#praying for the former but i will not hesitate to drop it if he stays | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spacebarbarianweird · 6 months

Note

Hi, discord friend! this is one of the silly ideas I had 😌 Asterion is having a very bad luck day. He keeps dropping things, setting off traps, breaking lockpicks, he ripped his shirt, and now his seduction skills are lacking hard. How would he navigate it?

As someone who is very clumsy and tends to panic a lot (triggered even by something unimportant), I can totally relate to Astarion is this prompt.

Thanks @brabblesblog for beta reading!

Tainted

Synopsis: Astarion believes he's been healed - but yet another unpleasant interaction and the darkness is back.

Tags: post-game, established relationship, mentions of past trauma.

TW: Conversation about triggers.

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion looks around the street. The town of Daggerfold, barely home to more than a thousand people, is dark and peaceful. Just a stopover for travelers, but once a part of a long-gone kingdom of the past.

He carefully navigates to a tavern where he stays with you. He was hesitant about renting a room first.

"They will notice I am a vampire, darling, and I am afraid. People in those cities tend to hate vampire lovers more than the Undead themselves."

But you looked at him with those puppy eyes (learned from a professional), and he agreed. Besides, not being constricted to the tent for the whole day feels nice.

Astarion can walk around the room and the tavern, read, and talk to the people if he wants (he usually doesn't) and you can sleep in a comfortable bed.

Besides, you both have had a bath for the first time in weeks today.

Astarion notices the signs of the pre-dawn on the east. The innate fear grasps his mind.

Run. Run. Run.

Hide. Or die. Elves call it mor. The ultimate death, without resurrection to come.

Astarion forces himself to calm down. It's still too early and the Inn is already visible in the distance. He doesn't even have to rush.

A hand grabs his wrist and he flinches, disturbed by the unwelcome touch.

The young man, probably a half-elf, tries to pull him closer, seductively licking his lips, a gesture too familiar for Astarion not to notice.

"Looking for company, handsome?" His words are sweet and full of lust. "I can offer you a time of pleasure."

Astarion wants to set himself free, just to go away. It's not supposed to be difficult. It's not like the young man's grip is tight. A simple "no" is enough, people in this profession don’t tend to insist.

The vampire knows it from personal experience.

"Your skin is so pale, almost like marble. And hands... so cold. Come on, I will warm you"

Astarion is paralyzed. As if he is ordered not to move. Like he often used to be.

When he was on the other side of this conversation. When he was the man who needed to get a client as soon as he could.

Seeing no resistance, the prostitute reaches out for his cheek.

His touch is acid-burning.

"GO AWAY!" Astarion yells, almost betraying his fangs. "Leave me alone!"

The man is taken aback and immediately pulls away. Astarion curses and mutters through his teeth all the slurs he remembers.

Every word he ever heard from passers-by.

Whore. Slut.

Filliken.

There is a disgusted and evil smile on the man's face. "You were like me, am I right? All of you… former colleagues, are like that."

Astarion steps back. A dark wave of terror drags him to the abyss. The sun is almost up.

He makes himself move towards the Inn.

"But you can't escape your past! You hear me? It will always be with you, no matter how hard you try to wash it all away!"

Astarion runs. The moment the first ray pierces the air, he is already in the safe shadow of a sleepy inn.

It's almost empty. Only a few drunkards sleep peacefully on the floor. Astarion goes upstairs, praying you aren't back yet.

Because he doesn't want to look at you right now.

His hands tremble and dark thoughts plague his mind like a swarm of flies.

The room is empty and your walking boots are missing. He sighs in relief.

That's the problem with you. You know when something is wrong. Even if you understand he doesn't want to discuss it, you still acknowledge it.

Besides, if you were in the room, you would hear the screams.

Astarion falls on the bed, not bothering to undress himself, and closes his eyes.

He needs to meditate. He needs to wander away. When he wakes up, it will be better.

But Astarion should know better; it never works like that.

Again and again, he sees the same things. Hands of strangers, touching him without his consent. His cheeks, his chest, his back. His private parts. Grabbing and groping him. Laughing and smiling. Future victims. Useful people he needed to extract information from. Others whom he just needs to please.

Sweat that feels like acid. Touches that hurt like red-hot tongs. Intimacy is worse than torture.

Astarion tries to force his mind to remember something else. You, he needs to remember you. Your touches, your voice, your blood. He attempts to visualize you but instead, it's a look-alike stranger, a fake voice with hurtful words.

He sits up, pressing his hands to the chest. His body feels rested but his mind is exhausted. Astarion hears voices from downstairs - busy afternoon in the tavern.

…You sleep beside him pressing your face into the pillow. Astarion notices that his boots are taken off and his body is covered with a blanket. It seems like when you came back, you put the shoes off him and tucked him in the blanket.

Astarion carefully gets out of bed. He still has a few hours before you wake up and he needs to occupy his mind with something.

It seems like the trance has made things worse.

Astarion, moron, you taint Tav. A voice within his undead heart whispers. Your past will never go away. Your skin is dirty. People will always know who you are. Tav pities you but even heroes are tired of being saviors.

This will never be over. Whatever he does. Wherever he goes, his past will follow him like the smell of death. He ruins you. He destroys you.

Astarion takes a book out of the bag and opens it randomly. A trembling hand tries to turn the page.

And tears it.

Fuck.

The books fall to the floor with a loud thump.

You move in your sleep but don't wake up. Astarion, cursing himself for being so clumsy, picks it up and immediately bumps his head on the wooden table.

Tainted. Tainted, the voices keep whispering, completely taking away all the control. His body doesn't belong to him. All the movements are off.

"Astarion, are you all right?" you mumble in the pillow.

"Yes... my... I am ... " The ability to talk properly leaves him as well.

He needs to go out. At least, he can sit in a tavern and look for potential contracts.

In a tavern similar to his hunting spots. And where yet another person might try to get him to bed.

He pulls out the door, but it is locked. He looks around and sees the key on the table. Tries to take it but it slips away through his fingers.

"Is anything wrong?" you yawn, sitting up. Your face is sleepy and the hair is messy.

"No... I am..."

You stand up and while still half-asleep pick up the key and open the door. Astarion stays at the threshold, fearing to fall down the stairs the moment he leaves the room.

"Astarion, the more I live with you, the more you resemble a cat to me! Do you want to stay inside or go out?"

"I ... "

His hands are still trembling. You look at them, noticing the tremor.

And close the door.

"I take my words back about you being a cat. You are more like a hobgoblin now."

"Careful, darling, I can get offended"

"So, you can speak now. What's wrong? You don’t look drunk to me, so?"

"Nothing important. Please, go to sleep."

"Did someone hurt you?"

"No, nothing"

"Liar."

Before he manages to object, you make him return to bed. As he sits down, you help him to undress. The light armor he forgot to put off, the shirt, and the trousers are carefully placed on the chair. He stays only in his underwear.

His hands are still shaking.

“I would gladly offer you my blood, but I am afraid you will pierce my carotid artery in your current state.”

Astarion nods. You lie on the bed and pull him to you. He places his head on your chest. You wrap your hands around him as if protecting him from the outside world and his own mind.

You are warm like sunlight.

You lie silently under the blanket in the dark room. You got the cheapest room in the Inn – the one without windows and the Innkeeper couldn’t understand why you two were so content about it.

“Can I touch your back?” you ask.

"What? Of course... Of course, you can. Why do you even ask?"

"Because I care about you", a gentle caress brushes over his scars. “Because I want you to feel safe.”

And he gives up. He tells you everything. About the man on the streets. The words and curses Astarion addressed mostly to himself.

"I feel tainted," he admits. “I feel that I ruined you. I can't undo my past. It follows me like a shadow. And I bring this shadow to our bed!

A soft kiss. Then, another. Fingers draw invisible pictures on his skin. Tears prickle his eyes.

Why is he so weak? Why is he so pathetic?

Noticing his tension, you tug him closer.

"I am sorry", he mutters. "I thought I had already recovered. That the things have already gotten better."

"They have. And you can't make progress without taking any steps back. It's a part of growth."

He chuckles but still feels miserable. He doesn't know what makes him feel worse. The thoughts in his head or the understanding that he has been lying to himself.

Astarion believed he was healed. It was a lie.

"You don't taint me, Astarion. You don't ruin me. I don't care how many people touched you. I care only about what you are and what you want to be."

He finally finds the strength to pull you closer to himself. "I want it to be over. I want to move forward. But I just can't. It seems like… he truly broke me. There is nothing to repair.”

“A broken man wouldn’t desire revenge the very moment he acquired freedom. Broken people beg to be returned to their masters. A broken man wouldn’t fight back. You aren’t broken and you are healing. And I love you. Never doubt it.”

You lie together in silence. Astarion notices his hands don’t tremble anymore and he relaxes a bit. He is safe.

But is he happy?

He concentrates on his feelings. He is in the dark room protected from the sun. On the soft and comfy bed. His hands are wrapped around you, the first and only person he cares about and loves. And who gives him everything he thought he wasn’t worthy of? A heavy thick blanket covers you both. The touches on his bare skin are so gentle he is about to cry. The soothing heartbeat sounds like a lullaby.

Yes, he is happy. Even if his mind tries to tell him otherwise.

You fall asleep again, and Astarion stays motionless not wanting to wake you up yet again.

When he finally notices your movements, indication that you are ready to wake up. He frees himself from your grip and presses his lips against yours. He kisses you softly, slowly, tasting you.

Thanking you.

“Feeling better?” you ask once your eyes open.

"Hello, darling", he smiles. “Yes, I am.”

Mor - ultimate death. Filliken - “open skirt”, a prostitute (a slur).

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Quinlan and the Interdimensional Ingenues (except not really)

Context: SW Suddenly Omegaverse AU (Original Post), Interior Design (Nesting Divots), Chrono Rating: T+ Relationships: Anakin & Obi-Wan, Quinlan/Obi-Wan

This is like 90% cuddles and scenting that’s a few steps to the side of a/b/o standard. There is a lot of non-sexual licking. It’s a little odd, but I’m assuming that’s what you’re here for. It’s also over 5k words, so, you know. There’s that.

Note: “Ternary” is to the number three as “binary” is to the number two. Binary gender/sex refers to IRL male/female distinctions, and ternary refers to alpha/beta/omega. Gender and sex are much more complicated than is touched on in this particular fic, and trans identities exist within both the binary system and the ternary system. (More notes at end.)

-----

“Sorry to tell you this,” Quinlan says, sliding into the room as quickly as he can, “but we can smell omega distress from several rooms down the hall. What the hell is going on?”

“We’ve having a lot of feelings,” Kenobi says drily. He’s on the couch, looking damnably normal, and Skywalker’s got his face shoved into his master’s neck. Kenobi’s fingers card through the curls, and it’s... well, it would be easy to tell which of them was having said feelings even if Quinlan hadn’t already been able to tell them apart in scent.

“I’m distraught,” Skywalker moans, mushing himself somehow closer.

Kenobi’s eyes go to the ceiling, and he visibly prays to the Force for patience. “I know, Anakin.”

“You think I’m being dumb.”

“I think you’ve had a few months to prepare for this, but that your reaction is understandable nevertheless,” Kenobi says carefully. “Quinlan, would you like to take a seat?”

He hops the back of an armchair in a way that earns him a long-suffering, fond sigh. Quinlan grins encouragingly. “So, do I get to know what this is about?”

“I’m having trouble keeping it out of the Force, but at least I can do that,” Skywalker mutters. He does not lift his head. “I can’t control the scent stuff.”

“Yeah,” Quinlan says, because he’s not sure what else to say. “Do you want me to go get Tano? Might make you feel better.”

Skywalker just whines, high and pained, and tries to curl impossibly closer to Kenobi.

“Anakin,” Kenobi tries. “Anakin, do you want me to explain?”

“I want my--” Skywalker cuts himself off with a choking noise, and then keens. It’s a very omega noise, in the sense that his vocal cords can make it, and non-omegas have trouble mimicking it, and it makes Quinlan want to go over and do his best to fix things in whatever way he can.

(This, everyone is finding, is the truly awkward element to having Skywalker and Kenobi around. They don’t have any experience with controlling their ternary sex instincts, and it makes everyone else react poorly when they do, well, almost anything. They can’t be blamed, considering exactly how inconvenient this is for them, as well, but it’s not a great time for anyone.)

Quinlan tries to keep his own scent pleasant and calm, as soothing as he can make it through the blockers. He doesn’t think it works. “Your what?”

“His wife,” Kenobi says. “Because apparently that was the other way he broke the Code.”

“I looked her up,” Skywalker moans, dramatic as anyone. “She’s already mated and married, in this timeline. To that artist. She’s totally happy and she’s never met me and I’m never gonna be able to work with or around her because I won’t be able to act normal about it and I miss her.”

‘A lot of feelings‘ Kenobi mouths at Quinlan over Skywalker’s head.

“Well, at least it explains the position you’re in,” Quinlan tries to joke. The blank look he gets from Kenobi tells him clearly that the joke didn’t land. “Uh, scenting at the neck like that.”

“Inappropriate?” Kenobi hazards a guess. He doesn’t pull Skywalker away.

“Sort of,” Quinlan says. “You’re family, or as good as, so between that and the need for comfort, nobody’s really going to judge you for it, especially given your backgrounds, but that kind of prolonged neck-scenting for comfort is something kids outgrow in pre-adolescence. It’s only really used for either comfort for extreme emotions, like this, or, uh, between lovers. Post-coital, or during foreplay before, you know, mouths get involved.”

Kenobi grimaces. “Lovely. And what do you mean by ‘of our backgrounds’ in this case? That we have less control, or another factor?”

He doesn’t sound offended. Quinlan appreciates that. “You didn’t have ten years to get that comfort. It’s like... touch starvation, but for scenting. Anyone who knows what’s going on with you, even in the vague sense that doesn’t involve dimensional travel, is going to give you leeway on scenting because you didn’t have that, growing up.”

Kenobi’s grimace doesn’t go away until Skywalker’s breath hitches, hand curling in his master’s robes. “Anakin?”

“I don’t like feeling like this,” Skywalker mutters. “It sucks.”

“I know.”

“And we can’t delay the war much longer, and she was one of the only reasons I stayed even kinda sane through it.”

“I know, Anakin,” Kenobi sighs, running a hand through Skywalker’s hair and, awkwardly as anything, pressing a small kiss to the young man’s forehead. “You’ll have other ways to de-stress this time around. Maybe you’ll actually attend your meditative retreats.”

Skywalker huffs out a breath, in a laugh wet with what might be burgeoning tears. “Shut up.”

“I think you’ve known me far too long to think I’ll ever run out of words,” Kenobi says. He meets Quinlan’s eyes again, but before either of them can communicate about whether Quinlan should leave, Skywalker lurches to his feet, muttering something about a shower.

He’s gone before Kenobi can get more than two words out, and the man is left looking ruffled and confused by his former padawan’s sudden departure. He stays watching the door, and slowly wilts in a way that doesn’t speak well for his state of mind. The man sighs and drops his head into his hands, cradling it with his elbows on his knees, and whatever calm he’d had fades into pure stress, the air curdling with the smell of it.

Quinlan waits, unsure of how to handle this; Kenobi’s Quinlan Vos probably would have known how to deal with the change.

“What am I doing?” Kenobi breathes out, the words almost inaudible from behind his hands.

There are a few moments for Quinlan to consider the many complications and ramifications of getting involved, and then he decides to do so anyway. He stands up and steps around the caff table, and sits down next to Kenobi. He wraps an arm around the man’s shoulders, and brings him in close.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kenobi says, though he makes no move to pull away. “I know you don’t... this is just an obligation. The Council assigned you to gather information and keep an eye out for us in terms of the whole omega thing, since you already shared my heat, and... I know I’m not a friend to you. You barely know me, and the fact that you have to look out for me is something that truly grates. Such care shouldn’t...”

Quinlan waits for him to finish, but he doesn’t.

“I won’t say that they didn’t give me that assignment, because that would be a lie and you’d know it,” Quinlan says. “But I do want to be friends with you. We’re sort of there, already, even if that’s mostly you knowing my other self, and my psychometry, but I’ve seen what a friendship with you could be like, in what you let me see. We’ll never have that same dynamic, because I didn’t grow up with you, and the ternary sex adds an element that changes things, but I do want to be your friend.”

He hesitates, unsure if the rest will make things worse or better, but says it anyway. “As for taking care of you, looking out for you... I do feel a need to do that on an instinctual level, yes, but I can ignore it. It’s an instinct, but one that I, like everyone else that’s grown up as a human or near human in this galaxy, can work around. I am doing more than the minimum the Council requested, and it’s because I do actually like you as a person, and want to know you better.”

Kenobi’s head is resting on his shoulder by this point, tired and heavy, and Quinlan reaches up to brush his knuckles against the beard without looking. His blockers are still keeping his scent down, but the contact seems to make Kenobi relax more. His hands are mostly laced together, and falling into the dip between their legs.

“There’s a way I can help, but it’s, ah... not inherently sexual in nature, but generally only done by those whose relationship is already some degree of sexual,” Quinlan tells him. “To make you feel better, less stressed.”

“I’m assuming you’re not suggesting an orgasm,” Kenobi mutters, dry as anything. He laughs when Quinlan puts a hand on his knee.

“Not exactly feeling it,” Quinlan agrees. He squeezes Kenobi’s knee, and then says, “No, it’s mostly scenting in a way that’s usually only done by lovers; it’s more effective, but very intimate in a way many find uncomfortably sexual, because the amount of tongue involved is very reminiscent of foreplay.”

Kenobi laughs, a little harder, and nuzzles a little. He doesn’t seem aware of the fact that he’s doing it. “Alright, then.”

“I’d also suggest moving to one of the nests,” Quinlan says, and Kenobi immediately freezes. He gives it a moment, and then says, “I know you found it helpful after your heat, Kenobi. The nesting instinct is human here. It’s not shameful. There are people who don’t get anything out of it, but I’ve seen you nesting, and it��s good for you.”

Kenobi shudders and Quinlan thinks he might be fighting down a whine. “It’s a change, Quin. I mean, Quinlan. It’s... it’s just another thing out of many that’s different.”

“And one of the few you have control over?” Quinlan guesses. He tries to purr for support when Kenobi nods against his shoulder, and he thinks the deep rumble is soothing to Kenobi. “I get that.”

“Don’t stop,” Kenobi mutters, and Quinlan can guess he’s blushing about it.

“Into the nest,” Quinlan mutters. “It’ll help convince Skywalker to use it, and he really needs that kind of comfort.”

That’s the line of logic that actually works, and Quinlan isn’t the least bit surprised.

“Fine,” Kenobi sighs, and gets to his feet before Quinlan can offer to carry him or something similarly joking. The man walks to the communal nest at the edge of the room, and then looks down into the barely-used mess of blankets and pillows in the floor divot like he doesn’t even know how to get in.

Quinlan thinks there might be dust, even.

Fine. He can work with that. He’s taken this duo on as a project of his own free will, and he’s damn well going to follow through.

“Want to rearrange it?” he asks, in hopes that he can prompt Kenobi into figuring out what’s wrong.

“I don’t... know,” Kenobi says, frowning in a way that’s more worried and uncomfortable than angry. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Quinlan considers it, thinks of how the dust means nobody’s been here, that there’s not even a hint of scent, and then turns and grabs the throw pillows and thick, woven blanket from the couch.

“Wait,” Kenobi protests. “They don’t--”

“We can put them back later,” Quinlan assures him. He holds them out to Kenobi. “Trust me? I may not be an omega, but I do know enough of the theory.”

Kenobi takes the pillows and the blanket, stares down at them and then at the nest, and steps out of his slippers and into the nest. The layer already there is thin, and likely not doing much for anyone, but it’s the bare minimum and Quinlan can work with that.

He turns and scouts the room for spare fabrics, grabs all three of the outer robes from where they hang by the door, and the recently-used dishtowel that only barely carries Skywalker’s scent, and brings them to Kenobi.

“The robes aren’t clean!” Kenobi protests.

“I could grab something from your room instead,” Quinlan says. “Or you could just leave the hems on the outside. But you need more fabric that actually smells like someone.”

Quinlan wonders, idly, if Kenobi would have this kind of reaction to the suggestion without omega instincts at play, or if it’s just the instincts and he doesn’t realize, or maybe that he’s decided to let the instincts happen since Quinlan’s pushed him into nesting already anyway. The man had insisted in perfectly pressing his robes from the beginning, long before their bodies had had a chance to change, and Skywalker had found it normal, so it’s probably, at least a little, just the man’s personality. It probably doesn’t matter, overall, because all Quinlan has to do is sit at the edge of the nest until Kenobi--the person who actually lives here--is done arranging things.

Quinlan takes off another two layers and offers them, noting out loud that he can get them back later when Skywalker can fill in the gaps or something before too many protests can be voiced. Kenobi hesitantly takes them and tucks them in among his own additional layers. Quinlan’s seen enough communal nests to know that most of the placements are odd and not going to work out long-term, but that’s not the point right now. The point is getting Kenobi to recognize the his body, and more importantly, his mental health, rely at least somewhat on nesting now.

“Are you going to come in?” Kenobi asks, belatedly realizing Quinlan’s still outside the lip of the flooring divot.

“Not without permission,” Quinlan says, and sees the realization flicker in.

Kenobi holds out a hand, silent, and Quinlan lets himself get tugged in among the half-stale, half-new nest. It’s not great, but that’ll come with practice. He tucks himself around Kenobi, and rubs at the man’s arms in an attempt to ease some of the tension that’s clinging to every line of his body.

“What now?” Kenobi asks, just a shade more quiet than Quinlan thinks is really required by the situation.

“A lot of the stress you’re feeling is a feedback loop from being covered in your own distress scent,” Quinlan says. “You can shower to handle that, which is what Skywalker is doing, or you can manually remove it.”

“I’d imagine a wet towel,” Kenobi says, a touch wry, “but given that you mentioned tongue earlier, I’m guessing you intend to lick it away?”

“It’s more effective,” Quinlan admits. “Not at removing the scent, necessarily, but it removes enough to help while also generating comfort and relaxation hormones from the close contact, and being scented by a trusted individual.”

“Makes sense,” Kenobi admits. “You, ah, use scent blockers usually, right? Can you, er, scent me?”

Quinlan can see just how much Kenobi dislikes using the words. He tries to keep it quick. “I use a cream blocker over my scent glands, namely at the neck and wrists, since the rest are covered in fabric. It’s... well, it can be wiped off, or also removed orally. Most manually-applied blockers are formulated to be safe for contact with the mouth or genitals. Only really gets to be a problem if there are rare allergies or with specific species. It doesn’t taste like anything, if that matters.”

Kenobi’s discomfort is almost palpable, but Quinlan lets him work through that. This isn’t really something he can make a choice for Kenobi about, and the discomfort is... well, it’s not really the kind of discomfort usually associated with ternary sex and associated behaviors. Everything’s just very new, and comes with changes to the body that Kenobi never agreed to.

“Right,” Kenobi says. “I want to... to at least try it, I think.”

He turns and blushes, eyes anywhere by Quinlan’s face. “I don’t know how much longer Anakin will be. I’d rather he not think we’re, er...”

“Then I’ll take care of that part fast,” Quinlan promises, and is rewarded by Kenobi offering a wrist.

It’s... not sexual. Quinlan knows he has a hard time explaining this to near-humans that don’t have the scent glands, that don’t have the ternary dynamics. He’s had a similarly hard time explaining it to Kenobi and Skywalker. It’s not sexual, just intimate, when he pulls Kenobi’s wrist to his face, closes his eyes, and breathes in the scent of a distressed, uncomfortable, bitter omega that he’s shared a heat with and knows as almost-friend. The smell, this close and this strong, triggers the production of pheromones of his own, and when he feels Kenobi tentatively start pressing kisses to Quinlan’s own wrist, he relaxes. He brushes his lips against Kenobi’s wrist, and then puts his open mouth to it, the slightest press of teeth and his tongue laving across the skin. He hears Kenobi’s gasp, an almost-yelp, and pulls away long enough to press a kiss the the veins under his lips, and to say, “Relax, Kenobi.”

He forces a purr out, low and rumbling, and feels it work on Kenobi just like it did earlier. There’s a tongue pulling, a little dry, to rub away the blocker on the inside of his wrist, and he turns his attention back to Kenobi’s. The scent is even stronger on his tongue, bitter and unhappy, and his body continues to produce calm and comfort as he pulls away the uglier feelings painted on Kenobi’s skin.

More pheromones leak under his mouth, but less bitter. Less intense. He does what he can, opens his eyes and turns and sees that Kenobi is unduly focused on his wrist, mouthing and not quite purring, but oddly fuzzy in the Force. His eyes are closed, but Quinlan’s pretty sure they’d be glazed if not.

“Kenobi?”

“Hm?”

“Guess you haven’t encountered this outside of a heat before,” Quinlan mutters. He shakes his arm a bit, and puts his other hand on Kenobi’s shoulder. “Kenobi, hey, look at me?”

Kenobi pulls away, blinking, and then makes a face. “That...”

“Didn’t like losing control?” Quinlan guesses. The answer is clear enough. “It’s a matter of practice, especially for you.”

“Why did I... it smelled and tasted like... like I was safe,” Kenobi mutters lowly, eyes on the nest instead of on Quinlan. “I’ve never associated any sense with safety other than the Force.”

“You trust me,” Quinlan says, as if that’s not a little terrifying in its own way. He already knew that Kenobi trusted him, but he thinks that this strong of a reaction might make him Kenobi’s most trusted person after Skywalker and maybe Tano. “And since you trust me, your body subconsciously takes cues from mine, when it comes to pheromones. I project comfort and safety, and your body takes it as... not fact, but affirmation.”

“So I won’t react to anyone like this,” Kenobi says, not quite begging for Quinlan to confirm, but close to it. “Just you, and... does that same logic apply to those who aren’t Alpha designation?”

“Yeah,” Quinlan says. “Not in the same way, but familiarity and trust does affect which pheromones affect you, and how strongly. Children are largely unresponsive to aggression pheromones from their parents, by default, since their minds process it as aggression in defense of them, rather than aggression at them.”

Kenobi purses his lips, but nods and looks at Quinlan’s other wrist. “Moving on?”

“If you’re okay with it,” Quinlan says, but he brings his cleaned wrist to Kenobi’s and rubs them together until his own comfort scent is covering up what’s left of the distress. “Take a smell at that and see how you feel.”

Kenobi eyes him warily--he’s pretty sure he hasn’t done anything to deserve that, but allows it because, well, Kenobi--and sniffs at his own wrist. His brow furrows in confusion, and he sniffs again.

“Good?” Quinlan hazards.

“I... yeah,” Kenobi says. He sounds as confused as he looks. “I like it. It’s... the safe thing, again, but mixing with me?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to feel,” Quinlan assures him. “Other wrist?”

If he were actually the friend that Kenobi had grown up with, if he’d actually had a Kenobi to grow up with, he thinks he might have thrown in a few joking pet names by now.

But he’s not, and they didn’t, so he won’t.

He thinks he hears Skywalker finish up in the shower, but Kenobi pulls his mouth to the neck, and mutters that they have some time while Skywalker does something to his hair. Apparently, there are products needed for those curls.

The angle’s going to be a little uncomfortable if they try to get at each other’s scent glands simultaneously, so Quinlan suggests that Kenobi handle getting the blocker off first.

“Why?”

“More convenient,” Quinlan says, and then clasps Kenobi’s hands so their wrists rub together. He squeezes, just a little, a touch of reassurance, and smiles and tilts his head. “All yours, Kenobi.”

The man smiles, brittle, and almost giggles. Maybe Quinlan was doing something oddly similar to his counterpart from Kenobi’s dimension. Maybe it was an inside joke he didn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because Kenobi’s leaning in and mouthing along Quinlan’s neck and throat like a man possessed a half-second later.

Quinlan closes his eyes and threads a hand into Kenobi’s hair, focuses on warmth and comfort and protection, rather than anything aroused. Kenobi slows down, lapping at Quinlan’s neck and inhaling, and in the Force he radiates confusion.

“That’s it,” Quinlan mutters, and Kenobi makes a low chirruping noise that he immediately stifles with an annoyed huff. “Hey, no, those are normal. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I want control over my own body, Quin,” Kenobi mutters, and switches to the other side. He rubs his face against Quinlan’s neck, and it’s another point on the list of things Kenobi does that he might not realize are based in newer instincts. “I don’t like something being wrong with me, and not understanding what it is.”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Quinlan mutters, using the hand in Kenobi’s hair to guide him into actually removing the scent blocker instead of donating a case of beard burn. “Even going as fast as you did just now wasn’t something wrong. Your instincts got a bit confused, that’s all. You’re fine.”

He purrs until Kenobi is done, and gets that chirruping noise again. Kenobi’s still annoyed about it, but Quinlan’s just happy he’s getting less uncomfortable about it.

“Okay, sit up and turn around,” Quinlan says, and Kenobi eyes him again. “Have I steered you wrong yet?”

“No.”

“So trust me,” Quinlan urges. “Just turn around.”

Kenobi does. Quinlan sits up and rearranges his legs so there’s one on either side of Kenobi, half-bent. He pulls the other man closer, blankets folding oddly beneath them, and wraps his arms around Kenobi’s waist.

He breathes for a moment, chin hooked over Kenobi’s shoulder, and asks, “Good?”

“Oddly so, yes,” Kenobi mutters. He might be blushing. “Er, should I... do anything?”

“Hands on mine, if you’d like,” Quinlan tells him. “We can lie back down and spoon after I clean up your left.”

The noise Kenobi makes is low, affronted in a way that speaks to his ongoing embarrassment. Quinlan ignores it, just gets to work taking away as much of Kenobi’s stress scent as he can, mouthing along the man’s neck and managing a purr that isn’t even forced. It rumbles out of him unprompted, his hindbrain piecing together the relaxing omega in his lap and the safety of the Temple and the pride he’s got in doing this right, the knowledge that Kenobi’s happier than he was an hour ago and it’s all Quinlan’s doing.

He rubs his face along Kenobi’s neck as he finishes up, scenting and being scented back, and is gratified when Kenobi starts purring too. The nuzzling is mostly soft, though Quinlan’s stubble is nothing to Kenobi’s beard; the hairs trap Quinlan’s scent where it’ll do the most good. He follows a hint of mischievous intent and tugs at Kenobi’s earlobe with his teeth, earning himself a little whine. He laughs, and licks the curve of Kenobi’s ear, immediately scenting further.

“Anakin’s going to be back soon,” Kenobi says, sounding almost sleep drunk.

Quinlan switches sides and guides them both down to lie, chest to front, in the nest. He works more slowly on the other side, keeps himself propped up on his elbow, forearm slipped neatly under Kenobi’s neck. The scent gland at Quinlan’s wrist rests under Kenobi’s nose, right where it’ll have the most effect. His other hand rubs up and down Kenobi’s side, and by the time Skywalker reenters the room, Quinlan’s done with licking the stress off and rubbing his scent into anything he thinks will help. He’s lying fully on his side instead of having his head propped up, and just doing his best to spread comfort through the room through Force and smell. He maybe nibbles at the back of Kenobi’s neck, here and there, because the man has lothcat response, and

“Guys?”

“Over here, Skywalker.”

The kid--not really a kid, but younger than Aayla, still, so he counts--rounds the couch, and sees them among the added cloaks and pillows and blanket. He stares. Kenobi starts to stiffen back up.

Quinlan increases his purring, and rubs his face against Kenobi’s neck, and glares up at Skywalker for good measure. Kenobi can’t see past Quinlan, probably, and squirms. Skywalker tilts his head, and then puts up a finger in a ‘one moment’ sort of gesture. He runs off.

“Anakin--”

“Kid’s fine,” Quinlan assures him, and Skywalker skids back into the room at unsafe speeds, arms full of what Quinlan’s pretty sure are his own duvet and pillow, and falls face-first into the nest. Kenobi jerks back into Quinlan, but Skywalker ignores this in favor of rearranging the nest into something approaching functional. He’s better at it than Kenobi.

Quinlan’s pretty sure Skywalker was more open to these things from the start. It tracks.

“Now Anakin, really,” Kenobi sputters, as Skywalker finishes layering things in the way he thinks is best. Skywalker beams at him, earlier melancholy forgotten for the moment, and flops down to drop his head somewhere near Kenobi’s chest.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Skywalker says. “This is good for you.”

Kenobi blushes, and Quinlan scrapes his teeth against the back of his neck again.

“Quinlan!” Kenobi yelps, jolting. “Not--we’re not alone!”

“Helps you calm down, though,” Quinlan says, pressing a few close-mouthed kisses at Kenobi’s hairline.

“Different cultural standards,” Skywalker adds, half-guessing but sure of himself nonetheless. He seems entirely too delighted to be here. “You know what? We should invite Ahsoka.”

“She’s not your padawan here,” Kenobi scolds.

“Yet,” Skywalker corrects. “As soon as I get all my psych evals cleared, the Council’s going to promise. She’s basically my padawan already.”

Kenobi sighs, aggrieved in a manner that feels more fond than actually upset, in the Force, and places a hand lightly on Skywalker’s.

Skywalker chirrups and wriggles closer, pressing his face to Kenobi’s tunic with a smile.

“I see someone’s feeling better,” Kenobi notes, and moves his hand up to play with Skywalker’s hair. “The shower helped?”

“Mm-hm,” Skywalker says. “’nd some of the stuff they made me learn in therapy.”

Kenobi hums low in his throat, an aimless vocalization, as he continues to comb his fingers through Skywalker’s hair.

Skywalker blinks, slow and bleary, with a soft and dopey smile, and Kenobi stops.

“What?”

“I like it when you play with my hair,” Skywalker says, almost too low to hear. His eyes close. “Feels nice. Cared for. Family.”

Kenobi freezes, breath hitching, and Quinlan shifts and lifts just enough to see the man is staring at his own hand in confusion and a slight bit of fear.

“Kenobi?”

“I didn’t even question it,” Kenobi says faintly. “I don’t... I haven’t done that since he was just a child, but I didn’t even question it. I stopped myself from commenting that he’s too old to come to his master for cuddles, because he’s not, in this dimension, and I’m getting used to that, but I started playing with his hair like it was normal and it’s not.”

Quinlan puts his mouth to Kenobi’s trapezius, just enough pressure that he’s not biting, just there, and purrs.

It’s several inches away from anything resembling a mating bite, but Kenobi tilts his head and whines anyway.

“Obi-Wan?” Skywalker prompts, brow furrowed. “It’s not... I mean, I’m not going to say it’s okay, since I know we’re both still upset about our bodies being changed without our permission or input or even a warning, but we’re getting used to it. We’re working with it. The hair thing is fine with me, I like it and would have before. And now that you know you’ll want to do, uh, that sort of thing--”

“Subset of grooming behaviors,” Quinlan tells them, pulling away from Kenobi’s neck with a final open-mouthed kiss. He sees the face Skywalker makes in response to the words, and feels Kenobi’s discomfort, so he elaborates. They’ve compared most of what they hear with tookas and lothwolves, so he thinks he knows what this is about. “We’re not exactly going to start licking each other clean--excluding scent comfort, that’s different--like lothcats, but you’ve already noticed that humans and near-humans are more tactile than you’re used to. Most forms of care, especially of partners and children, ends up physical in some way.”

He gestures between the two of them. “You view Skywalker as family, for all that you shy away from defining it, and so naturally gravitate to care. The easiest way for that to manifest when sharing a nest is usually playing with someone’s hair. Since he’s younger than you, and you’ve spent as much time as you have being the adult in his life...”

Quinlan trails off before he can comment on the question of whether they’re closer to brothers or father-and-son. Kenobi’s already expressed discomfort with that topic, well before they started naturalizing to this dimension. Quinlan’s not going to push for Kenobi to acknowledge Skywalker’s importance to him.

(They’ll have to address it at some point, but that’s a job for the mind healers, not for Quinlan.)

(For all that it’s going to impact and be impacted by their dynamics, that much is definitely not Quinlan’s to handle.)

Kenobi shudders in his arms, but doesn’t shake him off, and doesn’t stop Skywalker from burrowing somehow closer. Quinlan settles back in as Kenobi returns to playing with Skywalker’s hair.

“We really should invite Ahsoka, though.”

“Not tonight, padawan.”

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

Additional notes:

I initially wrote “ternary gender,” but found that it didn’t strike true to how I envisioned gender and dynamic playing out among Jedi culture in particular. While the term ‘dynamic’ is used regularly in a more casual setting, Quinlan uses the term “ternary sex” when talking about it in the company of Anakin and Obi-Wan. I view it as a subconscious attempt to keep a clinical view of the ternary sex system present in the omegaverse dimension, in recognition that it’s new and unfamiliar and often unpleasant for Anakin and Obi-Wan, having come from a dimension that doesn’t have ternary sexes or the associated reproductive capabilities, instincts, or cycles.

I’d like to explore how the ideas of sex, gender, dynamic, and so on intersect within the context of this universe, because I think it’s something I’d have a lot of fun working with, but this is not the fic for that.

#Quinlan Vos #Obi Wan Kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #QuinObi #anakin and obi wan #obi wan and anakin #disaster lineage #time travel #dimension hopping #omegaverse #SW Suddenly Omegaverse #past anidala #star wars #the clone wars #nesting #grooming #scenting #we went fully weird with this and I'm not apologizing... much #Phoenix Posts

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ivy-loves-chocolate · 3 years

Note

How about Albert Wesker falling in love with reader at first sight hc..

Of course :)

┌────────────────────────── · · · · ♡

-> it’s new to him. The tickling he feels in his stomach, the faster heartbeat, the sweating, all these feelings are not familiar to him, and he mistakes them for a sickness. How an immortal being like him can get sick? He ran countless tests, but he found nothing. He was a healthy man in his 40s.

-> his sister brought the concept of "love at first sight" concept to him in one of their discussions. He called her childish, they fought, but it left Wesker with a new perspective.

-> logic began to fade when he started to feel needier and needier to see his s/o. He follows her, without listening to his reasoning. He tells himself that he would continue to do that until he finds his words. Hours turn into days, then into months, but Wesker keeps following his habits of stalking.

-> he feels like losing his words when he is around her. All his words get stuck in his throat and he is unable to form a coherent speech. Even if he doesn't talk with her, he is somehow present in her life. Wesker makes sure to drop a little attention from time to time: raise, flowers, jewelry.

-> she feels something is strange, but despite that, she enjoys the little attention, even if she wants to know the identity of her secret admirer. She gets a clue when she notices Wesker spying around the corner. What’s creepier is that he vanishes when they made eye contact.

"I think the CEO is following me."

"Damn, you don't have long to live then." One of her coworkers teased. "You fucked up somehow."

"You are very helpful."

"It was nice meeting you in your human form, please don't kill me once you become a tyrant." He said in a dramatic tone, not paying attention to her story. The CEO rarely left his office, so what were the chances of personally following his employees.

-> they didn't help, and to her despair, Wesker wasn't easy to catch. she tried making an appointment, but she was turned down every time. Which was weird, because she could still see him in the corner of her eyes. She stopped telling everyone that story too because she will end up seeming insane.

-> his obsession never ended. Even if he never spoke with her, he knew all her past. He knew her current schedule, at what hour she eats, works, sleep. When he leaned over the edge of the wall to spy on his love interest, she suddenly turned, which made him run away.

-> Wesker finally got the courage to speak with her personally. What he was about to say, well, he will figure it out. He will try to be as formal as possible.

-> he approached her desk. It was late, he made sure to give her extra work so they will be alone. The others left hours ago. He approached her desk, noticing how clean everything was. Wesker appreciated a tidy, well-organized woman more than anything.

"Having troubles keeping up?" He said after taking a glance at her computer.

-> his stern voice almost made her jump from her place. She turned around to see her stalker staring at her behind those sunglasses. How he could see at night it was a mystery.

"Please, don't stand," He noticed the woman's attempt to raise. Instead, he pulled a chair and sat next to her.

"N-no, everything is fine sir."

"Please, we don't have to be formal here." He let out a low chuckle. "Call me Wesker." Just how his former STARS members used to call him. Not too formal, not too friendly, somewhere in between enough to make them comfortable.

-> She was so close to him. Of course, she saw him in person a few times, but not so close as they are right now. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, how melodic his voice was and how good she felt in his company. She was a little frightened at first, but the more she stayed with him, the faster her fears disappeared. She started to feel safe. She felt something too, but she didn't pay attention until now. If you can overlook that imposing posture of his, you would find out that you can enjoy his company and feel protected.

"Thank you, Wesker. What brings you to my humble office?"

-> He could notice her shaky voice. He had his cold, tremendous, demeanor even if he didn't want to.

"Despite the rumors, I actually care about my employees." A big fat lie, he couldn't care less. He had people dealing with them, but she was a special case. "I want to make sure you are not overworked. The last thing I need is you fainting in the cafeteria."

"Thank you s- Wesker."

-> How adorable he thought. He hardly found his words because most of his attention was focused on her. She was more attractive from this distance, and with every second that passed, he found himself getting needier and needier.

-> The long silence was broke by Wesker.

"Please, if you encounter any problems don't hesitate to contact me, personally."

"Thanks again. Actually, I kept trying to contact you these past weeks."

-> Wesker was getting nervous. He had a feeling why, so he started to move in his chair.

"Maybe I have hallucinations, but I kept seeing you around as if you were stalking me. I tried making an appointment but that secretary kept ignoring me."

-> he knew, he was the one who told his secretary to turn her off every time she would demand to see him.

"I see. Maybe you are overworking yourself. I can assure you that I have more important things than to follow my employees around."

-> that what she thought. She seemed to believe him.

"So that means you are not going to turn me into a tyrant?"

-> Wesker couldn't contain his laugher. She was indeed innocent and naive.

"Of course not," he said between sobs. "So this is how badly people are speaking of me?"

-> he prays this is the worst thing she heard about him. He'll make sure to find out who's been spreading rumors around, and turn them into reality for them, but now he didn't focus on his revenge plan, but on the discussion with the woman in front of him.

-> He found so much more about her personality, things he couldn't find in any file. He got a call and had no choice but to end the conversation. They walked together to the elevators, where they parted away, but not without ensuring her it's ok to come to his office whenever he needs, without an appointment.

-> She kept receiving gifts even after their meeting, but now they were signed.

His bold round handwriting was on every present.

"Wesker".

└────────────────────────── · · · · ♡

If you like my blog, please consider visiting my ko-fi page: Ko-fi.com/karenontumblr

#resident evil #albert wesker #resident evil village #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker fic

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travellingarmy · 3 years

Text

║Kaeya║Goodbye Kiss

Gender-neutral.

Angst.

Word count: 1.7k

---

It is time..

He had fulfilled his duties as a spy and so, it was time for the rightful heir to the throne to return to his home, Khaenri'ah. However, he guilts the thought of going back. In the beginning, he only had one reason of lingering around Mondstadt for a while but now that that he was done, there was really nothing left holding him back to return. So, why is he wavering?

His eyes- both visible- stare at the oh so familiar ceiling of your home. He had grown to love the sight of it over the years. His eyes seemed to sparkle in the night, a hand behind his head. Those eyes if his had always been unique and mysterious apropos to others one would meet along the way. It held a secret that makes one so interested in the soon-to-be former Cavalry Captain, but they could never unveil the truth behind them-- not even you.

Not even you who lay beside him bare and snuggled against him, a hand on his chest. Not even you who was most closest to the knight. If you couldn't do that, who could?

You made a sound during your sleep, gaining the attention of the man. His eyes glistened upon landing sight on you. His heart raced at everything you do. He was happy with you, but he also bitterly blames you for being the reason he was hesitating. Why did you go make such a man fall for you? No, what was it about him that made you fall into his arms? Surely, you could see just how scary those eyes of his, right?

Honestly, you were the first to approach him knowing the darkness that he had carried since young. You dare not question what his past was or where he came from. You openly loved him, but he was going to be your heartache.

If only, he thought, if only he didn't fall into the hole you had made, he would leave Mondstadt all behind without looking back. When did he trip? Was it the first glance of you? There was really something about your eyes that intrigued the male.. Yeah, that was probably it. Something in your eyes shone something he had not seen in himself. Your eyes were free of hidden motives and your quick-witted actions proved that.

Maybe, he was interested because he felt jealous of you. Jealous that you didn't have to carry a burden of a task since young. Maybe he had gotten close to you to take that glimmer in your eyes. After all, he was a man with ulterior motives, no?

Ah, that did no good to Kaeya. He tried to convince himself over and over that there was something he wanted to take from you but as you lay bare beside him, he felt himself at a loss.

You mumbled in your sleep, once more making sounds to gain the attention of the male. Whatever you were dreaming about, it obviously was a pleasant one. He chuckles lowly and put his free hand behind the back of your head, moving you closer to his lips so he could place a kiss on the crown of your head.

"I love you."

The clacking of hurried heels and boots greet you upon entering the headquarters. It was early in the morning but everyone was jolted awake and masked with a stern look, brows furrowing as they rush past you.

You knew what was happening. Otherwise, you would still be lazily getting out of bed. "Acting Grand Master," you greet the blonde whose back was facing you. The call of her title brought her attention from another knight to you. "(Y/N), I'm so glad you're here. Have you seen Kaeya?"

Indeed, you have seen Kaeya. Hoewever, it was just a glimpse before your tired eyes fluttered shut for another hour. "No, I haven't." Jean sighs but did not dwell on the thought of the captain. "Well, we'll just pray to Barbatos that he comes soon. We need all the hands to protect the city from the Abyss."

Something inside you churned. Something was calling out to you that you failed to listen. What is it? Why was dread washing over you at the thought of Kaeya? Surely, he would be fine to take on a couple Abyss mages and hilichurls, right? Well, it doesn't matter. Even if he can take down a whole army, you should still be by his side, fighting with him.

Not waiting for orders from the Acting Grand Master, you made a bolt towards the gate. Jean shouted your name but you ignored it as that churning feeling grew inside you. "Kaeya.."

The entirety of Mondstadt was surrounded at all fronts. All sorts of Abyss mages and hilichurls attacked like savages, using this chance to take down the city while the rest of the troops were still coming their way.

Your eyes darted around, hoping to see the Cavalry Captain somewhere amongst the many men who were trying to by more time for backup to come.

You bit your lips, drawing out the blood to trickle down. Where in Teyvat is Kaeya when you needed him most? It wasn't the time for him to go drinking in a bar, getting wasted.

Not wanting to waste more time dwelling on the thought, you took the lead, running past the other knights and heading deeper into the battle. "Captain!" A knight had called your title but you dare not turn around. Something was telling you that Kaeya was further in, and you were going tl follow it. Knowing Kaeya, it does sound like him for him to rush before anybody else. "Please, Kaeya.. Please be okay."

Clearing any enemies in your way, you felt your heart become lighter at the sight a his familiar back, but you dare not break into a smile. It would just make you lose your focus on the fight.

"Kaeya!" You called, but that failed to reach his ears amongst the chaos around. You were drawing near, noticing that the army started to grow thin in the back.

You were about to call him a second time but the words got stuck in your throat, seeing that the male was talking to an Abyss mage. It confused you. Why is the Abyss mage bowing to Kaeya? Why isn't it attacking Kaeya?

The mage looks up, eyes looking past Kaeya and onto you. "Your highness, behind you," the mage gestures him to look behind. Wait, did the mage call him 'your highness'?

Kaeya turned around to look at you, revealing you both of his eyes that held no warmth as usual when they laid upon you. You were stoned into the spot, mouth feeling dry. What were you supposed to say at this point? Your head dizzied, wanting to collapse on the ground for support.

When your silence was prolonging further activities, his eyes narrowed coldly and his mouth drew a wider frown of displeasure. "(Y/N), what are you doing here?" His voice was montoned and no longer spoke in a flirtatious manner.

The mystery behind his eyes were revealed to you; the mystery that all of Mondstadt wanted to know yet could not get close enough to know.

You gulped back the lump that grew. Surely, there is some misunderstanding, right? Kaeya just wanted to toy with the mage before he killed it, right? Yeah, that has to be it. "K, Kaeya, Acting Grand Master wants you back and help protect Mondstadt.." Your eyes slightly widen in desperation, searching for the truth.

"Oh? Does she now?" A smirk tug his lips yet his eyes stayed the same. He turns his full body to face you and rested his knuckle on his hip. He was toying with you. "Y, yeah.. You better get back before she gets mad at you."

Kaeya chuckles at the look in your eyes, knowing that look all too well. "Why should I go back? I'm not from here so I have no reason to protect it." He shakes his head, all the while smiling. "(Y/N), I'm sure you already know that I am not from here, yes?"

"Where are you going with this, Kaeya? Please stop playing around and come back," you spoke with a shaky voice.

His smile drops. Were you seriously trying to convince yourself that he was a good man? He sighs and walks close to you, grabbing your chin in his hands. "Oh, (Y/N), you could be so cute at times. It almost makes me want to take you with me," his words were sincere. "But the land of sinners is not a place to call home for someone like you. So, be good and listen to when I say to stay." A flick of sorrow failed to catch your eyes.

Kaeya had not slept that night, waiting for the sun to shine through the curtains to tell him that it was time. As much as he wanted to stay with you, he was a sinner who ruled a land abandoned by the gods. He had no place in Mondstadt- with you- knowing his origins.

A tear slipped from the corner of your eyes, but Kaeya did not dare to wipe it away in fear that his heart would waver.

"Be good.. Protect Mondstadt.." He shows you one last genuine smile that you loved. His eyes allowed itself to show you his true feelings for you once more as well which just made your heart squeeze itself.

He brings your face, your lips, close to his. He was giving you one last kiss. A kiss that you would miss for as long as you lived. A goodbye kiss.

Tears left your eyes as he deepened the cherishing kiss.

He soon pulls away, watching your tears fall silently onto the ground. He smiles and turns on his heels to walk away, the Abyss mage following close behind him.

Your legs gave in and fell onto the ground as you watch the man you loved walk away from you-- never to return to Mondstadt-- to you.

Kaeya dares not to look behind. If he did, he had a feeling that he'll run up and hug you to stop those tears of yours. This was goodbye.

"Forget me and find someone else, lest you will be broken."

---

#kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #kaeya #kaeya oneshots #kaeya angst #genshin angst #angst #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #gender neutral #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #x reader

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hawkinsindiana · 3 years

Text

this changes things

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER FOUR OF ELEVEN (!!)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 2.3k

a/n: we’re back to eleven chapters baby!!!! this one ended up being longer than i thought. i know i usually post on friday nights, but i couldn’t help but give you all a lil valentine’s day treat. pls enjoy!!!!

masterlist

Steve’s nervous.

It’s down to the wire; there's only a few short weeks left of his final high school semester. Four out of five college applications have been rejected. Each one received has fed the anxiety more and more.

Every day that passes without a lick of news from the remaining university has him reconsidering everything. His education. His career. His future.

The only thing Steve knows about his future is that he wants you in it, in whichever form that might be. You’re the constant. Without you, he’s afraid he’d eventually go back to being that person he was before. You make him want to be better. Trying to be worthy of you gives Steve purpose.

He imagined that getting a college education would help keep him on that path. It seems farther away with each rejection letter he receives.

Steve hasn’t told you that he hasn’t gotten into any so far. He’s afraid of disappointing you, especially after everything you’ve done for him.

The spring of ‘85 has been particularly unforgiving. It’s been storming all week - the air still hangs with that familiar smell of rain soaked concrete. You read that the Hawkins Post reported a record amount of rainfall; the local stream overflowed and flooded a few basements.

The mail is still damp when Steve retrieves it after practice. It sticks to his fingers as he shuffles through each envelope, drying his sneakers on the welcome mat.

And then his eyes linger on one addressed to him; Steve nearly drops his backpack when he sees who sent it.

Haphazardly, he tosses the rest of the mail onto the kitchen counter as he contemplates whether to even open the damn thing. Steve’s pretty sure he knows the answer. Is it an answer he wants?

Whatever the words inside this parcel read, it changes Steve’s life forever. His future is planned from the moment he breaks the seal - there would be no going back. Either he stays here in Hawkins, trapped by an education he neglected for far too long, or he gets to take a step to distance himself from this shitty town and prove his worth.

Steve isn’t a fan of the former option.

He wishes you were here to read it for him. He’d rather you tell him the news; hearing it come from your lips would make it easier.

By the time Steve decides to open it, a few minutes have passed. Why does this feel like the scariest thing he’s ever done?

Due to the water, some of the ink bled through the paper; pieces of the letter are illegible. But at the top, a familiar phrase answers his question: Unfortunately, we regret to inform you-

Steve curses, angrily throwing the envelope and its contents into the trash. He refuses to read anymore.

He has no one to blame but himself. Maybe that’s why he’s so angry. There were multiple opportunities for him to change course and put effort into his schoolwork. By the time he finally tried, it was too late.

Thunder booms in the distance once Steve parks his car beside your mother’s. He doesn’t remember deciding to come here; the only thing he can recall is grabbing the keys, without a destination in mind. His heart brought him to your warmth.

As Steve gets out of the car, he wonders if this was maybe a bad idea. It isn’t very often that he feels afraid to face you - he’s scared of your reaction, and the outcome that could follow.

He knew that he could love you, that he could fall just as hard as you did for him. But admitting it to himself, and then you - he doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it again. That phrase has left a sour taste in his mouth, one that Steve hopes he can wash away. Because you deserve to hear it too.

Maybe he’s closer to saying it than he thought, perhaps that’s why he’s so scared to tell you. Maybe-

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Dustin’s voice startles Steve, who turns to see the boy walking his bike up the driveway. Steve fumbles his response, head spinning with thoughts about you, “I don’t, uh-”

Dustin interrupts him, not noticing the nerves Steve displays, “Hey, you should come in! It’s mac ‘n cheese night.”

Steve hangs his head in defeat, knowing that he’s going to follow your brother inside. He can’t say no to this kid.

Dustin hangs up his raincoat once the pair of them enter the house; the bell on Tews’ collar jingles as they run to greet the boys. The kitten weaves between Steve’s legs before he kneels down to give them a few pets.

“That you, Dusty?” Your mother calls from within; clattering silverware echoes from the kitchen. Steve chuckles at the nickname. Dustin punches him in the bicep.

He kicks off his shoes as he replies, “Hey Mom! Get out another bowl - look who I found loitering around.”

Steve scoffs, shoving Dustin as they walk forward through the threshold into the living room. Your mom moves to welcome them; her warm smile widens when she sees Steve by her son’s side, “Well look who it is! Steve, sweetheart, how are you?”

He’s baffled by her every time he shares a meal with your family. Her kind soul is infectious, and drastically different from the parents he was raised by. Steve tries not to think about the fact her beloved pet is secretly buried out back - he’s reminded of it whenever he sees her.

“I’m good, Mrs. Henderson. How are you?” Steve answers, returning her grin. She envelops him in a quick hug, “How many times am I going to have to tell you? Just call me Claudia, hon.”

Steve laughs along with her as he follows her to the kitchen, “I think you’ll need to remind me one more time.”

And then his eyes meet yours from across the room. They smile nearly as much as your lips at the sight of him; your heart flutters at this unexpected surprise.

When you catch onto the sadness in his expression, the corners of your mouth drop. It’s obvious to you that something’s wrong. Steve doesn’t usually stop by without an invitation; something must’ve happened.

Throughout dinner, you take mental notes on his deflated behavior. It’s subtle enough to fool your family, but you know him better. With each minute that passes, the more anxious you become to hear the cause. So when he volunteers to help you with the dishes, as he always does, you know it’s only a matter of time.

“How was practice?” You ask before drying off a cup. Steve takes it from your hand as he replies, “Uh, it was good. Although it’s annoying that we’re still practicing even though the season’s over.”

You hum in agreement as he places the glass on the shelf. Steve glances back at you briefly, “What about you? What’d you get up to?”

A beat passes - you’re looking for the words to describe your afternoon. Maybe not the words, but the courage. It’s only when he turns around, brow creased, do you answer him.

“I studied at Nancy’s,” You say. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, “Oh yeah? How’d that go?”

You nod your head, focusing your gaze onto the floor, “It was nice, actually. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.”

“Now when you say studying…” He trails off for a moment as he thinks, “You two didn’t… exchange notes about me or anything, did you?”

Steve’s growing smirk makes you laugh; you hit him playfully with the towel, “No! And I haven’t told her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A part of him can’t help but be relieved. There’s no limit to what you two could chat about.

“We just ended up talking about college most of the time,” You add, “She wanted to know some tips since she’ll be applying soon.”

Steve grabs a plate to dry; in order to try and quell his anxiety, he has to do something productive. But your mind recognizes it as a distraction - you’re no stranger to coping mechanisms.

“Have you figured out where you’re gonna go yet?” He questions, praying your answer isn’t far; lightning flashes outside the kitchen window, followed closely by the low rumble of thunder.

You sigh as you lean back against the counter, “I’m not sure. Nancy was helping me talk through my options earlier, but it’s such a big decision to make. I wanna make sure it’s the right fit.”

Steve nods slightly, forehead creasing as he wipes his hands on the towel. And by the way he clenches his jaw at your reply, you know that this is the source of contention.

You nudge his leg with your foot, “What about you? Get any responses back?”

The breath hitches in Steve’s throat; there’s no way this conversation doesn’t end with his reveal. The longer it takes for him to speak, the more concerned you grow.

“I, uh-“ A sigh passes his lips as he grips the counter, keeping his focus away from you. He doesn’t want to witness your reaction.

“I didn’t get in,” Steve mutters. He exhales, shaking his head in disbelief; until now, it almost didn’t seem real. It took admitting it to you for his brain to accept it.

You shift on your feet, unsure of what to say. Over the past few weeks, you and Steve had been discussing how your relationship would persist once you both had made your college commitments. This wasn’t an outcome either of you prepared for.

“Holy shit, Steve. I’m sorry…” You whisper. Steve pushes his face into his hands; his voice is muffled from behind his palms, “Yeah, yeah… holy shit.”

You don’t hesitate any more to comfort him. Steve straightens as you place your hands on his arms; he melts into your touch, unable to prevent you from turning his body to face yours.

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” You reassure him, “College isn’t the only option, you know. There are other things you could do.”

The expression on Steve’s face breaks your heart. You’d do anything to wipe it away and brighten his mood. But Steve just sighs again, appreciating your efforts to help him, but nothing seems to be working.

“How’d your parents react?” You ask. The only thing keeping Steve grounded to this moment is the firm grip you have on his shoulders; he thinks he’d float away without it.

He scoffs a bit; the sound breaks the deafening silence that formed as he thought of a response. His eyes are still focused downwards as he finally answers you, “They don’t know yet. I just got the last letter today. I couldn’t think of going anywhere else.”

When your fingers brush against his cheek, Steve instinctively moves his hands to rest on your waist, “I’m sorry, I just-”

Steve finally lifts his head. Your eyes are wide, pupils filled to the brim with nothing but your fondness for him. All of a sudden, he’s confused why he was so scared to tell you. He realizes that he never should’ve doubted you.

“I was scared this would change things. Or that you’d be disappointed in me or some shit.”

Your brow furrows as you laugh softly - baffled by his words, “What could ever make you think that I’d be disappointed in you?”

A flash of previous memories answers your own question. You decide not to pull on that thread anymore.

“This changes things,” You mutter. Your eyeline drops as you pause, choosing your words carefully before continuing, “But it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Finally, Steve feels a bit of relief. The sincerity in your voice calms the fear, and a deep exhale allows him to let it go. Your compassion and understanding permits him to begin thinking clearly again. He knew there was a reason he came here.

You’re right though. This does change how you both navigate the future. But with you here to support him, Steve figures he’ll be just fine.

“I mean…” The corner of your mouth curls up at the thought that pops into your head, “The only way my opinion of you changes is if you killed my brother or something like that.”

Steve chuckles slightly, “But Mike’s still fair game?”

“Oh yeah, go ahead,” You quip, “He’s had it comin’ for a while.”

Even though your voices are hushed, the joke still makes you crack a pair of brilliant smiles; it almost makes Steve forget about his future for a moment. Standing here in your arms, Steve can’t help but realize how safe he feels.

And then you sigh, reaching up to brush back a lock of his brunette hair - the sensation of your touch fills Steve with something new, something different. A direct contrast to the violent storm brewing outside, this is soft, warm, and golden. Like daylight.

Your eyes meet again. Honestly, he’s not sure he ever wants to look at anything else.

Your hand lands on his chest, “This doesn’t make me love you any less.”

Steve throws caution to the wind - he kisses you. And already, you can tell that this is one you’ll remember. His lips are soft against yours, but without sacrificing an ounce of passion. You almost forget that someone could walk in and expose your relationship; when Steve finally pulls away, it doesn’t matter anyways.

As if you weren’t left breathless enough from his kiss, the words he mutters afterwards could’ve done it themselves.

With one of his trademark smirks plastered across his face, Steve moves to hold your head between his palms, “Fuck, I love you.”

You kiss him again so quickly that you both didn’t have enough time to wipe the twinkling grins from your lips. Your noses are squished against each other, but neither of you cares enough. Your shared love dulls the pain.

Steve smiles into the kiss even further. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

— taglist: @djjarin / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing / @mikariell95 / @pilunb / @harringtherin / @royalestrellas / @ultrunning / @buggs177 / @poutfull / @yoheyyosup / @duchessdaisybat / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury / @beththebubbly / @i-bitch-you-bitch / @captainstilinskis / @juliebean247 / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender / @rexorangecouny / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior / @jointhehunt67 / @peanutem / @ketchuplukehemmo / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass / @alafolieee / @mochminnie / @phantomalchemist / @dustyblueboo / @alonewolfsblog / @ggclarissa / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long / @bippityboppitybabe / @readinthegarden12 / @bakugouishusbando / @stxtch72 / @random-girl-army / @wisdaemon / @thatawkwardlittlefangirl

if you want be added to the taglist, just lemme know!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #st fic #st imagine #steve harrington x you #my writing #almost paradise

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years

Text

Sex Tape

Pairings: Johnny Depp x Reader

Request: “ If you take requests, would you consider doing johnny reaction to like theirs sex tape getting leaked? Reader may also be a celebrity or not. Whatever you prefer “ - @fanficshitandother

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual smut

Word Count: 1800

A/N: Sorry this one is so short. I was having a harder time writing it than I thought I would. I hope you enjoy!

__________________________________

Shit.

You knew this was a bad idea when he suggested it but no. He just had to have this video “for when he was away filming.” It always ended like this, though, right? It always started out as fun and games until bam! Celebrity sex tape leaked!

The gossip talk show video that your best friend had sent you was still playing on your phone and you watched in silent horror as the red haired woman talked about your sex life to her male counterpart as if she had any actual right to have an opinion. In the top corner was a picture of you and Johnny at the red carpet for the premier of the Crimes of Grindelwald, his arm around your waist and both of you smiling for the paparazzi pictures. “Okay, guys. You are going to want to hear this,” She started, clasping her absurdly long acrylic-clad fingers together and holding onto her knees, “So there has been yet another sex tape leaked and I want you to guess who’s it is.” She looked over to her co-host. He had a push broom mustache that was bleached blonde to match his hair.

The man hummed before waving his hand, which also donned long yellow acrylics, “I swear, Laurel, if this is another Kardashian or Paris Hilton tape, I’m gonna scream. That’s such old news.”

“Actually, it’s someone that I certainly didn’t expect. Johnny Depp and his wife, Y/N L/N.” She dropped the news and the co-star’s mouth dropped.

“Are you serious? Like Jack Sparrow, Sweeney Todd, Willy Wonka, Johnny Depp?” He asked in total shock, “I didn’t expect that either! But you know what? I feel like he’d be really good in bed.”

He and Laurel both laughed, “You’re so bad!” She squealed, hitting him with the paper notes in her hand, “But, between you and me,” She leaned in, as if she was telling an actual secret that wasn’t being broadcast on the internet, “I did see it.”

“And?”

“It was pretty hot, I can’t lie. That Y/N is a very lucky girl indeed.” The pair giggled like a pair of school girls.

You were absolutely mortified. How did this happen? How many people had seen it? Who had seen it? Oh God… all you could imagine was your family stumbling across the video or, debatably worse, Johnny’s kids. This had to be one of the worst moments of your life.

You turned off the video and quickly dialed your husband. “Hello, love.” He greeted cheerily on the other end. The faint sound of cars passing in the background told you he was probably driving home from the meeting he had been at.

“Did you see it? Did you hear it?” You asked frantically.

“What?” He asked, confused.

“The video! The video got leaked!” You ran your fingers through your hair messily, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.

“What video?” He questioned, not sounding like he fully understood what had happened, but then you could almost feel the weight of realization falling on him, “Wait, our video?”

“Yes! Our video!” You were yelling at this point, not at him but at the situation and thankfully he understood that.

“Okay, okay. We’ll- Hang on my manager is calling. Probably to tell me about it. I’ll be home in five minutes. I love you.” He signed off your call quickly before hanging up without giving you the chance to respond.

While you waited for him to get there, you spiraled down the rabbit hole that was the tabloids and social media. Your phone buzzed off the charts as everyone from your sister to Helena Bonham Carter called you to ask if you were okay. Of course, you weren’t. But it was one phone call from a former college roommate, Sheila, had really gotten your blood boiling.

“It’s okay! If anything, this is just going to make you more famous! Look at all the other celebs who’ve had their sex tapes leaked. They’re like, super famous.” Sheila sounded more excited than she should have, which certainly made you question her motives behind calling you in the first place. Since marrying Johnny, you’d had the unfortunate displeasure of having to cut a few people off from your past who had randomly called you up after years of little to no contact, asking more favors in the movie industry, money, or even just for the clout of saying they knew you. There really was such a downside to this whole marrying famous person thing that nobody ever really talked about - not that you would take it back, though, of course. You loved Johnny more than anything.

Still, when the words left her mouth, you felt a flash of anger swell up, “Contrary to what a lot of people might believe, being famous actually kind of sucks,” You spat angrily, “And call me crazy, but I don’t exactly feel thrilled at knowing the whole world as access to a video of my naked ass!”

“At least it’s a good naked ass, though! Your boobs are looking pretty good too. Did you get them done?” She asked bluntly, still not a care to be heard in her voice. You swore you could almost detect a fake valley girl accent too.

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief at the words coming from her voice, “I can’t believe you.” Without giving her a chance to respond, you clicked the off button before flipping her off through the screen, though you knew she couldn’t see it. The audacity of some people.

The front door swung open, drawing your attention as Johnny hurried into the house, setting his bag down by the front door. “How bad is it?” You asked, knowing his manager must have told him the full extent.

“Do you want the truth?” Johnny saw as panic and humiliation swept across your face, knowing that perhaps that wasn’t the best way to break it to you that it was pretty bad. He stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms, “I told Harrison to take ‘em down. Whenever he found one, he said he’d get it deleted.

You sighed defeatedly, “That doesn’t stop the fact that a bunch of people already saw it.” Your arms wrapped around Johnny’s torso and you allowed your head to fall against his chest, trying to calm yourself with his scent- exotic spicy cologne and old books.

His large hand came to stroke through your hair, “That is true,” He conceded with a heavy breath, “But, it also means that fewer and fewer people will continue to see it.” There was a pause in which neither of you said anything, only took a few minutes to hold onto each other while you thought about the future now, “Y’know, I can’t help but feel like this is partly my fault. I shouldn’t have asked to make the video. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You shook your head in disagreement, “I agreed to do it too. It’s on both of us. In retrospect, we should have put it on an actual VHS tape or something that would be more difficult to get into the tabloid’s hands.”

You were tired of this - of this constant running from the vultures that prayed off your every misstep just to turn them against you and create headlining stories. You felt like you couldn’t even breathe without a scandal unless the media allowed it. You were just grateful that you happened to marry one of the most private actors in Hollywood, knowing that whatever pressure you felt, more public figures like Angelina Jolie had it much worse. Still, something inside you stirred, a decision that you’d stop living in fear.

Johnny pulled back and gave you that infamous cocked eyebrow look of wonder, one that you’d mostly seen him use as Jack Sparrow. Little did everyone know, it was a gesture he’d picked up on doing in real life as well. “Do we even have a VHS player anymore?”

You chuckled and buried your head back into his white shirt, “I don’t even know. I feel like there must be one laying around somewhere. And if not, I’ll go down to a pawn shop and pick one up just for you to use while filming.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” You leaned back, pulling on his shirt to bring him down closer to your level, “That if we’re going to be making you another one of these videos, it’s gonna be on something that stays only between us.”

Your husband nearly choked on air, “Another one? After what just happened?”

“Only if you want to and only if it stays on something physical like a CD or VHS that we can mutually agree to burn and destroy if anything happens.” You giggled and Johnny joined in with a low chuckle as well, “But… the video was leaked. We knew that was a risk when we made it. But, y’know what? I’m tired of living in fear of the paparazzi and public. They’ve already seen us fuck. There’s not much else we’ve got to lose.”

His dark eyes flashed with mischief before he took off in a light jog down the hall without a word. You followed him, “Where are you going?” You giggled, turning the corner to find him digging through your little Harry Potter closet under the stairs.

When he stood up, he shook his long hair out of his eyes messily and held up an old tape recorder that had to be at least twenty years old. Johnny swayed towards you, jokingly flirtatious as he spoke, “Well, Mrs. Depp, it would seem that you’re in luck because your husband likes to hoard old shit.”

The grey and black machine seemed to stare at you and some hesitation set in again but then you remembered what you’d said: I’m tired of living in fear… there’s not much else we’ve got to lose.

Johnny flicked open the side compartment and his eyes opened in surprise to find a tape still in there. He lifted it from the slide and looked it over, shocked to see that it appeared to be an unused blank tape, “Well, well, looks like we’re in luck.”

Biting your lip, you looked up at him with those eyes before grabbing his hand and running upstairs to your bedroom, dragging him along. “The world thinks they’ve seen us fuck. They only got a preview.”

“Only a preview? I thought we went pretty hard last time?” He countered with a low challenging laugh.

You turned around at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister as you turned to face him. His body collided with yours, his hand reaching around the small of your back to steady the two of you and you arched your body into his, being sure to brush your body against his groin, “Oh, Johnny… we’re both throwing our backs out tonight.”

#Johnny Depp #johnny depp fanfic #John Shelby #johnny depp imagine #johnny depp imagines

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slutsofren · 3 years

Text

Danger Days Chapter 9: Give ‘em Hell Kid

summary: after taking care of the stragglers, you make way to find Ellie amidst of all the chaos that follows her and you come face to face with a blast from the past

word count: 2,754 im gonna make up for all these short chapters i swear!!

content warnings: blood mention (i mean c'mon y'all know exactly what this fic is), animal death, somebody gets murdered a bit violently

notes: just wanna say a little thank you for all the recent influx of subs/bookmarks/comments/kudos/follows on here and on ao3, y'all warm my heart. also, the next few chapters will deviate from the tlou timeline to make way for some angst :^))))

read on ao3 here / masterlist

Your lungs were burning with each breath. Huffs escaped you. Aches filtered through your body. Running, chasing, fighting. Ellie was in deep shit and you prayed she was alright. Following after her path, you tracked your girl.

It didn’t take much to figure out which way Ellie went, between the very obvious messy shoe prints of the men chasing after her and the hoof-marks. It made finding her all that much easier. You trekked through the slosh of the muddied snow until you came across a striking stain of red. Your steps faltered and you took the sight in, the sight of blood in between all the white and brown that overlooked a small cliff. Stopping dead in your tracks, your breath hitched as you peered over.

A gasp in horror escaped you when you saw the lifeless body of dear Callus. Quickly jumping, you dropped from the ledge he was under and landed on your knees with a harsh ‘oomph’. The pain tingled up to your spine.

Scrambling up to check on Callus, looking for any sign Ellie was hurt only to find none. You brushed the dark hair on the horse, “I’m sorry Callus.” Mentally sending an apology to Cherry too. She was going to be sad when she hears but if anything, she’d take the apology in exacting revenge on his murderers.

Kneeling on the cold ground, you sent a silent wish to the stars, wishing that Callus will be taken care off wherever he is, noting how he was such a good horse, how he will be greatly missed but was certainly loved. He may have been just a horse, but even then, horses were smart and sentient. He knew.

Just as you finished your well-wishes, the horror quickly engulfed your mind. The worry grew for just a moment as you continued on the path, leaving the dear horse behind until you stumbled upon dead body after dead body, all leading in a patch down to a lake then to a little cabin, long since forgotten shops, and up the stairs to some sort of lakeside hotel, anger finally settling in your bones.

You found yourself following a trail of blood, gore, and footsteps, pride warming in your chest. That’s my girl, you silently praised. You drew a knife and a gun, as you approached what looked to be some lakeside market, too many hidey holes to walk through here confidently. Nevertheless, you marched on.

The path led you to an abandoned lodge overlooking the lake but no sign of Ellie, just more dead bodies of those bastards.

It would have been a beautiful sight long ago, in the time before. Now it was an empty and hollow shell of its former self, littered with gore.

Even shuffling as quickly as you could through the main hall of the resort yielded nothing to finding your dear young companion, not as the sun was really setting low. Had that much time passed, you thought worriedly.

You kicked an overturned table and groaned loudly, not giving a shit if somebody heard you. Letting yourself be mad for just a moment before taking a deep breath and exhaling. At this point, you weren’t sure if you’d want to move stealthy, try and make as much noise as possible just to take some of the heat off your girl.

Frustrated still, you left the resort and circled outside to locate another set of footsteps, likely of them chasing after her. It looked almost as if there was a small fucking army chasing her but still, you didn’t spot anybody. Much to your chagrin.

Taking off once more, you cursed as the visibility lowered. The snow was progressively picking up all around you causing some of the footsteps to slowly disappear.

It was swirling around in a thick blanket in the air, covering the footsteps you had been following. It felt like you were running against the clock and you took off running, focused on the remaining trail until you heard it.

Loud and metallic. A bell. Faint but there. A city center with a tolling bell possibly?

You didn't think twice about changing your direction and moving faster through the storm.

Motivated even more so, you continued on this path, following the chime until you came into view of a cheap haphazardly thrown together defense wall. Ducking behind a nearby structure, you looked on, assessing it as best you could with the little visibility you had.

Faintly, you could make out concrete walls with some barbaric barbed wire thrown lazily against it, many many weaknesses here and there. Most importantly, you noticed there was nobody manning the walls.

You ran and ducked every so often, listening for voices but finding none. Instead, you followed the bloodied trail Ellie left behind her. It was almost like a taunt to the others in this community, or maybe even a gumdrop-like trail for you, screaming ‘come find me’. Whatever it was, only a mark of design by the tough kid wanting nothing but to simply stay alive.

Pocketing your weapons, you took a few steps back then ran.

It was almost too easy to just jump the fence but you did, after hesitating ever so slightly. Your breaths were now heavy huffs, your lungs were cursing you to stop but you refused to, not when Ellie was in danger.

Then, arming yourself with your knives you tried to make your way through the town as stealthy as possible. Only taking out whoever was in your path but aiming not to make a spectacle before you could locate Ellie within this town.

Every time you took down one of those gruesome bastards, you didn’t dare to stop and search them. Your only goal was to find Ellie. You could hear the men talking about her and how she got away, sparking pride within you once more as you took off, following the chaos she left in her wake. Noting how some of the bodies were still warm, their leaked blood still sticky.

Turning the corner of a mechanics garage, a loud thunderous snap echoed through the area.

Startled, you pulled back into a crouch and watched as a large fire erupted in the distance. That spark of hope igniting as bright as the fire, signaling Ellie fighting back like hell.

“Shit,” you sighed trying to catch your breath. You rose to your feet and took off faster now, headed towards the explosion.

Off through the thick sheet of snow, you could faintly make out a large sign above a dinner, displaying the name Todd’s across it. You could hear somebody yelling from inside and aimed for it, the fire barely catching your attention.

Time was running against you, as it always did. The fire grew hotter, the building more dangerous. These were the least of your worries.

You were beyond frustrated as you circled the building, aside from the very obvious and intentional door being lit on fire that was growing at a rapid pace, there were no other entrances you could see aside from a dozen unbroken windows.

It took a couple tries to find an entrance that was viable, feeling like you were running out of time as the male voice from inside grew louder, as you could hear bullets fly just as the man was yelling. Thankfully you did find a cracked window.

Judging by the amount of noise already happening inside and assessing the risk, you figured breaking it wouldn’t alert anybody so you did just that and crawled through, doing your best not to scrape your knees.

Gaining your footing, you looked around and saw you were in some sort of kitchen for the diner. There were large stainless steel surfaces, looking moderately clean. That’s not what got your attention, but the screaming match happening in the dining area.

It took you a minute but you got close to the ground, snapping to the corner as to not give away your position, not as you saw a large man with a beard towering over a small figure- Ellie.

Your brows furrowed in anger as you ran, planning on tackling this man but he was knocked over to the side as Ellie wacked at him endlessly with a machete, hacking him to death. Overkill.

One, two, three. Each swing she grew more and more violent,

Yelling for her to stop, she continued her attack, until you grabbed her against her back, holding her close to stop her. She tried to fight against you, almost throwing you to the ground. “I got you, sweetheart, I got you.” Petting her hair, trying to calm her down, she recognized your voice and she slumped in your arms.

You were exhausted, the adrenaline slowly leaving your blood gave way to the roaring pain in your lungs and muscles. Surely you’d be sore for the coming days. Even so, the pain would have been nothing next to losing either Joel or Ellie.

The two of you stayed like that, holed up in a grimey embrace for a few moments. You repeatedly ran your fingers through her tangled up brown hair as she hiccupped the last of her sobs into your coat. The only sounds permeating the moment were of Ellie and the fire.

Fuck. The fire.

Just as you realized the predicament the two of you were in, the blackened smoke scratched and irritated your eyes, throat, and lungs. It was suffocating you and doing worse to Ellie,

If it weren’t for the raging blaze that was spreading, you would have left much sooner. “Sweetheart, I think it’s time to go.”

Ellie didn’t respond and you were about to repeat yourself until you heard heavy footfalls behind you. Moving the distraught and distracted teen slightly, you drew one of your guns and aimed, about to shoot but were stopped when you took notice of just who was standing there, palms up in defense.

Joel.

Joel was alive, right there.

Ellie recognized him before you could even register what was happening. She jumped out of your arms into his, babbling about David and crying once more. He calmed her, mumbling “Oh, baby girl… It’s okay, it’s okay.”

You watched from the floor as he tried to wipe the blood from her tear stained cheeks, barely keeping your own shit together.

“C’mon,” he said, not looking at you, “let’s get outta here.”

You rose from your haunches, swaying just a little at the inner emotional whirlwind you were facing mixed on top of the physical toll you were feeling. You watched as Joel put his arm around Ellie, walking her out the way he came in. Both of them were limping slightly. Following the two of them, you kicked the dead man just once as Joel led you both out of the burning building to your horse, Whiskey.

He turned around to say something but cut himself off, taking in the sight of you. “Shit, Are you okay?”

You followed his gaze to where your clothes were coated in a disastrous mixture of blood, dirt, and stars know what else. “It’s not mine.”

He looked like he wanted to look you over but he focused on Ellie instead, giving her a helping hand onto the horse. Joel gestured for you to get on behind her but you shook him off, “No. I’ll meet you back at the house.”

“If you don’t get on the goddamned-,” he began to argue but you shut him down.

“I’m not going to fuckin’ argue with you right now.” You checked over your horse, noticing how Joel didn’t bring anything then approached Ellie, “Hey, sweetheart. Think you can handle leading Whiskey and Joel back to the house?”

She wiped away her tears and nodded, “I think so.”

“Good. I’ll see you there soon.”

Joel opened his mouth to counter you but you stood up to him, on your toes. You had grabbed his jacket and pulled him close, getting in his face. “You take our girl back to the fuckin’ house and you make sure neither you nor her go off the rails or so help me, I will finish what that rebar started and end you. Got it?”

You were tired, you were angry, you were relieved. But most of all, you were pissed the fuck off. Not necessarily at him but at, well, at everything. Being this troupe’s sole caretaker for the past few weeks was taking its toll.

Just as you got into his face, he got into yours. At only a hair's breadth away he threatened you all the same, “You do not get to be angry with me, you do not get to push me around, got it?”

His brown eyes bore into yours, you could see he was more exhausted than anything but you were not going to let him be the judge of what happens next. “Fuck you, Joel Miller. We saved your life, hell, I saved your life. You owe me. Now you’re going to get on that fucking horse with Ellie and you are going to the safe house and we are leaving this goddamned shithole. Together. In one piece.”

“Please, Joel, let’s get out of here,” Ellie’s weak voice interrupted.

The near-dyin’ old bastard opened his mouth to counter you again but decided against it. Most likely for Ellie’s sake.

Joel leans close to you and whispers a threat in your ear, “If you’re not back by nightfall, we’ll leave without you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you snap.

He takes a half step back, his tired brown eyes meeting yours. For a flash you think he wants to apologize but he doesn’t, his pride wouldn’t let him anyways. This was the game the two of you have played all these months. This push-and-pull bullshit. It was tiresome in situations like these, the dire need of survival, but during those blissful moments of reprieve, it brought you joy.

Joel’s heavy footfalls penetrated the tense air even as he saddled up in front of Ellie. He calls your name and in his roundabout way, bargains with you. “Come back alive.”

Before you could even answer or reply, he’s off with a huff. Ellie strapped closely behind him.

Watching them go, you ducked and retraced your steps in the heavy and blinding snow. The storm hadn’t let up and likely wouldn’t any time soon. It worked well into your favor for now.

The journey back wasn’t as arduous or as dramatic as the way forward but you made it back to the safe house without incident. The whole time your mind juggled between the mixed emotions of Joel. Gratitude he was alive, joy that he was walking and talking, anger that he was walking and talking and not resting.

There was just a lot happening all at once. It’s why you wanted to be alone for the time being. Too many emotions swirled in you, too many thoughts, too much of everything. The bitter cold nipping at your fingertips helped, kept you grounded.

At least until you heard the low grumbling of Joel coaxing Ellie back to the land of the living, much as you both did the same to him these past few weeks. His voice trailed up the basement and didn’t stop as your steps echoed through the stairwell.

When you stopped at the final landing did you look up. He was holding her close as she cried, she still hadn’t stopped. His hands, bruised and bloodied from stars know what, coaxed themselves through her messy hair. The sight of them both covered in other people’s blood hurt you in ways that no wound could ever compare to.

He was whispering nothings to her, praises for her fighting, echoing words of ‘shh, it’s okay’, repeatedly in a low soft voice. You came close to the two of them sitting on the lone mattress, “Hey, sweetheart, I’m back.”

Joel looked up at you again, looking over you. Taking in the sight of you now. He gave you a tense nod as Ellie reached around for your hand and squeezed it. Once she let you go you brushed her hair from her face and slowly stood.

“I’m going to pack up everything and we’re going to leave here, put this shit behind us.”

The two of them said nothing but Joel caught your eye and silently, you both came to an agreement. Whatever bullshit you two had, when it came to Ellie, she came first.

Isn’t that what family is for?

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peachyteez · 3 years

Text

mint chocolate chip ice cream ≫ DAY FOUR, CONNECTIONS

this abandoned, shy bunny hybrid loves hanging around the open field area of the recovery facility. one day, with the help of jungkook, another bunny hybrid, jiyu meets mingi. after days of mingi being too shy and running away from her, a bag of carrots and mint chocolate ice chip cream was all it took to seal the deal.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee

✧ notes: i should be christmas shopping but 👀 also i have a new series in the works that might be released after heaven 👀

back。| next。

lazy days like these ones were jiyu’s favorite days. now with four others in her home with her, she loved them even more. seonghwa laid on the floor by a window with sunlight pouring in and napped, with earbuds in, hongjoong listened to his music and curled up on the couch. seeing yunho and mingi play around with each other brought a small smile to jiyu’s face as she watched them. mingi was so reserved back at the hybrid center but seeing him with a carefree smile around yunho warmed her heart.

thinking back to his behavior, she figured that, like the others, he came from a rough family. she wanted to help him, and the first step was to track his old owners down. she had an episode with yunho’s former owners, and she would do it again for mingi.

but how do i ask him without making it awkward? although mingi had opened up a little to her the previous night, she doubt he’d tell her his whole life story. seeing mingi’s eyes on her, she softly smiled before continuing to drink her coffee and typing on her laptop.

“hey, mingi.”

hearing yunho call out to him, mingi tore his attention away from jiyu to the puppy hybrid. “would you want to live here?” yunho asked, cocking his head to the side as his tail calmly swayed from side-to-side.

mingi flinched from the question. “i-i-possibly couldn’t—” he already felt bad for imposing on her by staying at her home for the time being. living here would be a dream, he wouldn’t lie, but he knew he legally couldn’t—otherwise it’d paint jiyu as a kidnapper since his previous owners still had custody of him.

yunho chuckled. mingi was his best friend, of course he’s know why he was so hesitant. “how do you think i’m here—no, she didn't steal me, calm down,” he reassured after seeing mingi’s face morph into one of horror, “she did it legally. she had my old owners hand the paperwork over to her.”

mingi furrowed an eyebrow. he’s heard many stories about yunho’s owners and how selfish and stubborn they were. “but...how did she—?”

yunho shrugged as memories of that day resurfaced. “i’m not sure, but i think there’s more to her than most of us know,” yunho said as he discreetly glanced over to the girl at the kitchen counter. “but not in a bad way. i can tell she genuinely cares for us; otherwise, hongjoong would’ve bled out in the forest, seonghwa would’ve been god knows where, and you and i would still be wandering out there and freezing our tails off.”

mingi nodded along to his friend’s words. she really went through the trouble of getting yunho’s paperwork? his owners were absolutely horrendous, how did she even manage to pull that off?

jiyu suddenly let out a groan as she face-planted onto her laptop keyboard. yunho and mingi yelped at the impact before rushing over. “are you okay?!” yunho asked as he bent down to her level.

she slightly chuckled. “i’ve face-planted many times for it to not hurt at this point,” she joked. she caught mingi peeking at her laptop; mingi squeaked out an apology before looking away. jiyu slowly reached up and pet his head. “it’s okay, mingi, i don’t mind.”

yunho glanced at her laptop to see lists of names and some of their information. he cocked his head to the side. “what are you doing?”

jiyu hesitated before looking at mingi. “i’m trying to track your old owners down—”

“are you going to give me back?!” mingi panicked.

jiyu shook her head. “no, bub, calm down. judging from your behavior the past few days, i doubt you’d want to go back. there’s probably a reason you ran away, and i wouldn’t be so cruel as to return you to the place you escaped from.”

mingi sheepishly nodded, feeling a flood of relief at her words. “are you going to...” he trailed off, suddenly hesitating. what is he was getting his hopes up that she would get his adoption papers? was his wish too big?

“yes, bub, i’m going to try to get your adoption papers from them,” jiyu answered his unasked question. “i’ve said this way too many times for me to count but no hybrid should have to live in fear of their owners. if you’re going to adopt one, then take full responsibility for their wellbeing,” she mumbled the latter with a slight frown.

mingi felt the wall around his heart crack even more at her words. at the moment, he felt as if he was encased in a warm blanket, away from the dangers of the world. now he could see why yunho trusted her so much.

“do you recognize any of them, mingi?” she asked, turning her laptop towards the bunny hybrid. “i’ve narrowed the list down to these people. are any of these people them?”

eyes flitting around the list, his eyes froze on one name. “here,” he softly said as he pointed at the name on the screen. “that’s her...”

park youjin. 28 years old.

she frowned when she pulled up a photo of the woman. apparently, she was the ceo of a pretty popular game company. “how are all of you from pretty well-known families?” she mumbled to herself.

unfortunately, the woman’s status caused a little problem for jiyu. she had already created a buzz around herself when she stood up to yunho’s former owners, the ceo’s of star enterprise, a company that her father had acquired a few years back. if she were to cause another buzz, she had a feeling her father would do something that would potentially risk her life with seonghwa, hongjoong, yunho, and now mingi.

“oh, man, i really have to call him...?” she asked before face-planting again onto her keyboard, causing yunho and mingi to yelp with fear for her face.

“call who?” mingi asked. he had a slightly bad feeling in his stomach at her reaction to his former owner. as much as he wanted to legally escape, he didn’t want to put anyone in danger or risk of anything. he didn’t know if his little heart could take the consequences.

“an old friend, you can say,” she wryly smiled before standing up with her phone. “i’ll be on the balcony,” she said before slipping the back door.

she stared at the contact name. yuta. she hadn’t spoken to him ever since she left the main house. yuta was a black cat hybrid and her assistant. rather than calling him her assistant, she always called him a friend. he’s been with her ever since the two were teenagers, when he became old enough to watch over her on his own.

“well, pray he doesn’t chew my head off for this,” she prayed before pressing the call button. hearing the dial tone, she was worried that he wasn’t even going to pick up.

“ms. jiyu?!” came a surprised tone from the other end.

gasping from the sudden sound, she almost dropped her phone. “ohmygod, that scared me,” she calmed her racing heart. “and i told you, you don’t have to call me ‘miss jiyu’, that makes me sound old and you're the older one,” she teased. hearing a sigh, she chuckled.

“sorry, it’s a force of habit,” he said. jiyu could imagine his tail swinging around in excitement. “so why the sudden call after three years? three years!”

jiyu held the phone a little ways from her ear at his scream. unbeknownst to her, the four hybrids in the house were watching her from inside. “i wonder who she’s calling for her to look like she went deaf,” hongjoong curiously mumbled; the others nodded in agreement.

“sorry, sorry,” she sheepishly scratched her head even though he couldn’t see. “i know this is really out of the blue, but i need a favor...” she could see his enlarged eyes at her request, making her internally laugh.

“with? i don’t really have a choice anyways,” he wryly responded.

“um...i need you to retrieve park youjin’s hybrid adoption forms for me.”

a moment of silence passed.

“...why?” he asked. “that’s a pretty random—”

“her hybrid ran away and i found him. but she hasn’t been...the best parent, so i’m helping him out. but i can’t exactly cause another disturbance like last time with star enterprise otherwise father’s going to have my head.”

yuta took a while to process her words. “i know it’s not breaking the law to request adoption forms, but that means you have two hybrids?!”

“...three actually...maybe four if you get me park youjin’s...” she nervously chuckled.

“i—what—four?! you’re returning in a year, are you bringing back four new hybrids?!” he incredulously asked, his mouth gaping open.

“i haven’t exactly figured that part out yet, but just trust me and get them...please?” she asked.

what felt like an eternity passed before he sighed again. “alright, alright. and without your father knowing, i’m assuming?”

“you know the drill.”

yuta slyly smiled at the familiar words. “your wish is my command, miss.” he burst out into laughter at her whining. “sorry, couldn’t resist. but I can give them to you in two days max. just send me the information.”

“alright, thanks. and be careful.” after saying their goodbyes, she went back inside to see the four staring at her.

“so are you getting them?” seonghwa asked, all of them looking at her with hope and expectancy in her eyes. especially mingi.

she broke into a smile. “don’t worry, i have a friend that has a way of getting anything and everything. just trust me on this, okay?”

although her words were mysterious and didn’t offer any clues, they all trusted her with their life. she hasn’t done anything wrong or harmful, so why would she start now? suddenly, a loud grumbling sound come from the red-hair’s stomach.

his cheeks turned red and he grew flustered. “s-sorry...” they laughed, amused by the bunny’s clumsiness and antics.

“alright, let’s go get dinner. what do you all want?”

as if they discussed it beforehand, a unanimous scream of chicken came from all four of them. jiyu was surprised, yet happy that they all seemed to get along despite only knowing each other for a short amount of time. “i guess that settles it,” she playfully rolled her eyes before grabbing her keys. “come on, maybe we can rope yeonjun, binnie, and beomgyu into coming with us.”

seeing mingi’s head cock to the side at the mention of new people, yunho pat his back. “they’re nice people and hybrids,” he reassured as they put their shoe and coats on, “soobin and beomgyu are great, but just a warning, beomgyu’s quite hyper. and yeonjun’s like a male version of jiyu”

hearing his description, jiyu’s nose scrunched. “that’s such an insult,” she joked.

seonghwa and hongjoong tried to suppress their laughter, causing jiyu to playfully put her hands on her hips. “not a word or no chicken.”

“you wouldn’t dare!” they all chorused.

“good god, it’s like i have quadruplets.”

#9th member of ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez angst #song mingi #song mingi imagines #mingi imagines #mingi scenarios #ateez mingi #hybrid au #kpop hybrid au #ateez hybrid #hybrid!ateez #ateez au

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stories-to-tell-by-lantern-light · 3 years

Text

Who Am I Really?

(Eyeless Jack X Reader)

Iron was all he could taste, as he hugged his arms close to his chest. The white snow that speckled the forest floor contrasted greatly with his newly acquired ash-grey skin. He could feel blood crusting under his fingernails, he could feel the sting of the cold snow underneath his bare feet as he walked. Whatever they did to him, he was no longer human that much was clear, his feet turned more animal-like and had ripped through his old shoes. If he was being honest with himself he knew that from the moment he awoke and could still see that he was no longer human.

Jack Nichols shivered as he caressed the hollow sockets where his eyes should’ve been. They were dripping with the black tar that was mercilessly poured in there by Jenny and her cult.

‘That absolute fucking bitch.’ He thought, and an animal-like snarl tore through his throat. He could feel the stretching and popping of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Killing her and her stupid friends was therapeutic to him, remembering the taste of their blood as it filled his mouth when he tore out their throats made him feel euphoric. Pausing his steps only for a brief moment he let those memories of eating their flesh and organs consume him, it only served to make his mouth water.

What was wrong with him? Why did that memory, which happened only hours ago, make him so god damn hungry? What exactly had they done to him, as much as he tried not to dwell on that thought the hunger that ate away at him even after the slaughter was almost too much to handle. All Jack wanted when he woke up this morning was to go on a date with a cute girl, get a little drunk, and maybe get lucky (though realistically that was just wishful thinking). The true college experience one might say, even for a med student. Especially with a schedule as busy as his...that was as busy as his. He knew he should’ve just stuck to focusing on school and studying his brain out, god why did he have to listen to his friends as they urged him on the date.

‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

This. This was clearly the worst possible outcome.

What he really couldn’t believe, however, was that he allowed one of the cultists to get a hit on him, and a bad one at that. Turning his head to glance down at the tear in his thigh, it was a deep gash that desperately needed to get medical attention and fast. The only problem the former medical student faced was that whatever was pouring out of his leg wasn’t blood. It was a deep black ooze that stained the white snow that littered the forest floor. In fact, Jack wasn’t even sure if normal medical supplies would even heal his wound. Jack grit his teeth trudging onwards into the forest, a faint buzzing reverberated around in his skull like flies buzzing around a corpse that he couldn’t seem to shake.

He placed his hand against a tree the world spinning around him. Whatever the blood-like substance that was pouring out of his leg was, he was losing it fast. Jack heard the crunching of snow in front of him and a small gasp. It took most of his strength but he picked his head up and snarled. Jack bared his teeth and tried to make himself look as dangerous as possible, he felt like a wild animal that was cornered by the hunter. There was a girl in front of him, she had (h/l) (h/c) hair that was stuffed under a furry winter hat. She took a few steps back, her brown snow boots making giant footprints in her wake. He could hear the blood flowing through this girl’s veins, as her anxiety levels seemed to spike. The anxiety caused her heartbeat to quicken drastically, hearing the sound only served to increase Jack’s seemingly ceaseless hunger. Jack tried to take another step towards her, flexing the sharp nails on his hands but collapsed under his own weight, his fucking leg. He really couldn’t catch a break, could he?

“What are you?” The girl’s voice held a slight quiver to it and Jack could feel her sharp eyes burning holes into his body. He watched as she hesitantly took a step closer, her (f/c) parka standing out against the muted colors of the forest.

“I don’t know.” He responded with a raspy breath, she smelled divine but he had no strength to attack. Something in his bones told him that he was beyond human, something so much more, a god perhaps? What a silly thought that he couldn’t shake away. Through his quickly blurring vision, he swore he could make out a pair of fancy dress shoes a little bit behind the girl. He saw the girl drop to her knees and cover her ears, his vision went black and the sound of static accompanied the darkness.

---

Jack was expecting to be dead. He expected to be accompanied by beautiful white light, maybe an angel or something. However, it caught him very off guard when he suddenly awoke in a rather plush bed. He threw the plaid covers off himself unceremoniously and moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The baby god never got far because he let out a howl of pain as a sharp sensation traveled up his thigh. Shit right, his entire upper thigh was practically ripped open. He forgot all about that, glancing down at his wound he noticed it was wrapped tightly in medical bandages and he assumed it was stitched up underneath the dressings. Whoever fixed the wound seemed to have done at least a semi-decent job, at least he wasn’t dead. Sniffing the air with his newly acquired sense of smell he could make out the distinct smell of humans and...was that lavender?

Jack felt his stomach growl and he doubled over clutching it. They smelled delicious. He could practically hear their organs singing out to him, rip open the human, steal us, devour us.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the door opening, in the middle of the doorway stood the exact girl he’d seen in the forest. Immediately going on the defense he bared his teeth opening his jaw as wide as he could, he heard the popping sound of his jaw as it extended, he felt something swirl around in his mouth. He felt a chill run down his spine at the unwelcomed sensation.

Did he have more than one tongue?

Shaking the thought away Jack didn’t move to attack, he was never the type. He would always rather listen to rationality before getting his hands dirty, the only issue was he was starving and the girl would absolutely make a fine meal.

“Don’t try demon.” The girl scoffed eyeing Jack up and down, if he was still his old college self he would’ve gotten flustered at the gesture. A girl showing him attention? Unheard of back them. However, after Jenny, he was almost positive he’d never let that happen again. His sockets looked down at what the girl held in her hands, it was a plate, a plate that had kidneys on top of it. He was only mildly aware of the fact that he was drooling all over himself. “Oh gross.” She scrunched up her nose placing the organs on the bottom of the bed.

Without hesitation, Jack attacked the cold meat shoving it in his mouth with vigor. He knew blood was all over his face and hands but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jack knew the girl’s calculated eyes were watching his every move, even so, he couldn’t help but let out a groan of pleasure as the food slid down his throat. Once the meal was finished and Jack was satisfied he finally felt he had enough strength to start asking questions.

“Who are you?” He rasped, whipping his mouth with the back of what was left of his sleeve.

“Really? You’re asking ME that question.”

“I’m not a fan of your attitude.”

“I’m not a fan of you bleeding out on my property.”

Jack growled low and guttural.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” The girl had the audacity to laugh in his face was she not aware of what he was capable of now?

“Nice try but I’m not scared of you. You’re not allowed to hurt me as long as you’re under my care.” She pointed to herself with her thumb, puffing out her chest a little however he could hear her pulse increase just the slightest bit.

Jack only scowled.

“What pray tell is exactly stopping me?” He raised an eyebrow watching carefully as the girl lifted up her sleeve to her sweater. Scared into her wrist was a symbol that Jack had never seen before in his life, but for some unknown reason, he felt dread wash over him. Carved into her wrist was an O with an X slashed through it. “What’s that supposed to prove exactly? That you’re into weird tattoos?”

The (h/c)-ette let out a loud sigh like this conversation was boring her. Oh he’s sorry it’s not his fault he was turned into a fucking organ-eating monster by a cult at his local college! If he still had his eyes they would be rolling so far back into his skull, yet he still waited for the girl to explain.

“My name is (y/n), I’m a medical proxy under The Operator. Currently one of the only ones he has left because we keep getting killed off by rogue killers.” The girl, (y/n), clicked her tongue in clear distaste at the mention of said killers. “Since I’m under The Operator it means if you kill me, he’ll kill you, that’s the deal Jacky boy.” That put him on high alert.

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“You’re certainly full of questions for someone just waking up out of a coma. If you must know The Operator gave me a brief rundown of your file after we found you in the woods.” (Y/n) crossed her arms over her chest “It’s your lucky day because you just got hired to work for him.” She gave him a round of applause, but it sounded more mocking than serious and he only grew more confused.

“This doesn't make any sense to me. I hope you’re aware.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. It’ll all be explained in due time. For now, all you have to focus on is getting better so you can begin your training. Lucky for you, I’m your registered nurse and caregiver, so enjoy your stay at castle de la (Y/n). Trust me when I say you should value your time here while you still have it.” A thousand more questions ran through Jack’s mind and his little question and answer session with his self-proclaimed nurse didn’t really help.

“So you’re a med student then?” She made a noise of affirmation picking at the strings of her sweater.

“Was a med student Jack, that pretty much came to a screeching halt after I was scouted by the boss man. That, however,” He watched as (Y/n) put a hand to her lips signaling him to stop asking questions, “Is a story for another day. The first order of business now that you’ve eaten is a shower. Cause no offense but you smell like dried blood, and coming from me that’s saying something cause I smell blood all the time.”

Jack still didn’t trust this stranger fully and it got under his skin that she seemed to know everything about him and he knew next to nothing about her. Yet, a shower did seem nice at this moment, he glanced down at his hands and noticed his nails were caked with dry blood. He could only imagine what every other part of his body looked like, (y/n) clearly didn’t bother cleaning him up aside from dressing his wounds.

“A shower sounds good.” Jack nodded in confirmation and the girl gave a relieved smile.

“Oh thank God you agreed, it took me a week of convincing to get Jeff to go take his first shower.” Jack decided it was best not to ask who Jeff was deciding that that was a can of worms he shouldn’t open just yet. She reached out to touch him and he immediately recoiled back almost biting her handoff, the smile that appeared disappeared into a frown.

“Don’t touch me.” Memories of Jenny’s friends holding him down while he pleaded for his life flashed across his mind. The blade coming closer and closer to Jack’s crystal blue eyes before making contact and-

“Alright, cannibal boy snap out of it. Can’t have you succumbing to blood lust just yet. You don’t wanna injure yourself more.” (Y/n) snapped her fingers next to his ears and he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that she snapped him out of his stupor. “I was going to help you to the bathroom because you really shouldn’t put pressure on your leg. Is that okay?”

Jack felt himself nodding reluctantly. She was right, he really shouldn’t put stress on his leg or it could cause more harm than good. Especially since he didn’t know the extent of the injury yet, for all he knew he was lucky they didn’t hit the femoral artery. Her arms went around his waist as the god and the human girl hobbled to the bathroom together. On the short walk there Jack was trying to get a feel of the house, in case he needed to make a grand escape in the future.

“I’ll put some fresh clothes outside the door for you, call for me when you’re done so I can help you back to the bedroom.” (Y/n) explained as Jack hobbled into the bathroom, he didn’t feel the need to respond to her as he shut the door in her face. He heard a faint click of a tongue from the other side of the door and listened to the girls retreating footsteps.

Jack leaned against the sink putting most of his weight on his hands. The sink creaked at the newfound pressure and Jack wasn’t sure it was because it was an old house or because he had newfound strength. He glanced up at the mirror, it was weird somewhat seeing when you had absolutely no eyes. It was the first time since the incident he got a good look at himself, he looked about as good as he felt.

Terrible.

His auburn hair curled around his now pointed ears and was caked in mud and dirt. He was almost grateful that (y/n) didn’t touch him aside from the wound while he was unconscious, Jack couldn’t imagine what he might’ve done if he felt anyone go near his face. Speaking of his face, he opened his mouth and saw his teeth were shaved into razor-sharp fangs. His stomach turned as he remembered the exact reason why they were like that, organs. They were like that so he could eat organs. The thought wasn’t nearly as nauseating as it should’ve been.

His skin was unnatural and sickly grey color, as he lifted up his shirt the color seemed to spread all the way down his body. He glanced down at his hands and saw his nails were long and black, almost like those girls who wore acrylics, except he was sure their nails couldn’t rip into people's chests with a single swipe. Continuing down his body he lifted up one of his padded feet, he was correct in his assumption from earlier. They were much more animal-like, he wondered if they made him faster, what purpose could they possibly serve other than that?

Gently letting his footfall back down on the floor he shuffled to the shower and turned it on, the water sprayed out in a burst and he patiently waited for it to heat up. Eventually, he was able to step inside, not before knocking his head not only against the curtain rod but also on the showerhead.

“Fuck!” He snarled glaring down at the showerhead. Jack did a little double-take, okay he was also super tall, at least he got one blessing out of whatever the fuck was happening. Jack had to kneel on the ground in order to let the water roll down his body, with a deep breath he enjoyed the warm water pelting his skin. He fumbled around with the shampoo trying to figure out how to open it without popping a hole in the container. As the lid popped open he was hit with the calming scent of lavender.

~~~

“We’ll send someone to come back and check on him in about a month give or take, see how he’s adjusting and healing.” A figure spoke from the kitchen shaking a cigarette into an ashtray, as (y/n) stood across from him. The man ran a hand through his messy brown hair “Then we’ll reassess him, give him a test and see if he’s fit to come to the mansion.” Meanwhile, the girl heaved a sigh of her own and leaned against the cool tiles of her kitchen wall.

“So it’s gonna be my responsibility to explain everything that’s happening to him? Isn’t that supposed to be your job Tim?” (y/n) raised an eyebrow “You realize he’s, like, almost seven feet tall, has no eyes and eats organs right? I’m not even sure WHAT he is.” She muttered, “The rundown I got really only gave me his background and his clear trauma.”

Tim clicked his tongue like the girl in front of him was wasting his time, it made her ball up her fists subconsciously.

God, the main proxies really got on her fucking nerves sometimes.

“You won’t have to worry about that, The Operator will handle all of that throughout the coming weeks. No need to worry. You also don’t need to worry about harvesting organs for him, and hopefully, once he’s healed he’ll work on doing that himself. But for now, someone on a kill close by will be dropping off organs.” Tim’s nose scrunched up a little and the (h/c)-nette’s did the same, she normally prided herself on her strong stomach, but this was a lot even for her. “The only thing you have to do is monitor his eating, see how much he will need on a weekly basis, and obviously keep him alive.”

“Obviously.” They both seemed to have a mutual understanding about that at least, she fucks up and he dies they’re both in deep shit with The Operator. Tim reached to the side where his porcelain mask sat against the countertop.

“Don’t fuck it up.” He pointed to her before slipping out the door leaving the women alone with an organ-eating monster. (Y/n) mimicked ‘don’t fuck it up' in a nasal voice before kicking off the wall and heading back in the direction of her guest's room, she pulled out a pair of crutches from the closet and rested them by the bedside. She gently scratched at the faintly buzzing symbol on her wrist, this is going to be a long month.

#creepypasta x you #creepypasta x reader #x reader #x you #x y/n #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #proxies #proxy reader #horror #fanfic #ej x reader #ej x you

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who-ever-said-i-was-nice · 3 years

Note

OH MY GOD THOSE LEO SHORTS WERE PERFECTION!!!!!! 😍😍😍 a bouquet of potatoes loooooool I was HOWLING 😂😂😂 your Leonardo is so on point I literally cannot - this is exactly how I picture him! Thank you so much you beautiful human 😊❤ I'm so so sorry but I love your writing so much can I make another request? the suitors comforting an mc whose social anxiety flares up while they're out in town/having a panic attack? If you don't feel like it or aren't comfortable with it that's 100% alright 💖

I’m sooooooooo sorry for making you wait this long. i feel like I’m going o be apologizing for all eternity. I am really happy you like my work. ahahhhaha I try. XD Anyhoooo of course I will make this. I can honestly write about anything, if I’m writing ,even if the thought would bother me in real life, it seems so much more acceptable. idk is it just me. Maybe it’s because I get to control the events. Yeah so I will stop wasting your time and I will get into it. Also I would like to say that I have never had a panic attack. I’m writing this from the information I got from my friends who had experienced this. So if this is not accurate pls don’t come for me.

Warnings: Panic attacks pretty self-explanatory since it’s in the asks but I’ll put it here just in case

Comte

So you were walking with are friendly neighborhood gentleman

it was pretty ok since most of the road was pretty empty

but when you turned the corner you suddenly found yourself in the most crowded road there could possibly be

you kept brushing shoulders with random people and you felt like everything was closing onto you

you breathing sped up and yet no matter how much air you breathed in it felt like your lungs where hollow

you staggered and leaned into Comte

he noticed you where in distress and immediately pulled you aside

he sat on a bench and pulled you into his lap

he gently stroked your hair and whispered soothing words in your ear until you calmed down

The next ones are in the following location: a very, very crowded street, during a festival

Leonardo

You were just about half way into your outing when Leo noticed you where acting a bit strange

He quickly caught on when you started breathing rapidly tho

Internally he’s like oh shit oh shit but he’s actually super chill about it

Like Comte he will pull you aside and sit you down on a bench

He however, places his two hands right next to you, blocking the view and caging you in between his arms

He smiles down at you softly and caresses your hair until your breathing becomes regular again

Arthur

Ahahahahahahhahahhaha he’s dead

When he sees you he immediately knows

I mean he’s a doctor, come on

He pulls you aside as quickly as humanly or vampirely possible

He will twirl you into an empty alley and pull you into a tight hug, while peppering your face with kisses

He will whisper sweet nothings into your ear and will tell you that everything will be alright

He holds you like this for a long time and even after you’re ok he doesn’t want to let you go

Theo

Poor boy almost had a heart attack

He will immediately notice

He’s not sure exactly what’s going on but that does not stop him from pulling you away to a quiet part of the street and hugging you saying something like “It’s alright Y/N. I got you.”

He used you name OH MAH GAWD

No I’m kidding sort of

He will hold you close with your ear pressed up against his chest, allowing you to hear his heartbeat

After you calm down he’ll kiss the top of your head chuckling “ My silly little Hondjie”

Vincent

Heart attack nr.2

He will immediately pull you aside and will ask you what’s wrong

And that would be cute and all

If you could actually answer

Poor boy has no idea what the heck is going on

In the end he will hug you and start to cry and beg you to stay with him

When you recover and realize that the love of your life, this sweet baby angel little boy is crying, you instantly feel guilty

You explain to him that it’s ok and this happens sometimes when there is a big crowd

This little bean thought you were dying

He will get it once you explain it to him tho

Dazai

He knew what’s going on

He scooped you up and took you to a quiet corner and squatted down in front of you patting your head gently and smiling reassuringly

He places your hand on his heart and whispers

“ Can you feel that Y/n? That heart beats for you. Let it sooth you in your time of need.”

Smooth motherfucker

You calm down and you look at his still smiling face

Even though he smiles you can still see the worry in his eyes

He pulls you close

“Are you feeling better Toshiko-san?”

Mozart

This boi…... nope nope nope

He can’t handle this

As soon as he sees you hyperventilating he panics as well

On the inside

On the outside he seems super calm about it

He leads you away from the crowd and sits you down on a bench

He rests your head on his shoulder and starts humming a soft melody

His angelic voice calms you down and you look up at him and give him a grateful smile

He returns it and takes your hand in his and you just sit there in a comfortable silence

Isaac

Unlike Mozart this baby would be losing it

He has no idea what’s happening

He quickly pulls you aside

He’s awkwardly patting your back and praying you’ll be ok

When you calm down he will pull you into a tight hug and tell you never to scare him like this again

Since then the two of you have never been seen on an overcrowded street

Not that Isaac minds

Jean

When he notices he scoops you up and hurries to a secluded area

He lets you lean against a wall but your knees buckle and you slide to the ground

He kneels before you and cups your cheek staring at you intently

You slowly start to calm down and Jean is hesitant at first, but then a pulls you into a hug letting your head rest right above his heart

When you calm down completely and try to get up since you have to keep going Jean refuses to let you go

You scared the ever loving daylights out of him

So you two end up sitting there and honestly it turned out to be much better this way

Napoleon

He immediately notices that something is off

He looks down at you, huddling into his side, and realizes what’s going on

He picks you up bridal style and runs for the nearest deserted area

Once he’s there he drops down to the ground and hugs you close, rocking you slightly

Slowly you start to calm down

You look up at the former emperor and you are surprised to see tears glistening in his eyes

He never wants to see you hurt and seeing you like this made him feel terrible and like the worst lover ever

He pulls you even closer

“ I swore to protect you nunuche, I’m sorry.”

You’re quite shocked

You cradle is cheek and the give him a sweet kiss reassuring him that it is not his fault

Sebastian

Being from the 21st century he is sort of familiar with the symptoms of a panic attack

So when he notices the change in your behaviour, he knows

He gently guides you to the side of the road and sits you down on a bench

He sits next to you and holds your hands drawing soothing circles on them

when you calm down you look at him gratefully

and he

FLICKS YOUR FOREHEAD

But then he kisses you so I guess it wasn’t that bad after all

William

He is ready to stab whoever upset you

Then he realizes he would probably need to annihilate an entire street worth of people and ain’t nobody got time for that

He takes your hand and leads you to an empty bench far away from the crowded street

He strokes your hair and whispers sweet words in your ear

You calm down and he gives you a charming smile

You practically throw yourself at him and hug him tight while thanking him

That little gesture made him the happiest made on earth

#Ikemen Vampire #cybird ikemen #ikemen vampire mozart #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen vampire isaac #ikemen vampire shakespeare #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire comte #ikemen vampire dazai #ikemen vampire sebastian #ikemen vampire jean #ikemen vampire arthur

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ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 3 years

Text

Your Weekly Drabble! - Alpha Tauri

it’s me. i’m ambitious

Continuing directly from where we left off last week, i.e. Zhao hits the wrong fish and fucks up the whole planet.

This leaves Yue in the position of a less than gentle, loving lady who rules the skies with lunar goodness.....

- - -

He kneels in a savaged Agna Qel’a - when he prays, gods are not the ones who answer.

The flow of the oasis was stoppered years ago; if he observed the drawn rise and fall of his lashes, centuries of life on a green, prosperous earth seemed to slip out from underneath. After that scarlet night, he was omniscient long enough to witness the catastrophe of his own failure - yet every drop of Zhao was pitifully mortal, and to watch the heavens unfurl was the only power he had left.

Except this. To pray.

He hears groaning, a scraping that sounds deceptively ice-like... an all-too familiar hope that had been stamped out of the hardiest. Even the Avatar’s light dwindled. There was no water. Only fire - fire was life, it was energy, it sustained them... but without its pair, it burned them away as it kept them alive.

Alive.

Wearily, his fingers - the tips flaked with ash, nerves unraveling - loosen their clasp, sinking into his lap. Zhao turns.

Alive.

His mouth is forming words that he won’t comprehend. The world is a dulled edge, but she stands in sharp relief. People were often like the dead skin they left behind - piece for piece scattered where they fled, souls eroded into oblivion by an incongruous flame.

“You’re still alive?”

Zhao himself is a waning man, branded sevenfold for his treachery, among them anklets welded to his feet. It was for the ancient beasts and spirits that tore out of the drained sea floor to hunt him, to trail his sound. Her scleras are dark, with flaring twin points. Even from a distance, a raw sensation burrows into his gut that the moon hungered. Her partner is - was - the ocean... Zhao had as good as severed her from her mortality, humanity, or both.

The spirit’s - or a girl still, unable to die - clothes hang in rags, whisper on the dry ground. There was a ravenous note to her rasp, and it pushed Zhao to his feet, made him want to uproot the sword he’d dug into the grass. Or at the very least, run.

“Slayer...” His prayers feel less answered than they are judged. The girl herself seems elongated, tall and thin, skin greyed, features pitting like dunes.

“I watched my people fight to stay above the water... I watched them sink beneath the tide.”

Her clothes whisper because they hover. Their shadows are sweeping strokes, crooked lines on hot rock and dust. Zhao’s hands are too weak to even grasp the weapon’s hilt - or it’s her, her pulling the earth down like the weight of sorrow - and he abandons the effort when the spirit lunges.

Ducking around the first formation he sees that can bury his figure, he waits before scrambling to the next. The landscape resembles broken teeth. Chimes jangle from Zhao’s feet - his limp is profound - the spirits are hungry, they’re dying out, and she didn’t seem the latter as much as the former. Why?

The ocean was barren. Nothing could reunite her with her cohort... no one...

“I watched them...”

His feet disturbs the sand, the bells clinking softly.

“... vanish. My city turned from ice into glass. It shattered, descended to the depths.”

A fist launches right through the stone, taking apart a hole where her line of sight lowers. The pupils snap to him. Zhao jolts.

“I roamed the surface, waiting.” Her hair is live and writhing, every limb rooted to her outstretched, beckoning come, come. He isn’t inclined to obey.

The chase is short-lived. Firebenders might linger, but only as long as a dim fate willed it. Around and around they fled, the most punished nation of the four; Zhao tripped, the ends of his skin that had crawled over fused metal ripping like a scab, blood littering the footpath behind him. He’s too late to jam his teeth into his tongue, too late to palm his chin and surrender to the quiet - trembling within a hot nausea that beats in his temples, counting on the lucky stars that hadn’t yet winked out of existence.

“Waiting... waiting...”

And still, she is the moon, full and whole and alone, and instead of a sky miles above and away from him, she lands at his broken feet.

... Maybe he prayed for it to end. Maybe fate took its meaning into bitter hands. Hers are braced in the light, tipped in claws. Face streaked in misery or hesitance, like an open chink, or an impervious faith that surpassed even the lone airbender’s. And who was left in the world that could believe in him?

“... for you.”

Yue struck out.

#IM A DAY LATE BUT I DONT SEE YOU CUTTING DNA PLASMIDS OKAY??#zhaozai palooza 2021 #ray’s friday ficlets #sailor moon ☯️#zhayu #dark!zhayu hehe fish got fried to a crisp #fish got laced with cyanide #fish got SNATCHED

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sterekruinedme · 3 years

Text

Never been so defenceless

read on AO3

After it is all over and Jack has become God, Dean keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it doesn't. True to his word Jack is very hands-off. Well, after he has restored everyone and everything, including Eileen to Sam's relief and joy, and Dean's dog. And then he left, leaving Sam and Dean to figure out what to do with their own freedom now.

Sam wants to keep hunting, Dean knows this. They haven't talked about it yet, but they don't have to. Sam has always been the hunter of the family. He has a restless energy about him, had it even back at Stanford. Being with Eileen has been good for him, but it hasn't calmed down his instincts and they will be hitting the road together soon, Dean can feel it. But Dean is tired. There are papers on his desk, an application form for a local car repair. Sam and Eileen will leave soon, but Dean is going to stay. He has a dog to take care of after all.

The goodbye is strangely calm, probably the calmest they have ever had. There is no anger or fear, only the promise to keep in touch and to see each other soon. Dean offered Sam his baby, but Sam refused to take the Impala. They are taking Eileen's car instead. Dean isn't worried, he knows the two of them will be able to manage just fine without him. He can see the way they look at each other and he knows his brother will be safe.

Dean is staying at the bunker, the only home he has ever really known, too young to really remember their house in Kansas. Miracle loves the bunker and the wide-open fields surrounding it and settles in perfectly. Dean however doesn't settle. Not really. He hasn't told Sam the truth about what really happened with him and Cas, not the whole truth anyway. Not yet. It's not that he thinks Sam would react badly, hell, Sam probably knew all along. He just cannot bring himself to talk about it, to even think about it. Cas's voice still echoes in his ears when it is too quiet.

"I love you."

He cannot sleep at night, so he drinks. He cries. And he prays.

"Cas, please, if you are out there, if you can hear me-" He chokes back tears, and Miracle whines and crowds closer into his arms. "I need you." He buries his face in soft fur and cries until his throat feels raw.

The empty had only taken Cas after he had confessed. His "Me too, Cas" had summoned it. After the last time Cas had died, Dean had vowed to himself to not have any regrets when it came to him and Cas, had promised himself he would confess the next time. Who could have known that he would end up regretting confessing his love? He didn't know what would have been worse; the empty taking Cas and Cas believing Dean didn't love him back or Dean's love confession summoning the empty? But perhaps selfishly he wished he hadn't confessed. Maybe Cas would still be here.

He would do anything for Cas to still be here, but the angel had gone to the one place he wouldn't be able to follow.

"The very touch of you corrupts!"

Dean tightens his arms around Miracle. "I'm sorry, Cas. I am so sorry."

In his weaker moments Dean considers asking Jack. After all, he is God now. He should be able to pull Cas out of the empty. But he never does. Jack deserves his freedom, he earned it just like the rest of them. Still, he wishes. And he waits.

Dean settles into a routine. He starts working at the local car repair. Sam and Eileen come home for a bit and the bunker feels a little bit warmer for a while.

He wishes he had something of Cas to hold onto, but there is no trenchcoat to hold, no grave to visit. He found the mixtape in Cas' room. It's on his nightstand now, but he cannot bring himself to play it. He hasn't listened to Led Zeppelin in weeks.

Jack visits one night. Sam and Eileen and Dean are sitting in the kitchen, drinking beer. Sam has just finished telling Dean about their last hunt. His arm is settled around Eileen's shoulders and he looks happy, relaxed. Dean envies them although he tries not to. They both deserve their happiness.

Jack pops into the room without warning and Dean doesn't even flinch. It's a testament to how safe he feels in the bunker, how at home.

Sam is the first one to jump up and hug Jack. It should be weird to hug God, but as Dean hugs his son -and Jack is his in everything but blood, fuck what anyone else says- it just feels right. "Missed you, kid", he mumbles as he lets go.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I had to rebuild heaven and fix everything."

Dean shakes his head and sits back down. "It's okay, Jack. We figured you'd be busy", Sam reassures him and Dean just grunts in agreement, his mind stuck on Jack's words: "Fix everything." Everything? Surely he couldn't mean-

There is a knocking on the front door and Dean's heart starts hammering in his chest. Lucifer is dead. Does this mean-

No, it can't be, can it?

He looks at Jack with wide eyes and Jack just smiles at him. "This place is still warded against angels. I offered to let him in, but-" Dean doesn't listen to the rest of Jack's words, he is already out of his seat and sprinting towards the stairs and the door.

His heart is pounding painfully and he is breathing too hard when he finally reaches it and janks the door open.

Castiel looks beautiful. Dean would be embarrassed by his thoughts, but there is really no other way to describe him. Dean can feel the angelic power radiating from him and his knees go a little weak. This really is Cas, healthy and whole and powerful again.

"Hello Dean." Cas hesitates and Dean can't really blame him, he's just been staring at the guy.

"Cas", he chokes out and steps forward, into his personal space, unsure what Cas wants. If he still wants him now that he has been restored to his former power. But there was no reason to worry, Cas flings himself forward -there's no other word for it- and Dean has his angel in his arms, clutching him tightly.

"Dean!", Cas' voice breaks, and suddenly they are both crying and Dean is trying very hard not to think about what John would say about all of this as he borrows his head in the crook of Cas' neck and struggles to breathe. Cas smells like a cool summer night before a thunderstorm and Dean shivers and presses closer.

"I'm so sorry, Cas."

Cas shushes him and his arms tighten almost painfully around Dean before he lets go and takes a step back. Dean cannot even look at him, too afraid of what he might find on his face.

"Dean." His name sounds like a prayer on Cas's lips and he squeezes his eyes shut. "Look at me." The angel cups his face and Dean is powerless to deny him anything. "What happened wasn't your fault. I made the deal, I knew the consequences. And I would do it all over again if I had to." The sound that comes out of Dean's mouth can only be subscribed as a whimper and he is suddenly very glad that Sam isn't here to witness this. "Your love doesn't corrupt, Dean. Your love saved me. You taught me how to love, how to care more and be more than I could have ever imagined. I love you."

Cas's words break Dean's heart all over again. "I love you too."

Cas smiles at him, his blue eyes warmer than they've ever been. "I know."

Dean laughs wetly and steps back into Cas' space. He doesn't know what the protocol is here. He knows that Cas has kissed people before, has had sex before -he has to breathe through the jealousy that always flares up when he thinks of Meg and that goddamn reaper- but he doesn't want to overwhelm the angel. Cas's hand is still on his cheek and he is watching Dean with a small smile. "Cas, can I-?" He hesitates, but Cas only nods and pulls him in. The angel has always been braver than him anyway.

Their first kiss is painfully gentle. Dean wants so much, but he also wants to do this right. They separate when they both start smiling too much to keep kissing. "Come on, Sam and Eileen will be thrilled to see you", Dean says after one last peck and together they enter the bunker and walk into the kitchen.

Dean knows it is very obvious that they have both been crying, but Sam doesn't even mention it. Instead, he pulls Cas close and Dean can see that his brother is losing his fight against his tears too. Dean introduces Cas to Miracle and it is love at first sight. Miracle jumps onto Cas's lap as soon as he sits down in the kitchen, despite being much too big, but Cas doesn't seem to mind. He winds an arm around the dog and smiles at Dean.

Jack stays and they catch each other up on everything. Sam and Eileen talk about their hunts with Sam occasionally translating and signing for Eileen. Jack and Cas talk about rebuilding heaven.

It's the first night Dean doesn't drink more than a few beers. Steady laughter rings through the bunker and Dean's heart has never felt so full. He breathes in deep and smiles. He is safe and he's home with his family. He takes Cas's hand on the table, in front of everyone and wills himself not to freak out. Nobody even bats an eyelash. He exhales slowly. He is safe. Cas squeezes his hand.

They are home.

Jack is the first one to leave, citing angel business, or well, god business, as his reason to leave. Dean waves his apology away when Jack says that he is sorry for having to leave and just gets up to hug his son. It’s the first time he lets go of Cas’s hand since taking it.

“Drop by anytime”, he says as he pulls Jack in close. “And thank you”, he says a little quieter, squeezing him a little tighter.

Jack is smiling as he lets go, looking like the kid is still is in so many ways. Dean’s heart aches in his chest.

Sam and Eileen say goodnight next. They are staying in the bunker overnight, but they plan on heading out early the next morning to back up Jodie on a hunt.

Dean wiggles his eyebrows at Sam as they both get up. Sam blushes, but Eileen just winks at Dean and Dean smiles. He knows that Eileen is the best thing that has happened to Sam in a while, hell, maybe even forever. He has been planning on giving Sam Mary’s old ring, but he hasn’t found a moment to bring it up yet. But he will. There is no doubt in his mind that Eileen will end up as part of their little family officially soon. She already is part of it in the ways that really count anyway.

Dean isn’t ready to let go of Cas’s hand yet, so he stays with Cas in the kitchen until he feels like falling asleep right then and there. He has tomorrow off so it’s not really a problem. He can sleep in. “Maybe it’s time to go to bed?”, Cas asks with an indulgent smile on his lips after Dean interrupts him with yet another yawn.

Getting up from the kitchen table, Dean realizes that he isn’t ready to ever let Cas go again. But he doesn’t know how to tell Cas what he wants, how to tell the angel to stay. He awkwardly stands there, before he just holds out his hand for Cas to take. The angel takes it with a smile and together they make their way towards Dean’s bedroom, Miracle happily running ahead.

Dean’s bedroom door is closed when they reach it. It feels significant somehow and Dean swallows nervously. He doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to ask for too much, when Cas has already given him so much. Miracle whines and scratches at the door with a paw.

“Cas, would you-, I mean do you want to erm? Come inside? And just stay? With me I mean? Spend the night with me?”, Dean stutters his way through the question and feels silly for blushing, but Cas only keeps smiling at him.

“Of course, Dean. I will not leave unless you ask me to”, he says in that painfully sincere way Cas has and Dean feels his heart clenching again. Maybe he really should eat more rabbit food.

Dean only shakes his head. “Never again, Cas. I want you to stay with me. As long as you want to.”

Cas’s smile gets even brighter and the angel leans in for a soft kiss. “Forever then.”

There are tears in his eyes and Dean can feel his own eyes burning. “Forever it is.”

The moment is cheesy, and he is painfully aware of how cheesy it is, but he cannot stop smiling. Dean is just so happy. He pushes his bedroom door open and Miracle immediately runs to the dog bed Dean bought a few days ago and flops down with a happy huff.

“I know you don’t sleep, so you don’t have to stay here with me the entire night, I mean it must get really boring, but I would sleep better if you, you know-“ Dean feels like an awkward teenager as he tries to tell Cas to stay with him until he has fallen asleep. And it’s not helping that Cas is quietly laughing at him.

“Dean Winchester, are you asking me to watch you sleep?”, the angel teases and closes the distance between them again and suddenly they are standing really close in the middle of Dean’s bedroom. Dean swallows, very aware of his bed being right there. His eyes flicker down to Cas’s lips, he cannot help it.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been dying to watch me sleep.” He goes for cocky, but his voice comes out breathy and rough. Dean licks his lips and smirks as he hears Cas’s breath catch. “Cas”, he starts, but then hesitates. Cas’s hands have found their way to his hips, a reassuring and comforting weight and they are standing so close, Dean can almost taste him.

“What do you want, Dean?”, Cas asks gently, stroking his thumbs over his hip bones.

“Everything”, Dean breathes and then flushes. “Whatever you are willing to give me.”

Cas’s smile turns a little sad at his words and for a moment Dean worries that he fucked this up already, that he ruined them before they have really begun, but then Cas speaks: “You selfless idiot.” He huffs a little laugh. “You have no idea how much I want you, do you? How long I’ve had to hold myself back from touching you?” Cas titles his head in that puppy way Dean still remembers fondly, his brow furrowing. “I want to give you everything.”

Desire rushes white-hot through Dean. He feels like he’s been sucker-punched, but there is no lie in Cas’s eyes. Dean knew that the angel loved him, but to hear that he also wants him, has wanted him for so long-

That is an entirely different feeling.

He reels Cas in and smashes their lips together, without any technique or finesse. He just knows that he needs Cas closer and he needs it now.

Cas huffs against his lips and gentles the kiss, his hands wandering to Dean’s back, stroking soothingly up and down, calming some of the fire in Dean’s veins. Dean follows Cas’s lead and softens his grip and Cas’s arms. “We have time”, Cas says gently as they break apart to breathe.

Dean smiles, takes his hand again, and leads him to bed.

They are safe, they are home, and Cas isn’t leaving.

They have time.

#happy birthday dean #happy birthday dean wincheste #destiel fix it #destiel #destiel fanfic #supernatural #now with a second chapter #My writing #happy birthday dean winchester

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katsuflossy · 4 years

Text

For the Sake of the Mission

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x reader

TW: obscenities, slight sexual scene, angst

Word Count: 2.3k

Taglist: @sunset-novice-writer @goatsenpaiultimate

A/n: I’ve decided to change it from 18+ because it really isn’t just please use descretion as there are uncomfortable scenes. Asides from that I’ve gotten this idea from some British show my mom was watching so props to y’all who’ll now the reference. Please enjoy!! (Edited)

The whirring of the vents took advantage of the silence in the room, making up most of the sounds in the metal chamber. It made the air cold, scattering goosebumps on your skin even though around you wore a black sweater. Walls showed no sign festivity, bare of any creative artworks, just reflective of where you currently are. A face devoid of any emotions looked back at you, but even without proper clarity you knew the purpose of the reflection; it wasn’t a giant metaphor to reflect on your mistakes and crimes nor was it supposed to be calming. Its purpose was to make sure you had nothing else left to blame. The only blame was to lay you and your “confessions”.

The interrogation room was like a confessional that didn’t allow you to come back from mistakes.

The contact of soft yet pointed footsteps on the tiles of the floor now dominated the mechanical drone of the vents. Like a sly fox purposefully tapping around its prey as a taunt. Your heart never raced harder before this scenario. Getting caught in the middle of a police raid will definitely pull you into more trouble than you are already in.Your eyes switched from the wall to the ominous black window in front of you. You can’t see them but they can see you. Hell, you don’t even know who is behind that window, gauging your entire reaction at this moment. But that wasn’t what struck your heart in fear.

The footsteps could be heard behind your seated figure. Its dynamic raised louder, practically echoing through the vacuum of a room. You swallowed with much tension as the knob turned, breaking the new presence in the room.

You wondered who it was and prayed it was a low ranking police man. If it was Naomasa, Kenji or any other high ranking officers, your cover would be blown and two sides would place, on your head, a hefty bounty, dead or alive.

Black boots stepped across your vision as you peered on to your own attire, crinkled and worn from the activities you were caught in. The whirring dominated the room again as he laid on the wall, one leg used to support his weight. Your eyes finally connected to his face.

“I spoke at your funeral, you know that right?” You stared blankly into his face. Aizawa wasn’t deterred from your deadpanned face however.

“Imagine making a eulogy for someone you care so much about, believing for 3 months they have died only to have her right in front of you again—” He moved to the chair on his side of the room, “not saying a word to you. Like it has just been a bad dream.”

You kept your tongue on a leash. Your gaze went to the window and back to the hero. He sighed in discontent before placing his hand on the recorder, lifting it up to show the lack of light on the device.

“The recorder is off and there’s no one behind there. So your words stay with me.” You sighed in relief however the situation now seemed more tortuous than what you were fearing.

“I know.” Your voice breaks in soft waves to Aizawa’s ears which croned to get more. After all, he went from listening to you everyday to straight radio silence. There was no explanation or your ‘death’ and disappearance and he had endured the worst. But now he has a chance to find answers.

“I did some little digging,” your head whipped back to his own as he went on, “the most I’ve found was a covert special ops able to infiltrate the League with only two members. One uses death to gain the respect of the league members in order to join their ranks and get a bulk of the information while the other stays on the side of the heroes. I’m assuming the former is you and the latter—“

“How did you get that information! You’re sleuthing around could ruin the whole mis—“

“You were dead.” His words ran echoes through your ears and sent chills down your spine, not in the ways that it used to. In three words his raw emotions shook you to your core and shook your trained mind. It seeped in back the old memories that had been blocked out for the sake of your profession.

“The latter, they’re keeping airtight, I’m assuming only the high members of the Commision have that intel.”

Panic began to whirl around you. If Aizawa had been able to collect such intel on you, others would too. And those ‘others’ are willing to go to any lengths necessary to find that information at the sniff of betrayal. Aizawa sat back and drank in your appearance. Your hair grew in the short but torturous span of 3 months and your skin accepted more battle scars. You should be seen as disheveled, crooked and less attractive but Aizawa thought you were the most beautiful person he’s seen in the past months.

“If you worry about your espionage being revealed, don’t. I used Shinso’s brainwashing quirk to get one of those Commission heads to confess.” Your eyes widened at his honesty.

“Shouta! You can get yourself prosecuted for that!” His eyes glared straight into your own as he scowled further.

“And the same goes for you. How many years do you think you’ll get for faking death and joining Japan’s most notorious villains.” As taken aback you were, you chose to defend yourself.

“It’s my job. You know well if I didn’t obey the Commission’s wishes then I would face even more serious consequences.” You paused your speech, abruptly realising how much anger you had concurred in such a short time with the League, something that should’ve never happened in the first place. You took a deep inhale of air.

“I had to do it for us. I did it for those kids. At the very most, I did it for the citizens of this country.”

His heart and mind were at their final battle. He thought about this reunion nearly everyday and how he would approach you. One route depicted his lashing out at you, the anger bursting through the mask of hurt. On the other route, he pulled you in a tight embrace, hands roaming all over your body to ensure you were in fact real. Now that his manifestations became reality, he couldn’t choose. The concealed pain in your eyes held up a black window like the one on the other side of the room. Only thing was that he was the only one able to see you, the real you.

What did the Commission drag you into? What have you seen?

His heart softened, sending him back to those free late nights, laying on each other watching stand up comedy with a bottle of liquor. You were just bubbly, cracking jokes that rivaled those of the comedian.

His hardened shell finally broke. He let out an airy laugh.

“To think that saving humanity would let us lose the ones we feel human around.” You hummed in dreadful agreement, stripping down a little of your wall as well.

“Indeed, I miss being able to walk outside fearless of any attack from the police or other villains.”

Your words made you sound like a true villain, but he knows you, your way of talking, your body language, your love language.

He leaned back in the chair, letting his back lay against the cold metal as you did the same, making yourselves comfortable as much as you can.

“Tell me. What have you been doing in the last three months?”

You began retelling your life as a spy in the League, how Shirigaki didn’t introduce himself to you until after the first month and the personalities of each villain. You made sure to redact certain information for the fear of roping Aizawa into the same situation they have forced you into, until you blurted out your recent command.

“The last drop off I’ve had they told me I wasn’t close to unfolding the master plans despite leaking various missions that could’ve led to disaster. I had to get close to the members, bond through hobbies, be their entertainer— shit those bastards said to use my womanhood to—“ Aizawa’s eye widened at your slip up, after noticing how careful you were selecting your words. You cleared your throat, heart beating at the speed of light.

“—basically just get buddy buddy with someone.”

“No, that was not what you were going to say. Finish your sentence.”

Your throat was suddenly dry as you tried to swallow down your fear. You took a second in attempting to gather yourself before responding.

“Shouta, I just said they want me to make a friend with one of them—“

“That was not what you were going to say—“

“Well that’s confidential Shouta—“

“I believe I should know when my girlfriend is forced to seduce one of the League’s members.”

You kept your mouth shut, allowing the vents, attempting to blow the tension out of the air, make up for your silence. Shouta stayed still, only moving he exhaled with shaking, tense shoulders, like a volcano ready to erupt.

“Which one is it?” His words came out with a sense of danger, a warning of eruption. You chose to stay silent.

“Shigarki Tomura?” You were silent.

“Dabi?” You were silent.

“Mr. Compress?” Your eyes darted to the side, in an attempt to avoid him from looking into your eyes. But he knew the answer already.

“Fucking shit!” He stood from his seat, a screech emitting through the air before he placed his hands on the table, calming himself down. His anger begged to throw the chair, break the table, punch the walls however he knew the outcome of that route. Many officers would rush in after the commotion before arresting you on sight.

So he breathed, he breathed until the thick humidity of anger evaporated off of his body.

Meanwhile you sat down, guilt gnawing at your heart without hesitation. Your eyes darted to the cameras, one at the corner of the room behind your back and the other on the table, turned off from seeing the look of despair in your eyes.

Your mind went back to the scene before the police raid. Atsuhiro’s hand gently holding your neck as the other laid on your hip. His body firmly pressed against yours, letting you feel the hard bulge on your lower back. He skimmed your ear, calling you a “pretty flower” before zipping down the dress from your back. The dress they bought for you. Just as he was about to kiss you, the police broke down the door of the hideout you were stationed in. Astuhiro escaped and you, along with the little lowlife villains, were the sacrifice.

Your head hung low, shame clouded your thoughts. You couldn’t even look him within the eyes and Shouta saw that. His heart hurt for you like how yours were hurting for him. He slumped his shoulders and let out a sigh. There may be another route he had to choose in order for a better reunion.

“I would’ve never fathom a situation like this. I don’t want you to do this and just the thought of another man touching you makes my blood boil.” You flinched at the harshness in his tone.

“But for the sake of our lives. Do what you need to do.” You snapped your head up to his face, confusion set on your features as he continued.

“It hurts me, like how it hurts you. And judging by your reaction, I know you don’t want to do this also. But if it is my feeling you are trying to protect, don’t, because I know you’ll come back to me at the end of this.”

Within this safe space Aizawa made, you cried. You cried for the first time in the last two months before being a part of the elite League members. The feeling of being human was brought to the forefront of your mind, showing the (Y/n) has known from before. His own eyes stinging from the tears on his waterline.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin to look at your face.

“Promise me you’ll come back to me.” Your cheeks dewy from your tears and your lips red from the blood rushing to your face.

“I will come back to you. I promise.” The corner of his lips lifted up in a bittersweet smile. He let go of your chin to walk towards the door.

“I’ll try to delete that tape from the camera, when I walk down the hall to the right, take the fire escape down the left. Okay?”

“Okay.” Your eyes looked at the camera’s peripheral vision, noticing it didn’t have a view on the front of the door.

In a haste you turned around and ran towards the pro-hero. As soon as he turned around, your fingers entangled in the strands of his hair, pulling down his head to mold your lips with his. A passionate tango of tongues danced within your maw, recollecting the feeling of old times. It wasn’t a goodbye; it was a promise. You both know it.

As your lips parted from his, you wrapped your arms around him, spanning the broadness of his back, and laying your chin on his shoulder. He embraced you with the same tightness. You whispered in his ear.

“For the sake of the mission?”

“For the sake of the mission.”

You released him and stepped back into the door frame, remaking the space you’ve left from three months ago. This time, a sense of hope will pull you through as you complete your mission. And an anchor will keep you grounded to the ones you loved, and not to the villains reaping your empathy.

As he turned to the down the right hall, his eyes met yours before disappearing past the corner. Your training kicked in, both physical and mental, and you ran down the hall to the left.

#aizawa imagine #aizawa shouta imagine #aizawa x you #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #bnha imagines #bnha aizawa #bnha aizawa x reader #bnha shouta x reader #eraserhead #bnha shouta aizawa #bnha x reader #bnha x poc!reader

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densi-mber · 3 years

Text

Paramnesia, Part 4

A/N: Bonus densimber fic! The highly anticipated fourth part of Paramnesia. It seems I’ll have to write a fifth.

***

Deeks didn’t see Kensi for the rest of the morning or afternoon. Between interviewing the would-be burglar and touching base with Sam and Callen, he didn’t have time to check in on her.

There’d been a slightly awkward and tense air in the room when he’d talked with Sam and Callen. Obviously they still thought he was putting off telling Kensi the truth for his own benefit.

He got it. He would be suspicious too if the situation was reversed. The thing they kept forgetting was that he actually cared about Kensi’s welfare. As much as he admittedly enjoyed this side of Kensi, he knew trying to prolong her confusion would only hurt her.

Sighing to himself, he sat down at his desk to call a buddy at LAPD about a former “colleague” of Werner’s. He was waiting on hold when Kensi paused in front of his desk.

“You got a minute?” she asked, gesturing to Callen’s desk, her thumbs tucked into her pockets.

“Sure.” He immediately hung up, waiting for her to continue. Her smile was oddly hesitant as she sat down, especially after the last 24 hours.

“So, um, I was talking with Nell,” She paused, staring down at her hands which were tightly folded together. A warning bell went off in his head. “I’ve been pretty confused since yesterday,” she continued, forcing a laugh. “Actually, I don’t really remember anything about us, as a couple.”

She glanced up at him then, her eyes begging him to tell her that is was just the amnesia.

“And what did Nell say?” he asked quietly. Her eyes shuttered a little; clearly that wasn’t the response she was hoping for.

“She said I should ask you about it,” Kensi murmured. “Mar-Deeks-“ she paused again, tripping over his name for the first time. “Are we married?” He’d known it was coming, but it was so much worse than he imagined. Her eyes begged him to tell her it was true, to laugh it off, make a joke. He shook his face ever so slightly.

“No, we’re not.” Her face crumpled for a moment in disbelief and then quickly, grief.

“So none of it was true? We’re really just partners, it was all in my head.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper and he saw anger growing in her eyes. “And you let me believe it.”

He grasped her hand between his; she didn’t resist, but her fingers were unresponsive, limp in his.

“Kensi, I wanted to tell you, but your doctor said I should give you a few days,” he said, trying not to let his desperation show. “I swear I would have told you as soon as I realized what going on otherwise.”

“Deeks, I thought we were married,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought you-I kissed you and...god, Deeks, how far would you have let it go?”

Deeks had no idea what she’d stopped herself from saying, but he was quickly regretting every moment he’d convinced himself this would turn out alright.

“I never took advantage of you,” he told her firmly. She just shook her head, jerking her hand out of his and roughly pushing her chair back, the look on her face such a contrast to the complete trust he’d seen in the last day and a half.

“You did the moment you lied to me.” He reached for her again, but she jerked away from him. Her eyes were full of betrayal as she stood and left the bullpen, rushing down the hall. He ran after her, needing to make her understand.

“Kensi, please let’s just talk about it-“

“No. I’m going home,” she said and her voice cracked again. He brushed her shoulder as she stayed just out of reach.

“Kensi-“

“Don’t follow me, Deeks.”

***

“So, uh, you heard from Kensi recently?” Deeks rolled his eyes at Callen’s completely unsubtle question, feeling him hover over his desk. As far as he knew, Kensi hadn’t talked to anyone, other than to call in some sick days, since she’d left three days ago. And he was pretty sure Callen knew it too.

“Nope.”

“Did you try calling her?” Deeks clenched his jaw and drew in a short breath through his nose, forcing himself not to snap. Since telling Kensi the truth he’d been irritable and on edge. Sam had called him sulky, which didn’t improve his mood.

Mostly though he just felt guilty. Especially when he found himself missing Kensi’s touch and the completely look of trust in her eyes. He had a distinct feeling that trust was permanently damaged.

Callen was still standing over him, apparently waiting for a response. He wondered if they had drawn straws or come up with some other more elaborate way of determining who would come talk to him.

“Callen, she told me to go away,” Deeks told him, not looking up from his desk. No one had dared to ask what happened before Kensi left, obviously coming to their own conclusions, and Deeks didn’t volunteer.

Nell had stopped him the next day to apologize for interfering-her words. He didn’t have the heart to be angry with her, especially when she was just trying to help Kensi.

“Well, I don’t know what you expected to happen,” Callen said and Deeks glared at him coldly, tossing his pen onto his desk.

“Ok, since you apparently have all the answers, what would you have done?” He leaned back in his chair, waiting for Callen’s answer. He was a little surprised when he didn’t immediately repeat his advice from the other day.

“You know, I honestly don’t know.” Callen snagged a spare candy off of Kensi’s desk and then sat down at his desk, sitting back with a smirk. “But I think it’s interesting that you’re taking this all so easily.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“The Marty Deeks I know wouldn’t just sit back and accept that Kensi wants space,” Callen explained with a shrug.

“I’m pretty sure that’s called stalking,” Deeks said. “I think NCIS frowns upon that.”

“Stop being an idiot. You know what I’m saying. Kensi’s your partner and you care about her.”

“Ooh, getting all touchy-feely, I like it.”

“You know, I could always get Sam to do this little pep talk,” he threatened, raising an eyebrow that said he would totally sell Deeks out of if he didn’t tone down the snark. He didn’t really feel like listening to one of Sam’s lectures right now so he folded his hands and sighed, loudly enough to show his annoyance and said,

“Fine, what’s your life affirming advice?”

“Kensi was caught off-guard, she was still recovering from a recent head injury, and very confused last time you talked. Now she’s had a few days to think about things, she might be ready to listen. Or maybe she won’t.”

“Well, that was a little anticlimactic, not to mention less than inspiring.”

“My point is, talking never hurts,” Callen said, spreading his hands in the air.

“And what if she slams the door in my face?” Deeks asked, remembering the anger and betrayal in her eyes.

“She might.” He shrugged, like they were discussing the end of potentially the most important relationship in Deeks’ life. “But at least you’ll know you tried.” Callen stood again, his expression reminding Deeks a little of a smug older brother. He thought the discussion was over, but then Callen lingered by his desk, looking a little more hesitant. “If you ever repeat this, I will deny it, but I think it would be a shame if your partnership ended over this. You two are good for each other.”

With that surprising statement, Callen gave him a tight smile and left, mentioning something about challenging Sam to a rock wall race. Deeks sighed, glancing at Kensi’s desk. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Callen was right.

He sent a quick text to Callen saying he’d be out for the rest of the day and silently prayed that he could figure out what to say by the time he reached her apartment.

#densimber 2020 #densimber 4.0 #densi #paramnesia #ncis la fanfiction #by ejzah

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emmaofnormandy · 3 years

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❁ « 𝔐𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔦𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔣 ℜ𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔡 ℭ𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔡 » ❁

Godstow Nunnery, Oxford. Winter, 1176.

There has been talk, as there has always been. There has always been malicious glance of all parts as if those who casted their judgemental looks were saints themselves. As if taking their veils proved them holy.

It mattered little now than before, as if gossip and hypocrisy once troubled the peace of her spirits. She had more concerns to be preoccupied to, one of which was her own health. On that particular morning, she was unwell. Not /that/ particular morning, but every day ever since the headaches began to flow to her body somehow.

They blame my poor health for my sins.

She remembered the mater superior scowling at her. She should have been more humble, take the cross Christ put on her shoulders not because she loved dearly with all her heart, but because she was a harlot in everyone else’s eyes. In truth, was she?

Love is a sin, you ought to repent for it.

Rosamund could hear Henry’s laughters. Hal, as she used to call him, would have tell her to pay no mind to those old cows. The idea, even now, brought a small smile on her lips. But the shadow of a smile, the shadow of what once was Rosamund, was there no more. She had to repent silently and would embrace death alone. She remembered the days where the local bishops came to scowl at her for her “nature”. Some of his enemies, within the church, would come at present to insult her. She had no friends, if one at all she could name such. Even then, Rosamund had no reason to regret.

I would have done all the same if I were given the same opportunity.

Bitterly, she swallowed the tears that wanted to drop her eyes. Rosamund sighed. When looking at the walls where she was staying, still in bed, the walls made of stone were naked before her eyes, barely baring a poor cross. There was only one simple table and one simple chair, a view to the outdoors on the left through a dusty window. There were no courtins, there was nothing. But even there, Rosamund saw through the window, contemplating the clouds that were trumbling against one another in a sign of upcoming storm. Green hills with nothing but pasture and cows. Small houses and far beyond her reach she knew there were small folk doing their tasks for the priory where she was in.

If Henry saw this now, he would have surely scowled at this condition. But I don’t think he understood how little mattered the lands, the greatness, the richness in comparison to the love that flew easily between us.

Death was close, she knew. Whatever the cause of the pestilence that hurt her lungs, she knew it would soon come to an end.

How can love be a sin if all our Lord preached was love?

But it mattered not. She would cherish the memories to her heart. Rosamund coughed harder. It was cold, even though the door was closed and she had a simple blanket. She wanted it all to be as simple as it should befit her position. Most nuns would disdain her for it, but Rosamund never truly gave to other people’s opinions. She prayed now, though, for the comfort of her soul. She would not like to announce she was dying, it was vain and she had no interests whatsoever in troubling the mater superior.

In the midst of unbearable cold and painful pestilence, Rosamund closed her eyes, now lost in the past. It was more colourful and lively than the present, and although it should be said that it was never wise to dwell in the past, to seek the comfort for her soul, it’s what the former Rose of the World just did.

━━━━━✵━━━━━━ ✵ ━━━━━━ ✵ ━━━━━━ ✵ ━━━━━━

Rosamund was the youngest daughter of Walter de Clifford, a minor lord of the Welsh marches, and his wife Margaery, sometimes spelled Margaret. She had a couple of older siblings, but only Walter, Amicia and Lucia survived into adulthood. Rosamund remembered being closer the most Lucia, both in temper and age.

She recollected they often liked to dress equally as children in order to confuse their mother. It was a happy childhood as one could have back then. The world of violence, pestilence and all other mundane things had not yet reached Castle Clifford, where she spent most of her days in between prayers and sewings. Sometimes, her father would receive a wanderer bard and welcome him into his hall.

The bard would sing stories of kings and queens, courts of love, chivalrous knights who were brave enough to stand for honour and bring justice in a lawless realm. His voice was so charming that Rosamund remembered Amicia sighing over him constantly. Her mother, a woman conscious of whom she descended (from a lineage of anglo-norman nobility), could be stern at times and would not hesitate in reprehending Amicia for her childish behaviour. But their father, Walter, would laugh and say:

“Let them be children, woman.”

“They are not peasants”, it was Margaery’s response. “They are damzels, ought to behave perfectly.”

But when they were not giggling, they were behaving perfectly. Of the sisters, however, Amicia would be the most temperamental. She, like the rest of the ladies, was born with flaming hair and light brown eyes. Rosamund remembered her laughters the most, but also the one who was prompted to mischiefs. The next one, Lucia, another redheaded lady, was not so outgoing. She certainly seemed to have had an inclination to the Church, but their father refused to send any to the church. He hoped to increase the family’s health through the marriages he was beginning to seek for his girls.

And then, there was Rosamund. Her oval face showed high, pink cheeks, rounded eyes coloured brown; her nose was long and her lips, full. Her hair was also painted with red. She was the quietest of the ladies and, to her father’s despair, another one with inclinations to a religious life.

“Nay, I say!” She remembered one night her father was yelling with their mother. “I shall not send any of my children to the church! I can afford their dowry, what makes you think otherwise to suggest such a thing?”

Nonetheless, Rosamund continued going to the chapel more than thrice a day. She felt peace within it, perhaps more so than in between walls made of stone with long corridors and displayers of wealth. She knew nothing about her own ancestrality, except there may had been one great-grandfather coming from Normandy to William, the duke who suddenly became King of England not so long ago.

But she found comfort in the long gardens, well looked after by Mistress Joan, taking a seat beneath the trees and read--surprisingly an hability she and her sisters had, taught by one tutor of the church their mother hired the services--a book of poems. Rosamund shared the spirit of romance with her older sister, and it was not rare, as they grew up, they spent time proclaim poems of the sort.

In one of these early days, when a lady of their mother accompanied the girls for a stroll, Amicia would promptly say:

“Rosa, Rosa, are you not aware of how your beauty makes a man drop on his knee pretty soon?”

Lucia giggled softly, but Rosamund could not comprehend entirely. They were now into womanhood, Rosamund being no more than 17 years of age. They had not so much contact with the men, even though in their region there were growing feast to which her family was, much to Sir Walter’s pride, invited. Rumour had it that the king himself would come soon, whomever this man may be.

“What, in God’s name, are you saying, sister?”

Amicia and Lucia exchanged amused glances. Rosamund felt irritated because young ladies who did not possess completely control over their own perceptions around them would surely be irritated by such provocation.

“Father has decided the three of us will marry soon enough, and together, so one feast can be held on behalf of us!” Amicia was explaining. “He must really love us for trying to get rid of us so soon! Mayhaps not soon enough, as I reach the nine-tenth year of my life, if mother’s count is correct, and I’m old to arrange a fanficul espouse. Well, as I was saying, in between the arrangements, he made a proposition to a baron who was feudal lord to the Prince of Gwynedd for making me his wife. Yet, the man claimed he would have preferred to despouse you instead of me!”

Rosamund immediatedly interrupted the movement of her feet. Pink coloured her cheeks and her eyes went wide.

“I... I never put my eyes on the man, sister!”

Amicia laughed at Rosamund’s simplicity.

“I know you have not, but he seems to have done so. Whomever be your consort, my sister, you will make the man very happy indeed!”

Much to Rosamund’s consternation, the conversation turned to teasings that she particularly detested. She was timid when, in the rare events she went outdoors the castle whether to accompany her mother’s lady to the market or even more so to fanciful royal events her family began to attend, eyes were drawned to her figure. She hated it. It was probably due to her red locks, brighter than her sisters’s. But her mother would remember that this was a good thing, for she would not take long before arranging a suitable suitor.

Rosamund did not know back then, but lady Margaery’s amusement remark would prove to be correct. It was not any suitable, proper suitor she would capture the heart, but the one of the king of England himself.

━━━━━✵━━━━━━ ✵ ━━━━━━ ✵ ━━━━━━ ✵ ━━━━━━

The fatidic day likely occurred in a summer day, Rosamund could not be sure. The reason of why there would be a great feast for the Welsh lords was to receive the king in order to appeal his “conquest thirst” that he inherited of his great-grandfather, another conqueror.

“You should go very well dressed”, said lady Margaery to her daughters as she and her own ladies brushed their hairs and picked the best silk gowns they afforded having. Rosamund would dress a blue one with white pearls around the long sleeves, her flaming hair locked in a long braid. Her sisters would dress green and yellow silk gowns, each one lurking for the opportunity of finding a proper husband that evening. “For all the important men will be there and it’s important, God knows how, you succeeded in capturing their hearts..”

“And gold”, remarked Lucia, making all of them laugh except their mother.

“Now, Lucia, don’t be silly, child. You are no more in this age to make jests. You are a lady now.”

But the giggles carried on effortlessly. Later, at another castle built of stones, Rosamund was just another lady in between the present nobility. The hall was well provided, she could see how great--certainly bigger than the castle she grew up--were the saloon, the decorations and well dressed were the knights in their armous, but forbidden to walk inside carrying their weapons.

There were musicians too, of course, a sweet melody mastered by the fingers of such men. Rosamund remembered the tune, how it brought a comfort feeling to her heart, and how it made her smile It was her first experience in such an event and she was, naturally, as excited as any other lady in her position would be.

In more cheerful spirits was Amicia, whose hair, divided in two combed braids, fell over her green gown. She looked everywhere and would spare no smile to any lord who threw curious glances at her.

“She will sure arrange a husband this day”, Rosamund whispered to Lucia, making her sister chuckle. “Father and mother will be back home in content spirits!”

In the meantime she settled with her sisters and her father and mother went on to greet other noblemen and their wives there present, one could hear the sudden excitement that arouse from the small amount of self-entitled-important men. The king, Rosamund was told, had arrived.

At first, she was curious to see who was this man. Lucia, the brightest of the sisters, explained:

“Henry the King is the second of his name to rule all over England. He is a powerful man, vain some would say and most temperamental. Those who witnessed it, claimed that it was an awful vision to behold.”

Rosamund was not impressed, though.

“Most kings must behave in such a manner, otherwise how else will they earn respect?”

Lucia shrugged her shoulders.

“But Arthur was not temperamental..”

Rosamund smirked.

“He is not here yet, Lucia, so we must await for his rise.”

Her sister ignored the comment and carried on. As she did, their eyes followed the multitude surrounding the king. Henry the king was tall, Rosamund noticed. His hair was red, although of a different shade than hers; his face was oval and it captured strong features. His eyes, however, mirrored the smile displayed on his lips, enhancing his charisma.

“And he has quite some reputation with ladies, too. Have you not heard how he seduced the queen of France and took her as his wife?”

Rosamund’s eyes were following the king’s moves when, in this exact instance her sister was proving to be one with very attentive ears, Henry II’s gaze locked with hers. It was for a brief instance as she, paled at how intense and abrupt this encounter with each other’s eyes were, quickly looked away.

Unaware of what just happened, Lucia told Rosamund:

“Aliénor, the queen, was born in the duchy of Aquitaine. She was reported to be so beautiful and elegant, but most of all, rich because Aquitaine occupies large portions of lands in the continent.”

Rosamund rose her eyebrows:

“How on earth would you know all that?”

“Father has been receiving important people at the castle, in case you have not noticed and I’m always eager to know the stories of the court they brought.”

“And what is like this Aliénor? How did she become Henry’s queen?”

As Lucia was telling her the story, Rosamund was completely unapprehensive of Henry’s curiosity. She would not know how her red hair and soft features were a contrast amidst the other ladies with more olive skin and darker eyes than her own. She was unaware how Henry was completely intrigued by this mysterious lady whose eyes so innocent and filled with curiosity found his own. Another redhair, mayhaps, but it was not like anyone.

One of Henry’s companions followed the king’s gaze and said:

“That is mistress Clifford, m’lord. A daughter of one of the minor lords of the Welsh marches. Her name is Rosamund, she’s the youngest of Sir Walter Clifford’s brood. She’s to be betrothed soon with her sisters...” He continued to proceed, almost nonchalantly about Rosamund and her family, but Henry was only partially listening.

“Would you bring the said lady to me?” Henry interrupted him.

It was lust at first, as often was. The man hesitated for seconds, but he eventually agreed to. Who could deny the overlord of Scotland, lord of Wales and king of all England anything at all?

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Rosamund was delighted to meet other ladies of her age. She had spent very little time outdoors and her only companions and friends she relied on were her sisters. That evening, her father and mother granted permission for them to enjoy freely as long they were under supervision of lady Margaery’s lady-in-waiting, a Welsh maid of the name Guinevere. So far, however, the only amongst the three sisters to have enjoyed more than the rules of good sense cared to permit in courtship was Amicia.

Rosamund and her new friend, a lady named Heloise, were discussing poetry when mistress Guinevere were scowling at Amicia for her unproper behaviour. It was also when the king’s valet came in between them.

He cleared his throat, and by how arrogance was stamped all over his face--which was not one very nice looking, in Rosamund’s opinion, marked by scars or old pestilences as a sign he struggled to survive infancy or mayhaps the favour of God in sparing him of such unfortunate death; his eyes were narrowed with impatience, and yet she could swear they were painted with the deepest shade of blue; the man’s nose was long, but it was crooked, a sign he was involved in unnecessary fighting or wars he was forced to fight, Rosamund could not be sure. His sandy hair was short and oily, and his cheeks were rosy. He wore dark robes that could easily mistake him to a priest. And yet, when coming to her and this new friend Heloise, the man looked as if he was mostly obliged for doing so, an interpretation that, as she would find out, was not entirely incorrect.

“Mademoiselles”, he began with a heavy French accent. Luckily for him, Rosamund could speak the language, but pretended she would not understand him. Maybe he understood it, for he, against his own will, was forced by circumnstances to speak the local tongue. “Mistress Clifford. His Grace, the king of England, wishes to see you.”

Lady Heloise covered her mouth with her tongues, but Rosamund, as flattered as she might have felt with the attention of such a king, was not entirely sure if she should meet a man let alone a king.

“For what purposes, my lord, would the king be interested in seeing me, a mere damsel?”

She could tell her lady friend was very much puzzled by her words, which, Rosamund thought, could be seen as a demonstrative arrogance, when in reality she was motivated by her pious education she received. Surely her mother would be very displeased if she heard of such a thing? Her flower should be preserved for her marriage.

As naive as she may have been, Rosamund did not lack brain.

“Alas!” The king’s valet exclaimed, for this was the first time he found in such situation. Rarely would a lady, whomever she may be, question such a thing. “For what purposes? The king has taken a like of you, my lady. Should there ever be another reason for it?”

He laughed.

“’Tis the king of England we are talking about. Should we leave him wait for more than we already have?”

Rosamund flushed. She understood her position as an unmarried dame in those days, and because of it, remembering Henry II, as king as he may be, was still a man and a married one. She would not go against the laws of the Church.

“I may sound a fool to you, mister, but out of respect for the queen he is lawful married before God and for me, a damsel who has not yet become a respectful espouse to some lord, I cannot give in to such follyness.”

And without waiting for response, she stepped away, moving straight to the direction of mistress Guinevere with a very shocked lady Heloise by her side, stunned as she was what was seen for she said no word. Rosamund’s face was all red and one could easily tell how angered she was.

“There you are, Rosa!”, said Guinevere, greeting the other’s friend. “I see you have acquainted yourself with other admirable ladies, but your face shows me displeasure. What, in God’s name, has been the cause of such distress?”

Lady Heloise, who payed no mind to discreetion, spoke for Rosamund:

“The king wanted to see her and she declined him!”

Guinevere and Rosamund’s sisters looked puzzled at her, whose pale pinks were painted with another shade of deeper red if possible. She could not meet their inquiring gazes, so her eyes were down to her feet.

“How did this happen?!” Amicia, naturally, was the first to say, quickly taking her sister’s hand into her own. “You should not decline, my dear Rosamund. Oh, how fair are you! God has a purpose for you, my sister, as I have always known! ‘Tis with what other reason for being born ever so graceful and fair as yourself?”

“My dear sister, do not say flatteries to me”, pledged Rosamund. “I am not a harlot, and cannot give into such reputation. He is a married man.”

“He is the king of England”, said Amicia, eagerly. “We could have benefited from it.”

Impatient, Rosamund, who realized she would not receive support from either mistress Guinevere, who looked astonished by the reports Lady Heloisa unashamed gave her, nor her sisters, who suddenly forgot all morals about involving oneself with a married man.

Silently, she slipped off their companionship and in even quieter frustration she moved to an empty are of the castle, wherever this may be. Perhaps the gardens? But she would not dare to go to such a darker spot. No, the hall would be nice. There were guards, one or two small groups engaged in conversations, so she sat at a far from the crowd bench where she sat.

But there would be no time to contemplate alone with her own thoughts for Henry, king of England, was not one very accostumed to receive declines to the invites he extended to those he appreciated. He was rather intrigued by what cause had motivated her to deny him the pleasure of her company and his eyes never left her face or moves in this time. Even the group that surrounded him was aware his mind was out of reach.

Henry observed as Rosamund stomed over, face flushed probably the result of being offended. He began to wonder if that was because of him. By how her sisters behaved, or so he assumed being the ladies under the supervision of an older mistress, he presumed so. Discreetly, the king excused himself off the duties and began to search for her. Did not take long before he did.

“I pray I have not troubled the peace of your mind”, spoke he with a heavy French accent.

Rosamund pale, startled when hearing his voice. Her eyes went wide and she quickly dipsied to a curtsy when raising from her seat. But, seeing the fear in her eyes, Henry could tell where this refuse came from. He quickly said:

“Please, my lady, be fearful not of me. I came here to apologize.”

Rosamund’s features soften, although there remained in her eyes a mixture of amusement and suspicious.

“Apologize, my lord? For what cause would have the king to apologize?” “My lady, you mistake me to an arrogant and distant creature...”

“And are you not, sire? A king unreachable to many of us, your subjects?”

He sighed. But Henry was decided not to give in as much as Rosamund.

“I’m still the son of the Lord as much as you, madame Clifford. A crown placed over my head because of His command, solely so. I did not mean to offend you.”

Rosamund’s eyes remain locked with his, but her body languaged indicated she still distrusted him.

“I... How can I think otherwise? I am a damsel, Your Grace, not a harlot you can share a bed anytime. I am unmarried, and what will people think if they see us engaging in conversation out of their sight like this?”

Henry took a seat on the bench she was formerly sat. She watched frustration, and maybe anger, rise in his features, but countered somehow by resignation in his eyes. Those eyes were painted in deep blue, and Rosamund thought it must like seeing the sea, for there was something in them that could drown her. A shiver came in and she quickly lowered her eyes to her feet. She could not... She could not...

“To the hell the men and their malicious minds. I came not to pervert your innocence, my lady. I see I did make the mistake in thinking you were like the others when you are not.”

“The path is free for you to go then, sire, for I will not give you what you came to seek”, she heard herself speaking.

When did I ever become this bold? And before a king?!

But Henry laughed. And his laughter sounded like a thunder, giving much cause for the raise of Rosamund’s gaze, for she was intrigued at how... human he sounded. He, so divine being, could truly be a man?

“You captivated me, my lady. May I not enjoy your company throughout this evening?”

“I fear to say there would have more interesting damsels to accompany your lordship, but if it pleases you, sire, I shall stay” she said, humbly.

Henry gave space for her to seat, patting it so she could seat. Rosamund, not any less uncomfortable than she was before, obeyed.

“It pleases me. But does it please you?” He inquired, his eyes looking for hers.

Rosamund flushed.

“I... I... Why would you ask this, sire? You are the king”, said she, softly.

“For this same reason you exposed, my lady Clifford. Because I am the king, people assume what do I want and desire, and for long years this was enough for me. But to live amidst the flattery and falsehood is becoming tiresome. It is as if I live in illusions, illusions that could never grasp the reality I aimed to live.” He explained.

Rosamund found herself surprised by his words. Somehow, she sensed the truth beneath them.

“How did you become king, sire? Looks like a heavy task to burden your lordship to.”

Henry shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes were no longer holding hers, staring, instead, into the void of what Rosamund presumed to have been the past, of years she never witnessed or heard of.

“I have inherited my mother’s claim. You are not familiar with the whole thing, are you?” A smile crossed his lips when seeing Rosamund shaking her head in negative. Somehow it made his chest swollen with pride. “It all began from the day my uncle, my mother’s brother, was drowned. His ship hit a rock or something of the sort, and he tried to save the people that were in the same ship as his. By doing so, he died.”

“My condolences for his loss”, Rosamund whispered.

Henry smiled. It was a more sincere one, Rosamund observed.

“I appreciate it, but I fear to tell you that us, royals, display of little time to grief. My mother was his heir, her father, the first king named Henry of this realm, made his nobles to vow loyalty to her, but he should have known that men are like beasts. They switch their loyalties easily as gold”. He now spoke with a sudden bitter that intrigued Rosamund even more.

He carries his scars, his pain, his hurt and buries them beneath out of the general sight. Oh, how heavy must be to carry the crown over his head!

“He died and my mother should have been crowned, but she was pregnant at the time of his death, so that gave space for Stephen to usurp her rightful place as lady of the English. It was a civil conflict that, in the end, brought me here.”

Rosamund listened, and Henry was surprised for her genuine listening. Not even his wife would do such a thing, he noticed.

“You sound unhappy for the events that led you here, sire, if I may speak freely.”

“You may speak freely as you wish, as I have said, it tires me to hear flattery most of the times.” He said. “I shall not be untrue to you, my lady, but I do enjoy being king. What abhorres me the most is their motivations, how easily convertible are their loyalties. In one day they welcome in feasts like these, in the other they are plotting against me.”

Rosamund listened again, unsure of what judgement should she give him, although she presumed he was being sincere. She never met too many men who would speak with their hearts, or any man who did so at all, but his eyes... when looking into her own... There was something unexplainable to her. Yet, she had to be realistic, as much as, surprisingly to her, it would be disappointing to taste the flavour of it when she said:

“But your wife, my lord... Surely she would support you as a queen should.”

Henry made a sound that Rosamund was not entirely sure what it is, by how his features changed all of a sudden, it looked like the queen did not make this king happy either.

“She does not. All she cares about is her court of love she tries to reproduce in Westminster.” Henry scowled. “Her vain courtiers doing all she pleases, her children...”

“Who are yours too”, she kindly reminded him.

“Well, she acts otherwise!” Henry said with gritted teeth.

Rosamund said nothing more, but instead allowed him to speak out the anger within. As far as she understood, one of the major issues with the queen was having his illegitimate children raised with their legitimate ones and favouring one son over another in all matters. There were the legacies involved too, a series of issues that, from her perspective, were faulted on both parts. Although she could not understand why a mother would favour one son over the other, which made her furrow her eyebrows.

This captured Henry’s eyes, for of all he told her, it was only in the matter of children that he received some reaction of her.

“What is it that is troubling you, my fair lady?”

Rosamund blushed at the compliment, but ignored it when responding him:

“Forgive me, sire, for I am not a mundane lady. I know little of this world, and understand even lesser the complications of motherhood. Whilst I comprehend what lies before me when marrying a lord, I cannot discern how a mother’s love surpasses all other children to concentrate in one alone.”

Henry smiled at her.

“Your remarks are far more intelligent than any other lady I have ever heard.”

“That is untrue, sir”, protested Rosamund, although a small smile curled upon her rosy lips. “For your lady wife is famed for doing good use of the brain she has.”

“Whilst this is accurate, I cannot say she has been using it on good matters.”

Rosamund smiled.

“What other matter could occupy a lady’s mind out of a lady’s own world? Hence why I cannot see the choice of one son over another.”

“Preferences”, it was all he said, vaguely so.

Seeing this was a subject he was not particularly into, Rosamund decided to quiet her thoughts. But Henry said:

“On what account have you stopped the conversation, my lady?”

“Sire, there is little reason to go into a topic that leaves you uncomfortable. I think we should divague on other matters.”

“Such as...?”

But their conversation came abruptly to an end. For the father of Rosamund, Sir Walter, apparently “finally” discovered the whereabouts of his youngest daughter. The scene, to his eyes, could hold no indecency of unproper behaviour, but, nonetheless, the reputation must be conserved. Yet, to the end of that day, Sir Walter could have not been any more proud than any other man would be in his shoes if his daughter had captured the powerful king’s heart.

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Henry the king was decided to spend more than one day or two in the states that were close to the Clifford’s family. His presence was an opportunity for the local nobility to receive him in rich and luxurious feasts, but also to the ambition Sir Walter who wished to expand and enrich his own family.

Rosamund, however, cared little about her family’s desire of enlarging the gold and properties. She was much surprised to see a different side of the king than she was told of. He was respectful, kind, even sentimental. But, at this, her mother warned her:

“Men in general have many masks, my dear child. The powerful they are, the more artful they can be to conquer a woman’s heart. You should know well what you are doing...”, and in a less severe manner, added she, “if you are not willing to this courtship, we can find a more urgent matter for you.”

But Rosamund was not entirely sure of what would be of her. So she said nothing of the matter. Her mind was confusing, whilst her heart was clear. It was not merely an attraction of minds, but of souls. The answer was there: she hoped to see him again even if this was wrong in so many ways.

***

Rosamund was discreet and there was no reason to behave otherwise, although if this was Amicia, perhaps everything else would have gone differently. But there she was, with a friend or two (lady Heloisa was amongst them, even if she wanted the gossip that Rosamund refused to give her) and her sister Lucia. The feast was charmed with the melodies that brought many men and women together in a dance.

Rosamund herself, on that day with the red locks loose and dressing a blue gown with esmeralds, danced with two of the King’s courtiers. She knew he was watching, his eyes glued on her moves as if he could see beyond her curves. For when their eyes met, it was a signal of recognition, of something more, one mirroring another’s soul, a feeling that could only be found in letters of the books, in the mouths of the bards, in the minds of the thinkers.

She danced gleefully, the rhythm of her heart racing louder each time their eyes meet. She lowered her gaze, she timidly followed the tune with her partners, she laughed with her lady friends, but all the time she could not help... those eyes of her sought for his, and his were waiting for hers.

Discreetly, the king inquired after her. Discreetly, they met and strolled at the gardens.

“You dance gracefully, I should say”, said he, sounding soft as words rolled out of his tongue. “I could not look away and must admit I was envious of your partners.”

Rosamund smiled and Henry decided he liked the way it naturally came everytime at his wording.

“I thought you disliked flatteries, sire.”

“I do, but must I protest that I speak the truth to you, dear lady! O, fair Rosamund, can you not see how the world’s eyes fall on thee?”

She giggled, her fingers slipping on the arm the king had offered her to take, gripping it gently. The scent of roses that day already mesmerized him, completely taken by her presence.

“You are a poet too, sire?”

“I have one brother who is. I, myself, am mostly a warrior. One of the reckless kind”, he winked at her. “But he inspired me. William was a good man.” He sighed.

“Oh. Did he..?” She could not pronounce the words, unsure of how he would react.

“Aye.” Henry lamented, his eyes missing the joy of minutes before, as if stolen by the sadness of eternal grief. “This world was not for him, though. He must be in peace. He was very good, pure. Unlike Geoffrey.”

On that late afternoon, Rosamund was content in hearing about his brothers, his stories, and even of the illegitimate siblings Henry had. She was told of his children, of his life.

“But I’m talking too much!” objected he, when they finally took a seat in the centre of the garden. Rosamund noticed they were now out of the people’s sight, especially the guards. “Will I not hear a word of my fair Rosamund?”

She giggled.

“Must I, sire? What could possibly interest the king of England? I am a damsel, daughter of a local nobleman.”

“Do not think of me as a king, my lady, I beg you”, said he, enamorated. “All I ask you is to speak freely to me. I would sincerely like to listen to what you have to say, your habits, what you like to do or not.”

Rosamund conceeded a smile.

“If you insist...”

“I do!”

She locked her hand into another, resting them on the top of her lap after adjusting the skirts of her gown. Rosamund would look down a few times, sensing the heat in her cheeks at how, not once, did the eyes of Henry divert from her presence. When she raised her gaze, he was still glancing at her. Not only glancing, but listening.

He was actually listening.

“I appreciate the simplicity”, she told him at last after telling the story of her family, her habits, even that of her neighbours, the few she ever had been acknowledged to. “The nature and their freedom, the stories the bards so often tell and sing about. Love inspire me. It’s all I ever come to know, although more through words than anything.”

Twilight began to set it’s mixture of lights when their conversation seems to come to an end. The king rose and so did Rosamund when they began to stroll back inwards.

“I miss the simplicity, the basics. Whilst I for one admit to enjoy all the luxury that life in my position can provide, I also crave for a life with no concerns. Could this be possible?”

“I like to think, my lord, that no life is possible without faith beforehand. Otherwise, where else would be placed the purpose of our existance in first place? It is only then that comes the nature of simplicity we aim to achieve. And the love we long to feel.”

To talk about deep perceptions of the world, however limited one could be in comparison to other due to the experiences one had and the other lacked, was something that brought such delight to Rosamund. It was a feeling that Henry himself reciprocated, something he desperatedly looked for in every lady he fell for. But in reality, he knew it now, all the love he thought he felt for others was the reflection of lust. For little by little he could see that she gave him what he needed the most: love.

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Rosamund believed they would only meet in only luxurious occasions, but this was not meant to be. Sir Walter would proudly say, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months and he began to enlarge his properties, that never before he was so lucky to have had daughters. In the month after Rosamund and Henry began to court, Amicia and Lucia were promptly married. Amicia, to a baron named Osmund FitzHugh of Richards Castle, and Lucia to another baron named Hugh de Say of Clun Castle. Now there was only his son to marry and he hoped the king could find him a wealthy heiress for the union to be perfect.

As before, Rosamund did not feed ambitions in herself. By then she had accepted her fate, and cared very little about the whispers around the village. But her brother had to walk her down the market each time, so she would be the victim of loud accusations for being the king’s whore. It once hurt before, but she would not hear none of it.

Henry visited her every month, discreetly as the lovers usually were. But he insisted her for having her own household and would not take ‘no’ as answer. He granted her a household thus in a castle made of stones located in Oxfordshire, near Woodstock. There, they would meet... and there, she knew, they would consummate their flames for the first time.

Henry had been wholly respectful of her and, much to her surprise, he would wait for her. So it was towards the summer that, even to her mother’s delight, she moved to her own household, having her servants and ladies to attend her. During his absence, lady Margaery would make company to her daughter, helping her to adjust to this new life, teaching her how to manage it properly as a lady befit to her station should. A chapel would soon be built and lady Margaery thought wise to find one priest who would not refuse the task of preaching a holy life without risking to ruin her daughter’s reputation.

Mid August, Henry told Rosamund he was going to visit her. She decided to receive him properly. Bards were already displayed singing to the guests she placed in it. Only her sisters and their families were attending it, of course. That day, she decided to have her hair loose and dress Henry’s favourite gown, the blue one with while pearls.

In her ears, she wore saphire earrings and necklace to embelish her porcelain skin. Now more accostumed to his valet, going as far as befriending him (and he would espouse a friend of hers, that lady Heloise, laterwards), she received him well.

“Your master is coming, my lady”, he warned her happily. “He is looking forward to see you again.”

Rosamund was in the highest expectations. She was not expecting his full fidelity, aware of the nature of the men, but to possess his heart wholeheartedly as he did hers. Furthermore, there was the love that, two years ago from now, never ceased to diminish.

Henry finally then appeared, dressed in his rich clothes. Rosamund forgot the etiquette and ran to his arms, embraced those strong arms as he greeted her gleefully. She felt his love deeply when his lips touched against her cheek and then moved to her lips. Oh, how much he was longed for!

“A feast to receive me, my lady?” said Henry, smiling widely.

“It should be especial to receive you properly, my lord”, responded she in turn, with her rosy cheeks. “I pray ‘tis of your taste, though. Nothing gladdens me more than pleasing your lordship.”

The sincerity in her words warmed his heart with full affection. He pressed his forehead against hers before pecking her cheek:

“Aye, how else could I not be? My eternal gratitude shall never be forgotten!”

That night, he conceeded a dance with her, earning a round of applauses of the guests. He then watched her dance with her ladies, and greeted and talked with his lover’s relatives. Finally, then, when it was late night and he was half drunk already, a lady of hers told him he was being summoned by her mistress.

Curious as ever, Henry obeyed the instructions and went after the bedchamber where he usually spent the night. Once inside, he was surprised to see her... disproved of her gown.

“Rosa...!” he gasped, quickly closing the door behind him.

Rosamund was found lying on the bed naked, her eyes searching for his as her exposed skin much gave signs for longing for him. He approached, undressing himself on the way to attend the invitation, but hesitated.

“I thought...”

She inclined against him, feeling not embarrassment for her nudity as she feared, but suddenly confidence for her curls. Perhaps this was the wine, but she would not like to let go of it. She felt the eyes of his possessing her, but Rosamund want his touch.

She grabbed his hands and placed them over her full breasts, not before she rose his chin and inclined her lips against his.

“Well?”

“I’m yours to command”, he whispered, his voice rusky filled with desire.

He laid her on bed and embraced her warmly, giving her the love she needed--and he needed too. Whilst ‘twas true that he bedded other dames in the years of their unconsummed relationship, hers was his devoted heart and his most hungered desire. ‘Twas so that they slept barely as their bodies loved throughtout the dawn.

“And the bards will sing about a king who loved a damsel of flamed locks, she who gave her heart in a box for him to remember in every equinox.” He proclaimed against her ears.

“They will remember that there shall be no other lady in this world who worships her lover more than I do, for if there was something I could dispose to be with him that would be the heart for you to carry within.” She smiled, drowning in those deep blue eyes as she feared one day she might.

In moments like these, eternity was a vow both swore to keep. But future had it’s own shadows none could predict. Yet, whilst it lasted, they met and even when it did not any more, their love remained attached.

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Winter, 1176.

Henry was at Dover. He needed pure air to breathe, he needed to be parted from the world he knew. For he received the news he feared to hear, he feared to have ever been told.

“Sire, we received news from the priority of Oxfordshire. It tells us that lady Rosamund Clifford is no longer amongst us. She... She is dead.”

Away of the public sight, he grieved. Away from the high walls of castles built upon stones, away from the ghosts he lost, he longed for the one he had loved the most.

Alone, he fell on his knees, devastated. He never wanted her to leave, never to be apart, but damn the circumnstances. He remembered her touch, her caring, the sound of her laughters. He never wanted her to leave...And neither wanted she.

So wept and grieved the king of England for the loss of his most beloved treasured his heart ever possessed and craved for: the love of the rose of the world, the love of Rosamund.

But maybe, in another life, in another time, God would have wanted them to meet again.

➳ lyrics: Adele, “Someone Like You”.

➳ fancast: Daisy Ridley as Rosamund Clifford and Tom Hiddleston/MichaelFassbender as Henry II, King of England.

#Henry II #Henry x Rosamund #Henry II x Rosamund Clifford #Henry II of England #King Henry II of England #Henry FitzEmpress #Rosamund Clifford #tom hiddlesto #daisy ridley #Michael Fassbender #my edits #Plantagenet edit #house of anjou #Plantagenet dynasty #The Plantagenets #Plantagenet #angevins #Angevin Empire #Angevin Emperor

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