#maybe he can float better if he created an air pocket in his stomach or something idk i never thought too hard about this )) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nemeseos-noctua · 3 years

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Here's the other: How'd they react to their S/O who cherishes their gift given by their beloved so much, that one day the gift was destroyed by a hilichurl and they went so livid they practically fought the creatures to death and threw them to a lake somewhere, and sulked the whole how they don't deserve them anymore cuz of how careless they were. For Razor, Albedo and Xiao 👉👈

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: razor, albedo, xiao (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: not proofread, mc is referenced as an alchemist/adventurer in albedo’s, one swear word in xiao’s

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: im EMBARRASSED at how long this is and how MEANINGLESS THE WRITING IS IM SO SORRY

he made you a paw-shaped clay sculpture!

it was cute and small, fitting right into the palm of your hands

to others—it may look like some worn-down toy, but to you, it was a good luck charm from the ever-cute razor

but perhaps, it wasn’t quite the clay-shape that you held close to your heart... no, it was the strenuous effort razor put into sculpting the paw

you remember it vividly. how the boy would dig his hands into mud and sit under the burning sun, carving the dirt with his bare fingers as he hid the gift from your sight

so when a good-for-nothing hilichurl decides razor’s paw-shape charm was a nice pebble for hot potato... boy were you livid

Patting the ground beside you, [e/c] eyes widened upon the feeling of nothing but grass.

What...? Peering over, you stared blankly at the empty space, comical arrows pointing at the now-gone charm you had received from Razor. Just where was it? You swore it was right beside you...

And as if Barbatos were laughing at you, the wind blew, burning your eyes as the sight of mitachurls and hilichurls danced around the fire in the distance, tossing what looked like a rock into the air.

Ah.

You blinked.

That was the charm Razor made.

first of all... how did the hilichurl get it? the charm was literally right beside you!

agh, whatever.

you’ll just retrieve it. easy, right?

no.

first of all, your power would literally turn the lush grass into a desolate canyon (not really). second of all, you’d probably end up destroying the paw in your rampage

hah...

—if the hilichurl didn’t destroy it first

Materializing your weapon, you couldn’t help but hope that the paw had miraculously survived the impact of a hilichurl throwing it against the floor.

Hah, what were you thinking? Of course it didn’t... physics just didn’t allow it.

But you know what physics did allow? Why, beating these enemies to a pulp, of course!

once you floored the hilichurls, you quickly scrambled as to look for signs of the paw anywhere

berating yourself as to how utterly foolish you were for letting it go and leaving it unguarded in the first place, you stared in defeat at the sight of crumbled clay and hardened dirt in the grass of the hilichurl camp

why? why were you so careless? seriously, how did this happen? if you had just kept it in your backpack like a regular person, razor’s hard-earned hours and craft would still be as grand as ever-

“[y/n]?”

Blinking, you hadn’t realized you had been sulking in the midst of this hilichurl camp. [E/C] eyes lifted up, widening once they had landed on none other than Razor, his crimson eyes like the agates that littered Dragonspine, his hair as grey as stormclouds.

“Ah... Razor...” You smiled in exasperation, staring at anywhere but said boy. How could you face him after watching his clay paw get destroyed by some measly hilichurls?

“Are you okay?” He asked, glancing around at the scene before him. The grass wilted, the camp that he remembered being obnoxiously loud and disturbing was silent and empty.

“Yeah, no biggie,” Waving off his concern, you began to walk away, your heart sinking with each step.

First, you let his gift get destroyed. Second, you walk away from him.

You were such a terrible partn—

“[Y/N]?” Razor’s voice cut through the air, a tension you had created solely on the thoughts of your own mind. Gripping your wrist with a tender touch, you didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes drooped down ever so slightly.

“Did I... make lupical mad?”

Gulping, you quickly waved your hands in front of your face, eyes widened as you tried to carefully explain the series of events that had just led down to this very moment.

“I—well, you see, your uh, paw-clay-thingy... I was careless and I—“

“Break it while hunting?” Razor answered, tilting his head as his hold merely stayed still, not wavering for a second, as if you were a boar in his hands.

“Ah...”

Razor was much better at observation than you had thought.

“It’s okay. I make more for lupical,” Razor nodded, already beginning to pace over to a pond as he dipped his gloved hands into the water, wafting around for dirt as you rushed up behind him.

“Wait! But I was careless... you don’t need to make ano—“

“It’s for lupical. Lupical close, I give lupical gift that never break.”

Everlasting—that was what he wanted to make.

And a part of you couldn’t help but agree.

albedo, in all of his alchemy prowess, made you an artificial flower

how? don’t ask him. he’ll spew some lengthy thesis and paragraph about the fundamentals, the research, the prototype, the testing, the—

ahem, anyways!

you had never intended to bring it outside. but one day, you had left your camp under the supervision of barbatos (wow go barbatos) and ventured off to fetch some materials

and when you came back? you were met with the sight of hilichurls and slimes raving around your tent

what the—

“I...I’m hallucinating,” You deadpanned, slapping your wrist at the sight of pyro slimes and masked hilichurls dancing around your tent, the inside of your humble abode moving around as if it were possessed.

And the cherry on top? A pyro abyss mage emerged, the flower floating besides it. But oh boy, it was no flower anymore... it was a flaming flower.

At that moment, you were left to ponder. Maybe, just maybe, you kinned a whopperflower at that point. Because oh boy did your temper and sanity explode on those little enemies, the way your blade sunk into their forms—

you were already planning your apology to albedo. he trusted you and loved you enough to make an artificial flower for you... and yet, it so pitifully crumbled at your touch

okay, not quite your touch. but it crumbled at the ugly pyro abyss mage’s touch

so, as any good s/o would do, you sulked while rebuilding your camp. it’s okay. as long as albedo didn’t know his creation was charred, all would be well. besides! he was quite a busy man! chances were low that he’d discover!

busy, he was, observant, he is

perhaps, you should’ve known

“Ah... hi Albedo,” You winced, opening your tent to smile at the alchemist who merely stared at you.

“You were gone for a while. Is everything okay?” He noted, remembering your absence from visiting his own camp at Dragonspine. As an alchemist, he knew what it was like being holed up in a camp. But for two weeks? Even he needed breaks.

“Well, you see... I was out... gathering materials! Yes!” You gave him a weak thumbs-up, wailing internally once his piercing azure eyes trailed around your camp, noting that nothing looked new.

“You don’t need to lie to me, [Y/N]. Is something the matter?”

“I’m sorry!” You cut off, clapping your hands together in a prayer-like position, guilt welling up in the pit of your stomach.

“...Why?”

“Your flower—I left it unsupervised and it was set aflame and I’m so so so sor—“

“Don’t be.”

Mouth dropping, you stared up at the male, an amused expression painting his face like the canvases he dedicated to you.

“At least you were not hurt while it was set aflame. Come, I’ll show you how to make some more,” Opening your tent for you all the way, Albedo held a hand out to you, eyes flickering in mirth.

“And next time, don’t try to run away from your problems.”

“You cheeky littl—“ A blush of both embarrassment and fluster formed on your face, shocked at his sudden remark.

he made you an adepti amulet

enhanced with super-cool-adepti-no-mortal-can-have power, xiao had informed you that all you needed to do was hold up the amulet and it’d scare any kind of enemies away!

cool, right? too bad you left it unattended while fighting the irritable anemo cube! now it’s at the bottom of the sea <3

how did this happen, exactly? well... you see... when wind picks up and becomes strong... light-weight objects will fly up into the air!

and sometimes, those light weight objects will fall into the sea, and sometimes, those objects would be gifts from your adeptus boyfriend who was waiting for you back at wangshu inn—

ahem. anyways. you beat the crap out of the anemo cube (aka, beth. aka, tornado cube. aka, cube waifu)

I should just... not go back to Wangshu Inn today. Haha... I’ll go ask Katheryne for a commission... You nodded, stuffing the turquoise shards of wind into your pockets, your bags filled with mora and enhancement ores being thrown off the side of the cliff.

—Along with the adepti amulet Xiao had made for you.

Seriously... you still had to wonder just how that happened! One second, you were avoiding getting sucked up by the vent of the anemo cube... and the next, your bag was traveling the world!

Can’t have shit in Teyva—

Trekking back to Mondstadt in defeat, you were innocently oblivious to the worry of the Yaksha back in Liyue.

are they okay? do they need help? did they go to dragonspine? all these questions spun around xiao’s head as he watched the moon rise, his mask dissipating into the wind

you told him you’d return tonight... yet you hadn’t. and a part of him had wished you hadn’t left liyue, so he had at least some control over whatever dangers dared to attack you

but, he knew you were strong. why else would he love you, anyway? he does not find appeal in being the savior 24/7

so, he waits. atop the balcony of wangshu inn, across the stars and moon, he prays to his archon, wishing—no, hoping you arrive safely

And—you did. You arrived back at Wangshu Inn.

... Three weeks later.

“You’re late. Very late,” Xiao’s voice blared in your ears, a blessing and a curse all at the same time. You didn’t know how to tell him the amulet was thrown off a cliff—but at the same time, you really wanted to run your fingers through his hair.

“Haha... sorry about that,” You laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of your head as Xiao merely grumbled, appearing before you with a piercing stare.

“Where were you? You did not even send me a letter.”

“I’m sorry... it’s just... eh... well...” You looked away, your heart churning against your ribs as Xiao extended his index finger out, tilting your chin to face him.

“What?” He asked, his tone harsh yet soft, longing yet logical.

“I uh... kind of... lost your adepti amulet... I’m sorry.”

He blinked.

“You waited three weeks to tell me that?” He asked in disbelief, almost in disappointment. Seriously, he was an adeptus! A Yaksha, at that! He could’ve just made another one for you... But nooo... you decided to wait three weeks in the land of the free (America?) and then worry him to death.

“Mortals...” Xiao muttered under his breath, crossing his arms with a huff as he turned his head away, the wind picking up.

“Hey, wait! Aren’t you going to say anything? Like a disappointed lecture or something?”

“No.”

Disappearing, you facepalmed, already pulling out some sweetflowers and milk to whip up some almond tofu.

Damn that adeptus. Who was he to tug your heartstrings like that?

You sighed, sitting beside a cooking pot as lingering yellow eyes watched your form, their irises softening at the sight.

— constellations! 💫

#genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #albedo x reader #razor x reader #genshin albedo #genshin razor #constellarations

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acapelladitty · 3 years

Text

Heisenberg/Reader fic (nsfw)

(please check the link below to see all tags and warnings)

Full fic is also available on AO3 here

His hands are warm against your shoulders as he pins you into place with both his grasp and his stare, “Before I lock you in,” there is a slight hesitancy in his voice which isn’t common and it has your full attention, “if something fucks up then you let me know straight away so I can scrap it. Can’t go breaking my favourite toy before I’m finished with it.”

It was an attempt at humour, and you smile along with him, soothing his concealed anxieties as your hands come to rest on his chest. Both fully clothed, you knew you wouldn’t remain that way for long and the anticipation of your game was heady as he accepted your touch as consent.

“Good girl.” He purrs, the words low in his chest, “Then strip and we’ll see just how much you can take.”

The instruction sends a shiver down your spine, and you follow his command; first to go is your shirt as you carelessly pull it overhead before dropping it to the floor and you quickly follow by unclipping the back of your skirt, allowing the fabric to slip to the floor without difficulty.

A low grumble escapes his throat as he takes in your exposed core, your decision to not wear any underwear having the desired effect as you stand there and await his next instruction, the warm air of the room dancing across your skin pleasantly.

His hands come to rest on your hips, gripping the flesh there almost painfully as he guides you backwards until your ass hits upon the stocks which you will be encased within.

“Well don’t just stand there,” he growls, “assume the position so I can lock you in.”

Breaking from his grip you move around to the other side of the metal stocks and place your head and hands within the holes there, each one specifically moulded to fit you perfectly and wide enough to not be too uncomfortable with prolonged use. The height of the stocks is low, requiring you to bend your body at a right angle to fit within them; a move which leaves you fully exposed as you spread your legs to ease the ache on your lower back.

In position, you glance up at him and you can imagine how pleasant you must look, spread out and vulnerable as you were to his every whim and command. A sound of metal locking lets you know that you are now firmly trapped in place as he drops to one knee before you.

Caressing your chin with his rough fingers, his hair is falling around his face as he pierces you with his heated gaze.

“When this is all said and done and you’re a fucking mess who can barely speak let alone walk,” he says in a voice which is heavy with lust and promise, “I think we’ll celebrate by bathing together so I can inspect that body thoroughly.”

Nipping at his fingers as he brings them close to your lips, you can agree with that idea and you nod your consent.

“Anyway!” He announces loudly, causing you to jump in place as you scowl, “On with the show. Shall we meet our grand toy for this game?” He snaps his fingers and from the darkness of the room, a mechanical grating sound springs to life as a soldat appears from the gloom.

One arm is still relatively human as it connected to the torso, the glowing reactor of its heart brighter than most light sources within the room. The head is encased in metal, emotionless and anonymous, but the shining drill which has come to replace its other arm causes a spike of alarm in your heart.

“A custom build,” Heisenberg continues with a showman flourish, “with a few special touches. My soldats are built for aggression but this sorry bastard,” he indicates the soldat to move forward a few feet so that it can stand by his side, “has had that particular electrical impulse removed, he is entirely subject to my will as I control and guide his movements.”

Your eyes are so glued to the drill that it takes all your effort to pull away from it to glance at the crotch of the soldat, the area which Heisenberg was directing your attention to now.

“As you can see, it’s also been fitted with a little something extra to keep any wanton slut amused for as long as I think she deserves.”

The metal cock which juts forward from soldat was intimidating in how rigid it looked but as you peered at it, you noticed that it was just slightly smaller than Heisenberg’s own cock, coming it at about a half inch shorter and slightly thinner.

You bite at your bottom lip to hide the smile which was threatening to escape as you realise that Heisenberg must have made a point to create something less impressive than himself. Maybe he was worried he would be replaced?

Mistaking your bitten lip for worry, Heisenberg smirked.

“Don’t worry about the size, kitten, it’s nothing that I know you can’t handle.”

Gathering up some scrap metal with a wave of his hand, Heisenberg quickly fashioned it into a comfortable high-backed chair, the base of it floating a few inches off the floor as he took easy control of the materials and fell into it with ease.

“I suggest you get your lips around it and wet it up,” Heisenberg called out to you from his seated position as the soldat moved to stand by your trapped head, “because you’re going to want it to be comfortable when it’s buried within your cunt.”

Running your lips around the metallic cock, you make a show of wetting it as you take your time in running your tongue along the shaft and allowing thin trails of saliva to soak the tip.

The soldat remains passive as you manipulate it, its metallic body unable to register either pain or pleasure, and the loud whirring of its mechanics is almost soothing as it rumbles above you.

Lost in the action, your attention is caught by the sound of a belt unbuckling, and you glance up at Heisenberg to see him freeing his cock from his slacks. He’s already half hard and he runs his hand along his shaft casually as he watches you please his creation. His back is reclined on his makeshift throne and he looks every part the lord he claims to be.

“On with the show.” Heisenberg grunts, inclining to the soldat with an open palm and the creature follows its masters’ instructions without hesitation. Pulling free of your mouth, it steps back and turns methodically as it leaves your line of sight.

Moving behind you, the soldat takes position as it lines up with your entrance and awaits the instruction for it to begin. The familiar warmth of skin is missing, an odd sensation against your thighs as its unnatural cock holds position against the wetness there, a telling sign of just how much this was turning you on.

Exhibitionism was more of a ‘him’ thing but that didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate putting on a good performance and you fix him with a lustful gaze, daring him to begin. Behind you, the soldat makes its first movement as it pushes the tip of its metallic cock within you slowly, stretching you in the most enjoyable way as you run your teeth along your lower lip.

The soldat continues to push inside you until you feel the cold metal and skin which made up its crotch pressing against your ass. The fullness is intense and lacking both the softness and natural warmth of a cock which you were accustomed to. Clenching your walls around it as it slowly pulls free once more, the friction steals a full body shudder from you as it brushes your sensitive walls.

Setting a pace which was slow yet deep, you give a low moan as you squeeze your eyes closed, focusing on the ache of your clit as you wish one of your hands free to stimulate it. The stocks around you creak slightly as you push back against the soldat, trying to encourage it to move faster but to no avail as it continues its measured strokes.

A cough draws your eyes open and you lock eyes with Heisenberg once again, his cock now fully hard and laying against his stomach as he runs a finger along the shaft. Extending one finger out, a small metal ashtray cut through the air as it responded to his call and he placed the ashtray on the arm of his throne.

His fingers disappear within the ashtray and pluck free his cigar from within as his other hand dipped within his coat, pulling free a lighter which he quickly used to light the end of the cigar before dropping the lighter back into his pocket.

Inhaling deeply, he sent a thick plume of smoke to the air and you watch it dissipate with a needy growl as the soldat to your back continues its torturously slow pace.

“Something to say, kitten?” He asked, lips mumbling the words around the cigar as he tilted his head at you, amused by your noises and stroking himself slowly.

You knew you were playing with fire but logic was a million miles from your mind as you bare your teeth at him with a feral smirk.

“If this is all you have, Karl,” the use of his name gets a slight brow quirk from him, “then I’m disappointed. I could do a better job myself with less effort.”

“Is that so?”

Giving a deep hum as his lips curl into a considerate smirk, he drops some ash from his cigar carelessly to the floor and inclines to the soldat with a sharp nod as he takes a fresh draw.

Instantly, the pace within you picks up as the soldat snaps its hips forward, burying its metal cock deep within you- drawing a loud gasp of pained pleasure from you- before pulling back just as quickly and repeating the move. The gentleness is gone and your fingertips scramble against the metal stock as your breath is stolen by the sudden onslaught of pressure and pleasure.

The metal within you is unyielding and almost surgical in its precision as it brushes your most sensitive spots without pause, having no need to regain stamina or breath. You felt like a piece of meat, having no say or connection to the creature bringing you such pleasure and the dehumanising nature of it was intoxicating as you allowed yourself to be used and abused.

One particularly deep stroke seems to catch your g-spot perfectly and your scream is low and guttural as your body tenses in position, every nerve alighting and making your wrists pull against the stocks as your knees weaken. Behind you, the soldat cares nothing for your predicament as it keeps up its thrusts, ensuring that your sex remains stimulated even as your pleasure peaks and ebbs.

It’s almost too much and the brutal pace ensures that a constant stream of moans and squeals is all that can escape your throat as you can do little but endure the constant stimulation.

Your eyes were focused on your tormentor, the puppet master who was pulling the strings, and his clear enjoyment of your suffering did nothing but add to the arousal which was coursing through you. Eyes burning as your teeth snapped shut tightly enough to cause a genuine tension in your jaw, you lost yourself in the sensations as your mind seemed to white out.

As though hearing your thoughts, Heisenberg rose from his makeshift throne and came to stand before you even as you continued to whine in place. You take in his form with blurred vision, trying to blink away the unshed wetness in your eyes as you glance up at him.

“Too much, little slut? I thought you were better than this.” His cock bobbed ever so temptingly before you and your tongue licked at your lips as you listen to his words, “What a shame.”

Noticing your attention on his cock, he drops to one knee once again and brushes his fingers along your mouth as you sob out a low keen against him due to the soldat once again brushing against your most sensitive spot.

“Don’t worry, kitten, you’ll be receiving your reward in a moment but first,” his hands produce a large ring gag from within his coat and he slips it within your willing mouth as you tilt your head forward to allow him to secure it, “can’t have you accidentally biting down on me because you can’t handle a little machine fuck, can we?”

Taking a draw of his cigar, he blows the smoke in your face gently and your predicament plus the ring gag make you unable to move away from it as the scent and taste of smoke invades your senses. Standing back up, he dips his hips forward and his hand guides his cock towards your defenceless yet willing mouth and you use it as an opportunity to concentrate on something other than the hard pleasure rocketing through your core.

Your tongue reaches out to lap at the head of his cock but whatever teasing you had planned was swiftly put to rest as he shook his head for a moment before thrusting his cock within your mouth, pausing at the tip of your throat to allow you to prepare for him. Breathing deeply though your nose, you relax your throat and dip your head forward slightly as you accept him.

The invitation was clear and with a triumphant growl he pushes down your throat greedily and you fight back the urge to choke as the familiar taste of him overwhelms you. Added to this, as though taking instruction from its master, the soldat also seems to pick up its pace as it impales itself within you.

Now plugged at both ends, the soldat moves so quickly against you that you can barely differentiate the strokes and the unyielding stimulation leaves you a mindless mess of pleasure.

To your front, you allow Heisenberg to use your mouth; his own strokes deep and messy as he fucks your face with abandon, confident in the security that his cock ring provides him, and you can do nothing but attempt to relax your throat as you resign yourself to the abuse of your willing body.

Pleasure was indistinguishable from pain as ecstasy and agony melted together into one unending mess of sensation; orgasms ripping through you as time lost meaning, even as Heisenberg’s thick fingers came to pluck at your nipples as he used your throat roughly. Tears streaming from your eyes freely as you try to keep up with your breathing, as erratic and broken as it was.

Eventually you feel the cock within your mouth twitch and you have a moment’s notice before he explodes within your throat with an animalistic grunt; the soft tickle of his pubic hair irritating the end of your nose as he buried himself fully and you have to concentrate on swallowing down his release, lest you choke on it.

It's too much and another orgasm tears through you, your fingernails carving crescent shaped divots into your palms as you fist your hands desperately. The tension within your body is almost unbearable as you jerk and writhe, unable to do much more as you remain speared in place.

However, just as you feel like your legs are ready to buckle, a small mercy makes itself known.

Behind you, the soldat pulls free of you and powers down without warning and the sudden lack of fullness within you feels strange, the air of the room brushing past the mess of juices which were coating your thighs and steadily dripping down your legs. So used to Heisenberg’s lack of protection, it feels unnatural to be so thoroughly fucked and not have the warmth of another release within your core, leaking out with your own.

As you consider it, Heisenberg pulls free of your mouth and tucks his saliva-coated cock back within his slacks as he flicks what remains of his cigar butt away without care. Taking a step back, he takes in your prone state and the thin veil of sweat which coats your body.

Twitching in position as your overstimulated nerves continue to fire off despite the lack of stimulation, your knees continue to wobble dangerously for a moment before your body collapses in on itself. Knees striking the floor roughly, you have to straighten your back to keep the pressure off your neck and hands as you reclaim control of your body.

A click of unlocking metal lets you know that you are no longer secured in place but before you can make any effort to move, gentle hands release the ring gag which was still stretching your mouth open. Snapping your jaw shut in appreciation as you move the muscles there, you glance at him with a thankful look as he disappears to your side, just out of eyesight.

Gasping in surprise as his hands come to rest on your hips, the metal stock unlatches and opens at his command and you find yourself quickly swept up into his arms. The physicality of the act draws an appreciative hum from your throat as you curl in towards his chest instinctively; the small pendants and dog tags which he wore as part of his usual outfit brushing against your bare chest as his welcomed warmth envelops you.

“I can walk.” You bite out in a low mutter, having no intention of doing so but unwilling to admit the weakness, “Put me down.”

“No,” the refusal is simple and his grip tightens around you as he takes you in the direction of the bathroom, his earlier promise ringing in your ears, “I want every inch of you scrubbed to wash off the stink of the machine.”

Even through the teasing tone, you can hear just the faintest hint of jealousy peeking through and it makes you smirk.

“Can we keep it?” You ask in a tired voice, slipping your hand in the crease of his shirt and rubbing against the hair of his chest seductively, “I wouldn’t mind having a spare in the bedroom for when the Lord of this factory is too busy to meet my needs.”

Tilting his head down, he catches the mischievous glint in your eye and a rumble emits from his chest.

“Be careful what you wish for, kitten,” He mutters, kicking the door of the bathroom open with ease, “because you know I like to make a fucking point. Especially when it comes to my favourite toy and her insatiable needs.”

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x you #lord heisenberg #heisenberg smut

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wastedyouth-wasteddreams · 3 years

Text

Part 3. Whisky and cute. Smutty thoughts.

With one arm still wrapped around her shoulder Vik grabbed the whisky off his desk with his free hand, glove clinking against the glass bottle, and walked her through the back.

It wasn't much, but he had an old worn in leather couch where he originally thought he would take breaks. But seeing that he usually ate and tinkered at his desk in front of an old fight, the couch was mainly used after closing. It's the kind of couch that's been sat on a thousand times, napped on for hundreds, and was still too comfy to throw out.

The seats were full of pitts and scrapes from from where he had sat down with something sharp still poking out of a pocket. there was a deep dent on the side that Jackie favoured, all his excited fidgeting had a tendency to leave lasting impressions. One of the arm rests had a strange flat smooth spot where bottles of whisky and beer had been carefully balanced over the years, and the other had a swooping crater where the memory of Viks tired head was left indefinitely.

It had been a week since she was last in. Since he sat her down and told her he cared for her. In all, that wasn't really a shock, he was warm hearted and she knew he cared, he cared for all his friends. Vik was someone you counted on. The shock to her system was how it was said. He wasn't just handing off information, it almost felt like a proposition. As if he was offering her a reason to look after herself.

She had definitely been thinking, and over thinking on his words. She couldn't just turn up to say "hey" after that. She didn't want to be over eager and under wanted. His birthday was such a perfect reason to pop by though, it wasn't even an excuse-it was an ACTUAL reason.

"You haven't dropped in all week. I thought you might have been avoiding me?"

As she heard the words, a black hole opened in her chest, sucking her stomach and heart into oblivion for a few seconds. His forearm was resting sluggishly on her shoulder as they walked, which was making it hard for her to concentrate anyway...a smell of hot metal, antiseptic and pheromones mixed with a fresh sweat was evaporating from his arm. She could feel an olfactory memory being created each time she breathed him in.

"Really vik?! You are getting old. You don't remember when I came in and paid you every eddy I've ever owed you? Then you took me to dinner? Bought me flowers?"

She slunk from under his arm and picked her feet off the floor as she threw herself back and shoulders first onto the couch. Her head firmly nestled into the Vik dent.

"Did everyone ask if I was your Dad?" It was a quick response, because it had been something on his mind before. He was an actual age to be her father. It certainly wasn't the only thing stopping him from acting on his desires, but it was a major one. He watched her hair float up as head hot the couch, as if waves were engulfing her.

"Grandpa!" She responded raising her eye brows and giving him a nod as he picked up a leather pouch from the surgical table in the corner.

Vik mimicked being punched in the gut and let out a growling "Ooft kid!" As he planted himself next to her with an empty thud. When his 200 pound of muscle hit the seat, it dropped a good six inches beneath him, and in turn, her hips cooked and she fell into his thigh.

She steadied herself by wrapping her hand around his forearm. It shouldn't have been as exciting as it was, but his arms did things to her. She could watch him working all day, when his fingers moved and grabbed the muscles just below his elbow stretched and rippled like a machine. He didn't realise it, but she was tracing the movements over his tattoos.

"Grandpa eh? THAT I would have remembered" he swallowed his words as she stroked his arm with her thumb. He wondered of she knew what she was doing to him right now. Her fingers slightly tugging at his tired and sore arm, whilst her thighs pushed against his leg. He wished to have that thigh in his grasp, and her fingers exploring his chest. He wanted to know exactly how much of her he could hold at once. That sweet spot where her thighs and ass met..she was thickest there, he wanted to cradle her and find out how well she would fit in his hand.

He felt his whole body reacting to the though and he swallowed once more, moving his arm ever so slightly trying to reach his exo glove without breaking the skin to skin contact.

"YOUR BIRTHDAY" Came the squeel from next to his ear. She had the lungs of a whale sometimes.

Her hands grabbed his leg and she jumped on her knees next to him, she didn't realise how far down her hands were going go, but she gave him a little squeeze before she bounded off

"I'm gonna get your box!"

He would have smiled at her giddied charm if he wasn't too busy trying to will all his blood back to its rightful places. She must have realised where her left hand landed. Her finger tips touched so far into his thigh that they grazed the seam of his pants, and if she would have stretched her pinky out an inch, she would have felt a waking dragon, who he had no doubt, would have been stirred from her touch.

As she returned she watched him folding leather around his exoglove. She was wondering if she had made him uncomfortable with her touch, but that fear faded when he flashed her a big Vik smile. Fear that was replaced with butterflies.

He sat the pouch on the soft bit of the arm rest, and felt his heart race as he waited for her to come close again. He expected her to sit next to him, but she walked in front of him, her shoulders square with his, though much more slender. She looked down at her gift and then at Vik without moving her head as she handed it to him. She gave him big eyes, full of wonder and life. He took the box from her hands, not breaking eye contact for even a split second.

"The whisky was enough you know, this better be something shitty and little"

"I'm shitty and little" she sounded proud at this realisation.

"Just open it Vik" she said as she grabbed the bottle of whisky and started to unscrew the lid.

"Haha" he chuckled deeply "Ok, ok. You can be such a brat sometimes" his smile reflecting his adoration of that quality.

She sat next to him again, ankles tucked under herself and watched him fumble with the ribbon and paper.

She took a huge gulp of whisky as he laid his eyes on her gift.

"V"

Was all he could muster.

"C'mere" he said as he wrapped his arm around her. His inner elbow caressed the back of her neck and pulled her head to tuck under his chin.

In his hand he held a whisky glass, with a thick heavy bottom and the letter V etched onto the side in a gothic font. A single boxing glove hung off the thin arm of the V.

"It's a V. For Viktor....And the other has a V on it as well!"

"For Viktor" he laughed and repeated her.

"No, you gonk" she pulled back and looked at him, her face squished, as if he had completely missed something.

Maybe the other V is for her. For V.

"For Vektor"

She cupped his left cheek in her hand and pulled his face toward her parted mouth. As their skin touched, she pushed her parted lips gently into his stubble, but hard enough to smoosh the side of his face. Her smooth lips left a wetness on his face that he wished he could fell between his own lips.

"Happy Birthday, Viktor Vektor"

she cooed to him as she felt the heat radiating from his cheek.

"Where the fuck are you at birthday boy!"

Jackies voice boomed from the front door.

"Viky! V said she would meet us here for a drink" Came Mistys call.

He tilted his head back and bellowed

"IM BEING SHOWERED WITH BIRTHDAY KISSES. ITS HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE, HELP!"

She gave him a sharp jab in his arm before she ran around to jump onto jackie.

Vik poured himself a whisky. He heard the familiar sound of her body impacting Jackie's chest mid-air.

"AND GET YOUR OWN FUCKING GLASSES"

#cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #viktor vektor #viktor vector/reader #viktor vektor fic #viktor vektor x reader #cyberpunk viktor

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angryinternetduck · 3 years

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hello!!! this is my submission for the @1dffchallenges quarantine challenge. here’s 4.3k words of fluff on you and Harry in an established relationship, quarantining together in his cafe. featuring Valentine’s Day lattes in March, neon green crocs, and a proposal or two.

A smile curved your lips involuntarily as you walked into the cafe, breathing in the rich scent of coffee and sighing in the warm air. You shrugged off your coat, folding it over your arm and hovering around the edge of the cafe for a moment.

It was just after lunch and the rush was fading. You tried to look nonchalant, letting your gaze drift over the various paintings on the wall, but your eyes kept darting to the cute barista behind the counter.

His name tag said Harry, and his dark curls were hidden under a black cap. Your stomach fluttered every time he met your gaze. You’d been in there countless times, but you swore your heart rushed more each time he looked at you.

Once he finally finished his last order and the line had disappeared, you walked over. He grinned, leaning over the counter. “Well, hello, there,” he greeted you. “Hello,” you said back, smiling up at him coyly.

“What can I getcha?” he asked, and you hummed, looking at the menu behind him. “How about… hm. How about, surprise me?” He raised a brow, shifting forward, and said, “How about… a kiss?” He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, making kissy noises.

You giggled, shaking your head but kissing him anyway. “This friendly to all of your customers, are you?” you asked, walking around the counter. “Only the ones I date,” Harry replied, starting on your latte.

“Yeah?” you said. “And how many is that?”

Harry winked. “Don’t worry, love, you’re my favorite.”

“You flatter me,” you laughed, hopping up on the counter and swinging your legs. Kissing you again as he walked past to grab something next to you, Harry said, “My soul purpose in life,” and you snickered. “What a sad fate.”

Harry shrugged, nudging your leg. “I’ve learned to enjoy it.”

“Impressive,” you said, taking the cup as he handed it to you. “A Valentine’s Day Latte,” he said, and you frowned. “It’s March, H.” He smirked. “And?” You laughed, and took a sip, and he raised a brow. “Yay or nay?” You tilted your head from side to side, taking another sip before nodding your head. “Yay,” you decided, and he pumped his fist. “Success!”

“Very Valentiney,” you laughed, and he shrugged, leaning back on the counter behind him. “That was the intention,” he told you. You peered into the glass, watching the rose petals float around in the pink colored coffee. “And pink,” you added.

“Got something against pink, hm?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed. “Only makes it better!”

Harry grinned. “Wicked.”

There was a beat of silence, and you sighed, your smile fading a bit as you swung your legs. “So I just came from Niall’s…” Harry nodded and crossed his arms across his chest. “Right. How’s the pub doing, then?” he asked, and you shrugged. “Eh. He was telling me about closing for COVID.”

Harry bit his lip, looking at the ground. “Right… I’ve been thinking about that…”

“The website’s up, right?” you asked.

“Yeah, but… I don’t think…” He sighed, shaking his head.

“We could do deliveries,” you said, cracking a smile. “Get a few bikes.”

“Get a tandem,” Harry replied. “Go together.”

You shrugged. “Or I could ride on your shoulders.”

“Do it on a unicycle. Charge extra for entertainment.”

“And get a monkey. Make it worth their money.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head again and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re going to do.” You sighed, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll be alright.”

He shrugged, putting his hand on top of yours and squeezing back. “Yeah.”

***

To be completely honest, you were nervous.

It was a few days later, and the cafe was (temporarily) closed, and Harry had sent you a text. Cafe in ten, it had said, and that was it. You saw Harry on the counter through the glass walls as you walked towards the cafe, hunched over his phone. The sign was flipped to Closed on the door, but it was unlocked, so you walked in.

“Hey,” you said, and he looked up with a grin.

“Hey!” he said.

You raised a brow, watching him hop up excitedly and shove his hands in his pockets.

“Right,” he went on, looking a little more nervous than you felt as he walked over to you and grabbed your hands. “Right,” he said again, “well, I have a question.” You laughed, nervously, and said, “You’re worrying me, H.”

He bit his lip, holding back a smile. He stepped back, and shoved his hands in his pockets again, and then pulled something out. It was a little black box, and your heart stopped when you realized what it was.

A ring box.

And then, he got down on one knee, and your hand flew to your mouth as you stepped backwards. You loved him - of course you did - but you’d barely been dating a few months. You hadn’t even moved in together. It was way too soon for this.

You began, “Harry -” but he cut you off, saying your name quietly as a smile tugged at his lips. “Will you make me the happiest man on earth…” He opened the box, so slowly, and despite yourself, you were curious about the ring he picked, and then -

Your heart dropped back down to your chest from your throat.

It was a key.

You caught your breath, laughing in surprise as you buried your face in your hands.

“... and quarantine with me?”

“You fucking bastard,” you laughed, catching your breath and shaking your head. “I was getting ready to reject you, you fucking moron!” Harry smiled, so smug, and raised a brow. “And? Is it still a rejection?”

“Of course not,” you breathed, still giggling as he stood up and you wrapped him in a hug. “Of course I’ll quarantine with you, idiot.” Harry laughed, kissing you gently but murmuring, “Somehow the insults don’t seem like a good beginning.”

“Jesus Christ, we’ll kill each other,” you said with a grin.

“And live happily ever after as ghosts.”

“Whoever takes over the cafe will be haunted out of their minds.”

Harry smirked. “Damn right.”

***

Harry pouted, leaning into you. “One more.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“But it’s so… hard,” Harry whined, kissing you again.

You smirked. “Hard, huh?”

“You’re not making this any easier,” Harry mumbled, glaring at your outstretched hand but then groaning and pulling himself up when you just walked away. “You’re a bloody tease,” he complained, following you down the steps.

“And you’re bloody lazy.”

“Maybe we should camp out in the cafe,” Harry said. “‘s empty anyway.”

“Yeah, right,” you replied as you reached your car. “Neither of us could handle that - you look like you helped Frankenstein reanimate his monster with that posture, and sleeping on the ground would not help.”

Harry scoffed, swatting at your shoulder as you grabbed a box. “If my back’s that bad, maybe I shouldn’t be carrying your entire apartment in a box, hm? Ever think about that?” He grabbed a box anyway, and you laughed, kicking the door open for him with your foot.

“It’s a sign of how much you love, me, H, and it is not my entire apartment.”

“Might as well be,” Harry grumbled, huffing exaggeratedly as you reached the top of the stairs. Living directly above the cafe was incredibly convenient, you were learning, in all times except moving. Then the two flights of stairs were just torturous.

Despite that, you’d made your way through almost all of your belongings - which really wasn’t that much, Harry was just being dramatic - and only had a few more boxes to go. If you’d keep moving, it’d probably take less than an hour, but…

“We deserve a break,” Harry declared, plopping down on the sofa again.

“H, we just -”

“Pretty please?” Harry said, giving you puppy dog eyes.

“It’s gonna take -”

“Pleeasse?”

Finally you sighed, curling up next to him. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you murmured after a second, and he shrugged, kissing your forehead. “I can.” You smiled, looking up at him, and said, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and he kissed you. You sighed, leaning into him. “Maybe we can get the rest of them tomorrow,” you mumbled, kissing him back. You shifted around to settle on his lap, and you felt him grin against your lips.

“Your first good idea of the day,” he said happily.

***

It only took a few days to fall into a routine.

It wasn’t a very productive routine, but it was a routine nonetheless.

Mornings were leisurely, spent in bed whispering nonsense under the covers or sharing lazy kisses. Lunches were ordered or made in the kitchen, fumbling over recipes and making a mess. Nights were the most action of the day, which was mostly just popcorn fights and giggly somersault competitions around the floor in front of the TV.

You probably made it through every single show of interest on Netflix, plus every single romantic comedy on the face of the earth. TV show reactions varied. Sometimes they’d keep you quiet, entranced in the worlds they created, and other times they were too ridiculous and far fetched to be believed and the dialogue would get lost in your laughter. Rom-coms tended to be a mix of gushing tears and snickered comments under your breaths.

You made competitions out of memorization, attempting to recreate the sword fights in the Princess Bride with chopsticks as you danced around his apartment and singing over each other as you rapped lines from Hamilton.

So really, you thought, listening to Harry snore with a smile, overall, not too bad.

***

“Pink walls,” you said, “with green trim and orange polka dots.”

Harry shook his head. “All green. Plus mustard yellow.”

“And orange polka dots.”

“Pink polka dots.”

“Fine. And blue stripes.”

Harry snickered, leaning forward off the back wall of the cafe and propping his chin on his fist. “We’ll give them a headache so they’ll get coffee just to stop the pain.” You nodded. “That’s the plan,” you agreed, and Harry raised a brow, turning his head to look at you. “The plan, hm? I thought that was just your atrocious eye for color.”

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk, mister neon green crocs.”

“That was one time.”

“One time too many.”

Harry sighed, shaking his head. ��I’d paint the whole place that same shade of neon green just for something to do.” You bit your lip, then stood up, dusting your hands on your pants. “Let’s… let’s dance.”

Harry just stared at you.

“C’mon,” you said, a smile growing on your lips as you held out your hand.

More staring.

“Harry,” you whined, giving him puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“We don’t have music,” he said.

“We have our phones!”

“Mine’s dead.”

You grinned, pulling yours out of your pocket. “Mine’s not. We can slow dance to… uhhh… to Etta James.” Harry groaned, leaning back against the wall. “I have no energy. We should sleep.”

“It’s eleven.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s eleven.”

“C’mon, old man,” you replied, plugging your phone in and starting a song.

I Wanna Dance with Somebody started playing, and you held out your hands as you sang to him, “Clock strikes… upon the hour… and the sun begins to fade!” Harry laughed again, sliding down to the floor and watching as you pranced around the empty cafe.

“This is hardly Etta James, love.”

“Well, I’m hardly slow dancing by myself…” You raised a brow, holding out your hand again. “Unless…?” Harry grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, no,” he said, “I’m quite enjoying the show. I’d hate for you to stop on my account…”

He finally got up when the chorus hit, and you squealed in excitement. You pulled him around with you, laughing when he attempted a few moves and then encouraging him when he pouted at your mockery.

You saw him biting back a smile, and you couldn’t help but kiss him when he spun you around and dipped you low as the song ended. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Harry said, grinning against your lips.

You grinned right back, pressing closer. “And what a wonderful way to go.”

“You know,” Harry began after a beat, “after all that dancing -”

“- it was one song -”

“- I don’t know if I can walk back up all those steps.”

You smirked, leaning into him and sliding kisses against his jawline. “You know… the one place we haven’t quite broken in yet…” Harry laughed. “Hardly sanitary, what you’re implying, you know…”

“We’re good cleaners,” you murmured.

His fingers slid your sleeve off your shoulder. “And we do need something to do…”

“Really doesn’t make any sense to go back upstairs,” you whispered.

“No sense,” Harry agreed with a grin. “None at all.”

***

“What if,” Harry mumbled the next morning, waking you up with soft kisses against your cheeks, “I left you… to go be a part… of the next Frankenstein remake...” You giggled, nosing into his shoulder. “Is it really that bad?” He pouted at you miserably. “Worse.”

You grinned, rolling over. “What’s the assistant guy’s name?” you asked. “Igor?”

“No idea,” Harry sighed. “We gotta watch that movie again.”

“Maybe you’ll find out when you audition for the part.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Harry groaned as he sat up and cracked his back.

“You sound like an eighty year old,” you laughed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

“At least there’s coffee right there,” you said, sitting up and grabbing Harry’s discarded shirt as he pulled on his boxers. “And food…” Harry yawned, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. “We should learn French,” he said as he opened the mini fridge under the counter.

“French, huh?”

“Or Italian.”

You shrugged. “Or Spanish.”

“Or Spanish,” Harry agreed, cracking an egg into a bowl. “Or Arabic.”

“Mandarin.”

“Gaelic.”

“Czech.”

“Russian.”

“Urdu.”

Harry smiled, whisking the eggs. “All of ‘em.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Wanna help out, lazy bum?” Harry asked, spraying a pan with oil with a teasing smile on his lips. “Or should I do all of this myself?” You grinned, replying, “It’s good practice for your role as an assistant,” but standing up and popping bread in the toaster anyway.

“Think Frankenstein ate eggs?”

“Wonder if he had chickens,” you said.

Harry grimaced. “Probably had a few zombie ones.”

“Think their eggs taste better or worse?”

“Oh, better, definitely - they’re just green,” Harry said seriously, and you laughed as you slid the toast out of the toaster and onto a plate “Want some zombie eggs and ham, Sir Sam?” you asked, grabbing utensils.

“But I don’t like zombie eggs and ham,” Harry said with a pout, coming around to sit next to you at the counter. You raised a brow, crunching on some toast. “What happened to ‘better,’ huh?”

“Right, well, that’s my opinion,” Harry replied as he scooped some eggs. “I’m sure Sir Sam -” He frowned, pausing. “Wait, ‘sir’? He’s not a… he’s a knight?” You snorted, shaking your head. “I have no idea, babe.”

Harry tsked, giving you a disappointed look. “You should really be more knowledgeable about the classics,” he chastised. You raised a brow. “Classics, huh?” Harry grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”

You smiled despite yourself, nudging his shoulder. “Okay, Dr. Seuss, whatever you say.”

***

You woke up in front of the TV, yawning as you sat up.

The end credits of some movie were rolling on screen. It was a film, all in French, that you had, apparently, fallen asleep in front of. Harry was asleep too, curled behind you on the couch.

The two of you had been going through movies in foreign languages for the past few weeks, and they hadn’t actually been that bad. A few of them were mildly interesting, a few downright boring, and a few, like this one, so tiresome that you’d both fallen asleep about halfway through.

You started cleaning up, grabbing the empty popcorn bowl from the coffee table and walking into the kitchen to slide it onto the counter. When you walked back in, remote in hand to shut off the TV, Harry was awake and yawning.

“Riveting film, hm?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Oui, oui,” you agreed, sitting down next to him again. “What time is it?” Harry asked, fumbling for his phone. You glanced at the clock, beating him to it, and said, “Ten. We should do something.”

“Let’s go to France,” Harry suggested, stretching out on the couch. “Buy some wine.”

“Or a vineyard.”

“Or both.”

You sighed, laying back against him and watching the ceiling fan. “Imagine quarantining in France. Or Italy, or something. On a vineyard.” Harry nodded. “Would certainly be easier to learn another language, yeah?”

“We’d be drunk half the time,” you mused.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You smiled, and you turned to look at him in the dim lighting. “Can you imagine? Frolicking around all day in our two hundred acres, half drunk?” Harry smiled back, shifting you slightly so he could sit up next to you. “Sounds like heaven.”

“I don’t know about the two hundred acres part,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him, “but we could certainly do the half drunk part…” Harry shook his head, grinning against your lips. “Sorry, love, I don’t do anything half arsed.”

“Oh, my mistake,” you giggled, kissing him once more before standing up.

“Don’t bother with the glasses,” Harry called once you were in the kitchen.

“What are we, barbarians?” you laughed, and Harry shook his head. “No, darling, just incredibly lazy. Don’t feel like washing dishes…” You came back in, handing him the bottle of wine, and then looked around, biting your lip.

Harry took a sip, watching you, and then grumbled, “Oh, no.” You smiled, glancing at him inquisitively. “What’s wrong?” Harry sighed, looking at the wine mournfully. “You have your thinking face on,” he sighed, “which means we’re going to do something, and this bottle will be woefully full by the end of the night.”

“You’re too dramatic for your own good,” you laughed.

Harry looked up, smiling again. “And you’re not nearly dramatic enough.”

“We make a good pair.”

“That we do,” Harry agreed, standing up as he stretched his arms towards the ceiling. There was a beat of silence, and then Harry raised a brow, nudging your leg. “C’mon, then, out with it, what’s the idea?”

You grinned at him. “Cookies,” you declared.

“Cookies?” Harry echoed skeptically.

“Cookies.”

“Too far away,” Harry said conclusively, plopping back onto the couch.

“On the contrary!” you exclaimed, pulling him back up. “We’ll make them ourselves,” you said, and then laughed at the expression of horror on Harry’s face. “My dear rose petal,” he said, holding your hand gently in his, “my gorgeous honey pot. We are not making cookies.”

You scoffed. “Why not?”

Harry pouted, holding up the wine. “Because relaxation.”

“How about… relaxation… and cookies?” you asked, taking the wine bottle from him. He gasped indignantly and reached for it, and you giggled, backing up into the kitchen as he followed you.

“You clever minx,” Harry mumbled once you finally stopped, leaning into you and pressing kisses against your lips with a grin. After a second, you pulled away, smiling when he chased after you. “Cookies?” you asked, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

Harry sighed dramatically. “Cookies,” he relented.

You shouted in victory and started rooting through the cabinets. Your favorite song came on after a moment, and Harry winked at you, coming around to help grab supplies. The two of you shouted along to the lyrics, spilling things as you measured and poured and scooped.

It was a game of theft once the dough was mixed, stealing pinches while his back was turned and playfully slapping his hand when you caught him doing the same. Thankfully, you still had a decent sized batch when you slid the tray into the oven.

Then you both stumbled back into the other room, and collapsed onto the couch. “We should have put wine in the cookies,” you murmured into Harry’s shoulder. Harry snickered, and then said, “That’s a grape idea…”

You blinked. “What?”

Harry giggled, nudging you. “Grape? Like, great? Because - wine?”

“Jesus fucking -”

Harry cut you off with a kiss, and you laughed despite yourself, leaning into him and letting yourself get carried away. His hands drifted, shifting you onto his lap, and your hands slid into his hair, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

It could have been seconds, or maybe hours, before you came up for air, breathless and red cheeked and way too hot and bothered for just a simple make out session. “You’re being a bit mean,” Harry whispered, and you raised a brow. “Am I, now?”

Harry nodded, feathering kisses down your jawline and behind your ear. “Too many clothes. ‘s quite rude, actually.” You giggled, leaning into him, slipping your hands out of your sweater, and then frowned.

Was something… burning?

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping off of him, and Harry gasped, reaching after you. You pulled yourself together, sprinting to the kitchen, shouting, “The fucking - the cookies!” Harry groaned, walking in after you.

They were burnt.

Well and truly burnt.

Harry came and stood next to you, gazing at the charred lumps of dough with a deep frown. “Fucking cock block,” he muttered, and you looked up at him, and then burst out laughing.

After a second, he sighed, wrapping his arms around you. “This went well, didn’t it?” he said. “Oh, wonderfully,” you agreed, and you shut the oven door. “Say, Styles,” you said, turning to face him, “ever heard of Postmates?”

“Why, no, I haven’t!” Harry replied with a grin. “You’ll have to show me!”

You nodded, pulling out your phone. “I guess I will!”

***

Between a few more cookie-baking-attempts, even more cookie deliveries, a couple more foreign-language films, twice that amount of romantic comedies, and even one or two morning jogs, quarantine dragged on as quickly as it probably could. Neither of you were sure how long it was going to last, nobody was, but you were constantly reminded of how happy you were Harry had asked you to quarantine with you all those months ago.

In fact, you were being reminded of it at this very instant, because you’d woken up to an empty bed and a sticky note signed by Harry with only the words, In the cafe, scrawled in green ink. A bit nervous, you got up, and got ready, and then headed down the steps.

The deja vu was unreal - he was sitting on the counter, hunched over his phone, swinging his legs. “H?” you said softly, and the deja vu continued. He jumped up, hands shoving into his pockets, a stupid grin on his face. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” you said back. “What’s up?”

“I, er - I wanted to ask you something,” he said, and you grinned, coming around to stand in front of him. “You’re making me nervous,” you replied, and he bit his lip, fiddling with his pocket again.

“Right,” he said, holding back a smile. “Right, well, quarantine has been fun, yeah?”

You raised a brow. Slowly, you agreed, “Yeah…”

“Well, I, erm - I was just thinking…” He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “I was just thinking that I wouldn’t mind quarantining with you my entire life.” You laughed a bit. “I dunno about that,” you joked, and he flushed, shaking his head.

“I mean - I mean, of course not - obviously, the pandemic, I just - I meant -”

“Harry,” you interrupted softly.

“Sorry,” he murmured, smiling again. “Well, I have a question.”

“So you keep saying.”

He laughed, finally pulling his hand out of his pocket. But somehow, you almost weren’t surprised when it was a ring box. You grinned, glancing at it and then back at Harry but keeping quiet as he knelt down on one knee.

“You know,” he said, and all you could think was how much he was dragging this out, “they say you’re supposed to get down on one knee because of some old Norse tradition. Apparently, getting married is like taking an arrow to the knee and, erm - and, well, you know, falling onto one knee...” He dropped down to both knees, and you raised an eyebrow. “... but I’m getting down on both, because I’ve fallen… completely… for you.”

Before you could roll your eyes, he opened the box.

And this time, there was a ring inside.

“Oh my god,” you breathed.

“Well?”

“I thought - I don’t - this is like - but I thought -”

Harry laughed, leaning forward. “Christ, the suspense is killing me, woman!”

“Yes!” you gasped, letting him slide the ring onto your finger. “Shit, Harry, yes! Yes, of course!” He stood up, kissing you deeply, and you laughed against his lips. “Jesus, I thought… I don’t know what I thought - I just -”

Harry cut you off with a grin. “Shush,” he murmured.

You giggled, kissing him again, and then pulled back, letting your forehead rest against his. “Harry?” you said softly. He smiled, stealing one more kiss, and then said, “Yeah?” You grinned. “That Norse mythology thing isn’t true,” you whispered.

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned, laughing as he stepped away and shook his head.

“Hey,” you said, pulling his back. “Hey, hey…”

He shook his head again, still grinning. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” you said.

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes and mocking nonchalance. He nudged your shoulder, kissed you, smiled. “I mean… I guess I love you, too… Even if the legend isn’t true… I don’t know if I’ve fallen completely for you, though…”

“Oh, shut up!”

Harry smiled, and kissed you. “If you insist.”

***

and there you have it!!! really hope you enjoyed! and if you did, a reblog or some feedback would be very much appreciated. thanks for reading!

masterlist | ask

#1dffquarantine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry stylesxreader #harry stylesxyou #harry stylesxy/n #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles story

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vocalyunho · 4 years

Text

Déjà Vu

pairing — bad boy! stoner! Wooyoung x reader (fem)

genre — smut

word count — 3.2k

warnings — mentions of alcohol, smoking, usage of marijuana, shotgunning, lots of making-out, corruption kink, explicit unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), couch sex, clit play, creampie, praise kink, spanking (not really).

synopsis — an empty rooftop, a half smoked stick of high quality grass and the boy who’s made you see the world from a different perspective, will always make you feel more like at home, than your own apartment will.

✦ a big thank you to @okayjoonie and @starrychannies for letting me write the bad boy! Wooyoung they were talking about.

Wooyoung always thought the moonlight was the reason why he found people so ravishing at night. Their faces shimmered under it, the hue taking turns from a pale golden to a darker one and, at times, a blueish he couldn’t quite explain, yet it was so pretty.

The moon was his first favorite thing, his second being the stars. The mystery they hold, all the secrets they’re hiding…he wishes to know all of them, but he can’t. The closest he can do to finding these secrets is stargazing. Maybe he’s naïve enough to think that through this, the stars will show him everything they know, but they won’t and even if he’s aware of it, he lets himself drown in their mystique.

“do you see these stars?” Wooyoung broke the silence on the mid lit rooftop, pointing to the star-filled sky.

“which ones?”

“the ones forming a W, there”, he guided your gaze with his finger, leaning to your side of the couch as he did, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his arm brushed yours softly.

“oh yeah”

“that’s the Cassiopeia constellation…it’s the most recognizable one in the night sky”

“really?”

“yeah”

“it’s pretty”

He didn’t answer, instead a chuckle danced with the soft breeze until it fainted away and the comfortable silence from before came back. The lights of the city illuminate the high rooftop enough to see sufficiently your surroundings, which aren’t many or too interesting to be very honest. A corn yellow couch so old that the stuffing emerges from the slashes of the fabric and a small brownish table that’s only useful for resting your legs, bottles of beer and a white ashtray, decorate the emptiness. If you think about it, it’s funny. It’s funny how you feel more like you’re at home on a rooftop with two old furniture instead of your own apartment.

“we’re way too small, aren’t we?”, Wooyoung breathed out, “we’re so insignificant to this world”.

At that, you looked at him. You’ll never understand how his mind works, no matter how hard you try but, maybe, this is the reason you fell for him in the first place. It’s the way his eyes glimmer under the stars and the way his mind runs with two hundred miles an hour on situations it doesn’t have to. You inhaled sharply, not really thinking your answer for too long.

“who cares about being insignificant to the world when you can be significant to that one person?”, you looked at the sky again but felt his gaze falling on you.

You don’t know if it’s too early to be looking for that one person, but you do know that Wooyoung is the closest you’ll ever be to that. Even if you had to put up with every single one of his flaws, you’d do it and you’d do it for forever and a day. Maybe this rooftop feels like home because he is there to make it feel like home.

He didn’t answer this time either, instead his hand moved to the pocket of the tight black jeans he is wearing, only to pull out a small clear bag that consists of what seems like oregano, though you know it isn’t. “Let’s get high to that”, he cheered raising the ziplock bag to the sky.

It isn’t a surprise Wooyoung has weed with him, he has all the needed contacts to procure it. Weed was always his getaway from reality and its bullshit, and you can’t blame him for wanting to get away from it. Though every time he’s come over, you’ve only tried it once because being a coward is your number one personality trait and you’re not afraid to admit it.

He sealed up the rolled stick so easily, it sent a weird tingling feeling in the pit of your stomach. You can’t lie, it’s hot. He is hot, and everything that has to do with him gets you stunned. He ran his fingers through the black locks, pushing the hair back before bringing the stick up and as he put it between his lips, he took a glance of your face. “you won’t let me get high alone tonight”, he chuckled “will you?”, and the way he spoke through greeted teeth made your knees push together for the slightest bit of friction.

“getting high is all I need right now”

“good girl”, the flame of his cheap BIC lighter sparked as he moved it close to the stick. The orange color of the artificial fire lit his face, making you notice for the first time of the night the thick silver chain around his neck and when the edge of the stick turned black, the flame went out and so did your view of his exposed neck.

He took a long drag, letting his head fall on the couch as his Adam’s apple bounced up and down in euphoria. “fuck mee”, he laughed, the drug hitting him instantly, and the smoke left his lips with a single frown of them. Your gaze followed the smoke that travelled in all directions till it disappeared and before you could notice he had tilted his head to your side of the couch, a smirk still painted on his features as he extended his arm towards you “take a small hit at first”.

You did as he said, feeling your head instantly lighter after the short puff. This feels better than the last time you tried it. A second, longer hit made Wooyoung bite his bottom lip to prevent the comment that threatened to leave him and as you handed it back to him, you shifted on your seat to be face to face with him.

He took a couple more puffs before pressing the stick to your lips and back on his again, with his eyes always on yours. The smoke added to the effect of the green plant being inhaled and, suddenly, the baby hair that are stuck on your forehead felt way too bothersome. With droopy eyes, you clipped them up with your Hello Kitty hairclips that were hanging off your skirt and Wooyoung didn’t miss a single part of your small movements.

“have you tried shotgunning before?”

It’s like he’s always the one to break the void and as you looked at him, you realized he must be as high as you. He’s been taking much longer drags than you but you’re new to this, so the effect came faster.

“what’s that?”, you laughed resting your elbow on the sofa as your head dropped to your palm.

“you know, blowing smoke in each other’s mouth”

“that sounds interesting”

“d’you wanna try it?”, his tongue wetted his bottom lip and you can swear to any God he looked hotter than ever.

He’s been letting his hair grow lately and the waves that now fall on his face make him look more of a masterpiece than he already is. Tonight, he had no reason to wear a sleeveless shirt or that damn silver chain that you so wanna grab to bring him close enough to taste the smoke and cheap beer from his lips, even though yours taste the same.

“very much”

“I’m glad”, he took a long drag of the increasingly smaller stick before resting it on the ashtray, and with a careful move he was back on the couch. Wooyoung was way too high to be moving fast, so taking his time to come closer was probably the best option he had right now. Though you don’t mind, not that you can at this point, but when he grabbed your cheeks with one hand, making your mouth fall open, a choked sound escaped you. His body was dangerously close to yours, almost towering over you with one leg kneeling on the sofa and the other keeping him up by pushing on the floor. He was staring in your eyes the whole time and your heart started beating faster the closer he got to your lips, until he stopped…inches away from your open agape lips. Your breath was shaky, both from the new situation you’ve put your body into through smoking that stick and from how close Wooyoung was to you. Exactly how close you’ve always wanted him to be.

He blew the smoke right into your mouth slowly, and with full concertation you tried to inhale it equally as slow. Choking was the last thing you wanted right now and it took you by surprise when most of it was into your mouth. Wooyoung didn’t let go of your cheeks, watching closely as the smoke now left your pink lips and vanished into thin air as you blew it. “I’ve been dying to blow smoke into your pretty mouth” His eyes flickered between yours and your heart almost beat out of your chest until the one thought that had been flooding his mind turned into action and his lips crashed on yours. The remainings of the smoke got trapped between your mouths, and it all felt like an illusion. His lips were softer than you’d expected, almost feeling like a warm hug from your favourite person, and for a moment it felt like all the weight left your body and you were nothing but floating. His eyebrows furrowed at the way he invaded your mouth with his tongue and both his hands held your face.

You gripped his shirt, leaving no room for withdrawals as a ragged sigh filled his mouth. The cheap beer on his lips tasted better than when you drank it from the can and as high as you might be, the longing to keep him this close forever stayed in you like an aura. He kissed you messily yet slowly and when he groaned against you, your legs went numb. You’re sure saliva is dripping down your chin, but you want more. More of him.

You were too lost in the world you had created until a sudden chuckle made Wooyoung break the kiss. Your head fell backwards, laughing at what seemed nothing and he found it hilarious.

“why does all of this feel so familiar?”, you couldn’t stop the giggles as his laugh got mixed with yours on the empty rooftop. Your hands were still tugging on his shirt until one of them travelled up to take the thick chain between your fingers.

“fuckin’ déjà vu”, he rolled his eyes dramatically.

“did we use to get high together in our past lives too?”

“I wouldn’t complain if we did”

You brought your head up, still laughing at the way you felt due to that damn green magic, and Wooyoung dropped down to your level as you kept pulling him by the chain. His face was inches away from yours again and with a hesitant thumb you brushed the mole on his lip softly “teach me how to roll one of these things”, you whispered against his lips.

“sit on my lap and I will”, he bit your bottom lip and drew back slouching on the couch with a smirk painted on his lips. His head fell back, resting on the old fabric. The mere whisper he talked with, made the blood run faster to your brain, if that’s even possible, and the droopy eyes left you needing more. You never believed such confidence would emanate from within you, let alone the vigor to straddle his lap the way you just did. The box-pleated skirt you’ve been wearing all day, reached your thighs as you rested your knees on each side of his body, and Wooyoung found your legs fast.

“shit babygirl, that was fast”

His hands caressed the exposed flesh like it was made from glass, afraid it would break anytime, and you shivered. You’re more sensitive now, even the light coming from the city roads seems stronger than it really is. His eyes fell on your lips “fuck that”, and in an instant he was kissing you again, needier this time. His tongue licked your lip and you moaned but gave into him and every sensation he offered you, instantly.

You raised your hips subconsciously, only to realize what you’re doing when your heated core got dragged along the little tent that’s formed on his crotch. Wooyoung groaned and threw his head back at the pressure, hair all over his face and lips pinkish from the cherry lipstick you’ve been wearing. Your hazy mind only showed you that now you need him more, more than every other time, more than every other night and his hands holding on your thighs for dear life, only told you the same. He pressed you down on him harder making you hiss at the intense friction. Your panties are the only thing separating your throbbing clit from the perfect contact and you need them gone as soon as possible.

“d’you know what’d be more fun?”, his eyes are closed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down at the ecstatic images in his mind that make his cock twitch.

“what?”

“ride me”

Your head throbbed and everything went silent for a second. Wooyoung raised your body only to drag the inconvenient pants and -way too tight for his length- underwear till his knees and his cock sprung up with the tip already drenched in precum. Your mouth watered at the sight of it but, right now, you needed him inside your cunt more than you needed him inside your mouth. Your moves reflected how messily your head was spinning as you rested your arms on his shoulders and when his hand cupped your clothed core, you flinched, letting an expression that Wooyoung instantly loved paint your features.

“fuck I need you”

He grasped your sides making you fall against him and with voice smaller than ever, your only coherent thought found its way out of your mouth “Wooyoung please”

He slid the cotton underwear to the side, and you know that if he had full view of it he wouldn’t hesitate to comment on the little yellow bow that decorated it. With slow movements he pumped his length a couple of times before aligning himself to your entrance and, no matter how bad you needed him, your body moved equally as slow till his tip brushed your clit, and you gasped.

It was when half of him, or maybe a little more, was already inside you when a cry left your lips. Wooyoung groaned at how narrow you were and the stretch made your already throbbing head, feel like it’ll soon explode. Although everything was a little blurry, you were one hundred percent aware of the situation you were in and you were loving it.

You lowered yourself until all of him was buried to the hilt and you stayed there for a bit before moving your head from his shoulder. His eyes were heavy on yours and his lip between his teeth in the neediest way possible. Everything felt like a dream until his voice rung in your ears “move baby”.

You rolled your hips lazily and Wooyoung cursed under his breath. Constant whines left you, so small they could barely be heard, as the sensitivity made you feel everything more intensely. The slow pace got him needier but he loved it.

His arms lowered reaching your ass and a loud moan echoed when a slap landed on it “shh”, he caressed the spot to ease the pain, but you only moaned louder.

“do you like that?”

“mm”

A second slap echoed and your eyes fluttered shut as you clenched, but Wooyoung felt a burning run all the way from his cock to his head making him moan lowly.

“so tight”

The city’s sounds drink your mixed moans out and you’re glad the apartment under the rooftop is yours or else you’d be in huge trouble. Wooyoung raised his body to come closer and, hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around his neck. His breath was heavy against your neck but yours was so fast and, you weren’t sure but it felt like the grip on your ass tightened sensibly and you felt him deeper.

“Wooyoung-”

“what would the world say if everyone knew a good girl like you is on a rooftop fucking a helpless stoner?”

His voice must’ve dropped an octave. You’ve never heard it so deep before and it made the knot in your stomach grow tighter. But his question is what caught your attention the most. He considers you a good girl and you can’t blame him...he’s the one who’s helped you get out of your comfort zone a thousand times and he’s the one who’s made you see life from a different perspective. Your entire life has been rotating around certainty and safety and if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be living any of this.

You held your breath to prevent a moan but Wooyoung was impatient.

“they’d say…fuck him harder…”

His hand creeped up your t-shirt cupping the clothed breast.

“…and don’t let go of him or else your life will turn black and white again—oh ffuck”

A cry filled the void when he brushed your g-spot and you pressed down on him a little harder. The tightening around his length made him hiss but tried to put the right words in order.

“are you the one talking or the drug?”

“it’s me- fffuck right there”

His lips found your neck and your head fell forwards resting on top of his as the euphoria got closer. His voice suddenly changed, getting higher as you kept clenching. You never thought he’d be vocal during sex, yet it drove you crazier by the second.

“that’s it babygirl”

He pressed you harder on him and your hips rolled faster. He was close, that’s what the throbbing inside you said and only when the hand from your breast travelled to your clit, did you realize how close you were too. Your entire body trembled and louder cries of his name made him attack your lips like a prey. Your noses brushed each other’s and your moans, gradually, became one.

His index finger circled the sensitive bud slowly but it was all it took to throw you off the edge. You clenched tightly and the grip on your ass stung as he kept moving you against his cock. You broke the kiss, staying right where you could feel his breath against your lips but you cried out like no one could hear.

“babyy-”

Your colours spilled around him and the tightening made him groan as he fucked it back into you.

“you’re s-so good”

He twitched and for a moment the feeling was too much until his hands made you stop from moving anymore. White ropes of cum painted your walls and his moans got high-pitched all the while incoherent curses left him. Your weight on his legs made the quivering less noticeable, but your effect was still there and just the thought that his walls broke down because of you, could get you higher than any drug.

Wooyoung didn’t move his forehead from against yours, instead he let your breath fan his lips as your minds got a tad bit clearer. It took some minutes to catch your breaths, but when you did the void broke once again by him and, maybe, he’s already found that one person.

“you’re right...who cares about being insignificant to the world when I can be significant to you?”

#wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung smut #bad boy! wooyoung #stoner! wooyoung #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #wooyoung x reader #kpop fics #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #I wanted to make this emotionless just two fuck buddies being fuck buddies but knowing me it turned out with hidden feelings #a tad bit sadness a sweetheart bad boy and a whole lot of emotions.#As I was writing this I noticed that my thoughts are kind of messy lately (I apologise in advance)

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hotchseyebrows · 3 years

Text

now i scan the sky for snow

a penelope garcia x emily prentiss fic

a/n: my very first fic!! woooooooooooo!! thank you for giving it a read and heres to many more :)))

written to fill the prompt "31 (quiet) + seeing your breath, a ship of your choice" from @derekmorqan (better late than never, eh jay?)

read it here on ao3!!

It's January in Boise and Penelope doesn't have any gloves. But her nails definitely match the monochrome purple look of the day, so can you really blame her?

word count: 1561

“Prentiss, when did Hotch go get the car?” Penelope’s voice is muffled from where she’s blowing hot air into her ungloved hands.

Emily glances at her phone. “It’s only been 2 minutes.” In a practiced dad move, Hotch decided to make the trek through the flurries of snow to the SUV alone, citing Penelope’s tall heels and the potential for black ice in the parking garage, leaving Emily and Penelope standing outside of their Boise hotel. Earlier, Emily and Hotch stayed behind with Penelope to help her pack up stray gear and cords from her set up in the local precinct while the others got a head start on cleaning up their hotel rooms. By the time the trio got back to the hotel themselves, Rossi had already started the drive to the airport with Reid, Morgan, and JJ, all of them happy to be heading home after a rough case.

Penelope makes a small huff before wrapping both of her arms around her stomach. The puff of air floats upward, creating a small cloud in between them before dissipating. “Why don’t you have gloves anyway, Garcia? It’s January and we’re in the middle of Idaho.”

Penelope crinkles her nose a little as she sticks her tongue out at Emily. “But my nails are so cute and gloves would cover them!” She’s right, her nails are a sparkly purple that coordinates well with the sparkly purple beanie on her head and the deep purple lipstick that Emily can’t stop staring at when she talks.

“You forgot them in your bat cave before we got on the jet, huh?”

The pink flush on Penelope’s cheeks from the cold turns much more scarlet. “I’m not used to winter prep for a go-bag, let alone maintaining a go-bag at all!”

Emily chuckles, privately memorizing the contrast of the rosy flush and her purple lips and how shiny her eyes are behind the large purple hexagon glasses. “Do you want to wait in the lobby?” Surprisingly, Penelope shakes her head even as she visibly shivers underneath her puffy coat.

“The snow is so pretty out here. And it’s so quiet, like there’s no one else in the world.” She tilts her head up, eyes closed for a moment as she sticks her tongue to catch some flurries. After a beat, her eyes open and she looks at Emily with joy dancing in her gaze. “Come on Emily, have fun with me.”

“I always have fun with you, Penelope,” she says too honestly. Penelope sees something in her face that makes her pause and they stand in silence. The snow falls gently and the puffs of their breath mingle in the space between them.

Emily tells herself she’s watching their breath and the snow simultaneously but her eyes remain fixed only on Penelope. Without giving it too much thought, she pulls off her gloves and hands them to her. “Your hands are still shaking,” she says in answer to the silent question in the tilt of Penelope’s head.

“But now you’ll be cold.”

Emily shrugs. But that isn’t good enough for Penelope, who hands back the left glove before pulling the right one on herself. “Penelope, I don’t need-”

“Oh no, I won’t hear it, we can share or you can have them both back.” It’s moments like this that make Emily’s heart skip a few beats. Penelope’s effortless kindness is currently a stubborn glint in her eyes and Emily knows better than to argue. She makes a small production out of acquiescing, pulling the glove on with a dramatic sigh. Penelope laughs, the sound bright and warm as it bounces through the cold quiet air. It’s the best sound in the world.

Emily can’t help but smile in response. Snow is lightly covering the puffy sleeves of Penelope’s coat and creating its own set of sparkles on the purple beanie. She uses the gloved hand to brush the shoulders clean. Penelope’s gaze on her face is a warm and tangible thing somehow, and suddenly her face feels incredibly hot. Her hand comes to a rest, lightly gripping her upper arm. “Um. Is your- is your other hand still cold?”

Penelope nods. Emily nods back, flexing her own ungloved hand. She extends it palm up towards Penelope. “For warmth,” Emily says, voice not as shaky as she feels all of a sudden.

Penelope blinks twice, before slipping her hand into Emily’s without a word. They both stare at their joined hands until Penelope twists her hand, interlocking their fingers. Emily’s whole arm crackles with a low flame, warmth billowing up the limb and spreading through her torso. In pursuit of that warmth, Emily takes a step closer. The only sound she can hear is the mixed sounds of their breathing. She glances down to watch the breath leave Penelope’s purple lips into the cold air and can’t tear her eyes away. Penelope’s fingers twitch and then tighten in Emily’s grip. Glancing up to take in her whole face, Emily is sucked in by the openness of her expression- the way the cold has made her glow, the way her eyes are gazing back into Emily’s with softness and hesitation all at once, the way the warmth of her exhales slightly fog up her glasses, the way snowflakes land on her eyelashes and her nose and her hair and the swell of her cheeks and slowly become beads of water- and opens her own mouth because she has to say something, right?

“Penelope, I-”

Just then, Hotch pulls up next to them. The hum of the engine is like a crack in the perfect stillness of the moment and Emily jumps back slightly from the surprise. Their hands, still entangled, drop out of his line of sight. Penelope circles her thumb on Emily’s skin once, twice, and then a third time before letting go. Emily shivers, but she knows this time it isn’t from the cold.

Hotch gets out of the car to help with the bags, and Emily manages to fully tear her attention away from Penelope. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she sees it has been a little longer than she would have expected, even accounting for the car being on the 4th floor of the parking garage and the elevator being completely out of order.

“What took you so long, Hotch?” She’s half joking, mostly looking to listen to something over her own pounding heart. But he blushes in response, a similar color to Penelope’s pretty flush from slight embarrassment just minutes earlier. It makes her stop and really look at him. He’s limping the tiniest bit, and the back of his coat looks slightly damp. Emily bites her lip, debating if she should say something more. Penelope, however, has no such debate.

“Oh! Bossman! Did you fall?” She waddles over on her heels, careful not to slip herself. “Are you ok?”

He clears his throat before leaning down and picking up the two largest of their bags. “I’m fine.” The signature Hotch glare is back in full force, but she knows he’s a little embarrassed. His cheeks haven’t lost all of the red flush yet and he won’t quite meet their eyes. Instead, he stows the suitcases in the back of the SUV before grabbing two more.

They glance at each other, attempting to hide a smile. He notices, because of course he does, but that just sends them both into actual laughter. After a moment, he starts to laugh too. They all climb into the car, Emily holding the passenger seat door open for Penelope and offering a hand (that is very enthusiastically taken) to help her into the car. As he puts the car in drive and the laughter fully dies out, he says “I told you I was worried about black ice.”

It makes Penelope laugh all over again, but Emily just watches her from her seat behind Hotch. Her beanie is still firmly on her head and the remaining bits of snow all over her are melting in the heat from the car. Emily flexes her ungloved hand again, arm still feeling tingly. Penelope sees her do it in the rearview mirror, and blushes again. Their eyes meet, and they share soft secretive smiles. If Derek hasn’t saved Penelope a seat and if Spencer isn’t taking up the whole couch again, maybe I’ll try to discreetly sit next to her on the couch. Just in case her hands are still cold.

Penelope only breaks their stare when Hotch asks her something about some budget maneuvering for new computer nonsense. She responds to him with her signature enthusiasm, and Emily settles back into her seat, knowing this conversation will probably last until they get to the airport. She’s content to only half listen and instead enjoy watching Penelope be incredibly smart and passionate. She keeps glancing back at her in the rearview mirror, but Emily doesn’t mind that Penelope knows she’s staring. Her mind drifts off as she watches Penelope’s mouth move as she speaks. She thinks about how close she was doing something reckless. She’s still close to doing something reckless if she’s being completely honest. Somehow though, she doesn’t think she’s the only one. The snow is still falling, and it’s still the middle of winter in Idaho. Yet, Emily Prentiss has never felt so warm.

#penemily #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #cm #cj.txt #cm fic #cjs fic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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syilcawrites · 3 years

Note

Angry confessions,,,like accidental angry confessions,,,confessing angrily,,,

a/n: hello it’s been a while but I finished!! I kind of based it off of “are you in the clouds or the rocks right now” hope that’s okay huhu.

summary: Link.exe stops working because Zelda accidentally confesses to him in the midst of a heated conversation :~)

ao3

a carved heart on the back of your hand

Link hates the rain.

It wasn't supposed to rain today, but it did, and now everything is ruined.

Zelda wrestles her wrist from his grip once they stop at a nearby run-down house; his right hand is still trembling and it feels like his muscles and tendons have been ripped from his left arm. It's better than feeling nothing at least—he can still feel the fabric of his sleeve against his skin. Link rolls his shoulder slightly, wincing. It's not broken.

She sighs out with an irritable huff, and he hears the Hylian Shield he gave her earlier clatter between them.

"Why did you do that."

He shrugs as he stares at the broken stone wall in front of him. He can't stop shaking his leg. "We should wait," he says quietly.

"I'm ready. You even said I was ready!"

"Why do we have to rush this?" He braves a glance back at her, and it's just as bad as he thought—she's fuming—face red with her chin held high and her lips twisted into an angry frown. She wants to rush back into things—rush back into correcting Hyrule, to make up for all those lost years. He gets it. Of course he gets it; it's exactly how he felt when he first woke up. There was a sense of duty he knew he wanted to follow through with even though he lacked any of his memories.

"There's a centuries' worth of responsibilities I have to catch up on. And to survive in this Hyrule of today, I need to learn how to carry my own weight." Zelda looks away from him, her frown deepening as she crosses her arms. She squeezes her eyes shut for a brief moment before she glares up at him. "And you—" The anger returns to her face as she takes a step toward him. He flips around to face her completely, holding up his hands in slight defense. "Do not jump in front of me like that again. It was completely irresponsible of you to rip the shield from my arm."

It was dangerous, even he will admit that. He knows she's capable—her precision with parrying is nothing short of amazing—but Guardians who could still slither around were different from the ones who were immobile.

And when it crawled on top of an empty body of a decayed Guardian, it aimed down directly at her forehead. Which isn't anything new, no. It always aimed for the head. That's how it usually goes, and he knew that. He knows that. But what if the Guardian slipped because of the rain? And then just like that, it could've hit her in the chest, arm, leg—whatever. It could've hit her.

Last-minute parrying is probably one of his least favorite things to do, but his legs were already moving through the sluggish mud and his mind was trailing too slow behind his feet.

Guardian, rain, Zelda.

Those were the only three words chasing each other in his mind at that moment. And the next thing he knew, he had the shield in his arm, the Guardian had toppled over, and Zelda was yelling at him.

He doesn't regret doing what he did.

"It was the rain's fault," he says. The rain got into his eyes, his ears, his nose.

"What rain?" she asks, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "It wasn't raining."

"It was raining," he trails off, unsure now.

Was it raining?

"Link, you know that I love you, but for Hylia's sake!" Zelda exclaims, narrowing her eyes as sharp as knives. "What you did was extremely, unfathomably—and might I add ridiculously—reckless and dangerous."

Love. Not loved, but love, as in a I love you right now kind of love.

"Wait, really?"

"Yes really!' she exasperates, groaning as she rubs her temples. "Sure, Calamity Ganon is gone and the Guardians are a bit weaker now, but that doesn't erase the high threat that they still pose."

"No that's not—" Link quickly averts his gaze to her feet. Wait—he's supposed to be the triforce of courage. He shifts his gaze back up at her, and it takes every inch of his strength to maintain eye contact. He's been through death—he almost lost his head to a laser beam about five minutes ago—so this isn't… it shouldn't feel worse, but it does.

He gulps.

"You love me?" His stomach flips. He wants to drag the words that he has haphazardly thrown out into the wild back into the deepest parts of his mind, because now she's looking at him with a very, very weird expression: mouth twisted, eyebrows strained, nose scrunched.

And his voice sounded scratchy, so scratchy when he said that. He needs water, but there's no water near them because they drank the last of it early afternoon before they made their way to Hyrule Field. Outskirts Stable should have some… or maybe—what was closer? Riverside? But Akkala has the best water, so maybe he should go there instead. She did say how it tasted cleaner than other areas. It would be quick, in and out within two seconds tops if he used the Sheikah Slate. It's Autumn and the days are shorter and—

Link pats his hips frantically.

The Sheikah Slate is attached to Zelda's hips. They've been switching off, and of course, of course she has it today.

Link exhales. This is a-okay, shrug it off. It's not like she'll bite his fingers off if he asks for it—the both of them are probably really parched right now anyway since they just ran for who knows how long. And he knows Zelda, she'll definitely realize how perceptive and practical he's being with his proposition, and let him go swiftly without much argument.

"Are you thirsty?" he asks confidently, breaking the suffocating silence between them.

"Excuse me?"

"I can get us some water in East Akkala Stable, if you give me the Sheikah Slate."

"Well, I suppose so…" She unhooks it from her hip slowly, fumbling with it a little when it catches onto the metal of her belt. "Oh—!"

Link quickly reaches out for it before it can hit the ground—but Zelda does too, and then their hands touch. Link draws back immediately, and the Sheikah Slate smacks against the face of the Hylian Shield before bouncing off onto the broken pavement they're standing on. Link almost slaps his cheeks—their hands always brush against one another. Why'd he react like he got shocked by an Electric Wizzrobe?

"I'll be right back," he says quickly, swiping the Sheikah Slate up. His fingers hover over the screen as he licks his lips—how does he turn on the screen again? Tap it once? Twice? Five times? If Hylia is out there can she help him remember, please?

"Three times."

"Huh?" Link snaps his head up.

"Tap the screen three times to open it up," she mutters as she picks up the Hylian Shield from the ground, her eyes still on him.

"Thanks," he says, staring back down at the blue-lit screen. Akkala, upper right. Click the glowing icon and press yes. He looks back up at her, and she's situated herself under a part of the broken house, with the shield resting against her legs and a hand placed against the sheathed dagger attached to her hip. "I'll be quick," he promises, as the blue light begins to eat away his vision of her.

Zelda's face scrunches up like she's about to burst into tears.

He blinks, and instead of seeing her torn face, East Akkala Stable sits in front of him. And now he's definitely sure it's raining because this time he can feel a light, cold drizzle pelt against his skin. "Idiot," Link whispers as he tussles his bangs with frustration.

He just needs to be away for a second—it's hard thinking clearly when he's with her for some reason, and it's even harder trying to mask his emotions around her. In all of those memories, he was as stiff as a plank of wood. Even he couldn't read his own expressions when he remembered them. And sometimes he can manifest that part of him back, but with Zelda…

If he lingers too long in that feeling of emptiness, he knows he might stay like that forever. Most of those memories were filled with quiet conversations and sad smiles—he doesn't want to create more between them.

Link pulls out both of their water pouches as he nears the nearby spring reservoir, opting to avoid the stable altogether—he sighs again as he crouches down, sticking them into the water. The bubbles rise and burst with that awful glugging sound. He pointed out how weird it sounded to Zelda one time, and they both watched the pockets of air float and pop to the surface of the water as if it was the greatest thing in the entire world. He figured that the simplicity of it mesmerized the both of them. It seemed like she appreciated it when he pointed out random stuff to her—it's what initially drew her out of her half-dazed stupor for weeks after they defeated Calamity Ganon.

He sits by the water for an extra twenty minutes after he finishes filling up the water pouches, just soaking in the light drizzle dripping down his hair; leaking into the seams of his clothes, until he can feel it soaking into his skin. The rain washes away his thoughts.

He really hates the rain.

When Link returns, he finds her stabbing into the edge of some random piece of log with her dagger, a little ways away from the worn-down house. He can't tell if she's stabbing it out of anger or out of pure concentration. He raises an eyebrow as he comes closer, noticing that she's not actually stabbing it, but carving something.

"Zelda?" he calls out. She jumps at the sound of his voice but doesn't turn around.

"You're back already?" she asks, briefly glancing over her shoulder at him after a heartbeat. If she thought he was quick with his water trip, then she really was in the zone. "Wait—don't come closer."

He pauses about ten lizalfos' away from her, holding both of the water pouches in his hands. He watches with growing curiosity as she continues to stab and jab at the piece of wood a couple more times before she sheaths her dagger back. She rips something out of the log—hard enough for her to fall down onto her bottom, and Link instinctively takes a step forward with an arm slightly outstretched to her.

"Hm." She stands up as she looks back at him again, her expression troubled. "Why are you drenched from head to toe?"

"It was raining," he says, pressing his arm back to his side, "actually raining this time." He jogs over to her to close the distance between them. A humorless smile quirks upon her lips as she turns around with her arms behind her back.

They stand there awkwardly for a few moments.

"Well?" Zelda eyes his hands.

"Oh—" Link almost hits her arm as he quickly extends his hand out to her.

"Thank you," she says, grabbing it. She stares at the lip of it before holding out her other hand to him. "You said you lost that rock during the fight with Calamity Ganon?"

Link furrows his eyebrows together.

"The… that one rock you found on Death Mountain. The heart-shaped one. You called it your good luck charm?"

Oh, right. Somewhere in the midst of flying up in the air and running everywhere like a madman around Calamity Ganon, his heart-shaped pebble had fallen out from inside of his Champion's Tunic.

"Well," she says, tightening her fist, "I'm sure this is certainly not the exact way it looked. A craft such as wood carving takes years and years of practice, so this is the best I can manage." She still hasn't opened her fist—in fact, her knuckles have gone white. "You know that I always put my best efforts into whatever I am doing."

Link nods, waiting for her to drop the object into his palm. "Everyone knows you put your all into everything you do."

With a sigh, she opens her hand, and the small object falls into his palm with a light thud. It's a crudely carved heart-shaped piece of wood. It looks more like a weird hexagon, but at a certain angle he can see the heart in it. It looks nothing like the heart-shaped pebble, and that's exactly why he loves—

A short laugh escapes his lips before he realizes it.

"I'll make a better one once I get more practice!" she insists as she puffs out her cheeks. "I don't want your luck to run out, so just keep it for now."

"No," he says, running a thumb against the unevenly rough surface of it, "this one's perfect."

"Perfect? You insult me Link," she scoffs. Wisps of hair escape from her carefully pulled back braid, framing around her cheeks. Absentmindedly, she brushes it away from her skin, but it keeps falling back into the same position.

He wants to cup her cheeks, but both of his hands are occupied.

"I—" They both begin, pausing. Zelda purses her lips, but she keeps her gaze level with his eyes.

"I love you too," he blurts out before she can say anything, and presses the wooden heart against his fluttering chest. Red blooms onto her cheeks immediately—it's faint, but there. Maybe it's from the cold, since the wind picked up two minutes ago.

Her surprised expression melts into a soft smile—a smile with her lips slightly parted, carrying a sort of gentleness that is usually masked by the weariness of the world.

It's one of his favorite smiles.

#zelink #botw #breath of the wild #my fanfics #hope you enjoy it!!!#ty for sending a prompt to lil ol me hoho #i hope i didn't miss anything... i have a feeling i have LOL #enduracarrotchips

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mine-sara-sp · 3 years

Text

Where it decays [ch2]

Lets not think about the fact that i took so long for me to write this, just enjoyyyy [AO3] and [Ch1]

In which the hermits come to check on Scar’s weird murder crystal.

Click, Click, Click.

It echoes, it rings in his ears. Rhythmic and unnerving.

One of the few details still clear in this memory. Not where, not when, not the face of his host but that sound. The damp air, the soft and humid surface of the moss he was sitting on, the light weight of something placed in his hands.

A gift.

A boney texture. Moss covering its edges and bringing it all together around a single precious crystal.

He can drop it, sure, he would never force him to take something he doesn’t want. But it will be back in his hands the instant he wants it again. He knows.

“You can take this as an..invitation.”

Tempting sure, but that wasn’t the time to accept the invite yet. Still too much to do, to explore, to create.

He lets the gift fall. For now.

The sound of the communicator buzzing beside his bed woke him up. Messages appearing on the tiny screen.

Oh? He needed to go check on a friend.

----

Scar tapped his foot anxiously as he passed his new health crystal from a hand to the other. He felt the sting from pain whenever the crystal touched the bandages on his left hand but barely paid any mind to it, he kept his eyes focused on the murky waters surrounding the giant crystal and thought about his options.

The crystal was… weird. Dangerous, but he wasn’t sure how much. The decay wasn’t really spreading past the lake for now. Still, he didn’t want to take the chance since Larry was just a few meters away from the shore, and having the entire jungle die would be a problem.

Healing it was a big no. It didn’t want to heal.

He thought about destroying it, but he couldn't. Just the thought made him feel nauseous. A horrible feeling at the start of his stomach. Maybe it was just his guts telling him that the crystal could probably do to him what it had done to the little crystal he was trying to use on it.

He paced back and forth on the lakeshore for a while, avoiding to look up at the shiny green stone floating at the center of the monoliths.

How silly he thought.

He was getting so nervous around it that he didn’t want to look at it! It’s just a big magic rock throwing a kinda deadly temper tantrum Scar! You can deal with it!

Well, maybe he could deal with it with some help.

Not sure of how anyone could help with this but better than trying alone again. He wasn’t sure who to call, so he called everyone that felt like coming to see what was going on.

He picked up his communicator and stared blankly at the chat. Cub and X seemed to be busy right now but Tango said he’d come and take a look. Maybe some admin commands could get rid of the crystal? Or at least make sure nothing else could start rotting.

Scar felt a chill creep its way up to his spine.

He finally looked up at the crystal floating in the air.

The decay was probably something manageable but what the crystal showed to him was something- someone? Someone else. The crystal was not connected to him like all the other smaller ones were, it was connected to whoever that was.

Scar nervously tapped his fingers on the side of his leg as he felt a bit of nausea starting to rise in his throat. Suddenly he wanted to go and hide far away, maybe he could just move to the desert with Cub and stop trying to be a magician.

But he couldn’t give up so easily, could he?

He let out a shaky breath and kept tapping his fingers.

“So, the spooky aesthetic wasn’t intentional?” Scar jumped away from his friend in surprise letting the health crystal fall off his hand. He didn't hear any rockets firing or steps coming from behind himself so he was caught completely off guard.

He turned around to see Grian chuckling lightly.

“I gave you all those compliments but you didn’t say anything about the murder crystal!” He said jokingly, leaning in closer to Scar.

The wizard smiled lightly before retrieving the small crystal from the ground, closing his hand tightly around it and pushing it into his robe pockets.

“Did you sneak your way here just to scare me?”

“Maybe,” Grian replied with a wink. Scar laughed, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets.

Grian moved to the side a little and looked up at the crystal. Scar didn't, tapping nervously his foot on the ground and facing the jungle and Larry.

"It doesn't look too bad honestly if it doesn't go further."

"if." Scar remarked, "I don't know what it wants to do, maybe it's gonna stop and be happy like this or maybe it's gonna get worse. I tried talking with it and it… it wasn't nice."

Scar felt the coldness of the mist seep into his bones again. The eyes on the other side of the crystal staring at his back now.

He didn't realize how tense he'd become until he realized his hand hurt from keeping it closed too tight.

He let go and tried to shake it off when he saw Grian looking back at him now, frowning.

"Wait, is the crystal alive?"

"Alive and kinda finicky, I tried to stop it from making everything rot and it made my health crystal explode." Scar replied taking his left hand out of his pocket and giving Grian a small wave with it.

Grian cringed slightly at the sight of the bandaged hand.

He gave one last look at the crystal then turned around, putting a hand on Scar's shoulder.

"Why don't we wait for the others inside Larry's shell? You seem tired."

Scar nodded. Not looking at the crystal was probably the best idea for now.

Grian got up first and immediately made his way into Scar's kitchen, meanwhile, the wizard stopped and stared at the doorless entrance. Did he really steal his door again? He rolled his eyes and sat at the kitchen table, putting his elbows on it and resting his face on his right hand.

"These door bandits are getting a little out of control, don't you think?" He said trying to sound oblivious of the other's shenanigans. Tapping his fingers to the side of his cheek.

Grian tilted his head to the side as he reached for Scar's cookie jar and got a few out. "Yeah, they're the worst!" He took a bite off one. "I mean, who steals doors? That's ridiculous!"

Scar chuckled and reached to grab a few cookies himself, Grian tilted the jar in his direction.

"Luckily, I got a vault full of them." He said before starting to eat too.

"Isn't a vault a bit too much for a few doors?" Grian asked as he sat down too, putting the jar on the table between them.

Scar kept quietly munching on his cookie, looking at an undefined spot on the table.

"I don't keep only doors in it."

A light knocking caught their attention. Tango stood at the entrance of the snail house, smiling brightly.

“I heard you needed a bit of admin magic!”

---

The magic crystal issue seemed to have attracted a lot more attention than Scar would have anticipated, not that he didn’t expect his friends to come and help him with the situation but he knew that most couldn’t really do anything with this.

He was the one who meddled with magic crystals and sometimes vex magic and the only result he got was nightmare fuel and a light wound. Most of his friends didn’t play around with other kinds of magic as far as he knew but they still came to check in anyway.

Along with Tango, Impulse and Zedaph had arrived, chatting lightly as they walked around on the little island underneath the crystal meanwhile Tango went up the monolith to work with his commands and see if he could do anything.

Scar heard Zedaph talk about things he would have tried to do with the crystal if was in his cave of contraption, list included “Extrazombiflying capsule” which he didn’t want to find out what it was supposed to do in and how it should have worked in Zedaph’s mind.

Scar felt the need to tell him not to touch the crystal, just as a precaution, but he saw him tap the crystal a few times anyway. He didn't drop dead so it was probably fine.

Stress and Mumbo arrived together, they apparently met on the way in the jungle and decided to walk and chat the rest of the way to the crystal. Mumbo almost ignored the crystal completely as he saw a particularly cute mushroom and stopped to look at it. Stress was as amazed as him but still gave an enthusiastic wave to Scar and Grian before crouching down to get a better look at the mushroom.

Scar choked back a small laugh, meanwhile, Grian went to fetch the two. They made him stop to look at the mushroom as well.

This was a strangely cheerful scene considering the reason why he called them here, it made him feel a bit calmer.

He started to tap his fingers on the small crystal in his pocket again before looking up at the shiny green problem at the center of the lake. He didn’t keep his gaze on it for too long, moving it to watch Tango on the monolith next to it.

Scar could see him dangle his legs off the ledge and stare at his comm’s small screen with a rather lost expression. He wasn't as used to deal with bugs and problems as Xisuma was and this was a weird problem to deal with, to begin with.

Joe wandered in at some point, appearing seemingly out of nothing and arriving under the crystal, startling Impulse that was too intent in shouting something to Tango to notice him, Zedaph had a good laugh at that.

It was a fun scene but Scar was starting to feel a bit uneasy with the number of people around the gem, he was about to ask them to get a bit farther away from it when he heard the thud of someone landing close.

He turned to see Iskall a few steps away, bionic eye making a quiet buzzing sound as it focused on Scar.

“Hallo!” He said with a cheerful voice, stepping closer to Scar.

“Hey,” Scar replied with a tired smile, turning to look again at the people under the crystal. No one dropped dead still, this is fine. He can calm down.

“So that’s your problem child,” Iskall said, looking up at the gem and putting his hands in his hoodie’s pocket.

“I guess you can call it that, It seems… calm for now.” He replied looking at the stone, feeling again as if someone was staring back at him from the other side.

The air got tense as he stiffened slightly at the sensation, no one seemed to have this same reaction, the gang under the crystal was still talking animatedly same as the others next to the adorable little mushroom. Scar took a sharp breath, tapping on the side of the gem in his pocket and then looking back at Iskall. He seemed to have noticed his sudden tenseness because he looked a bit worried.

“it looks like iskallium, you know?” He said suddenly.

“Uhm?” Scar raised an eyebrow.

“Iskallium is my own gem, so if it keeps causing trouble I can scold it and it will have to listen to me!” He declared with a big smile on his face. “It’s science!”

“I wouldn’t try that.” Scar chuckled lightly. “You don’t fix magic problems with science, especially if it needs you scolding the rock that has been having deadly temper tantrums”

“Trying wouldn’t hurt.”

Scar avoided telling him that, yes, it would. His hand was proof of that.

The clicking rhythmic sound of his nails against the gem helped his nerves a little as he saw Tango literally lean on the crystal as he typed in something in his comm. Why was everyone so careless around that thing--

“Scar.”

“Uhn? what?”

“Why are you doing that?”

Scar frowned and looked back at his friend, he looked slightly worried again.

“Doing what?” He asked confused, tilting his head a bit.

“The clicking.”

Clicking? oh.

Now that he thought about it he had been a bit extra fidgety since the crystal started being a problem, tapping his fingers and bouncing his leg.

“I guess I’m just a bit nervous, sorry.” He murmured taking his hands out of his pockets, only to find that he was starting to tap his feet instead.

Uh.

Scar made the effort to stay still for a moment but found it really difficult, his hands twitching slightly.

He wasn’t that shaken, was he?

Scar pulled the health crystal out of his pocket and closed his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to channel the gem’s properties on himself. The magic flowing through him felt like warm water taking away some of the tension he was feeling, making the wound on his hand hurt less and…

Click, Click, Click.

Scar’s eyes snapped open. His nails clicked against the glassy surface of the crystal and he couldn’t control it. He felt the fog seep into his body again, the person on the other side of the crystal staring down at him. What did that thing put into his head?

“I-- I’m not doing it on purpose.”

He was about to shove his hand back into his pockets to at least quiet down the sound when iskall gestured him to stop and took Scar’s hand in his. Looking down at the finger’s movements.

“Listen.”

Scar frowned and stared at Iskall for a moment, he looked extremely concentrated on the sound. He started paying more attention to his involuntary tapping as well even if he wasn't sure what he was supposed to hear.

Click, Click, Click.

There was a specific rhythm to the tapping, he tried and couldn’t change it. One slow tap, two fast, two slow, one fast, repeat.

One slow. Click.

Two fast. Click, Click.

Two slow. Click, Click.

One fast. Click.

Repeat.

Wait.

“Morse?” He asked. Iskall nodded.

Why in the world was he tapping morse. Maybe he could go fetch some of his old stuff from area77, Doc did give him a little paper sheet with morse code written on it. Hopefully, he didn't throw it away, they didn't really end up using it.

“T-I-M-E.” Iskall said letting go of Scar’s hand. Eh?

“Why do you know morse, Iskall?” Scar asked shoving his hands in his pockets to not hear the sound anymore.

“Oh you know, friends.” He replied, shrugging slightly and putting his hands back into his pockets. “I’m guessing this has something to do with the magic problem child, is it making you spam “time”?”

“I guess…” Scar murmured looking back up at the giant crystal.

“Any idea why?”

Scar nodded. There was one thing that came to his mind. He didn't really know why or how whoever was on the other side of the crystal knew about it. Still, it was worth seeing if something could be done with it.

He glanced at the crystal one last time before walking over to the others that were still talking near the mushroom. Grian and Mumbo were discussing something about messages not being replied now.

"These two sound like annoying lovebirds don't they?" Stress commented before getting distracted by Iskall waving at her and quickly running past Scar to go meet him.

Scar looked at Grian and Mumbo, he was unsure if the argument was gonna continue for long so he just decided to literally jump between them.

"Hey Mumbo, could you help me with something real quick?" He asked, grabbing the tall man's arm.

Mumbo raised an eyebrow. "Sure, what do you need?"

Scar heard a tiny whine in protest coming from Grian as he pulled Mumbo away.

"I need you to open the vault for me, I lost the key."

---

Breaking open the K.G.O.O.M.R. wasn't that difficult for Mumbo, not that he enjoyed it but he had already done it a few times. Scar really needed to find that key at some point.

Nevertheless, as soon as the iron door on the floor opened Scar knelt down next to the first chest of the three.

Grian peeked in from behind Mumbo that pushed him slightly away from the vault.

"Hey, don't look at me like that! I'm not gonna touch the doors, I'm just curious!" He said with a fake offended tone.

Scar chucked, It's true the vault was full of doors mostly, but there was one other thing he deemed important enough to have to stay in it.

Well, not really important, more of a work in progress. An unstable work in progress.

He opened the chest and pulled out a shiny orange gem.

To the other hermits, it might have looked like just another of his crystals but this one was different.

Using the crystals to channel healing properties was a thing, using them to play with time was another.

It was unstable, complicated, and honestly not that worth messing with, Scar had started experimenting with it just to test his abilities, to see what he could and couldn't do.

He managed to stop a few things in time; A plant that never withers away, an arrow stuck in mid-air forever. He brought some things back and forth, making tools rust away in a few minutes or go back to being brand new in the same amount of time.

It was exciting at first; then he had a tiny accident with a bird that flew a bit too close when he was practicing and decided to stop working with the crystal.

Until now, probably.

He made the gem twirl around in his hand a few times, the lights in the room hitting it and projecting colored shards around him.

He could feel the stone's powers, not that he'd forgotten how it felt to experiment with it. It would be difficult to forget how that much power running through your veins felt. It was a bit like Vex magic, but without having to borrow it from the fey. Being in complete control of something like that was more dangerous but more rewarding.

If he thought about it this little gem could technically be stronger than the giant crystal.

He could… He could turn time back on the crystal, bringing it back to being simple dust.

But could he really risk trying that?

Scar stared at the gem for a few seconds before putting it in his pocket. The wound on his hand burned slightly, reminding him to be careful.

"Thank you for the door, Mumbo." Scar said smiling, before climbing the ladder up to the exit.

"You're welcome." The redstoner replied behind Scar.

"Grian put that door down." He heard him say as he left the room where the vault was. They followed him soon after.

He walked over to the lakeshore and saw that now Iskall and Stress had joined the others under the crystal and that Tango was not on the monolith anymore, he was on ground level with everyone. He was gesticulating energetically while explaining something to everyone else, Zedaph was behind him mimicking the movements with a bit too much accuracy to be the first time he did it.

Scar quietly ran his fingers on the time gem, he wasn't tapping anymore now that he thought about it.

He didn't know if he could feel relieved about it.

With a jump and a little push of his elytra he almost got to the island, he still got his feet wet by missing by a few blocks but using a rocket would have probably made him collide with someone. The thing that Grian does less than half a second later, headbutting Joe off the island and into the water. He apologizes quickly trying to get the other hermit back on his feet.

“And here I thought nothing could hurt as much as Cleo’s punches.” Joe gasped, hugging his stomach where Grian had impacted.

“Grian is more dangerous than anything else here right now.” Impulse said with a grin.

“Careful Impulse, I got more rockets.”

"This creeper farm gives him too much power Scar! Too many rockets he can get his hands on, maybe the crystal was trying to save us all along!" Zedaph gasped with an over-dramatic tone placing the back of his hand on his forehead in an exaggerated gesture.

Scar wished he could laugh with the others at that but all he could think of right now was how much that magic crystal was starting to weigh in his pocket.

"So, anyway--" Tango started saying while rubbing the back of his neck "I was saying to the others that I don't think I can do anything right now. Maybe if I manage to get Xisuma together we can find something but on my own, I really don't know."

Scar nodded, of course, it couldn't be easy. "It's okay” He reassured Tango.

“I think I might have a solution," he fidgeted with the fabric of his sleeve "But honestly don't know if it's a good idea, or if it's worth trying."

"Well, if it's a horrible idea we will definitely warn you about it," Joe said, still slightly bent down for the pain of the impact with Grian.

"Okay, so… I could try using this." Scar showed the small orange gem to his friends, leaving it on his open palm."This crystal is special, I can use it to control time a little. I was thinking I could try using it to make the crystal go back to before it was... Uhm, like this?"

There was an excruciatingly long silence.

"I'm sorry, did you just say you can control time??? " Tango asked.

"Kinda? I can't go back in time myself, I think, but I can change the effect of time on objects, make things older or newer."

"Does it work on people too? Could ya turn someone into a baby?" Stress asked leaning a bit closer to look at the crystal.

Scar closed his hand on the crystal nervously making Stress pout. "Definitely on birds"

"Oh, I guess Grian wasn't the only reason why I wasn't finding any parrots," Mumbo murmured.

"Didn't you find the double-sized parrot?" Iskall asked grinning. Mumbo chuckled nervously.

"Anyway, what do you guys think of my idea?" Scar asked, holding tightly the gem.

There was another moment of silence before Impulse spoke up.

"You were the one preaching with Doc about the dangers of messing with time last season. I think you know about the risks of using this thing better than any of us." He said.

"Also, didn't that crystal already hurt you for trying something like this?" Grian asked, gesturing to Scar's bandaged hand. "What if it does it again, and you end up being the one that gets rewind, who knows what would that cause!"

Scar frowned. The thought of becoming suddenly younger wasn't that fun, especially since he didn't know if that would regard only his body or if his mind would be affected as well.

"You should also think about from where you got the idea of using that thing, Scar," Iskall added, leaving the others except for Scar slightly confused.

Scar signed and looked at the gem in the palm of his hand.

"I think you already know it's not a good idea," Joe said, putting his hand on Scar's shoulder. "We can find a different solution that doesn't require using that."

Scar was silent for a moment then nodded.

“You’re right, I think I’ll go put it back in the vault-" A single tiny green shard fell at his feet. Suddenly he felt his blood run cold, he blinked and looked up.

A cracking noise filled the jungle.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #goodtimeswithscar #grian #mumbo jumbo #iskall85 #zedaph #impulsesv #tangotek #joe hills #stressmonster #WID #where it decays #sp fic

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tripleaxeldiaz · 3 years

Text

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 5/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The Final is a big deal. Even more so this year since it’s the last international competition before the Olympics — the last chance to show the world that you’re worthy of their attention come February. Buck’s been to five of the last eight Finals, and usually all the extra attention from press and fans, even during non-Olympic seasons, make him giddy with excitement, adrenaline pumping through him for almost a solid week before he actually competes.

This time, however, it’s been a week of feeling like he’s going to throw up any second.

It’s not because he’s doing bad at practices — in fact, he’s feeling better than ever, even got to work out his shaky landing on his quad flip that’s been haunting him for weeks. Ice looks the same no matter where you are, so it’s easy for him to get lost in the two hours he’s out there and forget everything and everyone else around him while he works.

When he steps off the ice, though, he’s thrust right back into a world where everyone is keeping an eye on him, watching him to see if he’ll live up to the expectations of being one of the best US skaters a top Olympic hopeful, or if he’ll crumble under the pressure of trying to be the best but always falling a little bit short, especially since the last Games. He’s always viewed it as a redemption — overcoming his injury and clawing his way back to the top — but he can’t control how outsiders view it, has no idea if they feel the same way or have counted him out all together. ESPN can do as many pieces on him as they want, but they can’t guarantee that people are still rooting for him. He’s sure people are talking about him, but he’s steered clear of social media knowing that even if there are nice things about him floating around, it’ll still make him feel worse, crushed by more and more expectations that he’s still not sure he’s going to live up to.

He misses when all that attention would make him feel like he was invincible.

The biggest thing keeping him sane — despite the 6,000 miles between LA and Turin — is Eddie. They’d seen each other plenty before Buck left, Eddie still coming to the rink every day for PT and light workouts so he could stay in shape while he recovered. It was good, it was normal, even if Eddie wasn’t skating.

But the night before his flight to Italy, the prospect of being at one of the most important competitions of the season, of his life, without most of his other teammates had hit him hard once again, sucking all the air out of his lungs and making the room spin.

He called Eddie without even thinking and barely heard him say “Hello?” before he was spilling everything, letting out all the fears and worries he had been trying to keep under control since Bobby told him he was going to the Final. Despite being caught very off guard at 12:30 in the morning, Eddie had listened to it all — really listened, Buck could tell even over the phone. He sympathized with his fears and doubts and didn’t try to downplay them with empty platitudes. And somehow, in those frantic moments, to be heard like that was enough. Enough for the worries in Buck’s head to quiet down and retreat back into the shadows, enough for him to finally be able to breathe. They kept talking afterwards, the smooth timbre of Eddie’s voice making his eyes feel heavier and heavier, until they close and open again to sunlight filtering into his room, his phone on the pillow next to him with a disconnected call and a text that says You’re going to be amazing. Call me whenever you need me.

Buck didn’t think he’d take Eddie up on that, but he’s called him every day since he arrived and every time, no matter what time it is, Eddie picks up and listens to him.

On the last day of practice before short programs, dread settles heavy in Buck’s stomach and doesn’t get any lighter as the day wears on. He skates at the practice rink until his fingers feel numb with cold, and works out after even longer, blasting music in his headphones so he’s not alone with his thoughts for too long. He’s exhausted when he gets back to his room, the quiet that’s become so unfamiliar mixing with the dread and weighing down Buck’s entire body, feeling like it’s trying to push him straight down into the earth. Sinking onto the bed, he dials Eddie’s number.

Five rings, and no answer. He tries again. Nothing.

He tosses his phone to the side and sighs. The dread had lightened ever so slightly at the mere prospect of getting to talk to Eddie, but now it’s back in full force. If he lays here for too long, he’s worried he might melt right into the bedspread.

There’s a knock at the door, and takes every ounce of mental and physical strength he has to get him up. He has a brief, delusional thought that maybe the person on the other side of the door is the same one who didn’t answer his phone, but it’s quickly squashed when there’s another knock, followed by a voice that’s definitely not Eddie’s.

“Buck? I know you’re in there, and I can get my hands on a master key if you don’t let me in right now.”

Hen.

He opens the door quickly, because he thinks she’s bluffing, but there’s also a very real chance that she’s not. He stands at his full height, pushing back against the dread, and plasters on a smile. “Don’t tell me you have notes 12 hours before the competition starts?”

She looks him up and down, looks through him it seems, judging by the way he suddenly wants to curl in on himself, hide whatever it is she’s looking for. She finds it, he guesses, because she nods decisively and pushes into his room. She grabs his still packed skating bag from the foot of the bed and tosses him his jacket as she goes back into the hallway.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. “We’re going for a drive.”

It takes a minute for Buck’s brain to catch up with everything, but when it does, he hustles to meet her at the elevators. They make their way to the parking lot next to the hotel, where Hen unlocks the Fiat Bobby had rented for the week to get them around. “Bobby’s cool with you taking the car?”

She shrugs. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

“So I’m basically being kidnapped right now.”

“You would’ve stayed in your room if you really didn’t want to come.”

He smiles a real smile at that — she knows him too well.

Turin is beautiful at night. The city bustles with energy as people mill around, window shopping and filling up tables outside of cafes despite the early December chill. Christmas decorations have already been hung in windows and strung over rooftops, thousands of lights washing the streets in twinkling colors. Buck lets his eyes relax as he stares out the window, losing himself in the colors that pass by, hoping they’ll burn the heaviness right out of him. They stop outside the Palavela, standing out in its shadowy height among the brightness, decked out in ISU flags in anticipation for the start of competition tomorrow. Hen turns off the car and gets out, walking into the shadows of the arena and almost disappearing before Buck catches up. They make their way to the service entrance at the back of the building, where Hen pulls a key out of her coat pocket and unlocks the door.

Buck’s jaw drops. “I believed you about the hotel, but how did you get a key to this place?”

“A lot of people owe me a lot of favors,” she says, leading the way through the back hallways.

It occurs to Buck that he doesn’t even know why they’re here, didn’t bother to ask, but regardless, he follows her deeper into the belly of the building. Hallways twist and turn as they follow them seemingly at random, until they finally make it to a set of double doors. Hen pushes them open, and Buck has a moment of panic when he sees what’s on the other side.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the main rink the day before a competition?”

Hen rolls her eyes and walks inside. “You’re not getting married, Buck. And we’re not just here for the ice.” She keeps moving, up into the stands and further up the stairs to the mid-level walkway. It’s a former Olympic venue, so there’s thousands and thousands of seats, and the reminder that in a few short hours, they’ll be filled with people waiting to see Buck thrive or fail spectacularly weighs him down even more, coming down on his shoulders and threatening to make him stumble. He does stumble when he runs into Hen, who’s stopped dead center of the walkway, eyes warm and bright as she nods towards the other side of the rink.

Tears swim into his vision, but not because of shot nerves or worry this time (though those may be contributing to how quickly this is making him emotional).

Fans bring posters to events all the time — beautiful, handmade posters emblazoned with flags and encouraging quotes, showing their love for their favorite skaters and teams. They’re made of cardboard or printed on fabric, but are usually small, hard to see unless you’re watching on TV or very close to the boards. Sometimes, though — with special permission from the venue, usually — they go big, creating huge tarps that get hung up on the banisters surrounding the seats and stay there all week, loudly cheering for their favorites even when they may not be in the stands.

Which is exactly what Buck comes face to face with — two banners hung across part of the middle banister, covering at least 15 seats. One has a picture of him from Autumn Classic, smiling with his gold medal, with “Go Buck Go!” in big block letters over his head, all on a deep red background and surrounded by golden fireworks. The other — the one that really takes his breath away — is a collage of pictures from his programs over the years, some of his more memorable spins and poses emblazoned across the dark blue fabric. His final pose from his short this season, reaching toward the crowd and looking off into the distance, is featured most prominently, with an ornate script next to it that reads “Evan Buckley: Future Olympic Champion”.

He grips the railing a little tighter to keep himself steady, feels Hen’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“How—” he starts, voice a little raw.

“Bobby and I saw them when we came by earlier to get our credentials. We think someone hung them up after the short dance today so they’d be ready for tomorrow.”

“Wow,” is all Buck can manage. He’s seen his face on plenty of posters, but never like this, never something that he could see from anywhere in the arena, loudly proclaiming that there are fans in his corner, people beyond himself and his sister that see him at the top of the Olympic podium. He knows they're out there, rationally, when he’s not riddled with nerves and self doubt, but still. It’s nice to be reminded. And what a reminder this is.

“I know it’s been a rough week for you,” Hen says quietly, hand still on his back. “But just...take this in. Let it push you through the next few months. They’re rooting for you, Buck. We all are. You’ve got to keep rooting for yourself too.”

As usual, she’s right — Buck went into this season as his own biggest fan, with one goal in mind that felt like it had been slipping farther and farther away with every fall and every less than perfect score. That drive to win gold becoming more and more desperate as the weeks wore on — like if he didn’t get back to where he should be, where he needed to be, he might not survive. But he has people — his team, his family, and fans like this — who are still envisioning that success for him, who believe in him no matter what. Who will still be in his corner even if he doesn’t make it to the top. Who he wants to prove right for believing in him.

Hen pats his back one last time and heads back down the stairs. Buck lingers a little longer, taking in every detail of the banners that he can, since he won’t be able to appreciate them properly tomorrow. He sneaks a few pictures on his phone, quickly shooting them off to Maddie and Eddie. It doesn’t feel like bragging — they’re at the very top of the list of people that have constantly pulled him up when he falls down the hardest. He knows they’ll appreciate this for him, just like Hen did. They’ll understand how much this means to him.

As he follows Hen’s path down the stairs, the heaviness he had convinced himself was etched into his bones feels like it stays behind, making it easier to breathe, easier to be.

Hen’s next to the boards holding his skates out to him. “You’ve got like 30 minutes — skate it out. I’ll stand watch by the door.” He takes them and sets them on the bench before enveloping her in a hug, rocking back and forth as she laughs into his shoulder. She ruffles his hair and pats his cheek before going to her post.

He feels at peace on the ice, finally. The cold isn’t harsh, it’s invigorating. The fluorescent lights aren’t too bright, they’re comforting, lighting up the grooves and divots of the ice, showing all the paths Buck can follow. A couple of laps gets his blood pumping, roaring in his ears and blocking out everything else. He starts with some easy steps — rockers and three turns, over and over like he did in skating lessons when he was a kid, losing himself in the repetition. When he feels good, really good, he goes for a quad flip, confidence flowing into every stroke as he gets in position. He takes off, and he feels light again — right again — like he’s flying, not falling, not sinking.

Figuratively and literally rising.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s two missed calls from Eddie when he gets back to his room, and still riding the high of his good mood, he FaceTimes him.

“Wow, I really missed that smile,” Eddie says when the call connects, and Buck rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide the blush he can feel warm his cheeks. Eddie must have just gotten back from PT — his hair is falling in swoops over his forehead, damp with sweat, his tank top sticking to what little Buck can see of his chest. His blush gets a couple of shades darker, he’s sure, as he tries not to let his eyes linger anywhere for too long.

Buck flops onto the bed on his back, holding his phone in front of his face. “I had a pretty good night,” he says with feigned nonchalance.

“Seeing banners of your giant face already proclaiming you the next gold medalist will do that to you.” Buck laughs and Eddie laughs with him, the sound like pure happiness, burning out the very last of the dread that had been following him since he arrived. It stops quickly when Eddie sits down on his couch and hisses, wincing as he shuffles to get comfortable.

“Rough day with Lena?” He saw her every day for two months straight once upon a time, he knows how hard she can push.

“Rough couple of days.”

“Are you feeling better, at least? Do the doctors think it’s healing okay?”

“I have a check-up tomorrow, but it’s fine. Just sore.” He finally settles but he still looks like he’s in pain. Buck wants to press, wants to know every detail of his last few days — what exercises he’s done, when the pain really got worse, if he’s resting enough. But this isn’t his injury, and everyone heals differently. And he trusts Eddie, trusts him to know how to take care of himself like he promised he would.

“Anyway,” Eddie says lightly, clearly trying to change the subject. Buck lets him. “I’m sure this good night will make for a good day tomorrow, too. You feel ready?”

“I do,” Buck answers. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he actually means it.

“Good. I know you’ll be great. And you’ll have my sleep deprived text commentary to look forward to when you finish.”

Buck winces. “I’m not gonna be skating until like 4AM your time, you really don’t—”

“I really do. I really want to. And there’s not a whole lot you can do to stop me.” Eddie flashes his crowd-charming smile and Buck feels like he’s melting into the mattress again. He tries for a snappy comeback, anything to keep Eddie talking, but he cuts himself off with a yawn, the exhaustion from the week seeming to catch up with him all at once.

Eddie’s smile gets a little softer. “Go to sleep, Buck. I’m gonna take a nap too so I make sure I wake up on time.”

“Okay, okay. Goodnight Eds.”

“Goodnight. Knock ‘em dead tomorrow.”

After they hang up, Buck gives himself a minute, just a minute, to really bask in that, in Eddie’s active support of him from halfway across the world. It’s one thing to have your teammates watch your programs from the stands, but to find competitions on TV, if they’re being shown at all? To figure out time zones and wake up at ungodly hours just to watch you skate live? It may not seem like much, but it’s everything to Buck. He’s only gotten this kind of commitment from one other person in his life — even his parents stopped keeping up once he started competing abroad more. And it’s different with Maddie — they’ve been on this road together for almost two decades, so intertwined with each other’s successes and failures that they’re hard to differentiate sometimes. Sure, Eddie’s been a part of his life for years now too, but as competition, an obstacle he kept trying and failing to overcome. It’s different now that they’re...whatever they are. Friends. Almost something else.

For the second time tonight, Buck’s reminded of how grateful he is to have another solid, supportive presence in his corner. The last lingering bits of heaviness and loneliness evaporate from within him, and he knows this weekend will be good for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Second place.

Second place is fine. Second place is great, actually. Second place is enough to show the USFSA that he’s still a contender, that he can still keep up with the best of the best despite a rocky first half of the season.

But second place is not first place. Even if it’s only six points away.

Overall, Buck is happy with his performance. He was clean on his step sequences, attacked every jump, and didn’t fall once. And six points behind the skater from Japan that everyone considers Eddie’s biggest international rival, his biggest threat against his potential Olympic gold, would make most other people ecstatic.

He’s not most other people, though. This past week has reignited the fire in his belly and it’s burning brighter than it has in a while. The medal ceremony, the interviews, the gala, everything flashes by because all he can think about is getting back to work, changing transitions and tweaking spins until even the smallest gap between him and any other skater is erased. Until he knows his programs are undoubtedly gold medal worthy.

It’s refreshing — a relief — to be back in this headspace, being pushed forward by obstacles and less-than-perfection instead of dragged into spiraling sadness.

He almost loses it a couple of times, especially when he decides to take an innocent peek at Twitter to see what fans had to say about the Final, the words “overscored” and “inconsistent” swimming in front of him until they don’t mean anything anymore, just leave doubt lingering, trying to find the home in Buck’s brain that it had just vacated. In those moments, he goes back to his messages and rereads the live texts he’d gotten all weekend, and one in particular that makes his heart skip two beats every time he sees it:

[from: Eddie] I think you make everyone fall a little bit in love with you every time you skate

Eddie sent it in the middle of his free skate, in the middle of dozens of other compliments and criticism of other skaters, and Buck’s sure he was half awake when he sent it, but it fills him with something he doesn’t quite have a name for. Something that makes all of the harsh words and doubts disappear, because none of those matter when Eddie is here telling him that he’s good, that he deserves all of his scores and praises. That he’s loved, no matter how often he may forget.

Another fire is burning in him, a little above the one in his gut, but it’s pushing him just as hard to prove his worth.

~~~~~~~~~

There’s four weeks left until Nationals, and Eddie still isn’t better.

Buck can tell he’s getting frustrated too — the tension in his shoulders gets tighter and tighter, the set of his mouth harder and harder each day he comes to the rink still wearing his air cast, only able to work in the gym and with Lena, far away from the ice and the excited chatter of preparing for the second half of the season. Buck tries to be there, a shoulder to lean on, someone to listen, but he also knows how Eddie operates — he’ll slap on a smile and say he’s fine until he’s really not, until he cracks from the inside out and finally explodes with everything he’s been holding in so he keeps up this air of perfection he’s made for himself. Buck used to think it was annoying, that perfect facade, but now he knows it’s more defensive than anything, Eddie just trying to protect himself from the world and maybe from himself.

Buck doesn’t take it personally anymore, and he’s going to do his damned best to be there to keep the cracks from spreading.

It’s after 10pm when he walks into the gym, still breathing heavily from practice, his muscles burning from overuse and the need to be stretched. He was certain he was alone, so he just about jumps out of his skin when he sees someone lying on the padded floor in front of the mirrors. When he gets closer, his blood runs cold for an entirely different reason.

It’s Eddie.

Buck’s first thought is to call for an ambulance, because why else would Eddie be lying on the floor if he hadn’t hurt himself again? But as he gets closer still, Buck thinks this might be intentional. He’s on his back, headphones on, eyes closed, rhythmically tapping his hands to whatever song he’s listening to on his stomach. As Buck's shadow passes over his face, he opens his eyes and blinks at him for a minute before giving a half-hearted smile and closing his eyes again. He looks sadder, somehow, than he has in the past weeks, dark circles under his eyes and none of the golden glow that seems to follow him wherever he goes (though that may be coming just from Buck’s own imagination anyway).

Buck’s not really sure what to do here, how to fix whatever it is that’s making Eddie feel so bad.

So he lays down right next to him and waits.

The headphones come off after 10 minutes, and Eddie doesn’t open his eyes for another five. When he does, he looks over to Buck, and rather than something supportive or sweet or literally anything else, he says the first dumb thing that comes to his head:

“Are we meditating?”

But he gets an actual smile out of it from Eddie, so he takes it as a win.

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face. “Trying to, I think.” He turns onto his side, facing Buck, and Buck turns to mirror him. He can tell Eddie is searching for his words, the right phrasing to get his point across, and he’s willing to wait as long as he needs to for Eddie to share.

Finally, he takes a long, steadying breath. “My doctor said I might not be able to skate until the end of January, which means I might miss Nats, which means I might not—” he gestures vaguely at that, like he expects Buck to know what his silence means. Buck knows exactly what he means, and it makes him ache for Eddie, makes him reach out and squeeze his wrist when his eyes start to shine, thumb tracing over his pulse point trying to soothe him. “I’ve worked my ass off for weeks now to get better, and it still might not be good enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says quietly. “I know it sucks. More than anything.”

Eddie goes quiet again, eyes drifting to where Buck is still holding his wrist. He pulls away for just a second before slotting their fingers together properly and gently squeezing. Like always, Buck marvels at how right it feels, to be holding Eddie’s hand.

“Did you know they’ve been saying I’m the favorite to win gold for three years now? Not to brag, but—” he says quickly, eyes wide. Buck chuckles because he knows — knows now — that Eddie doesn’t have an arrogant bone in his body. He squeezes his hand back and waits for him to keep going. “It’s all I can think about. Every time I fuck up a level or finish off podium, it just stays with me, makes me feel like I’m about to crash and burn and everyone is going to be disappointed in me because I’m not actually as good as they think.” Eddie’s trembling, squeezing his hand tighter to try and stop it. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I tricked everyone into believing in me, and this stupid busted ankle is—”

“Hey, hey, no,” Buck says, pulling them up to sitting and cupping Eddie’s face in his hands as his tears threaten to spill over, slipping through the cracks. “You don’t deserve this, Eddie, no one deserves to be injured. Believe me, I know what it’s like to put all of your worth into this, and I still do it, but...you’re worth so much more than just your skating. To the fans, to the team. To me.” Eddie’s eyes drift away from his, trying to find an escape, but Buck holds firm until they drift back. “You are good. Not just a good skater, but a good person. You’ll always have that, gold medals or not. And if no one else believes in you, I do.”

Eddie stares at him, looking dumbstruck, and he’s quiet for so long that Buck worries he went too far, bared himself a little too much. He’s about to backtrack, save both of them whatever awkwardness might come, but Eddie surges forward before he can and kisses him so fiercely he swears the earth stands still.

He pushes away just as quickly, eyes wide in panic. “Shit, Buck, I’m sorry, I know we—” but Buck cuts him off, kissing him slow and deep, hands tangling into Eddie’s hair trying to pull him as close as possible. Eddie’s everywhere, his taste, his smell, his touch, and when he feels Eddie’s smile against his mouth, a smile that he put there, he feels like flying.

It finally clicks for Buck that he doesn’t have to — doesn’t want to — compartmentalize his life so much anymore. Skating and Eddie make him happier than pretty much anything. Why shouldn’t he have both?

They break apart slowly and rest their foreheads together. Buck ended up in Eddie’s lap at some point, and from here he can’t see anything but Eddie, gets lost in the curve of his cheekbones and the pout of his lips, and mentally smacks himself for thinking it was really better not having all of this. Eddie is in his corner, always, and he wants to be in Eddie’s too. Wants him to know he’s there, to remember even at his lowest points that he’s not alone, ever.

Eddie finally opens his eyes and smiles at Buck, soft but absolutely breathtaking. He squeezes his arms a little tighter around Buck’s waist, and Buck is more than happy to get as close as he can, would crawl into Eddie’s chest and stay there forever if he could.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck’s thinking a lot of things, or at least he was, but now that he’s focused on honey brown eyes so full of affection he could drown in them, his only real thought is Eddie Eddie Eddie.

“I think we’re stupid,” he says after a minute, and Eddie’s laugh echos around the empty gym.

“We’re stupid?”

“Okay, I’m stupid. But I think I want to fix that.”

“Oh really?”

“I think I want to be here for you, for everything.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I think I want to remind you how amazing you are whenever I can.”

“Buck—”

“I think I want to convince you of how incredible you are whenever you stop believing it.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining again, but his smile could also put the sun to shame.

“And I think I really, really want to keep kissing you.”

Eddie shakes his head, smile getting bigger and somehow pulling Buck even closer. “I think we can make that happen,” he whispers.

He kisses him again, and Buck is soaring.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #9-1-1 #fs au #ficcery #there's still so much figure skating drama left i hope y'all are psyched

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sadienita · 4 years

Text

Maison des cartes - The Hierophant

Witch!Dami x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Contents: magic, kidnapping, a cage, being held captive

Previous | Next

tradition conformity

A suffocating blackness rushed in around you in an instant. You gasped for air in what felt like the vacuum of space as you felt something around your waist pulling you through the nothingness, eyes shutting against the darkness, not making any difference as you did. Your head felt light and woozy as your consciousness slipped away and a distant voice said “help her.”

You had no memory of hitting the ground. The only thing that let you know you did was the dull pain in your back and the back of your head and the fact that you were lying down. Your disoriented mind reached for any details to help you as your eyes fluttered open and you furrowed your brows, eyes bleary in the sunlight streaming in the window.

“I-I’m so sorry!” You forced your eyes open as fear shot through your heart at the unfamiliar voice. Your vision was blurred but you made out the shape of a young woman leaning over you. Closer in your vision swam her hand, offering it to you to help you up. You took it cautiously, trying to make sense of where you were and what was happening.

“What happened?” you mumbled, getting up slowly and rubbing the back of your head. The woman ushered you to a comfy chair and helped you sit down.

“I-I think the potion caused you to faint,” she fretted.

“The… potion…” How you hadn’t seen it until now you had no clue but there was very clearly a large, bubbling cauldron in the center of the room. You blinked at it, your foggy head still confused. You knew you had been in the abandoned house and the door was stuck. You remembered fog. How did you get here? Why did she have such a large cooking pot?

“Yes, it really wasn’t supposed to do that at all. God I’m so bad at this,” she muttered, heading to her shelf where a number of bottles with brightly coloured liquids sat. You watched groggily as she pulled on a certain small bottle and the shelf shifted, revealing a space in a wall behind where she grabbed another potion before returning to you.

“Here,” she handed it to you. “Drink this.”

You stared at the little bottle, thick looking dark green liquid was swirling slowly inside, as if moving of its own volition. A grimace tugged at your lips as you imagined what it could taste like, trying to figure out what it was, as the woman fidgeted in front of you.

“I-It’ll help… w-with the pain I mean,” you looked up at her and she gazed at you nervously. “It- It’ll make you feel better.”

You barely had any idea what was going on but you felt it was probably your best option. You didn’t know if you should trust her or not but what other choice did you have? None of this made any sense to you and your confusion still clouded your mind as you pulled out the stopper and took a swig.

The liquid tasted foul but that wasn’t what made you throw the bottle. The feeling, like a tingling or prickling as it slid down your throat, almost like it had a mind of its own, was what caused you to throw the bottle. You couldn’t manage a scream past the thick liquid as you choked it down and a warm feeling started to melt over your body.

The woman yelled something in a strange language and the bottle stopped in midair, slowly changing course and floating into her hand. As the drink went down you began to cough, barely even noticing how your pain had vanished as she rushed to give you water but you scrambled back in the chair, watching her with frightened eyes.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please just take it, it’s just water; it’ll make you feel better.”

“I-I what-”

“Shhh,” she hushed you. “Please just drink the water. I promise I’ll-” The woman froze and you heard the sounds of footsteps coming closer.

“No,” she whimpered. She grabbed you forcefully and pulled you towards what looked like a cage. “Just, sit in there and be quiet, even pretend to sleep. Just- don’t draw attention to yourself I promise I’ll let you out again.”

You didn’t have much time to react as she was pushing you into the cage, your brain clearing bit by bit and your heart starting to race. You looked back at her as she locked it and looked at you sadly. “Please,” she hissed. “Just pretend to sleep please I know you’re scared.”

You nodded slowly, holding in any and all sounds as she drew away, moving the shelves until they were in their original position. As someone knocked on the door you laid down and closed your eyes, figuring her advice was the only advice you had. You breathed slowly as you laid on the hard ground, listening intently and keeping your face even.

The door creaked open and you heard a rough, man’s voice. “What’s with all the noise?”

“They passed out from the potion,” the woman said nonchalantly. “I haven't got the formula right yet.”

“You’re not going to wake them up and try again? They can take it.”

“That’s not why I left them,” she snapped. “What’s the point? I need to make adjustments, might as well let them stay knocked out until I need them. This way they’re quiet.”

The man hummed. “Yeah, I guess so. Just don’t make such a racket.”

“Of course,” she said cooly. “Now can I work?”

The man let out a grunt as he stalked out of the room. You stayed frozen in your spot until you heard the woman fiddling with the lock and you warily looked up at her.

“You can come out now, I-I’m really sorry about that.”

“What? Why did-?”

“Here,” she said, a little shaky herself as she helped you out of the cage and back into the chair. “I’ll explain, just rest for a moment.”

You nodded slowly as she hurried around the room, trying to calm your heart and process what you’d heard, trying to make sense of it all. The woman seemed to boil a kettle with her hands before pouring you a cup of tea and rushing it over to you. You accepted it gratefully and she pulled up a chair to sit with you.

“I’m sorry about this,” she worried. “I wish I could do more for you.”

“I’m still confused as to how I got here,” you mumbled.

“I…” she bit down on her lip, seeming to think for a moment. “You don’t have magic, correct?”

“Not as far as I know,” you mumbled, taking a shaky sip of your tea that tasted much better than the potion.

The woman fiddled with her cup. “Then they would have told you nothing. You’re…” she hesitated. “Ah, a test subject.”

You froze and stared at her with wide eyes and she babbled on quickly. “T-Try not to worry. I want to keep you safe. I-I just need t-to, keep lying to them.”

“Wh-Who?”

“My family,” she muttered. “We’re all- I- Oh! I-I’m sorry I’m Yoobin, or Dami, whichever really. I- We all have magic but… they- they aren’t nice to people without magic.”

You just stared at her, trying to absorb all the things she said.

“You’re here so we can create new spells a-and, uh, I guess you know already. Th-That potion might have knocked out some of your memory though. I’m going to try and keep you with me. You’re one of the only ones here right now but I need you the most anyway and the others…” She trailed off.

“I can’t leave,” you said quietly.

“I’m going to try,” her eyes flickered towards the door. “M-Maybe.”

“Maybe?” you questioned.

“It’s- I can’t just go. We… We do things a certain way here and even this,” she motioned between the two of you. “Isn’t allowed.”

You sat quietly for a moment, thinking. “You’re not even supposed to make health potions are you?”

She shook her head. “They can’t know. If they found out what I actually make…”

“You need to leave too,” you said, perking up.

“N-No, no they would find me. I’ll be good to you here, I promise.”

You reached forward and took Yoobin’s hands shakily. “What do you need to do, to run away and not be found?”

“I-I- I’m not sure… u-um some potions a-and cloaking spells. But-”

You shook your head. “We’re doing it.”

Your ability to help Yoobin was limited to be sure. You had no magical powers whatsoever and she’d warned you against touching anything unless she told you to. You were glad that she kept you near her so much. You barely had any contact with the rest of her family but they were still around from time to time to see what she was doing and as much as you hated going in the cage, and sometimes staying long when they wanted to stay with her, spying or snooping on her work, you were grateful that they left without paying you much attention.

You did hate sleeping and you barely slept much at night. She’d apologized to you every night as she took you to what felt like jail cells, locking you up near some other non magical people who looked to be in worse shape than you were. You knew if the family started to suspect too much it would ruin all the preparation.

You still didn’t like being in the cells though. You wanted to help the others but none of you talked and you had a feeling they’d been told not to. You were always worried that someone else would come and grab you before Yoobin did. She was late to bring you to bed and early to pick you up but it wasn’t like everyone was on a strict schedule and today, like every other morning, you sat anxiously waiting for her to come.

Heavy footsteps echoed from down the hallway and you heard a whimper from a nearby cell. You squeezed yourself back on the hard bed, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t notice you, would pass you by. Was it bad to wish that? If that harm didn’t come to you it came to someone else.

“Well well,” the voice you recognized, even if you had never looked at his face before. His frame was large but he was well put together. His hands were casually resting in his pockets and his slicked back hair, like the sly smile on his face, made your stomach turn. “Yoobin’s late today.”

You sucked back your reactions as his hands started to fiddle with the lock. You knew he could undo it with magic so why he was bothering to use his hands you didn’t know, maybe just to prolong the moment. You had a feeling he enjoyed fear.

“You know it’s first come first serve,” he drawled. “The early bird gets the worm.”

The door swung open and you felt yourself standing against your own will before something invisible grabbed you around the throat and dragged you closer. You grasped at the nothingness around your own neck, gasping as he chuckled and pulled you against him.

“And you are a worm,” he murmured. “But a good one, if Yoobin’s keeping you all to herself. Let’s see what all the fuss is about, shall we?”

“Let them go.” You couldn’t turn to see Yoobin but you could hear her icy, low tone.

“Finders keepers,” he drawled, staring down the hallway with you in tow, still gasping for air.

You felt Yoobin’s hand grab you. “They stay with me,” she said evenly.

“You can have one of the others,” sneered. “I want to see what about them has you all excited.”

In an instant air rushed into your needy lungs and you gasped, Yoobin catching you as the man went flying. He landed with a loud crash at the far end of the hall.

“What the hell do you need them for that badly?” he growled.

“You know my experiments take days. They’re delicate and even your stupid spell could have messed them up you absolute imbecil. Don’t touch them again.”

Yoobin grabbed your wrist and dragged you behind her, moving at a brisk pace down the hallway. She squeezed it tight as a warning not to talk or in fear that he would follow. Either way you stayed silent as you made your way to her room, too shaken to collect your thoughts.

Yoobin helped you out of the cage, still listening intently to make sure the hallway was really empty for another moment before setting you in the chair. You quietly took the tray with willow sticks again and began carefully striping them with your shaky hands.

“They’re suspicious.” She mumbled

“Yep,” you said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “They usually leave you alone when you’re in there…”

They usually did. It had taken all of Yoobin’s protests to keep them from pulling you out to “have some fun” as they put it. They questioned why they couldn’t and complained that Yoobin was always testing things that were too delicate and that surely one little jinx, a few spells, a hex, wouldn’t hurt.

Well wouldn’t hurt her project anyway.

You had done your best to stay steady, to not show them too much emotion like she’d told you but you were sure they could see the fear in your eyes and it had only made them want to mess with you more. You had a feeling she nearly threw them out with magic but as you had gathered that was also not allowed and she had already been in trouble for doing it before.

“It has to be soon,” she said nervously. “If we wait too long…”

You weren’t sure what she was thinking, but you agreed. There were definitely more and them and you shuddered to think what they would do with both of you if they figured out your plans or caught you. She’d drawn up the plans for rescuing the others and to escape, how to get out undetected and with the last potion brewing, you knew your time was wearing thin.

“Three days,” she said, and her voice sounded more terrified than you’d ever heard it. “The potion will be done in two, that gives me time to bottle it and pack things.”

You nodded numbly. “Three days.”

You wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Even if it were a regular night you wouldn’t sleep. You were wide awake, anxious and nervous about the plan. You knew the others in the house slept, but some might be awake, they had odd schedules. Others didn’t trust Yoobin. You knew her plan was to stay up late in her study and wave off anyone who tried to get her to sleep, insisting she was on the verge of a breakthrough with her sleeping potion.

You didn’t know if they had left her alone. No one had come down to the cells and you figured no one would now. It had to be beyond midnight now, with a new moon tonight there was little light to see by and it only had you lost in your thoughts even more. This place seemed surreal to you, like some long dream, but it felt all too real. You’d managed to get caught up in this scheme but you had no clue if it was what you meant to do.

A very quiet set of footsteps came down the hallway and you strained your eyes, looking for a figure in the dark, and holding your gasp when moments after the footsteps stopped the door to the cell swung open and Yoobin’s head popped out of thin air. Her hand joined her, floating in space and she beckoned to you and you tiptoed out of the cell.

Yoobin was silent and you were sure even in the low light pale as she pressed a key into your hand and motioned to one of the other cells. You followed her lead opening it and shaking awake the girl inside. She took in a breath to scream but you covered her mouth quickly.

“We’re escaping,” you whispered.

The girl nodded and followed close to you as Yoobin motioned to you to open one more cell. You did as you were told. The boy inside was wide awake and already standing at the bars. He looked young and you wondered how old he must be. The second you released him he dashed across the hall and wrapped his arms around another girl who looked just like him. The two cried quietly and you thought they must be siblings as Yoobin let out the last person and turned to all of you, pulling a stopper out of a potion bottle, handing it to you first.

“Drink this,” she whispered. “It’ll make you invisible.” The others looked wary but you drank the liquid readily, sweet and strangely warm as it travelled down your throat before your body faded into the shadows. The others slowly took turns drinking and one by one disappeared as Yoobin cast incantations over you to quiet your footsteps.

“I’ll lead,” she said. “Follow my feet. If I stop, you stop. Okay?” Yoobin took a deep breath before covering herself. Her feet were the only things even a little visible as she made her way down the hall.

The basements were quiet and dark. The air seemed to chill you, though maybe that was just your fear. You worried that the others were left behind but you had to trust they would follow. You heard Yoobin’s quiet whisper, telling you all to remain silent at all times before turning a corner.

The house seemed like a maze but Yoobin knew it well, leading you until you came to a large staircase. The house above seemed just as dark and she led the group silently up, charming the door to move silently as she let you all out into the house and started down hallways.

Light from rooms cast shadows as she moved you through what must have been servants quarters. The hallways were narrow and long and only the slight sight of feet let you know that you weren’t wandering aimlessly on your own. Every little sound made you jump and you swallowed down every single fear that rose inside of you, hoping that this would work.

You were sure you heard a floorboard creak under one of you. Yoobin’s feet didn’t stop, and neither did yours until a door just up ahead swung open and Yoobin’s heels disappeared.

One of the men you had only seen once stepped out of the room, his eyes scanning the hallway slowly. You held your breath, afraid to move even a hair for fear that he would know, that he would hear or see something.

You suddenly wondered what could make the potion wear off.

The man raised his hand and opened his mouth but at the same time, some things seemed to fall within his study.

“Damn poltergeist,” he muttered before stalking back into his room.

Yoobin’s feet reappeared and you followed them. The corridors turned quiet and darker as you moved to the outer edge of the house. Floors creaked but no one seemed to hear, too far from where people were sleeping or working late into the night.

You had no idea how long it was that you moved but you were still surprised when she opened a door and the cool night breeze hit you. Yoobin’s head appeared and she motioned to move, quietly asking if everyone was out before closing the door behind you all. You stood in the dark and watched anxiously as she cast a spell on the door. You knew she had to erase traces of what you’d done, how you’d left.

“We’re not done yet,” she mumbled. “Follow me.” Yoobin’s head was uncovered as she led you through the dew-wet grass and into the forests. She said they weren’t the safest but they were the easiest option to get away before you could really travel.

As you trekked through the forest and the sun started to peek over the horizon the potion began to wear off. You managed to see outlines of the others and then see their faces properly. It was a relief to see no one was lost and Yoobin smiled back at the group with relief as you kept moving, her casting incantations every so often to hide your footprints. No doubt they would have realized by now that you were gone, and for as tired as you were you were happy to be away from the house, though the thought in your mind of how to get home was still there.

As day fully broke and sunlight poured over the land you chattered with the others, a sense of joy over all of you as Yoobin led you up a hill overlooking a village. She stopped at the top and reached into her bag, pulling out an old hat and placing it on the ground.

“This will take us somewhere far away,” she said. “We’ll be safe, just give me a moment.” You watched her as he cast the spells she needed before standing and stepping towards you.

“You know I couldn’t have done it without you.” she said.

“You did all the work!” you said “I-I just-”

Yoobin shook her head. “I never would have been brave enough. I would have given up without you there.” She hugged you. “Thank you.”

You couldn’t help hugging her back. “Thank you, too.”

When she pulled back she sniffled slightly before turning to the hat. “Okay, everyone take hold to it.” You all did as she said, the last pair of hands grabbing the hat and wind suddenly whipping around you, making it harder and harder to breath as you lost all sense of land under you. Your head felt dizzy and your eyes slid closed as your fingers slipped from the hat.

rebellion

“God,” you muttered, sitting up from the floor. You rubbed the back of your head as you looked around, your eyes recognizing the dark living room. The card caught your eye and you let out a strangled yelp as it turned 180 degrees before disappearing in a puff of smoke. In its place a torn piece of sheet music sat as the smoke cleared and you cautiously took it between your fingers as you stood up.

Masterlist

#i cannot believe #i am actually posting this #and making the moodboard #i know that the other parts have like #2 notes #but that's okay im excited anyway #maison des cartes #dreamcatcher imagines #dami imagines #yoobin imagines #yubin imagines #lee yoobin imagines #lee yubin imagines

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akirakurusuimagines · 4 years

Text

The Reaper’s Game

@p5auweek day five: Crossover with another fandom AU (The World Ends With You)

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Akira looked up at the figure he once partially considered an ally, his vision hazy, head spinning, and body numb, the combination of drugs, exhaustion, and failure weighing heavily on the boy who stood up against fate. He had barely processed the muffled gunshot that Akechi fired at the guard who let him in and the subsequent thud on the floor of the corpse, much less the way that the same gun was aimed at him, ready to take his own.

Akechi spoke, but Akira could barely hear him. His blood was pounding in his ears, arms trembling ever-so-slightly. He didn’t want to die… but he had failed, and this was the consequence of his hubris. Memories of a blue butterfly’s words rang in his head: this is truly an unjust game; your chances of winning are almost none. Where did things go wrong?

“Case closed,” Akira finally processed the words, his eyes widening as the barrel hovered right over his forehead, the smoking gun ready to fire once more. “This is how your ‘justice’ ends.”

Akira felt an electrifying shock of pain followed by the sound of the muffled gunfire, and then...nothing.

Only darkness.

Emptiness.

The leader of the Phantom Thieves that took the nation by storm was dead.

“Nngh…” the bustling sounds of Shibuya crossing made Akira’s ears ache. It took him several moments to come to complete consciousness, feeling the rough texture of concrete against his face. He slowly sat up, dizzy, surprised to see where he was⁠— why was he here? Was this some sort of sick joke? He died, he knew he did! And yet, there he was, a familiar spot in Tokyo, full of people of all ages who ignored him, simply walking on the striped lines, aiming for a destination he couldn’t possibly guess.

Akira felt queasy thinking about his own death, not wanting to remember the strange sensation of having his brains blown out. Akira’s shaky hand came up and pressed against his forehead, trying to feel for where the bullet went through, but searched as he might, he found nothing. It was just his fluffy black hair and his smooth skin. He sighed in relief, honestly unsure of what he would’ve done if it turned out that he did have the wound on his face. This was all too confusing. Was it a dream? Akira wasn’t sure, but he figured nothing would change if he just sat there all day.

He stood up, but the unmistakable gentle clink of something dropping caught his attention. A pin? He didn’t recognize it, but figured it must’ve been on his person. Akira looked around for a moment to see if anyone was searching for it before he knelt down and took it in his hand, tossing it up in the air and catching it, only to feel a strangely familiar sensation. My third eye? He was astonished with how it activated without his prompting, and clutched the strangely designed pin in his hand once more, noting the way it dissipated.

“What the hell is going on…?” Akira mumbled, shoving the pin in the blazer’s pocket of his school uniform and fishing around for his phone or any other interesting things he had for some odd reason or another. He wondered if he’d even have it, considering the police confiscated it when he was arrested. The sudden weight in his front pocket accompanied by his ringtone made Akira nearly jump out of his skin, and he scrambled to retrieve it.

Reach 109.

You have 60 minutes.

Fail, and face erasure.

The Reapers

Akira stared at the message for several seconds, wondering if he should take it seriously. He made note of the time, just in case, but began to scroll through his phone in hopes that he would be able to contact someone⁠. His phone did say that he had full signal, so he didn’t think it would be a problem, until he realized that he couldn’t back out of the message.

“What?” Akira tried and tried again, each time resulting in failure, no matter what he did or what he tried. Not even the small hacks Futaba had taught him were useless. “Ouch⁠—!” a sudden sting of pain erupted in his left hand, as if he had been burned with a branding iron. He turned it over, eyes widening as he watched as a timer ticked away on his hand, something he believed should be impossible, yet it made the threat on his phone much more terrifying. Erasure… what did that even mean?

He didn’t have time to ponder anything as strange symbols began to float in his peripheral vision, every nerve in his body screaming for him to run. But he couldn’t. Akira’s feet were frozen in place as he watched the symbols manifest into creatures that oddly resembled shadows, clearly intent on swarming him. “This isn’t the Metaverse, what the hell is going on?!” he was frustrated, and rightfully so, barely dodging a swipe from something that seemed like a bear, if not for the colors and painted-on appearance of its arms.

“Damn it⁠—” Akira seethed, looking for a way out. Luckily, even if it wasn’t the Metaverse, his experience from being Joker was a great advantage he had under his belt. Spotting an opening, Akira ducked under the monster’s swing, feeling rather light, and made a bolt for the crowd, breathing heavily as he continued to run, only stopping when he was sure he lost sight of them.

“Somebody! Anybody!” Akira yelled out, the strange pit of despair welling up in his stomach as he slowly came to the realization that no one was intentionally ignoring him⁠— they couldn’t see him. Nor those creatures, apparently. Was he in some sort of hell? He never thought it would be like this when he died. Maybe if he was a little more religious, he could’ve avoided this.

Akira noticed he had run all the way towards Hachiko, right next to the train station. He should be able to get to Yongen from there, but remembering the message on his phone made his skin crawl. 109 was his destination— it was better to figure out what was going on first, especially with that ominous threat.

“Aaaahhh!!” A series of shrill shrieks snatched Akira’s attention, and he watched in horror as those very same monsters he believed he had outrun were attacking those he thought to be civilians. In a matter of seconds, several people disappeared from the crowd as if they were never there to begin with.

He stumbled back, watching the shadow-esque creatures approach him. They… they were erased. It made sense to him now, but that didn’t solve the problem of how he was going to escape these things. He could only run for so long, and they seemed relentless. Still⁠— he didn’t have much of a choice. Akira took one last look at the impending doom before sprinting away, only to collide with you, causing you both to tumble, with him landing on top of you.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go⁠—!” Akira exclaimed, just barely figuring out the fact that he could touch you, and his shock only increased when you cupped his cheeks out of the blue, not moving to push him off of you or anything.

“There’s no time, make a pact with me! Now!”

He thought you were a little crazy, being so bold and then suddenly asking for a pact? “What?”

“Just agree! We’ll both be erased if you don’t! Hurry!”

Akira took one look over his shoulders and shuddered, seeing them approach. “A-Alright,” he nodded, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. “I accept⁠—”

No sooner than he uttered those words did a wave of light wash over you two, and a strange feeling not unlike the one he felt as he created new bonds secured your fate with his.

“Look out!” somehow, you seemed to know what you were doing, hastily apologizing before kicking him off of you, barely dodging yourself as one of those large beasts slammed its fist down on the ground where you two were just laying, standing up and getting into an offensive position. “Can you fight?”

“I⁠ don’t—”

“Just try!”

Akira looked skeptical as he rose, though he figured that considering the Metaverse and personas existed, there must be a way to fight. It couldn’t hurt to try and call on Arsène somehow. He wondered if he would be able to, stuck in his school uniform, no mask to rip off, but the rebellious fire in his soul never diminished. Akira was Arsène, and Arsène was Akira just the same. “Come, Arsène!” Akira extended a hand outward, momentarily stunned seeing the familiar red arm and black claws mimicking his movement.

“Holy shit⁠,” he heard your voice from behind him, clearly surprised seeing him summon Arsène. Not a second later watched as you lit the assailant on fire, inexplicably hovering over the ground for a split second. “But I’ve got a couple tricks up my sleeve too.”

Akira was silently grateful for the hours of torture he put himself through in the gym as he spun around and kicked, watching as Arsène’s heel sliced through one of them, erasing them in the same manner they had erased the others.

He heard static and watched as you dusted your hands and shirt off, before rushing over to him. Akira had to admit he thought you might’ve been aiming to punch him, but when you threw your arms around his neck, cheering, he couldn’t help but smile. You two had survived for now— but it wasn’t going to be enough. You had to keep moving, especially because more of those damn things were going to come after you.

“We did it! I can’t believe we did it⁠! I can’t believe I found a partner, and a powerful one at that, I⁠—”

“There’s no time to relax,” Akira gently pulled you off of him, confusion written all over his face. “You know what’s going on, right?” he looked at his left palm, wincing as the timer read 30:28, “Can you explain… all of this? But we should probably keep moving, those monsters are going to come after us again.”

“No, we’re safe now,” you explained, still grinning out of relief. “They won’t attack us out of the blue now that we have a pact. Anyways, sorry for before. I should introduce myself,” you stuck out your hand for him to shake, telling him your name. “I hope we get along! We have a long week ahead of us.”

Choosing to ignore the words that only made him more confused, Akira took your hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Akira Kurusu, nice to make your acquaintance,” he cleared his throat and shoved his hand in his pocket quickly after, looking away, up towards the skyline where he saw the brim of 109. “What the hell is all of this?”

“I think it’s the reaper’s game.”

“The what now?”

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, “you might not believe me, but it’s true. I’m… something of a casual occultist? I just enjoy reading those types of stories. Anyways, I’ll explain while we head to ten-nine.”

“You got the message too?”

“Every player did. You have a timer on your hand, right? We don’t have time to waste, let’s go,” you declared, marching forward with confidence now that you had a partner to help you battle against the creatures.

Akira had to jog to catch up to your quick speed. “Slow down! I still don’t understand what’s going on!” He was starting to wish that you were Morgana with how you were unintentionally dodging his questions. A sudden, nauseating swarm of emptiness overtook Akira at the thought of his roommate who was most certainly not a cat, and subsequently, the other Phantom Thieves. How were they all? Were they stuck in this hellscape too? He was worried, and rather stunned to have seen no news about him or the Phantom Thieves at all, not even as he passed by hundreds of people.

Even so, he didn’t have much of a choice of what to do. Akira simply had to trust you, and trust you he would. If it meant the both of you surviving until the end of this week, he’ll do anything.

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mithrilwren · 4 years

Text

Closer Still

Shadowgast, ~5000 words. Also on Ao3!

This began as a discussion with @the-littlest-goblin about what the fantasy equivalent of the “trapped in an elevator together” trope was. Naturally, the answer turned out to be “trapped in a pocket dimension because we (two idiot wizards) decided to experiment with time magic together and got in over our heads” :) Where better to get to know one another?

Cw. panic attacks, minor self-harm and discussions thereof (nothing beyond Caleb-typical levels)

Also, VERY explicit hand-holding. Be warned.

---

“There isn’t a door,” Caleb says, as he stares out into the formless void. “There was supposed to be a door.” They had planned - in all their meticulous notes on interdimensional spaces and incremental trials, in every mutual assurance that we will start with the simplest scenario, for safety’s sake - for there to be a door.

“No, there isn’t,” Essek agrees.

In fact, there’s nothing at all. Which is… worrisome.

Caleb is, to a certain extent, familiar with inter-planar spaces. He’s studied them aplenty over the years, both from books and his own intuition. Frumpkin presumably hails from a pocket dimension much like this one when not with Caleb, which should be a comforting thought. Given their actual circumstances, it is wholly not.

The emptiness stretches on forever, in every direction - a phantom sea of black that lacks dimension and boundary, but still feels confined. The manner and shape of the confinement isn’t something his mind can fully wrap itself around, but his body seems to instinctively shrink back regardless, hearkening towards a non-existent center, which is merely the place they appeared. The only thing outside himself is Essek, still clad in his mantle and balancing an open book in one hand, that contains their notes for the spell they now find themselves trapped within: pages of calculations and predictions and copied phrases from Halas’s work.

The first step had seemed self-evident, at the time - obvious to both of them in the same breath, a singular shared thought. When their eyes met the spark was palpable, and away they went. It was a simple application, far simpler than what they attempted with Nott. Combining Essek’s knowledge of dunamancy with Halas’s successes on time dilation - along with Caleb’s own work on the vault of amber - had seemed almost too easy. It had taken less than a day to design the rudimentary spell, and less than two hours to collect the necessary components, and then... after all, why wait? They were ready, quicker than they could have believed, to test the results. Here, in a space all their own, they might begin to recreate a little of the Happy Fun Ball’s mystery.

Only, at every stage of this feverishly hurried plan, in every hastily sketched schematic and ink-stained diagram, they had always meant for there to be a way out. A door, back to the material plane.

And there’s nothing. Literally, nothing.

“This is certainly a… predicament,” Essek says lightly. Too lightly, and he is not such an accomplished liar that Caleb can’t sense the hint of unease beneath his steady words. “Perhaps we moved too quickly - there must have been a variable we missed.”

Caleb reaches his hand out, feeling towards the edge of… well, there isn’t an edge. The space has no frontier, and its absence comes as as much of a surprise as the missing door. When he’d read of such magic before - spells to create demiplanes, and things of that nature - the books had always included descriptions of rudimentary walls of stone or wood. Here, there’s only the endless expanse. It’s almost akin to the beacon’s limitless interior, if all the stars within had been snuffed out.

There is a floor, however. That’s even stranger, because it certainly doesn’t look like there is. Essek still hovers a few inches higher than Caleb, but his own feet rest on a surface no more solid than the immaterial blackness above their heads. It doesn’t make sense. There’s nothing to be standing on.

The moment the thought occurs to him, Caleb begins to fall.

The terrifying descent lasts only a few seconds before Essek’s arm shoots out and grasps his shoulder. Gasping, Caleb jerks to a stop and finds himself… exactly where he started, the unseen floor beneath his feet yet again. He claps a hand over his mouth as his stomach heaves.

Essek’s fingers uncurl from his shoulder as quickly as they’d snatched it, and Caleb presses his hand down all the harder, like it will keep his breath inside of him. He squeezes his eyes shut, which helps. His body can accept the emptiness when it can sense a reason for it.

“The vertigo will pass,” Essek says softly, but closer now. The vicinity around his shoulder buzzes, like something hovers there, unseen. “I’ve seen the same reaction in those unaccustomed to a dunamatic field. Your body will find equilibrium, once you accept the reality that cannot be seen.”

Mostly reassured by that logic, by any logic that his mind can cling to, Caleb opens his eyes. Essek is still a few feet behind him, like he hadn’t moved at all. No indication that he’d even gotten near enough to touch Caleb’s shoulder. No reason for why his voice sounded close by, only moments before. Abashed, he opens his mouth as he steps forward, meaning to thank Essek-

And immediately pitches forward onto his knees. Only his knees have nothing to land on, his hands have nowhere to scrabble towards, and he is spinning, the room- not a room, nothing- is spinning, and there’s nothing holding him together as he falls-

“Caleb!” Essek’s shout, unmasked and truly unsettled at last, rattles through Caleb, and he can’t stop moving in place, like he’s spiralling out of control, like his body doesn’t belong to him-

The buzzing returns, and tense fingers find his shoulders again, dragging him back up into something like a kneeling position. “You need to focus,” Essek is saying, reprimanding, voice harsher now for the worry that lies beneath the words, and the expanse is dark, and there is nothing, and as the panic reaches a crest, then a lull, he becomes nothing too.

Caleb knows what it means, to float away. It’s protection, like every other piece of armor he wraps himself with. But knowing what it is doesn’t mean that he can stop it from happening.

Hands gone cold and numb, he curls into himself as best he can, turning his face down- there isn’t a down- every direction is down, oh gods- and tries to make himself small-

Essek’s fingers him release again. His breath comes out sharply somewhere above Caleb’s ear. “What’s happening, Caleb?” More quietly, “Talk to me.”

He doesn’t want to talk. Doesn’t like talking, in this state. Talking is… difficult, and he clamps his mouth down harder, determined at least not to be sick. He doesn’t know what would happen to the vomit, if he did. Would it even fall away, in a void like this, or would it hover in the air like Essek’s feet? He can’t help but giggle at the thought, and the laugh is a wrenched thing, short and torn. His mind drifts further still.

Something dark and heavy falls over his head - thick material, soft but clinging. It catches in the strands of his hair, blanketing him from his forehead to the small of his back, and with slightly shaking fingers he reaches up and draws the fabric closer around him. The sensation is such an unexpected shock that his breath stutters, slowing to a less frantic rate as he centers on the feeling of the weighty mantle over his head, and the strangeness of it all.

“Does that… help?”

The buzzing. Essek is thinking of touching him, he realizes. Caleb reaches one hand out from below the cloak, feeling for Essek and still finding nothing. He draws it back beneath as the panic begins to build again. A moment later, there’s a solid presence at his side, and an arm wrapping around his shoulders - cloak and all - gripping almost too tightly for comfort. The pressure is unexpected, and exactly what he needs.

“Is any of this helping?” Essek asks again, still so uncertain, and now that the feeling is returning to Caleb’s body, he can begin to sense the tension in Essek’s. At least he’s not the only one uncomfortable.

“You are real,” Caleb says hoarsely, which seems a sufficient answer in his own head. Something here is real. If Essek doesn’t understand his meaning, he doesn’t have the energy to explain. “Yes, it is helping.”

“...I’m glad.” Only then does Essek’s death grip on Caleb’s shoulder relax, and he steels himself to be let go of again, chest squeezing as he anticipates the absence, but Essek only changes position, readjusting the mantle so it drapes more fully over Caleb before settling back into the awkward, one-armed hug.

Beneath the cloak, the darkness of the floor could just be the lack of light. It gets a little easier to breathe, and Caleb leans his head against what he assumes to be Essek’s shoulder as he pulls his knees under the cloak as well.

“We should leave here, as soon as possible,” Essek says. “I did not expect you would have such an adverse reaction.”

“How do we leave? There’s no door.” Caleb’s words feel sluggish, slow, like they always do in the minutes after a bout like this. He’s probably repeating himself. Maybe. He doesn’t have it in him to care, at this present moment.

“I… don’t know. If we had simply gone to a remote part of the material plane, this would be easier.” Essek says, frustrated. “I have no experience teleporting across planes. I suspect if I tried, we would be ripped apart, or worse.”

“Could we dispel it?” Caleb says. This is a problem. A problem with a practical solution. That’s good. That’s something to focus on.

“From the outside, perhaps. But the plane itself isn’t magic, only the spell that created it. And I’m not sure I want to find out what would happen to the creatures inside an artificial plane if it were dispelled.”

“I imagine we could be lost forever,” Caleb says. “Like Halas, trapped in his gem for eternity. Only not in a place that a group of merry assholes would stumble upon us.”

“What of your group of ‘merry assholes’?” Essek suggests. “Presumably they’ll come searching for you eventually.”

Caleb nods, only realizing belatedly that Essek can’t see his face. “Nott will wonder where I am. They all will, if I don’t return tonight.” Only, would the others think to worry right away? They know he spent the day with Essek, and that they’re both apt to work long into the night when engrossed in a project. How long will it be, before someone comes looking? “And what about your... coworkers? Will the Bright Queen miss you in court, if you don’t report in?”

Essek sighs, and the exhale flows into Caleb’s chest, the movement of his body moving Caleb’s as well. The back of his neck begins to prickle. He’s grateful now for the cloak for two reasons; his skin is too pale not to show a blush. Even if the situation is far from romantic, this kind of proximity to another person’s body is almost uncomfortably intimate. And it’s hard to separate his own embarrassment from embarrassment on Essek’s behalf. Neither one of them gives casual touch easily, and it feels too close to taking advantage, to ask it of him now, without allowing him a way to refuse.

Caleb begins to shift away by millimeters.

“I imagine, after a day or so. But she trusts me to use my time well, as I see fit. I’m generally left to my own devices unless explicitly summoned.”

A day or so. Well, if they’re to be trapped here that long, Caleb may as well start acclimatizing now. He doesn’t intend to spend countless hours wrapped in swaddling clothes, nor could he expect Essek to keep up the same treatment, centering as the touch may be. Even now, the arm that wraps around his shoulder is beginning to shake, and without being able to see Essek’s face, Caleb judges the tension to be discomfort on Essek’s part.

Reluctantly, Caleb shrugs out of the half embrace and reaches up to draw the fabric down from over his head. Essek makes a soft noise of protest, but doesn’t stop Caleb from completing the movement. He drops the mantle in his lap and balls his fists into it, eyes still squeezed shut.

No buzzing this time. Maybe Essek has finally tired of holding Caleb up.

“I’ll be alright,” Caleb murmurs. “The worst is past, I think.”

He swallows, willing his words to be true as he forces his eyes to open. The darkness is still waiting there, so he turns his head instead to Essek, keeping his gaze focused on the details of his garb - the gentle greys of folded cloth, the intricate embroidery along his belt, the slender line of his fingers, folded neatly in his lap and held there, meticulous in their stillness. Essek’s hands are stained with ink and chalk and golden flecks of dust, and Caleb had been thinking only a few minutes before they left, how very strange it was, to see such elegant fingers dirtied as much as his own.

Caleb doesn’t look him in the eye. It still seems too personal, for all of that.

They’re both sitting now, in a way, and maybe that helps too. It’s easier to believe the not-there floor is actually beneath them when Essek’s legs, tucked neatly to one side, are also touching something seemingly solid.

Caleb pulls the mantle over his lap like a blanket, not quite ready yet to surrender the comforting weight. Then he places his hands on his forearms and begins to scratch at the long sleeves. That pressure is soothing in a different way. It’s a more familiar kind of comfort, as he digs the nails in deeper. He thinks he catches Essek’s eyes narrowing, but it’s been a long time since he’s been able to stop the habit, no matter who watches on.

As a last ditch effort, Caleb snaps his fingers. Unsurprisingly, Frumpkin doesn’t appear. The cat is tethered to the material plane, not this pocket one. Mouth twisted in displeasure, he returns to the scratching with renewed vigour.

“Tell me if it gets bad again,” Essek says. Even if his words are unassuming, he’s still watching Caleb’s hands too closely.

“I will,” says Caleb, not quite sure yet if he’s lying, but eager to change the subject regardless. “After an hour, the spell will expire anyway. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be ejected when it does.”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” Essek says. “Let’s hope.”

“Let’s hope.”

Essek falls silent, almost meditative, and in the absence of his voice there’s nothing but silence either. At least the beacon had a sort of hum to it, a cosmic energy - brimming with what he now knows as life, unimaginable and vast. This feels more like the quiet rooms of the asylum, where they hung dark sheets against the wall, to muffle the sound of-

Caleb digs his nails in harder. The memory stutters and shifts, and he can breathe again, for a few minutes more.

“Forgive me,” Essek says, then reaches out and takes Caleb’s wrist in his hand, drawing it away from his arm. “I…” His mouth twitches, and he turns his head away. “I’m afraid you’ll break the skin. I don’t have healing magic like your compatriots, and we don’t know how long it will be before-”

“Essek,” Caleb warns, because by the quickening pace of Essek’s words, it seems like he’s not the only one in a spot of panic anymore.

“I don’t enjoy watching you hurt yourself.”

The instinct to apologize is almost too great to fight, but he manages to reign it in. It isn’t what Essek is looking for, what will make him stop watching Caleb so intently, after such a forlorn admission. No, what he needs is reassurance. “Well,” says Caleb. “I think you will like it better than the alternative.”

“Which is?” He still hasn’t let go of Caleb’s wrist. Caleb doesn’t try to fight him. He’s not sure if he wants to.

“Me losing my head,” Caleb mutters. “Trust me, I’ve learned how to cope with... stressful situations. This is effective.”

There. They’re both practical people. Rational people. An explanation like that should keep Essek off his case.

Then why hasn’t his hand moved?

“Just because it is effective, doesn’t mean it won’t hurt you.”

Caleb can’t help but smirk at that, the bitter irony sharp on his tongue. “You are more right than you know.”

Essek abruptly releases his hand, almost startled, like he hadn’t realized he was still holding it. “Forgive me, again. That’s three times now that I’ve touched you without permission.”

Oddly, Caleb finds himself more touched by that nervous courtesy than by the gesture itself. In a rush of reckless, unexpected affection, he reaches out and grabs Essek’s hand. Essek freezes. “There’s nothing to forgive. It helped.” He pauses. “It all helped. Thank you.”

Essek stares down at their entwined hands, and Caleb chances drawing a thumb across the smooth skin at the back of his knuckles. He half expects to be pushed away once more. But Essek endures the touch, and eventually even squeezes back.

Breathless for a new reason, Caleb slides his fingers down, until they’re laced with Essek’s. It’s almost like a game, to see who will push the moment farther, first, and Caleb is so entranced that he nearly forgets where they are.

Essek’s fingers are softer than his own, and darker. They’ve borne less days on horseback, weathered fewer storms, seen less battle and flame. The skin feels so different, yet it’s stained, same as his.

All of this is so new.

“Alright,” says Caleb softly. “Instead, tell me something, to take my mind off this place.”

“What would you like to hear?” Essek’s voice cracks near the middle, a veneer of composure chipping away, and Caleb knows now he’s not the only one affected.

Neither of them have pulled away yet.

“What was your childhood like? Was it happy?” Caleb flicks his eyes up to Essek’s, to find Essek staring right back, his eyes as wide as Caleb’s ever seen them, dark and alight from within. “Were you loved?”

“Yes,” says Essek. “And no. To all questions.”

Caleb smiles wryly. “That’s an answer, but not a very good distraction.”

Essek’s lips twitch. “I suppose you’re right.” He sighs. “My mother loved me, as much as any parent loves their child. But she had many responsibilities. And... “ The fingers between Caleb’s tense. He smooths his thumb down the side of Essek’s hand again. “Well,” Essek says, half-smiling, half-sad. “I think she was afraid to feel too much, before she knew for certain.”

Caleb’s own smile drifts away. He doesn’t know the direction of this story, but he thinks he knows the shape of it. “Knew what?”

“Who I was.” Essek shakes his head. “Everyone assumed I would start regaining memories of my past life when I reached adolescence, as so many do. She had no guarantee that by the age of twenty, I would still be the boy she raised. I believe she was… waiting. To fix her estimation of me, until she knew who I would become. I could have even been the vessel of someone she knew in a past life. How uncomfortable it would be, to feel a mother’s affection for an old friend.” Essek shrugs. “But her waiting was in vain. I never became anything, and by then it was already too late. I left home soon after it became clear that the memories were never coming - which did not please my father, I might add - and here we are. Still friendly, but distant.”

Caleb purses his lips. He doesn’t have anything to say that seems adequate, but he squeezes Essek’s hand again.

“Can I ask you something in return? ...No, that’s not what I meant to- I’m sorry, my phrasing was poor. You need not answer if you don’t wish to.”

There it is again, that consideration. Wanting to respect Caleb’s boundaries. When they first met, Caleb had envisioned all sorts of things Essek might ask of him in return for the favours they owed. Familiar things. Dark things. Things that he would despise with every inch of his being, but would have had no choice but to endure without complaint, for the sake of his friends.

It seems all so incongruous now, to picture Essek making those sorts of demands. Caleb feels… secure, with him. Safe, almost.

Safe.

He doesn’t use that word often.

“I’ll do my best to answer, if I can.”

Essek lifts his other hand and, after a careful look, places it just above Caleb’s wrist. He brushes back the sleeve, revealing a sliver of bare skin. “The scars you bear… where did they come from?”

Six months ago, the question itself might have sent him right back into a spiral of panic, but having shared the story twice now, he finds the thought of recounting it less fearful than it was before.

It occurs to him that he could lie. And perhaps he should lie. Essek is, after all, still their handler, at least in name. Foolish, to give up something so personal to a spymaster. But Essek asked. And Essek has proven himself trustworthy before.

And Caleb finds himself very weary of lying.

“They were given to me,” he starts, “by my teacher.”

Essek, to Caleb’s relief, doesn’t flinch or grimace at the admission, but his eyes narrow a little more. “A punishment?”

Caleb shakes his head. “A means to make us stronger, and… hmm. To advance his own knowledge. An experiment.” He thinks of all the pages spread out over Essek’s desk, still waiting on their return.

An experiment gone wrong, that’s what’s trapped them here.

How very far we mages are willing to go, just to learn that little bit more.

“You said before that you were trained within the Empire. Was this teacher employed by the government?”

“He was part of the Assembly.” Essek’s fingers twitch. “Trent Ikithon was his name.” Caleb glances up, and sees the mask of unreadable interest is beginning to shift. Bits of dawning realization live in the crease of Essek’s brow, the slight widening of his eyes. “But, of course, what he did was for the good of the Empire. Like you said before, few necessary choices are moral ones, and Trent made it his living to walk that line.” His words twist up with bitterness, and he can’t help the pointed barb.

It’s been lingering in the back of his mind, Essek’s comments over dinner, all those nights ago. He can’t blame Essek for being drawn in by the allure of the moral grey that the Assembly exemplify. After all, he spent many years under the same spell. But Essek is not the same as Bren. He grew up under a different sort of indoctrination. He can still be reasoned with, made to see the Assembly for the danger they represent. Caleb needs to believe that.

“Back then, I believed he had my best interests at heart, and more importantly, the best interests of my country. But now… I cannot see any justification good enough to excuse all he did to us. The experiments... and everything else.”

Essek’s hand still rests above his wrist, fingertips grazing the first of the scars.

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen, at least. Not a child,” he clarifies. It feels important, somehow, to make that distinction. To say that he was too young to know his own mind would be a justification for his own actions, and he refuses to make it one. Even if he has no intention of revealing the end result of his training, even if Essek never asks about his parents’ fate and he never answers, in his own mind, he cannot stand to make his age an excuse.

Essek breathes out slowly. “Sixteen is still a child, in the eyes of the Kryn. At sixteen, life has only begun.”

Caleb stubbornly swallows around the lump in his throat. Telling this story has gotten easier, but his body still betrays him, every time.

“Ja. Perhaps you’re right. I felt for a long time, that sixteen is where my life ended. Many things happened after that, and I would not call what I was for the years that followed ‘alive’. It’s only recently- since I met the others, that I started to wonder if there was still something left. Some life I could still live, after all of this is done. I don’t know yet if that is true. But… I want to believe it is.”

Caleb looks down at their hands, still intertwined. He has thought, in scant moments, that there was something there between the two of them - something growing, inch by inch, in the shrinking space between.

When they first met, there were so many barriers in that space. They were handler and subject, favour-giver and debtor, reluctant allies from two worlds at war. But now the platforms have shifted, and the ledges that seemed insurmountable have become, by nature of perspective, very small.

Something between them.

Some life he could still live…

“I’m sorry,” Essek says at last. There’s a husky edge to his voice that Caleb isn’t sure he’s ever heard from him before. “I’m sorry this was done to you.” Essek’s thumb starts to trace hesitant lines down the edge of Caleb’s hand - a nervous approximation of what Caleb had done for him. The rush of endearment that comes from the realization is almost overwhelming, and Caleb bites the inside of his cheek to keep his breath from stuttering out as he speaks.

“It was a long time ago.”

Essek’s thumb doesn’t pause, and eventually Caleb leans over and rests his head on Essek’s shoulder, feeling brave and exhausted in the same turn. His head is heavy, emotions wrung out from anxiety and release and too many hours of frantic work leading up to this moment. His eyes begin to close, and he lets them. After a long, long moment, Essek’s body begins to relax as well.

He isn’t sure, after the fact, which one of them is the first to drift off to sleep.

---

Caleb wakes to the bright light of morning spilling out of the skylight above his head. He blinks, confused, up into the eyes of a familiar blonde-haired mage.

“Welcome back,” Allura says, and her pleasant smile is tinged with just the slightest hint of exasperation.

Beside Caleb, Essek groans and curls over onto his side, pulling his hands up beneath his chin as if cradling a pillow and turning away from the light. So, Essek is not a morning person. He tucks that information away, still impossibly endeared.

They aren’t holding hands anymore, but he can’t help but notice that Essek’s mantle is spread across them both.

“I assume you are our rescuer?” Allura offers Caleb a hand and he takes it. As the mantle falls away from his lap and hits the floor, Essek startles awake with an undignified gasp. Off to the side, Jester giggles.

He sees the rest of the Nein hugging the edges of the circular room, looking equal parts relieved and annoyed. “Maybe tell us next time you two decide to go traipsing off to another dimension?” Fjord grumbles, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re lucky Nott knows how to read your notes, or we’d have thought you’d just disappeared.”

“Which you’re totally cool,” Beau adds, smirking as she looks pointedly at the shared cloak. “You guys want alone time, that’s a-ok. Just like, let us know ahead of time, so we don’t send out the cavalry to find you.”

Nott rushes up and wraps her arms around Caleb’s middle. “The pages said the spell should only last for an hour, so we called Allura after Jester couldn’t reach out. ...We did good, right, Caleb? You wanted to be rescued, right?” She also eyes the shared cloak dubiously.

“You did good,” says Caleb, rustling her hair. “Thank you for coming to our aid. And thank you,” he says, turning to Allura. “You must be tired of rescuing foolish mages from prisons of their own making.”

“All part of the job description, as I’m finding out,” Allura says mildly, dusting off her robes. “Next time, please double check your work more carefully.” She sighs, then gathers her bag to her side. “Alright, I’m off - hopefully, I’ll be back before my wife notices I’m missing and gives me an earful.” Essek, finally having picked himself off the ground, opens his mouth to try and offer his own thanks, but Allura is already gone.

Caleb turns back to Essek, who is currently in the process of smoothing down his hair back into its usual elegant coif. It’s only partially successfully - a few strands still stick up at odd angles - and Caleb grins sheepishly.

“Not a great success, was it?”

“No, it was not.” Essek turns instead to brushing out the wrinkles from his tunic, which only draws attention to its current rumpled state. Jester giggles again, and Essek flushes, but resolutely does not look in her direction. “Still, at least we learned something?”

He offers his hand to Caleb for a congratulatory shake. Back to business as usual, it seems. There can be nothing more, before so many watching eyes. Even so, there’s a sort of tremor in Essek’s hand - an anticipation, that wasn’t there before.

I think we both learned more than we set out to.

Caleb gives Essek a small smile, and takes it.

#critical role #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #my writing #i meant to write more figure skating au next but then this happened #oops?

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Heal Me - Kujo Jotaro x Fem!Reader

"You know...I kinda have a bad feeling about this place...But I don't quite know why." I mutter softly as I grip Jotaro's sleeve for some reassurance. "Nothing bad's gonna happen. We just defeated the last Stand User, it will be a while until the next one appears." he explained, sure of himself. "I hope you're right...But Nami's getting restless too. I don't know...Maybe we should group up with the others, don't you think?" I suggested, but he merely shook his head. "This is our task, we can't fail it. Besides, there's no enemy I can't beat, so stay calm." Jotaro's voice was on the border of calm and annoyed, so I decided to shut up for now, despite the electrifying anxiety surging through my veins.

We continued walking through the desert, only the two of us, until my Stand's ears picked up a fast-moving threat moving towards us, which Jotaro didn't pick up.

"Jotaro, look out!" I scream as I made Nami push him out of the way, and the next thing I know, I'm sent flying meters away from the one I was paired up with. "Katrina!" his voice called out, as I struggled to get up, feeling sore all over. "Tsk...To think you'd pick up that I was here, despite my speed...How annoying!" an unfamiliar voice, the one of the enemy, roared in rage. "Be careful, Jotaro! He's dangerous!" I warned the boy as I rushed to his side, all while healing my injuries. "Yeah, I can see." he grunted, glaring at the smug man in front of him. "What do you want with us? Are you one of Dio's minions?" Jotaro asked, to find out the motives of this villains. "Well, of course I am! Dio is the reason I'm alive, and I live now only to serve him! And what Lord Dio wants the most is to get rid of the Joestar line! And what a pleasant surprise it is to find you, Jotaro! You will have the honour of being the first to die, and by my own hands, nonetheless!" the enemy laughed maniacally, while Jotaro could only grit his teeth in annoyance at the patronising tone he was receiving. "Yare Yare Daze...Can't get a time off..." he sighed as he got Star Platinum out and started throwing punches at the villain's enemy Stand, that stood in front of the man like a shield "Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora!" his battle cry echoed on repeat, but by the time he stopped, we looked at the enemy, who had a gaping hole in his stomach...But the instant Jotaro stopped attacking, his abdomen regenerated rapidly, making the both of us gasp. "What, you thought I'd come here with a stupidly weak Stand that you could beat with your "Ora Ora"s? No, Jotaro, not a chance! Your Stand can't beat me, David Alhambra!" the enemy's laugh became even more condescending and irritating, making Jotaro try to punch him again, but to no avail, for he'd just regenerate again and again. "Hey...Mr. Alhambra...I'm sorry to ask such a weird question, but...Do you know any bit of Biology?" my shy voice spoke up for the first time in a long time. "Huuuuuh? You? You're speaking to me? A little worm like you? Useless? Who hasn't helped the party at all the whole journey? You, little girl, are just a burden for them, and yet, you dare speak to ME?!" his yelling was so creepy that it made me flinch and tremble slightly, but I stood my ground "So, you mean to say that you know nothing about Biology, am I right?" I ask once again, my voice firmer. "Tsk...Well, if you're that curious, I am rather knowledgeable in the Reproduction System, if you're interested. You're not that bad looking...But until then, I have to kill someone. Hear that, Jotaro? I'm gonna steal your pretty little girlfriend and have my way with her. Bet I can show her how a man can make her feel...Unlike you, Jotaro!" the enemy smirked creepily as he cast a glance towards me. "Yeaahhhh...I have a better idea..." I mutter as I prepare myself for the worst. Jotaro went to attack David once again, very irritated for having disrespected me, but as before, he couldn't do much damage. “Can't you see it's futile? Jotaro, stop trying, and I'll give you a painless death!" Alhambra yelled, and as he readied himself to throw a punch towards Jotaro, I rushed in front of him, parrying the punch with my crossed arms, slamming into Jotaro's chest. "Jotaro...Please let me handle this. Mr.Alhambra, I will be your opponent." I rub my forearm slightly, before stepping towards him. "Katrina...!" Jotaro's voice called out, but I merely shook my head. "Do you trust me, Jotaro?" I ask, turning my head slightly, making eye contact for a little while, something I've never been able to do before. "...Yare Yare Daze. Very well, I'll wait here." he tipped the front of his hat, and that's how I knew he fully believed in me. "You know...Whenever you'd say that, I'd automatically feel at ease, because I knew you had everything under control. Thank you for believing in me. I won't disappoint you." I smiled softly at him, before turning my gaze to the enemy. "You know...I always hated fighting women...Y'all are so weak and whiny...But fine, be that way. Maybe you want to make sure I'm a man worth it. Very well, prepare yourself." he laughed once again, as I jumped out of the way so our fight wouldn't get anywhere near Jotaro.

From then on, I let out my Stand, Nami, and touching our hands together, we fuse, letting her powers go through me, droplets of water floating around, despite the never-ending desert surrounding us. I rushed forward, ready to strike, and I kept punching his stomach over and over again, but he wouldn't budge... And he was laughing. "Your punches tickle me, woman. What are you trying to do? Tickle me to death? Come on, I want a real challenge, not a cat fight!" his voice roared with anger all of a sudden, and all of a sudden, I find myself flying once again, a kick on the stomach sending me far away.

My breath was taken away, and I was struggling to find oxygen, all whilst coughing blood and clutching my stomach, barely able to get up.

"What is it, little girl? Need Daddy to help you up?" he mocked me, prowling towards me like a predator towards his prey. "Maybe it will be you who needs help getting up soon..." I mutter as I finally managed to get up and stay in a fight-stand.

It was difficult fighting through the aching pain that was burning my muscles, but I lunged myself towards him, punching the same spot once again,counting the number of times I was able to touch him, which really seemed to annoy him, for he punched my face this time, making me fall to the ground once again.

"Honestly, is this what you want to do? Piss me off? Now you're all messed up and ugly! How lame!" he groaned, kicking my ribs harshly. "Come on, get up! Get up! You really piss me off, woman! I HATE weaklings!" David screamed once again, kicking me repeatedly to the ground, before he turned around harshly, striding towards Jotaro. "Heh...This is fun..." I cough, seeing the blood all over the sand around me, as I struggled to get up. "Huuuh? You're still getting up?" he sneered at me, but I could only smirk in amusement. "My plan is almost done...I just need...1 more..." I coughed up a bit, before channeling my powers to rush in front of Jotaro, as the enemy was going to attack him.

I was drained of all physical power, not exactly used to fighting with my own body, but it had to be done- The last punch I managed to land on his stomach was more of a soft touch, as my energy was drained, but I was able to say one last thing, as I looked up at him with a bloody smirk.

"50."

"Huuuuuh? 50? What the hell is that about? What, you're happy you managed to touch me so much, or what?" he was so angry...So so very angry...But he had no way of defeating me anymore. "Remember when I asked if you knew Biology? Well, if you didn't know, cells have this ability to regenerate for a set number of times, before they stop doing that altogether. Your Stand is able to regenerate your wounds faster, but you aren't Dio, a Vampire, so your cells are still human. Basically, your cells can regenerate 50 times at a time only before they die. It's called a set death." I chuckled condescendingly as I raise my gaze towards him, panting for air. "Yeah, I know that, so what?!" he roared at me, but I stood my ground. "You say my powers are useless in a fight...Well, I suppose that's true, to some extent, but my power is basically a healing water type...And it accelerates mitotic cellular regeneration. Which, if you didn't realise that by now, I touched you 50 times in the same spot so you will stop regenerating that place. Pretty smart, don't you think?" I smirked, as David got so angry. "WHAT THE HELL, WOMAN, ARE YOU INSANE?! YOU BITCH, YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME WITH SOME CHEAP TRICKS LIKE THAT?! I'LL FUCKING CRUSH YOU!!" he jumped to lunge at me, but I stepped forward, leaning backwards dramatically, as I created two big water serpents from my hands that sprung through his stomach, impaling him. "Heh...Well, I guess I kinda lied. I wouldn't come here unless I was able to fight. I would feel bad if I were to drag these guys down, you know? But hey, you'll die now, so guess what, you got defeated by your own ego. Toodles!" I chuckled as I let the water disappear, as he fell down on the sand, lifeless. I slowly walked towards him, checking for a pulse, and when I found none, I got up and went next to Jotaro, smiling softly. "Well...I guess this was a bit messies than I hoped for, but it did the trick, right?" I let out an amused breath, as he shook his head. "Yare Yare Daze...You really are something...Come here." he sighed, taking out a napkin from his pocket, and putting a hand on my face, while he wiped the blood from my face with the other. "Thank you, Jotaro. You really are the best." I give him a close-eyed smile, putting my hand over his, but the thing that shocked me most was...A kiss on my forehead, which made me snap my eyes open in shock, my cheeks getting gradually rosy. "Let's get you fixed up, you've done more than enough for today. Well done, Kat. Thank you." Jotaro said simply as he picked me up bridal style, which made me feel so shy all of a sudden. "Y-You don't have to...! I-I can walk a-and I can heal myself, d-don't worry about me!" I stuttered, hiding my face with my hands. His only response was a soft chuckle, and knowing I couldn't argue, I sighed and wrapped my arms around his neck, leaning my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes, feeling at ease with him near me.

It didn't take long for us to get back to the hotel, and reaching my room, he puts me gently on the bed, taking the first aid kit.

"Come on...That's unnecessary. It'll be much faster and efficient my way." I scratch the back of my head awkwardly. "Honestly...Can't I get an excuse to stay around you?" he flicked me on the forehead, with the ghost of a smile plastered on his face. "You don't need an excuse. You can hang around me with no reason at all, and it will still be enjoyable. I-I mean, not that I'm trying to sound patronising or anything!" I freak out slightly, realising how bad it sounded, but his response was...Shocking. I felt his rough hands on my face drawing me closer, as he shut me up with a gentle kiss. "You talk too much" he muttered, his gaze shifting slightly to the size, as his pale cheeks got a shade pinker. "And you talk too little." I smiled softly, looking down at my lap, before making eye contact with him. When we got past the original shyness, we lay in bed, his arm wrapped around me, as my head leaned on his chest, and I could finally relax after such a long day. And feeling Jotaro's warmth and his heart's rhythmic beating made me feel so at ease that I didn't realise when I fell asleep in him embrace.

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marvinswriting · 4 years

Text

water

hurt/comfort(/hurt?) fic one ;) dw guys its not to bad in the hurt/comfort range,,,i’ve written worse. GENERALIZED TW: death (fear of it, mentioned, and/or, actual death); graphic descriptions of pain; water and fear of drowning; general sickness mg borrower (roommates) au

There were lots of things borrowers weren't taught as a kid that my roommates and I thought were normal and Damian couldn't believe.

Like, basic math, what a hot pocket was, or swimming. And that's just naming a few.

We had all the skills we needed to know to survive. Nothing more and nothing less.

I remember sitting in Damian's room on one particularly hot day. We were talking about my childhood. Damian found it crazy that we were expected to move out and survive on our own at such a young age.

It's probably one of the only reasons Gretchen, Kevin, and I stuck together when we meet. All scared young teenagers who just needed a home. Kevin's the oldest, then Gretchen and then me. I met them on my first night in the outdoors. Kevin had just evacuated because he had been caught and Gretchen was on the verge of death from being without a home and food for months. Under any other circumstance, I don't think we would have banded together.

"So you're telling me, you're parents taught you thirteen different ways to tie a knot, but you can't swim?"

"There isn't exactly a residency borrower pool where I can get taught. Besides, I'm never around big bodies of water. Being able to use a rope is a much more necessary skill. We have to climb everywhere."

"I just can't wrap my head around it." Damian paused for a moment. "Is that why you hate the sink?"

"That and the big daunting drain at the bottom."

I smiled at the memory. Just as I found Damian's life interesting, he found mine entertaining as well. Apparently, it's not normal to be doing life or death activities like borrowing at age eleven and moving out to never see your parents again by thirteen.

Damian says humans move out typically around age eighteen.

We're seventeen now, I don't want to think about the house without him.

My hand slips, jolting me back to reality. I really need to pay attention. I'm currently climbing up the counters. Its mid-day and I'm halfway up, which is probably the most reckless thing I've done since meeting Damian. But- Kevin and Gretchen were sick and somebody needed to get them water. The thimble in my arms is making it hard to climb and I really should wait till night, but Kevin is burning up hotter then any of us have ever been and they're both so dehydrated. Kevin can barely move and each time Gretchen breathes it triggers a fit of dry heaving and coughs.

I may not like my roommates but I really don't want them to die.

But- my hand slips again- I also should focus on not dying in the process of getting them help.

I'm only holding onto the rope with one hand and with the amount it's sliding down it feels like I'm making no progress.

I can't tell if my mind is replaying the ghost coughs of my roommates or if Gretchen is heaving so loud I hear it from here.

Fuck.

I'm sick too, but not in nearly as bad of shape as those two. I just feel weaker, and scaling a kitchen island isn't a low key activity. It works the full body. And I'm not doing too hot.

When I finally reach the top of the counter I feel dizzy. I toss the thimble onto the marble and hoist myself up, cringing at the clatter the metal makes.

Nobody in the house seems to hear it. I think Damian and his parents are in the other room watching a movie together. I heard the TV go on while climbing and almost had a heart attack, but none of the Hubbards have entered the kitchen for snacks yet.

I lay half on the counter trying to catch my breath. My face feels hot and theirs a ghost tickled of a cough at the back of my throat. That scares me more than anything.

Each time I heave for air my lungs feel tighter as I press the side of my face to the cool marble.

My body wanted to shut down and fall asleep right here but I needed to get water for my roommates. Besides, I'm still out in the open.

I push myself fully onto the counter and retrieve the thimble. The world sways slightly and I try to ignore it in favor of walking over to the sink.

This was my least favorite part of borrowing. Kevin typically did it.

But Kevin is passed out with a fever right now.

The sink was slippery with dish soap residue around it. I peered over into the undrained sink. Plates and utensils were sticking out under the murky water.

It was up high enough that if I leaned over, I could scoop up some of that and call it a day.

No.

Gretchen and Kevin needed real water.

Or else they could-

I didn't finish the thought.

Yeah, Kevin and Gretchen were probably the most annoying people I've ever met, but they were practically family. We've been living together for four years. We've seen each other and lows and highs. From life-threatening sickness to Grechen's on her period be careful she might throw something at you.

The walls would be so quiet without them.

I don't notice there I'm crying until a tear lands in the water I'm leaning over, creating small ripples through it.

My stomach twists as the realization of how bad this could be dawns on me.

We aren't doctors.

We're borrowers.

The best we can do for sickness is a cold washcloth and hydration.

If it's a life or death sickness, death often wins.

I can't let it happen.

I clear my throat trying to will the urge to cough away and grab my rope out of my bad, leaving the rest of my tools abandoned on the counter. I hook the rope around the faucet handle with one arm, the other arm still holding the thimble.

I haven't gotten the water in so long, I forgot how hard it was to pull the handle. No matter how hard I tug the rope, it won't move. It's hard to get a footing with all the soap as I lean away from the sink.

Fuck!

Why was borrowing so hard?

I hear footsteps approaching the kitchen and I panic. My tools are lying everywhere, there is a rope around the faucet handle and I'm right in the open.

I drop the rope and step away from the faucet. It's not worth it, I need to hide-

Damian walks into the kitchen, looking over his shoulder as he yells something at his parents.

Oh.

I step over to grab my rope again. Since its just Damian, I can-

As I put all my weight on one foot to reach the rope, my foot slips on the soap.

I almost didn't notice I was falling at first, the world had been spinning the whole time anyway. It was only until my brain caught up with the feeling of gravity did I let out a yelp. My arms flailed, as the thimble slipped from my grasp.

I was falling into a fucking sink.

All the borrower horror stories I thought I outgrew as a kid came flooding back to me as I hit the water.

My uncle drowned in a sink. My cousin fell into an empty sink and was caught by humans. My father almost fell down the drain and died if it wasn't for my mom to save him. My mother's childhood roommate also drowned in a sink.

Nothing good happens in the sink.

This is why Kevin gets the water.

I don't know what I'm doing.

Oh god.

The water was ice cold. I felt it seep through my jacket and layers of clothing, weighing me down. The soapiness burned when I opened my eyes and I couldn't tell which way was up. It was a white fog all around.

The was no oxygen.

I knew better than to try and breathe.

I'm gonna die.

Wasn't Damian in the room?

What if he finds my body.

Kevin and Gretchen will never know what happened to me.

The white fog was being replaced with black spots dancing on my vision.

My roommates need their water.

I glance around the kitchen.

I wasn't going crazy, right?

I was getting popcorn for the movie my parents and I were going to watch.

I swore I heard Janis.

Maybe I was going crazy.

My eyes trail over all the places a borrower could be in the room. She wasn't on the floor, there was nobody on the counters-

My eyes land on a abandons tool bag on the counter by the sink. There's a rope on the faucet handle. A borrower was definitely here.

It wasn't like any of them to just leave their tools out in the open.

I looked to the sink.

No.

"Janis?" I ask softly, rushing across the kitchen.

I look across the counters one last time. Hoping I just missed her.

The sink was filled with dirty water. Ew.

Whoever did the dishes last really needs to learn not to leave the stopper in.

My eyes fall to a thimble floating in the water, half full with the murky liquid.

Did- did Janis fall?

I could feel my heart stop at the possibility.

"Janis," I call out once more, my hand hovering over the water. "Where are you hiding?"

There was no response.

Where were Kevin and Gretchen? Was Janis left to do such a daunting task alone?

My eye is drawn back to the sink as small bubbles surface.

Oh my god.

It's all I needed to dip my hand into the water.

Janis was in there.

I cringe at how cold it is.

My heart was pounding. As much as I wanted to find Janis, part of me wished I didn't. That I was wrong and shes okay somewhere.

Maybe she's hiding on purpose.

My hand touched something soft and warm in contrast to the cold water. For a second I froze.

What am I doing? Fucking grab her!

My hand wraps gingerly around the small form, and I can feel Janis's hand grab my finger. Her grip is lose but its a small sign of life. I let out a shaky breath and I lift my hand out of the water.

She's okay.

Well-

The second I gently place Janis on the counter shes shaking with coughs. Her entire body wreaks as she spits water onto the counter next to her and gasps for air.

I'm momentarily worried my parents might hear over the movie, but I've got bigger things to stress about.

"Are you okay?" I ask softly as the coughing dies down.

Janis looks up at me. There are tears in her eyes and she's shivering.

"I thought I was gonna die." There was so much fear in her voice as it cracks.

My heart breaks at the sight of her. Yes, she normally looked small, I mean- she's a borrower. But seeing her with her knees to her chest trembling? Janis had shrunk in on herself so much it reminded me of when we first met. When she had herself pushed up against the wall to hide from Ariel.

"Jan," I reach out my hand but hesitate. I don't know if she wants to be touched.

"I'm so cold." She whispers letting out another weak cough.

"Take off your jacket," I say.

"What? But then I'll be more co-"

"No," I cut her off softly. "You're jacket is soaking. That's probably the biggest reason why you're cold."

Janis nods and begins to strip off the layers stuck to her skin. I grab a dish towel, one of the smallest I can find. It's still huge compared to Janis.

"C'mere." I say softly. Janis shakily stands up, stepping away from the small puddle she's created on the counter, leaving her jacket behind. She's still got her arms wrapped around herself.

"I'm fine, just a little cold." She insists, but she allows me to scoop her up gently anyway.

"Yeah, well its gonna be a bigger cold if you don't dry off." I say placing her in my hand with the towel. I wrap her in it closely and hold the hand to my chest so I can clean up the water.

"What happened anyway?" I ask, fishing the thimble out of the sink before pulling the drain. Not letting that happen again.

"Kevin and Gretchen need water." Janis said, a level of panic in her voice.

"So they sent you to get it?"

"They're really sick."

I can tell Janis is trying to hide her emotions, but the fear seeps through.

"They needed water, I said I'd be quick."

I hug Janis closer. I wish I could help. I can feel her shivering though the towel snd she still lets out an occasional cough.

"The towel's wet now." She said quietly. "There was a lot of water."

I laugh softly. "You did fall in a sink." I placed her down momentarily on the counter before placing her jacket on the dry part of the towel and filling up the thimble for her. Janis watches as I turn the tap on with a look of envy.

"Stupid giant-sized taps." She mumbled.

I laugh, placing the thimble on the table and scooping her up.

Holding Janis always felt like holding one of those hand warmer packets, but right now she felt ice cold. She shivered, leaning tiredly into my touch.

"You're hands are warm." Her voice is soft as she looks up at me with half-lidded eyes.

"Don't fall asleep, love." I say wrapping my fingers gently around her in a vain attempt to stop her from shivering. "You gotta get the water back to your roommates."

My last sentence seems to snap her out of whatever adrenaline crash she hit. "Oh my god." She wiggles out of my grasp and I lower my hands to the counter before she can fall. Kevin and Gretchen must really be in bad shape because Janis is gathering her supplies with such speed and purpose you wouldn't know she just almost drowned. She scoops up her tools and the water before eyeing her jacket.

"I'll take it to my room," I offer. "You can come back for it when it's dry."

Janis visibly relaxes as she shoves rope into her bag. "Thank you so much, Damian. Not just for the jacket but for saving my life earlier and everything. That's the third time now." She stands up straight, slipping the bad on her shoulder and the thimble resting on her hip. "If I get a break from taking care of Kevin and Gretchen I may stop by."

I nod, picking up the wet tea towel and the tiny jacket. "I'll be waiting. Bye love."

"Love you."

I watched as Janis rushed over to the outlet on the counter, making sure she was safe and in the walls before leaving the kitchen, request to make popcorn long forgotten.

ive written worse hurt before,,,, this is just a warm up to fics to come. this is why i say take away my rights. I have to much power @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

#the hurt/comfort (hurt?) has begun #no post is safe #mg borrower au #borrower janis #giant damian #hurt/comfort #g/t #Giant/tiny #g/t writing

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ssdescendantsau · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1

Remus wanders around in silence, his makeshift morningstar slung over his shoulder, the nails digging into his shoulder. The world is too loud today, the clamour around him rising into a crescendo that grates against his ears. Maybe he could find something to steal or someone to fight so that everything would just shut up for one fucking second. Well, at least Remus lost his pursuers from the mindless fight he was just in. That was a good enough distaction. The only thing for Remus to do in the still air was talk to himself.

“You smash your morningstar in one person’s face and now the whole group is after you. Sounds petty in my opinion.”

Or well, makeshift morningstar and less like an iron mace-like weapon that it normally would be. It was more a block of wood stuck to the end of an iron pipe with a shit ton of nails pounded into the wood. A rustling sound whistled through the air, a flash of gold briefly spotted in the corner of Remus’s eye.

“From my perspective it sounds like you’re being the petty one.”

Turning around, Remus’ eyes land on a figure nestled in the shadows, another teenager by the sound of his voice. The darkness hides everything except for a distinctive glittering golden eye.

“Hi Dee~ How ya doing?”

‘Dee’, or Janus “Deceit” of Agrabah was the trader on the Isle, usually coming along with a trinket or item stolen from someone else’s pockets. A thing for another thing, a favor for Remus to fulfill later down the line in exchange for something shiny, but useless. That’s usually how these trades went.

“Alright, managed to nab a few things that might catch your eye. A favor would be nice, I’m planning on robbing this one guy and might want your help,” Dee pauses, mulling over his next words.“I just came to tell you about Maleficent's goons. Seems they’re looking for you.” He almost sounds worried. Mom huh, well at least let’s just hope it’s not because I did something stupid. Again.

“Ugh can’t Mother do her own dirty work for once?” Remus grumbles, turning around to find Dee gone. “Fine, I'll just get the stuff later then. Sneaky noodle always fades into the shadows thinking he’s cool and edgy.”

A faint hiss of air draws Remus’s attention to a small alleyway to his right, a perfect alleyway for hiding a body. He does remember a similar alleyway that one time that he hid a corpse, he doesn’t really like or want to think about that stuff.

Turning the corner he finds Virgil de Vil, the resident “artist” and the only one on the Island to wear all black, spraying something on the wall. The jacket was new though, the purple sleeves being a lovely addition along with the skull design on Virgil’s mask.

“Huh, well if it isn’t Virgie,” Remus drawls, moving forward to sling his arm around Virgie’s shoulders.

“First of all, it’s Virgil, not Virgie.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

“Second of all” Virgil turns to look at Remus “I'm currently working on something. What do you think, some purple or red?”

Remus glances at the spray paint on the wall, moving away from his previous position. The artwork forming a purple stormcloud on a green background. “Lilac-blue, makes the green pop out more.”

“Hm.” A quick nod of reassurance from Virgil and Remus moves next to him, plopping onto the dingy ground of the space. A thin silence hangs in the air only interrupted by the sound of Virgil’s spray cans.

“Have you ever thought about getting off this dump?” Remus doesn’t know why he said it in the first place, the question already forming before he can stop himself.

“Out of this cage? Sorry, but we’re always gonna be locked away with the “villians” in this fucked up world.”

“Of course,” Remus sighs, because this place was a death sentence in and of itself. “Forget it.” Nobody was coming to save the rejects of the world. That feeling was back, buzzing underneath his skin. So Remus did the only thing he could think of, he acted on impulse, quickly grabbing Virgil’s hand and running off with him in tow.

“Remus, no!” It was too late for Virgil to protest though.

“Remus yes.”

Whatever chaos that Remus wanted to create was quickly stopped as both of their bodies collided into an unmoving wall,black suits and sunglasses filling the frame of his vision. The only ones who dressed like here were his mom’s goons because they needed to be “presentable”. Her words not his.

“Maleficent wants to see you,” Goon #1 rumbles.

He hates these stupid lackeys. Mom sends them because she couldn’t care enough about her own kid to meet in person. Instead, it made him feel like he was twelve again, like a kid who was always getting in trouble for being too ‘much’. He can’t really protest though as Goon #1 grabs both him and Virgil.

He passes by beggars and kids with ratty clothes, crammed like sardines on this floating rock. Briefly, he passes by a mom pulling her kid with a makeshift cart and a scrawny teenager his age skimming through the crowd, most likely a pickpocket. After all, there’s no guarantee that your business will get food on the table. Remus remembers the first time that he got pickpocketed, broke the kid’s fingers for even trying. The regret came later, when the drone of bitterness and apathy left his system.

Remus watches as his “home” comes into view. It was supposed to be a fortress but it resembled a cardboard castle more than anything, ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. A building to play pretend in, Remus thinks bitterly so that everything would be ‘just like it was before’. He’s heard enough about “the glory days” from his mom to get an idea. Pushed through the entrance, Remus stares at his mom standing at the front of the room.

Looking around, Dee and the island's resident “heartbreaker” Remy, were also there with their own personal “goons” hovering over their shoulders. Remy’s sunglasses and plain leather jacket were kept clean enough as if he actually cared about his appearance. He is the kid on the Island most known from the stories gathered from his various flings. Nobody said anything at first, instead dissolving into a tense silence broken by his mom.

“Janus, Remy, Virgil and you will be going to Auradon.” Maleficent announced to the room, her gaze lingering on Remus as if to say Don’t mess this up.

“I’m sorry but, what?” Virgil splutters.

Remus looks around the room to the rest of the three kids as if to ask she’s not joking right? briefly locking eyes with a panicking Virgil.

Janus spoke up, his panicked eyes looking everywhere except for the people in the room.“I’m gonna have to agree with Virgil on this one, why the hell are we going over to those stuck-up pricks?”

“Well the Prince has made a new decree, the soft-hearted fool. You four will be attending Auridon Prep,” Her tone was detached, leaving no room for negotiations or arguement. It was Remy to first act on his impulses, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Oh, fuck no. I’m not going to be surrounded by assholes more than I need to be, ” Remy said, arms crossed and glancing off to the side.

“This is an opportunity for you. You will sneak straight into those royal’s hearts and steal Fairy Godmother’s wand in the process using, of course, the generous gifts bestowed upon you by your parents that will hopefully not go to waste. Then you’ll release the barrier and evil will spread along the land, a perfect place for us to rule.”

Remus ignores that hopeful twist in his stomach that maybe, this will prove something to her. That maybe he can be a good enough son for her.

“You don’t have much of a choice. Especially considering that your ride is going to be here soon,” the Evil Queen snapped at Remy. Quickly rifling through her pockets, she quickly took out a small mirror “Now, here is my magic mirror.” Remy stares at the small glass hand mirror in her hand, “It’s not what it used to be sadly, but it should be useful,” Remy takes the small mirror in his hands and tucks it into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“And please, get some sleep while you’re at it. Those eyebags of yours are making you uglier than you already are.”

“Yes Mother,” Remy muttered.

“Now let me see,” Mom mutters to herself, rifling through what appears to be an old cupboard as she fishes out a tattered old book, worn down from use. Turning over to Remus, she holds out the book.

“Here. This is my spellbook.” Remus gingerly picks up the spellbook from her hand.

As Remus is leaving he hears snippets of conversation from the other kid’s parents and their farewells.

“Remember Janus, lying is always the best solution” Jafar quickly tells Janus

“And always look out for yourself” Janus echoes back tonelessly, as if it were a mantra he’s heard a dozen times before.

“I’ll miss you Virgil.” Cruella puts a hand to her heart with a pout

“Really?” Virgil looks almost hopeful in those small minutes, a shine of maybe a little bit of softness in his expression

“Who else will take care of my beautiful coats.” Cruella doesn’t notice how Virgil deflates at her last sentence

“Right” Virgil scoffs to himself, his expression closing off like a set of iron gates slammed shut in front of his eyes.

Mom sharply turns to the rest of the VK’s in front of her.

“Now move along, there’s a wand to steal.”

The rest of the teenagers were shuffled out of the room to their “ride” sitting outside the fortress. A sleek black vehicle sits outside, gleaming under the sun and unbelievingly long. Maleficent clutches Remus’s arm as he’s leaving, her fingernails leaving indents in his skin.

”You better not mess this up.” Mom says through gritted teeth.

Looking at the limousine, Remus steps forward. I can make mom proud of me Remus thinks, an opportunity of a lifetime. It doesn’t stop the dread forming in his stomach.

Ao3 link

#remus sanders #virgil sanders #remy sanders #janus sanders #ts deciet #maleficent #Evil Queen #Jafar #Cruella de Vil #mentions of murder #mentions of child abuse #descendants #sanders sides

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