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deathisararemercy · 1 year

Text

Sacrifice

Death x Reader

The center of town was where the real party was at. A small scaffold was set up in the plaza. White lilies were set in baskets around it in dazzling grandeur. On the scaffold was a grand table, set with a brilliant spread. Only one person was seated at it. Out of all the people in the town, they were the only person dressed head-to-toe in black. Muerte couldn’t see their face as a veil covered it, but he could tell their head was bent as they picked at their final meal. This year’s sacrifice.

A/N: I always write these when I'm sleepy, y'know? Not just the fics but also the author's notes in general. I think writing the notes are my favorite part. Do people even read these? Tweedledee-tweedledum- alright. Let's get into it, shall we? This is actually a lot cuter than what the title would suggest, but it also has such an ending with some different interpretations. This is a tiny tiny bit Halloween-y and out of season, but I swear I'll try to write something for Valentine's Day. That fic will definitely be cute and fluffy, I promise.

The fire was dying out.

Not that it mattered much anyway. He was Death; things like the cold, rain, or snow didn’t affect him. Building this campfire at the edge of the dark wood was wholly unnecessary. It was probably going to attract unwanted attention to himself. But watching the dancing sparks from the campfire was a nice distraction from seeing whatever it was that was going on in the town just down the hill. He could feel it in the air and the way the stars glared down at him. Muerte wrinkled his nose. The air smelled sour like rotten onions and inevitable death. But also lamb. He liked lamb.

He stomped out the dying embers of the fire and checked that the area was all nice and clean. The wind hummed a bit. He whistled in response. Satisfied, the wolf drew his hood and began the walk into town.

For what must have been a century now, the villagers of this village held a festival to “keep Death at bay” every year due to a horrible plague that once passed through the town. It had been an awful year with a poor harvest and horrible disease. Muerte could still remember the exhilarating smell of their constant fear. He never experienced anything like it; it was like walking through an electrifying haze for days that left him in a constant state of adrenaline. Despite that, he felt guilty each time he had to take a life during his stay. And there were many.

He was silent and solemn each time he arrived at someone’s deathbed, trying to be gentle. But the way the families screamed and begged, their wails and sobs as he grimly cut the cord tethering their loved ones’ spirits to the mortal realm, haunted him long after he left the town. The spirits had hated him too, pleading for him to send them back, just so they could live a little longer, just so they could say goodbye, and cursing him when he said he could not.

But Death is a promise, not a bargain to be made.

And the villagers had been terrified of El Lobo Muerte ever since.

Since then, each year, they’d put up torches that would burn all through the night and offer one person as a sacrifice, leaving them in the center of the largest field. One hundred years later, the festival was more of a celebration to keep away illness for the coming year and dress up in costume. Little decorations would be pasted up like wolves and skulls. Sickles would be painted red and hung up next to the fields of crops.

In reality, Muerte couldn't control when people died. He was just there to release the dead from the mortal realm and send them on their way to the spirit world. But it was cute, seeing the little paper skulls they pasted up, the decorated gourds, and- oh that smelled good. They were selling chopped pieces of lamb on skewers this year. His red eyes darted to the stall where they were selling them. A small crowd had gathered there. He’d come back and buy two later.

This year’s sacrifice.

Muerte leaned against a stall, watching them try to take another bite of food before pushing away their plate. They grabbed a golden chalice and took a long drink.

“Steeling your nerves. Interesting.’’

“What?”

The wolf looked around. He was leaning right against another lamb stall. This one was selling mini-pies. The cook looked up at him in confusion, not fear. Well, it looked like even after just a century, no one bothered to tell anyone what Death looked like.

The wolf grinned, baring his teeth. “Oh, it’s nothing. Say,’’ he leaned down to take a peek at the wares. “Could I have two of those please?”

==x==x==

The procession began at eleven bells. The town suddenly fell silent and solemn as a committee of hooded figures approached the scaffold. The sacrifice trembled as they rose, whether it be from fear, fatigue, or drink Muerte didn’t know. When they reached the bottom of the scaffold, a bouquet of lilies was procured for them by one of the hooded figures. The figures then surrounded the sacrifice until Death could barely see the top of their head. And then, they began to walk.

The crowd parted silently as the hooded figures led the sacrifice out of the village, closing the gap as the procession left. Their pace was horribly slow, but they did need to fill up an hour of time. Muerte followed the procession from a distance.

When they reached the edge of town, where the crowds were thin, the light grew dim, and the stars seemed a bit brighter, one of the hooded figures spoke. “This is the final time you will step foot in this village. Once you leave the light, you are to be led into the dark. With your back to the light, you walk into the cold embrace of death in order for the light to continue to burn bright for all those you leave behind.”

With that, the sacrifice was blindfolded, their veil covered their face again, and their hands were bound. They linked arms with one of the hooded figures and the small procession continued to the village’s largest field. The moon was full and beautiful, and the winds hummed a little tune. The wolf whistled quietly in response.

Muerte walked softly and silently, undetected by the mortals. His eyes glowed red as he tried to see further in the dark. The figures were just leaving the sacrifice there. No final words, no last requests. The figures led them to the center of the field, cleared away except for a cut tree stump, on which they seated the sacrifice. Then they just…left.

Something in Muerte’s chest twisted, his lip curling in disgust as he watched them leave the poor sacrifice alone. In the distance, the village bell tower rang twelve bells. He could faintly hear the person hold their breath expectantly. That was his cue.

“Well, well,” the wolf smirked as he pushed away the crops and stood in the clearing. “If it isn’t this year’s little lamb.” The person stood up suddenly, hopelessly trying to see the wolf in the dark. “Relax,” he chuckled, “I’m not going to eat you.”

“But-”

“Here.” He swiftly removed their veil and blindfold. The wolf suddenly hesitated. Those terrified eyes were…prettier than he expected. If he looked at them any longer, he just might-

Muerte spun them around, grabbing their shoulder so that they wouldn’t trip and fall. Their body was small and warm beneath his cold paws and firm grip. Could he just think clearly for one-

He drew one of his sickles and slashed the rope binding their wrists together. The villager yelped at the sudden release before righting themself. They turned around, and Death focused on staring at the point just between their eyebrows. Their eyebrows knit together as they examined him in the moonlight. Adorable.

“Are you…Death?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. And you are?”

They hesitated before giving their name. “My, my, my. What a beautiful name.”

“It’s the same as any other name,” they scoffed. He could see the faintest flicker of a smile flash across their face.

“Well, it’s the name of the person this town foolishly gave up this year. So I think it’s fairly important. Lamb?”

“Yes?”

The wolf howled in laughter, echoing through the silent night. If there was another villager out there, they’d surely be terrified. Muerte reached under his poncho and pulled out the pies, wrapped up in cloth. “I was asking if you wanted a lamb pie, cordero.”

Their face reddened. They snatched one of the pies away and turned their back towards him. “I- I knew that! I was just saying ‘yes’ as in ‘yes! I’d like a pie!’ you stupid lobo.”

Muerte placed a hand on his chest, gasping. “You dare call Death a stupid wolf! You better watch what you say. You never know what will be your final words.” The villager cast a glance back over their shoulder, gaze meeting Death’s. The two of them laughed.

Muerte sat down on the ground next to the stump. The villager stared at the stump before deciding to sit on the ground next to the wolf. They each ate their pies in silence, chewing thoughtfully. The wolf finished first, licking his lips. “You all outdo yourselves every year. That was delicious.”

The villager smiled, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. “Thanks. We try to make it nice for you.”

Leaning his head on his hand, the wolf shrugged. “At this point, it’s less about me and just having a nice new year. But you know, I enjoy seeing all the cute costumes. A little kid dressed up like that Puss in Boots, running up to me with a stick sword.” His eyes narrowed suddenly, looking at the villager’s face. “Hang on.” They stiffened. He leaned in closer, close enough to smell them and feel them breathe. “You have something…right…there.” He gently wiped away a stray crumb of pie from their face.

“O-oh. Thank you!”

Was that pushing it? He narrowed his eyes again as he looked between that beautiful face and the crumb stuck to his fur. He licked his paw clean, eyes trained on the villager. Their face reddened again. He could feel them trembling a bit, though Muerte was fairly certain it wasn’t from fear.

“Say,” he began slowly, testing the words out, “Do you think I really eat people?”

They were startled and hurriedly responded, “No, of course not! At least…I hope not.”

“Well your prayers have been answered,” Muerte said, rising to his feet. The villager quickly followed. “I don’t really eat people. Neither does that Big Bad Wolf people tend to confuse me with.”

“But the others,” they said slowly, “the others from the previous years. What happened to them?”

The wolf shrugged. “I always bring food because I know they’ll barely be able to eat anything from the nerves. Then, I take them wherever they want to go, that isn’t this village.”

Their eyes widened. “You can do that?”

“Mm, yes. Granted, not everyone likes the way I travel. And the universe isn’t particularly keen on me doing this. But I don’t kill anyone. And they usually survive the trip.”

“‘Usually’?”

“I’m joking, cordero pequeño.” Muerte grinned. “So what will it be? Where would you like to go?”

The little lamb paused. “I…I don’t know.”

“Come on. You can go anywhere in the world. Just say the word.”

“I think I just want to be able to see you again.”

That took Death aback. He blinked rapidly. “What?”

“Was it weird? Sorry, I just- Listen. I want to see you again.” The mortal gestured around the field, ethereal under the moonlight. “I know I said I don’t think you eat people, but I also didn’t really expect to be alive past midnight. I don’t know where I want to go or what I want to do. But,” they added, stepping slowly towards the wolf, “now I think I want to get to know you more. You’re a pretty funny guy, Lobo Muerte.”

His heart fluttered in his chest. Well, mierda. The moonlight was caught in their hair, and they smelled sweet and full of life. Muerte bent down, reaching behind the stump to pick up the discarded bouquet of lilies. Quickly before it could wilt under his touch, he pressed one flower to the mortal’s chest. He smiled softly, tapping the tip of their nose. “We’ll find a place for you. And I'll be sure to visit before your time comes for real. I’d like to see you again too. Is that alright?”

They grinned. “Yes, of course.”

“Alright then.” The wolf unsheathed his scythes and thrust them upwards, cutting through the air. A shimmering door of light opened in front of the two. He smiled seeing the wonder on their face. “Let’s go.” And he whistled as they went.

#puss in boots #puss in boots death #death x reader #puss in boots muerte #muerte x reader #the last wish #x reader #.writing

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that-damn-fouth-chaosemerald · 9 months

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𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞

—❢—

×A/N×

So here's the oneshot that I promised-

Bro, I can't write angst! 😭😭

Nvm-

I done it-

I think this is shittier than the previous version of this-

×❢ About my work ❢×

shitty angst, in the begining some fluff cuddling with Damien, The Readers death (hinted), very short, yandere Damien, but he doesn't really show that much sight of it-, use of (Y/N), no pronouns used for the reader, flashbacks, panic attack (hinted)

Type: Oneshot

Fandom: Markiplier Cinematic Universe (WKM)

Character(s): Damien, Y/N

Ship(s): Yandere Damien x Reader

Word count: Short cause I can't write sh.t-

—❢—

𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈: (I haven't find one yet-)

It was a beautiful day outside.

It was still dawn and the sky was so clear and beautiful. Many different colours played trough the sky as a little wind tickled Damien's hair.

It almost felt like a dream.

Your breathed calmly on Damien's chest, still sleeping in his arms. Damien could smell your sweet fragrance mixed with the flower's lovely scent. Damn, you felt so good. He would do anything for you just to keep you by his side.

You were right, infact it was a good idea to escape just a little from those boring paperworks.

He never was an outgoing guy. Not because he didn't like the nature, it's just he was so busy all the time. He wanted to spend time with you, and you chose to have a nice picnic outside. People wasn't really happy about this idea and to be honest at first he was a bit worried too aswell. What if someone sees him? Don't get him wrong, he didn't felt worried because he could get seen with you, he was afraid that someone will ruin you two's perfect moment.

Fortunately, you just had the perfect place to hide from the paper work and the crowd aswell! Trees hided you just perfectly and anyway people didn't seem to take walks around here when it was still dark.

Damien took a last breath of your sweet scent as he looked up at the sky, then he slowly closed his eyes.

• • •

Damien woke up in alarm as a loud crack could be heard from the thunder. When he figured out it was just the weather, he focused on his heart - which was beated like it would want to beak free from his chest - to calm it down.

He sat on the edge of the bed before he decided to left his room. The whole manor was probably sleeping deeply as he walked through the corridors.

Suddenly, he stopped at one specific door.

You were always afraid of thunders.

And just like he was called by an emergency he pulled down the doorhandle as quickly as possible.

He looked around the room calling your names gently so many times. Just silence came back. Damien spotted the bed and slowly walked to it.

Oh, yeah, right. You are not here. Not anymore.

He touched the soft material of the quilt. The bed was cold as it always been since then.

The coverlet was already swapped, not holding your missed scent anymore.

He went too far on that night. He didn't mean to harm you, he never was. He just wanted to keep safe his most beautiful person he ever seen from... well, from everything.

Damien's hands started to shake slightly as his grip got stronger on the fabric.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N)." The only thing he could say with all those regret and emotion in his being.

It was an accident. If only you would have listen to him! If only you just stayed beside him and let him to keep you safe none of this would've happen. He wouldn't have to keep his tears back as his grief slowly tears apart his whole body. He wouldn't have to be reminded of how much of an failure he is of not keeping you safe.

If only he would've just controlled himself for that one minute.

He slowly let go the sheets. His whole body shivered from the anxiety and his hands were sweaty from the warm of the material.

He took a shaky breath before he made his way to the door.

"Good night, (Y/N)."

The sound of the door shut slowly faded in with the rain's small knockings on the window. The room was still as cold as it had left behind.

#mark fishbach #markiplier fandom #markiplier universe #markiplier cinematic universe #markiplier egos #damien markiplier #wkm damien #Damien the Mayor #wkm #who killed markiplier #Damien x reader #mark fischbach #markiplier #x reader #mark edward fischbach #oneshot

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dailytatsu · 3 years

Note

Hello! I saw request were open so i was wondering if i could request some headcanons of the Archons and/or the Adepti meeting a God reader who is the God of Chaos and destruction. The reader is not a Archon tho and travels all over Teyvat cuz small bits of destruction were ever they go. They're pretty mischievous and somewhat smug but despite how they act they're actually a good person. They dont mean to cause problems(most of the time anyways) chaos follows them were ever they go. Idk if you have a character limit but if you do please tell me so i wont make a mistake again. And if there is you can just do Zhongli and Xiao. Optionally could you make them a dendro user, there not a lot of dendro content and if not thats fine. I understand. Could you make the reader Gn or Non-binary they/them pronouns please? If not male reader is totally fine. Im so sorry for the long post and I hope you have a good day/night!

Ohmy, it’s my first time just writing headcanons! I’m use to write a lot, so let’s hope I did it right (^ ^' )7

Thanks for the request! ✨

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[HC] God of Chaos! Reader and the Archons + Xiao

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao, Venti, Shogun Raiden (Ei).

Gn! Reader

I tried doing it with everyone but I’m no still that confident to try writing with some characters ＿|￣|○

Sorry for any mistakes!

Request are open!

Genshin Masterlist

Second part ->

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VENTI

To be honest, he didn't notice your presence at first. He had other concerns on his mind that day to perceive the chaotic (and slightly threatening) aura that Mondstadt was infected with that day.

Barbatos is a person of habit, so he couldn't help but be curious when the crowd in front of him began to look a little agitated instead of seeming to enjoy his lyre and his songs.

But then a series of domino events appeared in front of his very eyes.

The purity of the chaos was such that he felt overwhelmed, even without the white-haired boy around, if it wasn’t Bennett fault, then how was it possible for everything to be ruined in such a short time?

His patience ended when, out of nowhere, the strings of his lyre jumped close to his face as they snapped. Making that awful noise that couldn’t mean nothing good.

Okay, enough, who is messing around in here? No more joking in his nation!

He concentrated a little, a faint but unique presence kept his nerves on edge, as if he was being watched from afar. He moved away from the busy areas and then chased that ephemeral energy to the highest point of the church, where the bells were ringing in an irregular and stressful way.

Then he found you. Snoozing against one of the columns, somewhat tired because the trip you made to reach Mondstadt.

Surprisingly, Barbatos understood you since the first exchange of words. A god of chaos who was also a free spirit, you followed no rules ever written in Teyvat, and you had no plans to apologize for the mess you made.

Both of you were Zhongli’s worst nightmare, but that’s another story.

He managed to through your arrogance and your teasing nature that you, in fact, were a lonely spirit that liked to witness the life from above of everyone.

The difference between teasing someone accidentally and committing a crime was really visible, but he still couldn't help but feel like he should scold you after your mere presence messed up with the guild's baskets full of fish.

But hey! He also enjoy the company! Venti tried to teach you how to enjoy the calm and the whisper of wind, music can also contain chaos, feelings, old stories waiting to be told again, expressions and desire united, in a wonderful piece of-

As you yawned his lyre broke up again. Making clear the message.

Okay, not even God of Freedom and Wind can control chaos. Anyways, what a tragedy, but there’s nothing a simple bard can do, smh.

“Do you like kids, don’t you?” He said once, after a nice day of hearing him sing before your chaos reached his little concert. Again watching everyone from above on the hands of the statue, with your attention caught by some kids playing tag.

“… I don’t know what do you mean.” Once discovered you had no choice but to remain defensive, pretending to be disinterested.

“Heh, you aren’t a good liar.” It may not be the wisest thing to make fun of someone who could destroy the place where you were resting, but Venti was confident that he knew you well enough to know that you were not so explosive. “You know!, I just have some pieces, but I think it’s because they are little walking concentrations of pure and innocent chaos, am I wrong?”

He wasn’t, no at all. But you would never confess something that embarrassing.

This guy wrote a ballad about the days when Mondstadt got immerse with that strike of bad luck. Kind of an apology of not being able to handle the situation.

Now there’s the rumor that says that, every time somebody sings that song, something unlucky will happen in front of you.

The song is cursed.

One night when the moon was shining on the Cider Lake his well tuned ears distinguished a melody that was broken from time to time by the accidents of his performer, distracting him of his way to look for you.

It could be painful to listen to, but Venti could certainly feel the dedication of the one who was playing the imperfect song.

The ballad of the god of chaos, hummed like a lullaby that instead of making you sleep makes you question the events of the day. Wishing for the slightest thing to be different after an exhaustive week of peace and tranquility.

A lonely spirits cursing their existence, sitting in the highest point of a stranger’s palace, where you can reach the sky by only rising your hand.

The next day, Barbatos invited you to drink some wine, this time near Windrise to avoid accidents in the city.

As he almost dropped the bottle when a lot of slimes were attracted by your presence, he confirmed the theory about that the way to spend time with you would not be his personal definition of hanging out.

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ZHONGLI

Okay, there’s only two scenarios that could happened when you set a foot in Liyue.

Old man has a soft spot for you for being a relative young deity.

Or he’s always lecturing you for not having control of your aura and powers.

How u dare bringing chaos to the nation of order? It’s that a death wish?

Jokes aside, you’re not really a threat. And he could sense that after he saw how you tried to avoid having direct contact with the city. Rex Lapis found your silhouette jumping and crossing through the mountains until reaching the fairest point that allowed you to enjoy the view of the streets that were filled with life and light as the sunsets.

He even noticed how you sighed in frustration when a storm started out of nowhere. A rain dedicated just for the arriving of the God of Chaos. Not even bothering of getting shield, you stayed in your place to look at all the people who were getting back to their places.

The rain seemed to stop over your head, for a second was enough to stop you from being cruelly swamped by the very weather you had created. An elegant umbrella covered you, the long awaited surprise you expected from someone as outdated as Morax.

You looked up, and found his expression calm and attentive, watching you. As if he had made a great discovery that he could not believe

“May I have a moment of your time to keep you company? Letting out your sorrows in the middle of a torrential storm is not what I would recommend as way to spend a good day.”

“… What are you talking about? Get in your own business, old man.”

“Well, you should know that a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.”

Next time you knew was that he was helping you to dry your hair with a towel once you let him guide you to his place.

Zhongli picked you up like a abandoned cat that day. Even if having you near meant to deal with new the roof leaks.

Also kept you away from Hu Tao, if you two ever get along for being partners in crime he would seal himself underground-

For all the time you spend exploring Liyue, there he was. Like a little kid showing his treasures. But also like a worried father looking after his child for them not to stumble making their first steps.

Look at you! Almost crushing those Treasure Hoarders when a bunch of rocks fell down after you jumped at the edge of the cliff.

Wait, no- come back here! You should verify the surroundings and be aware of the weight of your power if you’re going to explore in that bold way. You, chaotic brat.

Another one who believed fervently that your mood was to blame for the constant chaos you caused. He also tried to show you the wonders of peace and calm, teaching you how to prepare tea while listening to the storyteller (also both being a little far away from the rest of them, just in case).

He couldn’t help but sigh when the teapot arm broke as soon as you tried to serve the tea. What a waste, he thought.

You apologized to him, kind of stressed with yourself after you took all the pieces with your bare hands to run away with them. Leaving a confused Zhongli behind.

Next day you were back, with the teapot repaired and just like new.

He let out a lot of thankful words, some flattering and a lot more cheesy things that you never had received before.

With that unexpected affection you couldn’t help but react flustered; then a cat that was chasing a bird jumped through a lot of decorations and merchandise, almost starting a fire as the chained events kept going.

Yeah,, uh, Zhongli got some useful mental notes about you and your chaos that day.

Hey, before you go, want to make a contract? You won’t regret it!

But as the wandering spirit you were you had no problems in reject his offer, but also promising that you would visit Liyue if he wanted you to.

Of course he wanted! But.. maybe next time you should stay in Huaguang Stone Forest instead of roaming near the city,,

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XIAO

Tried to kill you.

I mean, your aura is threatening and full of a destructive energy, how is possible that you weren’t a demon to eradicate??

Sorry, but he had a point.

Your first met was on your way to reach Huaguang Stone Forest along with Zhongli for introduce you with the Adeptus.

Xiao, in the other side, thought that you were about to attack Morax from behind, so he just struck against you. With his polearm near to go through your chest, just stopped because you felt him before.

Lifting your hand at his direction, summoning chaos, this time, on purpose. The wind gained a wrathful nature and the biggest roots that were hiding under his feet rose to caught him.

And when you were about to hit each other Zhongli’s shield appeared just in time to separate both of you. Preventing a real catastrophic event.

Now stop fighting and introduce to each other.

Nice(n’t) to meet u.

What if you tried to awake Azhdaha to bring chaos and destruction to Liyue? What if you wanted to summoned Osial? What if… ?

Zhongli had to confirm and promise to him that those cruel possibilities won’t be a near future for respecting the real reason of your travel.

No matter if he wasn’t comfortable with your presence, it wasn’t his decision to allow you to roam freely, so he had to get use to it.

He immediately knew after hearing about your nature that was your fault that lately there were a lot more demons and monsters. Even his karma was getting more painful than usual.

(If you ever meet Hu Tao, please think twice before doing Xiao a prank)

You both didn’t interact a lot, and being honest, it was better that way.

He hadn’t a single intention of talking with you again until the day you were practicing the song that your Anemo friend taught you. By the other hand, Xiao noticed that the melody had the same nature as the one he once heard before being consumed by the karma.

It wasn’t a flute, but a worn lyre that was still in one piece after weeks of being repaired again and again.

“That song… ”

“Do you know it?” Xiao just nodded, staying in silence, being your very first audience even if you still have a lot to learn about playing a lyre.

It wasn’t as effective as the original, but was still… nice, kind of nostalgic.

Next morning, the Yaksha called for you. Made you stay still in the middle of a plain and then he disappeared of your sight.

He abandoned y- wait, what’s that? Why those monsters has that weird dark aura?

You were about to defend yourself until Xiao appeared back just in time to defeat them.

That day you became his personal bait for demons and monsters. Naturally you attracted chaos, so anyway you were, there will be also something to fight.

I guess this is your way to pay for all the troubles you made for him and his duty, so no complaining about it.

If you ask for a unexpected experience to Ganyu she would said that once she found both of you fighting along against the catastrophe, looking after each other’s back and almost having a perfect synchrony.

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SHOGUN RAIDEN; EI

Also tried to kill you.

Well, the puppet tried to.

And then Ei tried when you had the opportunity of facing her.

But since killing a god just mean the releasing of a lot, pure, energy she couldn’t afford that risk, much less considering your “speciality”.

Who knows what would happen to Inazuma if your vital energy burst across the nation. Just like that old story about Sal Terrae and their goddess.

She just defeated you. Letting you rest and recovering in the midst of the plane of her reality within her mind. Your inert body in the middle of the battlefield as she kept meditating.

When you woke up she ignored your presence, but also denying your complaints about letting you go out back.

In her words, you were a burden, another enemy of eternity. Something as unpredictable as you and your “accidents” couldn’t get along with her utopia.

Ei could banish you from Inazuma, but she knows your type. Stubborn and not accepting the most simple orders to obey.

She knew that you would found a way to be back.

It’s better like this.

And in the hypothetical case of you being freed when she trapped the traveler (kicking you out) and then having a chance to see her again after the end of the war, then things would be somewhat different.

There’s not that much of civilization on some islands, so she allowed you to explore as much as your heart wanted. But if something serious happen, she promised that would end her work in the middle of the sea so your remains never be found.

Okay, message clear. Just do chaos near monsters and bandits, got it,,

Even if she wanted to spend some time with you and telling you some stories about Inazuma and other gods she couldn’t found the right time to call you at her presence.

As the current ruler of Inazuma she was busier than the rest of Archons you have meet. Maybe just some letters now and then like a way to keep a logbook, but not really a face to face talk.

Until she got the opportunity of a day off, just to found you messing around near some ruins. Trying to solve a puzzle before your speciality strikes in. The structure fell down after your fingertips reached the stone.

When the dust dissipated, you discovered her figure judging you from the other side of the remain ruins.

Give her a good reason for not errase you from the map, I dare u.

You felt the worst was about to come when Ei ordered you to follow her after a long sigh. Crossing her arms and starting to walk away from the bunch of old and worn rock.

Plot Twist, she actually invited you to rest under a tree, asking in her serene voice the reason for your journey and your origin. In such a direct way that it seemed more like a sentence than a talk to get to know each other better.

You answered what you could remember and then the silence stayed like the only way of interaction between you two.

Ohno, you know this pattern. Something’s about to happen-

“There is some strange beauty in the chaos, it may be the calm after the storm, but the catastrophe itself is seen as a necessary evil to appreciate the stillness. How much it would last until the lighting hit the valley?”

“So I arrived to keep order between the humans?”

Well yes, but actually no.

“… You see, if there is nothing but order and a lack of problems, mortals are likely to create them on their own. Their minds feels the need to be tested, to prove their worth, so I guess some of your chaos may be part of the history.”

“… then shall we take a walk in Inazuma?” You did not know if you were right, but you thought you saw a faint smile through his lips in the same way that lightning can be seen in the sky.

“I’ll allow it.” She said.

Her only condition was for you not to approach the huge boxes of fireworks down the street.

692 notes · View notes

jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Anything at All (boba fett x fem!reader) (part one) (part two)

Rated: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: smut, even mORE thrONE fucking, oral sex (f receiving), boba’s a biter, unprotected sex (dont be silly, wrap thAT wiLLY), vaginal fingering, explicit language, boba is a grouchy dom kwjhgjh

a/n: anyway I think yall forget im a writer and not just a Certified Clown, but anywAy here we be. HAPPY NEW YEARS ya FILTHY anIMALS im so thankful for all yall and im glad I can provide you with some entertainment kaejhejhr

You haven’t seen Boba Fett in days.

Called away on business you’ll never be included in or know the fine details about. It’s not kept away from you because he doesn’t trust you, or thinks you’re a mindless idiot—no—he’d rather keep his princess occupied with prettier things. No need to concern yourself with the the underbelly of what he now rules.

You’re not upset about it—you’re not really a fan of watching petty squabbles that’ll result in someone’s chest being imploded by a blaster. You’ve seen enough of it in the cantina, and while you were never the one tasked with clearing the bodies out—it was still mildly traumatizing. Eh—no need to dwell.

You’ve got other shit to do anyway.

There’s a seemingly endless zigzag of secret hallways and dusty rooms within the palace, teeming with strange knickknacks and ancient artifacts that are more than likely cursed. Definitely haunted—but it doesn’t stop you from exploring or sorting through the useless junk. Besides—Fennec stayed behind, acting as your glorified babysitter for the past few cycles—ensuring your safety from both whoever dared step foot into the palace and the ghosts. What a lovely woman.

Speaking of which—you hear her sigh and shuffle, shifting her weight onto her other foot as she leans back against a dusty crate. She picks at the dirt beneath her fingernails, lazily glancing up every now and then to check that you haven’t eviscerated yourself on a piece of scrap metal or something. Lucky for her, all you found today was an abandoned crate of old datapacs shoved in the back corner from what you assumed to be some sort of office. Yesterday you found a sword that was promptly confiscated.

“I’d be careful snooping around in those,” Fennec warns as your fingers find the on switch. “You never know what sorta data the Hutts were keeping here.”

You shrug and wave away her concern, reading over the information that flickers across the screen. “I think I’ll be ok…See?” You pointedly wave the datapac in her direction. “This one is about the finances. Spooky.”

Fennec rolls her eyes followed by an amused smirk that ghosts over her lips. You toss it aside and root around some more, pulling out another datapac. The blue hologram flickers to life and as you decipher the little lines of text your face falls. Each line is a name, previous and recently bought or traded people that crossed the threshold of the palace. Fennec was right. This isn’t fun anymore.

“These are…slaves.” Your lips curls in disgust. “How is this still not outlawed? It’s barbaric.”

“You’re not from Tatooine, are you?” Fennec asks as she meanders over and wrestles the datapac out of your hands. She switches it off and tosses it back into the dusty crate. You huff and cross your arms over your chest.

“No,” you agree. “Im from Arkanis. But even there we don’t have slaves.”

Fennec squats beside you, her elbows resting over her bent knees. She playfully taps your shoulder with the back of her hand and quirks a brow. “What’d I tell you—snooping doesn’t do anyone any good.”

You roll your eyes and shrug, a frown still etched on your lips. Fennec sighs, rubs her chin and then reaches out to push a stray hair behind your ear. A flush blooms up your cheeks at the gentle touch.

“You have a sensitive soul, Kitten,” she chuckles, poking at your cheek that you’re certain she can feel the heat emirate from. “You said you were from Arkanis—tell me about it. Why come to Tatooine?”

Your lips quirk in a tiny smile as you bat away her pointer finger, saving your cheek from another poke. “Hey—not everyone likes rain ok?” You huff. “Besides, Tatooine wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”

She nods. Unsure what exactly to tell her--a silence ensues. It’s not terribly awkward but it’s enough that makes you jumpy and itching to move on from this room now stained with information you weren’t prepared on finding. You stand suddenly, brush yourself off and mutter under your breath about finding something less…heartbreaking.

Fennec jumps up as well and when you leave the room her hand clamps over your shoulder. She spins you around and levels her gaze onto you. “You’re free to leave whenever you like. You know that right?”

Your brows furrow. “I know—don’t worry, I want to stay.”

Her head bobs with a satisfied nod. “We’d miss you if you left. You’re nice to have around.”

You blush again and mumble out a thank you, shooting off into another unexplored location to escape Fennec’s knowing smirk. Maker—you’re embarrassing.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Boba returns later that afternoon—the shadow of his familiar figure stretches around the curved stairway, the purposeful stomps of his boots against the carved steps following with it. Your heart flutters within your chest, like a distressed creature with wings as you jump from your makeshift seat.

You come face to face with Boba. Or, helmet rather—whatever.

The smell of hot metal and dry air sticks to him as he paces closer, closing the small gap that separates him from you. You’re frozen beneath the heavy weight of his stare behind the void like black of his visor as he plants himself firmly before you, close enough that his cuirass could brush your chest if he puffed out his own chest.

“Hi…” You smile, a fragile vale of uncertainty blanketing the pair of you—still attempting to feel out his mood, sort through the general gruffness of his personality and gage wether or not you could reach out and touch him. The helmet is a tricky thing to read and his body language gives nothing away. You swallow your nerves take a leaping risk.

“Let me see your face.” You murmur. You move your hands up to the edges of his helmet at a snail’s pace, giving him ample time to slip through your fingers—wedge a sharp thorn between whatever it is that you’ve built and name it for what it is.

He doesn’t choose that option.

With a low hum, Boba dips his helmet closer to your outstretched fingertips instead. The metal is cool under your palms as they fold over the sides of the helmet and pull up. The metal whispers against his skin like wind through tall grass as the point of his chin peeks out, followed by his lips, his nose, and finally those golden brown eyes. They glitter with amusement as you release a shaky breath, the helmet the only thing acting as a barrier as you clutch it near your sternum. His mouth quirks when you blush and glance away—focusing on the little silvery nicks the green paint refused to cover. You rub your thumb over the blaster pockmark that dents the metal—you frown. You hope that wasn’t recent.

Boba gently pries the helmet out of your hands and sets it onto the armrest of his throne. He purrs your name and pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, leading your attention back to him. Your eyes flit up his scars—your breath catching in your throat as he smiles.

“Hello, princess,” he says—the grit and timbre of this new nickname jumpstarting your heart to skip and choke on its own tireless beat.

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and shake your head. “Boba, I’m not—“

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence—

Boba spreads his fingers over your jaw, tilts your head and swoops down to meet your lips in a dizzying kiss. Hard, hungry, victorious, breathless—like he’s spent years fighting and only now takes a moment to slow down—drown in the softness of your lips and skin. His hands claw at your arms, your clothes, your hair—like you’re the spoils of battle and he fears losing you to the shadows of his past and some hidden horror that nips at his heels. He kisses like a man terrified that this will be brief, intangible and something that’ll abandon him.

He trails after your lips when you break away—your lungs heaving for precious air. He doesn’t let you go far, ensuring your positioning by tangling his fist into your hair at the nape of your neck and scraping his lips up your cheek, enticing you into another kiss. You tilt you chin to meet him with equal fervor, whining as his warm tongue curls sweetly into your mouth. His existence fills your veins with liquid silver—evokes the bloom of crackling star fire beneath the cavity of your ribcage. Every thought starts with him and ends with your heart aching to burst into a million tiny shards.

The next time you part, Boba is the first one to pull away. He cups your cheeks between his weathered hands and plants a tender kiss just below your hairline. You swear you can feel the skin buzz from the touch—like every atom in your being was solely created for him to command and conquer. You sigh and lean into his palm.

“I missed you.” You admit with a small smile.

Boba leans closer and presses another kiss to your forehead. “And I you, little one.”

“I got worried, y’know,” you continue, your fingers tapping a trail up the front of his chest plate. You trace the repainted insignia with your fingernail and flash him a coy smirk. “You never called—thought maybe you found a new pretty thing.”

He grunts, shakes his head and sweeps a rogue strand of hair behind your ear. “Hilarious—my hands are full enough with you hounding me every five minutes.”

You puff out your bottom lip and feign offense, mumbling some lame whine like a petulant brat. Boba snorts and crowds closer. He presses his gloved thumb between your furrowed brows, smoothing out the wrinkles and then cups your cheeks between both palms. You freeze as he carefully knocks the crown of his forehead onto yours—it’s sweet.

An excited smile splits when he moves his head to your right, the syllables of each word rolling off his tongue sweeter than spiced honey. “I’ll make it up to you, pretty thing,” he whispers by your ear, his warm breath disturbing the fine hairs there. “How does that sound, hm?”

That’s not even a question you would ever dream of denying—you quickly nod. “I’d like that.”

Boba drops his hands from your face and peels himself away. His eyes trickle down your figure—calculative and analytic—planning out each move to pick apart the entirety of your being. “Take everything off.”

You comply without a second thought—slipping free from the breezy cotton and scratchy poncho you stole from a storage room. The fabric pools at your feet in an unceremonious pile—leaving you bare for him. Despite the sickening dry heat that pollutes the air and causes beads of sweat to gather at your hairline—goosebumps rush up your arms under Boba’s piercing stare.

Boba’s eyes flicker to the throne. A feral grin tugs at his lips. “Sit.”

This time you hesitate. Did he…? No—you must’ve heard wrong—

He quirks a brow and gestures to the throne. “Well? Are you going to listen?”

Your tongue slides over your chapped lips. “O-ok..I just—never mind…”

Scrounging up some courage, you gingerly seat yourself onto Boba Fett’s throne. Chills race along the entirety of your body as the freezing metal seeps into your warm flesh. You squirm and beat away the urge to wrap your arms around yourself—he wouldn’t like that—probably would take it as some sort of insult anyway—

All your current discomforts melt away in a fraction of a breath as Boba Fett lowers himself to one knee, and then the other. A king kneeling before his very own throne for someone like you. Someone who’ll be lost to the pages of history and the endless swirl of galaxies and supernovas—you’re nobody to the world, but to him you’re everything. You inhale a shaky breath as a strange stroke of pride alights through your body as he peels off his gloves and maneuvers himself flush against the edge of the throne and between your thighs.

Boba bows forward and slips his calloused hands around your ribcage to tug you closer. His lips land over your collar bone, slides his tongue over the protrusion then sinks his teeth into you there. You gasp as he slides lower, leading a trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake. Boba moves his palms, up and in to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples. A whimper escapes past your lips as he catches the pebbled bud between his lips, the hard enamel of his teeth scraping over it—meant to tease. Your nails dig into the fabric bunched around his neck as he moves on to suck your other nipple, the cooling saliva sending a chill down your spine as it dries.

You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core. You’re already wet—worked up and impatient. You roll your head back onto your shoulders and bite your lip. If you complain and tell him to hurry up you’re scared he’ll leave you like this—deny you that pleasure you’ve been craving for days.

It feels like ages before he moves on from your breasts, now smattered with bruises and his saliva, and carves out a blinding path down your sternum, your belly, then your navel with his tongue. Boba circles your bellybutton—you force down the ticklish nerves and stay still for him.

You don't mean to jump as his rough hands drop over your knees. You barely get out the first syllable of an apology when his hands slip up your bare thighs, curl around the swell of your ass and yank. You squeak as the edge of the throne bites into your tailbone, the majority of your lower half forced to lean on Boba’s shoulders and his greedy hands. He kisses the inside of your knee—you jolt with an airy gasp.

Boba picks up his head and smirks. “Look at me when I taste you, little one.”

Mouth suddenly drier than dust, you nod dumbly.

He hums, satisfied with your weak response and continues on.

Boba’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver. They sweep up towards the apex of your thighs, settling close enough to reach your aching center. You know he’s there—it’s impossible to ignore him—but you curse anyway when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They steadily work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch.

“Patience, princess,” he rumbles, shifting his weight to better reach your cunt. “Maker—you’re dripping already.”

There's a moment just before Boba commits, his face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, hot breath, anticipation gripping your chest. And then he licks a broad stripe from the base of your pussy all the way up to your swollen clit.

His mouth Is searing, his tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his head. He grunts against you as you drag him closer—greedy for everything he deems you worthy of. Boba’s mouth pinpoints around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter—it’s a struggle not to shut them completely. He asked you to watch after all…

He then trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your entrance, skips over it completely to lick at the wetness dripping lower that threatens to pool onto the throne or the floor. He opens his mouth wide and hums in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life.

“Fuck—Boba,” you cry, canting your hips into his mouth.

It's perfect. So fucking good.

The tips of his thick fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the fluttering ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The two digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness, glinting in the low light. With a smirk, Boba thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that he refuses to stray from. It leaves you just hovering along the sharp edge of oblivion, the catch of his knuckles and calloused skin along your walls pure torture. Stars—he’s going to be the death of you—

Your hips arch into him, trying to urge him to go faster. Instead, he slowly retracts his fingers and removes his mouth. You gasp in frustration as your cunt clenches around thin air. It almost hurts.

“I told you to be patient,” Boba chuckles, massaging a warm palm along the outside of your thigh. “You’re behaving like a brat.”

“I’m—I—I’m sorry—“ You wheeze, trying to rope in some self control that fled a long time ago. Your wits are scrapped thin as you throw your hand against the back of the throne. You don’t care that he’s rendered you to a begging mess, your words slurred and hardly understandable. You're so close to diving off the edge—so near to those plush lips and weathered hands that’ll surely become your salvation. "Please! P-please—I need..."

You're babbling as he drags his fingertips over your thigh, skims over your cunt, and traces a pattern into your opposite thigh. "Boba. Fuck. I pro-promise to be better—I can do it. Please—“

He complies.

Two fingers are thrust up into your dripping cunt, curving so deliciously into something that feels like unrefined plasma bolts. His mouth dips down and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight.

You're flying off you’re high, faster than a fucking speeder with tampered gears. You cum onto his tongue with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Boba keeps licking you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Stars implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jetfuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Boba, and feel the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue.

Your brain swims in hazy bliss and fuzzy pleasure as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it hurts. You're too sensitive. Your nerves are rubbed raw and you're still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. He takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a blade against flesh. Your thighs quiver around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves that wrenches a cry from you. Your orgasm floods through you veins, bursting and rupturing every cell in your being. This one is blistering—charrs all the way to the fucking bone. Your core pulses around Boba’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease into a dull throb. You whimper and push at his forehead because he's still licking at your cunt. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

Boba leaves absolutely no time to completely float down from your high—you squeak as his hands shoot up to grab at your hips, wrenching you off the throne and all but throwing you onto the same floor he kneels on. You flash him a dopey grin, letting your legs fall open for his enjoyment—

“Such a filthy princess,” he chuckles, extending a hand to cover your knee, bending it further out to expose more of your flushed cunt. “You taste sweeter than star cherries.”

You preen at his compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

It earns you an amused huff. Boba scrapes the hand resting on your knee to the apex of your legs, thumb and forefinger gently parting your delicate, slick folds. You bite back a keening whine, utterly exposed to him as he slips the hood back from the throbbing knot of nerves at the top of your slit. Too raw. Your pussy clenches involuntarily, causing everything from your toes to your hips stiffen. Boba hums in delight at his handiwork.

“Stars, Boba—please…” You beg, voice breathy and soft like whips of spider silk. Boba makes a sound that oozes with smug pleasure, teasing your sore clit with unadulterated glee. “Please,” you hear yourself whimper over your pounding pulse, shifting in his grasp and praying he’ll put an end to this sickly sweet torture.

“Pretty little thing, begging for my cock…” He rasps, darkly threaded sin and the husky scrape of the gray sea licking up jagged, black rock. You’re certain he could talk you into unraveling at the seams, untouched and putty in his hands for him to mold and shape. Boba’s other hand sweeps up your sternum, his fingertips dancing along the mythosaur pendant coiled around your neck. He then curls his thick fingers around the base of your throat and ever so lightly squeezes. “Poor baby—all worked up after a few days…I’ll fix that for you.”

Before you can fully process, he grabs the swell of your hip and flips you onto your belly. The air from your lungs is knocked out of your chest, the abrasive sandstone bitting into the points of your elbows and patches of your skin and no doubt leaving behind irritated scrapes. You hear the shuffle of fabric and then Boba suddenly seizes your hips and arches them into his crotch, grinding the deliciously hard length of his cock through your wet folds. Throbbing and just as desperate as you are, Boba refrains from flinging you into another bout of teasing. He slicks himself up with your arousal and drags the tip of himself to your clenching center and sinks that first, glorious inch inside of you.

With a low groan, Boba pushes in deeper, watching your tight hold flutter and accommodate his thick length. It’s the same as before during that night in the cantina—dreadfully full and all but bursting at the seems. The gentle rocks of his hips and gravelly praise eventually allow him to finally bottom out, his sharp hipbones resting against the swell of your ass as you shudder and groan. Fuck—

You can feel him in your fucking guts.

Boba grants you a brief moment to settle and then—it’s catastrophic.

Your jaw drops in a silent scream when he pulls back, all the way to the tip and slams back into your tight heat. Boba’s hand tangles into your hair at the nape of your neck and and pulls, forcing your back into a sharp arch. The action leaves more of you open, somehow pressing in even further. He hits so deeply within you—stars it feels like he’s splitting you open and laying you bare.

His dark chuckle resonates above you—a bit breathy as he tames his own frazzled nerves. “Shit—that feels good. Doesn’t it, princess?”

Your incoherent babble makes him laugh as he gives your hair a playful tug, all the while he never stops thrusting in and out of you. You wiggle your hips, the slight shift makes it ache, and the sharp downward thrusts put delirious pressure on that patch of nerves that renders you dizzy. Every muscle in your body feels like it’s a tightly spooled cable, fraying and an inch away from snapping. Your gasping breaths pitch into airy squeaks as the fist twisted in your hair tightens, tugging your head back just a bit more.

Boba lurches foreword, the nip of beskar a frigid shock to the bare skin of your back when he lays over you, his elbows caging you in close. His head drops onto your shoulder blade, pressing sloppy kisses over the arch of your throat and slope of your shoulder—without warning he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck. Maker save you—

The feral drag of Boba’s teeth digging into your sensitive flesh skin makes you squeeze around his cock—Boba answers with a soft growl that vibrates against the skin of your shoulder. Somehow he fucks into you harder, his pace becoming brutal. Your nails scrabble against the floor, searching for some sort of anchor as you wail under him.

It’s too much—fuck, you’re gonna implode. Pinned between the rough sandstone and the hand in in your hair, mixed with the sharp pain of his teeth marring your skin—you loose it. Sensing your peaking orgasm, Boba’s fingers wedge between your legs to toy with your clit. He rubs quick circles with two fingers as he purrs words of filth into your ear—how good his pretty thing is for him, how well you came for him, how tight you are.

“There you go, little one,” Boba says, his words like a tendril of dark smoke. “Cum for your king.”

His efforts are quickly rewarded as you shudder and lock up harder than durasteel beneath him. A blinding surge of vicious heat, knocks you clean off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs as your nails dig into the sandstone—trembling and grappling blindly for a foothold in your own head. The cold chest plate is a much needed anchor for the overwhelming intensity that threatens to drown you and bury you six fix under.

He bites down again when he cums, his hips digging into you with short, rough jabs. “Fuck—you take me so well.” You squirm, feeling his cock throb and spill into you, making the mess between your legs smear over your thighs. His thrusts stutter to a stop as he sighs deeply and pulls out, a mixture of his cum and your arousal spilling onto the floor. Boba huffs above you, drags a finger through your swollen folds and pushes it back inside of you. “Good girl.”

You shiver—reduced to a useless puddle with no intent from moving off the floor as Boba’s weight moves away. You could sleep here—that’s something completely plausible you think. Nice, warm dirt—

Boba purrs your name—the sound piquing your interest enough that you overcome the heaviness that’s settled in your body and move your head. He’s returned to his throne, cheeks a bit flushed and his chest rising and falling to recover precious air. You watch as Boba peels off his cuirass with practiced ease, and lays it with care onto the floor. He murmurs your name a second time and pats his lap, coaxing you off the floor.

You happily slither onto his thighs, exhausted and all too eager to be swept up into the warmth of his arms. He grunts as you tuck your head under his chin and cuddle into his chest, relishing the rough scrape of his palms folding over your shoulder and the outside of your thigh. His soft breaths tickle the top of your head paired with the quiet, but steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your fingertips and ear pressed onto his sternum. Your eyes flutter shut and though a hushed silence falls over the room, there’s nothing to be said.

Boba tucks his nose into your hair and you smile, the slow speak of your heart unraveling into a lush garden of something new and brittle—like flakes of frost in the early morning sun. He’s more bruise than bleed nowadays—a wound closed then reopened and he promises nothing of a future beyond what you have in these moments. And yet—

You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeach @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @cobbvader @maybege @clonewarslover55 @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c

#here we Go HERE we GO #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #the mandalorian #the mandalorian s2 #fennec shand #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #my writing

960 notes · View notes

spxllcxstxr · 3 years

Text

Inked • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Could I request a Soulmate AU with Sirius please? Marauders era with matching tattoos. No rush and thank you 🌹🖤 — @fific7

Summary: Mary is determined to find your soulmate and not even an oncoming storm will stop her. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: some tattoo talk?, rain, thunder, I guess hints/implied bullying, Peter makes an appearance but like he’s not a key part and he’s not like bad or anything

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: This is the kind of star I’m envisioning for your soulmark (just not yellow) I actually never specify the color, so you can imagine any color you want. This took me like a week to write for some reason. But I like how it turned out. Hopefully you guys do too! Love you all ❤️

****

No one ever told you that soulmarks tingled.

When the eight pointed star seared itself into the flesh of the inside of your left elbow at age sixteen, you thought that was it. You thought that it would just sit there innocently to the point where it wouldn’t cross your mind every second of every day, but Merlin were you wrong.

The prickling of the mark was constant, like pins and needles jabbing relentlessly into your arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was just an obnoxious and infuriating reminder that you still haven’t found your soulmate.

Hogwarts was practically the place for the vast majority of witches and wizards to find their soulmate, as it was basically the only topic discussed amongst the sixth and seventh years.

Honestly, you just wanted your mark to stop its incessant tingling to the point where you wouldn’t mind anyone being your soulmate. You’ve never heard any complaints from your friends who had already found their true loves, so you assume that the sensation stops eventually.

But you were tired of scratching at your arm making it look like you had some weird sort of flesh eating disease. It was unflattering and highly inconvenient.

Sure, you could run around like a headless hippogriff with your sleeve rolled up asking everyone you encounter if they’ve seen another person with that identical mark, but that’s not romantic. And you wanted romantic, Merlin damn it.

Plus, imagine the burn of embarrassment that would overtake your entire being if no one shared your soulmark. You shudder at the mere thought.

So, you learn to live with it.

You almost want to rip your arm off when it gets particularly bad while studying or trying to get the perfect measurement for your potion, but after a full year you’re almost used to it.

You’re used to how often your friends would gush about their own soulmates and their constant questions about why you’re still single as well.

Mary MacDonald, one of your best friends, had already found her soulmate, some boy from Beauxbatons that sent her too many Howlers during breakfast, but they loved each other, so who were you to complain?

But ever since she found hers, she’s been pretty determined to seek out yours. Even getting her boyfriend to ask around his own school. You can never show your face around Beauxbatons and that’s final.

She’ll make you sit around the courtyard, pretending to read a book, while she scans the arms of the many crowds in search of your star. Mary tries to walk in on top secret Quidditch practices to get a glimpse of any rolled up sleeves, but so far, no good.

That’s really the only reason she’s dragging you down to the Black Lake even though dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky.

“Mary!” You huff as she drags you down the grassy hills, the smell of rain thick in the air. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not daft, y’know.”

Her hand tightens around yours as she starts to feel you resist.

“What I’m doing? (Y/n), it’s a nice day to just hang out at the lake!” Mary cries, the lie hidden well if she wasn’t your best friend.

“Mary it’s about to torrential downpour.” You scoff.

“I thought you liked the rain.” She shrugs innocently, the sound of weeds getting crushed beneath your school shoes loud in your ears.

“Mary, my soulmate might not even be at Hogwarts!” You exclaim, trying to get out of this whole situation. You could be curled up by the fire with a sugar quill, but no, why would Mary let you have some peace and quiet? “They might be older or younger than me—“

“Well we won’t know that, will we, until we check everyone in our year first.” She insists.

The deep murky water is in sight, a few people are lazily lounging around the water’s edge. Like they haven’t even noticed the rain clouds overhead.

“You’re obsessed.” You sigh, finally stopping your attempts to wriggle away from her.

“It’s because I love you.” She smiles sweetly at you, cheeks pushed high, obscuring her dark eyes.

You continue to rub the inside of your arm against the side of your abdomen, attempting to find some sort of relief. The scratchy fabric of your white button down against your grey vest is probably the most effective. The closer to the bank you get, the better you’re able to make out the figures.

The owner of the vibrant red hair was obviously Lily, one of Mary’s friends, and also the more sensible of the group considering her coat was tightly wrapped around her. She’s in a somewhat similar situation as you—she hasn’t shown her soulmark to anyone. However, if what Mary drunkenly told you one night is true, it matches James Potter’s to a tee. Poor her.

Peter was also there, kicking rocks around and chuckling at whatever story Lily was telling them. His Gryffindor jumper is a little short on him while his slacks are a little long, mud dirtying the hem of them. As far as you know, he doesn’t even have a soulmark. It’s not uncommon or something to be ashamed of, but ever since certain people found out, it’s been quite the issue. Sure the infamous Marauders took care of the situation the best they could, but the damage was already done.

The last person was obviously Sirius, you could tell by the way he has his wand situated in his bun. He was closer to the water, picking up flat stones to skip across. His bark like laugh echoing across the space. You and Mary weren’t too far from the group now, so you could tell that the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open. Sirius Black’s soulmark was another mystery. He seems like the type to brag about something as important as a soulmark, but as far as you know, only James, Remus, and Peter were privy to that sort of information.

“Hey guys!” Lily perks up, waving at the two of you.

You smile and wave at her, but as Mary stops and chat, you gravitate closer to Peter and Sirius.

“So where are the other two?” You ask, watching as his stone skips across the water, finally ending with a satisfying plunk!

Sirius turns to face you, a few loose strands framing his face, blowing slightly in the wind.

“Detention.” He remarks casually, lazily trying to tame his curls.

“And you two aren’t?”

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically, blond hair bobbing around. “Sirius and I managed to escape before Slughorn lost it.”

“Hey Pete!” You hear Mary call from behind you. “Don’t you wanna know what you missed in Muggle Studies?”

“Shit, yeah.” Peter bounds over to where Lily and Mary are sitting, leaving you and Sirius alone. Your feet shuffle at the predicament.

You slowly inch closer to Sirius, the large distance awkward without a third person. You’re forced to hold down a wince as your mark prickles almost painfully.

Sirius’ eyes are almost the same shade as the clouds in the sky as they pierce into yours.

“You know how to skip rocks?” He tosses you a smooth stone which you catch effortlessly.

You open your mouth to respond but before you’re able to, you’re cut off by a clap of thunder. The ripples of thunder makes you jump slightly.

“We should probably go inside—“ You start, shivering at the cold wind that begins to roll past you.

“Scared of a little thunder, (Y/n)?” Sirius teases, smirking at your shivering form.

“Don’t be a prick.” You snort. “Just throw your rock.”

You push the thought of the oncoming storm to the back of your mind as you position yourself on the bank.

The water laps at you shoes as you toe the edge, running your thumb over the smooth surface. You mirror Sirius’ position, slightly crouched at the knee, body angled towards the lake.

“One...two...three!”

You watch his body move fluidly through the positions, the stone releasing and skipping across the water delicately. Not only do you get distracted by Sirius, but the mark on your arm gives a sudden jolt, making your posture falter and your stone crash recklessly into the lake.

Sirius brings a ringed fist up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” You grumble, embarrassed.

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. I thought you said you knew how to skip rocks?” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised, a chuckle still lightly escaping his amused smile.

“Technically, I didn’t tell you shit.” You remark. “The thunder cut me off.”

“Ah yes. The spooky thunder.” He drawls, wagging his painted fingers at you mockingly.

You bring your hand up to flick him off when you feel a cool dot of water drop onto your hand.

“Hey, did you just feel a—“

In the middle of talking, one raindrop becomes hundreds, the torrential downpour almost instantly soaking you to your bones. You hair plasters to your skin, clothes clinging onto you.

“—raindrop?” You utter weekly, a chill coming over you.

Your eyes widen as you look at Sirius, how his dark hair sticks wildly to his face, like curtains across his eyes.

Lily and Mary let out identical high pitched shrieks, and you hear the sound of mud squelching as the three run back towards the castle.

As Sirius tries to wipe the wet hair from his face, you grab onto his wrist, pulling him as your sprint back to the castle. You’re fumbling as you try not to slip in the mud but at the same time try get to the cover of the castle quickly.

“A little thunder, my arse, Sirius!” You huff out, his wrist still grasped tightly in your hand.

You hear him chuckle behind you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Cold water traces down your back and fills your shoes, your discomfort rapidly increasing with every step and every second you spend outdoors.

Your mind drifts off to Sirius, who was only in his white uniform button down. He must be freezing.

After sloshing through puddles and mucking up your shoes, you manage to get under the cover of the stone castle.

Your teeth are chattering and you body trembles, but at least the rain isn’t cutting into your skin anymore.

Lily, Mary, and Peter are nowhere to be found, though they’re probably making their way to the Gryffindor common room already.

Sirius is wringing out his drenched dark curls, his wand between his lips, but you’re too focused in the face that his shirt is now completely see through. Your eyes wander as you ogle his fit body, shamelessly trailing everywhere. You bite your bottom lip at your confidence.

However, something catches your eye as you admire his arms. A black splotch. Like a tattoo in the inside of his elbow. You somehow go colder than you already were.

“Admiring my beauty—Hey!”

You step forward and latch onto his arm, trying to get a better look at the spot on his arm. Initially, he struggles, but you jab your finger into his skin, your own mark tingling beneath your wet clothes.

“What’s your problem, (Y/n)?” He angrily grunts.

“What’s this, Sirius?” You demand, looking at him.

“Why?” Sirius rips his arm out of your grasp, trying his best to hide the mark from you.

“Because,” You explain, rolling up your own sleeve to expose the eight pointed star on your arm. “We might have something in common.”

Your entire body erupts into shivers both from the cold wind against your soaked skin and the way your soulmark buzzing.

The star stands out against your skin and you watch Sirius’ eyes widen, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Sirius.” You whisper. “I need to know if you’re my soulmate.”

The rain pounds against the castle, wind whistles, and thunder claps, and yet you don’t jump. You’re too focused on Sirius’ expression.

Silently, he brings his index finger to your mark and lightly traces the shape with his fingertip. His finger is cold, but you barely realize it because of the shock that runs through your body, originating from his touch. Goosebumps run wildly across your flesh.

He swallows harshly before pulling away and recklessly pushes his sleeve up the length of his arm. Your heart beats wildly in your chest in anticipation.

Sirius shoves his arm in front of you and you bring your gaze to focus on the inside of his elbow.

And there it is.

His soulmark.

Your soulmark.

The lines are clean and the points are sharp, the star is clear against his skin.

“Oh.”

“You’re my soulmate.” Sirius mutters. “Oh thank Merlin!” He’s laughing, a smile growing across his face.

His laughter is infectious and you find yourself joining him, practically jumping with glee.

Sirius latches onto you, pulling your wet bodies close. He brings his lips to your forehead, warmth spreading from the contact.

“We should celebrate.” Sirius remarks, pulling away just enough to see your entire form.

“Hold on.” You chuckle. “I think you’re forgetting to do something.”

His grey eyes flick down to your lips. “How could I ever forget the best part?” He smirks.

You lips are slow to connect, relishing in the sounds of the rain and how his his hands wrap around your elbows, thumb pressed into your mark.

When they finally join together, you feel whole. Like two puzzle pieces linked together. Eyes flutter shut as emotion run rampant through your body. Your mark tingles before fizzling out when you and Sirius disconnect.

You’re breathless as you cling onto him, as he clings onto you.

“We’ve got a party to throw,” Sirius grabs your hand. “soulmate.”

A stupid grin makes its way across your face.

“Lead the way, soulmate.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @quindolyn @fific7 @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

#Sirius black #sirius black x reader #Sirius black fluff #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black imagine #the marauders x reader

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samstree · 3 years

Text

Hug a Witcher Day (1/3)

Jaskier writes a new song ‘Hug a Witcher Day.’ It gains insane popularity and Geralt finds himself hugged by random strangers on one day every year. He just wishes a particular bard would hug him too.

By one person’s popular demand, I present to you a touch-starved Geralt, a cheeky Jaskier and a lot of pining.

fluff, hand holding, sharing clothes, yearning, 3k, rated G

read on AO3

It is the most ordinary morning.

The wind is picking up after last night’s rain, a common occurrence in the fall, bringing nice moisture in the air all the way from the sea. The last of the heat washed away to reveal crisp blue sky, stretching all the way to meet the mountain range.

It’s an ordinary morning, except everyone is staring at Geralt.

The inn is not busy this early in the morning, but a few patrons have risen for the first meal of the day. As the witcher sits down at a table, the atmosphere changes instantly. The conversation hushes and eyes start turning in his direction. Some are even giggling with their friends upon seeing him.

Although, there’s no malice, no fear, or disdain.

Only amusement.

It won’t be the first time that a crowd finds a witcher to be a curious sight. Although it is unusual for a town of this scale to have never seen one of them before.

So Geralt pays no mind. He only wants to finish his porridge in peace. His stomach has been rumbling since he missed dinner last night. The hunt took way longer than he anticipated, and by the time he returned, the inn had long since stopped serving. Although the maid—a young girl no more than sixteen—promised to give him an extra portion at breakfast.

Even she’s staring too.

The girl takes a look at Geralt’s finished bowl and hurries to fetch another from the kitchen. She carries the porridge and an extra loaf of rye bread to his table with a smile that gradually lights up her whole face.

Geralt nods as she puts them down, confused at the good mood of this whole establishment.

His confusion grows when she doesn’t leave. Instead, the girl lingers a moment, as if working up her courage, before bending down to circle her arms around Geralt.

He has to fight every instinct in his body to stay still and let her hug him. Her arms are squeezing gently, not the too-tight kink. Her curled locks are all over his face. When she pulls back, her round cheeks are flushed like a beet, the grin now carrying a hint of embarrassment.

“Why—”

“Thank you, master witcher!” she exclaims chirpily.

“What for?” he frowns.

“For getting rid of the fiend, of course!” She’s almost taking offense at the question. “Right before today, no less.”

“What’s so special about today?”

“It’s the day before Saovine, sir. Do you not know?”

Well…no. The passage of time registers too vaguely when he’s traveling alone from one town to another. The contract last night was no different from the last five.

Geralt doesn’t want to think about how monotonous the path is without a companion, or he’ll have to admit to himself that he’s missing the bard and his ridiculous songs and too-loud playing. He won’t do it, even in the safety of his own mind.

Still, her answer doesn’t explain anything.

“The day before Saovine!” she must be seeing his silence as an encouragement to continue. “It’s Hug a Witcher Day!”

Geralt drops the spoon into the porridge. Biting back a curse in a child’s company, he fumbles to fish it out.

“Hug a—what?”

“It’s how the song goes! Hug a witcher and thank him for the work he’s done. All the monster-killing in the past year!” Her smile turns to a tiny frown. “And you, sir, just killed that fiend for us last night. As the lyrics say, it’s only right that I hug you!”

“It was…my job. And why does it have to be Saovine?”

“It’s the day before Saovine, sir. It’s the last holiday before witchers rest for the winter. It’s only right to thank them now.” she proclaims proudly. “Have you really not heard ‘Hug a Witcher’?”

Should he have? Before asking the next question, Geralt has an inkling that he already knows the answer.

“Whose song is it?”

“Who else? Your bard of course. Master Jaskier the bard!”

The words your bard somehow lands on a soft spot in Geralt’s chest.

Although Jaskier hasn’t traveled with him for months. Geralt doesn’t pay attention to the bard’s new hits because they will eventually reach his ears anyway. Jaskier can never pass an opportunity to serenade him with every new composition when they are alone by a campfire, looking for the witcher’s personal reviews no matter how well-received by the public they appear to be.

“Hmm.” Geralt calculates the distance between where he is and Oxenfurt. This ‘Hug a Witcher’ song, in fact, is spreading faster than any of Jaskier’s famous ballads.

A hug can’t be worse than being tossed coins, right?

It keeps happening for the rest of the day.

First, it’s the stable hand. Geralt is just trying to load his pack onto Roach when the young lad comes in. He doesn’t try to hug Geralt, only giving him a polite nod.

“Thank you. For your work, sir,” the lad says, before helping Geralt saddle the mare. “Like the song says, eh? Thank a witcher so no monster will plague you in the coming year.”

And then, it’s a few small children. A flock of them suddenly come out of nowhere and just… cling to his legs.

“Thank you master wiiiiitcheeeeer!” They shout in unison and drag the last few syllables longer and longer. And then the group disperses just as quickly as they gathered, giggling and running off to an alley.

All except one.

The smallest one stays at his feet, looking up and staring at him.

“Hug!” the boy stretches out his short arms.

Geralt blinks.

The boy stares, eyes wide and expectant.

So Geralt has no choice but to bend down and let the boy wrap those short arms around his neck.

“You’re welc—"

It’s over in a second and the child is rejoining his friends, who are now peaking their heads out of the corner of the alley. Excited squeals erupt among them.

Geralt feels the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

When he gets to the market, a few shop owners are smiling so brightly and offering discounts. Roach gets a horseshoe and an apple for free within the first hour. The silversmith shouts out thanks before jogging up to him and pulls him in for a bear hug.

“Hug a witcher for luck,” she says.

“No, it’s for good harvests!” an old man corrects her.

They keep coming.

But everyone has a different reason and it makes Geralt wonder how many versions Jaskier has for this one song. Or, he dreads to think, how long it is.

“Hug a witcher and death will avoid your door.”

“Hug a witcher for a merciful winter.”

“Hug a witcher for good rain!”

“Thank you, master witcher.”

“Thanks, sir, for your service!”

“Geralt! You need to control your bard!”

Lambert growls as he slams into the heavy wooden door of Kaer Morhen keep, stamping his foot to shake off the snow.

Turning another page of the book, Geralt refuses to look at his younger brother when he’s in a grouchy mood.

“What did he do?” he asks nonchalantly.

“You know—" Lambert grits his teeth. “—what he did.”

The youngest wolf sits down, crowding Geralt’s space, his cloak still wet from the storm outside. Geralt raises an eyebrow but stays on the book. He is not going to make it easier for his brother.

After seconds of silence, Lambert finally gives in. “His song!”

“You can’t possibly be mad about Hug a Witcher.” Eskel walks in and also sits at the table, the sewing kit and a ripped shirt in hand. “It’s a good one.”

“I’m a witcher! They saw me and tried to hug me!”

“So?”

Like Geralt, Eskel only fuels the youngest wolf’s exasperation. He even starts to thread the needle, completely unfazed.

“So?” Lambert pulls off his cloak and the water splashes all over Geralt’s book. “For a whole day, people tried to touch me. A whole day, Geralt! All thanks to your bard and his blasted song! I couldn’t even get out of town without those folks jumping on me.”

“And? I don’t know about you, but I appreciate some showing of gratitude. Thank your bard for me, will you?” Eskel nudges at Geralt.

“Hmm.”

“I don’t care,” Lambert continues, pointing a finger at Geralt. “Tell the bard to stop this nonsense, or I will stop him myself and he won’t be as pretty afterwards.”

Geralt finally dogears the page and faces his brother’s tantrum. He wonders if the crease between his eyebrows is tight enough to crack a walnut—it might be fun to try one day. “Or you can just not let them,” he deadpans.

“What?”

“You are a witcher, the best one among us—according to yourself.” Geralt tilts his head, squinting. “Are you telling me you couldn’t fend off some villagers who were only trying to give you a squeeze?”

Lambert’s face stills, his index finger hanging in the air. In front of Geralt’s unblinking eyes, his face turns redder and redder.

“Urgh,” with an annoyed wave, Lambert storms off the same way he stormed in, all the while muttering all kinds of colorful curses.

Geralt purses his lips as to not let out a too-obviously laugh, but at the corner of his eyes, he notices Eskel shaking his head in amusement.

“All jokes aside, I liked the song.”

Geralt shrugs.

“Jaskier knows how to make them go around.”

“No, I like the day that came with the song. Just about a decade ago, people barely thanked us for a job well done, but now? Lambert is a prick, but I don’t mind having a pat on the back after spending a whole year on the path. Don’t you think?”

“Hmm.” He shrugs again.

Eskel has put down his needlework and is observing him intently. Both of his brothers are so weird about this, Geralt reckons, but on opposite sides of weird. Maybe that’ll be the bard’s review when they meet in the spring.

“Maybe you are indifferent because your bard already knows to appreciate you, wolf. Being your barker and all. Was he thrilled to see the rest of the world catch on?”

Geralt frowns while opening the book again, not sure where this is going.

“Jaskier wasn’t with me during Saovine.”

“No?” Eskel is moving into his space too. Urgh, the two of them. “You bard got the whole continent to hug you, but he wasn’t there to give you one himself?”

“No.”

A sudden surge of irritation rises, but Geralt isn’t sure why. All he wants to do is read the damn book without his brothers nagging him about how terrible or how amazing this ridiculous day is.

“Hmm.” Eskel mirrors his hum. Every time the older witcher does this is because he’s trying to figure out something, and Geralt has no intention of finding out.

“I’ll read elsewhere.” With a loud snap of the book, Geralt leaves the room in a few quick strides.

He has a feeling that this lousy mood might stick with him for a while yet. At least until he can leave Eskel’s inexplicable prodding and Lambert’s grumpy ass behind.

“I know you don’t like the touchy mushy stuff, Geralt. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they would actually hug you all day long!”

Jaskier looks so contrite that his hands are reined in from his full-body gestures, and that’s how Geralt knows the guilt is genuine. His fingers are fidgeting with the hemline of his winter doublet and his hands, exposed in the chill, are turning red.

It’s still quite early in the spring, since Geralt has come to find the bard in Oxenfurt as soon as the ground thawed. A cold spell is hitting the town pretty hard, although Jaskier is sure that it’ll be the last one before green returns to this town.

It doesn’t help that snow has been steadily falling and melting at the same time during their stroll around campus. The bard shivers a little.

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, taking off his own scarf and wrapping it around Jaskier’s neck.

“It is not! Once again, I have been so focused on my professional achievements and forgotten about the impact those songs have on you. All of you.”

Jaskier helps Geralt adjust the scarf so it covers all of his neck and the lower half of his face. It’s made of the warmest yarn Vesemir keeps at Kaer Morhen, but the plain color is a stark contrast against the delicate design of the bard’s fur-lined doublet. In comparison, Geralt’s scarf looks too coarse to be there, but Jaskier seems content enough to bury his face into the material, letting out a soft sigh.

His hands still look cold, so Geralt removes his gloves as well.

“Eskel likes it. The song and the day.”

Those words seem to lighten Jaskier’s mood. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly.

“Really? He likes Hug a Witcher day?”

“Mm-hmm.”

The bard flexes his stiff hands before sliding into the leather gloves. They fit surprisingly well with Jaskier’s long fingers, only a bit loose on the wrists, so Geralt makes sure to fasten the cords. He then holds both Jaskier’s hands between his palms, just to warm them up a little.

Can’t let a lutenist complain about frostbite on his fingers.

“Says it’s nice to be appreciated for all the hard work he’s done. The hugs aren’t bad either,” Geralt explains. “Eskel never minded them anyway.”

“And you?” Despite his slight apprehension, Jaskier’s eyes are filled with careful hope. “Do you mind them?”

With a final squeeze, Geralt lets go.

“I told you it’s fine.”

“You don’t have to say it to make me feel better, my dear. I know how you don’t like people touching you,” the bard says, reaching out to brush off some snowflakes on Geralt’s shoulder with a gloved hand.

Geralt frowns, looks down to Jaskier’s casual touch on his shoulder, and then back to his concerned blue eyes.

Why on earth does Jaskier think he hates touches? The bard himself touches him all the time, at least in the past couple of years. Not at the beginning though, when they were barely friends and Geralt told him to fuck off all the time and not to feed Roach treats and—

And when Geralt punched him in the gut just to drive him away.

He’s seen Jaskier hug so many people, countless flings, long-term lovers, his parents, cousins, even other bards. He’s seen Jaskier hug Essi just this morning while being teased by her relentlessly about something Geralt didn’t understand. Must have been an inside joke.

But never him.

Jaskier never hugs him.

The realization sinks Geralt’s heart somehow. The cold wind suddenly cuts a lot more brutally on his bare neck and hands.

He doesn’t mind a little nip when Jaskier is the more sensitive one, being human and all. But at this moment, with the bard all bundled up in a soft doublet with those feathery puffs on his shoulders, he looks like he can give great hugs.

Jaskier looks so…huggable.

Geralt wonders what it would be like to take Jaskier in his arms and squish him over those thick, airy clothes. He wonders if he can bury his nose into his scarf—now it would smell like a mixture of Jaskier’s floral scent and the wood ash that always lingers around Geralt’s person. He would pull away to see Jaskier’s cheeks painted pink in the cold air and snow melting on his long lashes—

“You are just saying it, aren’t you? I have deeply offended you.” Jaskier interrupts those wandering thoughts because he has taken the silence as anger. His expression can only be described as crestfallen. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be too mad. I cannot lose my best friend. I simply cannot take it, Geralt! I will die of a broken heart!”

The plea is so dramatic that Geralt lets out a chuckle.

“Will you relax?” he pats Jaskier on his puffy sleeve. “I’m not mad, little poet. It truly is fine. Some children hugging me on the leg is not the end of the world.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Somehow, Geralt knows that if Jaskier decides to also give him a hug that day, it won’t be the worst thing either. Hug a witcher to thank him, it’s the bard’s own words. He’s protected Jaskier from angry spouses so many times it will definitely warrant a hug, right?

“Good, then.” Jaskier lowers his face into the scarf again, pretending to hide from a draft, but Geralt can see the faint smile around the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad your brothers also enjoyed my contribution to what will become the next official holiday.”

“Oh no, that’s just Eskel. You should avoid Lambert this year.” Geralt grimaces. “Maybe the next few years too.”

Jaskier is taken aback but recovers quickly.

“Well, I’ve got you to protect me from his wrath, my friend who’s not angry with me.” The smile, this time, is genuine and brightens up Jaskier’s whole being. His arms stretch out in a pose once more. “Where shall we go when spring comes? You know, when it really comes.”

Jaskier grimaces at the sky as if judging it for the untimely harsh weather blocking their way.

“Hmm.”

Geralt is in no hurry to determine the where of their journey this year, but the when of it…

A sudden ache in his chest tells him that maybe he should stick with Jaskier until Saovine.

Or at least the day before.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier fic #geraskier #my writing #touch-starved geralt #soft jaskier #soft geralt #mutual pining #emotional hurt/comfort #but in later chapters #geralt x jaskier

133 notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 3 years

Text

Booster

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Han and Fem!Reader x Bang Chan

Warnings: language, explicit smut, cheating, indecent affairs, very rich Bang Chan who can be exceedingly arrogant, mentions of alcohol and smoking; aged up characters (especially Chan)

Word Count: 11K

Genre: Marriage AU; Romance AU; Indecent Proposal AU

Summary: You love your husband more than anything else in the world, but the two of you have been arguing lately about your struggling financial situation. Things seem bleak until one night when your husband’s new boss makes you both an offer that you can’t afford to refuse.

A/N: If you’ve seen the movie “Indecent Proposal,” then you know how this goes, but I put my own little spin on the classic! Please enjoy!!

“Are you happy, Y/N?”

It was a deceiving question, basic in its premise and expectation, but you couldn’t help but falter at the unexpected doubt coloring your vision.

“I guess,” you said.

But why shouldn’t you be? You were in your prime, employed as a freelance writer, and married to your high school sweetheart,

Oh, wait...How could you forget?

You were also preparing to turn thirty-years-old in less than a week, your job wasn’t delivering stable work, and you and your husband had been arguing about the single-digit amount of savings in your join account since last year.

“That’s good to hear,” your therapist said, and you nodded even though it felt misplaced.

You both knew that it was bullshit, but since this was the last session you could afford together, your therapist was clearly trying to use up the rest of your time to her advantage. Maybe it was for the best since you hated seeing her face every Sunday afternoon.

“Jisung and I are going to Vegas with his company,” you said, startling yourself with the unexpected confession.

“That’s interesting,” your therapist said, leaving the “considering how bad off the two of you are” to fill the empty silence. “I hope you have fun. Take some time to reconnect with him.”

Because surely she had heard enough of you complaining about how your husband could turn into the world’s biggest asshole sometimes when things weren’t going his way. Or when the easy parts of your personal life were feeling far too stressful to be considered healthy. “It’s nice to get away,” you decided to say in place of anything less amiable.

“Feel free to reach out if you ever need me,” your therapist continued, offering you her business card.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it from her with a sigh. “I guess that’s it then.”

“For now,” your therapist agreed, and you left the sterile-white building feeling more burdened than when you had arrived.

It was late when you got home, and you were even more exhausted than usual, laying next to Jisung in bed as soon as you had changed into comfortable night clothes.

“Do you want to fuck?” Jisung asked later on, taking off his reading glasses to look over at you as you concentrated hard on balancing next month’s budget, including all the money you had put aside for Jisung’s company retreat.

“Not right now,” you said.

“Whatever,” Jisung grumbled, and you ignored the pain in your heart as he turned around to face away from you, turning off his lamp to bathe half of the room in darkness.

“This is too important,” you tried to argue, but Jisung wasn’t listening, and it didn’t take long for him to start snoring.

But he never understood.

“Asshole,” you whispered, gathering your things to settle down in the living room instead. Where you continued working through the night, eyes glossing over from focusing on the numbers for too long, and you were drained the next morning, barely even comprehending Jisung leaving the house for work until you heard the car’s ignition from outside.

It was somewhat of a routine at this point, and you could feel the strain in your marriage, the distance between you and Jisung increasing the longer things continued to grow worse.

Your therapist would tell you to talk things out with him, but you really didn’t feel like arguing with your husband anymore. Instead, you pushed him out of your head and slept for a few more hours before getting up to start your freelance projects. It wasn’t anything difficult, and you finished most of the work by noon, leaving you to clean the house and wait by the phone in case a potential client called you with an assignment.

But the problem was the phone never rang, and you were hardly getting any work to support your shared household income.

It was a frequent point of contention, and Jisung had been begging you to take on a full-time position for months.

Maybe you should.

Maybe it would make him happier.

But why did it feel like his happiness was always prioritized over your own?

Damn, you were starting to sound just like your former therapist.

“I made dinner,” you told him when he got home that evening, and even though it was obvious that he was wore-out, Jisung met you in the kitchen with a forced smile.

“It smells good,” he said, and there was a longing in his eyes, one that you also shared but could never fulfill.

And no amount of sex ever made it any better, but that sure as hell didn’t stop the two of you from trying to use it as an excuse to pretend that the problem didn’t exist elsewhere. “Shit, Sungie,” you gasped, nails digging into the smooth skin of his back as he fucked you on top of the counter, legs spread wide around his waist as he pummeled his hips into yours.

“Yes!” Jisung moaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head as your tight walls constricted around his length - pure, velvet warmth. “God, you’re perfect.”

“Harder!” you cried, trying to meet each of his thrusts, but finding it impossible to touch his animalistic pace, brutally stretching your pussy around him. The good kind of stretch that left you gaping long after you both came, lingering throughout the night and well into the morning as you limped around the house.

It ached and hurt, persistent and demanding, but there was always a desire for more, even when it was impossible to fulfill those empty places. But that didn’t stop you from trying, winding your fingers through Jisung’s hair to pull him closer, smashing your mouths together for a brutal kiss that only served to stoke the flames of passion sparking between the two of you. Something hot and raunchy, delicious in the exchanges of precious oxygen and the thin cord of saliva that remained when Jisung pulled back to look at you. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, parting your thighs around his hips as he studied the place where he was driving his cock between the delicate folds of your swollen labia. “Look at how well you take me.”

“Please,” you whimpered, unsure as to what you wanted from him, but it was always too much and never enough.

“I want you to come first,” Jisung said, sucking the pad of his thumb into his mouth before bringing it down against your clit.

“Oh!” you gasped because the secondary stimulation was proving to be the necessary catalyst to unwind you from the inside, and you could feel your orgasm growing stronger by the second.

“That’s it, baby,” Jisung groaned, throwing back his head as he worked on moving his hips faster, thrusting his erection with as much power as he could manage while focusing on digging harsh circles against the tight little bud between your legs.

“Coming!” you cried, closing your eyes against the first wave of pleasure, moaning when Jisung lifted your legs higher around his waist, slamming his cock between your pulsating walls.

It was a divine high, the kind that left a deep impression, riding the euphoria of your orgasm until you could feel your heart practically vibrating against your chest, leaving you breathless and throbbing in the place where Jisung continued to grind his cock. “I’m close,” he said, grunting as his hips stuttered in place, and you watched him fall over you as a familiar warmth escaped from where his cock was softening.

“S’ good,” you managed around a deep breath, trying to bring yourself back to Earth.

“You’re always so good for me,” Jisung said, eyes glossy with lust as he parted your lips around his fingers.

You puckered your lips, sucking hard and leaving him groaning. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“I know, Y/N, and I love you,” Jisung said, holding himself up while panting over you, eyes dark and devoted.

“I love you too,” you replied on instinct, keeping him close while the two of you basked in the afterglow of your passionate lovemaking.

One Week Later

It was raining at the airport, but you were in a good mood while following Jisung through the crowded terminal. “Are you excited?” he asked you once you stood in line to board the plane.

“Of course,” you replied, accepting his gentle kiss before he held out your tickets for the flight attendant.

But why shouldn’t you be? You had never been to Vegas before, and you were beyond excited for the trip, even if it had been painful to budget with your lousy combined incomes.

“I’m gonna treat you so good, baby,” Jisung whispered to you on the plane, finalizing his promise with another heart-stopping kiss.

“I love you,” you said, smiling when you heard the words in return.

It was always a promise that you could both keep, no matter how hard things got in your lives, and you could always rely on Jisung even when your own mind turned against you. Sure, it would be nice to have more financial stability, but the two of you would eventually achieve that goal, just as long as you kept working hard.

The idea of being happy all the time seemed impossible, and you were grateful for what you had, holding tightly to Jisung’s hand as he hailed down a taxi cab to take you to your hotel upon your arrival in Vegas.

“A couple’s retreat?” the driver asked when you were both settled inside.

“Something like that,” Jisung agreed, and it was half-way true, even if Jisung’s company was the main reason you were both enjoying the unfamiliar sights of the Vegas strip - blinding lights, crowded streets, and loud music. Everything was organized chaos, and you could see why so many people loved it.

“It’s beautiful,” you said to Jisung when your taxi cab arrived at your hotel.

“What do you want to do first?” Jisung asked, taking both of your suitcases as you led the way to check-in.

“Do you have to meet with your co-workers?” you asked, reminding yourself that this trip had a larger reason behind it.

“Not until the morning,” Jisung laughed, and he signed the copy of the room notice before dragging you to the elevators. “It’s you and me tonight, baby. Wanna check out the poker tables?”

You rolled your eyes because you both knew that Jisung had no idea how to play cards. “Looking around sounds nice.”

“Whatever you want,” Jisung promised, and after your things were settled in your lavish suite, he made good on escorting you around the impressive gambling floor - nothing but slot machines with bright color sequences and a vast expanse of tables with every kind of game you could want.

It was almost too much to look at, and you were grateful to focus on one thing when Jisung paused next to the craps table. “Do you want to try?” you asked, smirking at the curious look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before exchanging a twenty for some chips. “I’ll put it all on Pass.”

“Pass!” the dealer said, dragging Jisung’s chips closer. “Your roll.”

Jisung grabbed the dice from the table, bringing them closer to you with a smirk. “Kiss for good luck?”

You rolled your eyes, but entertained his request, brushing your lips against his knuckles before pulling back and watching him flick his wrist as the dice bounced across the table. “Seven!” the dealer announced, and you and Jisung were both surprised to win, watching as two piles of chips were pushed in your direction.

“Holy shit!” you gasped, and Jisung nodded his agreement, taking all the chips before bidding the dealer a good night. “Did you see that?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from giggling as Jisung pocketed the chips.

“I guess I have enough to treat you to a drink,” he said, and you followed him to the bar where he ordered you both something strong.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” you asked him, feeling far more jubilant than before as you downed most of the contents, wincing at the sting.

“You need to loosen up,” Jisung said. “I know you’ve been planning for the trip, so I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Cheers to that!” you said, tapping your glass against Jisung’s and enjoying the rest of your drink.

And for a while, you actually found yourself letting go of all the worries leading up to the vacation, drinking and laughing with your husband as you played on some of the slot machines and observed some of the more serious poker games.

The alcohol sat pleasantly on your stomach, and you were losing yourself to the buzz dulling most of your anxieties. “Jisung,” you said at one point, leaning closer to him as you sat together outside by the pool. “You look really good tonight.”

Jisung smiled, bringing you in for a kiss that turned heated despite the people surrounding you. “Slow down, baby,” Jisung said, breaking your exchange and ignoring your pout.

“Let’s go to the room,” you said, lowering your tone as you trailed one finger down his toned arm.

“Maybe later,” Jisung said, but he dangled the key in front of you. “If you want, then you can go upstairs.”

“You don’t want to come?” you asked with a pout.

“I’ve been watching,” Jisung admitted with a shrug. “I know we’ve been having a lot of problems with money, but I think I can take what we brought and turn it into enough to end most of our debt.”

“Jisung,” you said, sobering up in an instant. “What if you lose?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, and you could tell that he had already made up his mind. “I know when to stop.”

“Okay,” you agreed, but it was a reluctant acquiescence because you wanted nothing more than to have him in your arms. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, baby,” Jisung said, and you frowned when he slid you his credit card. “Call room service and take care of yourself.”

“Sure,” you agreed, pocketing the card since you had no intention of using it. “Call me if you need anything.”

Jisung nodded, waving you off as he rose from his chair, and you watched with an overhanging sense of dread as he rejoined the crowded gambling room.

You waited for as long as you could, but midnight trickled by with no sign of your husband returning to the room.

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep from the excitement, and you only woke-up again the next morning when you attempted to reach out for Jisung in bed next to you, only to discover empty space.

“Sungie?” you said, filling the empty room with your voice.

But you could’ve sworn you had heard the door open at one point, so you dressed yourself and ventured out of the bedroom.

Your Vegas suite was fairly large, and the bedroom was connected to the main room by a narrow hallway with another room on the opposite end. Maybe Jisung had slept in the wrong room on accident?

It seemed plausible, until you heard the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen, and you quickly followed the noises to find your husband bent over the counter, head hanging low.

“Jisung, what’s wrong?” you asked, approaching your husband to soothe a hand down his back.

But you were completely unprepared for the way he began to lash out.

“I lost it, okay?” he snapped, jerking himself into an upright stance. “All the money we brought, I blew it on the slot machines.”

“Jisung-”

“Fuck, I can’t believe it!” Jisung shouted, interrupting your attempt to speak. “I was doing so well, and I didn’t even realize things were going bad until I almost used our bank card to pull out more money.”

You exhaled harshly, realizing that if Jisung had spent all of your money, then he also accessed some of your savings since you had brought extra cash in case of an emergency. “Oh my god.”

You stumbled back against the wall, holding your chest because you could feel the start of a panic attack taking root. But how else were you supposed to react to Jisung’s confession? He had spent all the money you would both need to pay rent and buy important necessities.

“This is so screwed up,” Jisung growled, rubbing a rough hand across his disheveled face.

“That was everything,” you said, swallowing hard as your detail-oriented brain attempted to come up with an alternative, but you saw no light on the other end.

“Y/N,” Jisung said, and his voice was calmer as he looked at you. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could make things better.”

“But you made them worse,” you said, closing your eyes against an onslaught of tears, feeling as if your entire world was crashing down around you.

“Baby, no,” Jisung said, hurrying over to catch you before your body crumbled to the floor. “We’ll be okay, you know? I can always take out a loan.”

“To pay for the other loans?” you asked in a much harsher tone that you usually reserved for your husband.

“I promise I’ll make it better,” Jisung said, and he groaned when his phone started ringing. “It’s my boss again. He wanted to meet me in his room this morning.”

Jisung silenced the call, holding your face between his hands. “I promise nothing bad will happen to us, and maybe I can ask my boss for an advance on my next paycheck to help cover expenses.”

Your brain knew better than that, understanding that one paycheck wouldn’t cover those lost savings, but this was Jisung. Your sweet and kind husband, and you didn’t feel like arguing. “Okay,” you said, accepting the gentle kisses he pecked along your wet lashes.

“We’ll figure this out,” Jisung said. “But let’s not worry about it until we get back home. Can you put some clothes on for me, baby? I want you to come meet my boss with me.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding your head as you allowed Jisung to lead you both back into the bedroom.

“Everything will be fine,” Jisung said, and you allowed him to delude your mind even though nothing could be further from the truth.

Jisung’s boss was a powerful man named Mr. Bang, and his net-worth made Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk pale in comparison.

You were nervous to meet him, and it didn’t help that you were still upset from earlier.

“Deep breaths,” Jisung instructed you when he knocked on Mr. Bang’s door. “Don’t worry about anything.”

It was easy for him to say since everything was his fault, but you swallowed down your anger and pasted on your best smile when the door opened - revealing an older gentleman with dark brown hair and eyes, wrinkles edging some of the corners of his features, exposing the effects of age.

But he was still undeniably handsome, and his eyes took a long moment to gloss over you. “Mr. Han,” Mr. Bang said, finally looking away from you. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Of course, sir,” Jisung said, placing his hand on your lower back as you were both invited inside. “It’s been a rough morning.”

“Oh?” Mr. Bang questioned, following you both into the main room. “Why is that?”

You held your breath when Jisung hesitated. “Just some money stuff.”

“Ah,” Mr. Bang acknowledged. “It’s personal.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Jisung insisted, and Mr. Bang shrugged off his coat as he accepted the reassurance, reaching for a pack of cigars.

“Well, I’m excited to talk with you this morning. Would you both like to join me in the other room? I heard that Jisung enjoys playing pool.”

“Absolutely,” Jisung agreed with a smile - one that managed to disguise all the horrible realities that existed outside of this impeccable suite.

You took another deep breath, fixing a smile in place when Mr. Bang turned to look at you. “This must be your wife.”

“Y/N,” you said, holding out your hand for him, and trying not to feel disconcerted by the obvious interest in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeated, looking back ahead of himself as he brought you both into a far simpler room - sparsely furnished with the exception of the pool table in the middle of the area. “Do either of you mind if I smoke? It’s a bad habit.”

He chuckled at the end, waiting for your combined approval before lighting one of the cigars and bringing it to his lips.

“You’re welcome to go first,” Mr. Bang said, selecting one of the pool sticks against the wall. “I’d love to be informal with you.”

“That sounds great,” Jisung said, and you watched him bend over the table as he broke the balls at the center, sending them flying in all directions. “I was really honored to receive your invitation.”

“Were you?” Mr. Bang asked with a smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re a bit of an enigma around the office, Mr. Bang,” Jisung said, and his boss chuckled in response.

“Please, call me Chan,” he continued, taking his turn at the table after Jisung missed his shot, cigar dangling from his lips. “How are you both enjoying Vegas?”

“I think we’re having a lot of fun,” Jisung said, and the response irritated you a little as you cleared your throat, nose wrinkling as some of the cigar smoke reached you.

“It’s quite beautiful,” you said, and Chan found your eyes after landing his first shot.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “You know, Jisung, you talk about me being an enigma around the office. Why is that?”

You flinched at the sound of the balls smashing together, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you focused on your husband. “Well,” Jisung shrugged. “I think it’s because you have so much more than the rest of us. Not that it’s a bad thing.”

“Really?” Chan asked, standing up straight as he shot you a knowing look. “You do have something that I don’t have.”

You found yourself blushing at the comment, and Jisung studied his boss with narrowed eyes. “I guess there’s a limit to what money can buy.”

“Not mine,” Chan said, putting out the cigar with a satisfied smirk. “I can afford anything.”

You didn’t like his attitude, finding yourself jumping into the conversation without being provoked. “Some things aren’t for sale,” you said, watching as Chan bent over the pool table once again.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Well, you can’t buy people,” you said, and he stood tall again with a sigh.

“That’s naïve of you, Y/N,” he said. “I buy people everyday.”

“I don’t mean in business,” you argued. “I meant something more like...when your emotions are involved.”

“So, you can’t buy someone’s love?” Chan questioned, and you didn’t like the way he was laughing. “Jisung, I hope you don’t feel the same way.”

“Of course,” Jisung said, shaking his head. “I agree with Y/N.”

“Really?” Chan smiled. “Then, maybe we should put that to the test.”

“What do you mean?” Jisung asked, and he exchanged a quick look with you - one filled with uncertainty.

“How much?” Mr. Bang asked.

“How much?” Jisung repeated, and he studied his boss with a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Bang chuckled, and you frowned at the obvious condescension. “I mean, how much for one night with your wife?”

“Oh...” Jisung trailed off, and the room quickly filled with silence - awkward and heavy.

“Why so tense?” Chan eventually asked, and you shook your head because he knew exactly why the two of you were suddenly less than enthusiastic.

“You can’t be serious,” Jisung eventually said, reaction surprisingly neutral.

“I’m completely serious,” Chan continued, never breaking a sweat as he continued to take his turn at the pool table. “I’ll give you $1,000,000 dollars,” Chan said. “That would be enough to keep you in a life of luxury.”

“Sir,” Jisung said, and you could tell that he was caught off-guard, trying to find the right words to prevent offense to his boss, but you didn’t have to extend the same courtesy.

“No,” you said, keeping your tone firm. “He would tell you to go to hell.”

“I didn’t hear that from him,” Chan said, and you fixed Jisung with the sternest glare you could manage.

“Yeah,” Jisung said. “I’d tell you to go to hell.”

Chan sighed, pocketing the coveted eight ball with a quick motion. “I guess that proves me wrong, then,” Chan said. “But I’ll at least say this: $1,000,000 dollars is a lifetime of security. Think about it, talk it over first, and then you can forget all about this conversation.”

It should’ve been over after that without any further consideration, but you were disappointed to see that Jisung was still distracted as you sat together in your room later that night - long after leaving Chan’s suite.

“You’re still thinking about it,” you said, drawing his attention.

“Of course not, baby,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing.

“Would you seriously be okay with me spending the night with some pompous billionaire? you huffed. “He would obviously want to fuck me.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” Jisung tried to joke, but the situation was far too serious.

“Sungie...”

“Look, I get it, Y/N. Marriage is sacred, and I respect you for that, but we both can’t ignore how much this would change our lives! It’s a million fucking dollars.”

“He’s an old perv,” you growled. “Would you seriously sell me out?”

“That’s not what this is,” Jisung argued. “I’m not selling you out.”

“Sleeping with a stranger for a million dollars is selling me out,” you said. “I don’t even like him...”

“It’s fine,” Jisung interrupted. “It was just a made-up scenario, and I would never force you to do anything.”

“Good,” you said, turning on your side to switch off the lamp. “He can’t just expect that from someone. It’s crazy!”

“I know, baby,” Jisung whispered quietly to you, and you knew that you were both exhausted from the chaos of your day together.

Sleep was what you needed, but it wasn’t coming.

Instead, you were loathe to admit that your mind had returned to that indecent proposal from Jisung’s boss, thinking about the last thing he said.

One lifetime of security.

You would never have to worry about money again...but what about your relationship? Would it suffer because of such an illicit affair?

You tossed and turned all night, feeling Jisung do the same thing.

Think about it.

God, that’s all you were doing, and when the sun was starting to rise again from the coverage of your blinds, you rolled over to look at Jisung, unsurprised to see him wide-awake. “If we do this,” you said, “it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“Of course not,” Jisung said. “It would still be the two of us against the rest of the world.”

You nodded, studying the gentle brown of Jisung’s eyes. The weight of such a consequential decision hung over both of your heads, and you sucked up every last ounce of pride you had when you came to a conclusion: “Call him,” you said, and Jisung’s eyes widened. “Tell him we’ll take the money.”

“Y/N, are you sure?” Jisung asked, and he was cautiously reaching out for his cellphone.

“I’m sure,” you said, although you didn’t feel as confident as you would like, turning onto your back to study the ceiling overhead.

The date and time were arranged for the following evening, and you could barely meet Chan’s gaze when he met you outside his suite.

“Just relax,” he whispered to you, inviting you outside onto the extended balcony attached to his penthouse where he proceeded to pour two glasses of champagne.

The cold air of the night hit you in the face like a firm slap, forcing you from the haze you had surrendered to when you first walked into the room. A wake-up call that this was happening, and the man next to you was not your husband.

You nearly drained your first glass of champagne, feeling the alcohol give you some much-needed courage. “Y/N,” Chan said, standing next to you in a suit that likely cost more than your and Jisung’s last paychecks combined. “I want to ask you what your expectations are of this evening.”

You shrugged, staring out over the bannister. “I thought we were just gonna fuck,” you replied, even if the words were a little crude.

Chan laughed at your comment. “Is that so?”

“I don’t see what’s funny,” you said. “You’re the one who has to buy women.”

“You think I have to buy women?” Chan asked. “Because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

You hesitated, sensing him growing closer. “Why me, then?”

“I bought you because you said you couldn’t be bought,” Chan replied, stepping closer to drop his hand on top of yours.

“I can’t be bought,” you argued, even though everything leading up to this moment was proving the contrary.

“Really?” he asked, and you begrudgingly shook your head.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“You might enjoy yourself,” Chan said with a seductive smirk. “This isn’t meant to be a punishment.”

“I know that,” you said, holding your breath when his lips touched the shell of your ear.

“Damn, you’re unbelievably gorgeous,” Chan said, and his free hand was trailing down your spine. “Come with me into the bedroom.”

You gave him a shaky nod, following him back inside while taking in several deep breaths as you greeted the darkness of the room, discarding your champagne on the side table. “What now?”

“Take off your dress,” Chan said, and you squinted your eyes to see him falling down into one of the chairs.

Despite the cold air of the night, everything inside was heating up again.

“Okay,” you whispered, reaching back for your zipper, and holding it between trembling fingers as you unhitched the material, allowing it to fall down your body like an avalanche of blue as it pooled around your ankles.

You heard Chan’s sharp intake of breath, feeling his eyes trail over every inch of your lingerie-clad form. “Get on the bed,” he said, and you obeyed at once, trying to make yourself comfortable on top of the mattress.

But it was hard when you noticed Chan approaching the bedside, removing his jacket and shirt to reveal a lean, muscular torso - one that had undoubtedly been built after long hours in the gym. “This is my favorite part,” Chan said, shoving down his jeans and boxers without shame, and his cock sprang up against his abdomen with an impressive girth. “I like to see the way a woman’s eyes look at me. How their breath hitches when I touch them for the first time.”

He followed through on his promise, sliding his fingers down the smooth skin of your stomach with a feather-like touch before they paused at the waistband of your panties. “Take these off,” he said, and you did your best to wrangle off the flimsy fabric, pushing it aside with your toes as Chan’s eyes zeroed in on your delicate mound. “When I fuck a woman, I make sure she comes...several times.”

You shivered at that, hearing his tone grow huskier as he instructed you to open your thighs, giving himself enough room to crawl on the bed and settle down between your open legs. It was already so revealing, and you couldn’t believe you were in this position, exposing everything to him. “Do you use protection?” he asked, and you nodded. “I’d like to fuck you raw, but only with your consent.”

You nodded again, gasping when his long, thin fingers started to carefully penetrate you, scissoring around your entrance - teasing curls that did nothing but trigger your body’s instinctual arousal. Especially as the room around you continued to grow warmer, almost as hot as Chan’s lips as they scalded your skin, lifting one of your legs higher against his arm.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” Chan whispered against your thigh. “If I had a woman like you, I’d do my best to make you happy.”

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but curse, feeling him use his other hand to start moving his fingers even faster, gliding them against the greedy walls of your pussy as your body demanded you for more of the sweet addiction.

There was already a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin, and your heart was beating faster and faster, matching the pace of his fingers. Eventually, he leaned down to take your clit between his lips, dropping your thigh back onto the mattress before sucking hard and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

You gasped, hips arching without your approval, grinding closer to the source of that immeasurable pleasure. It was wet and sensual, creating the gentlest of sensations that traveled all the way to your toes.

You could feel Chan smirking, lips barely touching your clit before he properly opened his mouth wide to lave his tongue across the throbbing area. It felt so good, and you were practically humping his face to gain more of his delicious mouth.

He was learning your signs, hands holding your waist as he listened to every hitch of your breath, knowing when to speed up and slow down. It was like a well-rehearsed dance, swipes of his tongue across your folds, pressing firmly against your clit when he returned to the delicate organ.

It felt like pure heaven, bringing you higher and higher to a much-needed release, and it had been a long time since a man had made you experience such white hot lust from just his tongue.

“Cum for me,” Chan whispered, and he nipped at your clit, and the tinge of pain was enough to send you spiraling into your first orgasm of the night.

“Oh!” you groaned, grabbing his hair to pull him back when his sucking was starting to feel too painful right after coming so hard.

“What a good girl,” Chan said, looking down at you with a sheen of arousal coating his lips.

It was obscene, forcing you to close your eyes against the image, but you cried out when he pinched one of your nipples, causing you to open them again.

“Do me a favor and look at me while I’m fucking you, Y/N,” Chan murmured, hooded gaze meeting your struggling one - trying not to succumb to his advances, even though he was making it incredibly hard, wrist almost imperceptible with the way he was stretching you open again, pussy gaping as you felt yourself leaking uncontrollably.

“I’ll try,” you whispered, heart thundering against your chest as Chan removed his fingers only to align his cock with your entrance, dipping just the tip into your eager heat.

“Moan for me as much as you want,” Chan said, and he was bottoming out without hesitation, moving slow to prevent any pain while you got used to the stretch.

It was different from how Jisung fucked you, thrusting into you impossibly fast from the very first moment he impaled you on his cock.

There was something caring about it, and you adjusted quickly to Chan’s girth, grinding your hips subtly just to feel very inch of his generous erection. “Good girl,” Chan cooed, and he brought his cock to a deeper roll, moving back to leave only the head before forcing himself inside once again, picking up speed as your moans continued to grow louder in volume, signaling your approach to a second release.

It was beyond amazing, and you swallowed down your embarrassment from the noises he was punching from your lungs, opening your eyes as he started to move even faster, thrusting his cock between your legs at a rhythmic pace.

He was hitting your g-spot on every deep penetration, granulating in and out at a steady pace that was so unbelievably fulfilling.

You never expected it feel this good, slick from your pussy gushing at an embarrassing rate, creating an even smoother slide. But the squelching sounds were incredibly loud, filling your ears just like his cock was filling your cunt...the best kind of fullness.

You were being stroked just right, moaning when Chan shifted his hips to thrust into you at a new angle, holding your legs over his shoulders as he practically bent you in half.

His lips were warm when they connected with yours, and there was a strange desire to sink into the kiss and lose yourself there forever. But your pussy was throbbing with need - an impossible want for the man reaching all the way to your cervix.

It felt amazing when his fingers brushed across your sensitive clit, rubbing generous circles against the tight nub. He started snapping his hips at a faster rate, slapping against your hips with every thrust, holding onto your hips with a bruising grip that would leave reminders of him for days.

But maybe that was his intention.

Chan growled, plunging into your sore cunt time and time again. He was practically pounding you with how hard he was going, like he was trying to prove a point, and maybe he wanted to since nothing could have ever prepared you for how euphoric his cock was making you feel.

“Are you gonna cum again?” Chan whispered, gazing so fondly into your eyes.

You couldn’t speak, only managing a nod when he started to rub even faster at your clit, and you let out the loudest moan of the night when you were unraveling yet again, sinking into a third orgasm that left you drained.

It was a rollercoaster of overstimulation, and Chan realized this and gave a few stuttered kicks of his hips before he was filling you up with his cum, groaning and grunting as he leaned over you.

Your legs were numb from being spread wide for so long, and you weren’t sure that you would ever catch your breath, listening to the sound of Chan whispering sweet endearments from next to you as you realized that nothing would ever be same after this.

The next morning, you woke-up alone, but there was a note waiting for you on the nightstand.

Y/N,

Join us in the kitchen when you’re ready.

- Chan

“Us?” you repeated aloud, feeling a sense of dread as you stumbled on weak legs to gather your clothes.

You were incredibly sore between your legs, a reminder that last night actually happened, and you had slept with your husband’s boss for a big paycheck.

“It’s worth it,” you tried to reassure yourself, walking from the bedroom and into the kitchen with a subtle limp. “Nothing will change.”

But hindsight is 20/20, and you can’t predict the future. Still, your first sign should’ve been the strange image of Chan and Jisung sitting together in the kitchen, like they were having a casual breakfast together,

“There you are!” Chan greeted you upon your arrival, but you barely paid him any attention, eyes immediately finding Jisung’s.

Your husband was sitting next to Chan at the table, and there was a buffet of food displayed on elegant kitchenware. “What’s going on?”

“Breakfast,” Chan said, indicating towards the empty chair next to Jisung. “Please join us.”

You nodded, finally breaking your intense stare-down with Jisung to carefully sit down next to him.

Suddenly, it was difficult to acknowledge his presence, memories of last night resurfacing and causing you to blush at the obscene images. “I hope you slept well,” Chan said, and his plate was completely covered as he ate without a single care in the world. “Last night...it was amazing, Y/N.”

You could feel Jisung shift from next to you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to look at him. “Chan-”

“As promised,” Chan interrupted as he reached into the pocket of his expensive suite jacket, producing a thin slip of paper, and he slid the check in Jisung’s direction. “Thank you both for everything.”

“Sure,” Jisung said, and his tone was short as he grabbed the check and immediately stood from the table. “We should get going.”

“So soon?” Chan questioned, mouth stuffed impossibly full. “You’re more than welcome to anything you want.”

“We’re fine,” Jisung insisted, and he took your hand with a firm grip. “I know you’ll understand, Mr. Bang.”

“Ah!” Chan grinned. “Formalities again?”

But Jisung ignored him, turning to look at you with a gleam in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher. “Let’s go home,” Jisung said, and he tried for a smile which you couldn’t match as he led the two of you as far from Bang Chan as you could manage.

Tragically, your return home was nothing triumphant, and it should’ve felt so good to finally pay off so many bills and debts.

But it didn’t.

Everything felt hollow inside.

You also couldn’t help but notice that it was becoming increasingly difficult to talk to Jisung. Because every time you looked into his eyes, you were reminded of your impassioned affair in Vegas. It wasn’t fair to either of you, but you had no idea how to fix your relationship.

How could this be fair? You no longer had money problems forcing that divide between the two of you? In fact, you had no problems at all, and you were both entertaining the idea of moving into a bigger place and quitting your jobs.

So, what was missing? What was wrong with the way things were now that your joint account was filled to the maximum?

The answer was obvious, but you both refused to talk about it, and every second spent in each other’s company only served to carve an even deeper rift. Something so painful that you could barely share the same bed as your husband.

You couldn’t believe that things were so bad, even a month after your night with Chan, and nothing was going right. But what could you do? There was no easy solution, and it certainly didn’t help when you received a phone call from an unknown number one morning, accepting it with hesitation, only to be greeted with a strikingly familiar tone: “Hello, Y/N,” Chan said from the other end, and you immediately sat down on the edge of your bed.

“Chan?”

“How are you?” Chan asked with a pleasant tone. “I thought I might check in on my favorite couple.”

You frowned at his mocking tone. “Thanks, but we’re fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that! And I hope the money goes a long way for you and Jisung,” Chan said, and you clenched the phone tighter between your hands.

“It’s been helpful,” you said, even though the words didn’t seem to match the life you were currently living.

“Well, I’m in town for lunch this afternoon,” Chan continued. “I thought it might be nice just to catch up with you. Would you care to join me?”

You hesitated, looking around your empty bedroom with desperate eyes. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea...”

“Oh, please it’s just one lunch,” Chan said, and it was almost impossible to resist him. But that must be why he was such a good businessman. “One lunch.”

You sighed, already feeling yourself giving in to him. “One lunch,” you agreed, parroting back the response because it felt like your body was moving on auto-pilot, having lost the familiar spark ever since you came back from Vegas.

Chan’s chosen location was a gorgeous downtown restaurant that had more Michelin stars than the places you sometimes watched on TV.

It was beyond elegant, and you found Chan waiting for you at the door after having a car bring you to him. “Good morning,” he said with a cheeky tone, meeting you halfway as he offered his arm to you - the perfect gentleman.

“This was unexpected,” you said, allowing him to escort you inside, greeting the man at the front who seemed to instantly recognize Chan, leading you both to a private room away from the others.

“I wanted to do this,” Chan said. “I thought we could talk a little.”

“Is that it?” you asked, taking the menu and gaping at the immense prices.

Chan seemed to notice, smiling at your awed expression. “Have anything you want,” Chan said. “I’m buying.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly let you do that...” you said because then it would feel like a date, and that was as far from what you wanted as possible.

“Don’t concern yourself,” Chan said. “Everything is good here, and you deserve it.”

You weren’t sure that you liked the sound of that, but you didn’t complain as you requested that he order something for both of you instead of trying to interpret the gauche-sounding entrees.

“Now,” Chan said once your waiter left the room. “Let’s talk about you.”

“Me?” you questioned, sipping gingerly at your water glass. “What about me?”

“I want to know everything,” Chan said. “All of it.”

“Everything?” you repeated, shrugging as you blushed. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I can hardly believe that,” Chan said. “What about your job?”

“I’m a freelance writer,” you said, nodding when you realized that he was genuine. “Kinda hard in the city though.”

“But you’re doing what you love?” Chan asked, and he grinned at your confirmation. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Could it be so simple? you wondered, remembering all the countless arguments you and Jisung had shared because, according to him, your job was hardly considered career-worthy. “I love writing.”

“Then you must be a big reader,” Chan remarked. “All the best writers are.”

You swooned at his smooth conversation. “I have shelves full of the classics.”

“What’s your favorite?” Chan asked.

“Jane Eyre,” you admitted, and Chan raised a brow.

“I like that about you,” he said. “It fits: the idea of a bright young woman falling in love with the enigmatic billionaire.”

You met his gaze, recalling how Jisung had aligned the term “enigmatic” with Chan on the night you made your unholy deal. Was there a deeper meaning, then? “I love the prose,” you replied instead, thinking the subject might return to Chan.

But it never did. In fact, Chan kept all the questions about you, engaging you in a way that you had never experienced with another man. Like he cared so much about the person underneath, and his probing gaze was seeing past the outside in a way that spoke to your very soul.

And you couldn’t help but compare him to Jisung: a very dangerous thing to do.

“That was nice,” you said after you had both eaten. “It was good to see you again.”

“I agree,” Chan said, ever the businessman as his hand fell low around your waist, taking you back outside the restaurant. “Should we make plans for tomorrow?”

You almost laughed, until you read his expression and realized that he was serious. “What?”

“Y/N,” Chan said, and his tone was intense. “I can’t stop thinking about Vegas.”

“Chan,” you whined, trying to pull away, but his hold was firm.

“If you were with me,” Chan purred, and it was a lethal sound that was as smooth as the hand traveling up and down your back. “I could give you everything you wanted and more.”

“I can’t,” you insisted, and there was an image of Jisung in your head when you managed to escape him. “That was only one time.”

“I think you and I both know that it meant more than that,” Chan said, and you could deny it all you wanted, but there was an insistent throbbing at the back of your skull.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied, ignoring the scoff that escaped him while calling for the valet to bring the car Chan had organized for you.

“At least take my business card,” Chan said, and he was holding the small piece of printed paper out for you, but you knew that going down that path would only make things worse.

“I can’t accept it,” you said, returning your attention to the valet as he opened the back door.

“That’s a shame,” Chan said, but he was as persistent as ever, leaning close to press a kiss across your cheek. “You can always call me. If you ever need anything.”

You nodded, feeling somewhat disoriented as you sat down against the leather seat, swallowing hard when you could still see Chan from the rearview mirror.

By the time you returned home, it was already late, and you were glad to see Jisung when you sat your purse down onto the counter. “Hey,” you said, and Jisung glanced up from where he was reading the newspaper.

“Hey,” he replied. “How was lunch?”

You swallowed hard because you hadn’t told Jisung who you ate lunch with. “It was good.”

He nodded - a short dismissal, and it you decided to freshen up in the bathroom, taking a quick shower just to wash off the lingering traces of Chan.

But maybe it was foolish to think that water could wash away everything that had happened - those traces would never simply vanish.

When you walked back out into the main room, you were stunned to see Jisung putting on his coat. “Jisung,” you said, watching your husband rush around the living room. “Are you busy?”

“Just gong to meet some friends,” Jisung replied.

Distracted. Uninterested in you.

“Oh,” you said. “I thought we could spend some time together?”

“Yeah?” Jisung snorted, and you were shocked to hear him sound so abrasive...at least until he marched up to you waving around a business card. “And what the fuck is this, huh? I found it in your bag.”

He flung the card at you, and you sighed when you saw Chan’s name at the top - he must’ve snuck the card into your purse when you weren’t looking. “It’s nothing,” you said, but Jisung only laughed - a sound devoid of all humor. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“Does it matter?” he huffed. “You can’t get enough of him, can you?” he asked, and you were like a tea kettle that had been sitting on the burner for way too long - practically erupting from the top.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think?” Jisung smarted back. “You’re obviously still seeing him, spreading your legs for his cock like a bitch in heat. I guess one night wasn’t enough for you.”

“How dare you!” you yelled, getting right in Jisung’s face. “You want to know what happened? He slipped the card into my purse when I met him for lunch today, but I had never even spoken to him until then.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Jisung spat, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a fucking whore, Y/N. Throwing yourself at a rich man like Bang Chan just because he can buy you nice stuff.”

“What’s money got to do with anything?”

“It obviously means everything!” Jisung shouted. “It’s what got us into this fucking mess into the first place.”

“You mean, the mess you made when you gambled all our money away?”

“Are you really going to throw that back in my face?” Jisung seethed. “I was trying to make things better for us!”

“Good job,” you snickered. “Since we’re so fucking happy together.”

“What do you want from me?” Jisung asked, throwing up his arms. “I’m obviously the biggest asshole in the world.”

“I’m glad you can admit it,” you said. “Did you ever stop to think that all that I’ve done up to this point has been for you?”

Jisung paused, opening his mouth to retaliate, but then wisely deciding to let you continue. “Did I want to go to Vegas?” you asked. “No, but I went because you wanted to impress your company, and I know you wanted to do things right, but we should’ve both known better than to bet against the house. We lost everything, and in that moment of desperation, you pressured me into sleeping with another man, and I can’t think about anything else but him whenever I look at you.”

Jisung was stunned at the admission, all traces of anger gone from his expression. “Y/N,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah?” you said, voice quivering as you wiped away your tears. “Well, now you do.”

Jisung bowed his head, and you decided that you were done waiting for something to change, marching into your bedroom to grab your phone and dialing the first number you remembered.

“Chan,” you whispered when he greeted you on the other end. “Can I come over?”

There was only a split second of silence before Chan’s voice was soothing the raging storm inside of you. “I’ll send a car.”

It was almost midnight when your driver pulled up outside of a lavish home in the suburbs: huge, towering columns and Greco-Roman architecture making the place seem more like a mausoleum.

But it wasn’t the home itself that brought you comfort; rather, the people living within it who always made things seem safe and welcoming, and Chan was sure to greet you at the door, opening his arms wide to accept your embrace. “Was it a bad fight?” he asked, and you nodded while wondering how he could’ve possibly picked up on the fact that you and Jisung had been arguing again.

Maybe he just had good intuition when it came to you, and you appreciated the understanding, allowing him to bring you into an enormous den, settling you against the couch next to him while a fire blazed in the background. “I made tea,” Chan said, reaching for the two cups waiting on the ornamental table filling the empty space at the center of the room.

“Thanks,” you said, finding your eyes drawn to the neat stack of papers that had been sitting next to the cups.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan asked, relaxing one arm around your shoulders, bringing you against his much-needed warmth.

“We just don’t get along anymore,” you said. “I thought having money would fix things, but everything is worse.”

“Really?” Chan asked, and he seemed to consider your words. “It might seem like a good thing, and from the standpoint of a businessman, money is a very powerful motivator.” He smiled, looking down at you with eyes glowing from the flames. “But money isn’t the solution when it comes to the people you love.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, but you had also started picking up on that yourself. “Were you busy with something?”

Chan followed your gaze, reaching out for the papers that had drawn your attention from the very first moment you sat down. “These?” Chan chuckled, and he slid them to the edge, allowing you to read the fine print across the cover. “Divorces are complicated, aren’t they?” Chan asked, and you hesitated when you realized what he was implying. “But if you have enough money, then anything is possible.”

“Chan...” you trailed off, vision blurring at the edges and making the letters bleed together - a cacophony of meaningless jargon. “What are you trying to say?”

“You’re unhappy,” Chan said, and it was an observation that wasn’t difficult to make after all that had happened. “I guess I just don’t want you to be associated with the person causing that unhappiness.”

“You want me to leave Jisung?” you said, breathing in and out because it wasn’t a simple decision that one could make on the spot - not after years of living with someone who had become a central part of your existence.

It was too much to bear, and Chan’s presence was almost suffocating, breaths heavy against the side of your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Why should you stay with him? With or without money, he can’t seem to make you smile.”

You trembled at his closeness, choking around a sob even though the atmosphere between the two of you was suddenly charged with something electric. “And then what?”

“Well, after Jisung signs them,” Chan said, and his tongue traced the lobe of your ear. “I’d love to have you for myself.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, closing your eyes as he took you into his arms, doing nothing more than holding you, but the feelings bubbling below the surface of your skin told you more than actions or words ever could.

The next morning, Chan had his driver take you back to the apartment you shared with Jisung.

The apartment was strangely quiet, and you left the divorce papers on the table in the kitchen while you went to shower, wanting nothing more than the scalding water to provide a temporary numbness to the confusion you felt in every fiber of your being.

It was a much-needed reprieve, and when you walked back into the kitchen, you were surprised to see your husband at the table, eyes downcast. “Come sit with me, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard when you realized he was searching through the divorce papers, but you weren’t met with his anger; instead, Jisung just seemed really sad, and that was much worse. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” you said, but your husband just smiled and shook his head.

“I knew you wouldn’t come back home for nothing,” he said, sliding out the chair next to him as an invitation. “Why should you? I treated you like shit the other night.”

“We both said some really cruel things,” you said, joining him with a sigh. “Things spiraled out of control.”

“I can see that,” Jisung said, tapping his fingers against the papers. “Let’s talk about what happened.”

You shivered at the thought. “I don’t think we should-”

“No,” Jisung interrupted, but it was a gentle chide. “It’s important, so hear me out.”

It would be so hard, but you still agreed. “Okay.”

“The whole mistake in Vegas wasn’t the money,” Jisung said. “No, money might’ve caused our problems, but the mistake wasn’t wanting something to make our lives better. The real mistake was me thinking that I could just forget about it after we left. That I could easily forgive us both...What’s that old saying? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?” Jisung laughed, but it was bitter sounding. “Bullshit, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Bullshit.”

Jisung smiled. “People in love stay with each other, not because they try to forget the wrong parts, but because they’re capable of forgiving the bad. And I couldn’t do that because I thought you would want Chan after that night...that you would be right to want him. He’s so much better in every way, the better man for someone wonderful like you. But by the time I realized that it wasn’t true, that he was only better because he had more money, everything had spiraled.”

He was quiet after his confession, struggling to hold back his tears as he clicked open one of our pens and brought the papers closer. “If you really want the divorce, then I’ll give it to you,” Jisung said. “I just want you to be happy.”

Why should you stay with him? With or without money, he can’t seem to make you smile.

“Jisung...” you trailed off, unsure if there was anything you could do to change the look in his eyes.

“I’ll always love you,” Jisung said, and it was the same promise as always, but you watched with a heavy heart as he signed his name in cursive as the bottom of the form.

The divorce papers felt like an added weight in your bag as you marched into the office building of SKZ Enterprises.

It was ridiculous, really. They were just papers, made in a factory and mass-produced to be sold in stores.

But it was the symbolism they carried, the significance of Jisung’s name scribbled at the bottom of the final page that had you faltering.

Your heart was hurting, and you forced a smile when you greeted Chan’s secretary at the corner next to his big, corporate office. “I’m here to see, Mr. Bang,” you told the secretary. “Tell him my name is Y/N.”

“Of course,” she said, and you watched her disappear into the office, giving you a few critical moments to collect your thoughts.

Until you heard his voice again:

“Y/N?”

You startled at the sound of Chan’s voice, seeing him standing in front of you with a million-dollar smile on his weathered face. “Come inside?”

“Yes,” you agreed, following him into the office with the door shutting firmly behind you.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Chan said, grabbing you hand and pressing a kiss to your lips. “Is something wrong?”

“We need to talk,” you said, and Chan’s smile disappeared.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said, chuckling as he invited you to sit down in one of the expensive chairs next to his desk. “Do you need anything? I can call for some tea.”

“No,” you said, deciding it was better to get straight to the point as you reached into your bag to bring out the divorce papers stapled together.

“This could either be good or bad,” Chan remarked, accepting them from you and quickly turning to the last page, expression falling. “I see.”

“I can’t sign them,” you said, and there was something powerful in your tone that had even Chan admitting defeat.

“Damn,” Chan sighed, eyes boring a hole into the pages. “This is the worst news I’ve gotten.”

“I talked to Jisung,” you explained. “Just looking at him and entertaining the idea of leaving forever...I couldn’t do it.”

Chan finally tore his gaze from the papers, meeting yours with disappointment. “I take it he said something to change your mind.”

“I don’t know if he changed my mind,” you admitted. “Rather, I think his love and forgiveness made me see reason with what I was doing.”

“Ah,” Chan said. “I think we’ve come full circle, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you told me that all the money in the world couldn’t buy your love,” Chan said, and there was something that resembled respect reflected in his eyes. “You were right all along.”

You ducked your head, unable to maintain such intensity. “I’d like to give you that money back, Mr. Bang. My husband and I can manage on our own.”

“Oh, please, I’d be insulted if you did that,” Chan said, and he held out his hand for you to shake. “You know I’m a good businessman, so consider this an opportune long-term investment in something I’m supporting.”

You were full of gratitude, swallowing back tears as you nodded. “Thank you.”

“”There’s no need for that,” he said. “I’ll always be here for you.” The sentiment was matched by the gentle brushing of his lips across your cheek, and you could feel the last reminder of Chan even after leaving his office for the first and final time.

You were carrying takeout up the stairs, feeling lighter on your feet than you had in months.

The weight of your burdensome worries was gone, and you knocked with a little too much enthusiasm on the front door to your apartment.

“Y/N?” Jisung questioned, and there was an obvious look of surprise on his face when he opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reminded him with a cheeky smile. “I brought food.”

Jisung’s eyes moved to the bag in your hand, nodding once before allowing you inside. “I thought you were going to see Chan.”

“I did,” you said, leading him into the kitchen. “There were some things to discuss.”

“I see,” Jisung said, watching you with a wary expression as you presented him with his favorite Italian special.

The suspense was killing you, and you desperately wanted to see the frown leave his lips. “I didn’t sign the papers,” you said, sitting down at the table with a wearied sigh. “I couldn’t.”

“Really?” Jisung asked, clearing his throat at the hitch in his voice, but you were just trying to hide your smile at his boyish charms.

“Have I told you that I love you recently?” you asked, looking at him with way too much fondness.

Jisung paused, chopsticks poised in hand. “You do?”

“Always,” you affirmed, and you were unprepared for the first of Jisung’s tears to fall, endearing him even more to you if that was possible. “I’m happiest with you,” you told him, reaching out to wipe away those rebellious tears.

“I’ve always felt that way,” Jisung said, getting himself back under control as he pushed away his food and patted his lap. “Come here.”

You were more than happy to oblige, climbing into his lap to wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair while searing your lips together in a kiss that promised so much more from the one true love of your life.

401 notes · View notes

haifengg · 3 years

Text

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Lucas can’t really go without affection. He needs a smooch at least before he leaves the house or when he says goodbye on dates. He wants to be reminded that their S/O loves him and that he loves them. It’s as easy as this.

B = Before (What were they like when they had a crush?) Dude would try to impress. With bad jokes. With flexing his guns. He would always ask his crush if they want to come with him and the guys to do whatever. And if they agree he wouldn’t really be able to hide his excitement. It would light a spark of pure joy in his eyes. It would be very obvious really.

C = Confession (What was their confession like?) Regardless of his looks and height Lucas still is a very childish man and he’s not that old either. I would honestly go that far and say that during his life he wasn’t the one confessing often. He usually got confessed to. So when it is actually his turn he would probably get all shy around his crush and he maybe asked Kun for advice as well on how to tell them and what to say since he is not the very best with words.

D = Date (What was the first official date they went on?) I am guessing something cheesy. Lucas may or may not be a romantic person but being all nervous about fulfilling expectations and doing a solid job he would take their S/O out to go an amusement park. He is a child really and his sometimes subtle playfulness is probably what attracts his S/O to him as well.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) Please don’t come for me on this one but I recon he would choose a text. As I mentioned in section C = Confession I imagine him being this popular kid in school everyone had a crush on at least once a week. (We’ve all seen the pics he’s adorable.) That being said he maybe got too used to dumping people interested in him. I won’t say it is the same with his S/O as it was with high school sweethearts but he might just fall back into old patterns due to convenience. Breaking up would still hurt him and still be difficult.

F = Fights (What would fights look like? What are things that upset them?) Honestly: Fights with Lucas would be a pain mainly because he doesn’t see where he’s wrong or what the issue exactly is. He is a very loyal person once fully committed but maybe not the most understanding one.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) His emotional way is very gentle. His physical way in terms of hugs and holding hands is too. Simple mind - Simple showings off affection other things we don’t discuss here it is SWF, please

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Just like Johnny his arms are insanely long and wrapping them tightly around his S/O is just way to nice to not do it constantly.

I = Intimacy (What is their favorite form of intimacy? Do they have problems with it?) He knows why he’s in SM. He got casted off the streets for his looks. He also really radiates the vibes of only being there for the fun and the people only. Lucas is very confident in the way he looks and he is aware of how many thousand people find him insanely attractive. I am pretty sure there are close to no problems when it comes to intimacy but that is something very personal because we know that everyone has at least one issue with themselves which we sometimes could never tell.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) He gets jealous. Not much but he does in general. I am not sure how exactly that would display or how he would show it but overall: Yes he does.

K = Kisses (Are they a good kisser? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) I hope he is. Okay no honestly, hear me out lmao. Lucas ... is either very excellent at kissing or he isn’t. I just look at him and I really hope he is because that would be so grate and elevate him one step closer to being the complete package. He meets the height requirements. He has the hands to hold his S/O. He surely has the lips as well. Which is also where they like to kiss/be kissed the most.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) Lucas is the perfect personality type for getting along well with kids. He is goofy enough to play around with them and fun and fool but he is also calm enough to not out-child them and keep an eye on them. He is guiding their playfulness in a way only a few people can.

M = Messages (How often do they text his S/O?) He texts them A LOT when he’s bored. During practice or some random meeting he would get distracted by his phone and text them about how bored he is. Also he would often take pictures or snaps of stupid little things he wants to show them but they’re not around. Speaking of SnapChat: Filters.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Nights out in clubs are hot and fun. Nights out in bars (if they are dates) are hot. Nights out in movie theatre would be so much fun. He would totally get this slushies that turn your tongue in different Colors but would also hold his S/O during scary parts of the movie even though he’s scared himself. Acting all tough

O = Opinion (Would they ask for their S/O’s opinion a lot? How important is it in terms of decisions?) He would ask for their opinion but mainly because he thinks he has to or that they would want to be ask. If it’s about his personal matters. When it comes to mutual decisions it’s different because well of course he asks for his S/O opinion. What they say matters to him and he wants both of them to be comfortable. So when they say that sofa is ugly - it’s ugly.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) Getting on his nerves is quite hard I assume. He probably would be the one getting on his S/O’s nerves (most of the time by accident tho.) If it’s something about them that actually bothers him he will be patient and ask them to maybe change that behaviour for a long time before actually admitting how much it is bothering him and eventually raising his voice.

Q = Quizzes (How does a bar trivia night teamed up with them look like?) A complete mess. Lucas once admitted he is not the smartest one and I adore people who are aware of that and own it in their own way. He would still try his best to not let his S/O and maybe other teammates down. BUT he is still an important part of the team: The one who chugs everything for the sake of the cause. IDK I just see him being able to drink a lot. He radiates this frat boy energy help

R = Remember (How much do they remember about their S/O or their relaitonship in general?) Lucas does his best but he is forgetting a lot. He writes it down in his phone. For example there could be a list for his S/O's family member’s birthdays and all their important anniversaries. He may still forget them tho. When it comes to memory Lucas knows it’s not his forté but he is trying hard.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) He is maybe one of the most protective boyfriends you will find in whole NCT. He shields his S/O from wind or rain, he corners them in crowded subways. He flags and gets in cabs first. He will shove between his S/O and other guys dancing at clubs casually so they don’t notice. He will tell people to fo k off if they are obviously bothering his S/O. He does it all.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) He might be sloppy with everyday chores but he will rather often take his S/O on spontaneous coffee dates or bring home take out aka steal something from the dorm Kun cooked.

U = Unique (What makes them unique as a S/O?) What makes Lucas unique as a S/O is definitely his awareness of his ... stupidity? Now I can see people coming for me for saying this but he once said he is not very smart and he is probably correct about that. His abilities lay more in the practical and emotional/empathic area. So what makes him special is is ability to pull his S/O’s guard down. If they come home from work super stressed he will put their mind at ease by simply talking to them about not so heavy or challenging topic. He will be their save heaven. A place where they don’t need to pretend or to impress. Lucas loves his S/O 190% for their character or quirks and maybe even for their intellect as well but he doesn’t compete with it and is real about himself.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) SO. MUHC. He has sloppy days tho but they will mostly never catch him with greasy hair or anything. And also he is in shape and plans to stay that way.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without their S/O?) He would. If he is not with them for a long time he can feel how he is losing his inner center or balance. Lucas would be fine on his own but honestly exactly just fine.

X = X-Ray (How transparent are they?) Lucas is an open book. He can’t hide anything and he is so easy to fool on like April 1st or some prank they want to play on him. If he’s feeling down they’ll see it. If he’s happy they’ll know it. if he truly loves them it will be on the local news.

Y = Yuck (Everyone has flaws. What is theirs?) Bruh okay. Well. He leaves his underwear everywhere. Or his socks. and he leaves the toilet seat up.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?) Being asleep he grabs everything and pulls it in close. There is no escape. And I feel like he will wander towards the mid of the bed so if their S/O is avoiding being hold custody they will have no where to go but the sofa or wake him up.

Gif is not mine

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@jeonghanmoon @kpopsnowball @pocky-otp @himitsu-luna @soleilsuhh @dundun-baby

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i-cant-sing · 3 years

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Okay, Moon anon was able to contact me and I'm gonna post their chapters 3-6 here.

Daniel and YN 3 🌗🌗

Rainy days are crazy. Some of YN’s best and worst memories were on a rainy day. It was a rainy day when Daniel was born. His parents overjoyed when he decided to join the world early. The Sunny morning turned rainy when they saw something was wrong. The sky was so dark when the doctored explained that their baby didn’t get enough oxygen in the womb or when he came out. That his brain was impacted by the trauma. It took four years for Daniel’s mother to stop blaming herself, four years for her to understand that she couldn’t have known that something was wrong in her womb. Four years when they had their second child. It was a rainy day when YN and Daniel got lost. Holding each other’s hand, tightly they wandered the Kamino Ward. Hoping that their parents would be right down an alley or around the corner. That was a terrible 6th birthday for YN. The steps Daniel left in the dirt started to get deeper and more burnt. The boy slightly started to tremble. “Daniel.. it’s gonna be ok. Momma and Pop are going to find us we just have to-“ “Are you two lost?” A very tall man in a black suit asked. YN couldn’t remember his face, but his voice was eerily calm and smoothe. His head had snow white hair on it. A look at him would’ve left even the hero All Might scared. “ye…Yes. My brother and I can’t find our parents..” “Oh dear. Well I can help you. They couldn’t have gotten far.” He held his hand to Daniel. And he almost took it had YN not stepped in. “We’re not supposed to touch strangers.” “Oh yes, that’s a very good rule. Well my name is.. Shigaraki. Now what are yours?” “…yn.. and daniel..” “Now we aren’t strangers. Let’s get you two somewhere safe. Your brother’s quirk might level the neighborho-“ “YN! DANIEL!” The relieved voice of their father shouted out. And the two quickly turned away, toward his calls and open arms. Tears running down their faces, swearing to never wander off again. The day was saved. When YN went to turn to Mr Shigaraki to tell him it was fine, he had disappeared into the crowd. But one question lingered in her head. How did he know Daniel’s quirk could be dangerous? It was a sunny day at first when YN and Daniel went out to the park for their Day out. YN had already planned to tell her parents that she wanted to come back here for her 12th birthday in a few months. Daniel kept over-stimulating himself with every single thing that caught his eyes. The anthill, the trees, the way the wind carried the leaves, when he and YN jumped around over the hopscotch drawings. When the rain came down they didn’t want to leave. They wanted to splash in the wetness like a couple of ducks. But Momma was insistent it was time to go back to the apartment. Inside the car YN immediately put on her headphones to listen to nightcore covers of popular songs. It wasn’t until she noticed her mom’s terrified expression and felt her dad’s fear did she take them off. “-I DONT KNOW ITS NOT BREAKING!” “WE’RE GOING RIGHT INTO TRAFFIC! DO SOMETHING!” “..momma?..” “DANIEL! YN GET DOWN!” That was the last thing her mother said to her. The rain hit the car harder. Daniel was quick to cover his little sister as the car swerved towards a large truck. YN felt her brother shield over their bodies. The last thing she heard from her father was a yell. Before they crashed into the truck. Before YN and Daniel were flung out into the side of the road. Scratches beginning to litter their arms and cheeks. YN felt the rain on her face as she tried looking up. Tried finding her parents. It was a rainy day when the last image of her parents was the crushed front end of the car. 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN 4 🌗🌗

The incident at the cafe left a bigger mess then was intended. Of course the waitress didn’t say a word about who caused the mess, still terrified of the threat, but the manager still called the police. At the moment it was being investigated as a break in. It wasn’t until they started to bag the broken vases as evidence did they think to call a hero as they believed this was a terrorist villain trying to strike more fear. When the first cop touch the broken vases he immediately fell over and started seizing. Like someone had sent hundreds of volts up through his gloved fingers and into his blood stream. The second cop tried picking up the glass with prongs so that she wouldn’t get the same effect. But she still felt some pain and volts. Even the glass windows were giving off static. When they were examined no one could find a point of impact. It was almost like they spontaneously exploded. Worse and more confusing yet was the fact that the material seemed to give off radiation spikes. From a computer screen image, it was like a red glow was emanated from the glass. When the police tried to check the cameras, all the footage was either ruined, too melted to gather anything. It left them in a stump. So they had to make a plea to the hero society to get fresh eyes and help on the case. Not expecting any big response. Some heroes wanted to solve the mystery because it stumped them as well. This quirk residue was something unseen before. Calls and emails were left. All saying they would look into it. And it seemed like this would just be a mysterious case left forgotten. That is until the All Might showed up in the station one morning. Along with his protege Deku. They said they wanted to solve the case because if this person left such a dangerous residue after using their quirk, then they were a danger to themselves and others. No on saw the real intentions in their eyes. When they asked about the only other patron in the cafe the police said that they tried tracking them down, but they were gone into the wind. The only other patron at the cafe made their way into a compound. Holding treats meant for a little girl. But first he had to make a stop at his boss’s office. “Hey.. Kai. You won’t believe what Just saw.” Meanwhile in the station two separate rats made calls to two separate people. “Put me through to Shigaraki…. Hello. I have something interesting to tell you. Something that might please you and your Sensei.” “Oh hey there Aizawa. Detective Tsukauchi here. Look I you know about that cafe destruction a week ago? Yea well I think you outta here about this.” Indeed the cafe incident left a bigger mess than intended. 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN part 5 🌗🌗

They’d been gone for at least two months. YN’s feet hurt and Daniel missed his own bed. But they had to keep going, with no intended final destination but a goal to keep away from the previous home they ran from. After the morning at the cafe, YN and Daniel had kept to the shadows for the rest of the day. But they couldn’t keep going like this. They needed to eat today but not at a restaurant. There was only one dreaded… dreaded option. The grocery store. So after they checked in at the latest motel with kitchens in the rooms, the siblings ventured off to the store.YN couldn’t leave Daniel alone yet. He’d panic and probably have a fit. The store was minimally packed. Since it was still early in the day it seemed like they would zip in and out with relative ease. After grabbing the bare essentials, and what she could pack in a backpack without much drag, it was time to go to the candy aisle. It was a long journey thus far, a journey deserving of some sour candies. But of course there had to be another person there. Invading space and looking right at her favorites. She wanted to just grab and go. But her hand and the stranger's hand touched as they reached for the same one. “Sorry. I should’ve watched where I was going heh..” The tall redhead said. A small blush on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fine. Lemme just grab and go here.” She looked back for Daniel, luckily he was close by staring at the varieties of pocky they had. Turning back she noticed his uniform. UA, that might prove to be a complication. But YN was desperate for some kind words and a brief moment to talk to someone her own age. “So you go to UA? Are you a general student or a hero course student?” “Oh hero course definitely! I even have my hero name chosen!” “Wow that’s great. I hope in a few years I get to be saved by…?” “Red Riot!” “Like Crimson Riot?” “Exactly! I really admire him and I hope I live up to his-“ “OI SH**TY HAIR! WE’RE GONNA BE LATE! GRAB YOUR CRAP AND LET’S GO!” A blonde kid shouted down the aisle, also wearing a UA outfit. YN couldn’t place why but she felt like she’d known him before. That volume felt very familiar, but it startled her brother who jumped in fear causing the pocky he saw to fall off the shelving. Time to go now. “I should go anyway. It was nice meeting you.” “Wait, we could walk you and your brother to your school if you guys want?” “We have to go.” The blonde got closer and she could tell something was perpetually up his ass. “Bye.” “Wait! My name’s Eijiro Kirishima. What’s yours?” “YN. Just YN. That’s my brother Daniel.” And before he or his companion could ask anything else the two siblings fast walked toward the checkout and were out the door before they got another chance to talk to them. “YN… huh she was pretty cool right bakubro!” “What ever. Let’s get going before we show up after Deku.” But that name was familiar to him. The girl had long since faded from his mind, but how could anyone forget the day when a quirkless kid tried bashing your head into the dirt. He planned on apologizing the next day for his comments but she was gone. Gone and almost forgotten. It could be possible that this was just someone who shared the same name. But maybe.. possibly.. the universe was giving him the chance to apologize. “YN.” 🌗🌗

Daniel and YN part 6 🌗🌗

YN never really liked her neighbors. She never outright loathed them, but she was uncomfortable with how Inko kept trying to be her mother, and how Izuku had this strange obsessive stare when he looked at her. As long as they stayed in their apartment and never bothered them it would all be fine. But their parents couldn’t watch them all the time. So on days when momma and pop went out Miss Midoryia would graciously watch them. YN never liked pity. So when Miss Midoryia tried to pity and feel sorry about YN’s quirkless status, that just made her dig her heels in longer. She didn’t need people to fuss over her like she was a glass doll. At least with Izuku she could’ve had a companion. She did try to get along with him. But he was so weird. Just because they both were quirkless didn’t mean they’d would be close. “So why are you homeschooled?” “I get into fights.” “Why?” “Because people are mean and they think they’ll have no consequences to their words. I proved them wrong.” “Were they mean because you’re quirkless or because Daniel is… different?” Now obviously he didn’t mean any harm by that. But an emotional 10 year old girl is not someone to mess with. So with a sharp glare to his face the conversation quickly died. In the dining room, Daniel would usually be coloring. Or playing with his legos. Something to stim and distract his mind. Sometimes he’d just pull out a old painting his dad got him, and he’d spend hours looking at the strokes and would mentally add a new feature. Twirling the hair on his head whilst sucking/biting his thumb. “Daniel? Would you like some water?” “No miss. I want momma.” “I know sweetie but she won’t be gone forever. And you call me Inko” Though she’d prefer him to call her something more affectionate. Throughout the night Inko kept trying to mother them. She hovered over YN’s neck and tried petting her head which resulted in a swipe from the little girl. By the time YN’s parents got back, she was relieved and spent the rest of the night complaining to her mom about how she didn’t want to go over to the neighbors anymore and how she felt uncomfortable. Across the hall the two greenettes were enamored with the two kids. Inko adored how sweet Daniel was, how shy he looked to her. Izuku was star struck at this girl without a quirk who was so quick to fight against the norms put in place by a society against them. They'd soon make it a habit to try to talk to the family in the hall, or bump into them on the street. One day, after the family had been gone for a couple weeks, they saw the two with several police officers and a social worker packing away all their belongings. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something terrible had happened. When Inko offered to watch them, the social worker confirmed the worst and took the children away. Three weeks later, as her son was at school Inko kept trying to find the legal way for her to gain custody of the kids when her door was knocked. Her husband, AFO, on the other side. She tried telling him to go away. Tried saying that he had no part in Izuku’s life anymore. But he had a bigger role than known. “How can you be so cruel my love? Especially now that I’ve opened the door for you to gain what you want?” “What do you mean?” “I’ll help you gain custody of the two children you are craving. I happen to have a fascination with them as well.” “I can’t ever guarantee that we’ll be a whole family ever again.” “Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to. But let’s try something for now.” So Inko made a deal with the devil, to gain two angels. 🌗🌗

Now that AFO is in the story, I'm like so excited! Great work, Moon anon!

#moon anon

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themadlostgirl · 3 years

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Keeping Warm (2)

*Did I make a second part to this because one person asked for it? Yes I did. Come to me my Felix simps! Enjoy your fluff!*

~~~

That had to be the best sleep I’ve had in a while! This cloak was a lot better than my old one. I wonder how long I could get away with keeping it before the boys stole it back. I folded it up neatly and hid it under my cot so it wasn’t out in the open for them to steal back.

I left my tent and noticed that the boys that had been laughing and teasing me yesterday were keeping a wide berth from me today. I had no problem with that. The farther away they stayed the better.

Since I was truly well rested for the first time in a long time I decided to take advantage of my energy and practice my archery. Before Neverland I never had a need to learn how to wield a weapon but archery was fun and it helped in hunting small game. I grabbed my bow and quiver of arrows before setting off into the jungle. When it came to game on the island there wasn’t a whole lot outside of fish and some birds but they didn’t make for much food.

If you wanted a good meal you had to head into the dark jungle of the island. It’s where all the big game lived since anyone ventured in there. You could sometimes find a rogue boar running around outside of the dark jungle but they mainly stayed within the perimeter. Other than boars there was also a type of goat that lived there. The boys had tried keeping some of the goats for milk a while back but after the “incident” all the goats were shoved into the dark jungle and water became the only acceptable source of drink. Probably for the best.

I was out tracking for a while when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I tried to make it out through the foliage and saw the head of a goat pop up. Gotcha. I notched an arrow and took aim. I let the arrow fly and cheered when it went right through the goat’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Another head popped up, this time it wasn’t a goat though. Felix turned to look at me. “What was that?”

“Sorry!” I rushed over, “I was hunting and saw the goat head. I didn’t mean to shoot at you. What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you it seems. I had been tracking this fat bastard for over an hour.” He kicked the dead goat at our feet. “Almost had it too before you got it first. Nice shot by the way.”

“Thanks! I was really lucky this time around. I usually don’t get a clear shot like that.” I tore the arrow out of the goat’s head. “Since you’re here do you mind helping me lug this beast back to camp?”

“Sure,” Felix heaved the goat up and threw it onto his shoulders. “Let’s get moving.”

“This will surely make for a good dinner tonight.”

“You really wanna let those jerks tear into your catch?” Felix asked.

“I mean not really but this is way more food than you and I can eat so we kinda have to split it up.” I shrugged, “Why do you care anyway? I thought you liked the other Lost Boys.”

“They’re my brothers but brothers can get damn annoying.” He muttered, “Taking shit that doesn’t belong to them and whatnot.”

“Ugh, I know what you mean.” I sighed, “They stole my cloak out of my tent last night so I stole one of theirs as payback.”

“Did you now?” Felix trudged further ahead, “Did you give it back yet?”

“No and I don’t plan to. Mine was so thin it didn’t help at all but this one is really warm so unless they come and pry it away from me I’m not giving it up. It also helps that is smells good so I cuddle up in it even tighter.” My face started heating up after I realized what I just admitted. “Sorry, that was a lot of unnecessary information.”

“It’s fine,” Felix muttered.

I jogged to fall into step next to him. I grabbed an apple out of my bag and started cutting off slices with my knife. I wordlessly offered one to Felix. This time when I popped it into his mouth for him though I didn’t roll my eyes since his hands were full carrying the goat. We trekked back to camp in companionable silence. Felix set the goat down for the others to skin and cook while we rested.

We sat down on a log together while I picked bits of goat fur off his shoulders.

“Felix,” One of the boys approached us, “Pan was looking for you earlier but you were away from camp so he wanted me to pass on a message.”

“And?” Felix asked.

“He’s gone off the island on a mission of sorts. Says he may not be back till morning at the latest so you’re in charge till then.”

“Got it.” Felix nodded and the boy ran off again.

“Man in charge tonight,” I poked his shoulder, “Don’t crack under the pressure, captain.”

“Har har,” He rolled his shoulder ushering me off, “Being in charge for a night doesn’t entail much. I just have to make sure these idiots don’t go rogue during Pan’s absence and do something stupid like burn the camp down again.”

“These boys can really be just the dumbest things on the face of the earth, can’t they?” I shook my head. Then my body shook. A cold gust of wind blew through the camp. It wasn’t like the slightly cooler breezes that Neverland usually had. This was cold. Really cold.

The other boys felt it as well. All of them rushing to their tents and reappearing with cloaks and others running for firewood. “What’s going on?” I asked Felix as I rubbed feebly at my arms.

Felix sighed. “I almost forgot that this happens when Pan leaves. He so rarely does anymore it didn’t even cross my mind.”

“What?”

“When Pan leaves then time stands still. I don’t mean that in the way that tie naturally stands still here. I mean the island basically goes into hibernation without him around. Depending on how long he’s been gone we should start to see the beginnings of…” Felix looked up. The once clear sunny sky had been replaced with dark dreary clouds.

“Oh don’t tell me it’s gonna rain!” I pouted.

“Worse than that.”

We sat there for a minute as delicate white flakes started falling from the sky. “Snow?!” I gaped at the offending weather. “How is there snow? This is a tropical island!”

“It is a magic island too though.” Felix said. “You may want to grab something to put on, viper. It’s only gonna get colder.”

“Right, I’ll be right back.” I ran back to my tent and pulled the cloak out from under my cot. I put it on but while it was thick enough to keep out the chill of the night it was just another feeble layer against the bitter cold that we had been subjected to now.

I went back to the log where Felix and I had been seated but he wasn’t there anymore. I made my way towards the bonfire the boys had started and huddled as close as I could get to the flames. I really hope the boy I stole the cloak from won’t try to take it back now. I fear I’ll freeze to death without it.

The sky grew even darker and the island got even colder. We were quickly burning through our supply of firewood and I knew that it would run out soon. When that happened it was every man for themselves. I figured I’d hunker down in my tent and try to keep warm by myself until Pan returned and the cold went away.

I stayed by the fire as it dwindled down to faintly glowing coals. The snow had really piled up and my toes were numb in my boots. Oh no! I didn’t even take into account the snow! I ran as fast as I could to my tent but it was of no use. The snow had weighed it down and it crumpled. My cot was soaked and the beams I had used to pitch it had snapped. This was just great.

It looked as if the other boys had gotten the memo to keep the snow from piling up on their tents since they rest were still standing. Would have been nice if they mentioned something to me. I shivered violently against another harsh gale of wind and trudged away from my ruined tent. Maybe I could find Felix and he’d take pity on me and let me stay in his tent for the night.

I scoured the wintry white camp but saw no Felix. He was probably already hunkered down. If only I knew which tent was his.

~~~

Damn this cold. Why did the island have to go into hibernation just cause Pan wasn’t around? It really wasn’t fair. Felix hated it all the more since he didn’t have anything to keep him warm now that he had let you have his cloak.

Upon realizing just how bad it was going to camp Felix remembered something that could help him keep warm. He jumped up and ran into the jungle until he found the old, gnarled dead tree that years and years ago had been the first home of the Lost Boys. He knocked against the trunk until he found the hatch that opened up. It would be a tight fit but if he kept his arms close to his chest then...Felix slipped down the hollow trunk of the tree and was deposited into an underground cavern.

He lit a torch along the wall and breathed in the dusty but altogether warmer air. This place looked as if it hadn’t been touched in decades. It probably hadn’t. Felix only ever remembered this place when Pan left and turned the rest of the island into a wintry hellscape. He never told any of the other Lost Boys about this warm oasis since he didn’t want them crowding in around him.

Felix was down there clearing cobwebs and shaking out the dusty furs and blankets when he was hit with a sharp realization. He left you back at camp. He left the one person who cannot handle any amount of cold in any way back in a blizzard!

“Shit!” Felix hissed and climbed back out of the cavern. He raced back to camp and spotted you easily enough since you were the only one still outside. Why were you outside? Why weren’t you in your tent at least?

“Hey,” He shouted, pulling you away from where the bonfire had been, “What are you doing out here?”

“Tent collapsed under the snow.” Your whole body was shaking so bad that it even bled into your voice. “Was looking for you…”

“Come on,” He grabbed your hand and tugged you along, “I know someplace we can go to wait this out.”

Felix knew it was a bad time but he couldn’t get over the sight of you in his cloak. It was just like last night when he got that strange fluttering in his chest. He gripped your hand tighter and tried pulling you faster but you ended up losing your balance and tripping. Felix caught you before you landed in the snow but he could tell you were having trouble keeping up.

“We’re almost there, just a little further,”

“I can’t feel my toes,” You whimpered.

“Damn it,” Felix ran a hand through his hair. “Well we can’t stay out here. Hold onto me.” With that Felix gathered you in his arms and pulled you off the ground. He hiked his way back to the dead tree with you held in his arms. This was the first time he had really been this close to you. Your head nestled on his shoulder as your body trembled. He set you down long enough to open the hatch on the dead tree again and set you inside. You went sliding down and Felix shortly followed.

“Where are we?” You gazed around the cavern you both were in. “It’s warm in here.”

“My own little get away when the island goes into stasis.” Felix explained. He helped you up and ushered you towards the bed at the back of the cavern covered in blankets and furs. “You’ll keep warm down here.”

“Blankets!” He burrowed underneath the blankets with a content sigh. “I am never leaving this pile.”

“Thought you’d enjoy that.” Felix smiled. “Are your toes still numb?”

“A little.”

“Let me see, I want to make sure you don’t have frostbite.” He instructed.

You untied your boots and Felix grimaced when he saw that your socks had been soaked through. You peeled those off too. There was no way to make this awkward so Felix grabbed your feet and inspected them, pushing on your toes to make sure they hadn’t incurred any damage.

“Good news, you get to keep your toes.” Felix pushed your feet off his lap and pulled the blanket you were wrapped in back over them.

“That is a relief.” You smiled brightly. “Thanks for sharing this space with me.”

“Well I wasn’t just gonna let you suffer out there in the cold. The others deserve it but not you.” Felix said. The fluttering was back and he could feel it’s way creeping up his neck into his face. The air in the room suddenly felt too hot. He shuffled back to the foot of the bed further away from you.

There was a beat of silence.

“Hey Felix?” You crawled over to sit next to him.

“Yeah?” Felix tried not to look at you lest the pink in his cheeks be noticed.

“Where is your cloak? Don’t tell me you were out running around in this weather without grabbing it.” You said. Felix resisted a bark of laughter. Said cloak was still around your shoulders and you clutched it tightly in your hands as you looked at him.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” He pulled the hood up over your head and down in front of your eyes. “You kinda stole it, viper.”

“Huh?” Your eyes peeped out from under the hood. He watched with amusement as the realization hit you and you pulled the hood back down to hide. “I’m sorry! I had no idea it was yours! I thought it belonged to one of the jerks that stole mine!”

“It’s alright, you needed it a lot more than I did anyway.” He chuckled softly. “Glad to know you think I smell good though.”

“AGH!” You dove under the blankets to hide further. Your embarrassed voice still rung clear from underneath the furs. “I cannot believe I told you that!”

“Come now, it’s not that bad.” Felix couldn’t help the spark of joy he felt when he teased you. “Come out. I wanna talk to you.”

“Nope! I am never leaving again for the sake of my dignity.”

“Fine.” Felix took a deep breath and pulled the covers up over himself. Your face was inches away from his under the blankets. “I’ll just come to you.”

“Felix…” You muttered, you were still keeping your eyes down so you weren’t looking at him.

“I wanna know something.”

“What?”

“If you get so cold at night why didn’t you ask me for help? I could have brought you as many blankets as you wanted from down here.”

“I didn’t ask because I had already tried asking the other boys for help and all they did was make fun of me. I didn’t want you to tease me too.”

“Teasing you is fun but I’d rather you not freeze to death.” He said, “I also told the boys that if they steal anything from you again then they’ll answer to me.”

“Why would you do that?” You asked, “I get that we’re friends but you don’t have to fight my battles.”

“It’s because you are my friend that I want to help you, idiot.” He poked your forehead, “Which means threatening Lost Boys and letting you steal my cloak. It kinda feels like it’s my mission to keep you warm.”

“A noble cause indeed.” You laughed and Felix decided then that he had never heard a more pleasing sound.

Your smile softened and Felix got lost in your eyes for a moment. The fluttering was getting worse but he found he didn’t mind it. “Here,” You closed the distance between the two of you and left a quick kiss on his cheek, “A little token of thanks.”

Okay. Now he minded. It felt like a billion butterflies had gotten trapped in his ribcage. It was just a moment. A mere second of contact but it lit his body from the toes up as if he had stepped into a fire.

“You okay? Did I cross a line? Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just thankful for what you did and you’ve always been nice to me so--”

“Give…” Felix mumbled under his breath but it was enough to stop your mess of ramblings.

“You say something?” You asked.

“Give you…” Felix took a deep breath but it did little to calm his nerves. “Want to give you one.”

“Give me one what?” You asked.

“A...um…” he tapped his cheek. This was stupid! Why was he trying to initiate this right now? It was only meant to be a thank you kiss between friends and he was making it weird!

“Oh!” Your face got even hotter than it had a moment before. “I mean if you really want to then go ahead. Can I ask why first?”

“A thanks for never dropping a hermit crab in my mouth whenever you offer me food?” he joked. You laughed again, the tension between you breaking.

“I do deserve thanks for that.” You nodded and presented your cheek, “Go ahead.”

Okay Felix. Do not screw this up. There is not conceivable way to mess this up. He inched closer and left a darting kiss to your warm cheek.

“I bring you a lot of snacks,” Your voice was a whisper, “I think maybe that’s worthy of two kisses.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Felix turned your face so he could kiss your other cheek. “While we’re at it I think I’m owed more thanks for lugging that big goat of yours back to camp. It wasn’t light at all.”

“I suppose you do.” You grinned wider. This time when you kissed him you pressed it to the tip of his nose. “You also carried me here so if we think about it logically then I should--”

“Just kiss me already.” Felix pulled you closer.

“Yes sir,” You held his face in your small warm hands and kissed him on the mouth. Your lips were so soft and you tasted sweet like berries. “Felix,” You murmured against his lips.

“Hm?”

“If this is another way of keeping warm, it’s working.”

“Then we probably shouldn’t stop.” His lips met yours again. He couldn’t have you getting cold again after all.

---

(Part 1)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #request

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alphabravocharliedelta · 3 years

Text

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader VI

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Chapter VI

Word Count: 7400

[Chapter V] [Chapter VII]

Summary: After somehow reconciling with Adler, Bell and the team are left to continue their pursuit of bringing down the undercover spy ring, but it proves to be more of a challenge as Bell struggles to move on from their Perseus-affiliated past.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, drugs, needles

Notes: We're basically at the halfway point for the series! Good job on making it this far, and I pray that this chapter isn’t too confusing. Also if you guys have song recommendations please let me know in the tags or something I’ve been listening to the same stuff over and over.

[Y/N] "Bell" [L/N]

September, 1983

West Berlin, Germany

The ride to the meeting place was a bit tedious.

Admittedly, the entire neighborhood was foreign to you, and it was only recently that you decided to study an aerial reconnaissance photo of West Berlin. Unlike its counterpart, it felt more vast and populated, multitudes of buildings crowding the damn area. One wrong turn and you would probably wind up in an underground tunnel.

On the bright side, you were allowed to pick a vehicle of your choosing.

You had put in a request for a motorcycle a week ago with Sims. He really wasn't joking when he was able to get practically anything, as long as Adler approved (he was the one that keeps the checks after all).

"It's one of the newer models. I had it modified for longer distances and smoother sailing, if you get my gist," Sims had informed as he pulled away the grey tarp. "You have good taste, Bell. Mind if I take it for a joy ride sometime?"

Practically the entire team, aside from Hudson, were already signing up to try out the bike, and you had to set some boundaries. The moment you set eyes on the bad boy you fell in love with it, and knowing everyone else, they would somehow mess it up one way or another.

"Wow. Looks like there's space for two people on there," Woods had commented, who was trailing behind as you pulled the bike outside of the garage earlier today.

"Yep."

"So this op is basically like a date then."

You gave him a confused look. "What are you talking about? I'm going by myself."

"Oh, did we forget to tell you? Adler's going to tag along."

He had a smug face as he told you this. Woods didn't even give out a laugh, just patting you on the back as if content with himself.

"Is this revenge for the five dollars?"

"Nah. But, since you mentioned it, sure, that too."

After bugging Woods for more details, it also turned out Sims had taken the Sudan and van in for maintenance on this very day, and won't be finished for a few hours. You were starting to think some ploy was at hand, and either they were all in on it, or everything just conveniently occurred.

Fast forward about an hour later, Adler's arms were now wrapped around your lower torso as his chest pressed against your arched back. He was wearing the leather jacket you gave back to him with a long sleeve black turtleneck underneath.

He was a bit too close for someone hitching a ride, but you didn't object. His presence kept you warm while you drove on the cold streets of West Berlin. Having someone hug you after God knows how long felt… reassuring, bringing on the feeling of being coveted with a veil of comfort and longing. It took everything to not just pull over and take a moment to wallow in the feeling.

You seize the bike to a stop at a red light, planting a foot onto the pavement. A car comes to a rolling stop next to you, peering at the both of you briefly before playing with the dials of the radio.

"The hotel's going to be on the next left," Adler informs you through his helmet.

"You don't think I know that?"

"Then what's that sticking out of your back pocket?"

"...A map." You could hear him hold back a snicker, and you roll your eyes. "What? As if you never got lost before."

"Me? Never."

The light turns green. You pull your foot back on the hold, and drive off before the car next to you could think about merging to your lane.

As of late, it feels like Adler has been a bit more light-hearted and expressive whenever you both happened to be together. It was hard to tell at first, but it was the inflection in his voice and the barely noticeable curl of the corners of his mouth that gave it away whenever he talked to you specifically. Does he notice similar things about you?

Focusing on the mission, it was a bit spotty. There wasn't much content in the folder Adler was provided. No photo, no name, just the transcript, as well as the meeting place, where you were instructed to look for a man with a white dress shirt and blue-yellow striped tie sitting in front of three ashtrays. The plan was to drop Adler off at a hotel that stood across from the bar you were meeting the asset at, where he would keep watch and provide any needed reinforcements while you had to go in alone.

You pull up to the front of a moderately styled building, parking the motorcycle in an appropriate place. The area was pretty mellow, as it wasn’t very populated.

Taking the keys out, they jingled as you handed it to Adler. "Don't lose it. That's one whole paycheck right there."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" he asks, taking off his helmet. He gives his head a little shake to let the hair loosen up before reaching into his jacket and putting his shades back on, even though it was night.

You nod. "I'm just meeting someone. It'll be just like last time, except I won't be sneaking into an apartment." His perpetual look didn't cease at your assurance. "Why, what's wrong?"

"No, it's probably nothing. Just keep your comms on. I'll be your second set of ears."

"If you say so."

Pulling on a beanie, you made sure it covered your ears to hide the earpiece. Adler secures his own, giving you a good luck nod before heading into the hotel. "See you in an hour."

The weather seemed to be in a good mood today, the rain that you associated Berlin with now gone, leaving behind grey streaks of clouds in the night sky. Neon lights protruded through the glass windows, and you could hear the muffled music seeping through the walls as you made your way closer (it would serve as a way to deafen the conversation). The bar was slightly crowded upon entering. Nothing seemed out of place.

It was a simple task: meet up with the guy, learn what he has to say/give, then leave. If everything was done right, there should be no trouble.

You made your way further in, taking small peeks at each table, looking for a row of ash trays. As easy and boring as it sounded, you felt a bit on edge. Even the most simplistic things can be the cause for most problematic issues. Why did Adler sound bothered?

Continuing deeper inside, there was a man sitting towards the middle of the bar at a rounded table pushed against the wall. He was wearing the white shirt as promised and the ugly striped tie. With gelled back dirty blonde hair, you estimate him to be around his early forties. Three ashtrays made from glass sat in front of him, only one in use.

"Bell," you hear Adler, "Did you find them?"

"Yeah."

"Keep a low profile. The room they gave me doesn't give me a clear view of the bar."

You slip into the seat across from the informant. It only took one glance at you for him to break into a wide, welcoming grin.

"It's nice to finally meet you, friend," he greets enthusiastically. "Come have a drink."

Judging from his voice, he already took a few drinks himself. He slides one of his glasses towards you, and you stop it with one hand. Picking the glass up from the rim, you swirl the brownish liquid around, trying to see if there were any strange particles floating at the bottom.

"You have information, yes?" you start.

"Yes, yes of course! But first, introductions."

That's right, you didn't even know this man's name.

"Aleks Ander," you make up on a whim.

It was probably the stupidest undercover name to use. Yet, it seemed to fool the asset in front of you. He seemed like a nice person, perhaps a bit naive.

“Mefodiy Nikitin.”

"Ah. Nice you meet you, Mister Nikitin."

It was a peculiar name, yet there was something awfully familiar about it. And now, having a face to associate with it, the feeling of hostility rose. You knew him from somewhere.

Adler seemed to be on the same wavelength, as you could hear him repeat the name under his breath.

Contradictingly, you still bring the glass up to your lips, tipping it slightly and letting the liquid move. A weird, almond taste filled your mouth the moment it touched your tongue. Alarms started to go off in your head, and following your instinct, you spit it back out in a discreet manner. You survey the table for a glass of water, but only find hard liquor.

Eying Nikitin warily, you put the glass back down and clear your throat. The taste still lingered in your mouth. You haven't drank alcohol for a while. Maybe modern tastes are accustomed to strange flavors.

Something like this would be reason to abort, but you still stayed in place. The mission was to find out what he knew, and you couldn't leave empty handed. Even if the source wasn't immaculate, you needed at least something. "I came here to learn what information you want to share. We do not have all day, my friend."

"Of course. What do you want to know?"

"You tell me.”

He sure liked to beat around the bush, you note. It wasn’t like the Greta Keller mission. At least she was cooperative, even after you both got captured. Nikitin, on the other hand… You could already feel a headache coming on.

Although, you got a good grasp of his character. You expected the guy to be timid in nature, perhaps a bit like Lukas Richter to an extent, but Niktin was the opposite. He seemed like a guy of luxury, who probably likes to dwell in fantasies of being in control. People like him craved for power, trying to scope out the competition, but will avoid everything to get his hands dirty. Spending money to feel himself better, flaunting his richness. A tricky man, if you will.

People like him got on your nerves.

“Well,” he begins. “To start off, how well do you know Perseus?”

"...How the hell does this guy know about Perseus?" Adler voices.

Perseus should have been insider knowledge. Only the top brass knows about the group, so how does Nikitin know of it? Your finger twitched at how easily the name fell off of his tongue, masked in such casualty for someone who's supposed to be a KGB double agent.

"Right," you reply coyly. It was going to be difficult to extract any info from him since you couldn't disclose anything pertaining to the matter, so you had to play your cards carefully. "We haven't heard of anything as of late. I'm hoping your info can help move our investigation efforts forward. Working in the KGB must yield some information, right?"

"Like names of sleeper agents?" Nikitin alludes.

You raise a brow, thinking momentarily back to Lubyanka. "If that's what you have to offer."

He chuckles, fanning a hand in the air as if to relieve the tension. "I'm joking! But yes, I do have something." The agent brings out a floppy disk, setting it down on the table. It was black with scrawled handwriting in blue ink on the paper label. "This should be useful for you."

You reach out to grab it, but Nikitin draws his arm back.

“Is there a problem?” you ask, trying to conceal your increasing irritation.

“I could just hand it over, but a fair exchange would be appropriate for this kind of information, don’t you think?”

“Alright, what do you want?”

Nikitin muses over it, scratching his chin. After a short period passes, his face lightens up, finally coming to a conclusion.

"Russell Adler."

"I'm...sorry?"

His name didn't even register the moment you heard it. Nikitin held a smirk, content with his answer and your reaction. You pull your arm away from his end, sneaking it underneath your jacket while pretending to take another sip of the drink. Your nose wrinkled at the smell of liquor.

"To elaborate, you need to take care of him. After all, he was your assignment when you were with Perseus."

“What's he mean by that?” you could hear Adler growl.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you insist. "But, for you to know of Perseus… Who are you, really?"

The trail to Perseus has been cold as of late, pretty much leaving the CIA to pick up breadcrumbs of intel that was left behind. Your memory was shoddy and complicated, so Nikitin would be one of the biggest leads yet, but this attempt at bargaining information was beyond reasonable. You were going to have to talk to Hudson and Belikov about their selection of assets.

"I already told you who I am," Nikitin responds. "Well, you may not know me personally, but, I did hear lots of great things about you. You made quite a name for yourself in Perseus, Lieutenant Colonel [L/N]."

Your blood ran cold. No one had addressed you by that title for so long.

Then it dawned on you.

East Berlin.

The intel Mason found. Mefodiy Nikitin. His name was one of the ones mentioned there. The man in front of you was a Perseus member?

"But, I heard you go by 'Bell' now."

"The old man must be running out of options if they're recruiting people like you.” You couldn't help but chuckle at him, looking at the pathetic face he made in an attempt at intimidation. He truly was naïve. “I'm actually starting to feel a bit sorry for you all. I switch sides and you're all already beginning to fumble."

"How the general even put up with your bullshit is beyond my understanding," Nikitin belittles in return, balling his fist at the humility. "He's too trustworthy of you. Even after what the Americans did to you, he still has some faith that you'll come crawling back to him. Hell, I even went through all this effort to meet you.”

“You set this up?”

“With some false promises and a case full of cash, what kind of CIA agent wouldn’t jump on the opportunity?”

"The ones who are no longer alive."

The network you've all been working hard to dismantle was already rebuilding itself. Your mind races back to Nikitin's earlier words, anxiety beginning to pave its way in. The conversation should have been cut off as soon as he refused to give you the disk, but there was something about the way he spoke that drew your attention. He knew something you didn't. "Is this your way of blackmail? What the hell do you have to offer that I don't know about?"

"Ah, I got your interest now didn't I?" Nikitin clasps his hands together and rubs them as if he were about to partake in a feast, a sick feeling washing over you. He was enjoying this little game of cat and mouse, just holding onto the intel like bait. "Perfect! Let's get to business then."

"Bell! Forget him, just grab the—"

Adler's voice is cut off as the sound of silenced gunfire occurred right behind you. The civilians around you gave out yelps of shock, before they slumped over, as if they had lost all control of their muscles. Glasses shattered as they fell onto the floor, the translucent shards mixing in with the dark colors of the alcoholic drinks it once harbored.

Twisting around, you see two men standing amidst the bodies, guns in their hands.

You whipped out your pistol within the blink of an eye, just as Nikitin's men redirected their aim at your direction.

"To think the asset I had to meet up with is nothing more than a puny attempt of manipulation from a man who doesn't know how to control his ego," you fumed.

Your instincts were going off, screaming at you to run, but being held at gunpoint didn't exactly give you the advantage you need. You should have listened to your gut feeling. The resentment that had coiled within the depths of your stomach was beginning to unravel as you feel a rush of adrenaline coming forth. Looking down the sights, the shot was perfectly lined up within the space between Nikitin's eyes.

"But, to have gotten this far, I must be doing something right," he comments.

The civilians.

Your finger twitched, hovering just mere millimeters from finishing the job. The impulse to kill him was getting difficult to fight off. You were going to do it.

But just as you were about to rest your finger on the trigger, something warm ran over your lips and off of your chin. It gave off a dark sheen as it plattered onto the table, a couple more droplets following suit. What the fuck?

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, and your eyes widen, seeing a red streak painted across. A nosebleed?

"Is it taking effect?" Nikitin inquires with disgusting amusement.

You flick your hand. "What the fuck did you give me?"

"I didn't know how much to add, but assuming from your reaction, it's pretty strong. Apparently even a small intake can do lots to the consumer."

You could feel yourself getting lightheaded and drowsy, but consider yourself lucky enough to be let off without much other effects of whatever strange drug he spiked your drink with. The nutty taste never left your palate.

"I've heard you to be cunning and ruthless, but look at you now," Nikitin mocks. "Accepting drinks from a stranger. How American."

"You—"

"Bell!"

Nikitin’s gaze redirects to something behind you, the entry door being kicked open, as well as the surprised yelps of the two agents. As a result, you feel something pierce your right shoulder, and you grind your molars to stifle the howl that almost escaped as you recoiled back a few steps. It hurt like a bitch, but you had to tolerate it.

Turning around, you see Adler barge through the entrance, taking down Nikitin's men with ease. His shots strike them right at the chest, their bodies collapsing over the wooden tables and knocking everything off of it.

“Ah, so this is the infamous Russell Adler," Nikitin muses loudly. "To think the man you were assigned to kill is now your best friend. You were such great buddies with Naga as well, I wonder what he'll—”

"Shut. Up."

You shoot him in the shoulder in revenge, earning an excruciating yelp from him. Nikitin's hand flies to cover his wound, and yet he guffaws, a sadistic smile spreading across his face.

“You really lost it now! I-It's a bit disheartening to see you were never able to complete the task. But, then again, I guess Kuzmin will be ecstatic to hear that." Nikitin shifts his attention to Adler. "He does have a vendetta against you after all."

Kuzmin? Adler?

"...What is he talking about, Bell?" Adler joins in, rushing to your side after checking on one of the civilians. Oddly enough, there were no open wounds on any of the innocents, just one round of tranquilizer darts in each of them. Nikitin really didn't want a mess to clean up.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

The information was overbearing— too much happened within the short span of the past hour. Everything went deeper than you had surmised. Just trying to wrap your head around everything made your headache worse. The name Kuzmin and Naga was constantly recurring in your mind, and you swore Perseus himself had even said these aliases a couple times.

Shit.

You didn't want a repeat of that morning.

Shoving the barrel into Nikitin's forehead, you yell, "Who the hell is Kuzmin?!"

"V-Vikhor Kuzmin, of course!"

Adler turns to you now, you could feel his scrutinizing gaze poking at you behind those shades. "You know Stitch?" he asks. You could detect remains of hatred and detest as he said the name.

Nikitin laughs. "Of course they do! They were colleagues—"

“Enough!” you interject. “I'm tired of your shit. This is going nowhere."

Adler picks up the floppy disk, eyes darting between the label and you. "Bell, is there something you haven't told us?"

"I already told you everything I know, didn't I?" you insist irritably, but it was a feasible attempt. The confidence you had earlier was draining.

"Well, after hearing what he had to say, there's clearly something else."

"What is this, an interrogation? I don't know—" You give out a frustrated groan, feeling the migraine persist. "Fuck, I can't think—"

"This would be the perfect opportunity to kill Adler, [L/N]!" the Perseus member interjects provokingly. "Redeem yourself! At least Perseus never brainwashed you—"

You shoot him in the thigh, and he lets out a yowl.

"Do you ever shut up?!" you seethed. "For a Perseus member you sure like to run your fucking mouth. Is that how the general planned to rope me back into his stupid scheme? By pissing me off?"

"That's enough, Bell!" Adler warns. As much as he wanted to shut the guy up, he was the only other person associated with Perseus that the CIA managed to get close to. "If you're telling the truth, then I want this guy. Alive."

He could tell you were about to snap from your dark expression. He puts a hand on your arm, guiding it downward and away from Nikitin with the gentle touch of his gloved hands. "Enough."

Calm down.

You needed to stop letting him get under your skin. But with that damn cocky, arrogant grin of his, you just wanted to knock his teeth in. He kept going on and on about this Kuzmin character and killing Adler, and your inability to make sense of what he was referring to only added onto the aggravation.

Don't trust Adler.

“Yes! That look!" Nikitin exclaims upon noticing your conflict. "Do it. Shoot me. It’s what you do best, isn’t it [L/N]?”

"Volkov said the same thing," you growl. "You're one of his rats?"

"So you do remember. One could only imagine my surprise when I discovered that you sent him off to the M16." He cackles. "Though, I guess hearing what happened to your British friend back in Cuba, it’s a fair trade, don’t you think?”

"Ignore him." Adler stuffs his gun behind, taking it upon himself to restrain Nikitin, who winced at each subtle movement. Holding him under the arm, Adler hauls him up to his feet begrudgingly.

Hearing no response, he turns his attention to you. “Bell?”

Your gun goes off, a single bullet shell clattering at your feet while white wisps of smoke trail out the barrel. Nikitin’s body slips away from Adler’s grip, landing on the floor with a heavy thud.

You stuffed your firearm back in its place. That was one less person to worry about.

“What the fuck Bell?” Adler seizes your wrists. “I wanted him alive!”

“My bike didn’t have enough space anyway.”

“The bike? This isn’t about your fucking bike! He was a Perseus member, for crying out loud! Do you know how much we could have—”

“You said you wanted Nikitin alive if I was telling the truth.” You bend down, searching Nikitin’s pockets for anything beneficial. In the end you take his watch, knowing that a lot of agents within the rogue organization held items with secret compartments for their leisure. “I'm just making it easier for both of us. Just give me another of your stupid injections. That'll balance things out, wouldn't it?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Seeing how things just played out, I might just be," you articulate. "And stop yelling, my head's about to burst."

"I'm NOT—" He catches himself, bringing his voice down to a good level. "You can't just go and kill someone because they got under your skin, Bell."

"As if you haven’t done so on occasion. I was just doing us a favor." Shuffling through the pockets, you find a phial with an unrecognizable substance. You push against your knees and straighten, stuffing it and the watch into your jeans. "Bastard tried to drug me, and dishonored Park? I should have killed him the moment your name escaped his mouth."

Adler won't admit it, but he found himself a bit tense and astonished at your own brutal nature that somehow slipped through the cracks. It was the twitch of your eye and the tense grip of the handle that gave away your resistance against the urge to kill the Perseus spy, but in the end you caved in. Was that the type of person you were when working with Perseus?

Though, he noted, there were always signs of that hidden, disturbing trait of yours. Adler bared first-hand witness to your surprise attacks on unsuspecting individuals, and the "creative" ways you would finish them off.

No wonder Perseus continued to pursue you. He trained a loyal soldier. But, Adler knew that there was more to you than just a Soviet-made killer.

"Fuck it," he hisses. "Let's get out before the cops come."

"What about the civis?"

"Leave them, they're tranquilized. Give them an hour or two to wake up."

0000

During the ride back to the safe house, there was that feeling of disconnection, both between your own feelings, and with Adler.

It was silent on the way back, and you had to stuff the earbuds in your ear just to avert your attention from what you had just done. The decision to kill Nikitin came easy, but it was the fact that you did it because of his provocation is what startled you the most.

You couldn't think properly, and whatever was in your drink still coursed through your system, despite taking that tiny amount. Adler's growing concerns weren't heard as you put the bike into full throttle, speeding through traffic lights and empty roads.

The comfort of Adler's arms around your waist lost it's magic, and it felt a bit suffocating. Whatever Nikitin implied, of you having a duty to kill Adler, still persisted in your mind, and you couldn't bear to look at him with that guilty conscience.

So with your only lead gone, that left the floppy disk, and you. It would take a couple hours to decrypt everything, but you had a feeling that it would only provide the bare minimum of evidence, so that leaves you and your memory.

And there was one way to trigger it.

The moment you both arrive at the hideout, you immediately head to the bathroom. Woods attempted to ask how it went, but you pushed past him. That left Adler to answer the questions.

"What's up with Bell?" he asked. "You didn't do anything, did you? Because, if you did—"

"Bell killed the asset."

Woods raised an eyebrow in interest. "Damn, what'd they do to piss them off?"

Adler didn't find it funny. "Talk."

"Must be within good reason then?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

Slamming the door closed, you lock it and lean against the door. Exhaustion began to overwhelm your body as the adrenaline died out, and your shoulder felt like it was being held on top of an open flame.

Looking at it, you could feel the bullet wedged in there. It wasn't too deep, but was a good hit. Peeling the top of your clothes away, you sucked in air as you carefully removed the fabric from the area. The sight wasn’t pleasant, and the air stung at the raw flesh.

You pull one of the drawers open, retrieving a fresh cloth and ran it under the faucet. Taking a seat on the counter, you carefully wiped down the surrounding area, grimacing as the fibers brushed against your skin. Medical attention wasn’t your specialty, since there was always someone else to do the work.

“Bell?” Adler’s voice came from the other side of the door, causing you to stiffen. “Are you going to hide like a coward, or am I going to have to fucking force the door open?”

Well, he’s pissed. You didn’t blame him though.

“Can’t I get some privacy around here?” you hiss, trying to cover up your nerves.

“Seeing how you just murdered someone right in front of me after disobeying my order, I think that should be the least of your concerns. Now open the damn door.”

Sighing exasperatedly, you quickly cover yourself up and set the cloth down. There really was no way to avoid the guy. Just how the hell were you going to explain everything? You, yourself, couldn’t even fully comprehend everything, leaving it up to speculation and theories that your shrewd up mind came up with.

You flush the toilet before opening the door, hoping to throw Adler off your trail for a bit. “I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

“The hell you are. Get out. We need to talk.”

"You're really going to interrogate me in front of a toilet?" you reply snarkily.

He ignores the comment. "We're not finished yet."

Adler grabs your wrist, only to realize that you were shaking. You refused to look him in the eye, biting the insides of your cheek in shame.

The metallic smell was starting to bother him, and his eyes did a quick scan, and noticed that there was a hole in your jacket. Startled, Adler tugs at the zipper and opens it, pulling the edges back only to reveal the red seeping through your clothes underneath.

"You're hurt."

"You realize that now?"

“Un-fucking-believable.”

Adler ushers you back into the bathroom, gesturing you to hop back onto the counter. You oblige, waiting as he takes out a kit and a new rag from underneath the sink. He unpacks everything, taking out a thin needle and some thread while setting a couple of pads and tape to the side.

“You better tell me what happened at the bar,” Adler says, pulling the thread through the eye of the needle. “Or I’m never sending you on another mission again.”

"I got shot."

"No shit."

“I told you what you wanted to hear, didn't I?” you chided. It was uncharacteristic of him. He never really batted an eye in your direction when it came to previous wounds, yet today he was more considerate. "Why're you getting so worked up about it?"

Adler wrings the cloth out in the sink. “Gee, I don't know [L/N]. Maybe it's because our only lead is gone, and now you try to hide the fact that there's a bullet in your damn shoulder?”

"It's nothing."

"Last time someone said that, it got infected. You don't wanna know what happened afterwards." He brings the towel up to your shoulder. "Take off your shirt."

"What is this, a strip search?"

"My god, just fucking— Your damn shoulder Bell, just show it."

You shrugged off your jacket, undoing the first three buttons to your dress shirt, and pull your arm out of the sleeve, exposing the rightmost side of your body. "There, happy?"

Adler's eyes notice the two scars on your chest that barely peeked out from underneath the fabric. He brings the cloth to the shoulder in an attempt to not get distracted, but his sight wanders back to it.

The tissue was discolored and discernable from your actual skin complexion. They were both close in proximity, just right above your sternum. He already saw one of them— the bullet they extracted from your chest was used as evidence of the illegal gun cargo at Trabzon Airport. But, the other scar…

"Are you going to just stare at your mistake and let me bleed out, or are we going to get this over with?"

You break his line of thought, and Adler disinfects the tweezers, before proceeding to pull out the single round in your shoulder.

Right. He was supposed to be mad at you.

“I can't even take my eyes off of you for one second, can I?" he grumbles, shifting his mood appropriately. You shuffle a bit as you feel Adler pull the lump out. "Stop fucking moving, Bell, it might sink in more.”

You turn towards him. “You met this Vikhor Kuzmin, haven't you?”

Adler ceases all movement at the mention of the name. Behind his glasses, you could see him lost in thought for a brief moment, before continuing to work on your shoulder.

He places the bullet down on the bloodstained rag beside him, before taking the needle. “I’m not going to talk until you tell me what happened,” he responds brusquely with a bit of malice.

You trail off, leaning your head against the wall behind you.

Vikhor Kuzmin, meeting Adler… All the pieces started to link up with one another, the puzzle slowly becoming more finished each move. Whatever Perseus was planning, you played a part in it, and knowing that his grasp on you was still strong made you reluctant to even return to the safehouse, not knowing what'll happen to you.

But you needed to confirm it. If your memory was correct, then the CIA could use it to their advantage. You hated being used, but you didn't want Perseus to win. The only thing in your way was your psychological roadblock that prevented you from remembering.

"Before I tell you," you bargain. "I want you to do something for me."

He finishes stitching your wound closed, placing a pad above it before wrapping bandages around, bringing over the shoulder and under your arms.

"You're in no position to barter with me."

"I'm your only connection to Perseus, so we both know damn well that an injection is in order."

Adler straightens up, eyes narrowed. "What the fuck are you talking about—"

"From back then. The MKUltra shit. I need it."

The psychoactive drugs. That's the solution you came to?

"You're not thinking straight."

He begins to put everything back into the box, and you sit up and grab him by the collar and pull him close. Adler could see the desperation written all over your face as you gave out shaky breaths. But, he wasn't swayed.

"Adler—"

"You just got drugged with an unknown substance, and now you're claiming that running you through the procedure will somehow recover your memories. I’m not going to give you an injection over something so trivial.”

"Trivial? This isn’t fucking trivial! How can being sent as a hitman and setting off Nova Six be trivial?!"

Adler shakes his head. Your requests were beyond reasonable now, and you were coming up with some Hollywood spy flick plot with hitmen and Nova Six. Maybe you were hallucinating.

"I'm not going to give you the injection Bell. It's too damn risky. The trigger phase was meant to recall memories of Vietnam, not anything else."

Following that conversation you both had the morning after East Berlin, he swore to never touch upon the topic of MKUltra, or anything directly correlated to it. Not again.

"Why not?! You didn’t hesitate to fucking poke a needle in my eye last time. So, what’s different about now?”

He pries your hand off of his collar. “You know why.”

"Don't you dare bring personal feelings into this," you beseech, "Especially when millions of lives are at stake."

"You're not the one administering the fucking thing Bell. You don't have the authority to decide—"

"Whoever this Vikhor Kuzmin is, they're with Perseus," you argue. "They're planning something. I know it's risky, but if you would just run me through the scenarios one more time, I'll find out what it is."

"Bullshit. Kuzmin is in prison."

"He's not! Why can't you just listen to me?!"

At this point, trying to convince Adler was like talking to a brick wall. As much as you despised the medbay, you were about to walk in there yourself and poke it in your damn eye if it meant figuring out everything Nikitin told you.

You and Adler glared at each other, and your little show started drawing the attention of others just down the hall.

Taking a deep breath, you lower your voice so only he could hear. "Nikitin said that I knew Kuzmin. I-I don't know how important this guy is, but if I worked with him, then there's still some unfinished business. I don't care what you think, but there's no fucking way I'm letting this slip past, especially if I already know the answer. Nikitin's should have been our lead, but I fucked up, okay?"

"[L/N]—"

You cut him off. "Just let me do this for you. For the team."

There was a pleading look in your eye, and Adler could feel your craving of answers about your past. Getting left in the dark for so long must have taken a toll on you, and he couldn't even begin to fathom to imagine how it must feel to live life with a large chunk of your memories being locked off behind a door that could never be reached. There was nothing in the archives nor any of the foreign databases of your birth records or identity, other than the one he had made for you. Your life was so shrouded in mystery, it sometimes even felt like you were just a by-product of the CIA. And he just so happened to be one of the reasons why you were like this.

Adler presses his lips in a thin line, before cracking open the door and entering the back part of the safehouse, with you following closely.

"Lazar," he announces, "Meet us in the medbay."

The aforementioned male perks up at his name, placing down the newspaper in his hand. "Why, what's happening?"

"Our back up plan."

"You don't mean…"

"We're doing it."

Lazar shoots you a look of concern, remembering the seizures that you had last time. "No."

"Well, we don't have a choice," Adler dejects. "The asset's dead thanks to Bell."

"Hey!" you chime in. "It was fully well—"

"Enough. We talked over this already. Don't make me change my mind."

Mason and Woods played witness to the events that occurred in front of them, but didn't partake in the conversation. They've only heard rumors and a half-assed retelling of what happened in the medbay back in 1981, so they could only infer what you three were talking about.

It didn't stop them from prying, though, Mason immediately getting up from his spot. "What's going on?"

"It's none of your concern, Mason," Adler states sternly, pushing open the door to the room.

Mason, unsatisfied, grabs the handle and pulls it closed within a flash. "I think it is," he replies coldly. "What the hell are you planning to do to Bell?"

"Let go of the damn door."

"Not until you tell us what's happening."

"Mason," you join in a weary voice. "It's fine. We're just going to go over some things. It should give us a better angle on Perseus."

He tries to read into it, but the only thing he saw was a person who's been through too much shit in their lifetime, clothes speckled in red spots and the innocent light long gone from their eyes. Yet there was that newfound determination behind it all, and he knew there was no use trying to argue.

"As much as we have in common," Mason indulges, letting go. "I'll never understand why you go this far."

You grin weakly. "So no one else has to do the dirty work."

Your hands were far from clean. Compared to everyone else, you were sure you hit high on the list when it came to war crimes. Hell, your own existence became one. Even on the CIA database you're listed as MIA and under the watchlist, and the only ones that knew the truth was the team.

Lazar closes the blinds to the rooms, granting you three a bit of privacy. Adler gives him a brief rundown on what you told him, and you were met with disagreement once again.

“You don’t need to do this Bell.”

“Your right. I have to," you elaborate. "We're running out of options here.”

"There's the floppy disk."

"I'll get to it after. The more the merrier is the saying, right?"

Lazar wasn't looking forward to this, but if what you knew was that important, to a point where you pleaded to be put under this serum, then they definitely needed to find out. The CIA's been chasing around Perseus for god knows how long, and you're a key part to taking him down.

"Are you sure?"

"Stop asking, or else I might start getting second thoughts."

The plan was superficial, with the highest possibility of going to tits down (or up, as Sims put it). If you were going to subject yourself to one of the most mentally draining interrogations you had, then you might as well get the full authentic experience.

You adjust the light that hung above accordingly, making the position similar to before. Lying down on the gurney, it felt like you were about to go into a mental asylum. You had to convince Lazar to wrap the leather cuffs around. "Come on, you don't want me falling off and hitting my head, do you?"

"I would honestly prefer you to hit your head and pass out than to go through all this shit again."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

As you both verbally loosen up, Adler shifts through the shelves, pushing aside boxes to reveal that old black duffel bag. He unzips it, and sees the god-forsaken phial with the sickening yellow liquid just sitting at the bottom, just right above the old booklet. Bringing them out, he passes the manual to Lazar, before he himself rips open a new syringe from its package and disinfects it.

Adler turns around once he's done, feeling a bit of remorse as he sees your weakened figure. "Your arm."

"No. Intracerebral. Like last time."

"Don't be ridiculous. You know how dangerous that was?"

"Fucking do it," you growl, before resting your head back down.

"You're insane, you know that?"

"All part of the package."

He flicks the needle, testing it. "Are you ready?"

You nod as he positions it right above your eye while holding your chin to keep your head still. Staring right down at the needle, your stomach churned, knowing what's going to happen next.

Damn, through the eye socket?

Clenching your jaw, you brace yourself. "Hit me."

Without any countdown, Adler plunges it into your eye. You writhed in pain, nails digging into your already stained hands. Your legs shuffled in an attempt to instinctively move away from the needle, but with the cuffs around your wrists, you were going nowhere.

"Fuck!"

"Don't squint Bell, it's only going to make it worse," you hear Lazar advise.

Adler takes the needle out, trying to keep a level head. He didn't want to do this, but trying to reason and extract any information from you without it would be more tedious and cumbersome. Plus, how could he ignore that pleading look in your eye? It was like a whining puppy begging to try chocolate. But of course, chocolate is deadly to dogs.

He didn't want to verbally agree with you, but if you had anything relating to Perseus still hidden within the depths of your mind, and if it had the chance of pushing the investigation forward, then so be it.

Adler watches as your movements begin to ease, your pupils expanding as the dosage begins to take effect. Your tense expression loosens up as you plant your head back down, eyes glued to a random spot of the ceiling with drooping eyelids.

He and Lazar share a look of uncertainty.

Adler resists the unexpected compulsion to reach out and grasp your hand. This was something you had to do on your own, and he was just there to make it happen. He just prayed that everything went better this time around.

He takes a deep breath, before uttering the words he too has come to despise.

"We've got a job to do."

#russell adler x reader #adler x reader #russell adler x bell #cod black ops cold war #black ops cold war #call of duty #call of duty x reader #bo:cw #text #fanfic #bell #russell adler #abcd briefing #call of duty imagine #sorry this took a while had to rewrite it #:)))) suffer

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poptod · 3 years

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Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 5 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: You finally learn just how far he will go.

Notes: this story takes a very interesting turn, but i promise its worth the ending i promise. ending might not be done for several more chapters though :) hope thats alright! WC: 8.2 k

He left you alone in the garden.

You could've run away then. The trees and brush you'd have to wade through would be a tiny price for freedom, and you were mostly hidden from the view of the house. Instead you curled into a ball, having never felt as small as this in all your life, and hid yourself away. He was on your mind.

A taste of how your life would be if you ran already began to build on your tongue, as though in this moment you were free of his hold, entirely, wholly, and truly. It was bitter, like bile, tainted by the man who would always be on your mind, no matter how far or fast you ran. He had left his mark, scarred your skin, and you would never be rid of his presence. His eye that he forced into your mind would always watch over you, broadcasting his desirous thoughts into your consciousness. A voyeur in your own head.

Bereft of energy, you leant against the alabaster pillar, drooping eyes set uneasily upon the flowing water. He would do anything for you, but how far did that insanity go? Would he eventually grow tired of your emotional distance and forcefully take you for his own? All you knew of him was what he decided to show you––not a single bit more.

"Amoke?"

You looked drearily upwards, but relief filled you upon seeing Haji approaching you.

"You don't look so good," he noted, sitting down on the step beside you.

"I'm just a little tired," you sighed, pulling the blanket on your shoulders tighter around you.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Yes, fortunately. How about you? What is your housing like here?"

"Not too bad," he said with a shrug. "I've got three other men in my room, but we're all in bunks. Main part of the house is nice, though. Lots of baked goods."

"Sounds nice," you chuckled. Your gaze fell once more to the intricate path of stone beneath your feet.

"So... Ahk told me you had a bit of a rough time this morning," he said slowly. You knew that was why he was here, yet still your heart sunk a little.

"I don't often find myself in large cities, much less in the middle of them."

"That's not the only thing bothering you though, is it?"

You sighed, before softly saying, "no."

Haji waited patiently while you thought through your words, contemplating them fully before you spoke.

"I told myself, when I was first caught by your King, that I wouldn't sympathize with him. I promised that I wouldn't fall into that common illness, but... now.. well, every now and then he seems human. Then it all fades away, and then it comes back, and... he's capable of controlling what people think of him. He puts on different personalities for different people. Why does he do that?"

"That's his job," Haji said simply, sending a stake through the core of your mindset. "He can't be a ruler all the time, but he can't not be a ruler when he's out in public. It's good that he hasn't let being a King take over his whole personality, like his father. The fact that he shows you all these sides of him means he wants you to be welcome in all parts of his life."

"... did he tell you to say that?"

He laughed, shaking his head as he patted your shoulder.

"No, but that was a very worship-y thing for me to say," he admitted.

"Heh," you said in a soft huff, wrapping your arms around your legs and pulling them in close.

"Haji?!" Ahk called from inside the house.

Haji sighed, almost rolling his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet.

"See you," he said, trotting off.

A couple minutes later you heard voices, which was strange, considering the garden was a decent distance from the house. You glanced around, eventually looking up to find Ahk and Haji, framing the sides of an open arch held high above the ground. They were discussing something quietly, but the wind carried their voices to you.

"Are they alright?"

"Yeah, considering what you're doing to them."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I – I'm sorry, my K-"

"It's fine," he muttered curtly. "Don't let it happen again."

You bit into your cheek hard, till your skin stung, and your jaw ached with the force in it. How had you ever willingly done his bidding? How had it slipped your mind, that he was still a royal? It was obvious in his step, his manner, his words, and his presentation, yet you had allowed yourself to thank him. To speak softly to him. To share parts of yourself that you had always sworn to keep to yourself.

No matter––you could not take away what you'd already freely sacrificed, but that didn't mean you had to keep sharing things. Today it would stop, and you would feel no more sympathy for the fickle man. As nice as Haji was, he did work for the King, and whatever you told him would end up in Ahkmenrah's ear. Sharing with him would also have to cease.

Maybe you were being too bitter, too closed off, but your crimes were meager in the face of Ahkmenrah's. He wanted you for his collection, to keep your beauty near him like a caged bird. If you yearned to leave, he would lock you up, and if you dreamed to fly, he would clip your wings, to keep you for his own.

Bastard.

That night it rained. Poured down in great sheets, battering down on the stone walls surrounding you, and tearing down palm trees like grass in a wildfire. You remained in the gazebo, rooted to the spot until Ahk came out to see you.

"Dearest, you'll get sick in all this rain," he said in a soft voice, kneeling in front of you, and looking up with familiar reverence dulled by the darkened sky.

You said nothing. Instead you fell into him, exhausted by your rampant mind, and aching from the water soaking down your clothes.

"Let's get you inside," he murmured, setting one arm beneath your knees, and the other behind your back.

With a small heave you were in his arms, the whole of your weight easily carried. He adjusted you a few times before you made it back to the house, where he set you down in front of a massive firepit, leaving you in the piles of blankets to run to the front door. You watched, huddled close to yourself as he opened the door and rushed in a small group of people. Among them was Naguib, who looked in a similar fashion to yourself––drenched.

Wet shoes and bare feet slapped against the white floor, puddles of dripping rain collecting on the path to the fire. The sound would have surely echoed if the fire wasn't roaring and crackling, dulling the sound of the rain, and calming you with every floating ember.

Slowly, the group of people around you grew, till Ahk saddled in beside you, his head on your shoulder.

These were his servants. You assumed that the housing set up for them in Thebes wasn't great, and Ahk had decided his house was a good spot for everyone to house up for the night. Sounded just like him––troubling you to the point of a breakdown, and then following that up with an act of kindness you'd see out of no other King.

"Are we sleeping here tonight?" You asked, barely audible above the murmurs of servants and the dancing fire.

"I think it'd be most wise," he murmured, shuffling to kiss your bare shoulder, before returning to his lax, sleepy position.

As people drifted off to sleep, hidden far away from the storm's ravages, you stared at the fire. It dimmed, and more people fell asleep, and you stared, wide eyes unable to close. By now you were lying down, Ahk curled up in your side as you stared at the burning cinders. He snored, though you hardly minded, finding comfort in his obvious heartbeat and the soft warmth of his breath.

He would always be an enigma to you. Or, perhaps, your affection for him would always be an enigma––reasonless, and petty, and undeserved.

"Sweet... darling," he mumbled through sleep-numb lips, grasping you tighter and forcing his face into your side, hiding away from the world.

You shifted, unable to move your arm beneath his head, and pressed your lips to the top of his head.

"Go to sleep, Ahk," you whispered.

"I love you."

Oh.

I love you.

The words circled your head, always on the corner of your eye as the ship beneath you creaked. It was a barge, or that's what Ahk called it; a carrier for Amun beneath the starlit sky. You tried to keep at the edge of the water, but Ahk kept his hand rooted at your waist. You supposed, in the amassed crowd, it would be a little hard to find you once the boat reached the other side of the Nile.

Behind your ship, where the golden statue of Amun rested, a fleet of other ships sailed in your wake, all of varying sizes. Some people sailed alone on small canoes, while others joined larger ships that took families across the river. All followed a path they'd taken before, one lit by a literal golden beacon––Amun, reflecting the light of torches held high above the people's heads. He would be carried by a team of men, who would set the God in the temple of Luxor for worshippers to place their kisses upon.

You could hardly see the ships, as Ahk kept you on an elevated platform overlooking everything in front of him, which simultaneously blocked his view of behind with a large shack.

"Should I pray with you or.. stay out of the temple?" You asked, careful to keep your voice quiet despite the loud voices of the pilgrims.

"You don't have to pray," he said, looking down at you with an assuring smile. "You don't have to stay outside of the temple, either. You can do whatever you like. I'd suggest partaking in the food, though, just by the way."

"It's alright," you said. "I'm mildly interested in how your religion works, so I'll watch your ceremony."

"Wonderful," he beamed.

Your balance stumbled as the hull of the barge hit the sandy shore, banking in another painted metropolis. Massive statues of Amun met you there, though the standing ones were made of limestone, and were a deal smaller than the golden idol. They flanked the docks, protecting the entrance to the city and the adhering temple.

Torches, held by soldiers who came to greet the boats, made way for the muddy ripples of water to visibly crash into the wood, making the ground beneath you sway. With help from Ahk, you rushed off the boat in an orderly manner. Swaths of people followed from behind, running onto the various docks, and watching the Pharaoh with eager eyes. Those whose attention fell to you glared, or stared confused.

Once most people were off the boats, the soldiers and workers began to lift the golden statue, causing an uproar of cheers from those around you. You nearly cringed from the sheer volume, but the grins surrounding you turned your fear to curiosity. Now you watched, blocking out the yells, as the statue was carried off the boat and onto land, passing by you and Ahk as it made its' way to the shore and the temple beyond.

You made to follow the crowd as it followed the statue, but Ahk tugged on your hand, keeping you on the dock. A soft and unbothered smile was on his face, and you paused in your curiosity.

"What are you doing?" You asked, your voice still hushed despite being alone.

"It's better to let them pray for a little while and mingle before I enter. Gets some of their energy out so they don't trample me," he said with a shrug.

"Wow. They must really like this holiday."

"I think more than anything they're excited about free food," he chuckled, his smile growing when you chortled.

Soon he was leading you back down the wooden dock, following the footprints in the sand towards the towering rocks. The dark of night casted the temple as a silhouette, whose real shape could not be truly identified, other than the fact that it was a very large structure. Even by starlight you could barely see the steps as you approached them.

The hallway you entered was deathly quiet, but lit distantly by the lights of the next room ahead. You slowed, your attention ensnared by the statues on either side of you, and your steps came to a silent crawl. Ahk allowed you to gawk at the art before he lead you onwards, a self-satisfied smile on his lips that parted them ever so slightly. Between the tall statues were pillars, and in front of each God sat a shallow basin, all filled with a clear oil.

You turned back to Ahk, ready to continue, pausing to allow him to endow himself with holy oil. Since the journey to Karnak had been started so late into the evening, you had yet to truly see him, and for a moment wondered if he would be wearing makeup.

Blue painted his eyelids, long, sharp lines defining his eyes as he stepped into the golden light, his entirety bathed in the holy glow. His cape trailed meters behind him, shimmering as though it were nothing more than a mist. Cuffs remained a constant in his outfit, though now they cradled his upper arms, his wrists, and his ankles, each carved ornately with faience and lapis defining the lines. The collar holding up his cape bore a royalty all its' own, crystal beads of red, blue, gold, and green coming one after the other in swirling patterns. Three golden amulets fell from the front of the collar, dripping down like rain on his bare chest and stomach.

Power had a name. Royalty had been born through his name––settling deep into his person, seeping out its' presence through his veins. This was the God the Nubians feared, the Hittites, the Phoenicians, all relented their struggle in the palm of this man's hand.

He stepped forward and the cheers of the hall fell into silence, heads bowing as all came to their knees. Foreheads pressed against the ground, hands outstretched on the temple floor, but consistently retaining a clear path to the statue of Amun.

Ahk continued into the room a few more steps before he realized you weren't at his side. At that point he turned to you, meeting your eye and calling you over with a silent wave of his hand. The blood in your heart froze, petrified by the insinuation, as your eyes darted between the bowed heads and the Pharaoh's outstretched hand. But he was patient, and he waited, his welcoming hand never falling.

After another moment you took his offer, fingers sliding over his palm till he grasped you, entangling your hands together. He pulled you gently forward, and soon you were walking by his side, welcome to bask in the respect of a silent room.

You noticed, once you looked up from the worshippers with guilt, that the statue of Amun had been placed upon a pedestal, a pedestal that had several different levels, and a staircase leading up. On the lower levels, statuettes and reliefs of Mut and Khons numbered many. There was where you stopped and turned, facing the long, torch-lit hall filled to the brim with devotees of Amun and Ahkmenrah.

"They bow for you, too," he murmured in your ear.

Your eyes settled on the exposed backs, the spines popping up, and the different adornments of people from all classes. None of them knew who you were. Would they bow to a stranger just because their King told them to?

Apparently.

To the sides of the altar, you caught sight of the Pharaoh's advisors, and a few of his personal servants, who were bowed alongside the rest.

"I am a King unlike my father," Ahkmenrah began, the first words of a long expected speech. "Unlike my father, I have brought us to peace, and have done so in a fraction of the entire time my father spent ruling. Unlike my father, I will love whomever I decide fit," his hand on your waist tightened, "and I will worship who I desire to. As a King I am allowed these comforts––the freewill of choice, and the means to live fruitfully. I am not controlled by my father... or my advisors.

"Unlike my father, I will give you these rights. Restore what should have never been taken. I will return your free will. I will allow all to marry who they desire, regardless of race, class, or gender."

The already confused crowd began to murmur, heads lifting to whisper to one another in curiosity and disbelief.

"I will pay back what my people sow," he continued. "You will be able to pride yourself on your work, no matter what that is, as all creation is important, and shall be protected under my rule. I will give back the means you give me to live fruitfully. As I regenerate myself and my power during this evening, so shall you be reinvigorated, as my blood runs in your heart, just as your blood runs in mine."

He stopped speaking, and for a moment dead silence ensnared you, before a rupture of cheers and applause broke your ears. Voices surrounded you, echoing off the tall ceiling painted with stars. Beside you, the Pharaoh beamed, basking in the adoration till he turned to you. It was then, within that fiery temple, and within the view of the population of a whole city, that he held your face soft in his palm and kissed you. Needy, incredibly needy, essentially desperate, but gentle. As though you would break. The tension fell instead upon himself, in his tight chest that just barely pressed to yours. His breath pushed and pulled, longing to feel you move against him, never ceasing to thrill your nerves as his fingertips brushed across your bare stomach.

When at last you kissed him back, he melted into you, almost leaning his whole weight on you in relief. He did his best to keep himself upright, and parted when it was clear you were short on breath. For a moment he stared, scanning your wide eyes, before kissing you once more, this time much shorter.

Looking to the sides of the altar, he waved in the servants, who sprang to their feet with trays of food. They dispersed amongst the now-standing crowd, feeding the citizens just as the Pharaoh promised. Musicians appeared from behind tall pillars, strumming melodies you'd never heard before. As they did, Ahk took your hand, kissing the back of it as he began to step down from the altar.

"Ever dance before?" He asked, a teasing smile growing across his face.

"Not in Egypt," you said. Different cultures had different styles of dance, and you were in no state to embarrass yourself with your 'foreign customs'.

"It's much the same as most places," he assured you, leading you down the steps. "Just move however the music tells you to."

Drums brought in a heavy beat, thrumming in your veins as the steps of many dancers surrounded you. The weight of their feet, jumping and pounding in tune with the lutes, created a beat you could easily move your body to. Ahk felt much the same, as he smiled wide and twirled you beneath his arm. Exhilaration caught the breath in your throat, warming your already-flushed skin, and enthralling you with the Pharaoh's many talents. Of course he would know how to dance––of course he would know how to twirl you, how to dip you, to run his hands over every inch of your body without ever truly stopping his melodic movements.

A dream, he was––a glowing halo over his head, the heavenly sky painted above his piercing eyes. His clothes, doing their own dance around his moving body, swayed and whipped the glittering silk high in the air, twirling around him like a golden universe. You found yourself grinning wider than you'd ever done in his presence, searching for his hand and its' warmth whenever he parted. Without thought you chased after him, giggling as he made his way through the crowd, nearly clearing a circle in the middle of the holy temple.

By firelight you caught your reflection in his eyes. It was then you saw yourself, your near-manic smile, your tussled hair, and the royal robes dripping elegantly off your body. This was not you––or, at least, this wasn't you before Ahkmenrah captured you. Yet you found, with his hand on your waist and your chests pressed tight together, that very rarely had you been happier than this moment.

People around you, staring at you, the scent of spilled wine and twice-baked honey intoxicating you. The circle around you continued to dance, but kept an eye on you and the King.

"See?" He murmured out of breath. "You are beautiful. Heavenly. You are already a God. See how they stare?"

"Yes," you whispered out.

"They are simply processing your divinity," he said, his eyes darting to each feature on your face.

"What should I do?"

"Dance."

Beneath the eyes of Amun you kissed him, soft and barely there, before you gently parted yourself from him. He watched, breathless, as you placed your hand on his chest. You circled him, drawing your finger around his chest to his back.

"This is how they dance in the east," you mumbled in his ear, carefully watching the eager crowd as you spoke.

You grabbed his hand, whirling him around to face you as another grin began to cross you. He mimicked your smile, enchanted by your movements, gaze never ceasing as you began to move your hips. The staring of strangers now only served to fuel you, caught up in the wanderlust that had captured you so vividly as a child. This had been your source of energy, how you kept moving throughout the world––the presentation of other cultures, their wisdom, and their art.

Soon you were tangling yourself back into Ahk, allowing him to pull you in circles and dictate your steps. The two of you moved in near synchronicity, and as the temple's dancers joined in on the sides, so did the rest of the populace crammed into the hall. Musicians played louder as the shouts and whoops of listeners began to overtake it.

You caught sight of the golden statue once more, your gaze lingering on those knelt at its' feet. Plates, bowls, and clay pitchers of food and wine now overcrowded the base, accompanied by the reliefs of Mut and Khons, as well as tokens made of Amun's image. Slowly you dragged your eyes upwards, to the watching stare of the golden God.

It blinked.

Massive eyelids closed over empty eyes, causing you to falter in your step. Your own eyes widened, caught horrified by the statue, a terror that quickly halted Ahk's own dancing. He looked at you confused for a moment, before following your line of sight to the statue.

The room fell into an astonished silence, instruments screeching to a halt as the statue's arms began to crack, movement slowly filling them until they tore apart from the main body. Fingers cracked as though sore from stillness, followed by the horrid trembling of the floor brought about by his heavy feet. They tore from the base, stepping down from the altar as the face began to move, animated, and smiling.

The golden eyes of Amun stared at the tiny people below him, a space amidst the crowd cleared for him to stand easily in the temple.

You looked up bug-eyed, your mouth falling open as Ahk grasped your lower arm tight.

"Is this supposed to happen?" You asked in a whisper, but in the wake of silence, your words were clear as day.

"Not... usually," Ahk admitted sheepishly, tugging nervously at his clothes. "Um.. Amun? Have you possessed your statue?"

"In a way," he said, the deep vibrations of his voice humming painfully loud in the echo chamber. "I have my projected my thoughts and voice into this body, so I may give to you the gift of my presence... and so I may give you a message."

Despite the tremor in Ahkmenrah's hand, he kept himself steady, and looked up at the God as though he were any other regular person.

"What is your message, Hidden One?" He asked.

"I desire your... pet," the God said, his eyes falling to you, clinging to the Pharaoh's side. You shrank further into yourself, nearly shaking with panic.

Amun was the creator God. Ahkmenrah could not say no––the pure outrage that would come from the citizens should he do that was deterrent enough for you to be assured of that.

But he stepped out in front of you, cradling you behind him as he glared upwards.

"Why?" He asked, his earlier reverence turned to suspicion.

"Do you dare to question my command?" Amun asked in return, the rims of his eyes beginning to glow an unearthly purple. Smoke filled his mouth, coming out in great billows and plumes, filling the ceiling as he appeared to grow taller.

"I want to know why," Ahk gritted out.

Amun paused, gauging both your expression and Ahkmenrah's, before speaking precise and clear.

"It possesses the knowledge of many cultures. I have tired of my consorts, my own pets, and their closed minds. Your pet is beautiful and knowledgeable," Amun said, kneeling to face you closer, "and I desire it for the afterlife."

Massive eyes met yours, peering over Ahk's comparatively tiny shoulder. They remained rooted for a moment, scanning what little of you they could see, before the God stood once more.

"I want you to kill it, preserve its' body as well as you can, and bury it for when I come to take it," he said.

"No."

Gasps sounded from the crowd, all the eyes on you chittering and murmuring at Ahkmenrah's gall.

"Tiny King," Amun growled, his hand reaching down to pick Ahk out from the crowd.

Before the thick fingers could pinch him, Ahk reached around to one of his nearby soldiers, pulling the sword from its' sheath and slicing the palm of the God. The gasps around you grew louder yet, people beginning to shuffle nervously as they doubted the will of their Pharaoh. Through the murmurings you heard shouts, taunts against Ahkmenrah, claims of sudden insanity.

"Give up the slave!" Came from somewhere behind you, which very nearly broke Ahk's concentration on Amun as his nails dug into his palm, teeth ground together.

"Someone take his sword!"

"Get him out of here!"

"Silence," commanded Amun, and the temple returned to quiet. "A cut will not stop me."

With that he reached forward, his massive hand brushing Ahk aside and grasping your middle, arms forced to your sides. Your breath caught in your throat, unable to yell as you were lifted from the ground.

"You had the choice to willingly serve me or anger me. Either way," he brushed the hair away from your face with his golden skin, "I will have Amoke for my own."

He smiled, soft, and terrifying, as he squeezed you tighter in his palm. The constriction cut off your ability to breathe, muscles pinching and twisting with the pressure.

"You have watched from afar my battles, that I am sure of," Ahkmenrah said. You looked down, desperation welling tears in your eyes as you met the gaze of the King, who had the face of the dead; dark, and dull, and absent of empathy. "Yet you don't know that I will destroy anything that comes between me and what I want."

"Funny," said Amun, "I'm the same way."

Ahk casted aside his sword, instead reaching for the many vases, pots, and basins of oil, throwing them all to the floor till both the offerings and marble floors were covered in holy oil. Confusion struck you till he reached for a torch, at which point you began to wriggle in the God's grasp. Ahkmenrah had done a number of stupid things, especially when it came to his relationship with you, but burning down a temple rung bad news to you.

He threw the torch to the ground, lighting the temple aflame with bursts of fire that burned red and orange. Already heat came to meet you, hitting your cheek and neck with waves of searing warmth, tinted with the smell of lavender and roses. Screams bounced off the walls, blurred by the crackling roar of fire. You watched, high above the crowd, as people scrambled towards the exit, desperately escaping the flames. Then your eyes fell, past the door, past the shrieking, to the Pharaoh, his face lit by fire, and his eyes darkened by the overwhelming shadow of his own crown.

"Fire cannot hurt a God," Amun spat, holding you closer to his chest.

"No," Ahk agreed, "but it can hurt your vessel."

"Gold doesn't melt by simple fire."

"Right again. But the stone on the inside of that frame does."

While they spoke, you began to feel the melting heat of stone surrounding you, burning you wherever your skin was bare. Panic seized you fiercely, quickening your breath till you barely felt your own chest heaving up and down. You cried out as the burning sensation turned to searing pain, melting and blistering the skin of your forearms.

From nowhere you were released, falling two meters from the sky to the ground. Ahk rushed past the burning pools of oil and piles of food, grasping your hand tight in his. Before either of you said anything, the agonized, broken yells of a God filled your head. It spiked and crackled, like explosions in your ears, ranging from deep, mechanical roars to high-pitches screeches that felt like nails dragging down from your eyes to your jaw. Through it all Ahk kept you running, heading for the wooden doors already set aflame. Pillars fell around you, crashing against the marble floor, and in the process causing the ground to tremble. The two of you nearly lost your balance, watching two massive pillars slowly falling to block the exit. He held your hand tighter yet, his pace increasing as yours did, the two of you bolting out of the hall. The moment you exited, the final pillars fell behind you, blocking the door and locking the God into the fiery temple.

Heavy pants filled your chest till it numbed, your teary eyes stinging in the cool, night air. Even through the thick stone you could hear Amun wailing and screeching, clawing at the walls of the temple till the marble gave way, tumbling to the floor and splintering upon impact. The sandstone bricks behind the marble kept him inside, leaving him to die within its' holy walls.

"Are you alright?" He asked, frantic hands and eyes scanning your body. First he held your face, then your neck, till he found the marks covering your forearms.

"I'm -"

"Ohhh dearest," he breathed out, his brow furrowed tight as he took your hands, holding them with a touch so gentle you barely felt it. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I didn't... oh dear.. does it hurt?"

You looked down, scanning over the seared flesh in the dim starlight.

"Not anymore," you said, confused at your own tolerance. "It just hurt at first."

"I'm so sorry, my love, I'm.. we'll get this bandaged up, all right?" He promised, looking you in the eye.

"Ahk, no one's going to help you," you said. His subjects wouldn't accept him back after that fiasco. No way.

"Piye will," he said assuredly, raising your hands to kiss your fingers. "That's all we need."

"Where are they?"

"Still in Thebes. It'll take us a little bit, so let's get some bandages first," he murmured, kissing your forehead.

He gingerly threaded his fingers in yours, assuring himself of you, before the two of you headed away from the desecrated temple. While he scanned the long, dark hallway for people, you noted the figures flanking the entrance, and tugged on Ahk's arm.

“He certainly lived up to his speech,” one of them said.

"I think your advisors are waiting to hand your ass to you," you whispered.

"Ah... fuck. My father himself is going to rise from the field of reeds to throw my ass in my face," he mumbled, chewing on his lip.

"When did you start swearing?" You asked, slightly befuddled.

"Usually when I get into dangerous situations," he said lowly, ducking behind one of the pillars as one of the figures shifted, "it starts up. Horrible habit. My mother tried to rid me of it but she was never quite successful."

"Apparently," you muttered beneath your breath, before helpfully pointing out that there were holes built into the ceiling to let natural light through.

"Perfect, darling," he said, pecking your cheek before reaching for the carved top of the pillars.

Once assured of his stability, he heaved himself upwards, catching the ledge outside before falling. From there he pulled himself up, scrambling onto the roof of the hallway. You attempted to go the same route, but your arms hardly reached the pillar's protrusions, and they were numb with pain. Seeing your trouble, he lay flat on the roof, hanging his arm down. You grasped tight as you could, and with help from your legs you clambered onto the roof.

Ahk huffed, brushed himself off, brushed you off, and only then continued on. From up there you could easily see the advisors and guards discussing, their hushed voices reaching you with little clarity. Spying would do you no good, and Ahk soon realized that, taking you back towards the temple.

In silence he climbed the rest of the way to the temple's roof, helping you up along the way. Your shadow stood before you, casted long but pale against the flat expanse of the roof, stretching out before you like a desert. This was the only area of the temple undecorated, left untouched and plain. It was a funny thought to realize that from above––from a God's view––the temple was as plain as white sand.

By descending far away from the entrance, the two of you avoided sight of his advisors in an act you realized he'd done many a time before. You wondered, watching him sneak along the ground, what kind of a child he was, and if you would've liked him better if you met him when he was younger. Though to be perfectly fair you liked him quite a lot already, unfortunate as it was.

Ever aware of your wound, he led you by a hand on your back, instead of the usual taking hold of your hand. Keeping your footsteps quiet proved hard in the loose rocks, but with your slow pace you safely made it to the boathouse he led you to.

"Here," he whispered, ushering you into the room. He glanced outside, scanning for anyone present, before carefully closing the door and turning back to you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could do so he was pushing you into a chair, hushing you softly. Mildly offended, but more importantly confused, you watched as he rifled through boxes of storage. Most of your questions were answered when he pulled out bandages. Alongside that, he pulled out a small pot of honey, which you yourself had used before to treat infections.

"I am truly sorry, my dear," he said as he knelt before you, unravelling the linen. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt."

"Except Amun."

"Well... yes, there is that," he mumbled abashedly, chuckling.

For a little while you watched in silence as he gingerly wrapped your arms up, careful not to touch the sticky, pale wound with his fingers. Honey kept the linen from burning or attaching to heavily to your skin.

"Why did you do that?" You asked, your voice cracking in your attempt to keep quiet.

"What? Did I wrap it wrong?" He asked, looking up with wide, expectant eyes.

"No, not that, the –"

"The burning thing?"

"Yes, kind of," you said. "You hurt your God."

"It's alright, he's not the only one we've got," he chuckled.

"That's not the point," you hissed, increasingly irritated with his jokes. He laughed at your annoyance, but finally calmed down enough to speak seriously.

"Amoke, the Gods are eternal. They have time to know everything, to have everything. We are not. We have a limited amount of time to enjoy ourselves. I think Amun can wait another hundred years till you die. I can't. Do you understand that?" He said, his hand cradling your face as he knelt between your legs, praying to your reverent eyes. "I don't mind fighting for the things in this world that I own. Because until I die, I am wholly of this plane, and such earthly things are all I have."

You swallowed through a tight throat before nodding. A small smile replaced the worried knot in his brow, and he returned carefully to the task at hand.

White linen soon coated the entirety of both your upper arms, spots of honey and blood rarely peeking through the wraps. He was finally finished, the ends tucked away, preventing it from unravelling when you moved. For a moment you sat still, waving your arms up and down experimentally.

"Thank you," you said as you stood, looking down at the couple blisters along your hands.

"Of course, dear," he said, kissing the top of your head. "Piye will do a much better job. I just don't want it to get infected on the way there."

Seeing as your temporary hideout was a boathouse, it was relatively easy to get a boat. The process was a combination of 'don't let the wood creak beneath you,' 'lay down on the dock, there's someone coming,' and 'untie that knot faster'. Your aching hands were no fit for any small, involved work, so Ahk made himself useful by both releasing the canoe from the dock and rowing it away from shore.

Despite being almost-passed-out tired, you couldn't doze on the boat, too paralyzed by the rocking waves. Ahk noticed––of course he did––but could do little to comfort you. All he had to provide was the information that this wouldn't take long; thirty minutes or so, he said.

To find ease in something, you looked off the edge of the boat to the rippling, black water. Though the stars shined above you, you could barely see them in the river. Instead you found your reflection staring back up at you, unblinking.

"It's not healthy to stare at yourself too long. Drives some insane," Ahk commented in a hum.

"As if you don't spend an hour every morning looking at yourself in the mirror."

"Ouch. Fair point."

Stumbling back onto land was easier than usual, but keeping your balance on the dock was a little harder. Ahk told you to sit down while he tied the boat up, which you did, but only after nearly tripping over a stray rope.

"We shouldn't exclude the possibility that Piye, and perhaps the rest of the Thebes, already knows of what we've done," Ahk said, looking out from the dark shore to the torch-lit city.

"And if they do?"

"Um... we'll get to that when we get there," he said with a sharp breath, his eye still set on the lights. "Let's go, hm? Nice and quiet."

You nearly laughed at his behavior, but a glance to his expression had you sobered. His teeth were digging into his lip, more than usual, and it looked rather painful.

"Ahk?" You said, grasping his arm to halt him. He turned to you, his stress gone, and looked you in the eye. "Are.. are you alright?"

He continued to stare at you for a moment, before saying, "yes! I, um, I'm alright. Thank you."

"... okay," you said doubtfully. He was clearly lying, but you didn't want to seem as though you cared too much, and you could always ask later on.

Keeping low to the ground, just as before, the two of you managed to sneak into the city without being noticed. It was an even more impressive feat considering your clothes jangled with every movement, overcrowded with jewels. Torches had you struck with fear several times, recalling each time the gold swirls of Ahk dancing, and terrified the light would shine too bright off the Pharaoh.

Without attracting too much attention, you made it safely to Piye's housing, placed within a large garden beside several other similar-looking houses. First he looked in through the windows, but ultimately found nothing.

"I'm sure it's fine if we just go inside," Ahk said with a dismissive shrug, tugging on the handle.

"Um –"

"Don't worry, Amoke," he said, directing you inside. "I've known Piye since I was ten. They won’t mind."

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, anxiously looking around the dark room for any sign of movement. Such was your anxiety that when Ahk closed the door behind him, you jumped, long nails digging deep into your palms.

"Careful there," he said as he passed by you, heading towards the fireplace.

He knelt on the ground, his beautiful skirt dirtied on the soot and dirt collected on the hearth. Pulling out several tools from nearby, he soon started a fire, this time much tamer and controlled.

Fire.

Why did the sight of it root you to the spot?

Warmth seeped into the room, gently easing your tight, cold muscles, and asking you to step nearer. Your teeth dug into your cheek, but you fought your impulse and sat nearby on the floor. As you drew your knees to your chest, Ahk scooted over to your side, gently putting your head on his shoulder.

"I swear, I'll -"

The muffled sound of yelling began to ring from the entrance of the garden. You and Ahk immediately looked to one another with wide eyes as you listened, trying to make out the words.

"Osiris won't be enough –– wrangle that –– stuff you in a grave!"

Splinters flew as the door wrenched open, slamming against the wall and bounding back to nearly hit Piye in the face. Fortunately, Piye, being tall and vigilant as they were, caught it without breaking their menacing stare at Ahk. Ahk on the other hand was rooted to the spot, staring up at the enraged magician.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Piye yelled, forcing the door shut behind them before approaching Ahk with a vindication you rarely saw. "You think you can just attack a God and your people will still love you? You're not above the deities, Ahkmenrah. You're their vessel and they will strike you down for this disrespect!"

"I'm not going to let an innocent person die because some God wants a plaything," Ahk said firmly, keeping his ground.

"You don't get a choice. Don't forget you're a temporary ruler of this world. The Gods control everything and everyone," Piye said, roughly jabbing Ahk in the chest with their finger.

"Piye has a point," you said.

"Amoke, d –"

"They're going to get their way eventually. Why fight it?" You asked, a question that had the two of them quiet for a moment.

"I will fight for every last second I can have with you. If need be I will slay my people for one more minute in your presence," he said as he once more knelt before you, taking your hands in his. "I will burn down this world for one last kiss."

There was a fervor in his eyes unlike anything you'd seen before––bright, brilliantly so, yet lusting for something not in the realm of the holy. Something much more sinister; a lust not for flesh, but for the blood within it. He would keep his word. You knew then and there, staring into those bright, empty eyes, that he would sooner destroy his cities than let you go.

He would keep his word.

"Don't," you barely whispered out.

"I would," he said with the same softness, directing you to look back at him when your eyes strayed.

"I know."

Wooden planks creaked as Piye shifted their weight, crossing their arms as they watched your spectacle.

"I allowed this for a long while," Piye said, their voice drawing Ahk's face away from hiding in your lap. "I let you steal an innocent person. Now I see I should've stopped it from the beginning. You've grown too attached, Ahk. You have responsibilities bigger than yourself, and there are certain things you cannot indulge. Certain pleasures you cannot partake in."

Not once had the Pharaoh looked to Piye. Instead his gaze remained enraptured in yours, dreamy as it was bittersweet.

"And if I abandon my position as King?" He asked, a smile growing across his face as he carefully watched your reaction. Behind him, however, Piye's own expression fell, arms unwinding as they stared stupefied at the Pharaoh.

"Your father would never forgive you," Piye said, much quieter through the tension built in their throat.

"So what? He's dead."

"Merenkahre might not have been a fantastic King but he was still your father, and he cared about you."

"- a care that was most certainly conditional, seeing as how he treated my brother," Ahk pointed out.

"Your brother killed thirteen servants!! I think that's a little different!" Piye seethed, lean muscles in their hands tensing as they spoke through gritted teeth.

"Yes, listen, Amoke got hurt in that little temple fiasco. I was hoping you could help them," Ahk said, finally turning to face Piye.

"Oh. Of course, come here," Piye mumbled, ushering you over. "I'm sorry you got tangled in his mess. I'm sure you don't want to be here."

"Oh, well -" you began only to be interrupted.

"I'll be very pleased to remind you that Amoke willingly joined me this time!"

"'This time,'" Piye mocked. "Oooh, your little plaything actually wanted to be remotely near you one time."

"First off, ouch, second off, you enjoyed it, didn't you Amoke? I mean, besides the whole melting arm debacle," Ahk said, peering over Piye's to see you.

A long, tense silence stretched when you couldn't find an answer, and instead decided to focus on Piye's treatments.

"My Gods," Piye muttered once all the wrappings were off, which was not a good thing to hear from a doctor when they're examining you.

"What? What's wrong?" You quickly asked, eyes darting between the wrappings, your wound, and Piye's concerned expression.

"Nothing, it's just... this is a pretty severe wound. I'm surprised you still have fingers," they said, shaking their head to clear it.

After taking a deep breath, they took one of your hands, holding it up close to their eye.

"I'm going to have to do some... experimental magic for this. Are you alright with that?"

"What happens if it goes wrong?" You asked, a creeping suspicion on the edge of your words.

"I'd imagine either nothing or you'll have arms made of flowers."

You paused to silently debate it, but took little time deciding.

"Alright," you agreed.

"Wonderful. Give me a moment," they said, and began to mutter verses beneath their breath, eyelids closing over glowing eyes.

You looked to Ahk with an astonished look, your mouth hanging open. He just shrugged, unable to give you an answer before Piye reemerged, no longer glowing in their eyes. Now their palms were glowing, surrounding your burnt arm.

"Repeat after me," they said. "I am this pure lotus which went forth from the sunshine."

You repeated them.

"–– which is at the nose of Re; I have descended --"

"–– that I may seek it for Horus ––"

"–– for I am the pure one who issued from the fen."

Heat came from the tip of your tongue, nearly burning as you spoke the last word. With a racing heart, you opened your eyes, immediately drawn to the blue and purple embers rising from your arm. Streams of light soon came from the wounds, blossoming into solid shapes that built the petals of blue lotus flowers.

Every inch of skin that was scarred, burned, blistered, or melted off had been infested with flowers, growing so thick that they puffed out like kinky hair.

"Is it... supposed to do that?" You asked hesitantly.

"It's not.. not supposed to do that," Piye suggested, which was also not a comforting thing to be told.

Either way, you made your way back to your previous seat, your hands folded neatly in your lap as you slouched down. Piye made to grab something from the mantle, but ultimately sighed deeply and flopped down on the floor beside you and Ahk.

"What are we going to do, Ahk?" They asked, leaning forward with their chin balanced on their palm.

"... you're going to help me?" Ahk murmured as he perked up.

"Yes," said Piye bitterly, "of course. But I'm not going to enjoy it."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader

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marmotish · 3 years

Text

🎄👻 Duncan Christmas SQ 👻🎄

Part 3. The Crossing

(~2500 words under the cut)

The bus ride down to Cairnryan was awkwardly silent, with neither Duncan nor Freyja really ready or willing to discuss what had happened. Less awkward than actually speaking to each other though, from an outsider’s perspective.

Not a word was spoken until they had boarded the ferry, with the exception of Duncan hissing “one ticket!” when Freyja initially asked for two at the port.

With most passengers choosing to enjoy the onboard amenities, it was reasonably empty up on deck. No surprise though, given it was late December. The winds coming off the water were chilly to say the least, and the overcast sky did nothing to improve the scenery. But they would have to speak eventually, and better it happen out in the open, away from a larger crowd. That was when Freyja decided it had been long enough avoiding the subject.

“So what was it like?”

“What?”

“When you were inside -“

“DON’T SAY IT.”

Freyja stopped talking, and returned to watching the ocean. Looked like the blunt approach wasn’t the best way to start. But the question was still hanging in the air, unanswered. It was now up to Duncan to resume the conversation. But when? Who knew. Minutes ticked by without another word being spoken.

Well, if he wanted to spend the next couple of hours in silence then that was fine. Nothing was stopping her from enjoying everything else the ferry had to offer. If she got moving now, she could -

“It was really quick, I don’t know...”

OK, forget that.

“I didn’t even know what was happening, but then everything kind of hit me at once. The smell of the street, the cold air on my face, the clothes on my body, the ground under my feet... well, your face and all...”

He hesitated, as though he might have said too much. Freyja waited for him to continue, watching his face carefully.

“It was almost like - being alive again.”

Well FUCK.

Freyja didn’t know how to respond to that. Duncan had always seemed more life-like, more alive than any of the other ghosts she knew. The way he moved through the world was reminiscent of a living person.

Not like Professor Binns, who acted like he didn’t even know he was dead. Quite the contrary, Duncan was more than aware of the fact that he was dead. That was just the problem.

Sure, he floated around like any other ghost, but it was little things that Freyja noticed while they were in Glasgow that kind of set him apart. He never took shortcuts through walls, he moved through the appropriate doorways and corridors. He stuck to moving along the sidewalk. He waved away car exhaust even though he couldn’t smell it. When it had started raining, he pulled up the hood of his cloak, even though he couldn’t get wet.

All these behavioural quirks told of someone who was trapped in an existence they didn’t want, who was instead trying to hang onto any threads of humanity, of a real existence. But pretend as much as he like, he would never be able to replicate the feeling of really being alive. And he had never come closer to being alive than for the few seconds he had taken over Freyja’s body.

Choosing the blunt approach again, Freyja broke the silence with another question.

“Would you do it again if you had the chance?”

“What?!”

Duncan leapt back, putting plenty of space between them. Freyja raised her eyebrows in question, waiting for a reply.

No, it was a terrible idea. As much as he wanted to feel almost alive again, he didn’t know if he would be able to handle it. He barely made it to 5 seconds before.

“You know,” Freyja shrugged her backpack off her shoulders. “I’ve been up for almost 30 hours straight, and I’m just now starting to feel it. I wouldn’t mind switching off for a bit.”

Duncan almost imperceptibly shook his head in confusion, watching as Freyja pulled out an impossibly large blanket and sets it on one of the boxy seats on the deck.

“Think I’ll have a rest. Might be my only chance before we reach the port.”

“Up here on deck? In the cold?”

“well I could sleep inside, but then you wouldn’t be able to smell the salt in the air, or feel the wind in your face. Anyhow, this blanket’s thick and heavy enough to keep you warm.”

“You keep saying ‘you’, but -“

Freyja settled down on the seat, pulling the blanket around her shoulders while Duncan hovered from a safe distance looking understandably perplexed.

“Though you’ll probably fall asleep before too long. If you were able to feel what my body felt before, then you’re going to feel tired too. Think of it like we’re 2 drivers of the same car, my body being the car obviously. If the car runs out of petrol, it doesn’t matter who’s driving. It’s not going anywhere.”

“JUST GET TO THE POINT.”

Freyja glared at him. “Oh NOW you want the blunt approach.” Rolling her eyes, she continued. ”Fine. I’m saying if you wanted to try the possession thing again, then that’s fine with me.”

OK. She really said it. He wasn’t really expecting her to.

But possessing someone just to fall asleep? What would be the point in that? Then again, it would be less intense than possessing a body that was being fuelled by pure adrenaline. Surely something like falling asleep should be enough for him to handle. God knows he was emotionally exhausted. Not being able to sleep and spending every moment with your own thoughts would be enough to exhaust anyone. Who knew that would also be the case after death?

“Why would you let me do that again?”

Duncan was wary. On one hand, he was tempted to take up the offer. But this didn’t seem to be an offer made from the goodness of her heart. From the past year, he’d come to realise that Freyja rarely did anything seemingly selfless without some kind of underlying motive. That or she was just bored, and he didn’t know which one worried him more.

Freyja shrugged. “Why not? Besides, I’m curious. I want to know if the theory about cars and drivers is right. I have two conditions though. One, that you get out before we hit port. Two, if you’re somehow able to cart my body around, don’t lose my blanket or any of my other stuff . That includes money. I’m on a budget.”

With that, Freyja dropped her backpack onto her lap and hugged her knees up towards her chin, enveloping herself in the blanket. She watched and waited for Duncan’s response.

He was grabbing at his own sleeves, unsure about what to do. It was strange to see him look so uncomfortable, and he was silent for so long that Freyja regretted ever making the offer.

“Hey, forget it-“

“I don’t even know if I can do it again.” Duncan started, rubbing his arm. “But - I want to try.

“Alright?”

“And I don’t want you watching me.”

Freyja nodded. “Fair enough.” She slumped a little further down on the seat and closed her eyes.

Duncan shut his eyes as well, and took an un-necessary deep breath. He took a moment to steel himself, then peeked out of one eye. Freyja’s eyes were still closed, but her legs were jiggling under the blanket. Impatience or anticipation? Hard to tell.

Screwing both eyes shut, he flew forward, meeting a sudden feeling of warmth followed by a shiver up his spine. Gasping, Duncan opened his eyes. He brushed a silver fringe out of his face. Seated in the deck chair now, he observed the world from this borrowed body. Steadying his breath, he closed his eyes, focusing on each new sense in turn.

Now, having spent more than a few moments in this body, he could also feel Freyja’s consciousness at the back of his mind, and it was slipping steadily towards sleep.

Well, she was right about two things. One, he could definitely feel the exhaustion from this body. It was a wonder she kept going this long. He could feel his eyelids drooping, try as he might to keep them open.

Two, this blanket was undoubtedly warm enough to keep out the winter chill. It was heavy though, weighing down on his body. Not that he minded, it was a comforting weight, like being held in a warm embrace.

He pulled the blanket up to his ears, slowly breathing in the salty sea breeze, feeling the gusts of winter wind across his face. Wrapping his arms around himself, he allowed the sounds of the sea to lull him to sleep.

---

The sounds of screaming (laughing?) children running across the deck jolted both Freyja and Duncan awake, with the latter being suddenly ejected from the former’s body, practically hurtling over the railing.

“Are we there?”

Duncan reeled himself back in on deck before taking a look ahead. “Not far off, the port’s further inland.”

“Ok, ok that’s good.” Freyja rubs sleep from her eyes, stretching herself out. “You have a good rest?”

Duncan turned his head sharply in Freyja’s direction, ready to catch any hint of mockery. But if she was being anything other than genuine, he couldn’t tell by her face. “it was fine.” He answered.

Freyja wandered over to the railing next to Duncan, carefully bundling up her blanket to avoid tripping. He waited for her to interrogate him about the possession, but she didn’t press further. She didn’t even look at him. Rather, she kept her gaze fixed on the water’s edge, taking in the sights. “Can’t wait to see the city.”

Again, Duncan tried to gauge Freyja’s tone. Was she being serious? Sure, a relatively neutral zone like the city centre was nice enough by comparison, but surely she knew the state of things once you ventured past the ring of steel. “You keep up with Muggle news, right?”

“If you’re talking about the situation over here, then yes, I’m aware.”

“I kept up with the news while I could, and I wrote to Gran while I was away as well. But I get the feeling she downplayed a lot of the stuff that happened when I wasn’t there.” Duncan shifted his gaze towards the approaching port. “Now I haven’t been able to write or keep up with the news since ... you know. But I can’t imagine things are much better than when I last came here.”

Freyja took a deep breath before answering. “It’s not the kind of thing that just blows over in a few years.”

“You know what was ironic though?” Duncan let out a mirthless laugh. “My parents told me it would be safer here with my Gran.”

Freyja frowned, but didn’t say anything. Duncan continued. “You know the First Wizarding War started not long after I was born? My family was scared shitless, and they didn’t even see the worst of the attacks, if you can imagine. Muggles were copping the worst of it at that time, and not just from the Death Eaters.”

Duncan’s jaw clenched, and he appeared to be gripping the railing tightly. “sometimes I don’t think my family ever stopped to consider what was happening outside their magical little bubble. Hell, they barely even paid attention to me until I started at Hogwarts. Then they saw that I could be a valuable, contributing member of the magical community.”

The children from before came running and laughing past them again, momentarily filling the silence that had fallen.

“Whether I was at home with my parents or with my Gran, it made no difference to me, safety-wise. There was no escaping what was happening out there. It’s funny - it all seemed so normal, I thought everyone’s childhood was like that. I guess if you never knew any different, you didn’t realise just how messed up it was. “

“By the time the Wizarding War ended, I was already at Hogwarts. I hadn’t been allowed to see Gran since First year. When we heard that You-Know-Who had been defeated, the first thing I did was run off to write a letter to my Gran telling her it was over. Asking if I could come over again.”

“But she said the same thing she’d been saying since I was 11. Not now, we’ll wait til it’s safer.” Duncan sniffed, his expression darkening. “It probably killed her to know that after all the effort she put into protecting me here, I died in a fucking explosion anyway...”

Oh God, things weren’t meant to get this heavy. Freyja had been silently pleading for him to stop talking. But it just kept coming, and she could say nothing. But what could she possibly have said? What input could she have given?

Like Jacob, Duncan’s childhood had been constantly shadowed by the War. Unlike Jacob however, Duncan was unfortunate enough to be caught between two different conflicts from two different worlds. It must have been confusing for him as a small child - not knowing where one finished and the other began.

Freyja racked her brains for something appropriate to say, when the arrival announcement sounded, alerting passengers to gather their belongings and prepare to disembark. Grateful for the interruption, she quickly moved back from the railing and started to fold up her blanket to pack it away.

She stopped mid-fold and ventured a look back at Duncan. He hadn’t moved from the rail, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

“Duncan, I -“

“Don’t bother hurting yourself trying to squeeze out an emotion, that’s not what I was going for.” Duncan turned to face her, his usual fed-up expression back in place. “But I do want to say that... I appreciate what you’re doing. I know Belfast isn’t exactly one of the top tourist destinations for Christmas right now.”

Freyja nodded in acknowledgment, continuing to pack up her blanket.

“Are you scared?” Duncan asked.

Her head snapped up, fixing Duncan with a stern gaze. She tightened the loops on her backpack with a little more force than necessary, and swung it over her shoulder. “An outsider walking into a decades-old sectarian conflict? Should I be scared?”

“Outsider or not makes no difference if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’d be stupid to not be scared.”

Bristling, Freyja jammed her hands into her jacket pockets. She knew perfectly well that being from out of town wasn’t going to be her get-out-jail-free card. She knew that waving her wand around wasn’t going to be any help if she was outnumbered. But part of her just wanted to know if she could do this. A stupid, selfish, insecure part of herself. The same part that reared it’s ugly head when Jacob once again dismissed her as some sort of unnecessary baggage in the Portrait Vault last summer.

“And I know you’re not stupid. Bloody Ravenclaw, and all.”

“My stupidity runs deep, don’t let the blue and bronze fool you.” Freyja grimaced, studiously avoiding eye contact. “but I’m not so stupid to believe that this is going to be a walk in the park.”

The other passengers were filing past now, a more insistent cue for the two of them to get moving. It took two shoulder collisions to bring Freyja out of her reverie, and shake her head clear of nagging doubts. She looked up at Duncan and gave him a decisive nod.

“Come on. We’ll make sure the only one of us who gets back to Hogwarts dead is me, ok? There’s no way I’m sharing my bathroom with you for the rest of eternity.”

---

#hogwarts mystery #duncan ashe #hphm mc #freyja young #this one’s really long I’m so sorry 😂😂#it’s gets a little heavy #but this is where we start kinda getting into Duncan’s head and I didn’t want to cut more out #it’s a bit more comprehensive than my last two to be fair #probably the first thing I’ve uploaded where I’ve put more effort into the text than the pic #the next art I post will definitely be something a little more positive or silly #don’t shoot me I haven’t written this much since uni #Duncan SQ

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mushroom-cartel--writing · 3 years

Text

begrudging (love-)blindness

Summary: You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru & Reader, Gojo Satoru/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc.)

Personally, I think this is hot garbage in terms of structure and pacing (it’s loosely all strung together is what I’m saying, but I just needed to get it off my chest before I wrote anything else. Yet... I guess I had fun? Yeah. I did!

There's spoilers from the manga mixed with headcanon.

I still hate spacing and formatting on Tumblr, it sucks. Please, please, please, this is for your own good, click the AO3 link, this fic is such an eyesore on this platform.

|||

There’s a tug at your chest, sending you hurtling backwards and into something hard. A wall. Tiles. Smooth.

The heavens and the earth view one another through a layer of haze of light at night.

There are thousands of people gathering, their footsteps thundering echoes in your ears. Their chatter is a constant hum in the air. It stinks of sweat.

(“The train will be arriving soon. Please stand behind the yellow line—”)

You sigh.

“Dammit, Satoru! A little warning would be nice,” you hiss to the man. You hear him whisper something back but his voice is swallowed up by the crowds and then he, too, is consumed.

You feel him wander farther away from you; not left with much choice, you follow him. And down, down, down you go.

You pause when there’s an invisible wall blocking your path of his own making. “Hey!!” you shout, starting to scream expletives at him from the top of his lungs and he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds pass. The people, these poor, clueless civilians who just want to go home for the night are like sardines in a can, their bodies pushing and shoving. For space. For air. Requiring neither, you phase through the wall and the remaining levels to catch up to him, the thoughts going through your head solely focused on figuring out why he has let you out. He wouldn’t do something like this without warning you beforehand.

Why now? What now?

You pull out from the shadowed cracks of the feeble curtain set up along the fifth floor underground, suddenly feeling a heaviness you hardly ever experience. You run a cursory swipe over his teeth; the blood in the air is fresh, there are more civilians down here than up above, more sardine-ing (their presence is fading away, the above platforms’ panicked din becomes extinguished, it’s ghastly quiet, a moment frozen in time), but no Satoru. Not physically.

He loves you, you know. (You don’t understand though… Why?)

It’s a burden, draining you of what vigour is left in your soul, barely just clinging on to this plane itself.

His love is a curse in itself, really.

"I don't want you to see me hurt," he had said often, back when you were children, oblivious to the power of those words until you got older.

What they meant.

What they did—to him and you.

Still as the wind, you stand together, hands brushing up against each other's, your fingers infected with poison where his is not; the calloused skin and scars shared between you weaving a tale for the ages that will never be told.

You’re both nineteen at heart but certainly not in spirit.

You lean against him, completely unseen, waiting for him to flick his finger back.

Waiting for him to obliterate the first person he thought he could trust outside.

He doesn’t. You disappear for another time, expectant.

His love is a burden and you're not sure where you would be without it.

If he hadn't looked your way, would you be the same person you are today?

It's frightening, these thoughts of yours, but he usually chases them off when he senses them bubbling to the surface. (You want him to be annoyed.) A casual grin and stance, a flick of his wrist, a rush of wind by your side, then the phantom pressure is gone, yes, gone, however—it's never banished completely. It never can be.

You don't remember the colour of his eyes but there's a memory of you claiming they looked like marbles, buried somewhere (somehow), in the back of your mind. Like the marbles you'd smash glass bottles to obtain, their fizzy contents only drained seconds beforehand; stubby, sticky, small fingers sorting through the shards, squashing ants in the process.

Those very same fingers, now, haven't changed a bit, save for the chipped nails and whatnot duress they’ve sustained throughout his life.

You use them to push the blindfold up to his forehead, taking in the surrounding sights.

Why now? The fact that you can feel them, his fingers and everything else—that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.

You breathe, inflating the faux lungs.

Finally, you see it. The reason why you’re walking and talking and fully corporeal.

You gulp at the living corpse, its stitches wonky and fresh. Cerebrospinal fluid spills from its face in fat droplets and lands upon the clothes of a dead man. Disgusting.

“So I was right in the end,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else. “You’re not Suguru.”

(Satoru owes you a thousand yen. You told him to burn the body immediately. Or, you know, the usual. But what’d he do instead? He went and passed it off to a third party! Man, why’d that old hag have to kick the bucket so soon… If she was still around she’d probably kick Satoru’s dumb ass for trying to be decent.)

“How are you free?” Not-Suguru asks.

The real Suguru wouldn’t ask about your appearance. He would make a comment about how the temperature has dropped and burrow into his collar. He wouldn’t question things.

The real Suguru never acknowledged you, but he knew there was something in the corner of his eye that took the image of his friend and laughed alongside them when they pulled their antics during missions.

The real Suguru is gone.

Who the hell knows where Shouko is.

Yeah. A little warning would have been nice. Real fucking nice.

There’s a cube with a dozen eyes between the two of you, the crater on the ground betrays its unassuming weight. Satoru’s muted presence, a shrunken pearl of light, emanates from the cube.

Not-Suguru follows your line of sight to it.

Giving him an answer would be a waste of your time.

You can’t, they say.

Young master, please, don’t go there, implores the servants and guards.

The elders, his grandmother especially, tell him not to enter the storehouse tucked away in the garden behind an avenue of camellia trees because that’s something they’ll discuss when he’s older.

He doesn’t listen to them, the curiosity of a three-year-old child cannot be satisfied by mere words. (“Let this be known,” the gardener says in his defense, one cold summer’s day. It is raining outside. His grandmother shoots the only person in the compound that doesn’t treat him like a blind fool with a withering glare. He does not see them again until—)

What’s in the storehouse?

A library of cursed objects? Spiritual remnants, artefacts, texts, poisons, weapons?

Maybe the mummified corpse of an ancestor whom they keep around to ward off evil?

Perhaps a curse, frozen in time forevermore?

Maybe it’s nothing and the adults are all in on some kind of elaborate hoax, he figures. Mm, yeah. Sounds about right. No one else knows about the storehouse.

It’s old and earthen. Wild plants curl the walls to one side and splotches of moss grow on the tiled roof. Where the sun hits least is pristine. Clean. He wonders if that’s where the wards are placed, out of sight, out of mind.

Oh.

Standing in the entrance of the open door with bare feet, at the threshold of the aged structure, fulfilling his desire, he learns why they wanted him to remain ignorant.

It’s a child. (A human…? This whole situation is off.) A kid his age. He can’t tell whether or not they’re older or younger. They might be a bit taller, though.

No, he wants to shout, this can’t be it! He stomps his foot. That’s cliché! Boring, boring, boring! Again, he strikes the ground. Ugh, whatever—

A sigh escapes the emaciated figure sitting in the darkness, hunched over themself against the wall of the bare storehouse.

“Ah, my f̶̥̍r̵̝͐̏i̷̳end,” they start, softly. “M̶̹̦͒y̸͍̮̋̚ f̸͉̓̋r̴͇̦̕ǐ̴̦͇e̵̫͠n̷̢͉̅̓ḍ̸̅, my very dear, old friend. You have returned.

“My e̷̳̭̿y̶͈͂e̷͔̭̎͘s̴̭̄̊, have you come to give them back? Ask for several others?

“I have waited for you, as promised. Come. Closer. Please. I do not know how long has passed since I last gazed upon your visage. Do not be afraid.

“I no longer lust for flesh as fervently as before, I will not ask of y̸͖͔̒o̵̳̍u̵͍̘̓ ą̴͕̈́n̵̫̓d̸̛̳͛ y̵̻͑̎o̵̖̥͒͌ų̴͋̐r̵̦̩̓s a sacrifice to please me.”

Their voice is garbled, the resemblance to a broken radio off-pitch jarring his reaction time, a music box opened underwater gurgling, ghosts beat to the rhythm of the blood in his ears and titter buried mysteries.

In the corner of his eyes distant stars burn, galaxies explode to life and die repeatedly, the vast cosmos is shredded apart. Universes are swallowed whole. The plane he stands upon bends to the will of the one whose gifts he uses carelessly to play the role of a deity and dictate the balance of the world.

People have said [they] reflect the very heavens.

His faith wanes.

a trio of ragtag orphans,

escapees, survivors and starved,

on the verge of being

no better than beasts,

happen upon a traveller taking respite from the winding roads.

a foreigner no doubt

they guess from the strange hued garb;

rest, everyone around these parts,

they know comes not

easy to scum, scoundrels, sinners and

deceivers alike.

mad ones, rushing to death

—without protection i must add—

oh my darling children, you are!

consume my flesh,

defend those unseeing,

purge the blight

and you shall witness

my return before long, indeed?!

They do not move and neither does he.

What he assumes to be their head tilts ever so to the side, gauging him, this fool of a boy trespassing on their domain. This part of the garden, the little boy realises too late, is theirs.

This, the storehouse and now him.

(—the gardener finds him sprawled out on his back come dusk. They help him to his feet and dust him off, the sparkle in his eyes an unusual occurrence; they ask their precious young master what happened and he points them in the direction of the doors sealed shut.

“I took a peek inside,” he lies. Children are supposed to do that, right?

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” The gardener knows he’s a bad liar.

“Good. Now come.” They lead him away from the path of the camellias. “Lady Mitsue has been beside herself over you, mister.”

His grandmother hasn’t. She probably knows what he has done and will instruct him to feed the council what they want to hear. My son was too soft, she asserts before and after every meeting with those windbags.

You have to do better.

And his father is dead, so only time will tell who’s right.)

He starts having weird dreams (memories?) several days later.

Trying to ignore them doesn’t work.

Every waking moment is subject to gore.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his own eyes out while he trains.

In the world beneath his eyelids, there are shadowy figures claiming it best he is blinded and locked away and fed what no other soul could hope to consume without issue. And just as they force open his jaw—every night, every time—he wakes up.

Satoru doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

One day, he dreams of years of living without sunlight causing you to screw your not-eyes shut and look away upon the opening of a door into your domain. When you recover, you turn to the door, the emotion of curiosity tugging for your attention out of the myriad of beings you’ve eaten.

Standing at the threshold, ethereal, desperate and short of breath, is a young man. In his arms is a woman, his wife, you presume. They’re stark shades of white, binary stars of a celestial system long dead.

You smile, recognising them in an instant. “Ah, my old friends, children of my children’s children a dozen times over, tell me, what is it you wish for?”

“My wife and our child,” says the man, “please, I beg of you, save them!”

Oh? A healing? It’s been quite some time since that was last requested of you.

You skitter to the pair’s side and shut the door gently behind them, ushering them further in.

You click your not-tongue at the woman’s state, wondering why no one thought to come to you earlier. If they did, the price they’d have to pay would be much less than what you’re about to tell the man. Humans are such prideful creatures, Satoru knows this, but he can’t help but feel tense as you instruct the man to lay the woman down and state your cost.

First, he opens his mouth. Then it shuts. Opens. Shuts. The man regards his dear wife with something Satoru has never seen before in the eyes of those around him.

His reply?

“I accept—”

A harsh smack to the head disrupts the memory; he looks up, unsurprised to meet his grandmother’s gaze, wrinkled eyes so very much like his own piercing his soul.

“Being distracted in the middle of a fight is unbecoming of you, boy,” she says. “What seems to be the matter?”

He can’t tell her.

He stays silent.

“Satoru.” She raises her hand, fingers crossed, indicating the void’s opening. “We Gojou pride ourselves on our ability to adapt. That is why, in fact, I say my son was too soft. He could not accept that he would lose my daughter-in-law and the child she carried in her womb to common illness. He could not accept that it was impossible to cheat death. He could not accept the position he was placed in. And for that, he died and of the aforementioned two, only you lived. Do you understand?”

No. He doesn’t want to understand.

What is adaptation if they’ve yet to rid themselves of and bow down to your constant presence? Is that not their most fatal flaw?

You eat them.

One life in exchange for another; you told his father it was the only way.

You were given the corpse of his mother a hundred days after his birth by the elders.

Every Gojou after death, you grind their bones between your teeth and their flesh rots at the bottom of your belly. Their soulful essence fights for dominance against the forces of the innumerable curses the clans feeds you—the hate, the sentiment, the sheer bursts of techniques and mighty powers clashing, click, click, click—you embody and absorb the aftermath of each childish scuffle, playing the bored jailer adjudicator. Corpses, tools, objects, energy and flesh. It’s how you’ve lived for so long without light or human thought to taint you: the jujutsu world’s dirty little secret, waste disposal.

You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

He loves you for that one reason.

A means to an end, forever.

(The boy, a few days shy of his fourth birthday and inauguration, does not know what love is. He thinks he does, having read the definition in a dictionary in order to familiarise you with modern speech, but love is not a word to be thrown around lightly the way he does.)

“I do,” he lies again, this time, to himself. “I understand everything.”

His sight is black.

He pushes back against the current, against instinct telling him to relinquish control and reaches forward for the dream that he was ripped from.

Your true form towers over his mother’s prone form, dripping ichor and the fluid of loose entrails all over. His father stays seated even when you lift an arm to draw blood, the man facing you without a trace of fear.

“I accept—but on the condition that my child receives your protection.”

“My p̶̹̽r̴̽ͅo̵̠͐ť̷̬e̶̺̊c̶̻̒t̷̙͑i̵̮̓o̶̱n̷̖͂?” Do they not teach the younger generations what that entails?

“Yes. My ancestors wrote that you were a benevolent being in a past life. That you were a kind-hearted human who accidentally drank poison before being found and buried alive, condemned and reviled, forcing you to become what you are now. Does that still not hold true?” His father’s face is hopeful.

It doesn’t. But who are you to tell him that? That ‘benevolent being’ never existed in the first place. You’ve always been this.

The vivisepulture part was true, but the beginning? Debatable. Your memories of ‘being human’ are foggy; you’re not sure if they’re real or someone else’s. Satoru’s is the clearest thus far because you abide within him. And he’s young, there’s little to garner.

What other nonsense has been made truth in the time you have withdrawn from the world?

He wants to go down that rabbit hole.

You grab the cube and run, warping reality in your wake.

You are many things.

Alive, you are first; secondly a parent, a teacher and a friend; cursed thrice times over; quarter something-something or rather by this point; and last, your hollowness complements the damned hallowed.

You are Gojou Satoru but not.

His skin peels off in delicate scales from the speed you’re going.

The first and last time you puppeteer his body, Satoru invokes his father’s contract with you for the second time in his life.

Like the first occurrence, it happens by accident.

(The first occurrence is a stain on your memory.

Mitsue looked her grandson in the eye and tasked him with a futile quest, one that would decide the future headship of their clan. You personally thought such practices outdated but you held his tongue and grit his teeth, faking laughter for the audience they had.

She reminded you too much of your youngest, both in the way she cobbled herself together and how she suspended time long enough to catch a glimpse of you hunched beside him, flickering in and out of her void domain with the ease of a toddler climbing free of their crib.

Beautiful and deadly.

He nearly died.)

He is unaware of the finer details, but where his consciousness ends at getting a scalpel to head, it rouses again with him standing before the man who has the blood of Satoru’s friends on his hands and left him to bleed out undecapitated.

On a high from escaping Izanami’s clutches, he sprouts math and whatever nonsense off the top of his head and ragdolls up, down, across and through the air.

He feels like a being higher than the gods. Doesn’t mean he is, though.

He’s barely in control.

Violent swashes of red and blue fill the sky. He sees beyond his opponent rising from the earth the heavens condemning his breaching unto their space.

“Hey, stranger, did you know purple was her favourite colour?”

“Whose?”

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“You are Satoru, right?”

“Yessssss?”

“You… you’ve got a bit of…” Suguru gestures vaguely around the lower half of his face.

“Oh.” You rub the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and see it come back tinged pink. The drying drool on his sleeves is used to rub the rest of the blood away. “Thanks.”

“Have you found her?”

“Amanai? Her body?” Suguru flinches. Your gaze is drawn to the cultists clapping. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “I feel like killing these people. Should we?”

“Why?”

“I’m still h̸͓̟͐u̴̦͗n̴͇͈̅͛g̵͔̒̕ŗ̴͕͂͘y̸͚͍͘͘.” Two wasn’t even a snack.

“I’m angry that we failed too. But we can’t do anything now, it’s out of our hands.”

Several days later finds him back at the entrance of the storehouse, none the worse for wear.

In the shadow of the building grows a lone weed.

“It’s changed.”

“Of course it has.”

“Will I end up like them?”

“Yes.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gn!reader #gender-neutral reader #gojo satoru x reader #reader insert #one-shot #originally posted on ao3 #jujutsu kaisen #this is a dumpster fire

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filamero · 3 years

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A Mother’s Love

[ Fluff in the beginning, angst at the end!! ]

Word count: 2540

Summary:

— It is often said that a mother’s love is the purest love of them all, and that to lose a mother's love means to become unlovable all the same.

( In which Puffy thinks about her son, from both the past and present. )

[ ao3 link!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902006 ]

(fic under the cut!)

It is often said that a mother’s love is the purest love of them all. Whether by blood or by choice, it is said to be strong. Stronger than that of friends who have been there for each other through thick and thin, stronger than that of the heart when it finally finds its other half—It is said to be the only real bond in the world, the only true love that a person could find in their lifetime. Unwavering, unshaken, unconditional for as long as it lasts.

To lose a mother’s love means to become unlovable all the same.

Puffy remembers the first time she encountered Dream.

Just a few months after she had retired from her ships and her crew to settle down in a little village, helping the ever-so-charming Niki start up her bakery. Not too far from the coast, so she could visit what she embraced for many years in her life. She had been out in the market with a satchel full of emeralds, trading for wheat, sugar, flour—all the likes of which Niki would need to bake her delicious goods. In the midst of a particularly good trade, she heard a faint ‘hey!’ and frantic footsteps, followed by her getting shoved into the wooden cart of the vendor. Whipping around to lash back, she was just in time to see a child stumble onto his rear, holding a loaf of bread to his chest as if his life depended on it. Before her confusion could even fully settle in, another vendor came running, eyes zoned in on the child.

And he did not look happy.

Puffy wasn’t quite sure what washed over her, quickly getting onto her knees to be at level with the poor boy before the vendor reached them. “There you are!” she cried out in fake relief, resting one hand on his shoulder and putting on a worried face. “I thought I lost you!” Her act seemed to confuse the vendor (just as much as it confused the boy). She turned to look up at the (thankfully) less angry adult, forcing a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry, sir. I had asked this...this little troublemaker here to grab me some other supplies on the other end of the market. Growing boys need to start doing things on their own, don’t you think?” she explained, shifting to be in between both of them for extra measure. “I must’ve forgotten to give him some emeralds to pay with, silly me,” she continued, rising to her feet and rummaging through her bag. “How much is the bread?”

There was an almost painful silence as she stared the vendor down, her cheeks starting to hurt from how long she was holding the smile. Much to her relief, he seemed to believe her lie, holding his hand out and mumbling, “Two emeralds.” She handed the payment over with no qualms (even though she knew that the bread around these parts was normally one emerald), helping the boy up onto his feet and gripping his hand before he could sprint off. She needed to keep the act up, or else she might get roped into bigger trouble.

“I’m sorry again for the trouble,” Puffy chuckled, quickly tossing six emeralds to the vendor she was talking to before and snagging two bags full of apples from his stand. “I’ll make sure that this doesn’t happen again, I assure you.” She went off without another word, dragging the child with her until they were a safe enough distance away from the market.

He attempted to wriggle his wrist out of her hand, just about to sprint off again—but she kept a firm hold as she turned to face him. “Give me a minute, will ya?” she sighed, setting both bags of apples down and peeking into them. He stood still, and Puffy managed to get a better look at him now that she didn’t have to worry about his safety from an angry villager. Clad in a sweater that seemed much too large and pants that nearly covered his bare feet, she couldn’t help but frown. Carefully letting go of his wrist, she tied up one of the bags and held it out to him. He stared at her, big green eyes swimming with confusion. She nudged his arm, and he eventually took the bag from her. “Take these with the bread too,” she said gently. “They’re apples, so they might spoil quickly, but they should last you long enough to get more food.” Slowly, he nodded his head before giving her a small smile and scampering off.

Puffy never failed to see him every time that she visited the market. It was almost like clockwork; she would arrive with her satchel of things to trade, and within five minutes of walking around, the gentle patter of smaller footsteps trailing after her own could be heard. A glance over her shoulder and sure enough, the little boy would be following her around. He would always stand close to her, even clutching onto her red overcoat whenever the street got crowded and a small child like him would be easily trampled over. With each passing encounter, Puffy found herself more and more endeared with him, dubbing him her ‘Little Duckling’ in her head.

One day, she asked for his name.

“Dream,” he told her, and she didn’t realize that it was the first time that she was hearing his voice. “My name is Dream.”

Puffy wondered if the boy’s parents named him that way because they had high hopes for him, and if they ever predicted that they would be gone—it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was orphaned and homeless, comical as it sounded—before he even had the chance to do anything.

On that very same day, a storm had settled over the village. It wasn’t anywhere near what Puffy’s witnessed out on the ocean, but it was clear that it was more than what Dream has ever seen. A particularly loud bit of thunder seemed to scare the poor boy half to death, clinging to her side and looking fearfully up at the sky. There was no hesitation in Puffy’s head, leaning down, hoisting Dream into her arms, and balancing him and their newly traded supplies on either of her hips. “Let’s get home,” she hummed softly, starting up a soft jog back to her and Niki’s shared cottage that was connected to the bakery, “before this storm picks up even more, yeah?”

Dream nodded his head, wrapping his arms around her neck and resting his head on her shoulder as she rushed back.

Niki welcomed Dream in with open arms, a motherly smile, and a nice bowl of soup to warm him up after getting slightly soaked in the rain.

And when Dream curled up into her side as he drifted off to sleep, Puffy felt her heart swell in a way that only a mother could feel.

That night, Puffy accepted that she was a mother, and Dream was her son.

Some days, he would accompany Puffy back to the market as he did before, following behind her and staying out of trouble. He paid extra attention whenever she would do negotiations, and he tugged on the end of her coat sleeve whenever she finally came to an agreement. It would always make her chuckle and hand him the right amount of payment, hooking her hands underneath his arms to lift him up. He would hand it over himself, grinning brightly as he handed the newly gained supplies back to Puffy. She even let him try and strike a few deals on his own, and she was a little surprised to see that many of the villagers would consider some of his offers that they wouldn’t bat an eye at if she had been the one to recommend it. (Though, frankly, she figured it was his age.)

Other days, he would stay home with Niki, helping her bake goods for their flourishing business. Those days often consisted of Puffy coming home from her local travels or trading to the two of them in the kitchen, her little duckling giggling and covered in flour or batter. Niki would pretend to be upset and scold him gently, but all Dream did in return was giggle and respond with an honestly half-assed, “Sorry, Niki!” The mostly ingenuine apology was never too important, for Niki would easily forgive him and play into his antics, teaching him how to be cleaner on his own in a nicer manner. It would take both of them a minute or two to notice that she came in, and when they did, Dream would hop off of his little stool and come crashing into her arms for a hug.

It was almost scary how quickly Dream fell into the groove of things, turning their family of two into a family of three. They bought and sewed him new clothes, he brought them a new kind of adventure every day—unpredictable and welcome all the same.

A loud crack of thunder echoes through Puffy’s ears, and she’s snapped back into reality. The familiar coast and quaint cottage in her memory fade away into the sight in front of her; a large crater, where a beautiful country used to stand. Her ears are still ringing slightly from the onslaught of explosives that rained down from the sky just moments before. An eerily perfectly set up grid of obsidian hovered above where she stood, casting shadows over what used to be so bright and beloved. She notices a hand reaching up beneath her, quickly scrambling down and hoisting who she realized was Tubbo from a thin ledge on the side of the crater. The teen scrambles over to Tommy the moment he’s on stable ground, flinching hard at the second boom of thunder that Puffy registers.

The wind blows against her figure, and her soaked overcoat does nothing to shield her from the cold. The armor she wears isn’t much help either, weighing her down just as much as her damp clothing is. A shiver wracks her body as she holds her arms close, looking out at the wreckage. Hardly anything remained of New L’manburg—even the debris of what used to be got blown to bits by the endless TNT and withers. Her eyes wander the pitiful scenery, snagging on a figure across from her on the other end of the crater.

Clad in a green sweater—one that was no longer oversized on his figure the way it had been years ago—standing tall and proud—having outgrown both Puffy and Niki in his teenage years—was Dream.

Her Dream.

Her little duckling.

The lightning seems to strike the ground right behind him, and he didn’t even bat an eye at it. Puffy feels a lump rise in her throat, tears starting to trickle down her face and mixing with the rain pounding down from the darkened skies. She refused to believe the Dream she was seeing now was the same one that she met at the market, even if the two shared messy, dirty blond hair and striking jade eyes. But even in her heart’s denial, her head knows better, and she is left to wonder where her sweet boy had taken a turn for the worse. She stares at the stark white porcelain covering his face, the somewhat-poorly scribbled on smile setting her nerves off—and all she can think of is his toothy smile from way back when.

Puffy isn’t sure who is crying harder: herself or the skies. Both mourning the loss of something so precious, so beloved, that even if it were to be replaced, it wouldn’t be the same.

For weeks on end had she witnessed just how much he had changed since she last saw him. Seeing him act so cold when her memories of him were so warm. He still acted playful around her, but there was something so taut about his posture, so malicious about his smile, so ingenuine with his words that she couldn’t bring herself to fully believe that it wasn’t an act. She had seen how he had everyone’s strings wrapped on his fingers, pulling and pushing them as he pleased, as if they were the toys that she used to buy him from the marketplace. She had looked him in the eyes one day when he didn’t have his mask on, and she couldn’t recognize him. No longer was there a fiercely bright twinkle in his eye, ready to take on what the world would throw at him. No longer were his features defined yet welcoming, the kind that brought you in and made you feel safe. No longer did his smile turn up the whole way, making her heart swell with a certain pride and love that only a mother could feel.

This night, Puffy admits to herself, is the night that she accepts that she is no longer a mother, and Dream is no longer her son.

It hurts; her heart weeps for the loss of someone who was still alive yet painfully unrecognizable. She wants to say that it’s not true, that somewhere, her duckling is still there, the one that waited to trail after her as she traded in the market. The one that stood atop the little wooden stool in the kitchen, begging Niki to let him crack the eggs for the batter open. The one that never really blew on his spoonful of soup before taking a bite, making her and Niki dissolve into a fit of giggles as he whined about how hot the food was. She wants to turn the other way, act like she didn’t witness the things that she did, bring Dream close and hug him tight.

But she knows she can’t.

She knows that as unwavering as her love is—no, was—for her son, the man in the green sweater and netherite armor isn’t him. It’s painful to admit, but she knows her little duckling, her sweet boy, her Dream was long gone. And as much as she wants to reach out, travel to the highest mountains, reunite her crew and get out on the sea, walk the length of the entire world to get him back, she knows he’s nowhere to be found. Lost where no one, not even herself or his closest friends could reach him.

Puffy straightens her posture, not bothering to rid her face of the tears because of the thunderous rain. Her eyes land on Dream—the cruel, unforgivable, unrecognizable Dream—one last time before she turns around. Her instincts scream at her to throw a glance over her shoulder, her ears expect to hear the gentle patter of smaller footsteps following her, her eyes long to see the little boy she had taken in all those years ago. But she faces forward, swallowing thickly and heading to everyone to provide aid where needed.

The rain seems to pour down even harder, mourning the loss of a poor boy and his mother’s love for him.

For to lose a mother’s love means to become unlovable all the same.

#dreamwastaken #captain puffy #dream fanfic #mama puffy #duckling dream #i was trying to cope with canon and then i slipped and made angst help #fluff #angst #i really tried to keep it pure fluff and then i went oops

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