry tacky on both their skin, if Padmé even has that long. Anakin nearly ripped the meat from her shoulder when he bit down. “We’re almost there.”

“I’m not going to make it,” Padmé rephrases, and then says, stronger, “But you might. You should--”

“I am not going to leave you behind.” Obi-Wan interrupts, steely. He ignores the shivers running up and down his spine, the stickiness of his own blood smeared across his jaw, stuck in his beard and hair. Padmé had been too far gone by the time he’d arrived to notice his injuries on top of her own. If Ahsoka had been with him, maybe Obi-Wan would have made it out unscathed--but Ahsoka has been gone for weeks.

She’d left with Rex, promising they’d find a cure. Their ranks have been dropping like flies ever since. Obi-Wan wonders if the same thing that happened to Cody happened to Rex, too. If one night Ahsoka woke him to go hunting and his eyes had been yellow. If, like Cody, he’d grunted and cried out in pain before his teeth elongated and his voice turned into an animal snarl. If something in his blood, like the blood of his brother, changed him overnight. If Rex, like Cody, disappeared within seconds. What would Ahsoka have done if Rex had lunged at her like Cody had at Obi-Wan? Would she have fought back? Would she have had the strength to end it, the way Obi-Wan did not?

Cody’s hands had been so tight when he’d gripped Obi-Wan close. The touch was not unfamiliar; Cody's saved him from monsters a dozen times over, held him when he bled, and called him back from the dark when things were bleak. Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized what was happening at first, distracted by Anakin’s disappearance on his last patrol route as he had been. He'd though Cody had noticed a threat Obi-Wan had missed and was protecting him from it, like Cody always did. It wasn’t until Cody had slammed Obi-Wan‘s head against the wall to make him pliant that he’d understood.

The creak of the gates to the courtyard shrieks through Obi-Wan’s skull. There are eyes in the darkness beyond them. How many vampires followed them here? How many are hunting them for sport?

How many of them used to be their friends?

Padmé’s legs give out a few feet from the church’s front steps. Obi-Wan, weak from his fights with both Cody and Anakin, goes with her when she folds to the earth. Her skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent, veins standing out blue under her eyes. It makes the gaping redness of her wound all the more sickening. She whimpers when Obi-Wan shifts to secure her in his arms.

“It’s--it’s no use, Obi-Wan.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Listen to me.”

Obi-Wan, heart in his mouth, collapses back from where he’d been trying to lift them both. If he has to, he’ll drag her body over the threshold. He’ll crawl his way to salvation. He’ll lie here in the mud and the blood and let them take him if he could just save Padmé. If he could just save someone, just anyone.

Padmé looks like hell but she will always be beautiful anyway. Even with blood matting her hair to her neck, her eyes blaze with fire. “I’m going to die. One way or another.” She shakes his shoulder when he goes to disagree. “Listen. I’ve lost too much blood. We both know it.”

“We’ll stop the bleeding. If you last until dawn, just two hours, we can get to a hospital--”

“He didn’t leave enough blood for me to survive, Obi-Wan.” She sounds tired, resigned, the way Qui-Gon had when Obi-Wan had pulled the vampire Maul off of him. He’d been the first person Obi-Wan had lost to the monsters. Maul had been the first vampire Obi-Wan had ever fought.

Qui-Gon had told him, after he’d dispatched Maul, exactly what Obi-Wan would have to do to a bitten victim who wouldn’t survive the night. His voice matched Padmé's tone, regret and determination but no fear to be found.

Obi-Wan’s stomach turns, dropping straight to his toes. Bile rises and he swallows it back. The ashes from the fire he’d set to keep Cody off of him as he ran clog his nose now. His skin feels gritty, grimy, tacky. The blood welling at his own puncture wounds is slowing.

“He planned it,” Padmé tells him, gentle as a lamb. A breeze picks up around them, blowing the smells of musty pews and incense towards them from the church’s waiting doors. They are ajar, just a little. Last night Obi-Wan and Cody had taken off for the nest Anakin had pointed out to them rather recklessly. It has only been a day, just twenty-four hours. It feels like a lifetime. “If I don’t want to die, I have to drink from him to survive. There’s no choice.”

“He didn’t have the time.” obi-Wan protests even as some small part of his mind begins to scream louder and louder. “Anakin could only have been turned for perhaps a day, he couldn’t have planned so well for--” For your murder, he does not finish. Padme’s empty smile, thin and bloodless, tells him she understands perfectly.

“My Ani has always been a quick thinker.” She shakes her head and for the first time Obi-Wan realizes tremors are running through her body where she lies limply against him. “It’s no use, Obi-Wan.”

“Cody--” He coughs, throat suddenly too dry. The ash from the factory he’d lit must be blowing towards them from miles away. He is surrounded by it, drowning in it. “He turned too, before I got to you. He--I think he wanted to do the same thing to me. He tried.”

Cody had been violent, yes, but only enough so that he could contain Obi-Wan. He’d tried to restrain Obi-Wan’s arms rather than break his bones. He’d pushed in close--Obi-Wan can still feel his lips moving, whisper soft, against his skin. Then the teeth had broken through and Cody had clamped down. The air had tasted of despair and victory and Obi-Wan couldn’t quite tell which had been worse. Cody’s fingers had been so careful where they twined into his hair. Cody’s mouth had been so wet and so red when Obi-Wan had flung him back with a cross pressed to Cody's chest.

“We’re all alone,” Padmé whispers. “Oh, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin’s eyes had matched the yellow of Cody’s when Obi-Wan had pulled him from Padme’s side. He hadn’t been hard to track down once Obi-Wan had shaken Cody from his trail; Obi-Wan had just followed the bloody footprints. Anakin had been wild, feral, an animal rather than the man Obi-Wan called his brother. Somewhere beyond them, as they fought, Obi-Wan could hear Lord Sidious’s cruel laughter. He’d called his new vampire beautiful, said he would become the perfect killer.

Anakin won’t be so beautiful now, Obi-Wan realizes with distant regret. Not with the scars from the holy water Obi-Wan had splashed in his eyes.

“You might survive--”

“I won’t. You will. You need to get inside--consecrated ground--”

She’s losing consciousness. If Padmé goes, Obi-Wan really will be alone.

“We’ll both go.”

“You can’t--even--lift--yourself…”

“We just need to last until sunrise in the church. Then we can get to the hospital. And Ahsoka might have found something to change Anakin back…”

Padmé does not answer. When he looks down, her eyes are closed. They remain that way even as Obi-Wan shakes her. His own body is weak and weary; he stumbles when he lifts them both up but gets his feet under himself all the same. Every step towards the church feels like a league. His bones are made of lead.

Obi-Wan perseveres.

They collapse into one of the pews nearest to the arched doors. Sluggish as he is, it takes Obi-Wan more than five minutes to arrange her comfortably on the hardwood. Her eyes stay closed, but her chest still rises. It is more difficult than he’d like to take comfort in the sight.

"Padmé,” he tries, knowing it is no use. She just has to survive until dawn. “We’re safe now, Padmé. Consecrated ground.”

She does not move. It’s alright. Obi-Wan tells himself, tells the swirling fear and worry in his gut. Let her rest. She will need her rest.

He must be more dazed than he’d realized, because only a light scuffing footstep on the church's stairs makes Obi-Wan jerk back to himself. He pulls Padme up further against his chest, pillowing her head as he listens. The barriers of the church will stop anyone will ill intent from entering, but the doors are open and if Obi-Wan just cranes his head around he can see--

“Obi-Wan.”

No. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no. Don’t let it be--

But it is.

Cody’s smile is bright white against the night. His yellow eyes gleam. Obi-Wan’s blood still drips from his chin. “Obi-Wan. Be a dear and come outside with me.”

“You’re not Cody.”

The man--what was once a man--sighs and spares a look over his shoulder to the cloying blackness of the courtyard and the street beyond the gates. “Anakin will be here soon, after he’s finished wrecking your home and all you love dear for what you did to his face. I’m sure when he calms down we can all have a nice long chat. Family therapy, maybe?”

“He is not Anakin any longer.” Obi-Wan repeats, “And you are not Cody.”

The thing wearing Cody’s face shrugs. “Maybe I’m not. Maybe I am.”

“No.”

That striking smile widens and Obi-Wan feels sick. Padmé’s breath barely stirs the hairs on his neck as he clutches her close. “Maybe I am what Cody has always been and you were just too blind to see it. Did you think of that yet?”

Obi-Wan grits his teeth. Faint spots have started to rim his vision. He won’t spend his last few minutes on Earth arguing with a monster pretending to be the man he loved.

“Did you wonder if I always wanted to do this, Obi-Wan? Have you asked yourself if all those moments alone, stolen chances and gentle touches and longing looks, if during all of them I wanted to do this to you?”

His resolve breaks. “Stop. Cody would never harm me.” I loved him, he doesn’t say. Cody loved me too much to hurt me, he doesn’t say.

“I’ll admit ripping your throat out is such a pleasant idea,” Cody continues conversationally. His light, airy tone contrasts so badly with Padmé’s rapidly cooling body pressed to Obi-Wan’s that it makes him retch. “The change happened so fast and I was so hungry and you--oh, Obi-Wan, I always hunger for you the most.”

“Stop.”

“Ah, don’t be like that. It makes a poetic kind of sense, doesn’t it? Me being the one to turn into a vampire and kill you? After all, you’ve spent your entire adult life killing my kind and now you love one. It'd be a fitting end for me to tear you to pieces.”

“Stop it!”

“But then…” The vampire trails off and Obi-Wan cannot tear his eyes away as not-Cody shifts his weight, affecting a thinking posture that is an exact copy of Obi-Wan’s own. Cody taps his chin and smiles again. His fingertips come away crimson. His incisors are so long, so sharp. Obi-Wan knows they are serrated like a blade. They sawed into his flesh and he had screamed. “Then you got interesting. You had to play dirty and you did it so wonderfully. I like that about you, Obi-Wan, I always have. But you couldn’t end it--not with me and not with Anakin. You’ll fight and claw and scream but you won’t hurt us, not in a way that matters. Not in a way that lasts. You love too deeply for that, sweetheart.”

The truth stings, cleaving into Obi-Wan’s heart. He has always been too weak. “Stop,” he whispers, so soft he can barely hear himself. “Please just stop.”

“It was that exact second I realized it would be much better if I could keep you. I do, after all, love you.”

“How could you?” Obi-Wan snaps even as he feels his resolve leech away like the warmth from Padmé’s heart. The wind outside roars around the church's walls and Obi-Wan could swear he hears scratching at the stained glass of the windows, like the tap tap tap of razor sharp claws searching for a way in. “How could you love me, you monster?”

“Come and let me show you how I love you, Obi-Wan,” the monster who used to be Cody coaxes. His teeth are very, very white. “Step out of the light and let me show you.”

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longitud-de-onda · 4 years

Text

on my mind

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; you’re trying to have a peaceful night in when javier brings home yet another informant, and while you brace yourself to hear the noises all night, you’re surprised to hear something else. rating; t warnings; strangling, medical inacurracies probably, some angst? idk it doesn’t feel super angsty to me but y’all’ll probably think it is word count; 2.4k requested; by anon “You are his next door neighbor and friend. At night, you often hear his escapades through the wall. One night, things sound more like a fight than sex. You aren't sure what to do. You have a key to his apartment. You sneak in to see what is going on. Javi's informant is strangling him with his tie for real. She runs away, Javi regains consciousness, & tells you that he thought he was going to die and the only thing he could think about was that he never told you he loves you.”

Javier fucking Peña. You’re gonna kill the man since this is the fifth time this week he’s brought a girl home and it’s only Wednesday and it’s 8pm and you want to relax after a long day. You can hear them coming up the stairs outside the building, the loud Spanish obscenities spilling from their lips in the hallway, the jingling of the keys as they enter his apartment.

He’s been doing it since you got to Colombia all those years ago, but it never ceases to hurt. Doesn’t he know how much noise he and all the women he has over make? Doesn’t he know how thin the walls are, that if they and you are in the right rooms in your respective apartments, you can hear every last word they say?

You’ve been Javier’s partner for what now feels like forever. And at some point between hiding behind walls during drug busts and the thrilling car chases through Bogotá, you fell in love.

Sometimes you wonder why you haven’t made a move. There are times when he grins at you after breaking a case or finding a lead and your heart soars, nights out drinking at bars, days where you’re on the hunt and you have each other’s backs when you wonder if maybe he feels the same.

But you have to be reminded multiple times a week that your job relies on him fucking multiple women for valuable information, loudly.

He’s even gone so far as to offer you a night in bed with him. Multiple times. Those days are the worst. You know it would only be a one night stand and if you said yes it would break your heart.

So you settle for loving him from afar. You respect him enough to know that your feelings would only ruin things. If how he is is what makes him happy, then who are you to stop him?

You walk over to your bedroom to grab your walkman and try to drown out the sounds that will inevitably begin, hope you’ll be able to curl up on your couch and read the book you’ve been trying to start.

It takes all of three minutes for the sound of whatever is happening to breach the weak plastic of your headphones and you groan.

This is really the last straw. It’s been such a long day and Javier only made it worse by letting his hand linger a little longer than was considered friendly when handing you your coffee this morning and taking you out to lunch just to get out of the building. And then he had the nerve to leave early so that he could meet an informant, and you were stuck finishing up the paperwork, only to return home to the same sounds you were hearing now, finishing up.

You throw your headphones off and stand up. You were going to storm over and give Javier a piece of your mind when you hear something that is distinctively not sexual. It sounds like they’re fighting, there are some thumps on the floor that cannot feel good and you think you even hear something shatter.

You almost lunge over your dinner table to grab your handgun, and exit your apartment, quietly slipping over to his door, hoping he left his door unlocked. You try the handle and it glides right open. Leave it to Javier to forget to lock it in the heat of things.

You thank everything working in your favor that Javier has an entry hallway and you’re able to enter the apartment, back pressed against the wall, unnoticed. You slide closer, and the fighting has quieted. There’s no longer any human noises, just the sound of grappling, and that could definitely be sex and you really don’t want to walk in on that, but you assume the worst, Javier could really be in danger.

You peak around the corner and you freeze up. Javier is on the floor, some woman has her hand gripped around his tie and is pulling, hard, from behind. His face is bright red and a bit puffy and you notice he is unconscious.

“Hey!” you yell, pointing your gun at her, and she startles, dropping the tie, and Javier’s body flops to the ground.

You stare blankly at the limp body of your partner, which gives the woman enough time to slip out of the open window to the balcony, and you watch as she jumps over the railing, only a few feet to the ground below from the first-floor apartment.

She shouldn’t have gotten away. You could have shot her. You know that. But your breathing is shaky and you still are holding your gun up at the window, seconds after she’s gone, staring at Javier.

You finally come to and rush to the ground beside him, kneeling by his head. He can’t be dead. He just can’t be. You let out a sob and your throat is tight and pained with the oncoming tears. If Javier is dead? You don’t dare to think about what you would do.

You pull his arm into your hand, searching for a pulse, and upon finding it, you let yourself relax for a brief moment, before peeling off the tie from his neck. His skin is red and marred with a thick ring of abrasions from the rough fabric, and there are some frantic scratches on either side, suggesting he had further injured himself trying to get out.

You reach out a hand to touch the wounds, gasping as you feel how hot his skin is.

Javier sputters under your touch, his eyes springing open and coughing a few times until he calms down.

“Javi!” you exhale, “Javi, holy shit, I thought you were dead.”

He’s gasping for air, and you help him up, dragging his body over to the floor beside the couch, propping his back up against it.

You know he’s going to need treatment for the wounds on his neck, and you jump to your feet, rushing over to the kitchen. You open the freezer and push things around until you find an icepack and then throw open some cabinets, searching for some sort of pain medication. There. Inside one of the cabinets lies a few bottles of pills alongside a pitiful looking box of bandaids.

You bring the two items back to the living room where Javier is taking shallow breaths, and you sink to the ground next to him. The bottle is placed on the coffee table and you grab his hand and bring it and the ice pack to his neck, helping him hold it in place.

“Javi, when you’re ready, these pills are on the table here, you should take them,” you say.

“Y/N.” It’s the first word he’s said since you entered the apartment and you exhale shakily while managing to break a smile. He leans his head back on the couch, looking at the ceiling. “If you hadn’t come, I’d be—I’d—”

“Javi, don’t say that,” you say, “You’re okay now. That’s what matters.”

He brings his head back up and turns to look at you. You can feel his gaze but you really don’t know what to do. What to say. You look at the ground, waiting for something.

That something comes after almost five minutes of silence.

“If you think you can swallow you should try to take some pain meds,” you say.

“It doesn’t hurt much,” he says, voice hoarse. You know he’s lying.

“Still.”

Javier reaches forward to grab the bottle, sets down the ice pack, unscrews the cap and pours a pill into his palm. After swallowing, he replaces the ice on his neck, wincing at the contact.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask.

You want to say so much. You want to be mad at him. Mad that he got himself into this goddamn mess. But you can’t. All you can think about is how lost you would be if he hadn’t made it. How scared you had been, seeing him unconscious on the floor. The last time you had spoken with Javier about him doing this, about sleeping with the informants, it hadn’t gone well, and after today? You regretted every word you had said.

“Javi, you can’t keep sleeping with people to get information,” you said, slamming your hands on the desk after he brought up speaking with a fourth prostitute that week who he said would have valuable intel on one of Escobar’s sicarios.

“It works,” he shook his head, continuing to pack up his things.

“It works, but at what cost?” you threw up your hands, hoping it would emphasize your point, but Javier wasn’t even looking. “If someone finds out?”

“Tell me our most valuable leads haven’t resulted from it?” he said and he was right. Most anything of substance had come (quite literally) from Javier fucking them. But that didn’t mean you had to be okay with it.

“What if one of them knows what you’re doing? They get paid to get close to you? Try to take you out or something?” you said, voice getting dangerously loud.

“God, Y/N, you don’t have to be such a stickler for the rules, we’ve broken enough already. And I only do it with the women I trust,” he said, now at the door to your office about to leave.

“Fine, go fuck whoever you like, just don’t come running to me for help when you get hurt,” you said.

It had been four months since you had that conversation, but the irony of it all didn’t escape you. You felt bad after saying it but you feel even worse now.

“Please stay,” Javier croaks out beside you.

You nod. “Okay.”

As much as it hurts to sit next to him tonight, you can’t deny him anything. Not tonight.

It’s quiet for a while. You bring one leg up to your chest and with one hand trace little circles into the carpet.

“I thought I was going to die,” he says. He drops the ice pack in his lap. “The only thing I could think of was that I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to tell the woman I love how much she matters to me.”

Now it’s your turn to throw your head back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. You blink a few times, realizing there are tears in the corners and you don’t know where they came from. You had gotten good at pushing your feelings away, but now, knowing that Javier had almost died? You don’t know what you would do if you had lost him. Life without Javier? It would probably break you.

And then there’s this woman he’s speaking of and you don’t know what to think of it, because Javier? In love with a woman? Singular? That wasn’t anything you had heard of. You couldn’t picture him falling for someone, wanting to spend a life with her. But you supposed it made sense. In the face of death, people realize exactly what they want in life.

It had happened to you, a couple times. Almost anyone in the field here in Colombia had those moments. Bullets flying inches from your face. Explosions where you’re caught only a few feet away from being fatally injured. Falls through unstable flooring in the apartments in the poorest parts of Bogotá. For you, those moments reminded you how important certain people were.

You didn’t have much family back home, no one significant enough to worry about, that’s why you took such a dangerous job so far from the States. But you remember waking up in the hospital a year ago, a bullet having grazed your side. Your final memories before blacking out were the feeling of warm blood pouring out across your stomach and Javier’s face. Javier, who was stuck in Bogotá for the week as you risked your life in Medellín.

“Maybe you shouldn’t waste any more time and tell her,” you say.

God knows you regretted not telling him. It was for the best, you knew. Javier wasn’t exactly the sort of guy to settle down. And the pain of rejection wouldn’t be as bad as the dull ache of seeing him every day afterwards. But if Javier loved someone? And she didn’t know? She deserved to know how much she mattered to him. That she was important enough to be the face he saw before he thought he would die.

“I don’t know,” he says, and you look over at him, brow furrowed. “She doesn’t think very highly of me.”

“How could she not think highly of you, Javi?” you say. You think the world of him, but there were plenty of reasons why someone might not. It’s not the moment to bring those up.

“It’s you, Y/N.”

You blink. Javier likes you?

“I know,” he continues, “I know you don’t—and you don’t have to—fuck. I don’t want to make this awkward”

“No,” you breathe, staring at him and shaking your head, “I—Me?”

You can’t believe what Javier had said. That all this time you were sitting on your feelings for each other, not saying anything.

“Yes, you,” he says, “Since day one, you’ve been the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And you’re 100% there for everyone we work with. You care about people. You came rushing in today to save me even when you didn’t have to, when I didn’t deserve it. You said all that stuff, and you were right, but you still came—”

“I had to, Javi, I—I care about to you, too.” you say, “I couldn’t let you get hurt. I couldn’t lose you... I love you.”

Javier reaches an arm up to cup your cheek. Every inhale and exhale feels slower than ever before. His face has softened, a faint smile crosses his lips, more than his usual stern expressions ever allow, and there’s a certain something in his eyes, a glistening, and you bite your lip instinctively. And that’s when he leans in to take your lips in his own, and you, sinking into him, climb to your knees so that you can wrap an arm around his waist and intertwine your other hand into his hair.

It’s perfect until it isn’t as Javier jolts away with a noise that sounds painful and you jump back.

“Are you okay?” you’re back into panic mode, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I, uh.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “I think I got too into it, moved my neck too much.”

“Do you need—”

“No, Y/N, I don’t need anything. I’m fine. I just, I need you,” he admits.

“Me too,” you say and sit back down next to him, leaning your head against his shoulder and reaching down, grabbing his hand, and interlocking his fingers with yours.

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest @turquiosenights @el-lizzie @sparrows-books @dxxkxx @opheliaelysia (edit: i completely forgot to tag @letaliabane i’m so sorry my document with my taglists was all messed up)

#javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #camila writes #rated t #under 5 #reader #angst?#angst #request #pedro fics #narcos fics #javi x reader

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 111: In the Hog's Head

The high pitched yowl of pain shook everyone out of their coughing and definitely drowned out the other general crashes as they all looked desperately around for the danger.

It was the Hog's Head, they all instantly recognized, even Regulus had popped in here on his second Hogsmeade trip thanks to a dare from a dormmate. The challenge had been to order and drink a firewhiskey, but the bartender had shooed him away. He wondered if it was the exact same bottle he'd been eyeing at the time that had crashed down on Alice Smith's head upon her landing behind the register and now had her bleeding profusely from the crown of her short, dark hair.

The others had landed throughout the establishment in other, arguably safer spots on tables and chairs, Lupin right into a barstool, Regulus directly onto the bar, spilling more drinks right on top of him, though at least the glass tumblers didn't add to the mess, instead it just made the floor slippery as Longbottom and Evans did a fast headcount and tried darting around behind to the scene.

Lupin had been closer though, so he'd gotten there first and was already crouching in front of her drawing his wand with a kind smile she likely couldn't see due to the mixture of blood and alcohol already dribbling into her eyes, and her whimpers of pain and surprise keeping his voice a likely mystery. She reached up automatically to rub at her eyes, and then higher to where the pain was coming from, and he grabbed her wrists in one hand and pulled them towards him, out of the way to perform the spell.

Regulus cringed in regret he had no way to help her, he couldn't even name a healing charm yet, but then Regulus startled right off the bar on top of them all when Longbottom barreled into Lupin and shoved him so hard away, he sent several more bottles crashing around them.

The following shouting and shoving that ensued was utter chaos until finally two clear shouts of "Protego!" sent the eight of them slammed back away from each other as if they were landing all over again.

Lily dropped hers at once and immediately turned to Alice, her advanced Charms work may not have as much practical practice as the Marauders' but she still knew enough of what she was doing she at least sealed the deep gashes along Alice's head. Reaching blindly, she only spotted a dusty old rag and cringed at using it to wipe the rest of her up, before the rest of her brain kicked in and she used Tergeo to great affect, and a quick Aguamenti to dampen it, heart thundering and hands shaking regardless. She hated blood.

James waited patiently, chest still heaving like he'd run the Quidditch pitch four times, until Alice's bright yellow eyes were finally blinking and she looked around in recognition. She was still exceptionally pale, and they were all now covered in blood and alcohol from it. He'd seen Remus lose more blood before and not lose consciousness though, so he was semi sure she was okay enough he dropped his own barrier, but still vibrated in place with adrenaline.

Peter got to his feet slowly, more than enough experience telling him to be cautious before someone else pounced, but when no one stopped him he hopped up onto the bar and swung himself to the other side, but stopped short of dropping down to offer his hand to Regulus to do the same, who was more than happy to swim out of this mosh pit if that was what it took.

Sirius took the precious seconds it was worth to see Remus hadn't fallen into the exact same predicament, but there was no visible blood streaming from him anywhere, so he lunged towards Longbottom fist raised.

James caught him at the last second and had to physically haul him back to the other side of the bar, taking five times as long to fix the space in the struggle that Sirius had covered in a second flat. Finally though he wrestled him back to the floor by Moony's side and met him with a hard glare, the silence that passed between them spoke volumes.

Frank hadn't so much as flinched away as he stayed in between Lily and Alice, but when Potter turned back to glare at him it was damn near as terrifying as Black's murderous intent of bashing his face in. The cold, calculated expression was the exact same he'd held when speaking of how best to dispose of Umbridge.

Remus decided he should stay where he was and keep trying to pick glass out of the back of his shoulder until it was safer to move.

Finally Lily got her feet as well, turning her back on the lot and offering Alice a hand. She took it firmly, but her feet stumbled terribly, and Frank finally moved as well to place a hand on her back as they got her out from behind the bar. No one stopped him, but he felt the three glares daggering into his back with the first hints of shame, he didn't have to look back to know who wasn't.

The floor was already growing stickier with every step they took, which probably helped her just a bit when the crackling silence followed the three of them to the farthest back corner to the stairs.

Alice took the bottom one wearily, rubbing her fingers against her eyes for a few more moments and still not getting any color back, but she was the first to properly speak. "What the hell happened?"

Her heart, already trying to pump in double time to supply the blood she'd lost, nearly went into overdrive at the deranged noise she heard echoing from behind the bar she now sadly recognized as Sirius Black.

It was Frank who answered though, crouching down to see her gentle eyes and saying honestly, "I panicked."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself!" Pettigrew gasped. "You could have killed Remus and her with your stupid stunt!"

Frank flinched, he was very aware that any of that raining glass could have nicked someone in the neck, eye, or any other arteries on the way down, he was pretty confident he had something lodged in his thigh, but all he kept seeing flashing back in his head was a werewolf bent over his girlfriend, bleeding a fountain of blood to boot.

It was not lost on him though, that it was still Lupin who had not done a thing in retaliation.

Frank got slowly back to his feet, taking the time to see the destruction he'd caused before turning back to face the others properly. He wasn't afraid of Black and Potter, but for the first time he felt like drawing his own wand in defense for himself at the looks they gave him. He swallowed that impulse and ignored it until he could see just slightly over the bar again, Lupin's green eyes were still painfully startled like he hadn't quite caught up to what had happened yet any more than Alice. He was reaching blindly over his shoulder, and his wince at finally pulling out a jagged bit of glass drew his friends' attention back to him.

"I'm sorry," and Frank sincerely meant that. He didn't know if the impulse would ever leave him entirely, but he wouldn't let anyone say he couldn't be the bigger person here.

Now the werewolf actually blushed, stammering on anything to say like, like a regular teenager. Frank almost wanted to laugh, but didn't think that would be of much help as he went back to Alice's side. She scooted over and took his hand at once.

Lily got up abruptly then and exited through a door, to everyone's surprise. Nobody moved until she came back with a platter of food.

The last time they'd had food was Umbridge's poisonous house nobody but Regulus had dared take so much as a snack from, and long before that the school kitchens. He was pretty sure the Marauders had scraped some food together back in the Potters' manor, but they hadn't exactly shared that abundance. Regardless, the rations had run out by the time they'd started this book. Even this drafty bar's old cheese and slightly stale bread felt like a feast. She'd given Alice the largest portion and set the rest on the bar without comment for the boys to help themselves.

Frank had immediately given the share she'd offered him to Alice as well, but she only nibbled down a few bites before surprising them all by drawing her own wand, and summoning the book to her.

"You should eat more-" he instantly tried to protest, she was still as pale as ever, but she shook her head so softly and even that made her look a bit green.

"My stomach's feeling," she stopped, and didn't need to elaborate. "I just, let's move on."

He did not agree, likely when they were wrenched from this place she'd just throw up what little she had at the next location, but she squeezed his fingers back and gave him a brave smile as she read the next chapter title as the location of this place.

What she really wanted was a chance to talk to him again, somewhere that wouldn't be overheard in this quiet room. The Marauders were not going to be a lively distraction, and while there was no guarantees the next place would be any better, she certainly didn't want to linger in here as the strong smells of copper and alcohol lingered in the air.

The whole thing touched her deeply as she tried to imagine it from his point of view, but even his bodily defense wasn't as warming as his immediately apologizing for it. Still, she wanted to talk to him about the initial reaction, she'd been delicately avoiding the subject but it clearly wasn't going away.

Peter didn't know what to think of the whole thing as Alice read about Hermione broaching the subject of Harry being DADA teacher again, and a chance to see how many people would take up that offer in the coming Hogsmeade visit. He found himself desperately wanting to turn to Regulus and reminisce about all the secrets of the village the Marauders had learned from all their times creeping about here, both during a full moon and regular nights. He didn't think stories like that would go down well in here right now though, and instead the heavy silence lasted as Hermione started spreading word around the school of 'Harry's' intentions about starting this group and they headed out to this place.

It was an, interesting meeting to be sure, but still nobody cried nay for these actions. To his amazement, nobody in here would still claim not to join Harry's group in a heartbeat against Umbridge's tyranny. He and Regulus exchanged a look as they just had to figure out a way to get them all to realize same as them, they all wanted to be on the same side here.

James smiled to himself as the meeting adjourned, and things were officially set in motion with twenty-five people all believing in his son. Harry went to go around Hogsmeade for a bit though, and he found his mind wandering more. What he would give to start boisterously laughing about Harry being a teacher of all things again, which he'd barely had a chance to do when it had been brought up. He'd made a few theatrical jokes just for his friends' amusement about how insulting to his bloodline that would be for Harry to do any such thing, he'd swear Evans had even laughed for a moment before they'd been zapped in here.

Now he was shifting in unease and entirely unsure of himself as Sirius kept his glowering glare alternating between Longbottom, and him.

He still didn't regret stopping Sirius though, all that had flashed through his mind upon seeing Sirius about to do that was when he'd hit Peter, and even before that when he'd egged Snape on and he'd found out about Moony. He'd really thought Sirius was going to start trying to control his temper, James certainly wanted to take a swing at the racist arse! He just hadn't because the past two consequences still had their marks all around them.

Peter was still standing closer to Regulus on that side of the bar. Remus was now watching the steady drip of the amber liquid onto the floor rather than looking at Sirius for yet another impulsive action of his.

Then his heart skipped a beat and his mind managed to scatter in half as he saw Evans watching him. Openly, curiously, for the first time in his school life like she wanted to come talk to him other than the other way around. His entire insides shut down rather than leap at the opportunity like the idiot he was, and then it was too late as they were torn from here.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #OotP #Wolfstar #Jilly #Marauders #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Alice Smith #Frank Longbottom

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miracul0us-multishipper · 5 years

Text

Welcome to the back (Part 10)

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Warning: I am trying not to romanticize Akumatization. Felix’s motives may be noble, but he’s still an akuma and not going easy on anybody. So don’t get your hopes up he might be a chivalrous bad boy who only punishes the evil guys.

- - -

Chat Noir had his baton at hand, camera opened and zooming in on what was happening. He didn’t want his Lady to get hurt, of course. Just to wait long enough that she truly appreciated his arrival.

“That was quick.”, Sentiquill said with raised eyebrows. “How did you...” His eyes widened. “Of course. Marinette still had her phone, right?”

He sighed and raised his quill as Ladybug swung into the room, planting herself between him and the students.

“You have bigger worries now, Sentiquill.”, the spotted heroine declared, then turned towards his terrified classmates. “You guys! Everybody out of here, and take Alya and Madame Bustier with you!”

The class hurried to comply, and Chat Noir purred with adoration. She was always concerned for others, looking out for everybody. It was so cute! Though he didn’t get why she hadn’t tried to lure Sentiquill outside. The classroom wasn’t ideal for a fight, space was limited and furniture created unnecessary hindrances. What was she thinking?

Sentiquill seemed confused as well, suspiciously taking a step back. Ladybug was known for her impossible traps and plans, it was only natural he’d be on edge.

“Felix”, Ladybug called him surprisingly gentle. Caring even. “Give me the quill. We can end this without a fight.”

Chat scowled. No fighting? Then how was he supposed to impress her? And why was she so sympathetic towards Felix of all people? She’d never talked to Chat like that! So... sweetly. It made his nose wrinkle in jealousy.

“Trying to reason with an Akuma, Ladybug? Unusual approach.”, Sentiquill commented, adopting a fighting stance. “What’s the reason for your sudden change of attitude? Gone pacifist overnight?”

“I know you can’t want this.”, his Lady continued unwavering. Did she know Felix personally? Did she visit him after patrol, now that she had forbidden Chat from accompanying her? His claws dug into the ground and bared his fangs when she continued.

“You’re a thinker.” The admiration in her voice made him sick. “You enjoy outsmarting people, you don’t like resorting to violence. Let me help you, please!”

His breathing hitched. Why was she- Why would- Didn’t she think of him at all?! She couldn’t just go around saying stuff like that! It was far too... intimate!

Sentiquill didn’t seem to share Chat’s opinion, instead of flustered, he looked furious.

“Help me?!”

In the blink of an eye he was moving, slashing his sword and shooting ink at Ladybug. She blocked it with her yo-yo, but the force of the attack hurled her through the window into the yard, where the rest of the class ran into hiding. She landed on her feet, sliding over the ground.

“You didn’t care to help Marinette either!”, Sentiquill roared. “All it would have taken was a single word of you and nobody would have listened to Lila ever again!”

“I know, and I regret this, but-“

“Then show it!”

Sentiquill followed her, attacked with his blade from every angle. Ladybug could barely keep up with blocking his slashes with the string of her yo-yo.

“Come on, tell them the truth!”, Sentiquill snarled and gave her a shove that sent her against a wall. “Tell them who Lila really is!”

The students leaned out of their hideouts, curious for what was going on despite the danger. Chat stiffened. Surely she wouldn’t... Ladybug knew how important it was to leave Lila in peace, didn’t she? She wouldn’t say anything rash now, would she?

Ladybug got up again, a fearsome scowl on her face.

“You think Marinette cares about that now? She wants her friend back!”

A bitter laugh got over her lips, so untypical for her Chat leaned back a little.

“But fine! I couldn’t like Lila less! She’s a dirty liar, we’re not best friends and I would be more than glad if she left Paris again. Happy now?”

The yard was dead silent. If Lila was still hiding somewhere, Chat couldn’t see her. He was flabbergasted. Had Ladybug just... Was she insane?! Oh fuck, he should have joined the fight when it hadn’t been too late yet. Now his carefully protected, unproblematic school life would be completely out of control!

Sentiquill laughed in disbelief.

“Why, thank you, Ladybug! I didn’t expect you to actually do that for me.”

He smiled, genuinely. If Chat hadn’t still been so rattled, he would have hissed in disgust.

“I appreciate the effort. Alas...”

His face darkened.

“Too little, too late. The damage is done, and I’ll set things right again.”

He raised his sword.

“Let’s see which dark secrets hide behind that little mask of yours.”

He pounced again, ink swirling through the air. Ladybug held her own skillfully, dodging his slices at her sides, dancing around the ink torrents he sent her way and blocking the thrusts of his blade. Before he realized it, Sentiquill was dangerously low on ink. Hectically he looked around for a potential victim and made a run for Rose, who had leaned out of the girl’s bathroom a little too far. Before he could reach her, Ladybug’s yo-yo wrapped around his foot and kept him in place. That’s when she spotted him on the roof.

“Chat Noir!”, she shouted without sparing Chat a second glance, eyes fixed on her opponent. “Finally!”

Not the greeting he had hoped for. Ugh! This whole day was a disaster, nothing went as planned! Couldn’t life go his way just this once?!

“His quill’s ink comes from negativity others carry!”, Ladybug informed him of what he already knew. “You need to get the civilians out of the way!”

That’s all she wanted of him? Not to fight by her side, to protect her from Felix, but to play savior for classmates he already protected from their own carelessness as Adrien? Who would doubtlessly create nothing but chaos now that Lila was exposed? No, he didn’t think so!

Angry, Chat stood on the roof and watched Ladybug. She really was getting arrogant these days, yelling at him to leave her alone and then expecting him to follow her every command. A decision formed in his mind and he crossed his arms. It wouldn’t do any real harm if he left her to deal with this alone, would it? Miraculous Ladybug always cured everyone anyway. So why not teach her a lesson?

“Wonderful morning to you as well, My Lady!”, he hissed sarcastically. “I thought we shouldn’t work together until absolutely necessary?”

Her face fell. She was still fighting to keep Sentiquill in place, who was hacking at her weapon with his quill. Revenge truly is sweet.

“Chat, this is not the time to-“

“Exactly!”, he interrupted her smugly. “Now is not the time it’s necessary.”

With a satisfied grin he dropped on his butt, watching cross legged as her grip on Sentiquill loosened and he ripped himself free.

Rose had started to run, abandoning her hideout to escape to Juleka. The taller girl was hiding behind the stairs and hectically waved her girlfriend closer.

But Rose had no chance to outrun an Akuma.

When Sentiquill stabbed the hilt of his quill into her back, her scream was drowned out by Juleka’s.

Chat flinched, but forced himself to stay put. He had to do this, Ladybug forced him to. If she didn’t learn to respect him more now, she’d only harm their teamwork and therefore endangered Paris in the long run.

Yes, Chat Noir was in the right. She’d understand that, eventually.

This occupied with his own righteousness, he didn’t notice his ring beginning to pulse in a green glow, reacting towards its wielder’s deeds. Fused with his chosen, a Kwami could not consciously act on their own. But every one of them could feel if their power was abused, it changed their aura in the fabric of reality itself. The change might not be noticeable to humans, but fellow Kwamis would feel it instantly, just like they had felt it with the very first akuma.

Four thousand meters away, a little green creature snapped out of his slumber and flew to his master, warning him of the danger it sensed. The guardian’s eyes closed in resignation as he stood up, ready to do what was necessary.

They had lost Nooroo.

They could not afford to lose Plagg.

Ladybug in the meantime was despairing. Juleka had jumped out of hiding to help her girlfriend, who was forced to whimper about being a burden to everyone as Sentiquill dragged her innermost fears to light. If Ladybug tried to save Rose, she’d make herself vulnerable for an attack and Sentiquill had the chance to go after Juleka instead. So she had to make the unfair, horrible choice and intercepted Juleka, stopping her before she could get too close.

“Stay hidden!”, she tried to calm her, “I’ll take care of everything!”

“Rose! ROSE!”, Juleka yelled, not listening. With a groan Ladybug lifted the struggling girl up and ran towards the next classroom in which she found Nathaniel and Mylène, standing protectively over Alya’s and Bustier’s unconscious bodies.

“Take care of her!”, she ordered as she pushed Juleka inside. “Don’t let her out and stay hidden! Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”, Nathaniel hurried to assure her. According to his intimidated face, she was sounding harsher than expected. She nodded and closed the door again, turning back to the yard. There was no time to think of a plan, however, because Sentiquill’s ink was already all around her before she could fully face him. At the very last moment she managed to jump up the wall and somersault into safety, milliseconds before the black torrents crashed down on the place she had been a moment ago. She had no time to get to her bearings, Sentiquill’s blade coming at her from left and right.

“Chat!”, she screamed for her partner, desperately trying to avoid getting hit. Rose was laying on the ground a few meters away, drained and crying. How could Chat Noir abandon her like this?! “Stop this nonsense and help me!”

The other hero only crossed his arms and pouted.

“I’m not sure if you really mean that. What’s the magic word?”

She was on the brink of tears when Sentiquill started to laugh at her.

“Looks like Marinette isn’t the only one with friends who won’t stand up for her.”, he said almost pitifully as he brought his blade down on her. “You truly have a prick of a partner, Ladybug. My sincere condolences.”

She ducked to escape the blow, only to be kicked in the chest when she came up again. The impact sent her crashing into a wall again, and she had to cough a few times before being able to breathe again. If it hadn’t been for her magically strengthened suit, she would’ve had a few broken ribs.

To her surprise, Sentiquill allowed her a few seconds of calm to turn towards her par- Chat Noir. In a single, fluid motion he thrusted the Quill in his direction, creating a blizzard of ink headed straight for the treacherous cat. He barely had the time to take out one of his batons, which was promptly knocked out of his hand. The metallic clang told Ladybug it landed somewhere on the upper walkway, out of her sight. Chat Noir screamed when the ink hit him and knocked him straight into the nearest chimney. Cursing, he got up and searched for cover as Sentiquill’s attention shifted back to Ladybug.

“See this as my thanks for exposing Lila earlier.”, he stated matter-of-fact and pointed his sword at her. “Now give me your Miraculous!”

Ladybug inhaled and stood up straight.

This was going to be a long day.

Sentiquill was vicious. She was still shaken from being thrown into a wall - again! - and without Chat at her side she was quickly loosing ground. Her supposed partner had started to watch from the sidelines again, continuing to ask- no, demand that she apologized and begged for his help. As if she was some kind of stubborn, disobedient pet.

She was all but sobbing in frustration when Sentiquill cornered her at a wall, with no chance of cover.

“Come on, My Lady!”, Chat patronized her like a parent would a toddler. “You’ll only end up hurt if you keep this up. Just say it already!”

She’d never regarded Chat Noir as anything other than a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Right now, however, the feeling that burnt in her lungs was dangerously close to hate.

“Please!”, she swallowed down her pride and fought back tears. “I’m sorry for rejecting you! Please help me!”

Sentiquill towered over her, his gleaming blade at her throat. He could hear their conversation, but he couldn’t see from which direction Chat Noir could attack without taking his eyes off of Ladybug - who would use every chance to escape. Behind him on the roof, Chat Noir got up and stretched.

“As you wish, My Lady!”, he beamed smugly and raised his hand. “Cataclysm!”

Sentiquill smiled, just when Chat jumped down on them. Only now she realized he hadn’t been looking at her. The Akuma had watched Chat’s reflection in his blade.

It was too late to warn him. Chat - rash as always - was already descending, his sparking claws aimed at their opponents back. In the last second, Sentiquill moved aside, just when the cataclysmic hand came down on them, not able to stop or avert its course - which now aimed for Ladybug on the floor. He was going to hit her.

She was going to be cataclysmed.

She was going to die, at Chat Noir’s hands.

She didn’t, of course. But it was close. Chat Noir, eyes wide with terror, had pulled his hand aside just when Ladybug had flinched in fear, missing her head by a hairs breadth. Instead, he touched the ground beneath them.

Ladybug recovered first from the shock, rolling aside and throwing her yo-yo around a chimney to pull her to safety. Chat Noir wasn’t as quick. He was still frozen in place when the ground and part of the wall behind them began to crumble, before breaking through completely. He screamed when he fell into the cellar, and then again when he was hit by debris.

“My jaw!”, she heard out of the newly created hole. Carefully, she inched her way foreword. The ground seemed stable enough now - Chat less so. He was back down on the bottom of the whole, trapped by the bricks and concrete debris that covered him. One piece had hit him right into the face, effectively breaking his jaw.

He was yelling and wailing, unable to move beneath all this debris. If it hadn’t been for his suit, he would be dead now, no doubt about it. His ring gave a weak blink and made peeping sounds. Time was running out!

“Take his Miraculous!”, she could hear Hawkmoth’s voice and turned around to see Sentiquill standing over the hole as well, a violet butterfly outline in front of his face. He shrugged.

“That one’s out of commission, he’s not going anywhere. Let him suffer a bit.”

His blood red eyes fixated her.

“For now, I’ll take care of the bug first.”

She had no chance. He was faster than her, and her yo-yo was a limited defense against a sword. Without any hope of back up she was as good as defeated. Still. When he finally hit her with his nib, she was surprised anyway - for a second, at least. Then, her mind and body went numb.

”Gotcha!”, Sentiquill mocked her with her own catchphrase. “Now, show us how perfect Paris’ hero truly is!”

The sensation was... terrifying. Control of her body was stolen from her as his power rummaged through her mind, finding all her dark, hidden places and tearing them out of her.

“I... I am scared... that I’m alone.”, she pressed out between clenched teeth, trying to fight his spell.

In vain.

“That I have to carry all this responsibility alone a-and mess up. I’ll disappoint everyone.”

She closed her eyes as darkness rose around her, feeding into Sentiquill’s weapon. He scoffed, before giving her a malicious smirk.

“Oh, but you already have.”, his painfully familiar voice dictated. The words seeped into her mind, trying to take root. She couldn’t let that happen, she knew it was a trick. The people he drained sank into a despair of his making, it was just Hawkmoth’s magic!

“You currently are, and you won’t stop being a single great disappointment.”, he finished, breaking through her mental defenses. She flinched, realizing he was right. She... had lost. She had been abandoned by her partner, her best friend was fighting her and she was... too weak to save him. Useless.

”You had your fun, Sentiquill.”, Hawkmoth’s voice commented. “Now take her miraculous.”

His champion nodded, but didn’t seem as if he had quite enough yet.

”Anything else you want to fail at?”, he asked her gleefully. “Keeping your identity secret, for example?” He laughed when she lowered her head.

“Come on, tell us who you really are, beneath all that false glamor!”

“I’m...”, her voice began, part of her still trying to resist. “I-I am... Ma-“

A loud clang startled her and Sentiquill’s sword was knocked out of his hand by a flash of silver. He jumped back in surprise and looked at the object that had hit him: a silver staff, clearly belonging to a certain Cat. But Chat was buried beneath tons of debris! Who had...?

She looked around and her eyes, blurry with unshed tears, focused on a splotch of yellow on the metal walkway. Was that... Chloé?

“Hey, Leanne!”, the reckless girl yelled and flung her hair over her shoulder. “Stop being such an obnoxious bastard and get away from the Lady!”

She grinned, propping her chin up on one hand and giving him her most judgmental glare.

“You’re acting utterly ridiculous.”

An angry snarl came from Sentiquill as he picked up his sword and jumped up to the walkway, cornering her. Chloé didn’t even look at him, instead leaned over the handrail to wave at her in excitement.

“Hey, Ladybug”, she greeted without a care in the world. “It’s me, Chloé! Did you see that throw?! Just miraculous, wasn’t it?”

Sentiquill towered behind her like an angry bull, but she only spared him an annoyed glance.

“Oh shoo, get away from me with that ugly hat! Who designed your outfit?! It looks like a toddler made it!”

The violet outline returned to his face.

“Stab her, now!”, Hawkmoth shrieked, having temporarily forgotten about Ladybug. Not that it was of much use to her. She was beaten and on the ground. There was no way she’d get up now. She was a failure, a lost cause.

And so she could only watch as Sentiquill raised his sword and hit Chloé with the nib of the hilt.

“If that isn’t a whole lot of dark thoughts you have. Care to share them, Bourgeois?”

Chloé contorted her face in pain, but didn’t flinch when the inky swirls rose around her.

“I don’t know how to act around the others, after all that I’ve done.”, she admitted openly, with no sign of being forced to. “I don’t want to disappoint Ladybug, and I certainly don’t want to become like my mom. But i can’t apologize either, I don’t know how. And I hate feeling vulnerable like that; to be at the mercy of other’s judgement.”

Sentiquill scoffed, ready to fill her with his poisonous words as he had with Ladybug.

“It’s in vain, Chloé, and you know it. You already are just as horrible and worthless as your mother, and Ladybug is fully aware of that. That’s why she took away your Miraculous for good.”

Ladybug knows what came next; she was experiencing it herself, after all. The doubt, the pain, the horrible knowledge to be useless.

But Chloé surprised her. Instead of crumbling under his scorching glare, she looked him straight in the eye, chin up and back straightened.

“I don’t believe you.”, she declared confidently. “I know my worth. You’ve all already seen me at my worst, and I’ve dealt with Hawkmoth and Mayura at the same day. Your ridiculous power doesn’t impress me, Felix.”

Sentiquill let go of her, visibly taken aback. It took him a moment before he could collect himself.

“Pah.”, he played her resistance off. “Your confidence is admirable, for someone this...”

He trailed off. His gaze had wandered behind Chloé and downwards, where Marinette’s earlier ink prison stood. Ladybug gulped. Now that he was on the walkway, in an elevated position, he could look right inside the cylindrical cell.

“Empty...”, he whispered, his hands clenching to fists. Then he pounced, landing right on the walls to check every angle. “Empty! Where is she? Where is Marinette?!”

He looked around, eyes rabid with fury, searching for the rest of the class.

“Who of you took her?! TELL ME!”

Ladybug flinched as she watched him slice the prison into shards of dried ink, his angry roar echoing off the walls of the yard.

“Don’t get distracted!”, Hawkmoth tried to command. “Give me Ladybug’s Miraculous, now!”

“Shut up! Where is Marinette?!”, Sentiquill yelled back, his sword hacking at bare stones now. He caught sight of Nino, hidden beneath the stairs, who was filming everything with his phone. He growled and stomped towards him, but before he could even take two steps, a flash of purple covered his hand and he screamed in pain. What had happened? Was Hawkmoth punishing him?

She didn’t have time to ponder. In the meantime, Chloé had managed to run down the stairs and shout orders at the rest of the class, before dashing over to Ladybug. The fallen heroine groaned in pain when she was picked up and pulled to the side of the yard.

“Come on, Ladybug!”, Chloé muttered, panting under the weight of her idol. “You gotta kick his ass! Get up already!”

Ladybug closed her eyes, resigned.

“I can’t.”, she whispered. “I’m sorry! I’ve disappointed you. I... can’t.”

Chloé pouted, hands on her hips.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you can!”

She shook her head. Useless, worthless, abandoned.

“Okay, I’ll definitely feel bad about this later.”, Chloé sighed. Then she slapped her - hard!

“Ow!”, she yelled and sat up straight. “What the-“

”Stop the nonsense right there, Ladybug! Look at me, I’m still on my feet as well. If I can fight him, you can do it too!”

”But...”, she protested, still halfway under the spell. “I failed! I’m alone and... I failed.”

Exasperated, Chloé rolled her eyes.

“You haven’t failed yet, and you’re not alone. Look!”

She gestured at the yard, where her classmates had come out of hiding. Some were armed with brooms or mops, Markov flew around clutching a wrench twice his size while Max was carrying an unconscious Rose to safety. Kim had Alix on his shoulders, who held a spray can in each hand and looked ready to bite her way through to Sentiquill. Next to them was Nino, rotating his headphones like a lasso - or like her yo-yo! And was that a knife in Sabrina’s hand?! Where had that come from?!

Chloé flipped back her ponytail, obviously proud.

“We’re all with you. Now get up or my knees will get dusty.”

Ladybug smiled as the last bit of darkness faded from her. It felt like breathing after being underwater for too long.

“We can’t have that, now, can we?”, she chuckled and stood up. “Thanks, Chloé. You did great!”

The blonde blushed and swatted her hand through the air.

“A-alright, alright, I know I’m awesome. Do your thing!”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Now that she was free of Sentiquill’s influence, he would get his ass handed to him on a silver platter!

“Lucky Charm!”, Ladybug yelled and threw her yo-yo, only to catch a long, rectangular box.

“Aluminum foil?”, she wondered when she opened it. How would that help her?

She looked around. Her eyes fell on Ivan and Kim, on Alix’ skaters, then on a table next to the hole Chat Noirs cataclysm had caused. It was missing two legs thanks to the crumbled wall, but maybe...? She looked to the other side, then to Chloé in front of her.

Handrail. Nino’s phone case. Sunlight. Sabrina on the walkway. Quill. Chloé’s sunglasses. Aluminum foil!

“Yes!”, she cheered, then pulled Chloé closer. “I need your help! And your sunglasses!”

The blonde all but sparked with excitement.

“Aye, Aye, Ladybug!”

“Sentiquill!”, Ladybug called her opponent, who had only recently recovered from Hawkmoth’s punishment. Since then, he’d been busy defending himself from all kinds of objects that were hurled at him from a safe distance. Whenever he tried to attack one of the students, the others would step in with even more things to throw. They were no match for his sword, of course - it simply sliced through the stones and metals with ease - but it had slowed him down, irritated him. Now however, her preparations were complete. It was time to bring Sentiquill down and get her Felix back!

“Time to end this!”

“Finally something we can agree on!”, he snapped back, quill at the ready. She smiled grimly and put on the sunglasses, then went in for the attack. She was lighter on her feet, this time, her steps elevated by the knowledge her friends had her back. She dove underneath the first blow and jabbed at his face, but he dodged and jumped back a little. They danced around each other in a dangerous game of a fight, a competition to see who would show weakness first. He didn’t notice she was maneuvering him closer and closer to the stairway.

“Now!”, she gave the signal when she had him where she wanted. Sabrina nodded and raised her hand, Nino’s phone case in her hand. It was wrapped in Aluminum foil and reflected the sun like a mirror, blinding the fighters below. Well, one of them, at least. Chloé’s sunglasses allowed Ladybug to get the upper hand and she dealt a rapid series of blows and kicks to his torso. Enraged, Sentiquill blindly slashed in the direction of Sabrina, shooting ink at her. A grave mistake! Chloé pulled her friend out of the way in time, and now Sentiquill had left his sword hand wide open. With all her weight Ladybug threw herself against him and hurled him forwards, until his sword slipped between two bars of the stair’s handrail.

“What the-“, Sentiquill begun but never finished. He had caught sight of his impeding doom in form of three students and a table with roller blades.

“Here I come!”, Alix announced from on top of the table, which had its two remaining front legs tugged in her skates. Behind her, Ivan and Kim high-fived before giving the improvised battering ram a strong shove. It scooted down the stairs towards the exposed broadside of the Akuma’s quill.

“Razzle Dazzle!”, Alix cheered when the table crashed into the metal, shattering it in two.

Sentiquill sank to the ground as his power was drained from him and the corrupted butterfly broke free of his quill’s shards. Triumphant, Ladybug opened her yo-yo.

“Enough evil doing for you today, little Akuma. Time to de-evilize!”

She spun around herself to gather momentum, then threw her yo-yo and let it snap shut around the troublesome akuma.

“Gotcha! Bye bye little butterfly.”

Relieved, she released the purified butterfly into the sky, then she held her hand out towards Nino. Sabrina had returned his phone to him, and now he happily removed the Aluminum wrap from its case.

“That was a close one, dudette!”

She sighed and weighed the balled foil in her hand.

“It really was. Miraculous Ladybug!”

Pink and red lights flashed over the sky, then swirled around the school. Broken doors and windows repaired themselves, ink stains vanished from the walls. The hole in the ground was closed by the Cure as well, just like the adjacent wall. The door towards the other classroom opened and Nathaniel and Mylène came out, followed by a cured Alya and their teacher. Juleka flung her arms around Rose’s neck, who nearly cried into her black shirt. Everyone was unharmed again. Well... almost everyone.

Ladybug stepped next to Sentiquill the moment the purple smoke around him faded, turning him back into Felix.

“What... What happened?”, he asked confused, holding his head. His eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. “Where’s Marinette?!”

“Don’t worry.”, she calmed him, hiding her euphoria at having him back behind a soothing smile. “She’s alright. How are you feeling?”

He blinked, looking at the repaired pen in his hand.

“I’m... fine, I think. Why does Sabrina have a knife?”

Ladybug’s smile turned forced.

“I‘m afraid to ask, if I’m being honest.”

A floor further down, Adrien beat the dust out of his clothes and rubbed his freshly healed jaw. Miraculous Ladybug had closed the gaping hole above his head only seconds before his transformation ran out, keeping his identity a secret once again. That aside, this akuma attack had been a single disaster.

“I can’t believe it”, he muttered. “She just left me lying down here! I was hurt and bleeding, and Ladybug doesn’t even come to look after me.”

He groaned.

“This day is a catastrophe! I almost had her admitting she needs me, and then everything went south! That stunt with my Cataclysm? Lord, that was so embarrassing! A rookie mistake; I was looking like an idiot. Do you think she’s still mad at me, Plagg?”

Only silence answered him and he turned to search for his Kwami.

“Plagg?”

The tiny creature floated motionless in front of him, eyes hard as granit and his face absolutely expressionless. Adrien shrank under his burning gaze.

“Look, I know I should have intervened earlier.”, he tried to appease him. Plagg’s expression was creeping him out. “But I already got my punishment, didn’t I? Ladybug exposed Lila, and now school is going to be so much drama. Lesson learned.”

His Kwami was still silent. Slowly Adrien started to get nervous. Sweat was forming on his forehead and he was going for a shifting of blame before he fully realized it.

“It’s not like it was all my fault, you know?”, he desperately tried to fill the quietness. “If Ladybug hadn’t slapped me the last time, we wouldn’t have gotten into this mess!”

His words sounded eerily close to what he’d said about Marinette earlier, he noticed.

“I just wanted her to learn how to treat her partner better! I’ll be nicer next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”, a commanding voice behind him declared. “And you are in no position to teach Ladybug a single thing.”

Adrien whirled around, raising his hand.

“Claws out!”, he yelled before remembering Plagg hadn’t eaten yet. There would be no transformation any time soon. Realizing his defenselessness, he swallowed and looked at the figure that had ambushed him. As if on cue, it stepped out of the shadows, revealing...

“Master Fu?”

Adrien almost fainted in relieve.

“Oh god, you gave me the scare of my life! What’s the matter? Any new potions to deliver?”

The guardian didn’t blink. Instead he raised his hand, expectantly.

“You have forsaken your partner. You have willfully sacrificed a civilian in order to punish Ladybug. You have abused your powers by choosing inaction for the sake of revenge.”

Adrien gulped when Fu came closer.

“I cannot risk Ladybugs safety anymore. Give me your Miraculous, boy.”

“What?!”, he spluttered, covering the ring with his other hand. “No! You don’t even know the whole story, it was nothing like that!”

Fu’s eyes narrowed.

“I won’t ask again.”

“But I am Chat Noir! Ladybug and I are meant to be together- to be a team! You can’t take that from us!”

He searched for his Kwami, desperate.

“Tell him, Plagg! I was just helping Ladybug grow to be the bigger person! It’s not like there’s any permanent damage anyway.”

The cat Kwami closed his eyes and breathed out. When he opened them again, there was no compassion in them.

“I’m sorry, Kiddo.”

Adrien had no time to react. Fu’s cane had jabbed at him out of nothing, swatting his hand into the air. His ring slipped of his finger and was caught on the wooden staff, just when Plagg began to blur and merge with it again.

Adrien stumbled back in shock, before fury took control of him. How dare he?!

“No!”

With a battle cry he went after Fu, fists clenched and ready to get his ring back by any means necessary.

He was taller than Fu, younger and quicker. The senile guardian wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

“Shelter!”, a voice to his right exclaimed and a green, solid barrier slammed into his side. Adrien yelped when he was thrown against a pipe and fell to the ground, breath knocked out of his lungs. He panted for air and looked up.

A tiny green creature floated next to Fu, hands raised to summon what he knew as Carapace’s superpower. Wayzz, the turtle Kwami, Plagg had mentioned once.

Adrien’s eyes widened. He might’ve had a chance to win against Fu, but a Kwami was another topic. Without his Miraculous, he stood no chance.

“Please!”, he resorted to begging, tears welling up in his eyes. “I need it! There’s nothing I can do as Adrien, I’ll be trapped at home forever! What will Ladybug be without me?”

Fu turned his back on him without hesitation, walking towards the stairs.

“Better off, I hope.”, he retorted coldly. “I regret your situation, but I can’t afford to waste Plagg’s powers on someone out of pity.”

He stopped.

“Adrien Agreste, you were granted the Miraculous of Destruction, a great honor. But you abused this privilege for selfish gains and tormented the one you were meant to protect. You will never again be worthy of its powers.”

He sighed when Adrien let out a helpless sob.

“I hope you can grow beyond what you are now, I really do. But until then... Farewell.”

With that, he disappeared into the shadows of the cellar, leaving Adrien behind.

#miramu writes #wttb #welcome to the back #felinette fanfic #ml felix #sentiquill #akuma!felix

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puppywritings · 5 years

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torn

pairing: lee jeno x male reader x na jaemin word count: 2534 description: when you, a new trainee at sm entertainment, capture the interest of both jeno and jaemin, you find yourself torn between them. requested by: anonymous masterlist

First and foremost, the reason you moved to Korea and auditioned for SM Entertainment was to follow your dreams; to sing and dance, as you had always loved to, and to bring joy to as many people as possible through art. When you received the news of your acceptance, the things weighing on your mind mainly consisted of excitement to improve and learn, and anxiety about the pressures of being a trainee. However, there was something else tugging at your heart, excitement and anxiety all rolled into one: the prospect that you would likely bump into the members of NCT.

NCT were your favourite musicians, your role models. You had been following them since their debut, and you wouldn’t dispute the notion that you were their number one fan. In particular, the Dream unit had caught your eye from the beginning, due in part to the fact that you were around the same age as the members. You had, to put it lightly, completely fallen in love with the group. They were your main inspiration for moving to Korea and pursuing a career as an idol, and you could hardly fathom the idea that you would be training and working in the very same building as them.

Of course, you worked hard to stop them from consuming your thoughts entirely. You had more significant things to busy your mind with; working on your vocals, taking care of your body, getting to know your fellow trainees. In fact, you were so preoccupied in your training that you sometimes went a whole day without thinking about the members of NCT. Wondering how far away they were, whether they were just a few rooms away, whether they had passed in the corridor and heard you singing, whether you might see them in the cafeteria later. You knew you would become very busy, but you never could’ve predicted these levels of intensity. You were definitely up to the challenge, though. The mental and physical stimulation left you shining, and you could feel yourself grow.

Though you felt wonderful, to an outside eye it would certainly look like you were pushing yourself too hard. You stayed in the practice room for hours after everybody else had left, and most days you were the first to arrive too. Dancing alone as the clock crawled towards midnight, it was only natural that you would gather a little bit of attention from people passing through. Inevitable though it may have been, you weren’t any less shocked when you spun around mid-practice to find that somebody had stepped inside the room. The fact that the figure was none other than Lee Jeno only intensified your bewilderment.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised with wide eyes. “I knocked but you didn’t hear me.”

“Right,” you panted, your eyes darting around the room. “The music... it was loud.” You were already sweating from the exertion but you felt it had increased tenfold. Jeno was here. In the same room as you. Speaking to you. He had seen you dance.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asked you, a slight frown on his lips. You were unsure whether to read this as curiosity or concern, but you tried not to dwell on it. You’d had the biggest crush on Jeno for years, and at this point in your career, you didn’t need it to intensify and interfere with your training.

You cleared your throat, hoping he couldn’t sense your anxiety. And, beyond that, hoping your appearance wasn’t too sweaty and unappealing. You pointedly avoided turning to the mirror behind you; you didn’t need your self-consciousness to rise. “I just wanted to get some extra practice,” you explained.

“I don’t think you need it,” Jeno told you sincerely. “You’re doing really good. I was watching you for a while... I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh! Um. No, that’s okay.” Every ounce of your energy went into preventing yourself from exploding on the spot. You knew that your cheeks must be burning - you could hardly even believe you were in this situation. “My name is Y/N, by the way.”

He walked forwards, extending his hand which you shook gently, almost flinching at the thought of him having to make contact with your sweat-coated palms. “Jeno,” he returned.

“I know,” you responded instantly, before cursing yourself. Was that a creepy thing to say? You really hoped you hadn’t made anything awkward.

Jeno only chuckled. “Right.” Daring to look up at his face, you saw his signature smile and crinkled eyes. You could’ve melted on the spot. He continued to speak, saving you from forcing out a response. You were thankful - you genuinely didn’t think you could utter a word. Lee Jeno was less than a foot away from you. “You should go home and rest soon,” he advised you. “Exhaustion won’t do you any good.”

You nodded, your heart swelling. Jeno didn’t even know you, yet he spoke with such care. That was just his nature, you knew. He had immense kindness within his heart.

“I’ll see you around,” he said with a smile before departing. You waved, which was all you could manage. As soon as you heard his footsteps retreat, you collapsed against the wall, sinking down to the floor. That was far too much excitement for your heart.

The following morning, as had become routine at that point, you were present in the practice room long before any of your fellow trainees. Most of them were currently either rousing from their sleep or tucking into their breakfasts. You, on the other hand, had risen whilst it was still dark outside, and had abandoned breakfast in favour of a speedier option; a protein shake and a granola bar.

You were yet to begin your actual practice yet, and were still performing some stretches when you heard a knock on the door. As you turned, the door was being pushed open, and you were surprised to find that Jeno had paid you a second visit.

“Jeno!” you exclaimed, your heart beginning to pound right away. “Hi.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you with the smile that had never failed to melt your heart. “I had a feeling you’d be here early.”

“Oh yeah?” You gave him a wobbly smile, trying not to give away the way your mind raced at the implication that he’d been thinking about you.

He confirmed with a nod. “You seem like the type to overwork yourself.” If he weren’t Lee Jeno, you would’ve rolled your eyes at this. “Anyways,” he continued, “I have a spare frappucino if you want one.” He lifted the tray of drinks in his hand.

"Oh! Sure.” Jeno had bought you a frappucino. Was your life even real at this point? No, you tried to rationalise. He just happened to have a spare one, and you just happened to be there. He probably would’ve given it to the first person he saw.

Jeno took a seat on the floor, placing the tray down in front of him and taking out one of the drinks. As he slurped his drink loudly, he motioned for you to join him. Breaking out of your trance, you quickly complied.

“So, what’re you doing here so early?” you tried to make conversation. You were immensely thankful that he had arrived before you had the chance to get all sweaty and gross. You’d hate Jeno’s only impression of you to be dirty and tired.

“I have some things I’m working on,” he answered vaguely, leaving you wondering about all of the possibilities. Though you were incredibly busy, you were still keeping yourself up to date on NCT’s activities. Jeno went on with a frown, “I was supposed to be meeting Jaemin, but he hasn’t shown up.”

You accepted his answer with a nod. “Thanks for the drink.” You were incredibly grateful. Though the nearest Starbucks was just around the corner, you couldn’t say you frequented it, merely because it was so much more convenient to visit the cafeteria in the building.

You were startled suddenly, almost jumping out of your skin when the door flung open and a voice called out, “Hey! We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago!” Looking up, you saw Jaemin stood before you, and you hoped to death nobody had heard the squeak you emitted.

“Oh,” Jaemin spoke seconds later, directed towards you rather than Jeno this time. “I didn’t see you there. I’m Jaemin.”

“This is Y/N,” Jeno spoke before you could. “I just stopped by to see him before we met. I must’ve lost track of time.” With the earnest look in his eyes, you didn’t know if it was possible for anybody to be annoyed at him.

“Hi,” you smiled nervously at Jaemin. Starstruck as you were upon being introduced to Jaemin, thoughts still ran through your head. Jeno had lied, right? He had told you Jaemin hadn’t shown up, yet he was the only who had missed their meeting time - and he had done so to spend time with you.

“You gave him my Starbucks?” grumbled Jaemin, looking betrayed. Jeno simply shrugged in response, completely void of regret.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised quickly, feeling rather panicked. “I didn’t know it was yours. I can pay you back for it, if you want me to?”

Jaemin dismissed your offer with a wave of his hand. He turned to you with a smile, rather different from the irritated demeanour he carried just moments previously. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind buying drinks for cute boys.”

Your choking splutters at this sudden compliment was drowned out by Jeno’s defensive “You never buy me drinks!” and you were incredibly thankful. They bickered for a few moments before Jeno turned to you.

“I guess I’d better go, Y/N,” he told you with a sigh. He extended his arm, patting your knee twice before standing.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Jaemin waved. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” you returned weakly as the boys departed together.

Surely you were imagining things. Surely Jeno and Jaemin hadn’t just been flirting with you. You threw yourself into your practice. If you let your mind remain idle, you knew you would get stuck in these thoughts, which definitely wouldn’t do you any good.

***

You did your very best to ignore the attention that the other trainees threw your way in the following weeks. It was understandable, you had to admit. The quiet, rather withdrawn trainee who doesn’t seem to do very much other than work, suddenly seemed to be friends with Jeno and Jaemin, two members of one of Korea’s most popular idol groups. You were bombarded with questions: When did you become friends with them, how did you guys get so close, what on earth is going on between the three of you? Honestly, you wish you had the answers.

Everything had happened so fast. After your initial meetings with the boys, you found yourself running into them quite frequently, and it rarely felt like a coincidence. Soon enough you had exchanged numbers with them, you were eating lunch with them most days, and even spent time with them at their dorm. It was thrilling, especially at the beginning of your friendship with the boys. You began to grow less starstruck as you got to know the boys and grew more comfortable around them, though.

One thing you had noted was that you seldom seemed to spend time with only one of them. If you made plans with Jaemin, you would happen to run into Jeno while you were out. If you made plans with Jeno, you happened to get a message from Jaemin, asking to make plans at the exact same time. One thing you were consistent with was relentlessly pushing away fantasies that tried to run riot in your mind. Of course, it was utterly ridiculous that Jeno and Jaemin were both crushing on you, and were fighting for your affections. It was difficult to quell these thoughts, though, as this seemed to be exactly what was happening.

***

It had taken a lot of persuasive effort on Jeno and Jaemin’s part before you agreed to spend the night at Jeno and Jaemin’s dorm. Not only were you incredibly busy, but you were also sick of the other trainees pointing and whispering. You theorised that they had noticed the heart eyes that the two boys were constantly sending your way. It was growing difficult to miss. You still enjoyed their company, though. It went without saying that you were crushing on them both.

The night wouldn’t be anything special, just a casual night. You would watch some movies, and eat takeout. Nonetheless, your excitement had been increasing all throughout the day while you anticipated it. This feeling remained all the way into the evening, when you were sat between Jeno and Jaemin, nestled under a blanket. Jaemin had chosen the movie. A horror film, one you hadn’t seen before. You had to admit, you were being rather brave.

“Just hold my hand if you get scared, Y/N,” Jaemin advised you, puffing his chest.

“Or you could hold my hand,” Jeno offered. “I’ve been told I have very nice hands.”

Jaemin shook his head. “I’m sure he’d rather hold my hand.”

“I don’t know,” Jeno rebutted. “I think he’d enjoy holding my hand.”

“Well-”

“Listen,” you interrupted with a sigh, “There’s something going on here. Right?” You weren’t met with a response, only sheepish looks from both Jaemin and Jeno. You put your head in your hands with a groan. “Can we just talk about this?” Your voice was muffled.

“We both really like you, Y/N,” Jaemin spoke, and you lifted your head.

“I figured,” you mumbled with a nod. “You don’t have to act like children, though. I’m not a toy. You can’t fight over me like this.”

“You’re right,” Jeno sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Jaemin apologised.

The three of you sat in silence for a few moments, while you built yourself up to speak. “I like you both too. I’m not going to choose between you or anything. I like it when it’s the three of us, and I don’t want to sacrifice the bond we all have.”

“So, we just pretend this conversation never happened?” Jaemin suggested.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to. Like I said, I really like you both.”

Jaemin shook his head. “I don’t know where we can go from here, Y/N.”

“I don’t know if any of us can really have a relationship right now,” Jeno spoke up. “Because of our careers.”

“Then maybe we just see where things go,” you proposed. “No labels. Just the three of us, hanging out.”

There was quiet while the boys considered your words. “That sounds okay to me,” Jeno agreed, while Jaemin nodded alongside him.

“Great,” you beamed. You turned to your left, pressing a kiss to Jeno’s cheek, before going to your right and kissing Jaemin’s temple. “Now, can we finish the movie? I need to see how it ends.” Jeno hit the play button, and Jaemin took hold of your hand. You were feeling pretty damn lucky.

#jeno #jaemin #nomin #nct #nct dream #nct imagines #kpop imagines #nct x male reader #jeno x male reader #jaemin x male reader #nomin x male reader #kpop lgbt #kpop mlm #kpop scenarios #kpop requests

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do-what-the-knight-tells-you · 4 years

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Blood is Rare (and Sweet like Cherry Wine): 8/8

Short Ficlets in a Witcher!AU for Sterek Valentines week

Beginning: tumblr / Ao3

(also, this one has a readmore cuz it got a lot longer than the other installments. whoops. sort of.)

For valentine’s, a bit late, First Kiss

(also I had a prettier twilight-on-river shot initially, but i figure the misty element probs matches the witcher show tone better. I’ll throw the pretty one on the end.)

7- Destroy with a Sweet Kiss

The fight goes sideways.

Derek was not supposed to be there, was supposed to be safely away, but the kikimore they’d been tracking had clearly turned and decided to track them, and it had caught them. Derek got out of the way fast, hauling on Roscoe’s reins to keep her clear of the fight while Stiles engaged, and slapped her into a short run once he thought they were unlikely to attract the attention of the embattled pair.

Stiles was holding his own, but twilight was falling, and the monster clearly had better vision (and more limbs). Derek knew Stiles had a potion he normally took to improve his vision during the hunt, but he hadn’t had a chance and, though Derek had seen a hand go for that pouch several times, it looked like he might not get one. Not seeing a better option, and not able to stand there and watch the person he loved be dragged into death, one small gash at a time, Derek got a stupid idea.

He picked his way around to the opposite side of the fight from where Roscoe had run off, collecting moderate sized stones on his way. Once on the other side, and with his eyes on his escape route, a clear path and large tree, much taller than the kikimore, Derek began to lob his projectiles at the monster.

By the third rock, it worked, Derek saw it lose focus and begin looking for him, saw Stiles get a hand into his pocket in the gathering dark… and realized he needed to make a run for it.

He tried.

Even as fast as he could be when he really made the effort, Derek was not fast enough, and not experienced enough still, clearly, to know better.

The creature caught him in midair, just as he was leaping for the lowest branches of his chosen tree. Derek had one profound moment to recognize the impact and change of trajectory, to wonder why there was force but no pain, before he hit another tree, and knew no more.

The next thing Derek was aware of was wetness on his face, and pain in his ribs, back, his whole torso. He tried to draw breath and it caught and he coughed, white-hot agony coursed through him.

He opened his eyes. Stiles was staring at him.

“You- you’re alive? How…”

Derek forced himself to look, to acknowledge the fucking tree branch protruding from his miserably destroyed doublet, grimaced and tried to get his breathing under control enough to say something, anything.

“Get. It out.”

Stiles looked so sad.

“Derek. It’s, you’ll bleed to death. If I pull it… you’re going to… there’s no way…”

Derek shook his head, coughing and spitting blood once more.

“Won’t” he managed to grind out.

Stiles just shook his head mutely.

Derek reached out with one hand, limply grasped a shoulder piece on the Witcher’s armor.

“Please.”

Stiles looked so resigned, so regretful. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if drawing strength. Opened them with determination.

“Are you sure? I mean there’s no… you’re not going to survive this either way, but… there’s maybe time…”

Derek shook his head, grabbed Stiles weakly with both hands, and tried to pull himself off the spike of wood.

Stiles made a noise almost like a sob, partially drowned out by Derek’s deep grunt of pain, slid his hand up Derek’s back, braced the other on the tree, and pulled.

With a sickening sucking sensation and sound, Derek came free, nearly passing out again in the immediate blood loss Stiles had known was coming, but Stiles, despite clearly believing it was futile, clearly believing he was witnessing his friend’s last moments, still did his best to apply pressure to the hole in Derek’s chest cavity. Derek clung to consciousness by his finger tips, focused on breathing.

Several minutes passed, and though the Witcher was still stooped with agony and grief, Derek cradled in his lap… Stiles’ look of desolation began to be edged out by confusion, and then, with the realization that the blood pool had stopped expanding, and Derek still wasn’t dead yet… maybe even a little hope?

After twenty minutes, twenty minutes of lying in Stiles’ lap, trying to figure a way out of the coming conversation and failing, Derek finally decided he was patched enough to talk without tearing something open.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles gaped.

“Am I? Am I okay? You ass. You utter… how are you alive??”

Derek offered a little smile.

“Destiny?”

“Shut the fuck up. You are so full of shit, you… seriously. How. What… what are you?”

And it was Derek’s turn to look away. All this time, and he still didn’t know how to say it, but it looked like his time was up.

“You, do you,” he paused, cleared his throat, and sucked it up. “When we first met, do you remember. The song?”

The witcher paused.

“Bisclarvet. The lai of Bisclarvet.”

Derek nodded, waiting for it to sink in, knowing he was probably healed enough to sit up, being completely unwilling to.

“You’re…” Derek could practically see the wheels turning. “You’re a werewolf.”

Derek forced himself to nod in a way that did not betray how badly he wished he could run. He turned his head at least, not wanting to see the moment his friend’s surprise turned to anger at the lies, hatred of what Derek was. Had always been.

He was surprised a moment later, when Stiles touched his face, gently, turned him back so there was no hiding.

“You can’t… I don’t know how you hid that from me all this time. I can usually…”

Derek smiled, a tiny bitter thing.

“I’m not just fastidious by nature.” It was mild, but the herbs he added to his personal oils and soaps had natural scent-suppressive properties. A decent enough feature in products meant to keep one smelling fresher and cleaner than one was, and as long as he didn’t do anything to enhanced that part of his scent, transform, or anything… “And I’ve a charm.”

Stiles frowned, touching his witcher pendant, “I would know…” his eyes went distant. “It’s on Filivandrel’s Lute, isn’t it?”

Derek nodded. He had figured, correctly it appeared, that the elf lord’s instrument was magical enough that Derek’s little notice-me-not charm would, indeed, be overlooked in the general swell of enchantment.

Stiles looked back at him, and Derek could quite clearly see the hurt in those normally guarded golden eyes. There was a song in that somewhere…

“Why… did you never… do you have that low opinion of me, that you would think I’d, I’d find out and could ever…”

Not really, but Derek couldn’t, it was a risk he could never… He sighed. Stiles had earned the whole story, many times over, and if he chose to depart Derek’s company after, then that was more than understandable.

Derek took a deep breath, and was distracted coughing again. Stiles, now fairly confident Derek was not about to die, propped Derek up against the faithful tree, whistled Roscoe back, and was offering Derek a water skin by the time he could breath again.

Fairly sure all his internal organs were intact, Derek drank greedily, realizing suddenly how desperate he was to replace all the fluid he’d lost.

Stiles sat in a sad silence until he’d drained the water completely, and then held out a compressed cake of nuts, fruit and honey, which Derek gratefully accepted.

Finally, Derek could put it off no longer.

He told him. He told him about falling out of trees as a child, about long golden afternoons on his family’s estate, rolling and frolicking, and being so happy and alive in their skins, he and all his siblings, safe in the knowledge that nothing could ever harm them, that no one would ever cross their mother.

He told him about the growing political tensions as he grew, and the thread of instability that crept into the pack when his uncle left, the fights he was not supposed to hear… and the woman in town to whom he went when it all became too much.

Derek forced himself to tell Stiles of his great mistake, how foolish he’d been, and what a price had been paid, by everyone but him, half the pack dead, their secrets aired to the world, their target hung neatly in the hunter halls for any newcomer to try to make his mark.

How, when he was old enough, he did what his remaining family could not bring themselves to ask him to do.

He left.

He’d always been drawn to music, had a good ear for it, liked the way performance and composition could let him forget sometimes, take him out of himself… he joined a bardic college, and didn’t go home.

He told stiles about his plan, his sorry little dream, his hope that, between the coin he sent home, and the sympathetic and nuanced portrayal of folk like himself he tried to spread, he could begin to pay back the damage he’d done, in his youth and arrogance.

His surprise to meet stiles, but the instant knowledge that this was it, this was how he made that difference, this was how he learned what could nt be found in books of men, and how he reached the far reaches of the known country.

Derek faltered a little, Stiles’ face betrayed nothing once again, and Derek decided enough damage he likely already been done. He took a swig from the new skin Stiles had passed him partway through the tale, and went for broke.

“And, I know that sounds like I only valued you for what you could do for me professionally, and it may have started out that way, but it hasn’t been like that for a long time. For a long time now, I’ve… And I know I’ve no right to ask for, for forgiveness or understanding, but I want you to know, that you are… you are everything. You have so much integrity, you’re kind and generous, and funny and brave, and, and beautiful, lords, and if I could ask one boon of the universe, it would be to be always by your side, in whatever capacity you would have me. I lo-”

And Stiles lunged forward, and kissed him.

It was not a gentle kiss, but Stiles was still clearly using every bit of his Witcher strength not to press upon any of Derek’s so recently knitted flesh, and Derek, as his brain finally caught up with his mouth (okay, he had a limited supply of blood to work with at the moment), decided his did not give a shit about guilt, or pain, or whatever, and he was going to take what was on offer, apparently. Goddamnit. He mustered his strength, and shoved back at Stiles, taking one moment to appreciate the look of surprise on the Witcher’s face as he fell on his ass, before following him down, claiming his mouth again, and laying them both out on the rocky ground.

—

Eventually the pain, and thirst was enough that they had to come up for air. Also Derek found he could only ignore the putrid mess of kikimore stuck to Stiles’ outfit for so long. Also, did he mention, really needed to be having a greater blood volume than he had if he wanted to be taking things much further. It took little persuasion, though a deal more coordination than Derek was prepared for, to get them both stripped and in a river (thank all gods it wasn’t winter).

Derek himself had drunk about half his weight (and made stiles go back for the rest of the honey cakes and jerky), by the time he deemed them both clean enough to not foul their fresh(ish) clothes and bedding, and began to make his way out of the water, when Stiles pulled him back. Derek would have been all for some swimming hanky-panky in other circumstances (his self-imposed celibacy/punishment on the circuit had not, in fact, diminished his libido, or increased his modesty a bit), but he really was still a little too light-headed to be sure of his ability to stay upright on the slick rocks for anything more than they’d already been up to… but the look on stiles face wasn’t lustful. There was a hunger there, Derek thought, but… oh.

Stiles was gently tracing the fresh pink skin on Derek’s torso.

“I had wondered,” the witcher began, swallowed, began again, “I had noticed that you had no scars to speak of. Your being genteel was not a surprise, though I had also wondered why, for as much as you play, your hands were still soft.” There was wonder in Stiles’ voice, as he traced the shape of Derek’s light musculature, traced the slight protrusion of collar bones, up his neck, finally across his face. Derek closed his eyes instinctively, as Stiles’ rough fingertips, only slightly softened in the water, glided across cheekbones and eyelids, thumbs joining a moment later to smooth the length of Derek’s brows. There was a long pause, and Derek let his eyes flutter open again, surprised, as ever, by the way the witcher practically glowed in moonlight.

“Show me?” Stiles whispered, and Derek knew what he meant. And for the first time in decades, it was easy, first to let the blue bleed into his eyes, and then to let the rest of the beta shift flow over him.

Stiles gasped a little, but didn’t pull away. His hands resumed the soft caress, and Derek had never felt so whole, complete, and seen, in his entire life.

fin

End notes:

Who knows, we could come back to this, I feel there’s still a lack of witcher/werewolf sex, which can’t help but be good (mutual scent kiink anyone? Also neither having to hold back, because they are well matched in physical strength/durability. But also also probs some real tender lovin’ at some point, probs at least once when stiles truly processes the idea that he might have found a partner whose lifespan could match his own holy shit he might not have to bury Derek). But also, I felt like Derek needed some sleep first, and didn’t want to start a new section. So that’s it for now!

Bits that didn’t make it in:

Stiles being grumpy over the idea of spoiled, genteel werewolves. Derek coming to their defense, explaining that Laura and Cora, his two surviving siblings, were actually much more, uh, physically inclined than he was, Laura training to be the next alpha, presumably, and Cora, a knight, in service to a bit of a warrior queen (lydia, absolutely).

Stiles insisting that derek needed:

1. Fighting clothes

2. To learn how to fight properly. Like, stiles was not intended to subject him to the worst of the hunts, but the showing derek had put up with the kikimore was pitiful, and even a werewolf probs couldn’t survive being beheaded or eaten, so. Self-defense at least.

Eventually, Stiles helps Derek decide to go home again. Cue teary reunions, forgiveness, and maybe Derek getting called out on having found his mate and not telling anyone. Including, oops, well, now the witcher knows. XD

[Masterlist]

#sterek #teen wolf #sterek ficlet #sterekvalentineweek2020 #my stuff

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threadsketchier · 5 years

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Whumptober #17 - “Stay with me”

Some of y’all may remember my old Melodramatic Space Trash™, I’ll Come With You. I took it down a few years back after getting epically stuck and then growing displeased with it overall. It’s in Princess Bride “mostly dead” territory, but...only mostly dead. After I wrote “A Hard Question” I decided that if ICWY were to keep existing I stubbornly wanted to connect them by having AHQ become the prologue of ICWY, and just bridge everything with my Zahn 2.0 series. But I digress.

For those of you thinking WTF is this story, ICWY is a “I LOL’ed & then I srs’ed” take on “Shattered Ties” by Jedi_Lover. AKA, Mara suffers irreversible amnesia of the events of Vison of the Future and is stuck with a dubious Force bond that’s not all rainbows and sunshine to deal with. Because, taken seriously, this plot is arguably a disservice to Mara in saddling her with more mental issues for sake of Luke’s manpain, I wanted to take more consideration on the consequences for her in any future revision. BUT I DIGRESS. This is the opening of Chapter 1, which has only had minor tweaks from its original version to make it fit with the new prologue. The first several paragraphs consisted of direct quotes from VotF in order to dovetail the story from there, so there’s a bit of that snipped here. Note the difference in Luke’s catchphrase for attempting to wake Mara carried over from AHQ.

He was standing in a pool just off the edge of the last of the underground rivers he and Mara had passed during their trip through the caverns. Five meters to his left, the torrent that had brought them here had vanished, leaving only the river rippling its sedate way along.

And two meters to his right, bobbing gently in the pool as she floated beside the craggy rock, was Mara. Her eyes closed, her arms and legs limp. As if in death. The precise image he'd seen of her in that Jedi vision on Tierfon.

And then he was at her side, raising her head out of the water, gazing at her face in sudden fear. If the trance hadn't kept her alive – if she'd struck something hard enough to kill her after he'd lost his grip on her –

Behind him, R2 whistled impatiently. “Right,” Luke agreed, cutting off his sudden panic. All he had to do to bring her out of it was speak the key phrase she'd chosen, the phrase she'd wondered aloud if he could handle. Almost as if she was afraid he couldn't…

He took a deep breath. “Come with me.”

There was no response.

A sickening dread began to clench his gut. Forcing calm into his voice, he repeated himself, a tremor still escaping him as he enunciated each word more clearly. “Come with me, Mara.” An almost manic hope that perhaps this was just a fiendish little trick of hers skittered across the back of his mind. Perhaps she had heard him all along and was only pretending, trying to scare the wits out of him for old times' sake. But he knew it wasn't true even as the thought crossed; however brief it was, the disorientation upon emergence from a trance wouldn't have allowed her to pull it off.

Only the quiet rush of the river answered him. Mara lay still and flaccid, eyes closed and mouth slack, a blue tinge to her lips.

“No.” The denial left him in a moan. “Mara, no. Please.” Echoing slightly off the cavern walls, R2's anxious fluting joined his exclamations and went ignored. Despair made his grasp on the Force as slippery as the sodden rock around him, and he crushed it down until it coalesced into a near-physical pain deep within his chest. He needed his senses now more than ever, to find if–

Instantly Luke was hefting her up and struggling his way out of the pool toward the nearest surface where he could lay her flat. She was not gone. Not yet. But she was near the edge and fading fast, her heart locked in either v-fib or a faint spasm of pulseless electrical activity. He didn't know if her lungs were waterlogged, but it was irrelevant at the moment. How many minutes had she already been in this state?

As it had been with the sentinel droids, his entire focus was narrowed to this one desperate task: to revive her, somehow. Fear, fury, and even expectations had to be cast aside as he began vigorous compressions. He could not fight the will of the Force, but he would fight as long as he still had her, even if only by a thread.

“Artoo!” he shouted, splitting his concentration just long enough to seize him in a mental grip and lift him over the water and terrain. “Get your arc welder out. I'm gonna need a charge.” More elaborate ideas were quickly dismissed in favor of the simplest solution. With the extra power packs, R2 likely still carried enough energy to spare at least one, possibly two, jolts strong enough to attempt defibrillation, although the effort would drain it significantly. A monophasic electrical impulse was not ideal, requiring more power and risking serious burns, but there was no other choice. The fact that they were all drenched just made it that much more dangerous. There were so many factors that he could not control without having a medpac's auto-defib for diagnostic measurements and adjustments.

All he could do was listen for the songbirds, to tell him how much and when.

“You ready?” At R2's affirmative chirp and the whir of his arc welder extending, Luke paused compressions for only a moment to gather a fistful of the charred fabric around Mara's shoulder and tear it violently to expose enough bare skin for the tip of the appendage to rest near her heart. The incurable gallantry within him, in a bittersweet way, was relieved that there was no need to fully expose her. Despite her usual crassness and pragmatism, this was not the way he would have ever wanted to see her, the last of her dignity literally ripped away.

“You need to press down hard, Artoo. Now juice it up, and I'll tell you when to shoot, okay?”

Beneath his hands he felt something give way with a soft pop, and strangled down sharp regret at having either broken cartilage or bone. It was almost inevitable with crude manual resuscitation.

Be careful.

Always, Farmboy.

But he hadn’t been careful enough. He’d come here to protect her, hoping to save her. But the harder he tried to prevent his visions, the more inevitable they seemed.

R2 blurted readiness, and Luke plunged into the Force, pleading for that precious guidance. Electrons gathered until…

“Now!” He pushed himself backwards, completely away from Mara and any residual water around her, and the astromech shot current straight into her. He watched her body twitch from the shock. Wheeping urgent queries, R2 leaned back to lift the welder off of her. Luke reached for her neck, but the tension had not cleared from his mind; it hadn't worked. To his horror, he noticed her arms starting to curl up and her fingers gnarling in decorticate posturing, an ominous sign of brain damage.

Gritting his teeth, he resumed compressions. “Again, Artoo. We have to try again. Same thing.” The droid's reply was blatantly nervous; it certainly wasn't accustomed to delivering what, in any other situation, would be harmful toward a non-hostile organic being. Astromechs weren't medical droids, no matter how heavily modified.

If it failed a second time, other options were far less viable. His bionic hand wouldn't contain enough power for that kind of discharge, and releasing energy from the few other electronic items they had left would either be inadequate or potentially deadly. Even after years of study, he knew he did not quite have the same deep, fine biological control that an instinctive healer such as Cilghal possessed. His own body was a living battery, but he had never attempted a Force technique for making any use of it that wouldn't involve Sith lightning, not to mention that he stood the chance of killing himself with such a wild endeavor. After everything they'd been through and divulged to one another, Mara would sooner prefer to die than see him call upon the darkness as a solution to save her.

He would have to let her go.

You've defeated my clone, you've slain a mad Dark Jedi, you've braved vornskrs, you've prevented Thrawn's rebirth, you've spat in the face of death a dozen, a hundred times. Fight back, Mara. Fight back for us.

Again R2's welder came down on Mara's chest. “Go!” he cried, and held his breath.

She convulsed a little harder than before. This time R2 rolled backwards, knowing a third try was beyond its capacity. Electrons dispersed haphazardly, depolarizing wayward cells, and for a split second her heart and his world were still.

Then he felt nerves fire in return, and it might as well have been the ignition of a new star.

Springing forward, Luke sealed his lips against hers and sighed out his pent-up conviction into her lungs, half the battle won. That's it, Mara. Come on. You're almost there. He breathed for her until he felt her diaphragm hitch, and sour water suddenly shot into his own mouth before he could detach; he rolled her onto her side as she gagged and coughed weakly. Her pulse was rapid and thready at first, but gaining strength. Hot pressure built up behind his eyes and a sob of relief escaped him.

“You did it, Artoo.” There had been many times, Luke mused, when his faithful droid had been worth double its weight in platinum, and this was one more of them. No, truly, R2 had no price.

Mara was breathing but not regaining consciousness; her eyes remained half-lidded and rolled back in their sockets. Luke refocused his senses on her to try to discern any injuries she might have suffered from their brutal journey through the lake's drainage that had caused the hibernation trance to fail. He shuddered to consider that it was his fault, that he had not done a thorough job in slowing down her functions and she had nearly drowned from his own hasty negligence. He'd been so certain that it was effective when she'd gone to sleep in his arms.

Across her head, however, he picked up a glaring area of inflammation, and it soon became clear that she had indeed collided with something on the way. It didn't lessen the pangs of guilt. If only he'd managed to hang onto her the entire way…

He would have needed a greater level of consciousness, enough that he would have run out of oxygen sooner and drowned himself. Or even slammed into the same spot she had, and neither of them would have survived. He could perfectly picture her chiding him once more about uncontrollable factors.

“Mara,” Luke whispered, still afraid but now suffused with hope, “we're getting out of here. Hang on.” The words were more for his own encouragement, for he knew she couldn't hear him. He bent and brushed his lips against hers before carefully lifting her again, and set his concentration on healing her as he began to follow the river's path out of the caverns.

#i lived bitch #i mean the fic not just mara lol #whumptober2019 #no.17 #my fics #star wars #luke skywalker #mara jade #r2d2 #ICWY #zahn 2.0

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vannahfanfics · 5 years

Text

An Understanding Part II

Before you read, here’s Part I!

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

Characters: Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye

“Yes. What a shame that would be,” Roy agreed as he smirked at her and grabbed the wine bottle by the neck. Riza felt her lips curl into the tiniest of smiles as she rose from the chair to walk over to one of her cabinet drawers, pulling it open to rifle through the contents in search of a cork remover. She retrieved the small device and tossed it over to the waiting man, who deftly caught it and began working away at the cork while Riza crossed the kitchen to grab two wine glasses from a nearby cabinet. She frowned when she realized she had placed them in the back of the top shelf, a consequence of not drinking wine too terribly often. She sighed under her breath and stood up on her tip-toes, pushing glasses aside as she struggled to reach the pair of glasses in the back of the cabinet. She unconsciously placed the hand of her injured arm onto the counter and out her weight on it, and immediately a spasm of pain wracked her entire side. She dropped down onto the flats of her feet, clenching her teeth as she waited for the fiery pain to subside.

“You really are determined to re-open that wound, aren’t you?” came a small sigh from behind her. She went red as she realized that Roy was standing close behind her, so close in fact that he brushed against her as he reached up above her head to easily retrieve the two wine glasses from the back of the cabinet. He seemed unperturbed at the proximity, however. “Really. You could have just asked for help,” he tutted, the wine glasses clinking in his hand as he shut the cabinet door and glanced down at her. Riza pursed her lips slightly and looked away, mostly so he could not see her blushing.

“I’m not used to having a gunshot wound, you know. I just wasn’t thinking about it,” she huffed and grabbed the wine glasses out of his hand. He raided an eyebrow at her as she pushed past him to return to the table and fill the wine glasses. She glanced over her shoulder, pausing to push her loose blonde hair behind her ear. “Well? Are you going to just stand there?” She frowned at him. He was staring at her funny, but before she could ask, he regained his normal, stoic composure and crossed the small room to join her at the table. Riza eased herself down into the chair and brought the wine glass to her lips, staring thoughtfully out the window at the night sky as she sipped at the alcohol. She couldn’t help but smile when she remembered the fact that Roy bought it especially for her, even keeping in mind what her favorite brand was.

“I wonder how the Elric brothers are doing,” he cut in suddenly, and she turned back to him to find him staring down into the contents of the wine glass, swirling the same liquid around with a slightly sad look.

“They’re tough boys,” Riza remarked as she leaned back into the chair. “I’m sure they’re doing quite well. They’re determined to get their bodies back.” She paused for a moment, cocking her head to the side slightly as a smile came to her lips. “I wonder what they would think about you sitting here worrying about them,” she mused, and he looked up at her in mild irritation.

“I’m not worried,” he snorted, but his defensiveness was a perfect indicator for otherwise. “I know they’re tough. They’re also reckless and attract trouble, so I just-"

“Worry?” She laughed and sipped playfully at the wine. She had caught him in the lie, and he just glared at her for a second before throwing up a hand in defeat and taking a long drink of the wine. She chuckled softly. As much as he hated it, she could read him like a book; he couldn’t get anything past her. Though he would never admit it, especially to Edward Elric, he cared about the young boys far more than a superior should. How could he not? They had come upon them after such a terrible, horrible incident, at their very lowest. Children should not suffer that way, she thought as she gazed thoughtfully at Roy. Though he was ready to employ them as child soldiers, he knows this.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Roy asked gruffly as he grabbed the wine bottle to pour himself another glass. Riza flushed pink, mildly embarrassed to have been caught staring.

“I was just thinking, that’s all,” she answered evasively as she finished off her glass. Roy motioned for her to hold it out, and he poured another healthy dose of the alcohol into it. He just sniffed disdainfully at her answer before sipping at the wine again, leaning back on two legs of the chair as he glanced out of the window.

“… You know who was fun to drink with back in the day?” he smiled. “Hughes.”

“Mm. You and him would sit in the tents getting drunk on bourbon and whiskey, and the like,” she recalled with a small nod. “And Armstrong would scold you for it when he caught you, and then you would all get into a squabble and trash half the camp,” she added with a chuckle after Roy’s expression turned from nostalgic to uncomfortable.

“Were we really that rowdy?” he frowned as he scratched the back of his head. Riza looked down into the wine, swishing it a little as images of the old days in the war danced in the dark, reddish-purple depths. You'd all drink the pain away, she thought sadly. But it was never enough. Those scars won’t ever fade, no matter how much you try to drown them. She peered up at Roy through her eyelashes. It had been during the war that she had fallen in love with him, and sworn to protect him with her life. And here we are. I’m injured, and he’s here babysitting me, she thought with a slight pang of shame. She hastily downed the rest of the wine and refilled her glass, trying desperately to shut out such negative thoughts. “What are you thinking about now?” Roy asked her abruptly with a smirk, and she blinked at him in confusion. “You were staring at me again. Or this time, was it just my rugged good looks?” he joked.

“Please,” she snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. The wine is going to your head already.” Roy laughed at that, and she couldn’t help but smile. She liked him best when he was like this, without his inhibitions and the propriety of military conversations, free to laugh and smile. He laughed for a minute or two before sighing contentedly and rocking back and forth in the chair, staring out into space as he pondered whatever was on his mind.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” he admitted quietly. He ran a hair through his midnight-black hair, and Riza blinked at him as she set the wine glass down on the table. “All I think about is work. Even when I’m at home,” he frowned and tapped his temple sadly. She couldn’t blame him. In their line of work, they say the worst things, the scum of humanity- and the border between them and those kind was blurry. They saw and did the kinds of things that weighed heavily on people's shoulders. Even a proud, capable man like Roy Mustang would feel the pressure at the end of the day, when he was alone with his thoughts.

“Changing the world isn’t an easy thing,” she remarked casually, leaning forward and resting her arm on the table. She was consciously aware that their hands were separated by a few centimeters. “It's a little easier when you have good friends, though,” she added with a small smile. Perhaps the alcohol made her bold, but she reached out and gently enclosed his hand with hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Roy looked down at their joined hands, quiet. Thinking she may have made him uncomfortable, she attempted to retreat, but found that he tightened his grip and would not let her pull away. After a few tense seconds, he reluctantly relinquished his hold and allowed her to pull her hand back down to her lap. She regretted it slightly as she felt his warmth fade, and Roy said nothing, only downed the rest of the glass and poured himself another. Together, they had already worked their way through half of the bottle.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he smiled after a second, and she was relieved to see that he looked more at ease now. I want to help him in any way I can, she thought happily.

Suddenly, they both jumped as they heard the rapid skittering of paws on the wooden floor, and they turned toward the entryway just in time to see a very excited Black Hayate running towards then with a rapidly wagging tail and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He bypassed Riza and bee-lined for Roy, jumping up into his lap and licking his face happily. Riza couldn’t help but snort with laughter at the comical scene of the serious man attempting to combat the dog's shower of affections.

“Black Hayate, down,” she commanded after a fit of giggles, and rose to her feet. As she did so, however, she felt the entire world lurch under her feet, and she grabbed onto the chair for support. Suddenly, she felt dizzy, and breathless. What? I can take much more alcohol than that. What’s wrong with me? She thought in slight panic.

“I think that’s enough wine for tonight,” Roy frowned, and ceased trying to be gentle with the dog. He pushed him roughly off of him and stood up quickly as Riza wobbled unsteadily over to the counter, fumbling for a glass to try and get herself some water in the hopes it would sober her up. Roy caught her groping hand, making her stop to look up at him. He has that worried look on his face again, she realized. Like when he was looking at my wound…

“I-I don’t get it,” she stammered as she turned around to lean against the counter while Roy fetched her a glass of water.

“You lost a good amount of blood,” he noted as he gently wrapped her hands securely around a cup of water. She brought it to her mouth to find that her hands were shaking violently. “The wine may have brought on a fit of something like anemia,” he hypothesized with a frown. Riza said nothing, only tried to gulp down the water without spilling it all over herself. Black Hayate whined as he paced around her feet and butted her legs with his head. As she drank the water, she felt the dizziness subside slightly, but she suddenly felt exhausted and weak.

“Ah… Thanks… Well, I ruined a fun time,” she mused with a strained smile. In truth, she was quite upset for two reasons; one, she hated to be seen as weak, especially in front of Roy, and two, she didn’t want the night to end quite yet. Her body had other plans, however, and as she tried to straighten up she wobbled precariously and grabbed onto the closest thing to her for support- which happened to be Roy.

He blinked down at her as her hand gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly, and she leaned against his broad chest. As soon as she realized what she had done, she hastily retreated to the safety of the counter, trying her best not to turn red. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Ugh. Look at me. I’m a mess. Is this how a Lieutenant should act? She thought in frustration. “I had better get to bed. You can let yourself out, right?” She told him without meeting his gaze, turning her back to him to begin shuffling across the room, leaning against the counter and eventually the kitchen wall to guide her. Black Hayate padded along beside her, offering a steadying bump whenever she stumbled.

Suddenly, her feet gave out from under her, and she found herself being held snugly in Roy's arms. “Wh-what the hell are you doing?” She cried in alarm, attempting to get down.

“Hold still, will you?” he whined down at her, seemingly completely unperturbed as he began carrying the woman across the house. Riza was forced to shut her mouth and resign herself to the awkward situation, and she groaned slightly as she settled into his arms. She was painfully aware of his muscles beneath his shirt. I am shameless, she thought guiltily. Roy said nothing as he bore her to the bedroom, pausing to flip on the light before carrying her over to the bed and gently lowering her onto the mattress. He leaned over her for a second, the sighed deeply. “You don’t have to put on a front, you know. It’s okay to rely on me sometimes,” he added after a moment, not meeting her eyes. Roy… she thought as her heart fluttered slightly. He smiled slightly up at her, that cocky little smile she loved. Does he know the things he does to me? She thought as she stared straight-faced down at him, but her heart was pounding. Their faces were close. Definitely close enough to kiss. She could, if she wanted to; unconsciously, she was leaning forward, all her will bent on him.

Then Black Hayate jumped on the bed and knocked her onto her back.

“Ow… I’m fine. I’m fine!” she groaned as she dog licked her face excessively, and after a minute of her batting lightly at his face, he settled down and curled up at the foot of the bed. Riza didn’t even bother to sit up, just laid there on her back as she regretted that the situation hadn’t come to pass and scolded herself for even attempted it. Roy cleared his throat, and she turned her head to look up at him.

“Well. I’ll let myself out,” he said tersely, and as he turned his back to her, before she could stop herself her hand shot out to grab the hem of his shirt.

“Stay,” she blurted. He looked over his shoulder at her, and expression of surprise on his face. “You said I could rely on you, right?” She continued quietly. “So stay.” I don’t want to be without you tonight. Perhaps she was needy for that, or the alcohol had gone straight to her head, but right now she wanted nothing more than his presence beside her. She tightened her grip on the hem of his shirt, and he stared down at her for a moment before turning his face to the door. He then sighed deeply and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay,” he agreed and clapped his hands together awkwardly. She could see the tenseness in his body disappear, though, as he walked around the side of the bed to flop down on the mattress beside her. “Probably shouldn’t be walking home drunk anyway,” he chuckled as he reached down to scratch Black Hayate’s head. Roy wasn’t even close to being inebriated, she knew that, but still she was grateful for him trying to make her feel less guilty for burdening him with her own weakness. He laced his fingers together and rested them on his stomach as Riza sat up to reach above her head and pull the light switch on the overhead fan. As she laid back down, Roy threw the comforter over her, and she gratefully pulled the blanket around herself while he contented himself with the bedsheet. Black Hayate wriggled his way between them, as if proclaiming himself as a barrier; still, knowing Roy was close enough to reach out and touch made her heart race. “Hey,” he murmured, and she felt him shift onto his side and could feel him staring at her in the dark.

“What?” She asked quietly, not wanting to speak too loud in case her voice shook.

“Promise me you won’t get hurt again,” he murmured. Riza took a small breath, then smiled coyly.

“I can’t promise that, sir,” she responded with a breathy chuckle. “I can’t help it when you get yourself into trouble all the time. It’s like looking after a third Elric,” she teased, but the jokes were only to cover up her trembling hands and racing heart. Roy was silent for a second, and then he huffed and rolled onto his other side.

“Jeez. No need to insult me,” he complained loudly, but she could hear the teasing in his voice. “… Fine then. Then promise me that you'll rely on me more?” he asked her, his voice low. Riza smiled as her eyes drifted closed, and she nodded slowly.

“That I can do, sir,” she answered as his hand slipped through the blankets to hold hers.

That I can do.

Maybe they weren’t vocal about their feelings, but they knew they were there. She could feel all the words left unspoken as he held her hand in silence, and a deep understanding settled between them as they lay their side by side. Someday, I’ll tell you, and you’ll tell me. For now, there’s too much to be done, she promised him as she felt his breathing settle into a slow and steady rhythm. One day, when you set wrongs right, and finally achieve your dream.

I’ll be there, right by your side, until that day. You can rely on me.

Just like I can rely on you, Roy.

A smile formed on her face as she drifted off to sleep, lulled by the warmth of the man beside her.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#fullmetal alchemist #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #romance #fluff #cutesy #oneshot #oneshot collection #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #royai #royza #hawkstang #rizaxroy #royxriza #riza hawkeye #roy mustang

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starkovsnesta · 5 years

Text

Darling, I'm with you (a bellarke one shot)

Hey everyone, this is my first work for @bellarkebingo.

It's set after s6, when Clarke comes back in her body, and it is a little angst(cause, of course, I can't write happy things)

Hope you enjoy it!

Read it on ao3.

***

We fell asleep to escape from the sun

And we woke up to the sound of a storm outside

-I'm with you, Vance joy

It still didn't feel real.

Laying on one of the ship's cabin, Clarke kept staring at the ceiling.

She knew she was exhausted, Josephine had refused to sleep for a long time, but she just couldn't manage to fall asleep.

Sleeping should have been a release, a solace. But to her, it was a cage.

She had been forced to face her fears, her sins, and now that she had seen them all, now that she had acknowledged her deepest demons, ones that she had kept away from her own mind for too long, she was just too tired of monsters.

She knew she would have seen them all again, once she had closed her eyes.

Panic flawed inside her. She touched her chest with one hand, trying to control her breathing.

In with the nose, out with mouth.

It had been her mantra for a long time, now. She knew her friends, or the ones that she could once call friends, thought she was cold and insensitive, always ready to do what others couldn't.

She knew she had grown the ability to keep her emotions aside, to rely just on rationality, and it was everything but easy.

As much as she hated it, Clarke was still a person. She had feelings, emotions, she had fears and hope and dreams, sometimes. She felt.

More than she wanted to.

She tried to deny some emotions to herself. But she just couldn't.

And in that moment, alone on her bed, trying to gain control on her brain, she just felt helpless.

A few tears escaped her eyes.

She had been lonely for most of her life. Even on the Ark, besides her parents, the only person who had loved her and accepted her for who she was, with all of her flaws, was Wells. And she had lost him, twice.

Clarke had always known that the only person she could rely on was herself, but she wasn't able to trust her own mind lately. Or even worse, she was scared of it. What could she do? There was no escape. She couldn't run away, although she wanted to.

Wherever she went, her demons would have followed. It had always been like that. But this time, she was just too tired to fight them.

She thought of Madi.

She had failed her, too.

She had promised to protect her, to give her the life she couldn't have, to make her happy.

But what she actually did was throwing her to war, giving her the responsibilities and fears that a child should never have.

She had ruined her.

Wherever you go, death follows.

Some other tears had fallen from her eyes.

Even though she was back in her own body, Clarke felt lost.

She knew she had chosen to bare all this pain. I bare it, so they don't have to.

But what was the point?

She thought of her friends, of their surprised and relieved faces when she came back.

She thought of Miller, Emori, even Echo, slightly smiling. She thought of Murphy's guilty face, his eyes staring at her with a mixture of challenge and regret.

She thought of Raven's watery eyes, her mouth still spitting out bitter words, but this time the insults had come out trembling.

Clarke would have thought a hint of affection was in them, but she didn't dare to hope.

And then she thought of Bellamy.

He was there was she returned.

The first thing she had seen when she had opened her eyes, when she had realized she could see and hear and touch things again, was his worried face.

His eyes full of insecurity, his mouth trembling with fear.

What was he afraid of? That she was never coming back?

Without even realizing she was doing it, Clarke had touched Bellamy's cheek, just to make sure he was really there.

"Bell" she had whispered helplessly.

His name on her mouth sounded like a cry for help. She was reaching to him, like she was drowning in deep waters.

It was like that little word had given him some sort of impulse, because he inmediately locked her in his arms.

The feeling was so relieving, that Clarke started sobbing. All the fear she had kept away to save herself washed over her, and she couldn't control it anymore.

With every sob, Bellamy's caresses on her hair felt lighter, more delicate than the previous ones.

It had reminded her of six years ago, when he had comforted her right before the end of the world.

This time was different, though, because he was crying too.

She could feel the wetness of his cheeks against the back of her neck.

The only sound she could hear, after her desperate sobs, was her name on Bellamy's mouth.

"Clarke" he had repeated over and over again, each time more consciously than the other, as he was realizing, like her, that she was really there.

She closed her eyes, still trying to gain control, and she thought of Bellamy saying her name, again and again.

She thought of his soft lips against her shoulder, of his hands on her hair.

Right before she fell asleep, she could have sworn she heard the sound of his heartbeat against hers, like he was lying next to her.

***

She woke up gasping, in desperate need for air. She felt her cheeks wet, she must have cried in her sleep. Clarke brought a hand to her neck. Her throat was aching, it burnt like she had been screaming for hours.

She knew what she would have seen in her dreams, there was no way to escape them. The images were so vivid in her head that she wondered if she was still trapped in her mind.

It was hard to understand what was real.

She closed her eyes, trying to gain some control.

She had dreamt of Madi, her body covered in blood and her eyes a storm of rage, strong enough to destroy a planet.

She had seen her with a sword, her grip so stable and her posture so confident that she looked like she was meant to war all along. That last part was probably true, Clarke thought.

She had tried to avoid that, but she had failed.

And her failure had ruined Madi's life. She had lost her innocence, her joy, her curiosity. How could have she done that to her own daughter?

In her dreams, Madi looked right at her, spitting bitter words to her face.

"Wanheda" she had called her. Commander of death.

That word alone was enough to send a chill down her spine. Every time she had heard that word, it was full of disgust, of despise.

But Madi had told it with a toneless voice, like the word didn't scare her.

"I knew you would have come for me." she kept saying.

Clarke had took a step towards her, but Madi still looked so far away from her.

"Madi, I would never hurt you" she had said in her dream.

But her daughter just looked at her, a grin on her face, and told the words she would have never wanted to hear from her.

"Did you expect to protect me from the world, Clarke? Did you really think you could do that?" she laughed bitterly, and Clarke felt like somebody was stabbing her in the chest.

"You could never have given me the life I deserve, Wanheda. I was doomed the moment you found me in the woods."

A few tears escaped Clarke's eyes. She knew it had been just a nightmare, but deep down she thought those words were true.

What had she done?

How could have she expected to love Madi without causing her any harm?

She started sobbing loudly, incapable to control herself. Not that she cared about anyone hearing her, anyway.

The sound of her cry was loud in the silence of the night. With every sob, a small part of her crumbled.

The door of the cabin cracked open.

Instinctively, Clarke started to clean her face from the tears. She stopped when she saw who was standing right in front of her.

In the weak light of the room, Bellamy looked more tired than ever. His face was worryingly pale.

He walked to her slowly, as if scared she would have pushed him away.

She felt her heart tighten up in her chest.

After all those years, he still didn't know how much he mattered to her.

She helplessly watched him sit on the bed beside her, and a small sigh left her mouth.

She smiled tiredly when she said "I'm sorry for the noise. I didn't mean to bother anyone"

Bellamy stared at her, scrutinizing her face as if he was in front of a mystery nobody had ever solved.

He took her hand in his, holding it tight.

"Don't worry, princess." he whispered "you didn't wake anyone. I barely heard you."

A small smile brightened his face.

Relief washed over her. She was happy he was there with her, trying to make her smile.

The burden in her chest slightly lightened.

But it still hurt.

Bellamy must have noticed the resigned look on her face, cause he moved closer to her.

"Clarke" he said, his voice slightly trembling "it was just a dream".

A little laugh escaped her mouth.

"Sometimes, I wish it was all a dream. I wish anything I saw was real." she took a small pause after this last sentence "I wish I wasn't real".

She closed her eyes, her body still aching for sleep. How long had she been asleep? A few hours?

"What time is it?" she weakly asked, her eyes still closed.

"The last time I checked, it was 4 a.m"

Although he had said it with a humorous voice, she could feel worry wash over him.

His eyes were still studying her.

He was probably afraid she could have started crying again. Honestly, she was afraid, too.

Bellamy had already had problems by trying to rescue her. She didn't want to make things worse for him.

"Why were you awake so early? Couldn't sleep?" she tried to change the focus from herself.

"I couldn't." she heard him answer "I had to make sure you were fine"

If the words weren't enough to make her heart lose a beat, his serious tone certainly was.

She opened her eyes, looking at him.

"You mean" she started, not sure what to say "you were behind my door all the time?"

Her surprised tone made him laugh, his cheeks assuming a timid shade of red.

Clarke couldn't help but analyze him.

She had always found him beautiful, like an ancient creature of the earth, some of those mythological figures he seemed to love so much.

She had always been scared to draw him, afraid some of his beauty would have gone away because of her hands.

In that moment, she wished she had her pencils.

"I didn't have anything better to do" he merely answered.

They stayed like that for a while.

Side by side on Clarke's bad, their hands still locked together.

Each of them looking for words to say, but neither of them daring to break the silence that seemed to create a calm atmosphere around them.

"It was Madi" Clarke heard herself say. The words escaping her mouth without her consent.

She didn't have to explain what she meant, because Bellamy already had an aware look on his face.

She took a breath, and started telling him about her nightmare.

Repeating the words she had heard Madi say was painful, but somehow she managed to let everything out without breaking down into an ugly cry.

Maybe it was because of her need to talk with somebody.

Or, maybe, it was Bellamy's firm and steady grip on her hand, that somehow kept her from fading away.

When she finished talking, she just stared blankly in front of her, not expecting an answer.

Bellamy's words came from the distance.

"I'm sorry" he said, his voice breaking on the last word. "I should have been there. For you. For Madi. I'm sorry, I let you down."

A small tear escaped his eyes.

Every word he had spoke were soaked with guilt. Typical Bellamy, Clarke thought, always beating himself for not doing enough for the people he loved.

An electrifying feeling crept through her at the thought she belonged to that category in Bellamy's life.

She smiled at him, even though he wasn't facing her anymore.

She hadn't thought what losing her meant to Bellamy. A part of her hoped he would come rescue her from her personal hell, but she had pushed that hope away in order to save herself. She knew it was unfair to expect him to give up to his friends, his family's safety in order to save her life. He had already lost her once and managed to survive anyway.

But even though she kept repeating those words to herself, she still waited for him to take her away from that place, to save her one more time.

And that little, weak, almost invisible beam of hope was enough to keep her alive.

"Bell" she called for him, like she had done many times before.

She wished she was good with words. She wished she could let her feelings out easily, like he did.

There were just too many things to be told.

After all they had been through, after all the loss and the pain, she thought he deserved to know.

But instead of revealing feelings she had tried to keep away from him, and from herself, for so long, she asked "Will you sleep with me?"

The question lingered in the silence for some minutes.

The surprise in his face made her blush a little. Before she could deny her offer, he nodded, his smile still slightly open.

She laid down on her bed, its softness so comforting she let out a sight without wanting.

She felt exhausted. Her tired eyes were slowly leading her to sleep.

Before going back to the darkness, she saw Bellamy smiling reassuringly at her. His eyes bright in the weak light.

Their bodies separated only by their hands, still locked together.

A warm feeling washed over her, and this time, she felt more brave when she faced her mind.

#bellarkebingo #bellarke fan fiction #angst #I really miss these two idiots #heart! Bellamy is the best Bellamy

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vanaera · 6 years

Text

Your Side of the Bed

Synopsis | Hoseok will bask in the crumpled sheets of your bed until you learn to erase your past’s name on the duvet and replace it with his. It’s been long since the sheets were changed. He’s got a better one, a much warmer one and he hopes you could see the permanence laced in its every thread.

Genre | slight angst, fluff

Wordcount | 1,749

Play Your Side of the Bed by Loote

Have you ever felt happy in something that you’re not supposed to want?

The eight o’ clock daylight seeps through your blinds, stirring Hoseok from his sleep with an answer on the tip of his tongue. The question has long loomed over his head for some time now, the answer clear to him everytime he has to assure himself of his stand in your life. But today was too early and what he can only do is look at you - hair a mess, bare face, tired body engulfed in the sheets by his side. Hoseok smiles and tucks the few stray strands of your hair behind your ear. The steady rise and fall of your chest makes him reminisce the steady pounding of last night’s rain.

The clouds weren’t gray that evening; a darkish cerulean even, yet the rain was heavy, dropping on the pavement like thunderous claps, hitting the hood of his car in a clangorous downpour. But to him, it was ironically mellifluous – to find beauty and calm in tragedy and noise. It shouldn’t even be therapeutic to him. He liked it in a kind of a pathological extent. And the same goes for you. He turns his head to look at you picking at the bits of the worn rubber on the handle by your side. He refuses to have another image of you leaving so he speaks up, “Have you ever liked something that is quite mismatched?”

The pale peach of your lips curve a little. Your wine red lipstick he knew you always liked has long served its purpose. The hour ago was intimate, having you straddled on his lap to “just kiss,” peppering his jaw in butterfly kisses and breathy wonders of “I really like the way your lips feel on mine.” Your lips are satin on his heated skin and wasted no time reciprocating the intensity you paced, devouring your mewls and moans with the plush of his chapped lips. But what he liked most was the aftermath, the scene after the onslaught of his affection on you – tousled hair, smeared lipstick, and trying to catch the breath you lost because of him. Toning down your aggressiveness, balancing out your edges with his softer ones, he thinks you’re pretty in peach. Well, you’re pretty everyday. It’s just the way you looked now that only he is privileged to see, was stupefyingly beautiful.

Your voice makes him divert his eyes from the plush of your lips toward your eyes. You let out an amused laugh, “Stop staring at me,” and Hoseok giggles. Grinning wide, you answer his question, “I don’t know, maybe some of your parts.”

"Why just parts of me?“ He chuckles, quickly drowning the bitterness that unexpectedly dropped in the pit of his stomach.

You look at the gray ceiling of his car, pondering on thoughts warring in your head. You always tend to think too much and Hoseok knows this ever since he’s been by your side in high school. Until now when you’re living the rest of your prime years as adult-like the both of you could be. He’s still wishing you could let some of them bother his mind too, so you won’t need to always endure the mess your thoughts create. Someday, if you’d let him, he’d always gladly do so.

He watches you clear your throat, body angling to your side to completely fill his view of you. You lean, body facing towards him just in time he did the same. “You make me…feel happy. Sometimes,” you quickly add, “Especially when I need to. Yeah, you do that to me.“

Legs crossed on the leather of the passenger seat, your fingers twiddling the frayed ends of your plum-dyed hair. He’s only a few inches away from you, fingers aching to tuck those strands behind your ear. But he’s not in that place…yet. He keeps his hand on the wheel and focusses on the monotonous symphony of the wipers for his beaten-up car and beaten-up heart.

It’s only hopeless because he knows there are weaknesses that will weigh down on your back until you’re on your knees. He just chose the wrong time to give in. “Why sometimes?”

Especially when you are his weakness.

"Hmm?“

Hands leaving the wheel, he leans on the side of his locked door, fully facing you. It’s no use to refuse when temptation and desire has always been in his reach. "I said, why sometimes? Don’t I make you happy always?”

You only look at his imploring eyes, snickering before you tore them to settle on the fogged glass of the window. “I’m happy, Hoseok, I really am. It’s just-”

"Him?"

You pause before affirming, "…yeah."

And someone else happened to be your weakness. Someone who left you for another woman. It was two years ago, why are you still holding on your pointless hope like a naïve child? Hoseok clenches his fist, nails digging crescents in his palms. He wishes he could also do those impressions on your mind just to wake you to your senses, but he can’t do so. He loves you and he can’t hurt you that bad. He can only say something that has been established true from the start. “You know he’s not coming back, right?”

"I know, I just-“

"Wait?” He faces you one more time; you’re still looking outside. “You know you’ve been doing that for a very long time.” Waiting for nothing, refusing to look at him - he meant both of these but he doubts if you could actually notice them. Your eyes had been long blinded by the scraps of his so-called love.

“I know.”

The prolonged silence suffocates the air conditioning inside the confines of his car. He revs up the engine and pushed his foot on the pedal. He talks about his yesterday’s dance class and you animatedly joined him with another misadventure in your office. He’s always been good in diversion.

By the time the downpour has receded into a shower, Hoseok has already pulled the vehicle in front of your apartment. You beckoned him to stay for the night, just like always, and he finds himself stumbling inside the threshold of your home.

But last night was different, and he could assure that because he felt it too.

You didn’t ask him to make you forget, to erase him from your mind, to make love to you. It was the first for the countless nights you invited him to fill the empty space of the bed on your side. It has always been lonely to keep a large fraction by your side empty and cold. For the years that has passed before you met him and after he left, Hoseok has been trying to tell you that your bed is not designed to just hold two lovers engaged in physical passion. For overnight tornados of desire and lust cannot warm up a frozen heart when it could easily leave wreckage and ruins that may lacerate the fragile organ.

Hoseok admits to his faults - he’s given in too many times to your pleas, a hipocrisy in act when he’s trying to keep you away from the toxic waters but is willing to toe them until he’s knee-deep if you ask him to - an excuse to touch you, a motive for him to love you. His Achilles’ heel you truly are.

"Can you just…lie by my side? You don’t have to do anything, I just-“

"Need someone to fill his space?” Hoseok didn’t mean for it to sound so bitter before he could think about what he spewed.

But it’s not what’s on your mind. “No, I just need you to be by my side.”

Hoseok was astounded and can only nod.

That night, he curled to your side and pulled you close to him, the warmth emanating from his chest lulling you to sleep. In the thin line of consciousness and sleep as he closed his eyes, Hoseok felt you tug his hand draped on your waist to lay them on top of yours. One, two, three - you enclosed your fingers and locked his hand with yours. Like what lovers do. Like what he usually dreamt of doing with you. And while the night is dead, Hoseok pressed a loving kiss on your hairline.

The indigo dips and creases on your bed are now cream and white and Hoseok looks at you snuggled deep in your sheets. Loving you may hurt but it’s not enough to drive him away. You turn to your side, facing him, and still asleep. Looking at you with peace unusually painted on your un-creased brows and parted mouth, the porch of your chest vulnerable and opened wide, Hoseok decides to drape himself onto you, to embrace and inhale the scent of you with his hands wound around you like the lover who’s capable to hold his love in his arms. He can only grant his heart some peace when you’re sleeping, all his wants and needs muddled in a plethora of affections he could only lay on your doorstep:

I want to be your friend you can hopelessly fall in love with, the one you could take willingly into your arms, into your bed, into the world you keep to your head unvisited by anyone. I need to love you and know how to touch you – how I could make you stare at your pains in one of those sleepless nights and only feel my love supersede anything that is contrary.

And Hoseok could only wait until you decide to bask in the daylight, to go out and pick up everything you need to know about him, you, and the both of you.

Have you ever felt happy in something that you’re not supposed to want?

You slowly opened your eyes, meeting his.

He doesn’t need to think twice; the answer has always been clear. Loving you is something he has always wanted and needed. He’ll always be happy when it comes to you, regardless of conditions and conventionalities - he will be happy through and through, no second thoughts, no regrets. Just you and him, him and you. You don’t have to toss and turn anymore.

Hoseok smiles. “Good morning, Y/N.”

You return his smile, your hand in his hold squeezing his. “Good morning, Hoseok.”

He would wait.

What are you doing?

Re-arranging the furniture.

Why so sudden?

It’s been a while since I gave my home a make-over.

View more songs in my masterlist

A/N | Hello hons! I experimented a new writing style for this and hmm, I’m not sure whether to be happy with it or not (everything feels too new!) Anyway, I liked the new experience! Hope you liked reading this!

BTW!!! I have 3 consecutive exams coming up this week (uni is killing me) so I may not be able to post your requests soon but be assured I’m working on them! (I’m actually already editing some of them as my breather in-between studying) I just don’t want to rush them because I want to give you guys a good content! :D So for the mean time, enjoy my following posts that I queued for these weeks that I will be freaking busy studying and writing papers :’D

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taeilm · 6 years

Text

license to convenience | taeyong

genre: action/drama; hitman/007!au

warnings: language, violence, minor character death(s)

word count: 12.5k

summary: a mission with an old friend plunges you into unforeseen complications; namely, unresolved vendettas and emotional unprofessionalism

Taeyong finds you sprawled in the middle of the road at two in the morning. Barefoot, thin shirt, jeans. You’ve been in the same outfit for three days and vaguely regret it now, wondering if you reeked of an alleyway dumpster as Taeyong crouches down next to you. A few long seconds pass before he finally speaks.

“You—”

“—smell like shit?” you offer, opening your eyes but moving nothing else. You’re not surprised to see him. Somehow, it’s always Taeyong who finds you at these strange hours and stranger places.

At least, it’s always him now. There used to be another boy, a long time ago, a boy with sharp eyes and a biting tongue who’d find you almost as often as Taeyong does. But he’s gone now, blown to pieces in the vaults of a Barcelona bank four years ago. There hadn’t been a funeral or memorial of any kind. No pictures, no information. Nothing left behind. For the sake of confidentiality, they say, because dirty work stays buried. You and the rest of them are expendable pawns. Hitmen. Agents. Assassins.

Presently, the corners of Taeyong’s mouth curl halfway between a smile and a grimace. The white of his teeth peek from between his lips, manifest despite the shadows veiling his countenance.

“None of us have smelled remotely pleasant in years.” He shifts and settles more comfortably onto the cold asphalt, crossing his legs as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. “You just smell like blood. Iron and smoke. Like how you always smell.”

You huff lightly before rolling onto your side, turning your back to him. “Thanks, I’m almost flattered. It’s comforting to know I smell like a killer.”

“You are one,” he says indifferently as he thumbs over the keyboard of his phone, undoubtedly informing Taeil of your location.

You bristle at Taeyong’s words, inexplicably offended. Perhaps it’s because you’ve always prided yourself on having the least amount of blood on your hands. Or perhaps it’s because deep down you’ve always known that you were born for every part of this job except the final blow, and hate yourself for your incompetence.

The trees rustle above as a cool wind picks up, sweeping over the silent streets and drifting towards the sky. The cold is nothing new to you; you’ve been here for too long. Nevertheless, you’re surprised when Taeyong shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over you. He narrows his eyes at the distant skyline before finally deciding to cut short the small talk.

“So,” he starts, as you push yourself up in a sitting position, drawing the oversized jacket in a little tighter.

You don’t say anything for a long time. Taeyong leans back on his hands and lets the wind card through his hair, and you’re suddenly struck with diplopia when you turn to glance at him. It’s impossible not to see that other boy in Taeyong; they might as well have been shadows of each other, two halves of a single entity. Dark hair, silky tone, the same casualness in every movement. The one stark difference had been their eyes: Taeyong’s are warm and soft while his had been sharp, penetrating, borderline insolent. And if you were been sitting next to Ten instead of Taeyong right now, you would’ve been able to walk away and disappear for another week. But you know Taeyong won't let you off so easily.

“I screwed up, okay?” you finally snap, angry as you blink your vision free of the other boy. It’s strange how humans dwell so much on the dead, on irrevocable past events.

“Donghyuck screwed up, too, but he came back,” Taeyong retorts, merciless, “despite losing an entire arm. So why didn’t you?”

Your heart constricts painfully in the silence that follows. He waits as you draw up your knees and hug them to your chest.

“I—” you begin, then trail off as all plausible explanations elude you. You look down at your hands for a moment, at a loss for words. “I don’t know. I couldn’t go back. I thought something might happen to Hyuck if he stuck with me, so I went off radar for a few days.” You don’t tell Taeyong about the fear, or how you implored Mark to leave his post to get to Donghyuck in time. You don’t tell him that you were prepared to put a bullet through your own head if those people ever came after you.

A car alarm goes off in the distance, irritatingly persistent. You don’t suppose it’s safe to sit in the middle of the road like this, but the concern is nugatory in light of everything you’ve been through since Taeil had picked you out of that orphanage all those years ago, that hell of a home.

To your surprise, Taeyong reaches over and ruffles your hair, threading his fingers through the strands before relaxing his hand and gently, slowly pushing your head onto his shoulder; a steady reassurance. It’s almost as if he heard the unspoken sentiments, all the doubts and concerns you’d never let yourself divulge in speech.

“Well, you’re coming back with me. Don’t worry about it anymore. Doyoung will take care of this."

“Doyoung always cleans after us. Let me deal with this one myself, Taeyong. It's my fault that Hyuck lost his—" your breath hitches and the words die on your tongue, a shudder tearing through your frame as the shrieks and blinding flashes and nauseating red all come rushing back, drowning you beneath their tide.

“Taeil wants you on another mission. This isn't me trying to coax you home as a friend. This is an order.”

You turn to look at him, half in curiosity and half in trepidation, wondering whose mansion you’ll be blowing up this time. It’s all been bombs as of late; Donghyuck seems to be enjoying it, a manic grin on his lips every time he twists the wires and wedges timers in nooks and crannies, trembling in excitement as he lies in the charged silence outside and waits for the seconds to hit 00:00.

Taeyong cracks a small smile, as if reading your thoughts again. He stands up and turns around, offering you a hand.

“Sorry to break up your trio, but you won’t be with Donghyuck and Mark this time. I believe Taeil sent Mark to Moscow for a lone mission, and Donghyuck is in no condition to fight anytime soon. We’ll be heading to Chicago.”

You lift an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes. You and I.”

Your eyes widen as he pulls you up, feeling an age-old thrill drumming in time with your pulse, simmering in your core. It’s been years. Years and years since you’ve partnered with him. So long that you’ve completely forgotten the feel of his back against your own, the way his eyes look in signals exchanged between split-second glances. You’ve forgotten the way he moves, fights, kills. The only Taeyong you’ve come to familiarize yourself with for the past near-decade is the boy who smiles at you in the facility hallways, the boy who sometimes makes you coffee on days off. The boy who’s almost never here because Taeil is always sending him off to various missions, as if trying to distract him from the death of his best friend.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Taeyong tilts his heads, his grin widening as he holds your gaze. “I look forward to working with you again, 009.”

He meets you outside a run-down bar tucked obscurely between a grand restaurant and a garish casino. You would’ve missed it completely had Kun not been giving you instructions the whole time through your earpiece, conveniently fashioned out of an earring. When you reach the building, it takes a few seconds for you to recognize that the boy slouching against the wall outside the pub is, indeed, Lee Taeyong.

Because you don’t remember him being so heartbreakingly handsome, or looking so terribly fine in a black tux and styled-back hair. He’s checking something on his phone—last minute details from Jungwoo, probably—when you finally reach him, self-consciously smoothing out the creases on your dress. Your breath catches in your throat when Taeyong lifts his head and takes you in, giving you an agonizingly slow onceover. Something flickers behind his eyes as his gaze travels up the length of your legs, the curve of your hips and your bare arms, shoulders, neck. A tide of heat rushes through your veins, and you wonder if it’s possible for a blush to spread across your entire body.

His lips twist into a smile—verging on a smirk—when his eyes finally meet yours.

“Looking good, 009.”

“Could say the same to you,” you manage to reciprocate.

Taeyong holds out an arm, all placid decorum and gentlemanly charm as he nods toward the adjacent restaurant. You hesitate before taking it, and when you do, your arm feels like every nerve has been lit, strung taut to react at the lightest touch. Since when did he have this effect on you? You shake your head, trying to expel all the useless thoughts buzzing through your mind because damn it, you have a mission tonight that you can’t afford to screw up.

It’s been too long since I partnered with him, you tell yourself. That must be it. Now focus. Focus.

The counterfeit invitations Taeyong hands to the doorway attendant allow the two of you an easy entrance; you send a silent thanks to Jungwoo’s impeccable forgery. Once in, the chandeliers and clinks of champagne flutes wrap the both of you in a golden haze; the laughter is a distance thrum behind the grand doors at the end of the hall.

Your target tonight should be behind those doors. Or, more accurately, Taeyong’s target. Your own task will take place elsewhere, ten feet removed from the ecstasy above.

“I’ll see you later,” Taeyong bends to murmur in your ear, breath grazing your skin for a split second, feather-fine. His tone is neutral, casual, none of the concern and fear that you’ve gotten so used to hearing from your past partners.

Before you know it, Taeyong had already left your side and joined the ballroom crowd, blending in seamlessly with the shimmering sea of gold and black and high-pitched chatters.

You watch his back for a few more seconds before his lean figure disappears into the crowd altogether.

An odd sense of foreboding pricks at your skin, and you can’t tell if it’s due to you not having properly talked, much less executed missions, with Taeyong for nearly a decade and thus lacking a vital certainty in your planning, or if it’s due to the fact that this mission was originally a task meant for three people, not two. Last-minute compromises are always dangerous.

The closing of the ballroom doors snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn resolutely, trying to shake off the feeling. Your heels clack sharp and purposeful against the ivory tiles as you navigate your way towards the sub-basement kitchen, looking for side entrances that won’t attract attention. But in the busy flurry of activities in each hallway and room you pass, no one notices you anyway. You manage to reach your destination with no hindrance, but the facileness of it all only heightens your prickling anxiety.

Pushing open the iron door, you enter the empty, brightly-lit kitchen. Kun’s voice sounds in your ear again, succinct and unemotional as always, reminding you of the situation’s stark reality.

“The safe is inside a wooden box beneath two crates, in the corner next to the second refrigerator. The combination is 02874. Get it right in one try or it’ll set off an alarm warning all their men. They’re posted throughout this building. Work quickly.”

You follow his instructions, sliding on the pair of gloves that had come with your dress but that you’d deemed too pretentious to wear in public. Pulling off the crates before lifting the lid of the box, you run the numbers through your head one last time. The door of the safe pops open obediently and you reach in for the thick stack of papers, riffling through the pages until you locate the particular section that Taeil had wanted. You slip in the forged replacements and are just about to straighten up when a sudden force grabs you by the hair and neck and hurls your head towards the refrigerator door.

Owing to years of ingrained training, you drop to the ground on pure reflex and twist away at the last second, wincing as several strands of hair leave your scalp, caught in the assailant’s fingers. Something black flashes at the edge of your vision and you dodge just in time to feel the swish of fabric graze past your face. You roll into a crouch and leap back before the stranger has the chance to aim a second kick.

The man’s figure is a blur when you look up. All you see is a hand going inside a suit jacket for, undoubtedly, a gun. You turn around to see plates stacked neatly in the cupboards beside you and without thinking, grab the porcelain edges and aim three at the stranger. Neck, stomach, knees; just as Doyoung had taught you. You hurl three more and dart forward behind the transient wall of airborne plates, pouncing on the attacker as he sidesteps the last of them.

The barrel of the gun is ice in your hand when you wring it out of his, simultaneously sweeping behind his ankle with swift hook of your leg. He staggers slightly for only a second, but that’s all the time you need to disentangle yourself from the scuffle and point the pistol at his heart.

“Move another muscle and I’ll shoot,” you snarl, arms steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

The boy slowly raises his hands above his head in a mocking act of surrender. The faint sneer on his lips is beyond maddening, and you see now that he is, indeed, only a boy. Not one of those burly bodyguards that you’re so used to fighting, but a lean, agile hitman—all angles and sharp curves, swiftness compressed in every bone. He looks young and mature all at once; it’s hard to gauge his exact age.

“What the hell, Kun,” you say through gritted teeth as you take in his blond hair and big, innocent eyes. “you didn’t tell me they hired a secret agent as well.”

Kun’s disembodied voice sounds in your earpiece without missing a beat. “The only hitman we know of is Dong Sicheng and he should be on ground floor with Mr. Choi—where Taeyong is. Give Jungwoo a minute to look into this. Stall him.”

“Wait—”

The boy in front of you lowers his hands then, and you automatically take a step back, the gun still aimed unwaveringly at his chest.

“I said don’t move!”

“But my arms are tired,” he drawls, tilting his head to side as he regards you with a small smile. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” You narrow your eyes. His lips widen into a grin upon your words, and the effect is so very disarming that you have to remind yourself he tried to bang your skull open just a few minutes ago.

“Who are you?”

Instead of replying, he asks, “You’re one of MI6’s rats, aren’t you?”

The question is entirely unexpected, and you wonder how he knows. But before you can decide on what to say—or not to say—, he continues, “You know, I used to be a double-o, too.” His tone turns sarcastic. “And wasn’t it the biggest fucking honor.”

“Please,” you scoff immediately. “You wouldn't be where you are now if you had been.”

“They never can take the arrogance out of you lot, can they? Well, do relay a message for this ‘Kun’ through that earring of yours—yes—” he nods upon your surprised look, “—I know all his fine little tricks—tell him his dear friend Yuta misses him."

A loaded silence ensues, during which the boy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, letting his hands slide comfortably into his pants pockets. Kun’s voice suddenly sounds in your ear again, the faintest tinge of alarm lining his usual detachedness.

“Do you think you can bypass him, 009? Keep the documents safe and get out of there. You’re no match for him if it comes down to a figh—”

“—I have a gun pointed at his chest,” you interrupt, slightly offended. “I have the advantage right n—”

Yuta throws his head back and laughs, interrupting your retort. Before you can wrap your head around the sudden turn of events, a heavy weight hits your wrists out of nowhere and your grip on the gun falters as a clang sounds to your left. A flash of black suit and blond hair, and something jerks you forward by the elbow as the gun rips free of your fingers in one clean twist. He swerves behind you and shoves you hard between the shoulder blades; the momentum sends you staggering forward and Yuta takes this chance to slam you against the cupboards in front. He has your wrists clamped behind your back in the blink of an eye before reaching up and tearing off your earrings with two swift, searing tugs. You let out a sharp cry; the sting is instantaneous and you feel something hot and wet drip down your ears, spattering against your shoulders.

Fuck.

The earrings hit the floor with a soft clink, and you peer down to see Yuta jam his heel into the small pile of sterling, breaking the device embedded within.

“What a waste. Kun must’ve spent a long time on that.” His breath fans across the nape of your exposed neck, warm and sweet citric when it drifts around to hit your nose. “I really am sorry.”

You snap a profanity at him even as your face is pressed against the cupboard door. “Who are you working for? Mr. Choi couldn’t have known of our—”

Hard metal presses against the small of your back and you shut up immediately, breath catching in your throat.

“You know,” Yuta says regretfully as he cocks the hammer of your gun, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I think the party above has ended.”

Only then do you hear the commotion going on above the ceiling, louder than before. Attendants and kitchen workers will surely come down soon with all the unfinished dishes and empty glasses, and you realize that he’s right. You have to get out of this building right now—dead or alive.

I can’t die here. They’ll find out everything. Shit, the papers are still lying in the sink—

Without warning, something massive slams into both of you from the left and a shot explodes right beside your head, making your ears ring. Yuta releases his grasp on you and you stumble away, searching for a weapon, anything to get your hands on. A crash sounds behind you and three loud bangs follow immediately after. You whip your head around in surprise and widen your eyes when you take in the grotesque scene before you.

Three holes have opened up in Yuta’s chest and stomach, the blood now rapidly spreading across his white button-down in bright, crimson blossoms. His limp body is slouched crookedly against the lower cupboards, fingers still curled around your gun. Your jaw drops when you see the lean figure standing over the boy’s dead body.

“Taeyong?! What are you doing here?”

He’s supposed to meet you at the goddamn hotel and there’s the number one rule of never coming back to save a comrade in missions like these—

“Listen, we can talk about this later but right now, we have to go,” he says urgently. “Their men on the lower floors probably heard the gunshots—I passed by a few on my way here. Come on, we need to leave this building before they cut off all our exits.”

You dash towards the sink, hastily snatching up the dropped documents while Taeyong bends down to pry your handgun from Yuta’s fingers. Your brows knit in a frown when you turn around a few seconds later to find Taeyong still crouched beside the body, wiping.

“I thought you said we had to scram—”

“He cut me with a switchblade when I pushed the barrel onto him,” Taeyong replies, rubbing the fresh drops of blood from the pristine tiles as swiftly as possible. You self-consciously scan the cupboards above, relieved when you find no bloodstain on any of them from your torn ears earlier.

Taeyong balls up the bloodied napkins and your broken earrings, tucking them away while you search Yuta’s body—some kind of explanation for not just his presence tonight but the words he had said to you. Nothing. You’re considering carrying his corpse back when Taeyong grabs you by the arm and pulls you towards the door.

“Stop looking so disappointed. He didn’t seem the type to carry things around anyway. Let’s go.”

“But—”

“009. Our mission is complete. Stay with me and let’s get out of here.”

The two of you sprint through the cold halls, breaths coming out in plumes of white. But Yuta’s face keeps flashing behind your eyes, his taunting smirk on a constant replay.

“I can’t believe you, you were supposed to wait outside—”

Taeyong sucks in a sharp breath when you dab at his cut, a little too roughly. You wince despite yourself and mutter a quick apology, but the anger and concern stay in your veins and you can't help but continue to berate him. It was a miracle that the two of you had managed to escape the melee and make it back to the hotel room in one piece.

“What if you’d died, Taeyong? You're an idiot, you know that? The most reckless and—”

“This is what I get for saving your ass?” he interrupts, shifting to sit more comfortably on the edge of the bed.

You raise an eyebrow, incredulous.

“You wouldn’t have had to ‘save my ass’ if you’d followed protocol.”

“And what’s that?” he scoffs. “Letting you die?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his and he holds your gaze, unflinching.

“Yes,” you reply slowly, articulating every word, “that means letting me die.”

Taeyong falls silent at that, and you’re beginning to think you’d actually won an argument for once as you finish patching up his arm when he finally responds, so softly that you can almost pretended he hadn’t said it.

“You know I could never let that happen.”

Regret and self-deprecation erupt in the pit of your stomach, and you see that scene unfold before you again, detailed down to the floating dust mites, the thinnest strands of hair. You see Doyoung standing before the two of you with Taeil behind him, who is unable to meet either of your eyes. Doyoung looks from Taeyong to you, his gaze extracting and emotionless as always. Nothing ever seems to faze him.

“Agent 006 is dead. We grieve for the loss of an exceptional agent today, but do not let this cloud the purpose of your existence. Ten is neither the first nor last to die in the line of duty. He was a dear friend of yours, and I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

“No,” you whisper presently. “Don’t, Taeyong, don’t. You’re doing this again. Feeling like—like you owe something to Ten. We have to move on, Taeyong. You’re a hitman, a weapon, for god’s sake. Relationships are out of convenience only. Anything more is a commodity. If a friend or partner dies then that’s their own fault.” A lump builds in your throat and you cough forcefully, refusing to cave in to the raw, long-forgotten grief.

Taeyong narrows his eyes, the expression accentuated all the more by his sharp features. “Did you really mean that just now?”

“It doesn’t matter if I mean it or not. This is our life. We have to conduct ourselves in—”

“Why did you send Donghyuck to Mark then? Why didn’t you let him continue his mission with you, like the perfect servicemen we are? Why didn’t you just let him die?” His voice has risen considerably.

“That was different.” You glare, seeing the flash of anger in your eyes reflected in his.

“No, it wasn’t. And I know if you’d been in my place tonight, you would’ve come back to save me, too.”

You find no words to refute the claim; your argument escapes you as the seconds slowly tick by, the tension in the room almost palpable. In the end, you’re the first to break eye contact, the afterimage of his gaze still behind your every blink as you move to clean up the scattered pile of first-aid kit. You try to ignore the burn of his eyes on your every movement, but the endeavor proves impossible with him sitting a mere few inches from you.

Taeyong stops you just as you turn to walk away, a hand flashing out to grasp your wrist so quickly that you flinch in surprise. He removes the bundle from your hand and drops it at the foot of the king-sized bed, shushing your impending protests by pulling you towards him, nestling you between his legs. Hesitantly, his hand slides down to hold your own in his, his touch light and undemanding but nonetheless firm. Despite his fingers being cooler than any you’ve ever held, the contact sends a surge of warmth up your arm.

Taeyong lowers his eyes to look at your joined hands, at his thumb resting on the back of your hand and your fingers curled lightly against his. Your own eyes are flitting wildly over the nape of his neck, the width of his shoulders, the way his thighs caged in your legs and the way your hand looks noticeably smaller in his.

Then, without warning, he looks up and meets your eyes again, the intensity in his gaze sending a wave a heat across your cheeks. You automatically step back, but this time, his other arm finds its way around your waist and draws you in until his lips are practically grazing the juncture where your collarbone meets your throat. His hot breath fans across your skin, setting every last nerve of yours aflame.

“When I saw that gun on your back—” Taeyong’s voice falters, “—I thought I was too late—I thought—”

You shiver against the words sinking into your skin, at his shaky breath so close to your pounding pulse. This is far more nerve-wracking than anything you’ve gone through tonight. Not only had the physical proximity taken you by surprise, but something in his tone feels like an unvoiced confession, suppressed sentiments that go way beyond the usual rapport between Kingsman agents.

Has he always treated you this way? How blind must you be to have never once noticed, in all the years you’ve known him? Or perhaps, he was just severely shaken tonight, nothing deeper. The thought disappoints you more than you’d care to admit, but it seems the better explanation nevertheless.

As you reach this platonic conclusion, you feel more confident in placing a hand on his shoulder and letting the other one rest atop his head, stroking his hair in an attempt to comfort.

“It’s alright, I’m okay now. Thanks for saving me, Taeyong.” You pause in your motion, which prompts him to draw back and look up at you, bangs falling into his eyes.

“And you’re right,” you continue with a sigh, “I would’ve come back to save you, too. Maybe you more than anyone else.”

Before you can stop yourself, you find your hand moving on its own accord, sweeping his bangs back from his forehead, tracing the ridge of his brow, over his temple and down the defined edge of his jawline. Taeyong stops your hand before you can retrieve it, and turns his face to kiss your palm, lips gliding over your inner wrist, forearm, pulling your body closer and closer as if he wants to devour you whole, mark every inch of you with his mouth. You shiver again despite the searing heat of his touch, and watch his lips curl into a smile at your reaction.

“Me more than anyone else, huh. Care to elaborate?”

You swallow, trying to formulate an appropriate answer. But in the seconds of your hesitation, Taeyong has already shifted back from the edge of the bed and pulled you into him, forcing your legs to buckle against the bed and straddle him on either side. Your hands automatically drop to his chest, pushing against the firm plane in a futile attempt to keep some distance between the two of you.

“What are you doing?” It takes everything in you to keep your voice steady, but your trembling hands betray you in the end.

“Do you want things to stay the same?” he asks, and you almost jump out of your skin when his hands find your bare thighs, toying with the hem of your dress.

“That would be,” you pause, choosing your words carefully, “the easiest.”

“Easiest,” he repeats, and you hear the shadow of a sneer in his voice. “Since when did you care for what’s easiest.”

“I don’t want to become your weakness.”

Taeyong’s hand comes up to rest on the nape of your neck; as if in a trance, you let him guide you downward until your lips all but brush against his, feather-light yet strung taut with tension. He swipes a tongue across the fissure between your lips—a bold move that takes you by surprise—but you open up obediently still, letting him in. He tastes like champagne and strawberries and a hint of dark chocolate, and before you can lose your mind completely to the fact that you’re kissing Taeyong, that Taeyong is kissing you—you hear his response, exhaled into your mouth as his hand finds the back of your dress and begins to unzip it, a tantalizingly slow motion.

“You already have.”

Morning fails to reach you through the thick double curtains of your hotel room. Consciousness floods through your body first, viscous and slow, then disorientation. You blink a few times in the semi-darkness before raising your head to see empty sheets next to you.

“Taeyong?” you call out involuntarily, voice hoarse from the previous night.

The only source of illumination comes from the bathroom on the other side of the empty bed, thin and yellow and cutting a sharp line across the sheets. The sliver of light gradually widens as the door retracts to reveal Taeyong, buttoning the last few buttons on his white dress shirt. He proceeds to fix his cuffs as he leans against the doorway and gazes down at you, affection plain on his face, softening his sharp features.

“Good morning, _____.”

Something in you quivers at the tone of his voice and, against your better judgement, you reach towards him, beckoning him closer. Taeyong closes the small stretch of space in one step and grasps your hand mid-air, his fingers cool and soothing against your own.

“Good morning,” you mumble, your smile melting into a yawn.

“How are you feeling?” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and begins to absentmindedly play with your hand, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Fine now,” you sigh, trying to hide your relief. “I thought you’d left when I saw the bed empty.”

Taeyong’s lips twitch, on the verge a smile. “I meant your...physical condition. But also, know that I’d never leave without giving you notice.”

When the meaning of his question registers to you, you pull your hand out of his grasp as if burned, and feel your face heat up from embarrassment.

“On second thought, leave. Now.”

Taeyong throws his head back and laughs, and the sound is so heart-stoppingly divine that you can almost forget his earlier teasing. His eyes are still narrowed half-moons when he finally manages to recover, and you can’t help but smile back, fighting the urge to crawl over and kiss his lips.

“I haven’t seen you laugh like this in forever.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself, and you instantly regret it when Taeyong’s grin disappears, albeit slowly, and turns into one of careful maintenance.

“Laughter is hard to come by in this line of work, I guess.” The joke is a mite too stiff for you to buy it, and he must have realized, too, for he pushes himself off the bed and begins to make his way over to the desk on the other end of the room, the glass surface cluttered with stolen files from last night.

“Get dressed, sleepyhead. Our flight is in two hours.”

Your heart aches with a dull pain that has nothing to do with yourself or even Taeyong, for that matter. You prop yourself up against the headboard and observe at the boy as he plops into the chair by the table, sifting through the papers.

“Tell me you’re not still thinking about him.”

“I never stop thinking about him, _____.” Taeyong’s reply is quiet, impassive, abstruse.

“You know you deserve to be happy, right?” you say slowly, trying to formulate an effective conveyance of your sentiments. “Stop blaming yourself for the past, Taeyong. Don’t remember him for the memory of your own guilt. Remember him for him.”

Taeyong pauses in his mindless riffling, and for the briefest second you catch a flash of pain and anger across his handsome features, before they snap back to their usual tranquility.

“I do remember him. I remember him more vividly than anything and that’s why I can’t let it go. The very last time I saw him, right before he went down to that vault—” Taeyong lifts his head and you flinch from the look in his eyes, so imbued with self-loathing that they appear nearly crazed. “He knew he was going to die, _____. He knew Sicheng was down there waiting for me and he—how could I have been so stupid? It’s my fault, my fault, all my fault.”

The sound of Sicheng’s name stirs something in the back of your mind, and you had almost let it slide for the bigger problem at hand when everything clicks into place all at once. Revelation leaves your throat dry, a bland taste on the back of your tongue.

“The mission last night. You didn’t do it because Taeil told you to.” Your voice seems to come from somewhere outside of you. “You wanted this mission. Mr. Choi’s agent…you knew Sicheng was going to be there.”

Taeyong neither confirms nor denies it, and his silence scares you more than any daredevil risks he has taken in the past few 24 hours.

“Taeyong, please,” your voice comes out a whisper. “Don’t do this. Ten wouldn’t have wanted you to live for revenge. Surely he wouldn’t have—”

“You don’t know Ten—”

“I knew him just as well as you did! We were all close friends, damn it!” Your volume has risen considerably, and you feel a tightness in your throat, tears threatening to spill over. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Taeyong looks at you for a long time, his expression unreadable aside from the torment twisting under his countenance. Then, to your disappointment, he stands up and makes for the door, grabbing his suit jacket and the papers off the table on his way out.

“I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

The door makes a barely audible click when it closes after him, but it feels as if he had slammed it in your face.

For a long time after, you don’t see Taeyong, and therefore have no real incentive to tie up the emotional loose ends from Chicago. In fact, the two of you separate after the mission, another tally of success under both your belts, and cease to contact each other for a whole month. Taeyong could have died for all you know during this time, though the thought has never really occurred to you. After all, he is one of MI6’s best agents, 002 right after Doyoung himself. You had always thought Taeyong to be invincible.

So when you do see him again for the first time since your mission with him, you’re not at all surprised that he appears healthy, unscathed, and calm as ever, ready to receive his next order.

Presently, Taeil takes a slow sip of his coffee as he looks back and forth between you and Taeyong, his legs dangling languidly over the edge of his grand office desk. He looks as jaunty and relaxed as ever, and you find yourself wondering for the umpteenth time how a man like this is sitting at the head of the Secret Intelligence Service. He seems as far a cry from being Chief as any commoner on the streets of London. Too young, too carefree. Never in suits, never austere, never resembling a proper commander of any sort.

“Well, I suppose this is a bit late, but Taeyong had a mission so soon after that I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you two on having robbed the richest man in Seoul.” Taeil puts down the coffee and rests both of his hands against the mahogany edge of the table. “So now, congrats.”

After a pause, Taeyong beats you to an appropriate response.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sir!” Taeil seems beyond horrified, and you can’t help the single staccato laugh from escaping your mouth. Taeyong narrows his eyes from beside you, though he does not look your direction. Taeil blinks, somewhat surprised by your reaction, before his expression melts into one of amusement.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, 009. You were gone for so long, I was beginning to think you’d died. How did Shanghai treat you?”

You shrug, keeping up easily with the banter. “The nightlife was bloodier than I’d imagined, but I don’t think I would’ve minded spending another month there.”

“Good, good.” Taeil seems genuinely delighted, wringing his hands together. “Well, I’m sorry to say you’ll be spending another month elsewhere, but the good news is, you’ll be in better company than your own lonesome self.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Taeyong shift in slight agitation. He knows just as well as you do what will likely come next, and to both of your disappointments, Taeil does not skirt your expectations.

“You two worked so wonderfully together last time, I couldn’t think of a better pair for this next job. I hope you both like New York City enough to spend three weeks there? And like each other enough to spend three weeks in one room? This isn’t a quick job, but I trust that you’ll execute it just as flawlessly as any other.” On his last word, he fixes the two of you with such a gaze that at once you retract all your doubts on him being the Chief of MI6. None of his questions had sounded like questions; they had been forthright commands, no choices given after.

“Is there no one else?” Taeyong asks, his voice barely masking the desperation underneath. It’s the first time he has spoken since he’s entered the room, and though you turn to him somewhat offended, Taeil ignores him completely and hops off his heavy desk, the gleeful smile returning to his face.

“Goodbye and good luck, my lovely agents. Semper occultus.”

The studio apartment isn’t exactly capacious, though you suppose one can do a lot worse in Manhattan, even if funded by the British government. Complaints aside, the apartment is admittedly perfect for your job. Small is less noticeable. Small is convenient. Small is easy to clean up and cover up if things go awry.

Small is also very awkward when one is forced to share the space with a work acquaintance-turned-one night stand.

Upon entering, Taeyong declares that he will take the couch nestled against one side of the room, directly across from the foot of the king-sized bed on the other side. Before you can protest, he has already plopped himself down on the cushions and begun to review the details of the mission, which happens to be a (relatively) simple task of gathering intel from a visiting foreign official.

The two of you have spoken at most a handful of words on the journey over, addressing each other only when necessary. Your stubbornness will not allow you to be the first to thaw this impasse, which paradoxically discourages you from arguing with him over sleeping arrangements. You let him have his way. The couch looks comfortable enough.

And it is in such silence that the two of you pass your first week in the city. He has his specific duties, and you have yours. Besides occasionally running into each other in the apartment, the two of you haven’t crossed paths at all. Taeyong wakes up much earlier than you do, and is often already asleep when you return to the house. Many times you find yourself enthralled by his sleeping form bathed in dapples of moonlight, and have the fight the urge to keep staring at him—the shadows pooling in the crevices between his angular features, his lashes resting against his marble-smooth cheeks; his hair always slightly tousled and falling haphazardly over his forehead, stirring with every exhale. Indeed, your desires extend far beyond just staring at him—you want to run your fingers through his hair, kiss his unsuspecting lips.

But you can’t because for one, you’re still angry at him for keeping you in the dark and secondly, he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you at the moment. Taeil could not have chosen a worse time to put you two together. Besides, who are you to presume what sort of relationship the two of you have? For all you know, what happened in Chicago really was a mere one night stand, a slip in the norm. If Taeyong cares about you, then it is only as an old friend, a mission partner.

Keep it professional, you tell yourself, but already the phrase is losing meaning.

Halfway through week two, a thunderstorm engulfs the whole of Manhattan. You’re wet and shivering on the subway platform when Taeyong calls you on the phone. You spend a few seconds debating whether or not to pick up, then mentally berate yourself for letting personal feelings interfere with work. There’s no other reason for him to call you, given you two aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now.

Except apparently, there is.

“Where are you?” His voice comes ten shades rougher than usual, anxiousness hitting your eardrum the instant you pick up.

“Uhm, waiting for my train?”

“Oh,” he says, relief slowly threading through his voice, though he still sounds on edge. “I just—wanted to know if you were okay.”

“What is it? Did something come up?” Now you’re on edge. You wonder what could’ve possibly gone wrong on such a quiet mission.

“What?” Taeyong seems to be caught off guard. “No, I—of course I’m okay. This isn’t about our job. I just remembered you—hated thunderstorms.” He sounds hesitant as he finishes the sentence, as if all of a sudden he has lost all certainty over your likes and dislikes.

“Oh, um—yes,” you say unintelligently, too overcome with surprise that he had remembered such a trivial fact and had cared enough to call you. “I do...find them a bit scary, but I’ll get home fine.”

You are in fact not as fine as you’d thought, as the thunderstorm unsympathetically reveals later, pelting against the windows and walls of your apartment throughout the night and setting all your nerves on edge. The lightning is too blinding, the thunderclaps too ear-splitting. Everything is too aggressive and merciless and drags you right back into those nightmarish days at the orphanage. You toss and turn in your bed restlessly, burrowing yourself deeper and deeper under the covers. The storm rages on outside, a force you have no power over, can’t strike down and inhibit like a human opponent. The helplessness inundating you is at once infuriating and pitiful, and you’re debating whether or not to just stand in the shower and stick your head under the water when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You poke your head out from under the blanket to see Taeyong standing at the edge of your bed, gazing at you in concern. He’s clad in nothing but gray sweatpants and a simple white tee, but looks so gracious and angelic in that moment that you subconsciously lean towards him, not without a bit of curiosity. What comes next takes you completely by surprise.

“Would you like me to sleep with you, just for tonight?” he asks.

Something stirs in the pit of your stomach, a tendril of fire snaking around your insides. You blink, unsure how to answer. For some reason, this simple question, this mundane gesture of care frightens you more than that heedless one night stand.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until Taeyong’s fingers brush against your bottom lashes and come away wet. He doesn’t comment on the fact that you’re still scared of thunderstorms, still obviously not okay, and doesn’t taunt you for your earlier bravery on the phone. He merely leans forward to wipe your tears again—with both hands this time, the pads of his thumbs sweeping across the soft skin of your cheeks as he cups your face gently, carefully, as if you are made of the finest glass.

And this time, you shed your pride and your fear, grab hold his wrists and whisper, “Yes, please. Just for tonight.”

He obliges easily, crawling onto the bed and under the sheets, propping himself up on one elbow and letting his free hand fall onto the curve of your waist. You snuggle against him almost instantly. His touch is calming and his voice even more so, deep and raspy with drowsiness.

Another bout of thunder rips through the sky, sounding so close in proximity that you flinch, the last remnants of your feigned nonchalance leaving you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, distant rumbles of thunder accompanying your words. You realize you’re clinging to the front of his shirt with both hands, and immediately let go.

Taeyong laughs, then to your surprise, pulls you back until your cheeks are pressed against his warm chest, so closely that you can feel his steady heartbeat, the rise and fall of every breath. His hand finds your lower back beneath your shirt and begins to trace mindless patterns across your skin. You let out an exhale you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in, relaxing just a little. Taeyong smells exceedingly nice—clean and refreshing like a late spring day, hints of bergamot and lemon and something unnamable that’s uniquely him.

It’s only when he laughs again that you realize you had said it out loud, and feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Thank you,” he says, then after a while, a bit more seriously, adds, “You smell very nice, too. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.”

You stiffen when another flash of lightning slices across the sky, the gauzy curtain doing nothing to hide its piercing light. When you shut your eyes and brace yourself for the next round of thunder, you suddenly feel Taeyong hand on your chin, tilting your face up. Surprised, you reopen your eyes to find his face inches from yours, his dark, deep-set eyes gazing at you intently.

“Look at me,” he commands, fingers still holding your chin. “Look at me and don’t think about the storm.”

“I-I can’t.” You wince when the thunder rolls right over your heads, drowning out the pitter-patter of rain against the roof. “No offense at all, but you’re not distracting enough.”

Taeyong lifts a brow. “Not distracting enough?”

Before you can formulate a proper response, he has already silenced you, tilting his head down and capturing your lips once again in that dizzying, intoxicating kiss. He does not break the kiss until you’re gasping for air.

“How about now,” he asks as you struggle to regain your breath, head buzzing from the unexpected rush of pleasure.

“Too distracting.” You rise to meet his lips again.

In the coming days, the tension from the old fight seems to have thawed between the two of you, though it nevertheless remains unresolved. Neither of you want to push it so soon after making up, so you both choose to leave the whole thing at a stalemate.

“Should we forget about everything?” you ask him one day, for “everything” has been weighing so much on your mind that it was beginning to, as you’d expected, interfere with your work.

Taeyong’s reply is a little more than bemusing. “If you really wanted to forget it, you would have already.”

Then, do you love me? you want to press on, but something holds you back. Fear, perhaps, that he’d confirm the insignificance of it all, keeps you from asking the question you really want to ask. So you don’t.

And in a mere 48 hours, you will regret the decision immensely. When one has been in this line of business for too long, it’s sometimes easy to forget that anything—truly anything—can happen.

The July air hangs above you like a smothering miasma, reeking of refuse and smog and alcohol. You blink open, eyes thick with sleep and something you can’t quite place a finger on, and feel your mind expand with returning consciousness. The evening chill bites at your skin the moment you wake up, and you realize with a start that the usual apartment ceiling has been replaced by smoke and stars. There’s no warm blanket tangled at your feet, no pillow resting against your head. No Taeyong.

You curl your fingers in and feel something rough and damp beneath your touch, hard against your supine form.

Concrete.

Your mind can’t quite wrap around that word, or the idea of yourself falling asleep on anything other than a bed or couch. With a groan, you push yourself into a sitting position, reeling from the rush of lightheadedness. It takes you a ridiculous amount of energy to remain in that posture, and you’re more miffed than confused at the bizarre heaviness in your limbs.

I was on my way to a bar. Bits of memories begin to resurface, and you struggle to grasp them, string them together. I was tailing a man into a bar.

A jolt of unease shoots through you when you realize you can’t remember what had happened afterwards. It seems reasonable to assume that your furtive pursuit had not gone as planned.

Inhaling deeply to pacify yourself, you nearly gag on the vile stench that assaults your nostrils. Your senses are returning bit by bit, and slowly, the environment around you begin to take shape, despite there being no lights in close proximity. You seem to be in some sort of alleyway. Shadows drape over the bricked buildings on either side of you, pooling around the foot of the walls and smothering the sheen of dampness on the concrete. You’re vaguely aware of the faint thrum of bass to your left, a rhythm traveling beneath the ground and pulsating against your legs. You guess you’re behind some nightclub, though it looks nothing like the one you had entered.

As hard as you try, no answers come to mind; nothing stirs your memory further. You refuse to accept the possibility that you had been drugged, had let your guard down and let someone get the best of you.

You ease yourself into to a crouch, then slowly, slowly straighten up. The movement engenders another bout of dizziness and you stagger, reaching out blindly toward one of the alley walls to support yourself. Nausea builds at the pit of your stomach and you clamp a hand resolutely below your ribcage, clenching your jaws. You’ve suffered worse.

The tip of your shoe collides with a solid lump then, and you squint at the dark shape, black within black, that seems to have materialized out of nowhere. You curse after a while, unable to decipher even the contours of the shadow through your hazy vision.

You wish you hadn’t pulled out your phone then, that you’d just gone for the brick walls instead of stopping to examine what you had tripped over. You wish, all the more, that you had run the other direction as soon as you’d seen the thing beneath your feet.

When the darkness of the alley ground recedes at the blinding light of your phone, the image that appears beside your shoes is forever imprinted on back of your eyelids. A nightmare, you tell yourself. Must be a nightmare.

You give a sharp, half-strangled cry as you stumble backwards and drop your phone, hearing the sickening thud of anodized aluminum against human skull. The screen cracks, blacks out, plunges everything back into darkness, but the image does not disappear from your eyes. Your mind seems to have ceased to function. Simultaneously, you bend over and vomit beside the body of your once-partner.

The encounter fails to spike clarity into your mind but instead lacerates through all existing memories, leaving everything unhinged; jagged edges that don’t quite fit together for you to remember or form new thoughts. Your body is convulsing as much as the recumbent figure on the ground is still.

That’s not Mark is the only coherent phrase in your head presently, jolting through the emotional whirlwind in rhythmic bursts. Snapshots of the boy’s glassy eyes and parted lips snake into your mind again and you’re hit with another surge of nausea.

That’s not Mark. That’s not Mark. That’s not Mark.

You don’t want to re-confirm the image, don’t particularly want to think.

So you run.

The concrete feels like quicksand, dragging your legs deeper and deeper down with each lurching step you take and you’re afraid that if you don’t run fast enough, you’ll be trapped in this pitch-black alleyway with Mark’s body forever.

This can’t be. This can’t be. Mark is alive and well and all the way in fucking Moscow—

The impact of the ground knocks the wind out of you, and it takes you a few seconds before you realize you had tripped over your own feet. It takes another few seconds to notice the faint outline of someone crouching about two meters away, examining something farther down the alley. Your gaze falls to the crumpled figure at the person’s feet, and for the second time tonight, your blood runs cold.

No sound escapes your throat despite your efforts. Perhaps you’re no longer capable of making human noises.

The crouched figure slowly straightens up and begins to approach you, footsteps silent as a cat’s. The formless shadows converge more and more with each stride the stranger takes, until the silhouette takes on the shape of a tall, lean man. There is an aura of complete control about him, draped over the relaxed set of his shoulders, imprinted in the ground with each equable step he takes.

“You woke up earlier than planned,” he says, addressing you. His deep, adenoidal voice a sharp contrast to his delicate face.

Though he stirs your interest and alarm, your mind is still fixated on Mark, on the senselessness of this whole affair.

The stranger makes as if to bend down and drag you up by the collars, but changes his mind last second. You see a brief flash of disdain in his eyes before he sidesteps your limp figure and walks swiftly towards the other end of the alley, towards Mark’s body.

Perhaps now’s your one chance to run. You hold onto that tenuous thought through the vortex of questions and conjectures. It doesn’t seem too absurd to assume that this man had killed both Mark and the whomever is lying near the wall. More importantly, you are in no state to fight right now.

A breeze sweeps through the quiet alleyway, stirring the damp fringes plastered to your forehead. The coolness clears your mind a bit, takes the edge of off the situation for a second. But before you get a chance to try your limbs, the back door of the nightclub swings open and deafening disco blares out for a moment before the door slams it back in. The disorienting melody lingers in the alley until the man who had come out dissipates it with his brisk footsteps.

“Sicheng,” he calls immediately, giving you a fleeting glance before deeming you of lesser importance. “Sicheng? Let’s go. He wasn’t in there.”

The previous man returns with the same phantom footsteps, soundless swish of fabric against fabric. The shock of blond hair atop his head is strangely reminiscent of something, someone, but you’ve no time to further dwell on the thought as he comes to a stop beside you, facing the tall man who had just exited the club.

“Of course he isn’t,” Sicheng says, sounding almost bored. “If he were as easy to lure as the rest of these halfwits, he wouldn’t be Lee Taeyong.” The last three syllables are spat out, said with so much venom that even your muddled mind begins to gain some inkling of just how serious of a complication you’ve somehow gotten tangled in. This is way beyond the mission you had signed up for.

“I’m beginning to wonder if he even cares about this girl,” the other man rejoins, jutting his chin at you. “I think you might be overestimating her worth.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’ll come.” Sicheng’s tone is wholly free of concern and in fact, free of any emotion. “Clean this place up, Jaehyun. I’ll be going first with our little hostage.”

Something hard slams into your temple before you can process the swarm of senseless phrases you’d just heard, and your vision goes black.

When you wake up again, it is to a desert-dry throat and a throbbing headache, to your arms and legs tied to a heavy chair and the finest view of New York before your bleary eyes. The same man with artificial blond hair is standing between you and that view, though his lean body does nothing much to obstruct it.

“What do you want with me,” you croak out, your head pounding so hard that the bright lights overhead physically hurt to look at. You observe that you seem to be in a hotel suite—one of those grand, expensive ones on the uppermost floors of five-stars.

Sicheng doesn’t turn from where he is in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, and continues to stare at the night scenery upon hearing your question. In the glass reflection, you see his lips slowly curl into a grin—a lazy, feline smile that both sharpens and softens his features, making him look cruel and naïve all at once. His handsome face is transparent against the myriad of city lights, cutting across the gleaming skyscrapers, golden highways, and rivers tinted silver-white.

“I don’t want anything with you, 009. I think we both know whom I’m waiting for.”

“He won’t come,” you blurt out immediately, hoping against hope that you’ll speak it into truth. “He doesn’t give a shit about me. The only guy he’s ever cared for is dead. You killed him, remember?”

“Oh, that boy,” Sicheng waves a hand dismissively. “I must say I was surprised by how eager he was to die for another agent. I thought MI6 trained these tendencies out of you, but maybe Taeyong holds a charm stronger than any national government.”

At this, Sicheng turns around and gazes directly at you. His smile has melted into something more bona fide, more overtly malevolent. It is no longer composed and genteel, but something closer to a manic grin. A sense of unease prickles your skin and for the first time in a very, very long time, you are afraid of someone. Fear floods through your veins, starts from the fingertips and spreads like poison, building up a steady tide. You find nothing to hold onto, feel the chair warp beneath your leaden weight as Sicheng begins to stalk towards you, a glimmer of metal sliding into his hand from inside his suit sleeve. A clean flick of his wrist, and you identify the shape of a switchblade.

“You’ll have to forgive me for speeding things up,” Sicheng says, without sounding the least bit apologetic. “You see, Taeyong is my main guest tonight, and I’ll be very disappointed if he doesn’t show up.”

Before you can steel yourself for what’s coming, it has already come. A white-hot flash of pain tears across your midsection, and you belatedly feel something cold and hard pressed against your cheek as familiar ringing sounds in your ear. Sicheng’s face hovers before you, soon blurred by the tears spilling from your eyes. Although his knife strokes are excruciating, he keeps his motion carefully controlled, making sure you won’t pass out from the pain. You feel blood rushing in your ears, your heart hammering wildly in your chest and Sicheng’s ice-cold blade slicing patterns into your skin but somehow, through it all, you find yourself praying that Taeyong will not pick up, will not pick up, will not p—

“_____?”

Your heart drops.

“Taeyong,” you say hurriedly, gritting your teeth from the pain and trying to keep your breathing even, your voice steady. “It’s nothing. I dialed the wrong number. Listen, could you just hang up? I just need to—”

Your words—tumbling over one another in a hurry to leave your mouth—end in a blood-curdling screech as Sicheng jams the knife into your side and twists it, hard. He isn’t smiling anymore, but his eyes shine with a depraved eagerness, as if his every action hinges upon Taeyong’s words.

A beat of silence passes, then Taeyong is shouting into the phone, his voice so distorted by fear and so unlike anything you’ve heard before that you can hardly recognize it as his.

“_____! Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU—”

Sicheng removes the phone from your ear and holds it to his own, straightening up but never breaking eye contact with you.

“Relax, Taeyong,” he says, so breezily that the bloodsoaked knife in his hand looks entirely out of place, at odds with every part of his conduct. “I’m just having a bit of fun with 009. She’s not dead yet, but I suppose even a well-trained agent has her limits.”

“What do you want with her,” comes Taeyong’s voice from the other end, so desperate and fraught with agitation that he sounds almost unhinged. “She’s done nothing. It’s me you want, not her.”

“Oh, so you do know. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Well, don’t keep us waiting. I think you know exactly where to find me.”

And with that, Sicheng hangs up and tosses your phone to the other side of the room. Your throat tightens again when he turns to you, but he only wipes his blade clean on your shirt before tucking it back inside his jacket.

“I’ve no use for you anymore,” he says as he ambles back to his earlier spot by the window, his hands disappearing into his pants pockets. “You should know that I have nothing against you. I really do feel bad that you have to die such an...undignified death, if you will, but Taeyong should’ve thought of that when he decided to kill Yuta.”

“W-wait—” you stammer, mind and heart racing as you think of ways to prolong your life. You have to warn Taeyong before he comes, even if only gives him a split-second advantage. “If you’re going to kill me, at least tell me why. Why are you so bent on destroying Taeyong—he only ever wanted to—”

“Because,” Sicheng cuts you off, his back still facing you, “he destroyed me.”

The deep gashes in your torso feel like they’re in flames; you’re beginning to feel lightheaded from the rapid blood loss. The white ceiling seems to spin above your head; the world drifts around you in fragments and comes down layer by layer, falling onto you and sinking you deeper and deeper into the ground. Your senses flash on and off spasmodically, scent, sight, touch, sound. Sicheng’s figure swims in and out of focus before your heavy eyelids, and his words seem to coming from far away, as if reaching you through meters of water.

“Whatever your existence means to Taeyong—Yuta’s had meant the same to me. I guess we both have our personal vendettas. If only Taeyong had let everything end with Ten in Barcelona, both of us would’ve been spared so much trouble.”

“Why did you kill Ten?” A sudden flash of anger spikes through your pain upon the remembrance, invigorating you enough to spit out your next words. “And Mark, Mark was innocent—how could you do this to him?”

“Are any of us truly innocent?” Sicheng says softly, sounding almost like he’s talking to himself. He seems lost in thought for a few long seconds before he snaps back to normal. “I can’t care less for you MI6 agents. It was always Taeyong I wanted. But that man has quite the horde of people willing to die for him, hasn’t he?” At this, Sicheng turns to you, and you glimpse the gun in his hand and the barrel pointed at your chest.

You open your mouth to say something, to curse, to yell—anything, but the hotel door to your left slams open before either you or Sicheng can make a move.

Taeyong stands in the doorway, his clothes askew and cheeks flecked with blood and that’s all you see in the split-second before he raises his gun and shoots. The movement is fluid and practiced, so inconceivably quick that you’re sure Sicheng will hit the carpet before he even realizes what had happened.

The bullet goes through the window and capillary cracks blossom from the hole in the glass, where Sicheng’s head had been half a second ago. Then everything erupts into a frenzy of action, Sicheng having ducked with impossible speed and is now aiming his own gun at Taeyong, his earlier target forgotten in the chair. Taeyong zigzags for what seems a fraction of a heartbeat before he rams into Sicheng’s midsection, knocking the gun out of his hand and bringing the man down with him. The two proceed to engage in a series of punching and kicking on floor level; you hear curses, grunts, flesh landing on flesh, and see nothing but the occasional flash of black sleeve and hands balled into fists swinging above the horizon of the couch.

You test the ropes bounding you to your chair, twisting your wrists against their hold. The material scrapes against your skin like knife and you grit your teeth to keep in an agonized groan. The more strength you exert in working your arms out, the more your torso wounds protest. The pain sears across your sides with every motion you execute, throbbing in time with your pulse. Little by little, you squirm your way out of the restraints, and after what seems like an eon, you finally manage to free your arms.

A loud crash sounds to your right and you lift your head to see Taeyong throwing Sicheng against the closet, a forearm pressing into the boy’s neck and his finger finding the trigger on his gun as he aims for Sicheng’s thigh but Sicheng is faster, much faster and has sliced his switchblade violently across Taeyong’s chest, his motion so quick that his suit jacket is but a blur of black through the space between them. Taeyong fires his gun as he staggers back but Sicheng has already gained the upper hand, taking advantage of the close range scuffle. He swings his knife at Taeyong’s wrist, screwing the gun out of his hand as Taeyong dodges the attack.

Sicheng springs back and, noticing you’ve succeeded in freeing all but one of your ankles, lifts the gun in your direction and you only pray that you can duck in time when Taeyong strikes Sicheng once again to the ground in his momentary distraction. The gun fires into the chandelier above your head and you scream, shaking out the broken glass in your hair as you bend to work at your last restraint, twice as urgently as before.

Finally, the rope loosens enough for you to wriggle out and that’s when you hear the loud bang, but it sounds wrong—so wrong—for you know all too well the nuanced difference between how a bullet sounds when it hits nothing and when it tears through flesh.

Taeyong crashes into the coffee table as he stumbles back from the impact, holding his left shoulder with a wince. His hand comes away bloodstained but he seems to take no notice, aiming a sharp and precise kick to Sicheng’s hand as the man attempts to fire a second shot from the ground. The gun flies through the air in an arc and disappears out of sight, but Taeyong’s movements have become sloppy, unfocused and offers feeble defense when Sicheng collides into him with his switchblade in hand, knocking him to the floor and stabbing the knife downward. Taeyong’s arms are all that keep the point of the blade from entering his throat and are losing strength by the second, weakened from the bullet wound.

Without thinking, you dive for the beretta that had been knocked of Sicheng’s grasp earlier, the trigger still warm against your finger as you stand to aim the barrel at Sicheng’s chest. You feel the blood roiling in your veins, your pulse thrumming wildly against the hard grip of the handgun and for second you’re almost convinced that you won’t fire it—until you see the first dip of Taeyong’s skin as the blade makes contact with his throat, and squeeze the trigger on reflex. You’ve never missed a shot in such a short range, and know that your bullet will find its target.

A hole rips through Sicheng’s immaculately white shirt, the blood soon seeping profusely from his heart. He looks stunned for a second, then crumples face-down against Taeyong, who grimaces as he shoves off the limp body and slowly pulls himself into a sitting position, supporting his weight via the couch.

You rush over instantly, your own pain forgotten as you reach to help Taeyong but he only waves you away, shaking his head.

“Don’t exert yourself. Your injury is much worse than mine.”

You try to ignore Sicheng’s body lying a mere few inches away, the taste of your recent kill sitting so thick on your tongue that you think you might suffocate. But forgetting is rather—if not iniquitously—easy when Taeyong is sitting right in front of you, a bit tired and out of breath but still very much alive.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you everything, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you say numbly, unsure whether your voice is quivering from relief or leftover adrenaline but knowing all that matters now is that It’s over. It’s all over.

He reaches to sweep your hair back, a smile creeping onto his lips despite the situation. You revel in the familiar feel of his touch and the low, solacing rumble of his voice when he says, “Come on, let’s go home.”

A warm wind caresses your face, tangles with the loose hairs that have escaped your braid. The mild evening air is soothing upon your skin, draping over your bare shoulders in its balminess. You lean on the balcony and look out onto the sprawl of arrondissements, feeling your nightdress flow between your legs. Somewhere in the room behind you, a clock chimes twelve, and you’re just beginning to wonder if your mission partner has fallen asleep when you feel a pair of arms circle your waist from behind, a chin settling comfortably onto your shoulder.

“Good morning,” Taeyong mumbles, pulling you away from the stone railing and closer against him.

Despite how beautiful the night view of Paris is, you turn around in the cage of Taeyong’s embrace and return the gesture, your arms snaking around his neck. His upper body is bare and marble-smooth in the moonlight, and you can’t help but let out a laugh as he bumps his forehead against yours, leaning in to steal a quick kiss.

“Not quite,” you retort in good humor, though he technically isn’t wrong.

“Why did you leave the bed,” he whines, dipping his head to nuzzle your neck.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Your hand finds the scar next to his shoulder blade and trace over it slowly, feeling the ring of wrinkled tissue surrounding a delicate patch of skin. The gunshot wound has healed completely since the incident from half a year ago, but the memory still haunts you at unsuspecting intervals, never failing to remind you that Taeyong’s first and only scar had been because of your incompetence.

You feel him stiffen as he always does when you touch his scar, for he knows you still blame yourself for it and hates that you do. You pat his back in a soothing manner, a hand coming up to weave through his hair and he takes the hint that you don’t wish to discuss this topic on such a fine summer night.

A part of you still can’t believe that you and him are together, in some sort of relationship more than either of you have signed up for. And perhaps, you think as Taeyong starts to sway to a jazz song playing in the distance, love can never be more than a currency or practical weapon when entangled with espionage, but this stark fact still doesn’t discourage you from falling for him, wanting to fall for him.

You let Taeyong take your hands and guide you backward in a gentle waltz, your bare feet stepping in time with his over the marble tiles.

I love you, you think as you twirl once beneath his outstretched arm, but you dare not say it out loud. You can’t bear to lend it tangibility when your lives are so painfully transient, uncertain, disposable, and something tells you that Taeyong feels the same way.

So you can only repeat the phrase in your heart, and hope that he hears.

I love you.

#taeyong fanfic #nct fanfic #nct scenario #taeyong scenario #taeyong imagine #taeyong au #this might be the longest thing i've ever written......taeyong held me at watergun point and said Give Me Attention

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ketchupsupreme · 5 years

Text

A Rose By Any Other Name

A/N: So I finally decided to post one of my short stories on here. Enjoy reading and if you like it, how about a like or a reblog? Ha look at me, shamelessly promoting myself. Anyways, enjoy and all critiques are welcome!

Phillip

He hated this room. He hated the purple lights. He hated the soft glow they emitted and how they made everything seem washed out and dead. He hated the window and the city that he could see burning outside, smoke and fire turning the sky into an angry red hue. He hated the screaming that he could hear from the streets even though the room was on the topmost floor. He hated the scrabbling and the whirring of the machines that roamed outside, the ones that had turned his existence into a living hell. Most of all, he hated himself. Hated himself for not being able to walk outside that apartment and forget about everything. Forget about the machines. Forget about that other world. Forget about her. He almost hated her. Almost. It was his devotion to her, his obsession with trying to break her free from the world that they had constructed that kept him from leaving and forgetting all about her. Every time he said this lie out loud, he almost believed it. He loved her and she loved him. It was his fault that she was trapped, stuck in a world that she believed was real. He walked over to the chair, the purple lights making her look like a corpse. Her long black hair, greasy and snarled from months of not showering, still looked beautiful to him. It was the first thing that he had noticed all those years ago before the machines came. Then he had noticed her eyes, that startling shade of blue that bordered on neon that for years after they started dating, still fascinated him. Now he couldn’t see them, not when they were covered by the black visor that transported her to the other world. His skin pimpled with disgust as he stared at the wires that were connected to the visor, to her forehead, to her chest. He stared at the heart monitor, the machine beeping. He touched her arm, his fingers tracing over her cool skin. He missed her smile, her laughter, her eyes sparking as if electricity ran through them. He wanted to tear that visor off, to hear her laugh, to see her eyes open and to feel her heart race again. He wanted to tear those wires off her face, to smash the visor to the ground, to have her awake again. He wanted to hug her, to kiss her, to apologize for what he did to her. He knew that there was only one way to awaken her. He kissed her gently, wishing with all his might that that would be enough to wake her. It wasn’t. It never was. There was only one way. He would have to go into the other world and guide her through it until the end. That was how he had woken up. That was how he would wake her. Then they could escape this room and try to live a life away from machines. He grabbed the second visor, the one that lay next to her. He slipped it on, his breathing becoming erratic, fingers trembling as he thumbed the right switches, pressed the appropriate buttons. He settled down next to her in the other chair, his entire body screaming at him to tear visor off, that he could get trapped again, that he wouldn’t be able to come out. He silenced them and he pressed the final button, his vision tunneling as his brain and his consciousness were transported to another world. His body slumped as the purple lights in the room flashed and then dimmed again, the quiet humming noise drowning out the screams that flowed up from the street.

Talia

“One more game and you owe me all the money in your purse Lyle,” I said, chuckling as I shuffled the cards, making sure that I slipped a few choice cards into my sleeve. I placed the deck on the table, dealing them and squashing a grin when I saw the hand that I had been dealt. I placed a few coins on the table, all of them gold.

“Listen to me, girl, I have never lost a game of cards in this tavern and I don’t plan on losing now,” the old man said, grinning as he placed a winning hand down on the table. Well, a winning hand in almost any situation… except this one.

“I’ll expect my gold tomorrow at the latest,” I said, pretending to stifle a yawn as I placed my cards down. I stood up, cracking my back and working out the kinks in my neck. Lyle stared at the cards in disbelief, his face changing from an interesting shade of red to a horrified white.

“You cheated,” he said, his voice cracking as he stared at the cards. “You must have cheated! No one can draw cards that good on just luck!”

I laughed again, tying my long black hair back in one quick fluid motion. In that motion however, the cards that I had put into my sleeve fell out. They fluttered down to the table, Lyle’s bulbous, watery grey eyes following the cards descent to the table. A weak chuckle escaped my lips.

“Listen, Lyle, you know what never mind about you owing me your gold, let’s call it even and say our goodbyes now,” I said, backing away from the table.

“CHEAT!” he roared, throwing a glass full of ale directly at my head. I ducked, scrambling for the stairs as he flipped the table over. With that simple flip, the entire tavern exploded into chaos. Men began swinging at each other, ale and wine flying everywhere. It didn’t matter what the fight was about. Once a glass had been thrown, everyone in the tavern was fair game. Women smashed bottles into the sides of random heads, and windows were broken, glass showering onto the wooden floor. A thud sounded from one of the bedrooms upstairs and I wondered if some playful couple had fallen out of the bed. As I laughed silently at the mental image, Lyle grabbed me by my hair, snapping me out of my fantasy, and pulled me back into the fray, letting go when I slammed an elbow into his face, his nose breaking instantly. Sandra, Lyle’s wife, screeched and attempted to rake her nails down my face. I batted her hand aside, laughing when the barmaid slammed a glass onto her head. She crumpled to the ground, next to her husband who was sporting a bloody and broken nose. He glared up at me and pulled out a small knife. Shit. Seemed like someone had not listened to the “No Weapons” rule within the tavern. To be fair, I hadn’t either, but that was neither here nor there. I pulled out my own small dagger, the red crystal embedded on the pommel glinting in the candlelight of the tavern. I wasn’t going to kill him of course; I was just going to make sure that he knew never to cross me. As I got into position for a knife fight, I felt the entire bar freeze. Everyone froze where they were, including me, and it wasn’t a voluntary action. We were all quite literally frozen in place. I was lucky enough to be facing the stairs when my body froze so I knew exactly who would be coming down those stairs. That was what that thud had been. He must be awake already.

“What in the hell is this?” he asked, his hand outstretched as he worked his magic on the bar. Phillip walked down the stairs, releasing us all with a twist of his hand. As the spell broke, the occupants and I collapsed to the floor, the spell having stopped all momentum in our bodies. Phillip walked over to me and extended a hand. I reached up and grabbed it, letting him pull me up. He tossed a couple of coins onto Lyle’s prone from with a whispered apology and motioned for me to follow him outside. As he walked out the door of the tavern, I walked over to Lyle, crouching down in front of him.

“You still owe me Lyle,” I said, swiping the coins off of his chest and depositing them into my own purse. “Consider this my payment.” I flicked his nose and ran out the building.

////

Phillip was outside the bar, waiting for me to emerge. The minute I did, he began scolding me.

“Are you stupid? What if you had gotten yourself killed? What then? I can’t heal the dead, Talia! You have to be more careful” He paused, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hanging my head in mock regret. After a few seconds of not saying anything, I peeked up at him. What I saw in his eyes startled me. It was almost like grief. I hugged him, feeling his body stiffen, and then after one long second, hugging me back. “I’ll be more careful, I promise. Besides, it’ll take someone stronger and faster than Lyle Skane to take me down. Don’t worry so much.”

He chuckled and disengaged from the hug. He began walking down the road towards the outskirt of the village and the forest beyond, motioning for me to follow him. I felt excited. After two days in this dreary village, we were finally moving on.

“So what’s next?” I asked, falling into step next to him. “We’ve already cleared out the bandits in the Aloon Settlement, we’ve purged the werewolves from the forests of Kessig, and we’ve reunited a lost princess with her family. What else do we have left?”

Phillip stayed quiet for a second, pushing open the gates that lead to the outside of the village.

“I couldn’t see,” he said, his voice growing quiet as he headed towards the forest where we had hidden our weapons. Just like the tavern, the entire village had a ban on any weapons, physical or magical. If some type of law enforcement had found me with that dagger, I would have spent a few weeks in a cell.

“You couldn’t see?” I asked, surprise making my voice go high. It was rare for Phillip to be blind to the future. In all the years that I had known him, he always had a plan, a move that would set us one foot closer to a goal. We had met a few years ago when I, almost out of money and food, had taken to robbing a carriage as it passed through some woods that I used to live in long ago. As I was planning my robbery, he had emerged from the woods unbeknownst to me. I had no idea I wasn’t alone until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flipped him over, scrabbling on top of the stranger that dared touch me, a small shiv of wood in my hand.

“Who are you?” I had snarled. I was angrier than I should have been, but at that time in my life, I was used to doing everything for myself and for someone to sneak up on me like that left me feeling vulnerable, especially since he caught me as I was humming a small tune to myself.

“My-my name’s Phillip,” he had said, choking off every syllable as I continued to crush his windpipe. “I came to stop you from robbing that carriage Talia!”

“How do you know my name?” I said, jamming my arm further into his throat. His face turned purple, the lack of oxygen leaving him weak as he tried pathetically to move my arm. I relented at the last second, allowing him a sniff of air before I tightened my grip on his neck, being careful to not almost kill him this time.

“I saw you in a dream,” he said, voice growing hoarse and desperate. “I’m supposed to help you! I’m here to make sure you don’t rob that carriage and that you reach your destiny!”

“That carriage is a one way ticket to a better life for myself! You, with your silk robes and your jeweled necklace no nothing of the hunger that I face!”

“If you rob that carriage you will die!” he yelled, throwing me off of him. I scrambled up, crouching into a fighter stance as he dusted himself off.

“If I don’t rob that carriage, I’ll die anyways.”

“That carriage belongs to a powerful necromancer.” Of all the forbidden magics, necromancy, the art of raising and controlling the dead, was the most feared. “If you attempt to rob that carriage, she will kill you and add you to her army of the dead. I’m just trying to help you!”

“How do you know this?” I asked. Some stranger that I had never met was trying to convince me that it was because of his good heart that he was trying to help me. No. From my experiences, this world was full of liars and cheaters. What did one good deed matter when five others would spit on you for the color of your eyes? Devil eyes. Monster. The monster with electric blue eyes. That’s what they called me. My own parents had thrown me out, afraid of both me and the anger of the other villagers in the village that I had grown up in.

“I’m telling you, I dreamt it! I saw you in my dream, dying and becoming a walking corpse!”

I didn’t believe him. Maybe that’s why I slammed the rock into his head. Maybe that was why I attempted to rob the carriage. Maybe that was why I was so shocked when I faced the full fury of a necromancer. He had told me the truth. I had accepted my death, closing my eyes and hoping that my spirit would find a good afterlife, when I felt what I would soon recognize as the feeling of his magic. When I eventually opened my eyes, all that was left of the necromancer was a burning husk. The stranger-Phillip-was crouched in front of me, and what I saw in his eyes that day still rocked me to my core. I saw worry. I saw things that I never felt even when I lived with my family or when I was alone for all those years. As he grabbed my hand to heal a small cut, I knew that I could trust him. Because of that failed robbery, because of all the time we spent together after, I was here, surprised at the fact that his dreams had failed him.

“I saw flashes. Nothing concrete. Purple flames. A cavern. Darkness. That was it,” he said, his frown marring his good looks. “I couldn’t see the enemy. All I could see was a road that would lead us to the cavern where he or she is. It’s near this village.”

I led the way to the clearing where we had hidden our weapons. To anyone else’s eye, the clearing would look empty. It would look like a picturesque forest, bright crocuses sticking out of the ground, puffy white clouds rolling gently across the azure blue sky. The smell of the pine trees permeated everything, and if you listened closely, you could hear the babbling of a far off creek. One word from Phillip however, and the supposedly empty clearing would flicker and our small encampment would appear. Our two tents, a small fire pit, and best of all, our weapons chest. Well, more like my weapons chest. All Phillip had in there were a few books. I walked over to it, feeling the rich supple leather under my fingers. I opened it, and pulled out my sword and shield. The sword, a fine long blade, had a briar design on the blade and handle, ending with a simple rose on the pommel. My shield, a simple kite shield, bore a simple design of a cross surrounded by brambles of thorns. I placed these to the side and deep inside the chest lay two of my most treasured weapons. The third was in the holster on the side of my leg. I pulled out the two small daggers and added the third one to the dagger belt that held them. The three daggers looked identical, with one small difference. They each had a different stone on the pommel: a ruby, a sapphire, and an emerald. My Fairy Blades.

As I pulled on the armor that was on the side of my tent I reminisced about how I had gotten the fairy blades. Last year, three small forest fairies were being chased by a pixie, a notorious eater of their kind. After killing it, they granted me these blades, saying that they would never fail me. Sure enough, these blades never missed their marks, finding each and every vital point whenever I threw them.

“Talia.”

I turned around, jumping back when I saw a huge, white stallion in front of me. For one second I seriously thought that the horse had spoken to me, until I saw Phillip shaking with suppressed laughter. I tried being angry with him, I swear. In the end I ended up laughing as I always do whenever I saw Phillip laughing.

“Talia, I’m going to go to sleep again.”

“What? No, you just woke up! Don’t we have to go to this cave and defeat the thing inside?”

“Yes we do, which is why I summoned this horse. The cave is one day’s ride from here. I plan to sleep and try to see if I could collect anymore clues about whatever’s in there. I’ll be awake before we get to the cave I promise. I’ll be tied to the horse and you’ll lead him towards the cave.” He placed the tips of his finger on my temples. I instantly knew where to find the cave. “I will be back.”

As he settled himself on the horse and drifted off to sleep, I stared the horse straight in his eyes.

“Oh sure he gets to sleep while I do all the work. Typical. Anyways do you have a name Mr. Horse?”

The horse neighed in reply.

“Well, how about Samson? Yeah I like that. Samson the Horse.”

Phillip

He woke up with a start, ripping the visor off of his face. How could he be blind now, now when it was so crucial that he keep her alive? How could he not know what they were going to face in that cave? He paced around the small room, wanting to smash the bulbs of the purple lights. The screams down on the street had stopped. He wished they hadn’t. The screams at least kept him from being alone with his thoughts, because even though she was in the room with him, he was alone. He would be alone until he woke her. This was his final chance. He wasted her lives in the game before, trying to break her free from her prison. When they had built the machine, they both agreed on a maximum five lives before the game would kick you out and force you to start over. It would serve as a break from the horror that their lives had descended into. What they had not planned on was the game trapping them in there with no recollection of how to get out or who they were. He had not even known that he was passing the game when he killed that final boss. But kill it he had and woken up he had, alone and without her. He tried all he could to wake her, eventually recoding his visor so he would remember who he was and be able to get out whenever his character fell asleep. He jammed it on, finding her in the world that they had built. He wanted to tell her the truth that the world she was in wasn’t real, that they had created it but he couldn’t. It would shatter her mind and he would never do that to her. So instead he helped her. He tried to stop her from taking on enemies before she was ready. The Necromancer. She didn’t believe him and because of that, she lost one of her precious lives. She didn’t know it of course. She thought that she had just closed her eyes. He took care of the beast, and from that moment on, took on the role of a prophet, leading her past certain doom, and making her stronger. No matter how hard he tried though, sometimes it wasn’t enough. The Aloon Settlement, the wolves of Kessig, the traitorous brother of the princess… She was on her final life, and he didn’t know what would happen if she lost that final life. The game hadn’t worked the way it was supposed to in the beginning, why should he trust it to work at the end? She would need all of his help this time. He knew why he couldn’t see the next boss. It was the final one. He didn’t remember what the final boss had been; he just remembered the fire and the cave. That would have to be enough. He slipped the visor on. The lights flashed, his body slumped, and the room was empty once again.

Talia

I was pulling my sword out of the wolf that had attacked me when I heard Phillip waking up.

“I told you, you have to be careful!” he said, voice cracking from frustration.

“Well I’m sorry that I had to defend both of us while you took a damn nap!” The barb hit home, and the look of anger was replaced with a look of guilt as his face reddened from embarrassment. I felt guilty for throwing that in his face, but I also wasn’t about to be scolded for defending both of our lives. “Look, we each have important abilities that we contribute to our little group. You dream. I fight. That’s how it’s been since we met and I don’t plan on changing now.”

He was quiet for a minute. He knew I was right. Yes he had magic, but I was the one who risked my life in order to protect us. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking me square in the eyes. “You’re right. I just—I worry about you alright.”

“You don’t have to. I took care of myself long before you showed up. Don’t underestimate me.”

I extended my hand, leaving it up to him if whether or not he was willing to let bygones be bygones. He gripped my hand instantly and I knew that we would be alright.

“So where are we?” he said in a jovial tone, peering into the dark woods around us. I knew that he wanted to forget about what just happened so I decided to follow his lead.

“We’re just outside the cave mouth. I was going to go explore inside, see if I could find any clues about what lay inside, but all I found were these shiny scales.” I lifted them up, the dull purple scales glittering in the fire light.

“Hmmmm… could be some type of bug creature in there. These scales don’t look familiar,” he said, examining one with his finger.

I shivered. I hated bugs. I had fought giant spiders before, in the Aloon Settlement, and that was an experience I did not want to repeat. I still had nightmares about the giant furry body that had sprang at me. If Phillip hadn’t thrown a fireball at it, I would have been a goner. I gathered my courage and turned toward the cave.

“Let’s go.”

////

It was dark. Well obviously it was dark, but it was a darkness that was absolute. I waved my hand in front of my face and I swear for one second I thought that I had closed my eyes even though I knew that they were open.

“Um, Phillip?”

“I got it.” A seed of light bloomed in his hand, getting bigger and bigger till it was the size of my fist. The cave was thrown into sharp relief. “That’s better.”

I fanned myself with my hand. “It’s hot as all hell in here.”

We looked at each other. The heat and the unfamiliar scales that I had found and his dreams of purple flames were forming a terrifying picture.

“It can’t be,” I said, voice hitching in fear. “They all went extinct centuries ago.”

“It appears one survived,” he said, voice trembling. “And it’s in here.” A faint roar echoed throughout the cave.

There was a dragon in this cave.

“We can do this,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “We’ve trained for this. This is what all of those battles have been for. We can do this.”

We smiled at each other. As I turned around to walk farther onto the cave, Phillip hugged me from behind.

“Be careful,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you.”

I grasped his hand, squeezing it affectionately. This was neither the time nor the place to speak of the underlying feelings that I felt. There would be time after.

As we walked, I prayed that each corner we turned wouldn’t lead us straight to the dragon. We had to fight it yes, but that also did not mean that I was looking forward to it. Despite my past actions, I didn’t have a death wish. I really really wanted to live into my old age.

As we walked, I noticed small purple crystals jutting from the top of the cave.

“Wow, those are really pretty,” I said, reaching out to touch one. They were almost hypnotic. I could swear they were calling out to me. As my hand neared the closest one, Philip grabbed my hand, a look of disgust crossing his face.

“Don’t touch them,” he said, pulling me forward. “We have no idea what they are or if they could be used to alert the dragon.”

I stared at the crystals, allowing myself to be dragged away, the crystal’s song fading the farther we got away from them. “That was odd,” I said, feeling more like myself the farther we got from the crystals. “What were they?”

“Probably sensing crystals,” Phillip said, peering around the next turn in the cavern. “The dragon probably has them everywhere to warn him of intruders.” He didn’t sound convinced though, his hand trembling as he pulled me forward.

“Well—,” I began saying, when the cavern began shaking. My first thought was that the dragon had found us, but when I heard the song in my head, I knew what was coming. I saw the first purple point poke through the earth, the point becoming fine like a needle, extending towards me. More and more crystals exploded from all around the cavern, crystals jutting forth from the ground, the walls, the ceiling. The song became overwhelming, driving me to my knees as the crystals reached towards me. I gripped my head, trying to block out the cacophony as images flashed through my head. I saw myself, strapped in a chair. I looked dirty. I saw a city on fire, people dying on a strange looking street. I closed my eyes, trying to process these images. I could hear Phillip calling to me, trying to reach me as the crystals separated us. Suddenly the music stopped. I opened my eyes, and I saw Phillip trapped behind a wall of crystals. He was shouting something, but I couldn’t hear him. Once again, I noticed a crystal that was as sharp as a needle, and I could hear it calling to me, beckoning me to touch it. I reached towards it, the crystal filling my vision as my finger neared the point. The minute my finger touched it, it pricked me, drawing blood.

The second my blood spilled on the crystal, my brain exploded with images. I saw myself with Phillip, building the machine. I saw me getting trapped in the game, Phillip and me forgetting who we were. Us reaching this same cavern and fighting the dragon. Phillip abandoning me as he ran for the exit. The dragon killing me. The necromancer killing me. The wolf, the spider, the Prince… all succeeding in cutting me down. And Phillip. Always Phillip. The mastermind. The man who said he would never abandon me even when those monsters attacked in the other world.

I opened my eyes, surprised to see all of the crystals suddenly gone. Phillip was kneeling next to me, feeling for a pulse. My heart filled with anger as I saw him, acting as if he truly cared about me. If he cared about me, he would have never have abandoned me. I slammed my fist into his face, catching him by surprise as he tumbled to the ground.

“You bastard,” I said through gritted teeth. I swiped away the tears that had suddenly began falling. I drew my sword, pressing the tip lightly into chest. “How could you? How could you do this to me?”

“Talia, what are you talking about?” he wheezed, trying to squirm out from underneath the blade. “It’s me, Phillip!”

“I remember. Everything.”

“His face drained of blood. He stopped moving, mouth moving soundlessly. “You remember? Even…about the other world.”

I threw the blade aside, grabbing him by the neck of his robe. “Yes. But especially, I remember the last time we were here.”

His eyebrows snapped together in confusion. “What do you mean? Last time we were here?”

“Oh you don’t remember?” A sarcastic chuckle escaped my lips. “You left me here. That’s why you remember everything. You’re dreams aren’t visions of the future. You’ve done this before. And when we reached this place together, you left me to fight the dragon while you escaped and woke up.”

“Talia, please. I—I was scared. I thought that maybe if I passed the game, we would both wake up. I thought I was saving both of us!”

“You left me here to die!”

“No! That’s why as soon as I could, I came back! I tried to make sure that you could pass the game so you could wake up! I’m trying, please—“

A roar echoed throughout the cave, shaking me to my very bones. The dragon was near.

I could kill Phillip now, or have him help me wake up. He had already proven to be a coward. Could I trust him to not abandon me again? My instincts screamed at me to kill him now, to end this miserable coward’s life. But I couldn’t take on this dragon alone. I would need his help. My mind made up, I threw him onto the ground.

“After this, you and I are over. When I wake up, I don’t care, but you and I are done.”

“Talia, please I’m—“

“If you apologize to me, I will beat you to death.”

With that I turned my back to him, leading us through the cavern, the heat getting more and more unbearable. Phillip trailed quietly behind me, and every now and then I could hear him sniffling quietly. I ignored him, not in the mood to console him. He knew what he had done. I wasn’t going to coddle him and absolve him of this. I had a dragon to kill and a game to wake up from.

The tunnel widened, eventually leading to a stone bridge that led to a giant stone dais. I peered over the edge, seeing nothing but blackness. How long would someone fall if they fell over the edge? I glanced over at Phillip, my mind jokingly toying with the idea of throwing him over. I quelled the idea, and walked onto the dais.

“Where’s the dragon?” I asked, not looking at him. “The cave doesn’t go any further so it should be here.” I glanced around, seeing more of those dull scales that I had found near the mouth of the cave.

A roar from above answered my question. My head snapped upwards, and I saw the beast on an outcropping of stone high above the dais, examining us with toxic green eyes. Its body was coiled, black and purple body rippling with powerful muscles. Curving horns extended from its head, giving it another form of attack. A pale yellow tongue slithered out, tasting the air. Its eyes were so huge that I saw its pupil pinpoint and I knew it was going to attack.

“Move!” I bellowed as the dragon’s wings burst out of its body. It flew into the air, gouts of purple and green flame exploding from its mouth. Phillip and I dove behind a rock, the rock beginning to melt under the heat of the flames.

“We need a plan!” I said, peeking over the rock. The dragon was on the ground now, its long, red nails raking the ground. It left behind long furrows and I knew that my armor would be as useful as leaves in defending myself.

“A head on attack won’t work,” Phillip said. “It has scales meant for defending against any attack, physical or magical. I doubt my magic would even work on it.”

Another earsplitting roar shook the cave, and I knew the dragon was getting bored with this game of hide and seek. I pulled one of my Fairy Blades from its sheath and I looked at Phillip.

“We are going to defeat this thing and I am going to wake up. No matter what, I am escaping this world.”

I sprinted out from behind the rock, throwing my dagger. The green jewel glinted as it sped fast and true right into the beast’s neck. It embedded itself into it, hot blood pouring out and melting the rocks underneath. Sadly, the dragon was still very much alive as it breathed more fire onto the ground below. I lifted my shield, the blessed metal holding against the dragon fire. Once I had the chance, I dove behind another rock, examining the wound I had left on the dragon. As it spewed more fire, I noticed flames also emitting from the wound my dagger had created. The dragon began smashing rocks as if it was hoping to drive Phillip and me out of hiding. I was tired of hiding.

I leapt out, brandishing my sword as I let out my own roar. The dragon sped towards me, flames exploding from its nostrils as its giant mouth opened. I dodged, slamming my sword down on its face. Nothing. It swiped at me with its claws. I rolled beneath the claws, knowing that if I miscalculated a roll, the claws would kill me. Lift my shield at the wrong moment and the flames would cook me alive. Do even one wrong movement, and the teeth would tear me to shreds. Every time it missed me, it would strike the dais we were on and more and more would crumble away into the everlasting darkness below us.

“Talia! Aim for the neck!” I heard Phillip cry. I looked at him for one second, and in that second the dragon slammed its claw down on me. Blood exploded from my mouth, a sure sign of internal damage. The dragon let loose a shriek of victory, bringing its face down to examine me. This was it. I was going to die. It opened its mouth, revealing thousands of needle fine teeth. I closed my eyes, waiting for that bite that would end me. When it didn’t come I opened my eyes. The dragon was frozen. I saw it straining against the spell, trying with all its might to break free.

“Talia! Do it now!” Phillip walked towards the dragon, arm outstretched and sweat pouring down his face. “This spell won’t hold for long!”

Already the dragon was snapping its jaws, body breaking free of the spell bit by bit. I squirmed out from beneath the red claws and stood up. I ripped my dagger belt off of me, tying it to my sword in one quick fluid motion. I tossed my shield aside, praying that I was correct in my theory. Phillip collapsed, the spell breaking, freeing the dragon. It reared its head, poised to kill Phillip.

“HEY!”

The dragon turned to face me. I launched the sword above my head, my two remaining Fairy Blades guiding the sword straight into the wound I had made earlier. As the sword entered the monster’s body, it shrieked in pain as the fire it had inside began exploding out from it. It fell, the whole cavern shaking as the monster died. The dais we were on, crumbled as it was, began falling apart huge chunks falling into the fathoms below.

“Talia! Come on!” I heard Phillip scream as chunks of rock began falling from above. The body of the dragon fell as well, taking my sword and Blades along with it, a red, blue, and green twinkle the last I saw of them. I began running for stable ground too late, the stone beneath me falling. As I fell, Phillip jumped and tried to grab me, missing by the tips of his fingers. I fell down into the darkness.

Phillip/Talia

His consciousness roared back into his body. He screamed in anguish as he ripped the visor from his eyes, throwing it aside. The game had thrown him out and that could only mean one thing. He looked at her motionless body, sorrow knifing his heart as he broke down, sobbing and apologizing to her lifeless corpse. He had failed her and finally for the first time, he could see her as what she was—a corpse. He knew that she wasn’t coming back. Yet he couldn’t leave her. He had sworn that he would if he couldn’t wake her, but now that it was time to act, he couldn’t. He knew what to do. The game was surely rebooting, erasing Talia, but he could save the game’s memory of her. He could live with how the game remembered Talia; it wouldn’t be the same but he would still be with her.

I was falling. I don’t know for how long but when I finally hit the floor, it didn’t hurt. It welcomed me, soft and enveloping. Is this what dying felt like? An eternity in darkness? Alone? I began crying softly, afraid of truly being alone. I cried because to be truthful, I didn’t blame Phillip for what had happened to me. I had been angry; I didn’t hate him. I had just been so angry…

He was close. He just had to rewrite a bit more of the code and he would be with her, wherever she was…

I don’t know how long I floated in the darkness. It could have been seconds or eternities. All I know is that when I saw that sparking purple light, I thought it was a trick. Then I saw the red, blue, and green lights join and they began sparking and fizzing, creating a perfect circle.

He rewrote the piece of code that erased his memory. He wouldn’t need it anymore, just enough to find Talia…

The lights called to me. I walked or floated or swam to it. I couldn’t tell you which. The closer I got to it, the more I could see fuzzy images. When I was right in front of it, I gasped. I could see Phillip in the other world.

He destroyed the purple lights for good measure. If he was leaving this world for good, at least he could do one final thing that brought him pleasure. He grinned as the broken glass showered the floor.

I knew that if I touched the light it would awaken me. I would be back in my body, back in the real world. I would be with Phillip. All I had to do was touch it.

He placed the visor over his eyes. He would see her soon.

I touched the light.

He flipped the switches.

I’m coming. Wait for me Phillip.

I’m coming. Wait for me Talia.

The End

Any and all critiques are welcome!

#writing #fiction #sleeping beauty #short story

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