#sick of having this knock around in my drafts so now it is loose in the wild
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say it
Byleth makes Edelgard say swear words.
(~350 words; too stupid to post on ao3)
“‘Shit.’”
“Grotesque.”
“Give it a try.”
“… Shit.”
“Very good. ‘Ass.’”
“That one is easier. I’ve said it before.”
“Then why don’t you say it now?”
“I… er…”
“If it’s so easy, then do it.”
“… Ass.”
“Excellent.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“How about this one? ‘Cunt.’”
“Wh—I actually, um, don’t know what that means.”
“You don’t know ‘cunt’?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Byleth, it’s simply not in my lexicon.”
“It means va—”
“All right, I understand. The gesture was absolutely unnecessary. I’m astounded at how many words there seem to be for the same thing.”
“If you think that’s bad, you won’t believe how many there are for pe—”
“Well, this has been a fun exercise and hopefully a source of great amusement to you, but I think I’m finished.”
“Wait, wait.”
“No.”
“One more, one more.”
“Mm, no. I don’t think so.”
“Please?”
“… You know it’s not fair of you to give me those eyes.”
“Is that a yes?”
“All right. All right. One more.”
“Yesssss. ‘Fuck.’”
“Byleth!”
“What?! You said one more, and that’s the one to say.”
“I’m—I am not—”
“Please?”
“You can’t pull the same maneuver twice in a minute and expect to succeed. That’s poor strategy.”
“Is it working?”
“… Regrettably, it is.”
“Then it seems like a good strategy to me. Just say it. ‘Fuck.’ It’s easy.”
“It most certainly is not!”
“Try it. Say ‘fuck.’”
“… Fuck.”
“Oh, that’s rich. That’s very good.”
“Are you quite satisfied?”
“Nearly. Now use it in a sentence.”
“Byleth.”
“I’ll give you one. It’ll be easy.”
“I did not—and do not—agree to this!”
“Just repeat after me.”
“No!”
“Say, ‘Byleth, I want you to fuck me.’”
“… Oh.”
“Go on, El. You can do it.”
“… Byleth, I…”
“Keep going.”
“Byleth, I-I want you to… f-fuck me.”
“Good girl. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Less than I—ah—thought it would be.”
“Mm. Well, you’ve certainly earned a reward, haven’t you?”
“Yes, my teacher. Fuck…”
“Aren’t you a fast learner? I’m impressed.”
“If you don’t shut up and kiss me right now, I’m going to start swearing in earnest.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Your Majesty.”
#fe3h#fire emblem#edeleth#edelgard von hresvelg#byleth eisner#ficlet#sterge.rtf#sick of having this knock around in my drafts so now it is loose in the wild#but it’s so dumb that i really don’t want to bother posting it on ao3#if i got an email alert for this i’d be disappointed#besides i’m trying to pretend i’m hard at work on the vickyvesties right now#it’s not crack it’s just goofy#theoretically this takes place during the honeymoon phase of chapter 5 of shared space#since edelgard knows her swears by the time of muscle memory/shared space chapter 9#edelgard’s combination teacher/praise thing is truly unfortunate but what can you do. sometimes a girl is a gotdam mess#it’s not weird unless you make it weird. but she makes it weird.#i think sometimes (like here) she drops a ‘my teacher’ accidentally and byleth politely pretends not to notice#because if she Did call attention to it edelgard would be mortified and that would be the end of whatever fun things they’re doing#frankly no one deserves to say fuck more than edelgard#but with that giant stick up her ass she’d have a hard time getting around to it without some goading#i also hc that dropping honorifics is generally a Huge Turnoff for edelgard due to power dynamic shenanigans#their relationship is Complicated Enough in canon before i fucked it up more in shared space lol#so byleth is really asking for trouble here#but i also reckon ‘my teacher’ is a vibekiller for byleth so if anything they’re just riling each other up now#godspeed girls. hope you shut up long enough to get some
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Business is boomin' tonight!.. Achem. May I ask for Venti x female traveler reader? Reader got injured in fight with SPOILER Biesht (Osail's wife from Shenhe quest) and teleported to the Statue of the Seven in Windrise only to instantly loose consciousness. Venti was here at the moment and now is beyond worried. Some angst to fluff, pls
Also, if I start to be a pain in the butt with my requests, please, tell me
LISTEN, LISTEN- the biesht fight was amazing- and whenever i was playing it- it got me a lil scared cause i thought it was gonna die 😪
BUT- ofc ofc 😩 i love writing for venti stg- rn in my drafts im working on this long ass story for him for everyone, and hopefully it’s done by valentine’s day, so i can post it! :3
fair warning, this is not my best post; i’ve been sick for the whole month of january (allergies, i’m guessing.) and today’s one of the worst days of being sick i’ve had this whole month.
but, please enjoy! :3 and if you have anymore requests, go on and send them. <3
“You’re Okay, Right?”
venti the bard x injured! reader.
angst to fluff
warnings: angst, fluff, description of a slight panic attack from venti.
whenever your injured form had appeared at the statue of the seven at wind-rise; venti hadn’t known what to think.
you-; the person that barbatos himself had grown to love was laying under his statue; bloodied and beaten, hair a mess, clothes ripped, passed out.
to say venti was shocked was an understatement; he was in pure disbelief, scared out of his mind, panicking. the bard had lifted you up almost immediately, using the power of the wind to get you quickly to the cathedral.
there was only one person in his mind who would be able to help you in your time of need. barbara.
letting out a pained sob, he knocked harshly against the doors of the church; holding you up in his arms, the door was opened. immediately once one of the sisters had seen your form, they knew what to do.
so, now here both you and venti were. hours were passing by slowly; venti seated at your bedside.
he couldn’t stop his heart from beating harshly; he couldn’t helped the pained gasps for air that left his throat; he was in so much pain. pain that was different than the pain you were going through at the moment.
you were still unconscious; slow breaths leaving your mouth as you slept by venti’s side.
how could he have let this happen? he didn’t know. he couldn’t stop the shake of his hands as he gripped at the braids on each side of his head, sniffling as he pulled at them roughly, a quiet sob leaving his throat.
‘please wake up-‘ were the only words venti had been thinking in this moment.
twelve hours later, you were still unconscious. venti was still at your bedside; head resting pitifully against the side of the bed frame. all of the tears venti had let out at finally stopped; though his heart was still pounding painfully against his chest.
all he could do was stare at your sleeping form; taking in your features. you didn’t seem to be in any pain; thanks to barbara.
he was thankful for that. though, what venti wasn’t thankful for was the scratches that littered your body, and the fact that you were still unconscious.
he felt like this was lasting an eternity, looking away all venti could do was continue thinking of the situation you were in; he didn’t know how to explain the worry and pain he felt.
what venti hadn’t expected was for your E/C eyes to be boring into his once he finally turned and looked back at your form. once his green eyes met your E/C eyes, the tears started.
letting out a loud cry; venti threw himself onto the bed; ontop of you. loud cries left venti’s throat as he clung tightly to you, face buried into your shoulder as the tears continued to fall.
“Y/N!” he cried out; all he could do was say your name pitifully over and over again.
you couldn’t help the tears that began to show in your vision; which soon slowly began to fall down your face. using one arm, you gently wrapped it around venti’s shaking form, a soft sob leaving your lips.
“i-i’m sorry, i’m sorry-“ was all you could say. it was like a chant; all you could chant was that you were sorry.
swallowing loudly, venti sat up, rubbing at his eyes he looked right at you. “y-you’re okay, right?” he sniffled. “you’re really okay..? you’re not dead? i-i’m not seeing a ghost-? i’m not imagining that you’re awake..?” he whispered sadly.
your heart broke upon hearing his words. never had you ever seen venti this upset. for the archon always wore a smile on his face, always cheered, and was always messing with others.
smiling sadly, you pulled venti back down, his form was now laying right atop your form.
“i’m okay venti, i’m okay..” you whispered softly into his ear. you pressed a gentle kiss to venti’s head, sniffling as you did so.
this moment had been one of the scariest moments in venti’s life. all he could do was allow you to hold him as he continued to cry into your shoulder; clinging sadly to you as he tried to get it in his head that you were truly okay.
#reader#genshin#genshin headcanons#genshin impact headcanons#venti headcanons#gi venti#venti the bard#venti#venti fluff#venti x reader#venti fanfic#venti angst#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader
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perfect
—in which todoroki takes his sick s/o somewhere
pairing: s. todoroki x reader
genre: fluff
disclaimer: lowercase intended
a/n: sorry if im posting old oneshot drafts,, im sick and i cant rly focus on writing n stuff but i do have an idea for a new headcanon so hopefully next post will be that
Love...
It has so many context; so many stories told, so many beliefs spread, so many talk about it.
But only a few found it.
[I found a love for me.]
The sound of the knocking interrupted [name]'s thoughts. Her heartbeat arose when a dual-haired man entered her sight.
"Hey." he said, ambling down the narrow space towards her. Her smile graced the dull atmosphere in the room, even managing to slightly uplift the corner of his lips.
"Hey...Did you guys have fun tonight?" [name] asked.
"Yeah. Uraraka also wanted to know how are you. I said you're okay...Are you feeling well?" A soft hand—specifically his left side—settled atop her own as he sits down on the bed beside her, making the cushion on that spot dip from his presence.
"Yup," she confirmed. "Just a headache. But I'm fine, really."
"Are you sure? I can get us soba right now if you want."
"It's okay, I'm already full anyway."
They went utterly still while exchanging gazes; it was the type of silence that was purely comfortable. Both didn't doubt that they'd hear a feather fall. Shouto and [name] were simply enjoying each other's company.
[Oh darling, just dive right in and follow my lead.]
Frankly, it was broken the moment she felt a faint tug on her delicate hand.
"[name], I want to go somewhere with you tonight." She just stared at him, barely noticing how long she peered at him with her brows furrowed.
"Eh?" Normally, people don't take their significant other to a date at two in the morning right after announcing that their head aches.
"Sorry. Do you want me to rest with you here instead?"
"No no no, I was just surprised." A hearty chuckle came out of her. "You're usually already sleepy at this time, but it seems important so I'll come."
[Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet.]
Shouto took ahold of her wrists, gently helping her to get on her feet. Fragile and frail; her body wobbled for a bit. What was left of her cumulated strength gave her the balance she needed, however.
Letting her beauty captivate him once again, he internally praised his lover. Perhaps it was the red string of fate that weaved both of them together. Although he wasn't so sure about that. Something tells him that even if they're not destined together, he would've still been drawn to [name].
[Oh, I never knew you were the someone waiting for me.]
White, loose dress covered her figure. Once she was fully upright, Shouto carefully pulled the tubes that covered her arms. His hand reached the paper bag that contained a change of clothes and a pair of shoes, and handed it to her. She gratefully accepted after saying a short thanks.
Well, back then, she used to daydream of the person who she'll shower with all her affection. Whispers of imagination satisfying her fantasies. It was her only desire after finding out how many years she has left to live.
Nine years have passed and never did [name] expect that she'd finally find him; pain from waiting suddenly vanished from her. Maybe even the very little chance of researchers developing a cure slipped out of her mind too.
['Cause we were just kids when we fell in love.]
The day she entered U.A. was memorable, of course. Since that's the start of their journey. A quest that they knew would end too soon, but accepted nonetheless.
[Not knowing what it was. I will not give you up this time.]
They stride down the hallways to the exit, not letting the chattering disturb their own peaceful minds. And after they arrived at their destination, [name] stepped out of the car.
Oaks laid below her feet, their hue complimenting the pavement. Grass dangled in one direction as well as her [h/c] tresses.
Splendor sky had stars scattered all over it, leaning down to the grounds of the earth. The glistening of her eyes forestalled his anticipation. As she stared up above, the vague scent of fire entered aloft her nostrils. At the corner of her eyes, she could see the crackling of the flames.
The heterochromatic eyed lad glanced at the spaces between her fingers and interlocked his hand with hers, guiding her further into the garden.
"It's so pretty here, Shouto."
"I know." Though his eyes never left her. It annoyed him a little because it wasn't him who she was staring at. Eventually, his ego got the best of him as his fingers tilted her chin to face him.
Closer and closer...
Those frail lips of hers that lacks warmth brushed his own. He would've noticed the frigidity instantly if it wasn't for the heated flush that seeped onto his cheeks.
[But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own.]
Unblinking eyes met as they slowly pulled apart. The after effects invited them to do it once again, but it was declined when he circled his arms around her petite waist, while she contrarily wrapped both arms around his shoulder—leaving them embracing one another close by, afraid of letting go. Moving their feet sedately in chorus, silently wishing that one can live an eternity.
[And in your eyes, you're holding mine. Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms.]
Fingers splayed on his back. [name]'s humming causing a gentle vibration to form where they connect. He soaked in the soft melodies, savoring each note, for they seem to speak to him too.
[Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song.]
A full minute passes before she shuffled away from him.
"Sorry, I don't exactly look presentable right now."
[When you said you looked a mess,]
For a moment, she thought Shouto disregarded it, not until he murmured something.
[I whispered underneath my breath.]
Everything about [name] seems to elate. And that realization of what good relishing the years she has left brings hit her.
[But you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight.]
tags; @mayukhii @innersooya
#bnha#mha#bnha headcanons#todoroki headcanons#bnha oneshots#todoroki x y/n#mha todoroki#shoto todoroki#todoroki x you#todoroki#todoroki x reader#todoroki shoto x reader#bnha shoto todoroki#todoroki shouto#todoroki fluff#shouto x y/n#shouto x reader#shouto fluff#shoto x you#bnha angst#bnha x reader#bnha imagines
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Drink Me
pairing : niki x gn!reader
genre : bulleted. fluff. a bit of angst. inspired by alice in wonderland, inside out and filter - jimin (all very loosely)
warnings : swearing. niki’s character changes concept and/or characteristics (chameleonic). this doesn’t necessarily have a plot.
summary : niki drinks a potion that causes him to change every time he drinks. and of course, as his best friend, you are the one to get him out of trouble. always.
Niki is someone rather quiet
But he can be rather impulsive
Which explains why he even drank the potion in the first place
It would’ve been normal to say he drank it once
Or had a sip
But guzzling it down six times was what he did
Six times because lucky number seven is overrated
His face screws up at the taste of it
It’s a mixture of disgusting, sweet and with a little bit of spice
It has Niki’s head going in circles
Luckily for Niki, whenever he was always doing reckless things, he had one person that’d always be there for him in the end
You pick up, a little tired
‘Yeah?’
‘So, I drank a potion...’
‘You... drank...a potion?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why do you say that so casually?’
‘Because it’s already happened...’
‘Well, do you feel anything change in you?’
‘No.’
‘Either it hasn’t happened yet...or nothing happens. Stop drinking potions and giving me heart attacks, Niki. Goodnight.’
The next morning you find that things are a little different
You’re just finished talking to your teacher over assignments and little things you missed during your draft
You sigh at the sheer amount of them all
Too many mistakes
You look at the entrance as Niki struts through the doors, or someone that definitely looks like Niki BUT ISN’T NIKI
Your eyebrows lift at the oozing confidence this Niki has as he wears his leather jacket you never knew he owned with a lollipop in his mouth
And this Niki walks right past you and you can’t help the scowl that comes across your face
He dawdles down the hallway, uncaring of others and you follow him with the same frown on your face
Your stride breaks almost into a run when you hear the shouts of a few boys and taunting from Niki
In the doorway you see a boy, Jay have Niki against the wall by the collar
Niki makes eye contact with you and his smirk widens
‘Baby’
Baby?
Jay turns towards you with Niki’s collar still in his hands
That fucking idiot
You walk in front of Niki, pulling Jay’s already softening grip away from the collar before softly putting them by his sides
Jay stares at you in bewilderment before his eyes narrow as Niki decides to open his mouth
‘I can take him.’
‘No you can’t.’
Jay goes to launch himself at Niki, trying to prevent himself from knocking you
You can’t help the glower at Jay (it’s not truly directed at him either but he’s the sad collateral damage)
‘Please don’t hit him. Because then I have to hit you back. And trust me, I will whack you....’
‘...No matter how hot or scary you are.’
Jay’s eyebrows lift as he stares you down in surprise and an increasing feeling of his ego being boosted
But before he can say anything else, you already have Niki’s jacket in your hand, pulling him down the corridor
‘Niki.’
Jay stares after the two of you, still slightly annoyed and interested
‘Hey. Who was that?’
But with no help he’s left with a want to get to know you.
The next day you see Niki seemingly back to normal
But the look he passes over you when you go to check on him is not one of them
He gives you harsh eyes as you take a look at him through the mirror next to Jungwon who fusses over the little cut you’ve managed to obtain
Jungwon runs a smooth palm over the plaster before tapping your knee a little
‘What did your clumsy ass do this time?’
Even though he’s currently going through a weird time and you understand him, you can’t help the sad frown that settles on your face
Jungwon peeps at the tears growing in your eyes before turning to Niki
‘Niki’
He growls
‘If you’re gonna be a dickhead all session then get the fuck out.’
Niki rolls his eyes before storming out
You lift yourself up from the ground, needing to chase him
‘You don’t have to chase him, Y/N.’
You sigh
‘Thank you Jungwon,’
Before following Niki out of the room.
Niki has his head on a locker, gripping it in his hands
You hurry worriedly towards him, patting his back
The next day you find that Niki had already become another
With his tie not on properly and his uniform unkempt
You drag him into another classroom, sighing
Only to be met by the surprised face of Park Sunghoon
The ‘prince’ of the school so to speak
‘Who are you?’
He says as he looks at Niki who looks down at his nose at Sunghoon
‘Don’t worry about it.’
You waved him off so carelessly that Sunghoon can’t help the surprised expression across his face
He thought you were quiet and tended to stick to yourself
You button Niki’s shirt tying it securely
Whilst you do that his attention is focused on you whilst Sunghoon finds he wants to ease the tension
He goes to exit the classroom only to be stopped by you
‘Do you perhaps know how to tie a tie?’
‘Perhaps?’
He says in an almost teasing tone
You cast him a dark look which he grins at
‘Yes, your highness I do.’
Niki watches Sunghoon tie his tie around his neck with stiff shoulders before looking at you with much softer eyes
‘You are to be my beloved?’
You stare at him
And Sunghoon’s tries to focus on tying this tie for a boy he doesn’t know to stomp out the pure awkwardness and unnatural language of a teenage boy
‘My royal beloved, that is?’
Niki asks, completely ignoring the boy in front of him.
Sunghoon was a prince turned into a complete slave by a boy who looks like he barely celebrated his thirteenth birthday.
You, however, are rendered speechless and currently don’t know how to function
Sunghoon inhales in satisfaction as he perfects Niki’s tie and steps away
Niki, fortunately returns to normal
He frowns at the boy in front of him before loosening the tie around his neck slightly
Sunghoon can’t help the dark look that comes across his face
‘Thank you Sunghoon. For tying his tie, only for it to become undone. Thank you.’
Your sarcastic tilt has Niki apologising to Sunghoon
‘Prince Niki made an appearance.’
Niki screwed his face up before making eye contact with Sunghoon
‘Who are you anyway?’
The ice prince is offended. And he makes no effort to hide how irritated and slightly interested he is.
Sunghoon finds you both weird
But he oddly fucks with that
Which is why he invites you both to his party tomorrow night
The party has you both drowsy. Throughout the whole night, your hand is clasped in NIki’s hand and you hope you don’t have clammy hands.
That’s the least of your problems
Rather than this crush on your best friend you have
The ‘incoming’ Niki hasn’t happened yet and it freaks the both of you out a little bit
Niki tries to focus on the fact that since the party has started, you haven’t let his hand go.
You’re both seated and your fingers are interlocked
An hour ago you had seen Sunghoon and waved hello.
That was weird.
You never thought you’d ever be one of the people he’d acknowledge
Much rather Niki, who can’t even remember why he’s being acknowledged
Twenty minutes ago it was even weirder
Jay had appeared in front of the both of you, giving looks at your hands and even Jungwon had made eyes at them
‘Wanna drink?’ Jay leaned into you which you denied.
‘Since when were you two a thing?’ Jungwon asked
‘We’re not.’
Niki can’t help the wolfish grin that appears on his face as he takes a look at Jay
He doesn’t know where it comes from but he sends a wink his way which has Jay’s eyes narrowing
He could hold your hand forever
Unfortunately though, he doesn’t really want to hold your hand while he takes a piss
So seeing that you’re currently in a conversation with Jungwon, he takes the opening to go and pee as quickly as he can
(So he can return to you much faster)
This, however seems to be the moment the new version of Niki appears
Jake Sim finds Nishimura Riki in the bathroom applying glitter to his face
‘Sorry man.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’
Niki waves off any apology with the flick of his hand
‘That’s sick.’
Niki fixes his stare on Jake, ‘I know.’
Niki sarcastically welcomes him with the gesture of his hand, focusing on the pretty that adorns his face
‘Who are you here with?’
Niki opens the door slightly, looking down the balcony to see you in the same spot as before with a lemonade in hand.
He points down at you before smiling slightly, ‘Them.’
‘They’re cute’
Jake smiles
‘I know they are.’
‘Are you dating?’ Jake says, eyeing at the way Sunghoon is talking to you
‘Not yet.’
‘Are you done with your glitter?’ Jake wonders
‘Yeah.’
‘Cool- cause I gotta take a piss. Like now. Here’s my number.’
Jake’s fingers dance across Niki’s phone screen and Niki walks downstairs
You stop your conversation with Sunghoon as you see Niki with his face prettily covered in glitter and confused as fuck
Sunghoon turns to meet Niki’s eye and is like, ‘I like the glitter.’
The next morning when Niki changes, you don’t necessarily notice he’s changed
Maybe other people have been suspicious over Niki’s change of character
But not you
You’re used to this Niki
Even the victim, Kim Sunoo is used to it
So when Niki giggles and pours water over Sunoo’s head and then a bucket of feathers
You only muse to yourself that Niki has finally brought playful Niki to school
Sunoo glares at Niki before chasing him down the hall
‘NISHIMURA RIKI’
You can hear Niki cackle as he runs from Sunoo, ‘THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR PUTTING A WATERMELON IN MY MAILBOX.’
Sunoo spits out a feather as he yells, ‘HOW IS THAT AS BAD AS THIS?’
And so the whole school watches as Sunoo tackles Niki down in an attempt to seriously injure the giggling boy
Jungwon looks at you confused and with a hint of concern, ‘Shouldn’t you go help Niki?’
‘I think it’s deserved,’ You say and turn away, choosing to instead focus on your education.
Every now and then you can’t help but peek over your book at the commotion
Sunoo stands up with a huff, stomping down the hallway to make eye contact with you-
‘I hate your boyfriend.’
Before he stalks off
When the bell rings, Niki remains on the floor, resembling a starfish or a snow angel with his legs wide apart and arms extended
When you reach him, he’s giggling with tears in his eyes
You watch him from above, shaking your head
‘I don’t know why I’m laughing,’ Niki giggles as he wipes a tear away, ‘What was this Niki like?’
‘Exactly like you.’
When Niki changes for the final time, it is not you who finds him
But Sunoo and Heeseung
Heeseung watches Niki cry on the floor with his head in between his hands whilst Sunoo runs off in search of you
Heeseung slides down the wall to sit across from the crying younger boy
‘Hey, you okay Niki?’
Now Niki feels sad. But he feels even sadder that the person who caught him blubbering and crying away is a crush of yours
(A once upon a time crush but Niki doesn’t know that)
Heeseung squeezes Niki’s shoulder without saying anything else before sliding forward to comfort him.
Heeseung watches over Niki protectively, only letting his eyes wander when he hears hurried footsteps and finds himself a little speechless when he makes eye contact with you
‘Hi Y/N.’
‘Hey Heeseung,’ You smile before placing your hands on each side of Niki’s face
‘Look at me-’
And Heeseung can only watch your obvious crush on Niki shine
‘Now what aren’t we going to do?’
Heeseung smiles but his eyes widen at the words pulled from your mouths
‘No more drinking potions.’
What?
author’s note : cinematic parallels but my own writing version : putting jake in the bathroom and heeseung being an old crush of y/n’s. this was just a bit of fun and a little bit of a mess. i love this idea.
#enhypenwriters#enhypen niki#enhypen fic#enhypen#niki#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#enhypen niki imagines#enhypen niki scenarios#enhypen niki fic#enhypen niki bulleted#enhypen au#niki imagines#niki scenarios#niki fic#enhypen fanfic#enhypen niki fanfic#niki x reader fic#enhypen niki x reader fic#enhypen niki x reader imagines#enhypen niki x reader scenarios
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My Wildest Dreams
Howdy Howdy! This is my fourth (of five) prompts for my 500 follower raffle (and it’s taken me so long to write it I’m at 600, sorry)
This is for the oh so talented @julek for the pairing Geraskifer and the trope truth potions! I hope you like it!!
Shout out to @selectivegeekwithstandards who was my sounding board and helped me fix what was a verifiable disaster of a first draft <3 <3
-
Jaskier wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was annoyed at the way Geralt and Yennefer were behaving but it certainly was exhausting.
The sorceress had met up with him and Geralt two towns back and had been travelling with them since. It wasn’t uncommon for the three of them to travel together, Yennefer popping in and out of their lives as she saw fit. But this time was different for some reason. Normally she would arrive and her and Geralt would disappear to fuck like bunnies for a while while Jaskier yearned from afar. This time, however, they’d had a hushed conversation and then… that was it.
And they had kept having those conversations, sending furtive looks toward Jaskier each time. The bard decided to pretend like he didn’t notice but honestly it was getting a bit too weird. Normally when Yennefer was travelling with them, Jaskier spent the entire time pining, wishing they were paying him attention… inviting him into Yennefer’s impressive tent for… whatever it was they did.
Jaskier sighed as he noticed the look Geralt sent him from the other side of the room. Geralt didn’t normally sneak looks at him or, if he did, he was normally sneakier about it. They were in an herbalist’s shop, Geralt and Yennefer having both needed ingredients, so Jaskier was just wandering around and looking at the various things and keeping his hands to himself.
Jaskier suddenly noticed something strange on the highest shelf of jars in the shop.
The jar was smaller than all the others and it wasn’t labelled either. It was filled with a brilliant purple powder that shimmered in the low candlelight.
“It’s not for sale.”
Jaskier jumped, not having heard the old herbalist walk up behind him. He cleared his throat, “What is it?”
The herbalist ignored his question. “Are you with them?” the man gestured to where Geralt and Yennefer had their heads close together and were muttering to each other.
“Yes.”
The man hummed thoughtfully, eyeing Jaskier, “You can have it.”
“What?” The man had pointed at the small jar when he said it but he had also just said it wasn’t for sale.
The man grabbed the jar off the shelf and held it out to Jaskier, “It’ll solve your problem.”
“What problem?” Jaskier asked as he reached out and took the jar, staring curiously at the contents.
The man nodded toward Geralt and Yennefer, “With those two. Just add a spoonful with their wine, they won’t taste a thing.”
Right, yes. Just mix a strange substance in their drinks. That’ll work brilliantly. “And what exactly is it supposed to do.”
“It will make them tell the truth.”
Well… that would certainly be a nice change. But still...
“I can’t pay for this.”
The man waved a hand, “I told you, it isn’t for sale. And trust me, it will help.”
Jaskier pocketed the powder hesitantly and watched the herbalist cross the shop to where Yennefer was inspecting a bundle of herbs.
How strange. But the truth would be nice. He needed to know what was going on, why the two were being so secretive.
No. He couldn’t.
-
It took another week travelling with Geralt and Yennefer’s weird behavior before Jaskier put any actual consideration into using the powder. The pair had just kept on with their whispers and their staring, making Jaskier uncomfortable at every turn. Honestly, he had listed after the couple for years but now he was getting rather put off just looking at them.
Desperate times and that...
Jaskier waltzed through the door to the inn room they were all sharing, three mugs of wine in hand.
“I need you two to tell me the truth,” Jaskier declared, standing just inside the doorway of their room. It was time for him to put his foot down and get the answers he needed.
“What are you talking about?” Yennefer asked sharply. She was frozen, loose herbs held in one hand, lingering over where she had been bundling them over the table.
“You two,” Jaskier gestured at them, sloshing wine in the mugs he was still carrying, “have been keeping something from me for weeks and I am sick of it.”
Geralt opened his mouth but Jaskier shushed him, “No, listen. I need the truth. Either you tell me now or, if that’s too difficult, you drink these.”
Geralt grunted, “What would drinking wine have to do with anything?” The witcher had set down the dagger he had been examining in favor of staring at Jaskier, directing his full attention at the bard.
“The drinks are drugged,” Jaskier responded matter-of-factly. “A truth potion. So, if you don’t think you can be honest with me without help, you can drink this. Otherwise, I’m leaving, and I don’t want to see either of you again.”
The silence in the room was stifling and suddenly Jaskier was horrified. What if he was being too forceful? What if they just… left?
Yennefer and Geralt shared a meaningful look before finally Geralt stood up and walked over to Jaskier, taking the mugs of wine from him. He handed one to Yennefer silently before taking a drink from his own.
Geralt looked back to Jaskier, “You’re right, you deserve the truth.”
Yennefer stared at the wine in her hand for a moment and Jaskier suddenly felt incredibly nervous. What if this was something he didn’t want to know after all?
Finally, Yennefer took a long drink and hummed slightly, “You are right, Jaskier.”
“Do you feel any different?” He asked hesitantly.
Yennefer shook her head, “No, we’ll need to finish the drinks for it to work properly. And I think I would like to wait until then to have this conversation. It won’t be easy for me.”
“Okay,” Jaskier responded quietly, sitting on one of the beds in the room as he worked on his own wine, waiting for… something to happen.
Geralt and Yennefer had both returned to their previous tasks, both absentmindedly sipping at the wine.
There was a knock at the door.
Jaskier hurried to open it and accept the three plates of food, “I hope everyone’s hungry” he said brightly.
“Always am. Never get enough to eat.” Geralt said, reaching out to take a plate from Jaskier.
Geralt’s brow furrowed suddenly as Jaskier looked at him curiously. He had long suspected that the witcher needed more food, but he had never said so. Jaskier set the second plate across the table where Yennefer was sitting, “and for the lady”.
She simply nodded in thanks, a small smile on her face.
Jaskier sat upon the bed again, digging into his plate. “So,” he started in between bites, “do either of you have anything you would like to tell me?”
“I enjoy your company.” Yennefer said suddenly, her face reddening.
Jaskier was taken aback, “You… what?”
“Enjoy your company.” The sorceress was staring at Jaskier with emotion shining in her eyes that Jaskier never thought he would see. Not directed at him.
Jaskier looked at Geralt, unsure of how to respond. Geralt’s lips were pressed together tightly, his brow furrowed, “Is… something wrong, Geralt?”
“I…” Geralt hesitated, “am sorry if we made you uncomfortable.” The witcher didn’t apologize easily, always saying rubbish about not having feelings, so the statement meant a lot, particularly under the circumstances.
Jaskier nodded, feeling bad he’d given the two the ultimatum, but glad he would get answers now, “I just couldn’t handle the weird tension and the whispering and the looks anymore.”
Yennefer sighed, “We were talking about you.”
“Why were you talking about me?” Jaskier suspected as much with the looks but he couldn’t think of a reason they would be talking about him.
“Because we’re both in love with you.” Geralt responded quietly, his eyes downcast.
Jaskier was certain his heart stopped, “Ahhh… that doesn’t sound right.” They couldn’t possibly have feelings for him, not more than a fond friendship. It didn’t make sense.
“Well, we can’t lie thanks to you.” Yennefer said, staring Jaskier dead in the eye. The earnest look on her face left Jaskier breathless.
He nodded, breaking the eye contact, “Right. Sorry about that. I was just at my wits end.”
“We really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Yennefer said, her voice softer this time, drawing Jaskier’s gaze back to hers.
“Do you… mean it, though? That you both love me?” Jaskier couldn’t remember ever feeling more vulnerable.
“Yes.” Geralt said simply.
Yennefer nodded, “Yes. We do. We just weren’t sure what to do about it.”
“Well… telling me would have been preferable. Not acting like… you were plotting against me would have also been a good alternative.”
Geralt stood and walked to where Jaskier was sitting, kneeling on the ground in front of him, “We… were worried you didn’t feel the same.”
Jaskier set his plate aside and rested a hand on Geralt’s face. He took a deep breath, tears pooling in his eyes, “Geralt, I’ve been in love with you for a decade. And Yennefer, I care about you. I do. And I’m not opposed to… trying for more. With both of you. If you’ll have me?”
Yennefer stood slowly, walking across the room to sit beside Jaskier, setting a gentle hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and reaching out to hold one of Geralt’s hands with her other. “We would be honored to call you ours,” she said, placing a gentle kiss on Jaskier’s cheek.
Jaskier beamed, tears finally spilling over. Geralt reached up and wiped them away with a tender caress.
Jaskier stood quickly and cleared his throat, “I’ll be right back.”
Geralt frowned from his position on the floor, “Where are you going?”
Jaskier laughed lightly and smiled back at the witcher, his heart fluttering madly with how happy he was, “I’m going to get you another plate of food.”
Yennefer chuckled, “That’s a good idea. We’ll be waiting for you.” She leaned back on the bed and smirked at Jaskier.
Jaskier knew in that moment he was living out his wildest dreams and he couldn’t be more thrilled.
-
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All 50 questions for Manny because I’m mean 🥰
lmaooo remember when you sent me this ask a million years ago sufsdfsfsjdfhj half the answers have been sitting in my drafts for so long but here they are <3
1. Do they laugh at their own jokes?
Yeah he thinks he's funny as fuck
2. What does their laugh sound like?
Loud and annoying skskskks
3. What does their voice sound like?
He has a slightly deep voice with hints of a Cuban accent here and there
4. What side of the bed do they sleep on?
Right
5. Are they a light sleeper?
“Nah, but wake me up and feel my wrath, that’s like my number one pet peeve.”
6. Do they have any frequent / recurring dreams?
No
7. Do they sleep with their socks on?
“Eww wtf”
8. Are they a morning or a night person?
Night
9. What do they do to relax?
Getting high probably or playing music
10. Are they very highly strung?
Nope
11. Are they easy going?
Usually unless you piss him off
12. What are they like when they’re angry?
He is kind of an asshole when he's angry, usually to everyone around him cause he doesn't really know how to process his emotions too well. When he calms down though, he acts normal to everyone except the one who made him upset.
13. How often do they shower?
Never sksksksks jk probably every day if not every other day
14. How organized are they?
Not very organized at all but he mostly know where his things are in his mess
15. Do they keep track of their calendar?
Never
16. Do they have a diary or a journal?
Nope
17. Are they on any medication?
Prozac
18. Do they suffer from any illnesses?
Depression and has a slight alcohol dependency but I don't think that's an illness lol
19. Do they get sick easily?
No
20. Would it take much to knock them out?
YESS !!!
21. Do they have a high pain tolerance?
Yep
22. What’s the quickest way to upset them?
Going against him/making it so he doesn’t get what he wants. Yes he’s a child
23. What is the thing that makes them most uncomfortable?
Uhh not sure, he's pretty chill
24. How do they act when they’re upset?
Like a big baby, he’ll act like he’s not upset with you while simultaneously icing you out, if that makes sense. For example, he’ll talk to you but his responses will be cold and his gaze, disinterested.
25. How does your character cry?
He doesn’t really.
26. Is your OC happy with their life?
He’s having a hard time right now. He feels like the future is coming too quickly while he’s just trying to chill so it’s kind stressing him out.
27. Will they have a happy ending?
LMAO maybe just cus i want to see Lexi happy
He doesn’t deserve one though
28. What would they change about their life?
He would change a few things. He would change the fact that a lot of his friends have kids because he hates not being the center of attention.
29. Do they have a comfort food?
Totino’s Pizza Rolls, he grew up on that shit
30. Do they drink alcohol?
Probably more than he should
31. What are they like when they’re drunk?
Boisterous and even more affectionate than usual
32. What are their eating habits like?
Terrible, he hates cooking and loves eating out so he’s always eating trash unless his wifey makes him dinner... and by wifey I mean Everett or Lexi lol
33. If left to their own devices would they forget to eat / shower etc. ?
I don’t think so lol
34. How would they spend their day if left alone with no responsibilities?
He’d probably write music, smoke, watch tv, etc etc
35. How do they generally have their hair?
Short and in a Mohawk, but he used to keep his hair long
36. How do they usually dress?
Shorts, loose t-shirt, sneakers
37. Do they have a signature look?
naur i dont fink so
38. Do they have any odd personality traits?
uhhh i dont think so
39. What’s the weirdest habit they have?
I can’t think of any
40. Have they ever been involved in a scandal?
Yeah, he’s known at his former church for doing a few scandalous things if u know what i mean
41. Have they ever committed a crime?
Definitely
42. Would they hurt the few to save the many?
Yeah I think so
43. What could be generally associated with them?
Guitar, Booze, Rock
44. Have they got any close friends?
Adrianna, Ben, Cece, Duck, and Everett are his closest friends
omg abcde !!!! wtf
45. Do they like public displays of affection?
Yesss, definitely
46. Would they ever like to get married?
Yeah eventually when he's ready to settle down but for now he's just tryna have fun and live his best life
47. What is their ‘type’?
Manny is definitely a boobs guy so his type is usually woman with nice boobies. He also loves long hair and pretty lips when it comes to other physical features. Personality wise he likes sweet, soft girls.
48. Have they ever been in a serious relationship?
2 💃🏾🎉
49. How easily do they get attached to things?
Not really
50. What is the thing that would hurt the most if they lost it?
His closest friends and Lexi
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The Battle Wedding of Vil and Rook ft. Leona
A/N: Stares at all my unfinished drafts. Whelp, I have so many WIPs but this idea popped into my head and refuses to leave until I made some progress on it. I rewatched this particular scene from Pirates of the Caribbean and went, “What if Twst did this?” Here is the result.
Warnings: Sword fighting, mentions of death
Clashing swords and roaring waves encapsulated the ship as the boom of cannons tore holes for water to discover. Anywhere anyone stepped, there was a battle raging. No square footage of the deck was without some manner of a sword clanging or a pistol being shot. The chaos continued on with every member of the pirate ship, The Queen’s Apple, and the leading ship of the Royal Sword Armada, the Wishing Well, continuing their war within the maelstrom.
Rain pounded the wood and drenched the eyes of all. Rook’s own hat was soaked in the water. Green eyes surveyed the deck before honing in on his captain fighting the enemy in a whirl of purple, gold, and black underneath the mast.
Shoving his way to Vil, Rook fired at every person that kept him from his captain. At the end, with Vil’s back turned, Rook pulled out his own blade and screamed to his Queen, “Roi de Poison!”
Vil turned to see Rook before pulling out a pistol to fire at the enemy at Rook’s back. He fired a shot at another soldier that landed on the deck.
He grasped Vil’s arm to pull his attention back. “Will you marry me?”
Vil paused to stare at Rook before an enemy came charging between them. They pinned the enemy’s sword down before Vil levelled Rook with an exasperated look. “Why would you ask me such an inane question in the middle of battle?”
“I fear this would be the only time I would be able to make you my husband.” Rook let go of the soldier to stab at another, allowing Vil to focus on his own opponent. Rook declared “Je t’aime, mon amour.” They were torn apart once more by more enemy soldiers crossing onto the ship.
Eventually, the fighting brought them back face-to-face. “I’ve made my decision, Roi de Poison. What is yours?”
Vil’s incredulous look at the sudden proposal flashed into determination and he screamed to the deck above, “Leona!”
Rook’s visage immediately took a turn to confusion and betrayal at the name leaving his Queen’s lips. How was this possible? Had Roi de Leon somehow enchanted his beloved Roi du Poison? When did Roi de Leon have the time to woo his Queen? Was this declaration the rejection Vil had prepared? How his captain cut deeply to choose the lion over him!
“Marry us!”
Shock morphed into elation at Vil’s words. Vil’s intention clear to him now, Rook looked back up to Leona for his answer.
“DO I LOOK LIKE I’VE BEEN ORDAINED?” Leona roared as he used one of the RSA soldier’s own arm to skewer their comrade.
“Roi de Leon, now!” Rook swiftly dodged a swing to his head and spun to intercept the blade that was aimed for Vil’s chest. Vil, likewise, stabbed the RSA soldier aiming for Rook’s back.
Leona let out a huff as he pivoted a RSA soldier’s sword into his comrade. “If it gets you both to shut up then!” He pulled himself onto the platform and recited, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” he paused to kick a soldier down from his platform, “to nail your gizzards to the mainsail, ya weak herbivores!”
Below, Rook and Vil held hands, fighting soldiers left and right. Vil pulled a scowl at Leona’s crude language but nonetheless went back to the ceremony. “Do you, Rook Hunt, take me...”
An elbow to the groin. Rook threw the off-balanced soldier over the railing.
“To be your husband...” Vil blocked an uppercut from a soldier, allowing Rook to puncture him under the deflection.
“In sickness and in health? Without guarantee for health in the slightest?” Vil finished.
“Always Roi de Poison. I’ll forever be by your side.” Rook punctuated his words with a swift bow, allowing Vil to dispatch the soldier behind him.
Vil removed the sword and Rook began his own vows, “Do you, the Queen of my heart...” Rook swept Vil off his feet to kick a soldier down before bringing him close to his face, staring deep into the amethyst of Vil’s eyes. “Take me, your Hunter of love, to be your husband?”
Before Vil could answer a cry made them turn their heads to see three more soldiers charging at them. Rook set Vil on his feet and launched him into battle before facing his own opponent. Swords clashed once more. Every parry and block brings their backs closer to one another. Finally, the couple were pressed back-to-back against one another surrounded by a ring of five soldiers. With a smirk, Vil wrapped his arms around Rook’s to propel himself up into a kick. Down went the two in front of him. Using Vil’s momentum, Rook spun the pirate into the remaining soldiers, disarming them. He cut them down, allowing Vil to drop to the floor.
Vil drew in closer, taking in every detail of the hunter’s green eyes as he answered, “I do.”
“Magnifique! Oh, Roi de Poison!”
Having heard the vows, Leona launched into the last bit of the ceremony while simultaneously dueling two other soldiers from his position on the platform above. “As captain, you both are—“
He interrupted himself to take the time to stab a soldier between his legs. With a cackle, he pulled the sword out of the soldier’s chest before going back to the ceremony. “You’re married!” Pulling a pistol out from his coat, he fired at a soldier approaching the couple. The chamber was empty but Leona used it to knock out the nearest opponent.
Vil and Rook remembered their surroundings and scrambled back into the battle. Meanwhile, Leona continued trying to finish the wedding.
“You may kiss—” He was interrupted again by having to dodge gunfire. Leaping off the platform, Leona caught some loose rope and kicked in the faces of the soldiers that fired at him.
“You may kiss—” Leona let go of the rope and turned on the next opponent, running him through.
Tired of the pomp and circumstance, dropping every inch of decorum, Leona swirled on the couple, leaned over the railing and yelled, “JUST KISS!”
Vil and Rook had their swords crossed overhead, arms raised to defend against each other’s blade. No one knew who made the first move but it was clear there was intention there as they drew each other close in an intense kiss. The world fell away around them. Cannons blew, guns fired, and rain constantly dripped on their faces. But none of it registered. Nothing mattered. All Vil and Rook knew was the breath of his husband and the feeling of each other’s lips in their first kiss as husbands. Rook devoured his Roi de Poison’s perfect lips and Vil responded back with equal fervor.
Looking back at his captain, Epel could see all the chaos that encapsulated the battle but the only thing that registered was the fact that Captain Vil Schoenheit of The Queen’s Apple and his first mate were making out in the middle of everything. Epel pulled a face and picked up the nearest piece of wooden debris to launch it at Jack Howl.
Jack whirred to find the enemy that dared to hurl wood at him but only found Epel. His attention successfully gotten, Epel pointed at his captain and first mate so they could share in the scene together.
Jack felt a stirring in his heart at the sight of the two locked in their embrace. After all the pain and terror that made up the world they were fighting in, they had finally gotten married.
Unfortunately, as much as Vil and Rook would have loved to savor the moment, pressing matters such as the rocking of the ship beneath their feet forced them apart.
Rook ran his fingers down Vil’s cheek, allowing himself a last few seconds to admire the beauty of Vil glowing with happiness and lips swollen from their kiss. “I would have you as soon as Neige Leblanche is defeated. I will worship you in the manner you deserve at the end of this.”
“I will hold you to that promise, Hunt.” With one more smirk and wink in his husband’s direction, Vil threw himself back into the battle, confident his hunter would be right behind him, following wherever he led.
#twisted wonderland#vilrook#rookvil#vil schoenheit#rook hunt#vil schoenheit x rook hunt#vil x rook#leona kingscholar#epel felmier#jack howl#pirates of the caribbean#wedding#will and elizabeth wedding#vil as elizabeth swann#rook as will turner#funny#sword fighting#RSA#pirate ships
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Coast To Coast
part iii
Two Meetings and a Reunion
(Notes: To chirp in hockey is to make fun of/lightly insult.
Nous n'avons jamais passé une nuit dans un lit ensemble sans—nous embrasser: We’ve never spent a night in bed together without--kissing each other)
Gryffindor, 2017
Logan had heard from Finn over the phone, of course. Congratulating him. They FaceTimed. They missed each other.
They didn’t talk about it. The day Finn left.
Finn’s call to Logan had been one of many congratulatory emails, texts, calls, and voicemails. One call of which had been from Sirius Black himself, slightly awkward, but awe-inspiring none the less.
Drafted to the Gryffindor Lions. First Finn, now Logan.
If they had been anyone else, Logan would have thought it too good to be true.
But that was all they were: Phone calls, and messages. A screen between them, one of them having to go soon, both of them busy.
It was nothing compared to Logan pulling up at Finn’s apartment, having just dropped his things off at none other than Pascal Dumais’ house. There would be no buffer. It would just be Finn, right in front of him, tall and lean muscle and…everything.
Logan pulled his car into park in the street and took a breath. The problem wasn’t Finn. He wanted to see his best friend more than anything. The problem was that he wanted to kiss him, too.
I’m here, he texted Finn, coming up.
He received only a string of exclamation points in return.
Logan got out of the car, feeling his heart jump with every step. He waved to the doorman who held his hand out.
“Congrats, my friend.”
It startled a laugh out of Logan. Gryffindor really did love their Lions. The man must have recognized him.
“Thanks,” Logan shook his hand, and the man smiled.
Logan spent the short elevator ride bouncing on his toes in silence. He took of his hat, pushed his hair back, and then put it back on.
All he wanted was to see Finn. Maybe that was part of the problem.
When the doors did ding open, he almost didn’t get out. He stood there until the doors started closing, and then pressed his hand against it, making them spring slowly back apart.
8B, Finn had said. Logan looked until he found the right numbers on the door. He knocked, and the door opened instantly to reveal a slightly breathless Finn.
Logan almost turned around.
Finn looked the same, and different. His smile was the same, wide and lopsided. Logan remembered going to the dentist with him to get that bottom tooth fixed. His brown eyes and the wavy red hair. The dark freckles over his nose. He had a gray t-shirt on, the collar loose and making his pale skin look creamy. But he looked stronger, his chest and shoulders pressing against his t-shirt in a way that was new and no help at all to Logan.
“Hi, Fish,” Logan managed.
Finn let out a noise that hit Logan right in the chest.
“Lo,” he sighed out, and then Logan was in Finn’s arms. It was a feeling that he had thought he was ready for. He was wrong.
Finn clutched at him, leaving Logan no choice but to bury his nose against his shoulder. He smelled the same. Logan pressed his hands hard against Finn’s back figuring, if he couldn’t have anything else, he could have this.
“Fuck me,” Finn laughed and pulled back. “Fuck, come in, come in.”
Logan let Finn lead him into his apartment and seat him at one of his open kitchen’s bar-stools.
“Wow,” Logan said as he sat, looking at the view overlooking Gryffindor. “This place actually does make OKN look like a shit hole.”
Finn snorted as he messed around with some coffee, dousing Logan’s in cream and sugar and leaving his own be. “NHL salary, ma-is a-mi-es.” Finn grinned when Logan winced, sitting beside him. “Still can get you with my horrible French. That’s good to know some things never change.”
Logan smiled, trying not to let his eyes trace over Finn’s entire body, and took a sip of his coffee instead.
Finn just looked—good. Healthy and happy and so gorgeous Logan didn’t know how he had dealt with it for so long.
Maybe Finn had someone now, Logan thought. Maybe that was why he looked different.
“How’s Dumo’s?” Finn said, resting his feet on the rungs of Logan’s stool.
“Surreal,” Logan said, corner of his mouth lifting in a shaky smile. He knew where this conversation was going.
Finn nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t stop feeling like I was in some fucking dream of mine until four months into last season. Flight?”
“Same old, same old. My mom fussed, you know how she is.”
“Boy, do I. Bet your sisters wanted to come.”
Logan smiled. “They wanted to see you, really.”
Finn laughed. “Aw. Well, I miss them.”
Logan nodded, spinning his mug around slowly on the table. He had missed Finn, sometimes so bad that it hurt, and now he didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted another hug, wanted to touch him somehow. He reached out and pulled a piece of string from his shoulder, flicking it away and returning to his cup. The slow scraping noise of ceramic on stone filled the room for a few moments before Finn set his mug down and leaned in a little.
“Lo, did you—did you ever think about…”
Logan raised his eyebrows when Finn trailed off. “Harz, there are so many ends to that sentence…”
“Sorry, sorry,” Finn ran a hand over his face. “I just…” Finn gestured widely around the apartment, then laughed, a disbelieving, short thing, and stared at Logan with sadder eyes. “I’ve got three fucking bedrooms in this place. It’s just me.”
Logan looked away, back towards the view of Gryffindor. “We talked about this.”
“No,” Finn said. “You texted me that you were living with Dumo. That was it. That isn’t a conversation.”
“You know why we can’t—” Logan stopped, blood rushing in his ears. “Why I…Nous n'avons jamais passé une nuit dans un lit ensemble sans—nous embrasser.”
“Here we fucking go,” Finn let his head fall back for a moment in frustration before he looked at Logan again. “You can’t do that shit when you don’t want to talk about something.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No, Logan!”
Logan stood up. He took a step back. “You know why we can’t.”
Finn stood, too, hands outstretched like he wanted to gather Logan to him. He watched Logan retreat though, and drew back, holding them against his chest.
“I thought,” Finn began. “I thought maybe…Lo, now that you’re here—”
“The Lions newest rookies,” Logan snapped. “Fucking each other. That’s how you want to start your NHL career?”
Finn narrowed his eyes. “I refuse to give a flying fuck about anyone who thinks I’m wrong for wanting you.”
That rang like a bell in Logan’s mind. “Then why haven’t you told anyone?”
“Because you don’t want to!” Finn shouted. “And I want you, and I was worried it might make you…”
Finn trailed off again, and Logan watched as his entire posture deflated. Finn sank back onto the stool, rubbing his palms over his eyes, shoulders hunched. “Might make you want to not, like…fuck, I don’t know, not be seen with me or something.”
Finn’s words hung in the air.
Logan knew he should say something. The air didn’t feel quite in his chest anymore, but sucked out by the vacuum that was Finn ever thinking that Logan wouldn’t want him around. He hovered there, just a few steps from the door.
I want you. Finn had said it twice. Logan felt a sick sort of guilt twist in his chest. He had never even said it out loud.
Logan turned towards the door, away from Finn, and pressed his hands over his eyes. He took his hat off and put it back on.
“Can you sit down? Alright, just…can you sit?” Finn said. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how I wanted this to go, but I just had to know.”
Logan turned again and sat, every part of him feeling heavy. He was pretty sure this wasn’t what you were suppose to feel like when you were drafted into the NHL.
“I understand why you’re scared,” Finn said slowly. He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m scared. Our lifestyle doesn’t exactly have a nice track record with openness. We both know that.”
“So, I live with Pascal,” Logan said.
“And what, ignore me?”
“No,” Logan groaned, pressing a hand over his eyes. “I just mean—if I lived with you, Finn…”
“What?” Finn said, and then reached forward, tugging Logan’s hand away from his face, his fingers wrapped around his wrist. “You what?”
“You know what,” Logan snapped. “J’ai—“
“Logan.”
“I like to kiss you,” Logan said, voice raising. It was the closest he could get.
“Then kiss me,” Finn said right back. “Kiss me all you want, we’re in the same fucking room for the first time in over a year.”
Logan stood again, raising his hands slightly, before letting them fall back against his thighs. His heart was beating out of his chest. He wanted what Finn wanted. But he also wanted all the things that meant he couldn’t want Finn. He didn’t know how to make the two meet. He didn’t want to hide.
Finn stood, too, but instead of saying more like Logan thought he would, he just pulled Logan in again, holding him against his chest, one hand pressed to the back of his neck.
“Okay,” Finn said, voice quiet, like he was trying to lull Logan. He ducked, pressing their cheeks together. “Okay. Fuck, Lo, don’t look like that.”
Logan blinked past him, dazed and warmed through and through. He wondered what his expression could have showed. He clutched back at Finn, letting out what felt like all the air in his lungs.
“Let’s agree,” Finn said, and pulled back, hands on Logan’s shoulders.
Logan would never get tired of the determination in Finn’s eyes. “Agree?” he asked.
“I miss my best friend,” Finn said. “I don’t want to lose you because…”
But neither of them had the words for it. Because of a mistake, because they wanted each other, because they didn’t have the luxury of doing either. Logan didn’t know.
“I miss you, too,” he said instead. Because it was simple. He did.
“Come get lunch with me,” Finn said. “Let’s just—let’s go out to lunch, I’ll show you around the city. I want to hang out. I fucking miss you. We don’t have to…we can just…” Finn sighed. “We’ll talk about it when we talk about it. But I just want to be with you right now.”
Logan’s mouth felt unbearably dry. But the prospect of being with Finn all day filled him with a sunny ache. “Pascal says you should come over for dinner tonight.”
“And what do you say?”
“I said we would bring the wine.”
Finn laughed, hands still warm on Logan’s shoulders. “As if we know how to pick out wine.”
Logan smiled a little, the air around the two of them easing a little.
“Come on,” Finn said, and he smoothed his hand up to press against Logan’s neck for a moment before he let go. Logan leaned into the touch. “I’ll take you to Sid’s for pizza.”
He started towards the door, but Logan stopped him.
“Harz,” Logan said.
Finn picked up his keys from the table by the door before turning around. “Hm?”
Logan took a breath. “I could never not want to be seen with you,” he said, the urgency that Finn understand him filling his chest. “Finn, I’m not ashamed—of anything. I’m just…”
Finn nodded quickly. “I know.” He let out a short laugh, before swallowing hard and looking down at the keys in his hands, twirling them with his fingers slowly. “Believe me, I know.”
Logan let Finn lead him back out into the sunshine.
~
Gryffindor, 2019
Finn thought he had cleaned the best he could. He also thought he had done the right thing, offering Leo a place for the year so that he didn’t have to stay in a hotel room, alone and wondering if he was good enough not to be called down. He had extra bedrooms, just down the hall from his own. He’d cleared one out, bought some nice high-thread-count sheets and a quilt, and then left the rest up to Leo. He wanted him to like it here. He remembered how hard it had been to be a rookie. Glorious, but hard. Homesick, intimidated, working harder than he ever had in his life to prove himself. In love with his best friend. Although he was fairly sure Leo wouldn’t be dealing with that last big, he wanted to take as much of the weight off of Leo’s shoulders as he could.
Finn looked around the living room, checked the time on his phone, and looked around again. The Xbox was displayed proudly in the TV stand, he’d folded the blanket on the couch like his mom had told him to a million times, and the kitchen looked clean enough—it didn’t get a lot of use, anyway.
Finn had read Leo’s stats, watched his tape, and so, when a six foot something guy showed up at his door, he wasn’t surprised. When cornflower blue eyes looked at him from beneath sunny blond hair—
He was a little taken off guard.
“Hi, Finn?” Leo said, and held out his hand. “Leo Knut, pleasure to meet you.”
There was a southern accent. Finn swallowed.
“What’s up, hi,” Finn took his hand and smiled. “Come on in, Leo. Hey, I can snag one of those.” Despite Leo’s protesting sound, Finn took the heavier of the two hockey bags and slung it over his shoulder. They ended up just piling Leo’s stuff in a corner of the living room.
“Well, here she is,” Finn gestured to the living room. “I hope, um,” Finn rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope the traffic wasn’t too bad. I really could have picked you up.”
“No, no, it isn’t worth the trouble,” Leo waved him off before pulling his sweatshirt off. He had a white t-shirt underneath, tight over his strong shoulders. “Gets hot here, huh? Not as hot as it does back in NOLA, but…”
“Oh, yeah,” Finn said with a smile. “New Orleans.”
Leo nodded. “Where’re you from again?”
“New York. New York City,” Finn said. “Yeah. Pretty similar to Gryff. Walking, and subway, and all that.”
“That’s nice, for it to be a little bit like home.”
Finn nodded, sitting down first in case Leo was waiting. It seemed like he was, and he sat down beside him in the couch, crossing one strong-looking calf over the other. His legs went on for miles, stretched out like that. Finn forced his eyes back to his face and cleared his throat. “The team helps, too. They’re great.”
Leo let out a laugh. “I got a call from Sirius fucking Black welcoming me to the team. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”
Finn laughed, too. “Yeah, I remember getting that call. Lo—ah, Logan Tremblay, we—”
“Were at Harvard together,” Leo nodded. “Yeah.”
Finn smiled, a little surprised. “Yeah. Well, he was with me when Sirius called. Completely freaking out while I was trying to play it cool, you know? Fucking wild, man.”
Leo sank back into the cushions, nodding. “Nice that y’all’re playing together again.”
Finn smiled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, no, we’re just lucky, I guess.”
“But he doesn’t live here, too?”
Finn glanced away. “No. No, I think his parents wanted him to billet. And Dumo offered, so…” Finn shrugged, and Leo nodded with a friendly smile.
Finn watched for a second, as Leo looked around. He was poised, and calm. A stable sort of strength seemed to flow through his every limb. Finn was sure he wasn’t like that when he was eighteen. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything like it before. It was calming. It felt almost completely opposite to being with Logan, who was like a fire cracker waiting for its fuse to hit, constantly moving and saying whatever came to mind, no filter. Leo seemed to be more think than do. Finn could understand how he had become a goalie.
“Thanks again for letting me live with you…Harzy, right?”
“Yeah,” Finn said. “You?”
“Knutty,” Leo said after a moment.
Finn laughed. “No kidding.”
Leo rolled his eyes. “It’s pronounced newt, but you can’t be a hockey player and have a name like mine without that getting lost in translation. I’ll tell you now that I’ve heard it all before.”
“Right in the nuts?” Finn said.
Leo nodded.
“Peanut allergy?”
“Don’t even get me started.”
“Damn,” Finn laughed. “All the good ones are taken.”
Leo tilted his head at him, smiling so a dimple appeared. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
~
Boston, 2019
Leo watched Logan hover in the room, bag still over his shoulder and eyes darting around as if he was expecting something to leap out and bite him. When Logan finally looked back at him, Leo smiled, a little questioningly.
“Ah,” Logan began, then gestured with his room key between the two hotel beds. “Do you like the bed by the door or the bed by the window?”
Leo shook his head. “I’m sure you already have a preference.”
“Yeah, but you goalies are crazy,” Logan said, a small smile building on his face at the chirp. “Wouldn’t want to mess anything up.”
“I thought older players were suppose to take advantage of all the seniority they could get their hands on.”
Logan narrowed his eyes at him playfully before slowly dropping his bag onto the bed closest to the door. Leo nodded and walked around him, bumping him with his own bag accidentally, and sat on the bed closest to the window before taking out his phone.
“Do you want to grab dinner, maybe?” Leo said, then glanced up, suddenly a little nervous. “We could get some guys together. I was looking restaurants up in this area and there’s a good looking Mexican place.”
Logan unzipped his bag and rummaged through it. “Me and Harz were thinking of going somewhere.”
Leo almost nodded, understanding, but before he could get a word out, Logan said, “Come with us?”
“Yeah,” Leo said. “Yeah, sure, thanks.”
Logan nodded, before promptly stripping out of his shirt. Leo looked appreciatively for a second, before Logan pulled on a clean, long-sleeved one. It was cotton, and thin enough to show the strong shape of his broad back and shoulders. The dark green color matched his eyes. He wasn’t wearing a hat for once, and his hair curled over his forehead and temples.
Logan patted the back pockets of his jeans for his phone and wallet before looking up at Leo. “I’ll text Finn, lobby in five?”
Leo nodded, standing to change out of his plane clothes, too. “Sounds good.”
They were able to walk to the restaurant, which was a nice change from sitting on a plane and bus all day. They met Finn in the lobby, who smiled and threw an arm around Leo when he saw that he was coming. It was a surprisingly warm evening, the sky turning a dusky blue. Leo walked between the two of them on the streets of Boston, occasionally adding his two cents about the upcoming game against the Bruins, but mostly quietly amused by their bickering.
“I’m just saying that their power play sucks, okay,” Finn said, and then leaned in to look at Leo’s phone which had a map up to the address. “Should we have gone left?”
“We’re literally following the blue line,” Logan said.
“I know, but that way looks shorter.”
“New Yorker, forever in a hurry,” Leo said, and Logan laughed.
“Got that right.”
“I’m hungry!” Finn said, shoving Leo’s shoulder, which made Leo stumble into Logan, which knocked Logan off balance.
“Merde,” Logan laughed. “Keep your octopus limbs where I can see them, Nut.”
They reached the restaurant a few minutes later, and the hostess seemed to recognize them. She took an interest in Finn immediately, telling him as she sat them at a table near the bar that she was from Gryffindor.
“Really,” Finn smiled, running his fingers through his hair. He glanced at Logan. “It’s a great city.”
“Why don’t I bring you boys some margaritas and chips and guac to start, on the house,” she left with a hand on Finn’s shoulder.
Logan whistled lowly. “Better let Timmy know now that he better find somewhere else to sleep for the night.”
Finn shoved him. “Shut up.”
Loe smiled and looked down, picking at his napkin. The girl came back with their drinks and took their orders. Logan had gotten up to use the bathroom, and Leo watched as Finn ordered for him without a second thought.
“No cilantro on his, please,” Finn smiled up at her, before turning back to Leo.
“Glad you came with us, Nut.”
“Me, too,” Leo said. “Hope this place lives up to its reviews.”
“Well, yeah,” Logan said, returning to his seat and making a grateful sound when he saw the chips and drinks. He picked a few pieces of cilantro away from the guacamole before digging a chip into it.
“Won’t live up to your cooking, though,” Finn said with a wistful look at Leo, propping his chin on his hands.
“You cook, Nut?” Logan asked through his mouthful of chips.
Finn snorted. “Does he cook. Fuck me, best steak I’ve ever had.”
Logan raised his eyebrows. “Better than Celeste?”
Finn hesitated. “That’s an unfair question.”
Leo laughed. “I’ll answer. No. I don’t think anyone is better than Celeste and I’ve been there all of once.”
Logan looked around. “Can we order?”
“Sit still,” Finn said, patting Logan’s hand on the table. “I ordered for you. Relax.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“You’re never relaxed,” Finn raised an eyebrow.
“Do you guys having any friends from Harvard coming to the game?” Leo asked.
Logan shook his head, wiping salt from his bottom lip with his thumb. Leo tried not to stare. “Non, most everyone we know graduated by now.”
Finn looked mournful. “We’re old. Unlike Peanut here.”
“Yeah,” Logan nodded at the margarita in Leo’s hands. “How’d you get your hands on that?”
“The hostess saw that Finn’s hot.”
Finn turned a little pink, groaning and covering his face, but he was smiling. Logan’s smile was more subdued, and he broke a chip into little pieces over his napkin.
Their food was pretty quick, and they talked while they ate, Leo listening to some stories from wild parties at school.
“You ever wanted to go to college?” Finn asked.
Leo shrugged. “I wanted to play in the NHL. But, I think about it, sometimes. I know I probably missed out on stuff.”
Logan took a bite of his food. “Eh, sort of, sort of not.”
“Wouldn’t have met me, though,” Finn smiled, leaning his head in to tap against Logan’s temple. Logan smiled, ducking away.
“You’re all trouble,” he murmured.
It sounded like a joke to Leo, but Finn’s smile dimmed a little, and then Logan looked up sharply at him, like he’d said something wrong.
“Yeah,” Logan added, brushing their shoulders together. “You made it worth it.”
Leo looked between the two of them, suddenly feeling like he was intruding on something. The colorful lanterns that covered the restaurant ceiling turned Finn and Logan a million, warm shades. They shared a smile, and then the moment passed, but Leo was still locked into it.
He had known what he was getting into, placing himself in an NHL locker room, surrounded by beautiful boys all day every day. He wasn’t complaining, but he wasn’t looking to develop any hopeless feelings either. But he’d grown up hiding his sexuality in a locker room, and so he knew a spark of something when he saw one. There was a new set of strings between Logan and Finn that he could see now, ones that weren’t just friendship. He wondered what else they hadn’t missed out on at college together.
They got back to the hotel relatively early, ready to head to bed for a morning practice. For a first road trip with the Lions, Leo decided it was going smoothly. He and Logan didn’t seem to need to communicate too much to dance around each other in the bathroom as they got ready for bed.
Leo came out of the bathroom last to find Logan already laying on his bed, scrolling through his phone. Leo had only just taken off his shirt when his phone started ringing, his mother flashing up on the screen.
“I’ll take this outside,” Leo said, but Logan waved him off.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Only if you want to.”
Leo didn’t really feel like pacing the hall in just his pajama pants. He smiled gratefully, and swiped to answer. It was a quick call, mostly just his mother asking if she should send him anything else for the apartment and saying goodnight. Leo smiled, told her that he and Finn were working it out, and that he loved her.
He had hung up his phone and was leaning over to plug it into the charger on the bedside table between them, when he caught Logan staring at him. His eyes were wide, and he looked mildly horrified.
“What?” Leo said.
Logan start at him for another moment, before he seemed to compose himself.
“What,” Logan began. “What just came out of your mouth?”
Leo laughed, realizing. “We speak French back home, too.”
“Your accent,” Logan said. “It’s…”
Leo snorted. “I could say the same about yours.” Although, Leo had to admit he rather liked Logan’s accent. The hard ‘r’s were so different than his own. If he was the sun and heat, Logan reminded him of snowy mountains and green forests. Ice over a lake.
Logan laughed, shaking his head. “I just didn’t know you spoke French.” He pushed his covers back and crawled beneath them. “Merde. That was the strangest thing I have ever heard. Will you get the light?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Leo smiled. He pulled his own covers back, too.
“First roadie okay, Nut?” Logan asked. He had his hands tucked up by his chin, his hair and eyelashes dark against the white pillow case. Leo stared, and then turned off the light, climbing into his own bed.
“Yeah. Really good.”
“Good.”
Leo thought of Logan messing with him on the ice. Finn’s bed-head in the morning, tripping over his feet for coffee. He thought of the both of them tonight, walking on either side of him. He listened to Logan’s breathing even out, and wondered what the hell he was getting himself into.
#coast to coast#sweater weather spin off#o'knutzy#finn o’hara#Logan tremblay#Leo knut#finn x logan x leo#lumosinlove#lumosinlove ocs#lumosinlove oc#writing#harry potter#wolfstar#Harry Potter fic#sirius black
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Snippets From My Drafts That Have Been Collecting Dust
(but I don’t know what to do with them and they’re going to waste so..,)
Head propped up on a thin throw pillow, Hotch is laying out on the cheap carpet of the motel floor. One of his elbows rests leaning against the couch beside him. This arm holds the majority of the weight of the book he’s reading. Which he holds up over his head. The hand not holding the book, rest leisurely along its side. This hand loosely leafs a single page free from the other’s behind it, waiting for him to turn it over when he finishes it.
The end of the cigarette bobbing loosely between his lips lights a dark orange as he inhales its fumes. Embers. Reid can hear it sizzle, crack. Before Hotch’s face lips part once more and the smoke comes out his nose. It’s a slowly released force, a patient exhale. Relief.
Without a word, he shifts the weight of the book and reaches down to take the cigarette from between his teeth to pinch it between his fingers. Emily, who lays with her head propped up on his stomach, glances when she senses the movement. Without so much as a word, she takes the cigarette from him. Placing it in her own mouth she hands him the wine she’s eloquently made easy to drink via a tasteful neon pink straw.
He takes this without comment, sipping at it. He grimaces as soon as it hits his tongue, making a distinctly unsatisfied “ech” sound. “I thought you were making a screwdriver,” he mumbles, still grimacing but taking another sip.
Emily looks up and over at him. She shakes her head and her reply comes in a puff of smoke. “I was,” she mumbles, voice thickening with the smoke coating her throat. “Dave said we had to finish this before he was letting me near the vodka.” She returns to her own book, thicker than Hotch’s. With a cover, that’s effortlessly recognizable: Dr. No. James Bond. “I know you don’t like white wine. I wouldn’t have even poured it if Dave had let me pick.”
-------------------
(for “100” Season five episode nine)
Jack hands JJ a Captain America doll. “For daddy,” he instructs with a nod of his little head. His mother and father’s blood has mixed into his cotton blend baby blue t-shirt. An intangible stain on his most prized possession. His Captain American shirt.
JJ cups the figure in her hands, tears swelling in her eyes. His traditionally blonde hair has been crudely drawn over by a sharpie. Making it black.. “I’ll give it to him.” she promises. Lightly, she touches the tiny details of the figure. The belt and features that have worn down with use. With Jack’s love.
“Miss JJ?” Jack’s sucked his thumb into his mouth. A habit she remembers Hotch having a hell of a time getting the boy to kick only a few short months ago. A time that feels so far from now. Another lifetime. Today has been enough already, this isn’t a fight worth having.
JJ’s jogs him up in her arms, holding him a little tighter to her chest. His head having found her shoulder he swings his little legs as he looks up at her. “Yes, Jack?”
He yawns and rubs at his eyes with his fist. “How much longer tell I can see Daddy too?”
Hotch had been taken away in the ambulance. Nearly drunk with confusion he’d gone where directed with no complaint. Raspily asking Dave questions as the EMTs had strapped him to the stretcher, he hadn’t even been aware of the tear streaming down his face.
“In a while,” JJ whispers. She hopes.
-------------------
(I might have used this one in a fic already but I don’t know and can’t find it if so…)
Jack is a baby when Emily Prentiss dies.
Independent, for a five-year-old, Jack still has no formal grasp on what it means to die. He knows Mommy is dead. She’s sleeping in the cemetery and sometimes he and Daddy dress up and go put pretty flowers on stone that says her name. Aunt Jessica tells him Mommy isn’t with the stone anymore but Daddy still talks to it.
Jack doesn’t understand death but he doesn’t have to.
Aunt Pen holds him for a moment too long. His chest feels wrong, his little heart pounding because people hold him like that when something’s wrong.
Uncle Derek’s hand rest on his shoulder, his eyes wet.
JJ presses a kiss to his forehead and sends him to play with Henry. Jack loves Henry but he gets the feeling today isn’t a playing kind of day.
Eventually, Daddy comes and gets him. They sit on the floor-- despite the fact that Jack remembers his father playfully grumbling that he’s getting a little too old to play on the floor anymore. That was only just last week but Jack as the faintest memory of visiting his father in a hospital. Meaning, he understands how things can change very quickly.
And Jack knows. He knew the minute he had to put on the itchy shirt with the collar even though Daddy said they were only going to Uncle Dave’s.
“Buddy--” Jack crawls into his father’s lap and Hotch’s breath is knocked from his lungs. Emily used to fuss with him, constantly reminding him that children are smarter than they’re given credit for. Hotch knows now, as Jack curls his tiny body around his own, that in some small way Jack already knows. “Emmy... Uhm, Emmy’s gone.”
He remembers Daddy was gone once too.
He and Mommy went on vacation. The mean man found them. Then Mommy was gone and Daddy wasn’t.
He’s not so sure that’s what his father’s trying to say.
It’s all he says though because they’re talk it interrupted by Uncle Dave.
“Come here, bub.” Rossi picks Jack up, balancing him on his hip. “Let’s give your ol’ dad a minute, huh?”
Until then Jack hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down his father’s face.
-------------------
Every time Hotch asks someone to come to his office there’s a split second- no matter who is it- where they just sit dumbstruck and anxiety riddled because all they can think is “Am I about to be fired?” Then logic kicks in.
Hotch hasn’t fired anyone. Never. Not even when they deserved it.
Tell that to the seven coffee machines Reid and Prentiss have broken.
The time Morgan took his shirt off and did a hand-stand in the middle of the bullpen- of course, he thought Hotch wouldn’t look but that mother hen sees all.
Garcia’s, very much so, against regulation outfits and sexual innuendos that not only has he been on the receiver end of but also Strauss and the Director.
And he’s Hotch. Those perfectly manicured suits can only do so much to hide away his soft heart and goofy laugh.
-------------------
His fuse is running low. A candle drowning in it’s own wax.
Jack’s sick on the one day off he’s had in two weeks and so the one night he had procured for sleep has just been swept out from underneath his feet. Another cruel joke the world seems to love playing on him. Not that he can be mad at a toddler for being sick.
The team notices the next day. The bags under their eyes have dulled to light bruises, nothing a cup of coffee or two can’t fix. Hotch is late. Not actually late but late for his standards. For the decade or better that Derek Morgan has known Hotch, he gets to the office at 7:30, makes a pot of coffee, and hides in his office until 9:30. Today, he’s nowhere to be found.
When he comes trudging in at 10, two black eyes half-lidded and his suitcase nearly brushing the ground as he makes his way to his office. It’s the kind of sight that makes the busy bullpen sputter to a stop.
He sighs as soon as he notices the attention has shifted to him. He knows today is about to get 10x worse before it gets any better.
#criminal minds#aaron hotchner#jennifer jareua#emily prentiss#david rossi#spencer reid#derek morgan#penelope garcia
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DESIRE
Part 49
Paul returned about 30 minutes later to find Joe a wreck. He was gleaming with sweat, his hair wet and a mess of his own cum in front of him. He looked desperate as Paul came towards him. “Messy boy, look at this.”
“Please…no more.” Joe begged, his eyes pleading for mercy as his body trembled. Paul felt sorry for him and switched the machine off. The room fell silent, apart from Joe’s panting. His body slumped as much as his restraints would allow. “Jesus baby, the sybian really did a number on you this time.” Paul observed, starting to undo the shackles around his ankles. His legs hung limply on either side of the bench. Next he undid his arms and then next it was the collar. Joe leaned onto Paul’s front as he tried to regain his composure. “Let’s get you off this thing.” For the first time that he could remember, Paul lifted Joe over his shoulder and set him on the bed. He fell back onto the pillow, still breathing heavily. He looked weak. Paul retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and uncapped it.
“Here, drink this.” He instructed, lifting his head. Joe weakly swallowed a few mouthfuls. “You OK?”
Joe nodded slowly. “It was too much. I thought I was going to pass out at one point.”
“Like one of your blackouts?” He asked, leading Joe to nod. “I’ll have to bear that in mind next time. You managed to get that looked into yet?”
“No Sir. To be honest, It’s kinda embarrassing trying to explain it to someone.” Joe explained.
“I worry about you. Stay here and I’ll run you a nice bath. Keep drinking the water.” Paul kissed him on the forehead and left the room. Joe lay there for the next five minutes or so, still feeling his insides tremble. He was starting to get some feeling back in his anus. Paul returned a few moments later. “C’mon baby.” He held onto Joe as he escorted him into the ensuite, easing him into the bath. “There, gently.”
Joe lay back, resting his head on the rim. “Want me to leave you to it?” Paul checked. “Please stay.” Joe reached for his hand. “Of course babe.” Paul eventually got in and sat behind him, massaging his back, cleaning him and finished up by washing his hair. “Thank you Sir. You’re always so good to me.” Joe said turning to face him. “Even when I’m beating the crap outta you and wearing you out to the point you can barely stand?” Paul joked.
“There’s always a reason for it and regardless of how I am in that moment, I always feel better for it. Even though I don’t always look it.” Paul stroked his cheek tenderly. “I’m just glad you’re willing to put up with me. I don’t know what I’d be doing without you right now. Work’s so stressful and sometimes I just feel like I’m losing my mind.” Paul confessed. “I know. I see how it gets to you sometimes…” Joe started. “You’ve been on the receiving end of my moods lately and I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok-” Paul cut Joe off “It’s not though. I want you to speak up if you’re not happy…about anything. Your been so good for me. I want you to feel fulfilled. Understand?”
“Yes Sir, I understand. Why now? If you don’t mind my asking?” Joe stroked Paul’s thigh as he said this, trying to keep him soft. “I feel, like sometimes I ask things of you that you might not necessarily be happy with but you’re afraid to say no. Do you agree?”
“I dunno…I guess. I mean, I was nervous about the session in New York. So nervous, I thought I was going to be sick but it wasn’t that bad.” Paul interrupted him “You never told me what happened there…”
Joe blushed “ He’s similar to you in the dominant role. When I kinda realised it, I felt more at ease. It was when he tried to kiss me that when I felt weird. I felt like I was betraying you.”
“You were right to feel that. I never gave him permission to do it. Kissing is off the table with anyone.” Joe had remembered this was the case with Drew. “He just likes to try his luck.”
“I’m sorry Sir.” Joe apologised. “It wasn’t your fault baby. He had you restrained so it’s not like you could fight it.”
“What about this gathering in LA? Have you spoken with your friend who’s holding it?”
“Not yet but I was planning on calling her today. I just want to make sure you’re definitely OK with it. I don’t want to pressure you.”
“As long as you’re there, I’m fine.” Paul leaned in and kissed him. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll take good care of you.”
That afternoon, they chilled for a little while by the pool. Since his ass was still feeling pretty fragile from the flogging the day before, Joe didn’t go into the pool. He was happy just to lay in the sun lounger and work on his tan. Paul, meanwhile had a couple of meetings for NXT to take care of.
An hour or so had passed and Paul found himself back out by the pool with Joe. “How was your meeting?”
“Good. Just trying to get everything in order for the next Takeover. It’ll be worth it though.”
“Have you heard anything about my match at Clash of Champions yet?” Joe asked gulping a mouthful of water. “Not yet but I should have the Raw draft through in the next day or so. Sometimes, it’s not even worth looking at them since Vince changes then at the last minute most of the time.”
Joe pursed his lips in agreement. He decided to change the subject since he didn’t want to get him worked up. “I managed to get a flight for 11am tomorrow.”
“Good baby, I’m glad you stayed. I really can’t wait to sign off on this house in Tampa. I can make that more of a base for us. I should hear more on Monday or Tuesday. I can build a new dungeon, you can have your own room-”
Joe looked over at him, sitting forward. “My own room?”
“Just in case we have a disagreement. Knowing us, we’ll make up in a few hours.” Paul joked. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant in general, you’re giving me a room there?”
Paul looked at him, puzzled. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I’m already based in Tampa-” he started. Paul sat up. “Yeah but I want you to stay with me when I’m there, which will be a lot.” He noticed a small smile creep onto Joe’s face. “I want this to be our place babe.”
“Are you sure?” Joe checked. “Of course I’m sure.”
“I just…I just don’t want you to get tired of me, is all.” Paul gave a questioning look. “What’s brought this on?”
“Nothing, I just…wasn’t expecting it.” He blushed. “Babe, I want this. For us. I want you to help me to decorate it. I want somewhere nice for us to come back to. It’s so big here. I don’t necessarily need something this size.” He mused. “What are you thinking?” Joe asked. “Well, I need a base here for head office but…I dunno. Let’s just take one thing at a time.” Paul rose to his feet. “I just need to make a phone call.”
“Nadja hey. It’s been a while.” Paul started, closing the door of his office behind himself discreetly. “Hey stranger.” Came her husky German accent. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you.” Paul padded around the room in his bare feet. “It’s been a while hasn’t it.” He smiled fondly. “Michael told me I’d probably hear from you soon.” Paul stopped to look out the window. His eyes fixed on Joe as he lay relaxing on the deck chair. “I’m sure he did.”
“You two. The tension, after all this time.” She laughed gently. “You can’t change him unfortunately. He’ll always be an asshole. An asshole I respect none the less.” Paul sighed as he lowered to his computer chair. “So, you’re coming to my gathering on the 17th yes?”
“I was thinking about it-” He started, leaning back on the chair, palming the back of his head. “What do you mean, thinking about it? You’ve never missed one in a long time. Besides, you wanna see my new pad. It’s to die for.”
“How many people are you planning on having over?” Paul asked. “Well, I don’t want it to get too messy so I’m thinking around 30. That would include you and your new pet.” She remarked.
“Do I sense a bit of jealousy?” Paul sat forward. “How can you tell?” She gave in. “From what Michael has told me, he seems quite the specimen. I’m curious.”
“I bet you are.” His blood started to boil at the thought of Michael telling her about Joe. He peered out the window again, distracted as Joe stood, pacing around the pool, on his phone, wearing only his cut offs. He always found time to marvel at his body “So I can count on you both to be there?”
“We’ll be there. I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’s perfect.” Paul said calmly. “I’m glad. You need someone to keep up with you.”
“Oh, that he does. How’ve you been anyway?” Paul asked starting to pace around the room again. “You know me. Always busy. I just bought this place six months ago and putting my own mark on it. I think you’ll like it.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” After they said their goodbyes, Paul opened his laptop and answered a few emails. It was about 4pm when there was a light knock on the door.
“Yeah?” Paul looked up from the screen as Joe cautiously opened the door. “You OK?” The younger man checked holding on to the door. “Sorry baby, I got carried away with work again.” He apologised with a small smile before rubbing his eyes. “It’s OK. I know you’re busy. I just wanted to see if you need anything.” Paul closed down the screen and stood, stretching. Joe held the door open as he approached. “How could I neglect this face?” Paul cupped his face and planted a kiss on his lips. Joe reciprocated as they stood in the frame. Paul took his hand and lead him into the living room. With a devilish smile, he forced him down on his knees in front of the sofa while he took a seat in front of him. Joe didn’t need to be told. He leaned forward between Paul’s legs and undid his zipper. He lowered his cut offs and pulled out his hard dick. “Good, baby.” He commented as Joe took the head in his mouth, massaging the undershaft with his tongue. Paul’s hands roamed his hair which was in a low loose bun, which he eventually took down, allowing it to tumble down on either side of his face. “So sexy with your hair down like that while you’re sucking my dick.” He could see the smile in Joe eyes as they trailed up to his. “Aww baby.” He said, fisting a handful of hair as he began to fuck his mouth. Trails of drool escaped Joe mouth as he took Paul’s cock. Moans and groans escaped his throat as Paul hit the back. “That’s it, take it.” He urged. “Aww I’m gonna come so hard on that pretty mouth of yours.” That he did, moments later, filling the back of Joe throat with his cum. He watched as Joe devoured it eagerly. “Good boy.
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Wait For Me || Morgan & Deirdre
TIMING: Current
PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems
SUMMARY: “I don’t know if I can do this. Not if this is who you are going to be. Not if this is what our future has to look like.”
CONTAINS: descriptions and discussions of self-harm, references to suicidal ideation
It was gauche, Deirdre thought now, to come bearing flowers whenever she had something to apologize for. But the flowers were pretty, and rare, and only grew one place in the world---a place Morgan may not ever come to, though Deirdre ached to take her. The fae world she held delicately in her heart wasn’t friendly to outsiders. But it had saved her life, and it had clothed her, and it had given her the strength to come back home to the person her heart belonged to. And She’d make a place for Morgan there. Deirdre wore a stolen sweatshirt, about three sizes too large for her, and shorts that covered nothing. In her crudely bandaged hand she held a bundle of flowers from the mirrored district, some of which were like mirrors themselves with their reflective petals, others as bright and pale as the moon. And a few, from the Lydia tree, striking red against the rest. She groped around the large sweatshirt pocket for her keys only to remember that she’d lost them in the forest--right along with her phone. All she felt there was the crinkle of the articles she cut. And so, she stood awkwardly in front of her own house, like a stranger--a beggar. In the days of her absence, the fog of rage and grief had lifted from her mind, and left behind a hollowed woman. What pieces she needed to pick up, where she went from here, she didn’t know. But one thing had remained true, and she always knew the place to start remembering herself. Deirdre lifted her hand and knocked against the frosted glass of their door. In the cloudy, skewed reflection, she could see a face that hardly looked like her own under all of her injuries. Stiffly, she tried to adjust her damp hair to look more the way Morgan remembered it, even if the ends had been singed in the fire. She was more bandage than skin now, and had about half a dozen jokes about being a mummy she would never say.
Instead she stood there, and waited.
Nothing good knocked on your door in the middle of the night unannounced. After almost forty years grappling with a curse, Morgan knew this better than most. So she held no hope, no illusions of her world getting one stitch better when she opened the door. Then she saw Deirdre, or what was left of her. What precious bits of skin she could see were swollen and streaked all the wrong colors. Blood crusted the edges of her bandages, and in her hand… a fucking bouquet of flowers. Morgan took her in with a long, terrible look; she couldn’t hide how sick, how wrong Deirdre looked with the stain of violence on her in its stiff, crusty, puss tinted glory.
“What the fuck,” she hissed, her voice cracking with sobs. “What the fuck was that? What were you fucking-- What is this fucking bullshit, Deirdre--” Morgan wanted to shake her, scream at her, knock those flowers out of her hand, show her exactly how much of an insult they were. But the woman before her was Deirdre, broken and small and finally home. Morgan shook her head, still burning with rage, and flung her arms around Deirdre and dragged her inside.
Resolve cracked. All the fancy words she drafted in her head on the way back home crumbled against her quivering lips, and Deirdre let loose a volley of apology and sobs. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.” She breathed Morgan in, held her back just as tight, just as desperate. She threw her flowers aside, they were dumb anyways. “It’s the—it’s the way the mirrored district works; it takes time away and I just—“ She trembled against her love, pain flaring in the places she was hardest held, and in the sore muscles that begged for rest—for once. Deirdre ignored it all, eager to be with Morgan again. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I’ve been so stupid. I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you.” She kicked the door closed urgently with her foot, keeping steady as they backed up blindly into their home. After all this time, after all her thinking, the only thing she could manage now was apology. “I’m sorry.” She pressed her lips firm against Morgan’s skin, peppering her in kisses as she mumbled more sorry’s. “I know it’s not good enough,” she pulled back, “but I am, I am.”
Morgan’s sobs shook her body. This was everything she had craved for weeks, but like some starved human given a five course meal, she was throwing it all back up. Deirdre’s touch burned, her soft voice made Morgan want to scream, and she did: tired and frustrated and bleeding with hurt. “You’re sorry,” she said bitterly, hating how fragile her voice sounded. “Now you’ve decided you’re--” She shook her head, trembling so violently her spine would’ve popped if she were still alive. Deirdre was always sorry. What did sorry mean after six days? “Stupid? Is that the word you--No! It’s not enough!” She pushed one of Deirdre’s hands away, but didn’t move to separate herself. “What were you thinking, what even happened to you, what is this?” She gestured wildly to Deirdre’s latest injuries, her face crumpling as new details caught her eye. Morgan couldn’t help but reach out for her face, even just a little, just enough to brush the patch of bare cheek she could. She shook her head again, uselessly scrubbing her hand over her eyes. “No, why don’t you explain what you’re sorry for now and why you didn’t feel like you could tell me or how I was supposed to know on my own. Tell me. If you are half as sorry as you say you are, you will fucking tell me!”
Deirdre knew now to be less startled by feeling Morgan’s anger against her—it was startling, yes. Something that she never should have let fester to begin with. But it didn’t spark the same bubbling panic it had the first time, or during her moments of immeasurable grief. “I’m sorry…” she mumbled again, face fraught with apology and concern as she looked at Morgan. Her girlfriend lobbied several questions, all good, all she was more than willing to answer. She started with the obvious. “For leaving. For not coming back like I should have. For sending pixies off to deliver you a note. For the way I’ve treated you recently. For the things I’ve done to myself, with no regard for you. For thinking it would have been okay to die on that driveway, for wanting it. For forgetting how much I want this life with you. For not being here to help you too. For running off the first time, and the second time, and this time. For going off and doing these terrible, stupid things, and then leaving you to find out through other people, or not all. I—I’m sorry, Morgan.” Deirdre breathed, eyelids fluttering as she blinked back tears. “I was—I couldn’t contact you, exactly. But I should have come home first, I should have told you. I should have done a lot of things that I can’t change right now, but I’m here, and if you’ll let me...I want to make things right. Please.” She shifted, wondering if Morgan would let her wipe her tears away, and then deciding she would try it anyway. “Do you want to sit, my love?”
Morgan squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t look at Deirdre, so desperate and pleading and soft. It made Morgan want to throw everything from the last two weeks away and forgive her so she could nest in her body. Deirdre wiped her tears and Morgan’s mouth fell in a silent scream. How could she skip to the end of this when she felt as raw and pummeled inside as Deirdre was on the outside? How long did she wait for her before she became pathetic? Morgan hid her face in her hands, nodding. She didn’t want to do anything, exactly, but she couldn’t stay standing in the hall. She stiffened her expression as best she could and led the way to the great room. She sat in the middle of the couch, hugging her knees. “Why should I believe anything you say right now?” She asked, her voice still wet and rasping. “I’m finally worth talking to, but why? Because I don’t understand. I would have done almost anything for you if you had just thought to--” Her voice squeaked with pain again. She shook her head tiredly. “I just don’t understand anything right now. What is this? What’s happening now?”
Deirdre fell beside Morgan, softly as not to disrupt the couch. She hovered anxiously beside her love, unsure how much affection Morgan wanted now, if any. She settled for resting her hand close to her, yearning for her touch. “I don’t know….” she confessed quietly. “I don’t know. And I know you can’t trust me but I can promise it. Everything that I just said, I can say it again as a promise. I mean it. And you don’t have to accept it, my love. I’ll still mean it tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day. I love you, I want our life together—I promise I do. And I’m sorry, I promise I am.” Deirdre breathed shakily, voice quivering. “You’re always worth talking to, you were always, I promise that. I just—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking right, I guess. Lydia died and in my head I knew everything I had to do. Torture, pain, death...for Lydia’s peace and her justice. I have to do it. But I didn’t want—I didn’t want to bring that to you. You said you didn’t want to be complicit in what Lydia did and I couldn’t make you complicit in my acts. I thought it was right—I was right. I thought a lot of things, I know, but I just didn’t know what to do. I want Lydia back so badly...I want a good death for her, still.” She reached for her girlfriend, hand pressed against her knee. “But then I almost died again, and these fae they—“ She swallowed. “I saw what they did for Lydia. And it was beautiful, and kind and all this pain and anger I have...it hasn’t brought me anything, and it hasn’t brought Lydia back and I haven’t done anything right and I...I’m so tired, Morgan.” Her hand fell down, grasping the air. “What’s happening is that I’ve taken too long to remember what’s important. The thing I’ve always wanted is you, Morgan. And whatever I need to do to bring Lydia peace...I don’t think it means hurting you. I never want to hurt you, not ever. Not for this, not for anything.” She paused. “I’m sorry.”
Morgan slumped as Deirdre made her promises. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t who they were, but Deirdre wasn’t sick or choking on her words. They were true. It didn’t make sense, but she was speaking true. And the choice of what to believe, the woman next to her or the one she remembered, had been taken away. Morgan listened, weeping silently as she did. She understood these words, to an extent. She knew death. She knew loss. She knew bloodlust. (She was still trying to figure out what to do with her own.) And she knew that some pains demanded to take rule. But-- “But you did...” She said faintly. “You hurt me. And you never told me what I was doing wrong. You said I didn’t do anything but you wouldn’t even let me touch you at night towards the end, and then you just vanished! And then that...that note, that didn’t...what was I supposed to do?” She shuddered, whimpering. “I didn’t even do that to you when I died. I came back to you. I always came back. And I know you needed me, and she meant so much more to you than me, and I tried, I swear I tried. I wanted to be here for you! But you wouldn’t talk and I couldn’t do anything…” Morgan clutched Deirdre’s sweatshirt and tried to curl up tighter against herself.
“Because you haven’t done anything wrong. You hadn’t. I promise. I—“ Deirdre grimaced, memory slotting into place. “I didn’t want you to see…” she admitted, small and broken. But she could show Morgan now, not because she had grown any less embarrassed, but because she remembered sharing herself with Morgan was a safe thing to do. And it was the least she could do now. “Hey…” When she peeled Morgan off of her now, she offered explanation. “I need to take off my sweatshirt, okay? I’ll show you. I just need to take it off.” And she pulled up the fabric, wiggling out of its cotton hold until her body was bare and open. Crudely done bandages wrapped around her abdomen, covering the iron stab wound that would’ve claimed her life, if Athena had been any less arrogant. But she gestured to the bandages around her back that wrapped around her arms and chest as the pixies found it hard to secure. They weren’t expert medics by any stretch, but they never questioned her. It was simply what fae did for each other. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Morgan. I didn’t know how to say anything, I…” She trailed off, bitting down on her lip. “I’m sorry about the note, about whatever the pixies wrote. I should have just done it myself. I should’ve.” She sighed, and motioned that she was going to turn around now. Finally, with her back to Morgan, she looked over her shoulder and nodded. “You can take those off...I think all of these need to be changed anyway. But that’s—I was just trying to—“ Deirdre sighed. “I was scared, I suppose. I was hiding.” And underneath the bandages, she’d find the marks of a woman who had tried to seek repentance in an old technique yet found none. Where she couldn’t use her words, it was easy to turn to violence, even if that violence had to be leveled against herself. “I didn’t know what to say.”
Morgan searched Deirdre’s eyes as she spoke, desperate for some deeper affirmation. Are you sure I didn’t do anything? Are you sure I wasn’t being punished? But she had asked, Deirdre had promised, and what else could she plead for? Morgan squeezed Deirdre’s fingers as she stood. She couldn’t stifle her gasp as she saw how thoroughly wrapped in bandages her body was. Morgan meekly stood and undid the knots and unwrapped the bandages. The first few layers came off with ease, but as she got closer to Deirdre’s skin, the color grew brown, then red. There was a sucking sound as Morgan eased off the last layer, whispering, “I’m sorry, I can… I-I can…” Still half in the nightmare version of their relationship, she fumbled for the words that had been slapped out of her hands the most : help, heal, fix, soothe. But then she saw the ruin of Deirdre’s back and there was nothing left to say. Streaks of red sores crosshatched over each other so thick they swelled together in bloody spots in some places. Blood eeked out where the bandages had stuck. Morgan was silent for what felt like a long time, then at last managed, “May I get the first aid tub for you? I’d like to... you need to have these touched up for them to heal right, and you shouldn’t do them by yourself.” She stepped to the side and met Deirdre’s eyes sadly. They hadn’t solved anything yet, and she had more questions, but this much could be simple for them.
Though largely unaffected by the cold, Deirdre shivered. It was humiliating in a terrible way, but then, she supposed she ought to feel it. It was stupid in a thousand more; the desperation of a fraught woman. The only thing her pain had really done was change her body into one she hardly recognized. Deirdre looked up at Morgan, hoping to explain herself, somehow, not that there was much to explain. Instead she found her asking to get their first aid tub, and she shifted in her seat. “Are you sure you—“ she swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, that’s okay. That’s fine, if you want to. You know you don’t have to, right? But yeah, it’s fine. More than. Um—“ In truth, she hadn’t wanted Morgan to leave, some part of her worried she wouldn’t come back. But Deirdre trusted and she nodded, and she hoped they’d be able to get to the thing she actually wanted to confess sometime before it was too late—though it always was too late, wasn’t it? “I’ll be here.”
Morgan held up a finger for enough. “Of the two of us, I’m not the one who’s found ways around honesty,” she said, a solemn statement of fact. “I want this. Thank you.”
It was a while before Morgan padded back to Deirdre’s side. She set everything down in a daze and gave her back another look, still struggling to process the violence on display. “I am going to be as gentle as I know how to be,” she mumbled. “But if anything hurts worse, you need to let me know.” She frowned, fighting the urge to kiss Deirdre’s shoulder with comfort and went to work. Her hands tingled. They seemed to crave giving the tenderness they were finally allowed just as badly as the rest of Morgan craved receiving it. She made tender caresses on the brown, ridge lined scar tissue of Deirdre’s old wounds. She was so soft the movements were discernible to her only by her eyes. After over a week of loneliness, there was novelty in care this exacting and relief in the concentration it required too.
“Of course I hate seeing you hurt,” she said softly into the quiet. “And this is...incredibly extreme. I know what fae funerals ask of you, but there are at least two different occurrences on your back. I’d like the story when you’re ready for it, but this feels like you went back for more just because it’s something you could do.” She continued in quiet, then, “It’s not like I don’t know you sometimes turn to self harm when you’re destabilized. You could just have said. I don’t want this for you, even now, but I’m not going to judge you for it. Just, please stop, my—” Morgan stumbled over the endearment that usually fell from her so easily. It would not come. She sighed, her gentle voice turning tired. “Please. Try your best not to anymore.” She applied salve to the cuts, then a fresh roll of bandages. “You still haven’t said what it is you’ve done. You didn’t do all of this to yourself—“ She came around briefly to look at Deirdre as she wrapped up her body again and gestured with her eyes to the rest of her injuries. “I need to hear what happened. All of it.”
Deirdre frowned, feeling the truth and harshness of Morgan’s statements—and silences—worse than any pain she had put on herself. Even now, she lacked the language to explain the thoughts in her head, the grief in her body—the intensity of it. But she would try. “Six,” she corrected. “Six times, I believe. From what I could remember. You see my family...as a way to...it just—“ She hissed, not from pain—Morgan was unbelievably gentle with her—but from trying to pick apart the things her family told her to make violence okay, an unbiased fact. “Atonement...is not found the way I used to think it was. But it was familiar, and for a moment, it felt like the right thing to do. I didn’t know how to tell you how much pain I was in but this is….I don’t know,” she sighed. “I suppose you know now.” Deirdre slumped, weighed by fatigue, guilt and remorse. She pulled at the bandages on her wrists; iron burns. Her only thought was that Athena could have done much worse, and that she probably should’ve. She reached down and picked one of the articles out of her sweatshirt pocket. Amanda’s face, smiling in black and white, stared back at her. She placed the clipping on the table. “The girl who killed…” she closed her eyes. “The warden who tortured Lydia was close to this girl. Like sisters, in a way.” She opened them and stared down at the headline. This was only the clipping from her disappearance, old now, she wasn’t sure if her murder had been reported. “I wanted the warden to feel pain, like I have. But she—“ she tapped Amanda’s face. “—was innocent, truly. And young. And against everything I believe...I killed her. I needed information from the warden, I needed...Fates, I don’t even know. But I killed her and she didn’t have a thing to do with it.” She reached down and pulled out two more clippings of missing people; Roger Johnston and Joseph Wood. Names she had to hunt down in her memory, faces she had to fight to remember as they were and not as she’d made them. “Those men too. For no purpose, in fact, not even to terrorize someone else. Just because I could...just because it hurt.” she turned back to her injuries, which seemed like too little now. “The warden did this. I’m alive only because she wanted me to feel pain too. That’s the cycle we’re stuck in...pain begets pain. I felt so much of it—I feel so much of it—I don’t know where it goes. But not there, not on them. And not on me...but then where else?”
Morgan finished wrapping up Deirdre’s back and clipped them in place. She couldn’t help but brush her fingers over the spot and down her arm. She’d done a good job, worth affirming, and Deirdre’s body seemed to beg for comfort. “Sometimes the worst things we can do are ones that are most familiar,” she whispered. “But you can’t stay in that place, Deirdre…”
And then Deirdre explained how she had earned her injuries. Truly earned by the bloodsport rules of their world. Morgan dropped her hand and took the clipping, eyes wide with horror. The girl was young, practically Ariana’s age. She crunched it in her fist. “There really is nothing you won’t do,” she whispered. “She didn’t even know Lydia--none of them knew her, or so much as heard of her, much less had anything to do with what happened--and you destroyed them. Not even for fate, or for her. Just you. And I used to think you had more principles than me.” She looked away from Deirdre then, over at the walls where their skeleton paintings hung, the floor where the book of Mary Oliver poetry had fallen, the windows repaired and braced against their trauma, the snow globe (now just a tiny sculpture on a pedestal, without its glass dome) of a winter cemetery, a hope of a future that seemed to disintegrate the more Morgan watched it. “You know, that would’ve been a great question to ask the person breaking herself to try and help you. Before you destroyed yourself and everything you supposedly stand for. That would’ve been something great to figure out together.” She let out a long, shaky breath and shut her eyes. She couldn’t sit in their home and watch the life that had made her into a person again color with pain.
“I need you to swear to me that you understand that you are loved. Even now, you are loved. And none of this was necessary. You are the one who did this, to yourself and to us. You were loved through all of this mess, and a single word from you to clue me in could’ve made it stop. You are so loved, Deirdre,” she whispered, tears creeping over her lashes again. “But I don’t know if I can do this. Not if this is who you are going to be. Not if this is what our future has to look like. I don’t think I’d survive it.”
Deirdre closed her eyes, curling into herself. In her mind swirled a thousand explanations about the rules of the fae; how revenge worked. It didn’t matter what humans were trampled on the way, it didn’t matter how young they were. Lydia would understand, because Lydia was a fae just like her. But Lydia wasn’t here. “The warden took someone from me, I took someone from her. I should have killed her but I wanted pain…” she mumbled to herself, not offering her words as an explanation, but a trickled thought. She turned, and planted her feet on the ground, resting her arms on her legs. “It all seemed so clear at the time, all the things I needed to do, terrible as they were. Everything I was taught,” she sighed, shaking her head and pushing her inadequate explanation away. She couldn’t meet Morgan’s eyes, though she didn’t imagine Morgan was looking at her anyway. She knew what this house looked like before, like the set to someone’s life, but not hers. It was a home now, and she seemed to keep ruining it. “It would’ve,” she agreed, “in some other world, maybe I would have been smart enough to ask it sooner.”
The words that came from Morgan next were no surprise, she had imagined them on her way here. She had feared them. What would I do, she asked herself, if it was what Morgan wanted? She looked up and remembered the empty that her house once was, not a single book or decoration she cared about. No gifts, no cat tree in the corner. “If it’s what you want…” she began, “...then I won’t stop you. And I understand, I do, if it is. Because I love you too, Morgan.” She swallowed and turned to her girlfriend. “But I’m not giving up. When I said I wanted to be a better person, I meant it. When I said cruelty wasn’t a thing I wanted in our lives either, I meant that too. What I’ve done was wrong, and it’s not what I want. It’s never been what I’ve wanted. Because I am tired of it Morgan, these cycles of pain. I don’t want them anymore. I don’t want to hurt people like this. Not without cause, not like...not like their lives don’t mean anything. I don’t want that.” Deirdre tensed, though the desire to turn away flared up in her twisting stomach, she continued to look, determined. “But I do what I have to...sometimes. And most of the time I don’t understand what it is I have to do. I promise you that I will try, because that is what I want. But I can’t say this will never happen again, because I don’t know. My duty is to the greater good and I don’t—“ she swallowed. “No, there’s no greater good that involves death like that; senseless. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t know. If trying my best sounds good enough to you, stay and I will give you everything I can. But if it doesn’t….then please, let me take my things out. You should have the house, it suits you. I can stay somewhere else.” She finally broke her gaze, unable to find resolve or foothold in the idea of leaving Morgan. She didn’t want it, she would have done just about anything to avoid it...but lying was not something she could do to Morgan. She could not make guarantees where there were none. “We’ll—“ her voice cracked. “—f-figure something out about the cats. If you...think it’s the best thing for you. I want your future to be good, Morgan. The best it can be.”
For the first time since Lydia’s death it wasn’t the world that cracked in two, but Morgan. Part of her still bled inside, hurt and twisted and needing validation as much as a way to punish Deirdre until things felt fair. Another burned to sweep Deirdre into her arms saying, okay, okay, we’ll be okay. She looked at her sidelong, taking in her familiarity: her sad brown eyes, her trembling lips, her earnest voice, pieces of a woman Morgan didn’t want to do without. But she had looked that way before, and then she’d done this. Morgan continued to watch her and continued to think. There was no way to guess what circumstances they would be faced with, what they would be pushed to consider. Deirdre was offering so many promises, but they brought so little comfort in return. How was she supposed to do this, knowing this woman could drop her and run? And yet…
“If we do this…” she said slowly, reaching halfway for Deirdre’s hand.“If we do this, we have to be different people. Being like this, treating me like this cannot be our normal. You need to tell me things even if it hurts. Before you get yourself into some deadly mess. I get wishing you could join the dead better than most. But I cannot watch you destroy yourself. This needs to stop. And however rare your connection to Lydia was, we are supposed to have long lives. We need something better than this for our grief.” She shifted her body, angling toward Deirdre. “And we can’t pop back into what old shapes we had. I know...there was a time when you were all I had to cling to in this world. You told me it was okay if I made you my sole anchor. And I was scared because it seemed unfair to put that weight on you. You already have so much to carry. But I did it. And because of that decision I am still a recognizable version of myself at all. But what I didn’t reckon on was…building my existence entirely on you meant that whenever you break or leave me, I beak too. Every moment since you sprinted out of our home and practically died in my arms on our driveway has destroyed me. I am nothing without you, the way we’ve been doing this. And that is not fair. And it is not right. I need to do that much differently, for myself, and for us too. We can’t destroy each other so fast with our mistakes. You’ve done a lot, and I think even the strongest version of myself would be wrecked by now, but I fell apart so fast, and I’m still really broken...” Morgan’s voice broke as she remembered screaming and wailing in Lydia’s bedroom. She shuddered, shrinking in on herself. “And, I don’t know, maybe if I was different, some of what happened could have been different too. Does that make sense, what I’m saying?”
Deirdre’s gaze fell, her eyes stuck on Morgan’s hand. Her own fingers twitched. She stared, wondering if it would be okay. She remained silent for a moment before she met Morgan’s hand the rest of the way, held firm in her grip. She looked up. “I think it makes sense. It feels like it does.” She drew her lip in, scraping it across her teeth. She would’ve liked to imagine that she could carry Morgan on her own, but it was true that her own stability had been threatened. She didn’t know who she was, and she couldn’t ask someone to depend on an identity that she wasn’t certain of. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do it, Morgan. I never thought…” She sighed her words away and slumped. “I wanted to be enough. For someone.” Deirdre turned towards Morgan, running her fingers along the fabric of their couch, the same motions of comfort she normally shared with Morgan. “I can do that. I can do better.” But she didn’t have anything better to build her life on; her duty was a demanding thing, the fae had rules that often created more ruin than she wanted. Morgan was her shred of happiness, and she couldn’t imagine finding that any place else. She couldn’t even imagine where to start looking. “Can I--can we hold each other? Can we be doing that now?” Her voice was a soft plea as she gulped the rest of her anxiety down. “It’s just--It’s been so long. I’ve missed you, so much.”
“It’s not about being enough,” Morgan said quietly. “I need some-thing, stars only know whatever that is. And you are someone. My most important someone, whatever else happens. The someone who made me as alive as I’m ever going to be. It’s just different.” She let the thought sit between them and hoped it stuck. She wasn’t sure if she had enough of herself left to try explaining it another way. She ached like her bones were just waiting to turn into putty, and her mind, tortured by its restless shamble from one thought to the next, deflated.
At Deirdre’s question, Morgan slumped, shaking as a sob broke free. “Yes,” she said, her voice whistling shrill. “Yes, please. Please...” She didn’t reach for Deirdre so much as she tipped over and fell against her. Whatever resolve or pride she had left washed away in the tide her tears had unlocked. She clung to Deirdre, careless and full of need. Morgan nuzzled into the crook of her neck and remained there, crying, until new words floated up and cracked through her throat. “I need to release you from the promises you’ve made tonight. I’ve already lost track of them and I don’t want you to be forced into being here.” She hiccuped a cry. “But I do need some, until I figure out how to trust you again. I need something until I’m a whole person again. I still need you…”
“I am a thin-ermng--” Deirdre mumbled, having just enough sense to realize what Morgan was trying to say, and how her self-deprecating thoughts didn’t play a role. She coughed. “I understand. That isn’t going to stop me from wishing I could be, though. I want the best for you, whatever I can offer and whatever I can learn to....You wouldn’t ask me to be something, I know, but I’m saying I would.” As silence drifted over them, Deirdre’s body began to quiver and her face contorted. She erupted in laughter, head raised to the ceiling. “Oh, Fates, that doesn’t sound romantic at all! That just sounds terrible.” She wiped away a tear, bubbling with a smile. Though the amusement was short lived, she offered the grin to Morgan, pulling her love tight into her arms. “I’ve forgotten them too, actually,” she chuckled softly, trying to hold Morgan as tightly as she could, with all the longing of the days she’d neglected. “But I’d be alright with that, all of it.” Working for Morgan’s trust again wasn’t as heartbreaking as she thought it might sound--to have lost it was terrible, was something she hurt for--but to work to love Morgan didn’t sound awful at all. She already did, and finding better ways to love was her honor and privilege. Horrible as it felt to have treated Morgan so poorly, loving her was no task at all---it was a matter of course. “I can work with that,” she smiled softly, “and that’s okay, whatever you need. I can do that. What do you want me to promise? I can do that now, put your heart at ease….I’d like to.”
“I—release you—“ Morgan gasped, mumbling the words into her skin. “From every promise you’ve made tonight. I relinquish you.”
Time turned slippery as she cried, carried off by the current of her tears. After a while it wasn’t even one particular memory she was agonizing over, so much as her pain itself. Maybe if she screamed louder, it would spend itself, and the throbbing would end and her bones would settle. Maybe...
When she could speak more or less without gasping for air, Morgan said, “Will you promise you won’t leave me tomorrow like you have before? And promise you won’t hurt yourself on purpose until your body’s been completely healed for a week. Promise...p-promise me I’m safe with you. For tonight, for tomorrow.” She shivered and dug into Deirdre tighter. “I’m so scared,” she explained in a whisper. “I keep thinking the phone’s going to ring and you’ll throw me away and I won’t know how to get up this time. If nothing else, I need to know I’m safe here, like this, however we are, through tomorrow.”
For all the times Deirdre had held Morgan in her arms, there’d never been a moment so clouded by her own mistakes. Even the times before they started dating, sprung apart by Deirdre’s fear, it hadn’t felt so different. All Morgan wanted was to be with her, and though Deirdre wanted the same, she kept finding some way to twist it. She could’ve promised herself to Morgan for the rest of time and thought nothing of it, she could have sworn to stop tearing them apart. But these promises, just for tonight and tomorrow, were hopelessly Morgan—and heartbreakingly earnest. “I promise I won’t leave you, like I have been, tomorrow. I promise I won’t physically hurt myself on purpose until my current injuries have been healed for a week.” Deirdre shifted their bodies, just enough so she could look at Morgan. “I promise you’re safe with me, today, tomorrow…” she swallowed. The desire to say she would be safe everyday was strong, though it wasn’t what Morgan had asked—and it wasn’t something her girlfriend would feel comfortable holding in the form of a binding contract. Deirdre didn’t think it lessened the truth of her words though, even if she couldn’t say it. “Hey,” she cooed, momentarily lifting her hand away from holding Morgan to cup her face instead. “I lost my phone so you don’t have to worry about that part but how about this?” Deirdre smiled warmly, “I promise I won’t abruptly leave your side without telling you where I’m going.” She pulled her hand away, wrapping it back around her love. “I know that one’s a little bigger…” she leaned in and pressed her lips to Morgan’s forehead. “But you can let that go when you feel like you can trust me again. Until then, for as long as you need it, you can keep that. And anything else you want me to promise now.” She smiled again; promises could be dangerous for a fae, deadly even. But she didn’t imagine these would be hard to keep, or something she’d ever break. It was fine, and even if it wasn’t, she imagined that they’d figure it out. “Is that okay? You can ask for more, my love.”
Morgan whimpered as Deirdre shifted to lift her head. The vulnerability her softness inspired frightened her. Her urge to surrender was almost instantaneous, she barely knew how to keep from hurling herself into this woman, so comforting and painfully familiar. Morgan’s eyes pleaded with hers as they met, clinging to the words spoken and unspoken. Today, tomorrow, and every day thereafter. They couldn’t dare, even if whatever punishment fae magic might devise felt fair in this moment. But it was tempting, more than it had ever been before.
She was awed by the promise Deirdre volunteered. It was so kind, a gentle salve over one of the worst wounds on her heart. She itched to touch her face, to kiss her, and only just held back. “You don’t have to say where,” Morgan whispered. “I know sometimes you need to be away from me, or you don’t know where you’re off to. You can just say why, if that’s better. Either.” She hesitated, searching for any sign of reluctance in Deirdre’s expression, something to keep her back from hope. But there was only her tenderness, only her affection. “Thank you,” Morgan said, mouthing the words more than speaking them. She pressed her face back to Deirdre’s. She had almost forgotten the way her lips brushed so faintly against her skin and how much it felt like love. “Maybe after tomorrow,” she admitted. “We’ll have to see. But there are...I need to know some things, before I get too comfortable too fast. Even if I just want to lay down with you holding me...” If the universe was still in her, she would have reached for it for strength. But there was only herself and her want. Anything more would have to come later. “If I put you on my insurance, would you try therapy? I know we can’t talk about everything, but even just for methods around your self harm, or your idea of yourself, or us. I need to know if you would.” Morgan swallowed thickly. “I need to know if there’s anything else you’re keeping back from me. Because I can’t take more surprises right now, I need all of it, whatever’s left. And I know I can’t make you swear never to do this to me again, but you need to know there’s every chance we won’t make it if you do. I don’t even know if we’ll make it right now, but If you don’t let me stop you, if you don’t let me in enough to even try next time, we’re not going to get years you say you want. And I need...stars, I don’t even know. It feels like so much but I’m so tired… I wish I could sleep, I’m so tired.” She shuddered and clung that much tighter to Deirdre. “Tell me you love me again. Tell me it wasn’t my fault…”
“I don’t particularly think I’d ever want to be away from you…” Deirdre whispered with the same reverence as a promise. It wasn’t want that ever separated her from Morgan, though she knew she’d shattered her girlfriend’s trust. “Then: I promise I will never leave your side abruptly without telling you why and/or where I’m going.” She pressed her forehead against Morgan’s, slow and careful, offering just enough time for her to move away. It had been so long since they held each other, even longer since they’d kissed. But she didn’t dare close space between them as she once had; Morgan said it would be different, and while she learned just how different, Deirdre wanted to respect it. But even for all of the respect she wanted to summon, she couldn’t help the grimace that flickered across her face at the mention of therapy. The fae had their version of therapy, it involved mushrooms and torture, usually. “I went to therapy...actually. Group therapy, if you can call it that. It was…” she sighed; it was helpful, in a strange way. “Are you sure you want me on your insurance? I—well, you know money isn’t an issue for me...the only thing that would do is….well, it would be a commitment. Is that—are you okay with that?” Deirdre shifted, which in her position, amounted to wiggling stiffly. “I could go...yeah. I don’t know how much I could tell a therapist….I don’t know if they understand ancient banshee religious practices. But I would; I would go. If it would help, I’d do it.” And while the imagined embarrassment of having to sit across from a human and tell them all about how much she hated herself was a strange, stabbing kind of pain, it felt more like a step to her. She had tried being better on her own. She had tried it with Morgan’s help. If she could push her own pride aside and try it a little differently, maybe it would stick this time. “I….” Deirdre swallowed. “I’m sorry again, Morgan. And thank you...for letting me try. I love you. Everything that’s happened, the way that I’ve treated you, that wasn’t your fault. None of it has ever been your fault. I love you, I love you so much.”
Morgan soaked up the pressure of Deirdre’s forehead like fresh water. She still felt right. It was almost galling how much she could do and still feel so right. “You...what?” She asked, almost laughing with surprise. “When? Did you--group? Really?” Deirdre didn’t really strike her as the ‘play nice with others’ type. “Would you want to go again?” At the timid mention of commitment, Morgan rolled her eyes with a sigh. “I just mean--the American healthcare system makes enough money off of people without you paying out of pocket, first of all. And obviously someone supernatural would be ideal, maybe through some telehealth service since we probably won’t get lucky looking local, but for now, with what you feel able to talk about, I think it would be ideal. And…” She sighed stiffly. “Even if this didn’t work, I would want to help you. Do something for you. I’d want you to be happy and okay. So...it’s okay. No matter what happens, it’s okay. I’ll do this.” She offered a thin, sad smile, still in the process of reconciling the fact of her devotion with what they could make work in the wake of their mess.
Morgan sank back down against Deirdre’s chest as she made her assurances, sniffling quietly and nodding along. The thought of blame was the hardest to rewrite, and even as she felt the calm of Deirdre’s chest against her ear (no tensing, no gurgling, nothing that felt like a swallowed lie), she tried to replay their interactions and comb them for mistakes she could fix the next time around: when she’d gotten short and frustrated, when she fell to pieces, when she surrendered to Deirdre’s wishes after the first rebuff instead of the third. Maybe it was just that hard, admitting how helpless she’d been.
“It was...a thing for fae who don’t want to hurt humans anymore. They said…” Deirdre swallowed thickly, trying to shrug. “I think I’ll go again. They said they’d have pie for me this time. They only had donuts...which kind of suck as far as dessert foods go.” The food wasn’t the point, obviously, but as Deirdre navigated her own comfort with speaking of the topic, she found herself latching on to what was easiest to talk about; the food, the shitty chairs, the weirdly specific posters. “It felt nice,” she said eventually, “to talk to people like that. I kept thinking they would start laughing at me but they never did.” Deirdre shifted again, as if getting a better position on the couch would magically make talking about her feelings easier. She waited for her mother to materialize and chastise her for her behaviour, to say this was all some elaborate test and she failed terribly—there was always a breath held in anticipation for it every time she spoke of something forbidden. “I don’t think me not paying for therapy is going to ‘stick it’ to the American healthcare system.” She tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a shaky exhale. “If—if this doesn’t work out—which is…” A terrible thought to have. Exactly what ninety percent of her nightmares were filled with. The last thing she ever wanted to think about and even as someone who adored argument, it was a thought she felt horrified to entertain. “...a hypothetical I don’t enjoy considering. I don’t want to make anything harder for you. If it does...I can promise you I will continue to attend therapy, and you don’t need to have me stuck on your insurance. You could….save that for someone else, I suppose.” Or something. Deirdre didn’t want to speak more of it than she had to, but her mind had already worked out the logical steps they needed to take. Morgan would get the house, because she’d always wanted one; everything inside the house would be hers, save for Deirdre’s clothing and personal belongings; and Deirdre would continue to provide financial support, until the day she couldn’t. The only thing she hadn’t figured out was the cats, but every time she tried, her body was seized by sadness. And so, she left that one in the hypothetical space.
There were more important problems to solve, anyway. Like what to say now, if she needed to or could do more, what things had she forgotten to apologize for? It was a long list, when she’d taken mental stock of it, and she felt like she only spoke a fraction. But time, she realized, was what she had to leave the Fate of her most precious relationship to. She couldn’t force Morgan to love her like she had before right now, right away. She couldn’t soothe every issue with some promises just at once, like she hadn’t been gone for days. “Can I kiss you?” She asked quietly, blurted out as her mind drifted. “I know it’s been a while and I know I don’t—it’s okay if you don’t want me to. I understand, I can wait for...whenever you’re ready for that again. I just...thought I’d ask.” She flushed with guilt and embarrassment. “It’s fine if—you can just forget I asked. I’m sorry.”
Morgan couldn’t help the watery smile that spread over her as Deirdre explained where she had been. “You have a fae support group...?” She said faintly. For the first time this night, her voice lilted up with hope. She lifted her fingertips to tenderly brush along Deirdre’s cheek. The faeness of the group made the strange parts fit together, why Deirdre felt comfortable speaking at all, why she took the idea seriously in the first place. And it was why Morgan thought it might stick. Deirdre had a community. Maybe not a banshee community, but one who knew what it was like to be raised similarly, where wings mattered more than hearts. “That’s incredible. You should go, as much as you can. I’m so proud of you, for doing this for yourself.” She kept stroking her face, moving down to her jaw, as she thought about the rest of what Deirdre said. The habit was so compelling, she didn’t want to stop.
“I don’t want to think about there being someone else,” she admitted. “I don’t want someone else. I just…” Say these things to protect myself. Remind myself the woman who hurt me looked just like you. She grimaced, hoping that by process of elimination, Deirdre would understand. “We don’t have to keep talking about this in those terms, though. We shouldn’t. I don’t want to manifest that world. I want…” What she most wanted was for all of this to have never happened in the first place. She couldn’t quite visualize the steps between where she was and where the life she still desperately craved lay ahead of her: happy, vibrant, stable, and pledged to Deirdre. It was painfully ironic. Her whole life she hadn’t even dared to imagine that she could have anything so long lasting as to imagine stability. Having something good for a time, a year at most, was as promising as her reality got. And now that she could almost taste that new, better life, her foundations were in shambles. “...I want…” Morgan hesitated. Deirdre promised I’m safe. She promised she won’t leave. She promised, she promised… “I want this to stop hurting. I want us to be together without it being scary or hurting. I want to be able to hear you tell me something without having to question it. I want ‘us’ to mean something again.”
At Deirdre’s question, and the volley of insecure backpedals and qualifications that followed it, Morgan sat up in her lap. She looked long into Deirdre’s eyes, frowning with heartache at the swelling around one of them. These eyes knew her, understood her, pleaded with her. Even loved her. Morgan brushed back her hair, greasy and tangled. It was as though her grief had torn itself out of her heart and onto her skin. And somehow in the middle of that anguish, she’d had enough sense to try something more for herself. Her poor banshee was so strong. Even if her heart was stronger than she realized, it wasn’t used to carrying so much love or bearing the cost of it. Morgan’s lips trembled as she smiled sadly, then she reached up and cupped her face as gently as she could. “I love you. And I need some time. But you can have this--” She kissed Deirdre, tender, chaste and lingering. She parted, meaning to leave it at that, but the touch had only been a ghost of contact and that faint cotton tingle that was as close to softness as she would ever feel only made her body ache for what it had missed for so long. Morgan met Deirdre’s eyes. If she gave anything more, the promises for tomorrow would mean nothing. Her heart would be sunken too deep and it would be so much harder to pull back if they fell apart too quickly. She didn’t even know what she would supplement Deirdre’s place in her life with. The only thing clear was her want, however terrifying, however unwise. Please help me, her eyes said. Please. “A-and...and now you can kiss me back. Just once.” She whispered.
“It’s not a fae support group...it’s a murder support group...in which we’re all fae.” But the more Deirdre talked about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. it sounded stupid when Sundew took her, it sounded stupid while she was there, and it probably would have sounded stupid to her mother. Did that make it good or bad? As she listened to the hopeful turn in Morgan’s voice, trying not to shiver under her feather-touch, she thought it might have been good. It might have been okay. But she closed her eyes, and there was everything else, everyone else. The idea of a fae that felt bad about killing a human was ludicrous. As a child, every sentence she uttered ended with a glance at her mother. She waited for the hum of approval, the hiss of disapproval; the direction she needed to steer herself. Morgan thought it was good, and Deirdre did too, but when left on her own, would she still look for her mother’s eyes? “They meet often...I can—I suppose I’ll join them.” She lowered her head, Morgan’s pride was not as intoxicating an incentive as her mother’s, but it was gentler. Embarrassingly so. It was the warmth it blossomed, the stirrings of tender thought—her self-worth did not conflate, but it fluttered. Like wings in her chest, waiting for the right breeze to carry them off.
“I don’t want to either. But it’s—maybe it’s something we need a plan for too? To make it less—“ scary? It would always be scary. Terrible? The terribleness of it would not lessen with carefully considered steps. “—I don’t know,” she confessed. “I just thought I was being considerate, by offering. I can barely think about it. I don’t want to.” It occurred to her then that it would’ve been better to discuss a plan for staying together rather than parting. It was better to think about on all accounts, and more important. Those were steps she’d much rather lay out in her head, but they didn’t have easy answers—the solution was subject to the strange, volatile factor of time. “I’m sorry…” she said quietly in a moment, shifting closer to Morgan. “...that I ruined that. But I want us too, I want you to trust me again too, and I’ll work for it—I will.” She bit back a promise, though she would have offered them all out if she thought it would help. What good was a power like that, if she couldn’t even use it to properly explain to the woman she loved just how devoted she was? She was tired of saying she could promise things, if Morgan suddenly turned into such a creature that would bind Deirdre to her; she could do it. She wanted to just do it. But time—terrible, slow and inconsiderate—stood between her. She’d have to wait, for however long it would take. Each second, each hour, day or year—she would wait. “I am yours,” she sighed, “always.”
And she realized her mistake then, in asking for a kiss. Even when she could give them freely—a privilege she would remember to cherish—they were never enough. Too short. Too soft. Too hard, this time. Not right, that time. They were her favorite inadequacy; time after time she could try to get them perfect. Not enough love. Too much. She should hold Morgan tighter. She should kiss her longer. She never felt horrible for falling short, it was just a matter of trying again and again—some were good, some were great, some so instinctual she forgot them (those too, had their merits, she could kiss Morgan again, carrying the value of two kisses). But they were all strung together by a common thread; that she wanted more. Morgan parted from her and Deirdre chased her for the centimetres between—too soft, too short, not enough, come back. But this one could not be fixed with another, or another after that one. And Deirdre blinked, trying to reign her longing to no avail. She wasn’t so sure if she was looking at her desires in Morgan’s eyes, or Morgan’s own staring back at her. But she was such a terrible fool to think she could look at her, drink her in, and want just one kiss. The furrow of her brow alone demanded twenty. And her eyes—big, beautiful, blue—she wouldn’t even start to count how many they’d get in their name. Just once, Morgan urged her, and altogether, Deirdre crumbled. She pushed herself up, meeting Morgan’s eyes. She leaned in slowly, plagued by quivering breath. She held herself those missing centimetres away from Morgan, thinking there was something to savour in the lingering. But as she brushed her lips against Morgan’s, gentle even to her senses, she couldn’t kiss her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled there, voice heavy with longing. “I can’t kiss you. Not just once. I can’t do that. Not in...any way that won’t be worse for us.” She pulled back, meeting Morgan’s gaze. “I want you, Morgan. Not just once.” She dropped her head, ashamed by her own dramatics—by the ferocity of her love and affection, and all that it wanted. Her mind was still reaching for Morgan, her body trembled with the need to; it had been so long since she had to stop herself from offering affection, she’d forgotten what agony it was. She lifted her head. “I can’t help you,” she said, “I can’t not want you enough to just—“ She swallowed. “I’m sorry. Not just once. I can’t do it once.” Deirdre brought her fingers to her lips, the feeling of Morgan there was already gone, and they burned to be renewed. She’d have to live with it for now, she’d have to wait.
Morgan had nodded encouragingly at Deirdre as she leaned in. She was terrified of what this would do to her, but she ached worse for one more taste of their intimacy. Her hands had slid up Deirdre’s shoulders in expectation. She’d closed her eyes and—nothing.
Morgan’s wide eyes flashed with hurt and confusion. “But—” Her voice cracked in her throat. She cut herself off, lips quivering, and listened. By the time Deirdre finished, Morgan’s body was just as tense with longing as her banshee’s, and her whole mouth trembled. Her hand went out automatically for Deirdre’s, ready to tear it away, to pull her right back in and show her what she’d really meant by once (so long as they didn’t fully part, it was only one kiss, right?) and soothe both of their hurts. But she stopped herself halfway, unsure now. “Worse how? Would it hurt…? Did it hurt before?” Had her kindness been cruel without her realizing? “I was gentle so you’d know I really meant it. So it would be just for you. I was scared, but I wanted to, and I wanted you to have it. And I thought that would be it and I’d be content, but as soon as I felt you, I wanted—” More. So much more. Enough to fill herself up and be sick on. One kiss had seemed like a balanced compromise, but maybe it wasn’t after all. Morgan shuddered and took Deirdre’s bandaged hands, looking earnestly into her terrible, pained expression. “I want you too…” She whispered.
“This is stupid,” she whimpered. “This is so stupid and unfair.” Physical affection had come so easy for them before. It was automatic sometimes, at others, as fluid and nuanced as language, composing poems on each other’s bodies of how much they loved and craved and cherished one another’s presence. “How do we fix this? How do we get to the part where it’s better? If you can’t...if even this isn’t good, we need to figure out something soon, right? We need...a plan, a-a rule, I don’t know. Something to hold onto.” She searched Deirdre’s eyes, finding her own pent up longing reflected back at her. She finally forced her lips to hold their place. “Aren’t you tired of hurting? Can you tell me what you need, what you think will help?”
“No, no! No, it didn’t hurt. That’s not it.” In her eagerness to dissuade Morgan’s worries, Deirdre wrapped her back up in her arms, in the same state that sparked the desire for more in the first place. “It was a good kiss, a really good kiss. That’s the problem…” She sighed, looking into Morgan’s eyes—big, blue, beautiful—and realized the number they would garner was indefinite. How did she ever think just one kiss would be fine? “Would you be okay with that? Would just one kiss be enough? Could you tell me you wouldn’t want more? If you can, I’ll do it. But if you can’t….then we’ve played this game before, Morgan. I don’t want to pretend like I don’t want you as badly as I do, I don’t want to pretend like I can give you just one kiss and move on with the rest of the day.” She pulled Morgan closer, sidestepping a kiss by pressing her lips to her cheek—the same way she’d skirted the definition of a kiss before. “You set a boundary for a reason; you want to feel safe, right? And you don’t right now, you said you don’t. I’ll still be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and the one after that too and so on….and we don’t have to do this now. We can wait until you feel safe again, and it’s okay.” Deirdre smiled, gentle, though she pulsed with the pain of separating herself from Morgan. It was like she’d been peeled off, and half her skin was still stuck to Morgan—and she needed it back, she wanted it back, but she couldn’t take it. She knew the feeling well; the electricity that coursed through her body and the mind that throbbed with longing. She could work herself into a fever just thinking about it; those days, it had been so terrible...but it had been different. She felt strong justification in keeping her hands and lips to herself, now, she had no self-righteous idea to steady herself on. “It was selfish of me to ask, I’m sorry.” She breathed out, heady with the things she could not do. “I want you, Morgan, and I could have you right now that’s not the issue...but would it be okay for you? I don’t—kissing you just once is better than not kissing you at all, but I’m trying to do this right. For both of us.” Of all the things to feel nostalgic of, this was not one she imagined would ever flutter back across her body. “I am so tired, my love. Of hurting...of hurting people…all of it. But what I want is you, what I’ve always wanted is you. But I’ll be here tomorrow, and after that, and all of tonight too….and I want you, and one kiss isn’t enough for me and I’d only want you more. And I don’t know what to do, I don’t. But I can wait. I’ll wait for you.”
Morgan latched on tight to Deirdre as she was brought in and did not let go. “How could you do this? We can’t even kiss without hurting, how could you do this...?” She burrowed her face into the crook of her neck, pressing her lips earnestly to the patch of bare skin there. She trembled, trying to chase after the piece of her that had made this choice too. They were already hurt and agonizing and overthinking—wasn’t it silly not to get something out of it? Or was that just her imbalanced need, clawing for what it knew best? Was it the distance Deirdre had put between them playing cruelly with her body?
Whatever the reason, Deirdre was right. Especially because Morgan didn’t know the reason. How could she stop herself from making old mistakes? And yet how could she pull herself up long enough to do better if she didn’t take what she needed now? Morgan hung on tighter, nodding. At last she said, “Before, when we weren’t having sex for a month and two weeks, it was because you wouldn’t tell me how you felt. It was clear. I didn’t have to guess with myself whether it was time or not. If you told me and you wanted me, we could have that again. But I don’t know what the rule is now. I don’t know what to look for or wait for. I just know I want you right now and I’m so tired even more than I’m scared. I just want something good to hold onto.”
Morgan whimpered as she fought to steady her voice. She risked pulling back enough to see Deirdre’s face, so fraught and soft and horrifyingly hers. Morgan couldn’t figure out where the shift in her expression was, but she knew at once that this so familiar Deirdre wanted to be hers and all Morgan needed was to pick her up and say yes. Her heart would be impaled on another empty silence or dropped down a safety hatch that let her out of all her pain, all with one yes. It was that simple and that hard. “I can’t wait for you to not hurt me, it can’t be an absence. We need to make something, but—” But what the hell was that supposed to be? What did these other versions of themselves look like? “Is it when you’ve found a therapist? That could take ages. Is it when you’ve been to group for a few weeks? When I’ve balanced myself with something besides just you? Because I don’t even know where to start with that!I know...I’m the one who’s scared, but I don’t know when it’ll be better. I don’t know when it’s fine again and I don’t want to rush anything, I just want to feel something besides hurt for a minute, maybe five. Is that bad? Do we really just...have to keep waiting, and hold each other because it’s the only thing we have left? Hope it doesn’t take too long?” As soon as the words left her, Morgan felt a sinking wave of realization: they very well might have to do just that.
“I’m sorry...I’m sorry…” If she once stopped to consider the repercussions of her actions, she wouldn’t have done anything. Amanda would be alive and Athena less heartbroken, yes, but Deirdre could’ve asked Morgan what good revenge looked like. Or...could she have? Maybe Athena was too young for Morgan too, maybe she didn’t see it like Deirdre did. The banshee shook her head, it wasn’t what she wanted to think about now, and it didn’t matter. Amanda was dead. She’d ruined the safety and trust she built with Morgan. “I’m sorry….” she mumbled. It wasn’t worth it, the things that she’d done. None of it was. “I can hold you tighter? Really tight. I can do that.” And she moved to try, except her arms locked at her sides and her throat seared. She tried to lunge out of the strange body lock, but her arms wouldn’t budge even as the rest of her body flailed. “Oh,” she slumped. “No I can’t do that….because that would be hurting myself….” But what was some muscle pain? Who cared if her body was already sore? She could do that much for Morgan, she always had, no matter the pain. She sighed and held Morgan at an appropriate level, enough that Morgan could feel it, but not so tight that Deirdre’s aching body would protest. “A week,” she mumbled, “seven days exactly. I’ll ask you how you’re feeling; if you feel safe now. If the answer is yes then...then it’s fine, we can have each other just like we want to. And if it’s not, then we’ll wait another week. And after another seven days, I’ll ask again. And if it’s still not, then we’ll take another week and so on until you feel safe, my love.” She looked at her, hoping the tenderness and sincerity was readable over the remorse that played in her eyes. “It can’t be a day….because there’ll just be more of this. But a week sounds good, I think. How does that feel to you? We don’t have to use anything else, just time.” A week felt both too long and laughably short, but even if it wasn’t by this week that Morgan felt comfortable kissing her again, then it might be by the next, or the one after that. And Deirdre found herself looking forward to the day. “I don’t know...whatever you need to feel to know it’s okay. If that’s being safe...or if that’s trusting me again...whatever it is, I can ask you in a week.” She searched Morgan for any hint that it was a good idea, or, at least, that her having stopped from kissing her was a good one too. It hadn’t felt right when she’d done it, but she was no stranger to the desperation that could trick Morgan’s mind. All she wanted to do was honour the boundaries Morgan was setting for herself; that wasn’t so bad, was it? “It didn’t last long…” she sighed, “the no-sex thing...we weren’t supposed to kiss either. But then we were, but it was supposed to be one or two...and then it wasn’t. And then it was everything else just shy of sex. But it was important to you, and if this is anything like that, then we should keep waiting. And I’ll be here. I’ll wait for you—for us. And I’ll try for it.”
“A week…until we check in and ask,” Morgan repeated slowly, her eyes locked onto Deirdre’s as if to ask, are you sure? It was fair. She would be the one to determine an answer, which was both a relief and terrifying. She could say fuck it right now and take Deirdre’s mouth with hers. They were both taut with wanting, they could take the relief for a few seconds, maybe a minute—until that made their bodies more glaringly aware of what else was missing.
Morgan’s features fell as she remembered the old no-sex boundary, and considered that even if Deirdre’s body wasn’t one walking wound, sex right now was just a fast track to a panic attack. It wasn’t just bodies fucking anymore, it never could be again. And the way she needed Deirdre in bed, the way she gave herself best, with her body in complete submission… Morgan felt like it would be another month at best until she could bear that again. “I remember,” she mumbled. “That one Saturday visit, I kissed you goodbye on your cheek and went into my car and cried all the way home. But then a few nights later you came to see me...and you were just so happy, like I’d never seen you before. I couldn’t bring you down from that when I could be a part of it instead. And I already wanted you so badly. I think it only took one kiss for me to sign off on a hundred. And the rest came after I was staying with you, I think. It was just so hard to be next to you, to lay with you without touching you. It hurt. I felt like I was giving in and maybe deluding myself into some terrible half-life with you. But it hurt so much worse, keeping everything back. That’s how I made those decisions.” Was hurt the only way to measure her life, even the things that were ostensibly good? Was she so curse fucked that even dead, she couldn’t touch anything without suffering having its way with it?
“I’m so tired of everything hurting,” Morgan whined, a child’s complaint. “I just want it to stop, just for a little…” But what was that quote her mother had liked? If you’re going through hell, keep walking? Morgan clenched her jaw and sank back down against Deirdre’s chest. This was really not a time she wanted Ruth Beck to be right. “Fine. You’re right. In a week we’ll check.” she said faintly. When her heart calmed and the ache had numbed her out, she would be grateful for the decision. Maybe. Hopefully. Morgan reached behind her for one of the blankets draped over the couch. “You need some rest,” she mumbled. Deirdre needed a lot of things, like a shower, and the rest of her bandages changed, but Morgan wasn’t about to walk another intimacy minefield tonight. “Can we just stay here?” Can you just hold me? “Can that be okay…?”
“I don’t want you to make decisions out of hurt, Morgan.” But then what was this? What had she left Morgan to do now? Deirdre frowned; she knew that it wouldn’t be so bad to kiss Morgan. She knew that she was going to stay, and that she’d be here to build their foundation again, but Morgan didn’t. And was it wrong instead, to wield that longing and use it selfishly to fill the hole in her own chest? She wanted to take Morgan’s pain away; soothe her, hold her, love her. Was it wrong then, to give in if it was for those things? But it wasn’t her decision to make, she couldn’t pick what was best for Morgan. That had been her problem before, she thought silence would be better; she thought going off on her own and taking the weight of revenge would all be best. This was Morgan’s choice, and Deirdre wouldn’t take that away. “Back then, the only thing I considered was that I was happy, and that I wanted to be happy with you. I don’t think I even understood why you set those boundaries in the first place. But I’ve grown so much since then, and I know now.” And that made it worse, almost. She knew she didn’t want to kiss Morgan because kissing was fun, she knew she didn’t want sex with her because sex felt good—she loved her, and it was irrefutable now. “I love you,” she mumbled against her skin, staving off the searing desire to kiss her girlfriend. These were the kisses she didn’t even think about before, the ones that came by instinct, that marked her sentences and breaths—the ones she forgot about, and promptly chased with another.
Deirdre leaned up and pulled the blanket down with Morgan; wrapping one around them, and herself around the other. “I’d rather stay here anyway,” she smiled, “and can I hold you? Is that okay?” Though she asked, she already had been, and wasn’t sure she could even take not doing it. “Don’t say no to that one,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “If it’s true, don’t say no, not just yet. Let’s have this...for a little while...for as long as we can…”
Morgan heard Deirdre’s brave, tender smile in her voice and peeled her face back just to see it. A fresh wave of desire shook her. Deirdre looked so sure, so perfect, even with her body ravaged; her affection for Morgan seemed to shine out of every scar and bandage. Morgan’s eyes burned, finally out of tears but no less anguished. She strained up to bring their faces close and pressed her lips to her girlfriend’s cheek. “No,” she whispered. “I need this too. Please hold me. I’ve missed it so much. I’ve missed you loving me. I’ve missed you.” Her voice tightened, so Morgan left it at that, keeping her face pressed to Deirdre’s as her girlfriend settled the blanket around them. When the seconds seemed to stretch and her awareness of how close she was to the corner of Deirdre’s mouth made the space between them feel like pins and needles, Morgan gave a small affectionate nuzzle that granted permission for more of the same, and settled back against Deirdre’s chest. With her mental fatigue and heightened nerves, she wasn’t able to let her head find the old spot where it fit. She shifted and shifted again, and at last surrendered to the idea that near enough was good enough. She could feel Deirdre’s arms for however long she stayed conscious, she could hear her breath coming out of her wounded body, and as ever, she heard her heartbeat. Slow. So slow you’d think it had stopped and gone away, but perfectly in time, always coming back.
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Corona: City of Lights, Chapter 1.
"You killed her," Varian whispered, voice sick with horror. "Rapunzel, you- you killed our-"
"She's not our mother." Rapunzel stared at her hands. There was so, so much red. "She never was."
Rapunzel and Varian struggle to adjust to their new reality, in a world they were taught to fear. But even as steps are made and new bonds are formed, it becomes clear that the City of Lights has a darkness, and it is seeking to consume them all.
On Ao3: READ
Warnings: slightly graphic depiction of a fatal injury and a corpse.
Now that that lovely bit is out of the way, welcome! Allow me to explain myself.
Shattered was stressing me out. I was rushing myself and wasn't having fun. This is my fun break while I sort out that mess. I'm just going to jump right into this.Enjoy!
Mother was dead.
The blood-slicked mirror shard slipped from Rapunzel’s grasp, joining crumpled and fading photos in the blossoming pool of crimson on the floor. The warm, sticky liquid seeped into the hem of her dress, clinging to her knees, her hands, her hair.
Rapunzel stared.
Mother’s cold, unseeing eyes stared back, still fixed with a final glare. Red spilled from the gaping hole in her neck.
The wound was anything but clean. The sensation of plunging the shard into mother’s throat stayed with her, digging, pulling, ripping the soft skin until blood spurted from the wound like a fountain. Strings of torn flesh hung from the wound, resting on deathly pale skin, a sharp contrast to the dark red Rapunzel felt like she was drowning in. Those empty, deceptive eyes accusingly watched her, disappointed even in death.
This was the woman she had called mother.
And Rapunzel had killed her.
As the ghastly image sunk in, the last vestiges of anger drained from Rapunzel, leaving behind nothing but blissful numbness. Her body still ached; the small cut on her shoulder oozed and her wrists stung with rope burn; but inside, there was a void. Her heart, fragile as it was, remained whole and protected by walls she didn’t know were there.
Soft, shaking breaths cut through the ringing it Rapunzel’s ears. Something shifted in the corner of her eye, glass clinking with the movement.
Glass. The mirror.
Varian.
Mother had slammed Varian into the mirror-
Rapunzel gasped. Her throat was dry. “Are you okay?”
“You killed her,” Varian whispered, voice sick with horror. “Rapunzel, you- you killed our-“
“She’s not our mother.” Rapunzel stared at her hands. There was so, so much red. “She never was.”
More shifting. It took everything ounce of will she had left to tear her gaze away from the scene before her. Her knees stayed glued to the floor as she turned to Varian. He sat several feet away in front of the fallen mirror frame, having pushed himself off the glass shards littering the floor. He didn’t look hurt, just terribly shaken, fearful blue eyes spilling over with tears as they locked with hers.
“Are you okay?” Rapunzel repeated.
“I- I think so,” Varian said hoarsely, eyes darting between her and and mother. He trembled like a leaf. “What are we- what are we going to do?”
Rapunzel blinked. What were they going to do? Her gaze flickered over the paintings covering every inch of the walls, to the photos scattered across the floor. Proof that their lives had been a lie. Mother- no, Gothel, had lied, telling them of the dangers of the outside world, feeding them fears and insecurities all while keeping them locked up for her own selfish reasons.
This wasn’t a home, this was a prison.
Rapunzel’s gaze landed on the painting hanging over the fireplace. It was one of her newest creations, and her favorite. She and Varian sat together under the stars, gazing upon the lights that appeared only on her birthday.
Mother had said the world was a dark and cruel place, but surely a world that made something so beautiful couldn’t be as bad as she said. If mother had lied about the world, then maybe....maybe they could find their way out there. Safe or not, Rapunzel would rather be anywhere but here, a prisoner to a dead woman’s lies.
Swallowing, Rapunzel turned back to her brother. “Pack a bag,” she said, her voice eerily calm.
Varian sounded uncertain. “Rapunzel, I-“
“Only bring what you need.” She hated how she sounded. She hated how she felt. There was no grief, no fear, no overwhelming sense of regret from killing her mother.
She felt nothing.
It was a betrayal of the worst kind. How could she kneel here, in the blood of the woman who had raised her, and not feel any of that? To not feel at all? She didn’t have to hold back the tears Varian was no doubt fighting, because crying was impossible. They were free, free, and despite the corpse beside her, all Rapunzel felt was relief.
She hated herself for it.
Across the room, Varian let out a broken sob. “Why?”
Why? Rapunzel was wondering that herself. Why had Gothel stolen them from the lives they should have led? Why had she tied them up and promised to make their lives hell? Why had she hurt Varian? Worst of all- why had Rapunzel not hesitated to kill her?
Honesty would be the simplest answer.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. The tired smile she gave didn’t reach her eyes. She opened her arms. “But everything’s going to be okay, I promi-“
She tried to lie. She really did.
Varian didn’t let her. He rushed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Rapunzel instinctively pulled him close to her chest, letting him break apart in the safety of her embrace. He quickly reached up to cling to her dress, burying his head in her shoulder as ragged sobs racked his small body.
“I’m sorry.” Rapunzel’s expression crumpled, heart finally breaking in the knowledge that she was the only thing keeping Varian from completely falling apart, and she was the reason he was hurting in the first place. It was because of what she did, there was no doubt. She had killed their mother- their kidnapper, and he had been forced to watch.
Apologies would never be enough. Rapunzel uttered them anyway. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry.”
Varian clung to her harder, mumbling through his tears, “it- it’s not your fault,” he choked, “you were just- just trying to protect me.”
“You still shouldn’t have had to see that.” Rapunzel ran her fingers through Varian’s hair, rubbing comforting circles on his back. Tears pricked her eyes. Not tears for Gothel, no, that part of her was still thankfully numb. She cried because her little brother was hurting, because everything they had ever known was a lie.
It was a horrid nightmare, one Rapunzel wished they could wake up from. But that wouldn’t be any better. She didn’t want to go back to that, as much as it had cost them, Gothel had never been good to them. Not really.
Rapunzel rocked Varian in her arms, soothing him as his muffled cries slowly subsided. They couldn’t stay. It wasn’t safe here anymore. But it wasn’t like they had anywhere to go.
There was always the city Gothel spoke of. It couldn’t be far- Gothel had always made her trips in less than a day. Finding it might be harder, but Rapunzel suspected it was to the east, the direction the lights came from.
It was a long shot, and a risky one, but they had to try.
In her arms, Varian sniffled. Mind made up, Rapunzel gave him a gentle squeeze and pulled away, keeping her hands firmly on his shoulders. She searched his red rimmed eyes. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Varian nodded unconvincingly, curling a pale, quivering hand around her wrist. Rapunzel let it drop. She didn’t want to push him, not now. Guiding his wandering gaze away from Gothel’s body, back to her, she brushed a few stray tears from his cheek. “I’m going to figure this out,” she promised, pressing a featherlight kiss to his forehead. “Go pack. And clean yourself up,” she added, grimacing at the bloody handprints she had left over his shirt.
After a minute, Varian nodded and released his desperate grip on her. They helped each other stand in silence, blood squelching as they pulled themselves free from the puddle. Rapunzel kept a hand on Varian, more to steady him than herself. With all this blood, she was surprised he hadn’t passed out. She herself felt queasy. It had to be shock.
Rapunzel hugged herself as Varian disappeared into his bedroom, leaving her alone in the living room with their kidnapper’s corpse. She was freezing, a draft she hadn’t noticed before wandering in from the broken window. Her feet, hands, and hair were sticky with drying blood, especially her hair, dragging in the gory mess.
Rapunzel carefully gathered it up, wincing as it snagged on a loose nail. It was long, over eight feet. Gothel had never let her cut it. She brought home container after container of bleach, serums, and conditioners to keep it blonde and healthy. Rapunzel had spent countless hours of her life on monthly split ends trims, washing, drying, and brushing, all to please her.
Wash your hair, Rapunzel....your roots are growing out, Rapunzel....dear, trim those ends.... her hair was like a noose, cutting off her air, her freedom.
Rapunzel moved before she had even decided. She almost slipped on the blood soaked wood in her mad rush to the kitchen. She snatched up a pair of scissors, darted back through the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom, leaving bloody footprints in her wake.
Her hip throbbed from where she crashed into the sink, but Rapunzel ignored it. She raked her fingers through her scalp, tugging her hair into one hand. Raising the scissors, Rapunzel looked into the mirror.
Her reflection made her want to throw up. Hollow, haunted eyes stared blankly back at her. The skin on her wrists was red and chafed. Blood that wasn’t her own coated her hands and hair.
Her long, blonde hair.
This wasn’t her. This was who Gothel wanted her to be. This was a broken girl who had suffered years of abuse at the hands of a monster, letting herself be shaped into something she wasn’t. Her hair was nothing but a chain tethering her to an empty life.
She wanted it gone.
Gone, just like Gothel. Gothel, who had lied. Gothel, who Rapunzel had loved. Gothel, who she had killed to secure her and Varian’s freedom.
Gothel, who only ever loved her hair.
Rapunzel burst into tears. And as they fell, so did the chains around her heart. She could feel again. She was free.
Scissors poised to slice through her bonds, Rapunzel faced her reflection. She was tired, yes, and hurting beyond comprehension. But when she looked in the mirror, all she saw was a bold, strong soul with vibrant green eyes and deep brown roots staring back. This was the real her.
Rapunzel started cutting.
#tangled the series#rapunzel's tangled adventure#tts#rta#rapunzel#varian#tangled fandom#tangled fanfiction#tangled#modern au#TTS Fanfic: City of Lights
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Things Were Different Back Then
CHAPTER THREE: Tension
Masterpost w/ more info on the fic | Note: all SBI-related relationships here are platonic!
Tubbo wakes with the sun. He hadn’t shut his curtains last night, and the window opposite his bed casts a bright, amber light over him. Despite being tired, and annoyed by the interruption to his sleep, he finds it in him to appreciate how the early morning sun turns his bedspread to flame. He turns his fingers around in the patch of light. It’s like he’s dipping them in magic. The red bandanna Tommy gave him has been sitting on his headboard for weeks, a small comfort in the time his friend was gone. The orange sunlight makes it look especially warm and vibrant.
After lying in bed for a few minutes more, staring at the square of orange light on his covers and skin, Tubbo forces himself out of bed and to his wardrobe. He dresses at a snail’s pace in black dress pants, a pastel green button-up, and a vest in such a dark shade of green one could mistake it for black from a distance. With a black tie in hand, Tubbo sleepily walks out to the living room so he can put on his tie in front of the mirror. The consequences of staying at the bench with Tommy so late last night are catching up to him. Worth it, he thinks.
In the middle of fidgeting with his tie, trying to get it just right, someone opens the door, startling the boy. A brief shot of adrenaline rushes through him as he whips around to look at the front door. His surprise turns to relief and then confusion when he sees Tommy coming through the door. He thought his friend was still asleep in bed- he certainly should be after last night. “Jeez, Tommy. You scared the hell out of me. Where were you so early?”
Walter pads over the couch and hops up, head resting on the arm nearest the mirror. Tubbo doesn’t mind. He reaches out to pet the dog’s big, white head. Tommy plops down on the couch next to Walter as he speaks. “I went for a walk,” he says, then yawns. Henry II squawks from his shoulder in protest of all the sudden movement. Tommy pets his little, green head apologetically. “Sorry, mate,” he murmurs.
“Well, are you up to going to that meeting with Fundy and Niki today?” Tubbo asks, turning back to the mirror to work on his tie. “We’re planning out the next few rebuilding projects. You don’t have to go, but I figured it would be nice for you to come along. Might help ease you back into things.”
There’s silence for a moment as Tommy thinks it over, then, “Yeah. Yeah, that might be good. When is it though? I think I’ll take a nap if I have the time.
He must’ve been out really early this morning, Tubbo thinks. “It’s at nine o’clock, at Fundy’s again. So you have a few hours.”
“Right, then. See you in a few hours.” Tommy trudges off to his room with Henry II still on his shoulder. Walter remains on the couch. Tubbo gives the dog one last pat, then heads into the kitchen. He’ll make some soup, he decides. He can reheat some for Tommy after his nap.
Tubbo sets about cooking, glad to have something to do to fill some of the extra time brought on by his early start to the day.
~
The sound of knocking rolls through the house. Fundy gets up to answer the door, knowing it must be the other council members arriving for the meeting, but his grandfather beats him to it.
When he sees Tommy at the door with the others, the fox is a little surprised. He had only expected Tubbo and Niki, especially after yesterday’s conversation. He supposes it makes some sense, though. Tommy should know what they’ve been up to before reclaiming his seat on the council.
After Gramps has warmly greeted Tubbo and Niki and given Tommy a big hug, Fundy leads them to the kitchen. For the second day in a row, they sit at the table and talk.
Niki places a book on the table in front of her and opens it to a recent page of handwritten notes. Loopy brown font scrolls across the creamy pages. The margins are packed with little symbols and arrows connecting extra notes to lines of text. Fundy wonders if the book would quite make sense to anyone but her.
Readjusting in her seat, she says, “I jotted down some things with Quackity yesterday while we were walking around. We saw a lot, but I want to highlight a few of the things we thought were most pressing.
“First, the water level in the crater is starting to rise with each bout of rain. It is shallow so far, but once it fills up more, we’ll get Drowned spawning. It would be easy for us to fight them off when need be, but it would be safer and more convenient to light the area up before they get the chance to spawn.”
Fundy feels sort of sick at the mention of the destruction his father had caused, but pushes it away and tries to focus on the discussion.
“We could chain up some lanterns,” Tubbo suggests.
“Or use sea pickles,” says Fundy. “It might be easier than dealing with scaffolding and screwing in hooks for chains.”
“You’re right, nice thinking. I’m pretty sure I have some tucked away somewhere, but we could ask for people to chip in anyways.”
Niki marks a little circle next to a line of writing in her book. “I can send out some letters after the meeting asking for help.”
She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and continues, “Next, there’s a strip of open land near Party Island. It’s in a spot that would be easy to connect to the paths, so it’s a good place to add something. Quackity and I were throwing around ideas yesterday and our favorite was turning it into a community garden. We could plant flowers and trees and set up some benches. And there could be a designated spot to grow a few crops, like berries and potatoes. Everyone has been good about getting their own food, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep an extra source around.”
“That would be good.” Tubbo shifts in his chair and leans forwards a little. “We could put a chest near the crops and stock it with bonemeal. But that might require us to build a skeleton farm.”
The four of them go around like that for a while, planning out and prioritizing new projects. Niki and Tubbo do most of the talking, but Fundy and Tommy contribute where they find it useful. Once they’ve gone through Niki’s list, they help her write out notes to the citizens of L’manburg, calling for help and sea pickles, as well as a few letters asking specific people for help with projects.
When they’re all done, Niki closes her book and stands from the table. “That’s everything taken care of for today. I’ll hand these letters off to Ponk to be delivered as soon as possible.” Tubbo and Tommy say bye to Fundy, then leave the kitchen, heading for the front door.
Niki hangs back for a moment, though. She reaches into her book and hands Fundy some loose papers she pulls out. Her promise rings from Puffy sparkles brilliantly in the daylight streaming in from a nearby window. “Will you read over these for me? It’s a few drafts for some of the laws we spoke about last time. I’d give them to Tommy and Tubbo, but you’re better with words than any of us. Figured I would use your skills while we still have you on the council.”
Fundy nods as he takes the papers, glad to have something useful to do. “Yeah, I can do that. Of course.”
Niki thanks him with a smile, then follows Tubbo and Tommy to the door.
Fundy feels good about the meeting. Being on the council had never been something he wanted to do, but it came with certain perks. Like the satisfaction that came as the reward of a productive meeting.
Still, he’ll be relieved when Tommy takes his post back. The only reason he’d agreed to this in the first place was that Tommy and Tubbo asked him to. “No person I would rather have fill my spot while I’m gone. I trust you,” Tommy had said. So, of course, Fundy had said yes.
Although he knew if Tubbo wasn’t already on the council Tommy would’ve gone to the brunette first, it still felt nice to be trusted. He’d been worried he would have trouble earning back trust after the war. For a while, Fundy had posed as a Schlatt supporter, gathering information about the dictator to smuggle back to Pogtopia at the right time. No one else had known he was faking. Much to his relief, he’d been able to slide back into his spot as a citizen of L’manburg easily after the Second Revolution. He was sure a few people had their doubts at first, but as hard as he had worked as a council member this past month, he doubted anyone could question his loyalty anymore. Or he hoped, at least.
Just as Fundy stands to go to his room, planning to start reading over Niki’s papers, Wilbur appears in the doorway again, like he did yesterday. He wears a gray shirt and eyebags.
The tall man is silent for a beat too long to make it not awkward, and Fundy is considering asking him what’s up when he finally speaks. “You could speak up a little more in meetings, you know. Tommy and Tubbo asked for you to fill in because they trust you and value your opinion.”
The critique annoys the fox. His dad is sort of right, but it feels like the only thing he talks to him about anymore is the council. Fundy knows he was never born to lead, and that’s one of the reasons he’ll be glad when Tommy takes his post back. The other is that Wilbur will finally stop talking to him about it.
Maybe it’s his attempt at bonding, the little pieces of advice. Wilbur was a leader once, too. Maybe his father wants to draw a connection between them because of that. But Fundy doesn’t want his father’s advice on improving his leadership skills, he wants his father to have a normal conversation with him. They never talk anymore. Throughout his life, Fundy had always been able to talk to Wilbur about whatever- nonsense, any questions that came to mind. They’d lost that somewhere. Now it was all stiff limbs and awkward comments back and forth.
“I could. I say what I think would be helpful. When I think of more ideas and helpful things to say, I will say them.” Fundy allows his annoyance to seep into his voice, then instantly regrets it. As frustrated as he is with him, the sting on his father’s face makes him want to pluck the words back out of the air and stuff them into the garbage.
Wordlessly, Wilbur walks out of the kitchen and down the hall. A few seconds later, Fundy hears his father’s bedroom door gently close behind him.
Another successful conversation for the books.
~
Tommy had been relieved this morning when Tubbo hadn’t asked where he’d been. He truly didn’t want to explain to his friend that he hadn’t gone to bed. He feels relieved again that their present conversation is staying away from the topic.
It’s just them two now, Niki having gone back home after they left Philza’s. They walk the paths of L’manburg, chatting about the meeting. Which projects they’re most excited for, how soon they think others will be done, what they want to tackle next.
Tubbo is rambling about some ideas he has for the community garden when Tommy realizes where they’re heading. The docks. Tommy thinks about last night and how long he had stood there, letting the waves spray his arms. He hadn’t realized how late he had been out until he’d noticed the horizon turning pink, drawing his attention to his knees, which were stiff from being in the same position for hours. They still ache a little.
Tubbo must realize he’s gone a bit quiet, because he stops talking and follows Tommy’s gaze, then smiles brightly. “I haven’t been here in ages!” he yells.
The brunette takes off for the edge of the docks at a jog. The almost childlike excitement makes Tommy smile and he sets off after Tubbo.
When he catches up, he leans against one of the logs like he’d done last night. He takes one of his pointer fingers and absently rubs patterns across the rough surface. Tubbo is talking, and Tommy tries to pay attention, but continuously finds himself zoning out. He’s still tired, and he can’t seem to push his brothers out of his thoughts. It makes him a little angry. Damn Wilbur for taking up so much space in my head.
Like always, despite Tommy’s best attempts to hide it, Tubbo notices how his friend has shut down. The shorter boy places a gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “You look a bit drained. Do you want to head back to my place? I have to visit with Big Q, but you could stay in and rest for a while.”
Tommy nods, grateful for the out. The pair head back to Tubbo’s. When they get in the door, the brunette half-jokingly orders Tommy off to the guest room before leaving again. Tommy obeys, finding Walter already occupying most of the mattress. He shoves the wall of white fluff over a little, then climbs in next to him and buries his face in his dog’s coat.
Curled up at a weird angle to accommodate Walter, Tommy lets himself feel all the bad stuff. The guilt, the sadness, the anger. He lets it all overflow inside of him, making his heart ache and his eyes glisten. Eventually, the comfort of the bed and the residual strains of exhaustion from a sleepless night take over, pulling him in and out of dreamless sleep.
~
It wasn’t really a lie when Tubbo told Tommy he had to talk to Quackity. He does need to fill in the secretary of state about how the meeting today went and what they’d decided to do. But it could’ve waited, or he could’ve sent a carrier parrot.
Mostly, it was an excuse. He’d wanted time alone to think and to worry. Tommy kept slipping away from him. First at the mention of Wilbur, then at the docks. He would just recede into his own head and that would be it for the conversation. It’s properly worrying Tubbo now, but he doesn’t know what to do for his friend.
The president walks vaguely in the direction of Quackity’s house as he mulls over the Tommy Thing. It feels like no time has passed at all when he realizes that he’s nearly walked right by his destination.
Tubbo backtracks a few steps and goes up to Quackity’s door, then knocks.
The sound of footsteps approaching comes from the other side of the heavy spruce, then the door swings inward to reveal the secretary of state, dressed casually in a hoodie and his signature beanie. A grin cracks his face at the sight of Tubbo. “Hey, man! How’s it going? Come in!”
A small smile tugs on the president’s lips as he greets his friend. Big Q’s energy is infectious, and there’s always so much of it that one could almost reach a hand into the air and grab a fistful of it. It fills Tubbo’s stomach with a certain lightness that floats up into his chest.
Quackity steps to the side to let him by and Tubbo enters the house. A short hallway ends in a living room, with open doorways on either side of the space leading off to other areas of the house. The secretary of state steps past Tubbo and flops down on the couch, gesturing for Tubbo to take a seat. The president makes himself comfortable on the armchair across from him.
“So, how’d the meeting today go? Did Niki tell you about the community garden idea?” Quackity asks.
“Yeah, we all thought it was a good plan. We were discussing keeping some chests of bonemeal by a designated crop area, but we’ll need a skeleton farm for that.” Tubbo goes on to explain the more important details of the meeting to Quackity, getting cut off when he mentions that Tommy was there.
“Wait, I thought Niki said he wasn’t going to get back into council stuff yet,” he says, absently fidgeting with one of the strings on his blue hoodie while he speaks. One of his legs is up on the couch, tucked into his chest with his chin sitting on top of his knee.
“He isn’t- well, not really. Fundy is still officially filling in for him for another week. But we thought it would be a good idea for him to come with us to council meetings. Just to ease him back into things before taking on the full responsibilities again.”
Quackity is silent for a few seconds. The hoodie string lies limp in his now-still hand. His eyes flit up and down Tubbo’s face, studying his expression. Nerves flutter in the president’s stomach, wondering what the other boy is thinking. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when Quackity finally speaks. “Something’s up, man. What’s going on?”
Tubbo sighs and leans back into the chair a little, caught. He doesn’t even consider whether or not to tell Big Q. The secretary of state had been a good friend to him, always willing to help or lend an ear, and they’d grown closer this past month. Tubbo felt safe talking to him about it.
“It’s Tommy. He’s been sort of off since he’s been back. I’m getting kind of worried.”
Quackity cocks his head to the side. “Off how?”
“He’s been zoning out a lot. Like, one minute he’s talking just fine and the next he’s dropped the conversation completely.”
The other boy is quiet for a moment, readjusting his beanie while he thinks on his response. “I’m sure he just needs more time to get settled. He only got back a few days ago and there must be a lot of memories here for him to deal with. Give him some time to process. And if it’s really bothering you, talk to him. He’ll open up to you if you ask.”
Tubbo thinks about that for a moment, absorbing the advice. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. Thanks, Big Q, I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Tubbo.” After a pause, he says, “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you aren’t the same way Tommy is. You were there through everything, too. All the wars, the explosions. And you were close to Techno and Wilbur, too.”
The president hadn’t really considered that before. He felt he had grieved his losses already, but he suspected there would always be a sharp ache in his chest when he thought of Techno. What he wouldn’t give to horribly fail at practice fights against him again.
Quackity and Tubbo return to the topic of the council meeting, then simply chat about whatever comes to mind for another hour or so. When Tubbo leaves, his stomach hurts from laughing and he feels a bit better. The brunette walks home in the bright late afternoon sunlight, thinking about the advice Quackity had given him. He should talk to Tommy. If only he could gather the courage.
~
For once, Wilbur decided to go to bed at a semi-acceptable hour. He’d pulled plenty of all-nighters in the last month, reading his books well past sundown, but his dad had forced him to bed earlier than normal last night and it had disturbed his unusual sleep schedule.
As he’s about to enter his room, he notices a shaft of light poking out of his son’s room from down the hall. Wondering what he’s doing up so late, Wilbur goes to check on him.
He finds Fundy sitting cross-legged on his bed, looking through a stack of papers atop the cyan sheets. He seems tired. His ears dip ever so slightly and his eyes, peering at the writing, are half-closed.
“What’re you up to?”
Fundy glances up at his father, then looks back down to his papers. “Niki asked me to read over some things for her. Figured I would get to it now since we’ll be out helping for a while tomorrow.” The fox stifles a yawn.
Wilbur had received a note from a carrier parrot earlier, like he assumed the rest of L’manburg had. The note stated that the council was in need of volunteers and sea pickles to help do some mob-proofing under the Stilted Sector, as the section of L’manburg built over the crater had been nicknamed. Wilbur, Fundy, and Philza would all be pitching in. Though, Wilbur’s stomach filled with a certain dread at the thought of being that close to the destruction he had caused.
“Exactly why you should get some sleep soon. It’ll be a lot of work tomorrow,” he says.
“Yeah, okay, Dad.”
Wilbur could’ve sliced through the tension in the room with a sword. He can hardly remember the last time he’d managed to get through a real conversation with his son. He always managed to mess up somehow. But he supposed he deserved it for everything he’d put Fundy, and so many others, through.
Unable to see a way to salvage this pathetic attempt at an exchange, Wilbur awkwardly mumbles a goodnight and heads off to his own bedroom. He forgoes any sort of prep and dives straight for the comfort of the cozy bed and his favorite blankets.
‘
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Morning Sickness
Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader
Word Count: 3.1k
T/W: Fluff, pregnancy?
A/N: this has been in my drafts for months!
_______________________________________________
As usual, morning came far sooner than you wanted. Then again it always seemed like the nights Dean and Sam were home somehow became shorter. Normally, your alarm clock would sound off and you’d have to briefly detangle yourself from Dean’s strong hold to turn off the annoying buzzing the clock gave off. You’d then feel him stir a bit, silently prompting you to return to your reserved spot: wrapped in his arms, resting your head against his chest or nuzzling the crook of his neck. You’d try and avoid letting Dean know what time it was, because you just wanted as much time as possible together. After all, it was the little moments, like sleeping in or at least staying in bed, that you always remembered when he was gone. Usually it worked and you’d tangle your limbs with his, just to be sure he wouldn’t go anywhere. The next thing to happen would be one of the three: you’d fall back asleep, exchanging in some sweet talk between heated kisses, or have steamy morning sex.
But today was different. You woke up long before the alarm was set to wake the two of you up. Turning over, you separated yourself from Dean, who grabbed at the sheets for a moment after losing you, but quickly fell back to sleep. Feeling oddly warm, you quietly pulled the sheets back, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Closing your eyes and perking your eyebrows, your head suddenly rushed with a sense of dizziness and nausea,…
Reaching a hand to turn the clock around it read: five a.m. Having no clue as to why you would be up, your symptoms became worse. The nausea had totally taken over, and you were certain that it wasn’t just the feeling. Practically jumping off the bed, you darted for the door. Swinging it open, you stepped into the cool hallway, heading straight for the bathroom. Spotting Sam on his way to the same destination, you debated what to say as you quickly approached. Poor Sam was just waking up himself, yawning and lazily pushing his bed-head out of his face. He probably hardly expected, or even heard you coming until impact.
“Sorry, Sam!” you exclaimed, harshly, but impressively, shoving the taller Winchester in the chest and out of your way before slamming the door, directly in his face.
Closing his eyes calmly, in an attempt to process what had just happened, Sam raised his eyebrows, shocked himself that you managed to move him. Which only meant you were pretty determined, he also began to think of how he could lightly tease you, the shorty of the group, for actually moving him. But his thought process changed entirely when he heard an abrupt thud come from behind the bathroom door accompanied by violent coughing.
“Y/n, are you okay?” You heard Sam’s concerned voice through the wooden door, accompanied by a gentle knock, “this is happening a lot lately...”
Imagining his face already wearing a worried puppy look, you opted to not bother with concerning him further. You had been having some suspicions over the past week, but you didn’t want to share them just yet, even though Sam was already well aware of the newly developing occurrences each morning and had been forming suspicions of his own.
“Yeah, I- just dropped the soap,” you quickly lied, realistically on your knees, head above the toilet as you held your own hair back with one hand.
Managing to not take an irregularly long time in the bathroom, the sick feeling in your stomach passed within a few minutes. You emerged and gave a faint smile to Sam, who was waiting outside. He didn’t press it and you didn’t explain. Returning to your shared bedroom with Dean, he was, thankfully, still asleep. You had planned on wearing jeans, but with how weird you were feeling you decided on some comfortable sweatpants. Though they were about two inches too long, and drug on the floor, they were crazy comfy. Loosely tying them at your waist, you continued changing, your softest bra and a v-neck t-shirt as your top.
Walking out to the kitchen, you found Sam already on his laptop at the kitchen table, probably doing so intensive research. You made a B-line for the coffee, as you reached for a cup on the top shelf you found yourself bending forward, bracing yourself on the counter. Instantly, Sam turned your direction and stood, prepared to come and brace you with another worried look.
“You sure you’re okay?” He asked.
“Yeah…, yeah,” you nodded, taking a deep breath and faintly smiling.
Sam doubted, but sat back down anyway, keeping an eye on you as you poured the coffee. You rested back against the counter and held the warm cup close to your chest, breathing in the rich smell of the strong coffee. Sam finally turned his attention away from you and back to his computer. Feeling slightly sleepy, you closed your eyes slowly and sighed happily. Dean was the one who stirred you from your lulled state when he slightly startled you with a kiss to your forehead, before he began to pour his own cup of coffee.
“Mornin’,” he said in his gravelly morning voice.
“Morning,” you smiled, pushing up onto your tiptoes to place a proper good-morning kiss to his lips, before proceeding to walk over to the table.
Perking an eyebrow, Dean smiled to himself, taking a sip of the much needed caffeine. Naturally, he watched your hips as you lazily let them sway, a habit you forgot you did when you were tired or feeling lazy.
Coming behind Sam, you bent to hug him around his shoulders, “Morning, Sam.”
You gave him a stare that begged, ��please play it cool,” knowing he probably wouldn’t, as he felt Dean should know.
“About time,” he responded, “I don’t think we’ve officially had a good-morning today.”
His tone was slightly teasing, but more-so curious. Dean flicked his eyes between you and his brother. Biting in your bottom lip as you made your way to the chair on the opposite side of the table from him, you anxiously furrowed your eyebrows.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you nervously sighed.
“Sorry about what?” Dean interjected, very confused.
You wanted to say something before Sam, but again, you weren’t really sure what to say, giving Sam the opportunity to beat you to an explanation.
“Shorty here,” Sam gestured to you, “totally shoved me out of her way this morning on her way to the bathroom. She actually managed to move me.”
“Alright, Baby,” Dean encouraged with a ridiculously cocky smile as he stepped closer to you, “don’t let bigfoot intimidate you.”
“Yeah,” Sam continued, “but then I heard her coughing up a lung, not to mention a pretty loud thud. Kinda like you...I don’t know fell?”
That immediately turned Dean both defensive and protective, setting down his coffee and somehow cornering you in your own chair, “what happened? Are you okay? Sam, why didn’t you come get me?”
Rolling your eyes, you stood abruptly, “I’m fine!”
Both Winchesters pulled back, were you yelling at them? Looking between the two of them, Dean was still slightly leaning over the chair you had just bolted up from. You crossed your arms over your chest, a bit embarrassed at how loud your voice had actually come out. They exchanged glances with each other before looking back to you. Sam riddled with worry, realising he had struck a nerve, and something was wrong. While Dean was concerned that you were hiding something that could be dangerous.
“I am fine,” you breathed calmly and patiently, “it’s-it’s just girl stuff.” Yeah, that’s good, “Trust me, you don’t want to know, it’s an exhausting week.”
Sam subtly bit at the corner of his lower lip, with eyebrows still knit together. Dean on the other hand, believed you.
“If you’re sure-”
“Trust me, Dean, I’m sure,” you managed a fake laugh, trying to look amused that he was doubting you.
“Okay,” Dean moved back from you, “well, let me know if you need ya know, somethin’, anything.”
You nodded, in agreement, partially feeling bad for it all being a lie. Sitting back down, you sipped at your coffee, it started to taste a little funny to you, but you tried not to think about it too much. Sam began talking about some cases that had showed up worth investigating. As you listened, you didn’t like how far away each case was from the bunker. With how you’d been feeling, you wanted to tell Dean that you needed him home, but chose not to. You were planning on further investigating your situation on your own anyway.
“Do- do you have to go so far away?” You timidly asked, staring into your swirling coffee.
“Is there something specific you need us home for?” Sam asked, secretly trying to get you to just explain what he thought was really going on, as he had now formed a notion of his own.
“No,” you answered, subconsciously giving Dean puppy eyes.
“Well, then we don’t have to worry about distance,” Sam continued, “besides, Dean drives fast anyway.”
You wanted to have a come back, but the nausea was the only thing that came back and full force again, sending you rushing out of the kitchen and headed down the hall for the bathroom. Slamming the door shut when you reached it.
“Really, Sammy?” Dean scolded, “not a good week to get sassy. Just let her be for a while, she’s probably feeling like a crazy, overflowing, boiling pot of whirling emotions.”
Sam huffed, dropping his shoulders, fully aware that there was something more going on than what you were saying and slightly perturbed Dean didn’t see it.
“Nice adjectives,” Sam said dryly.
Sneaking out of the bathroom once the horrible action had finally stopped, you made your way to the library, hoping to do some research on your symptoms. First you went to the hexes book, looking for anything to explain what was happening to you. Maybe you hadn’t noticed being cursed? Flipping through page after page, you found nothing. Next was spells. Your eyes scanned the old book pages carefully, not wanting to miss anything. Not realising how long you had been searching for the explanation, you dropped your head onto the stack of books you had sifted through, groaning having gained nothing out of your research.
“I think you might be looking in the wrong section,” Sam’s voice suggested, with a smile.
Looking up, you cleared your throat, “wh-what do you mean?”
Sam smirked and ducked his head at how naive or secretive you were trying to be, “C’mon.”
Following the younger Winchester, he lead you to human anatomy and handed you a book. Shooting him a questionable glance, with lips pursed, Sam pushed it your way again. Finally taking it, you huffed, walking back to the table as you looked through it. Sam watched you, just waiting for you to say something. Resting back against the edge of the table, you shrugged and shook your head.
“What’re you trying to say here, Sam?” You asked, acting oblivious, but deep down scared that he was on to you.
“Really? Wow, okay, uh,” Sam crossed his arms, “I don’t think I need to be explicit, but...I know it’s not that time of month.”
“Excuse me?” you fluttered your eyelashes, trying to be defensive of such personal things.
“You’ve lived with us for how long?” He started, “your cycle tracking is literally on the calendar, plus before every, ya know, Dean lets you take the Impala to get whatever you need. Now, that hasn’t happened...it should’ve last week.”
You shifted uncomfortably, setting the book aside and avoiding eye contact, “Sam,” you spoke in a whisper.
“I mean, waking up early, nausea, out of breath, dizziness, vomiting? I don’t think it’s a hex or a spell,” he changed his tone to a more gentle, quiet one, “I’m thinking...pregnancy morning sickness.”
Your jaw gaped slightly as you inhaled sharply, not wanting to hear it actually said out loud. Without your control a wave of emotion hit you like a brick wall. Tears started to appear in your eyes and you weren’t even sure why, a few slipping passed your eyelashes, which you tried to quickly wipe away. Your chest shuddered as you tried to breathe calmly, on the verge of a total breakdown.
“I know,” you hiccuped, nodding in complete agreement with his diagnosis.
Sam smiled widely, “R-really? This is wonderful! How long have you known? Why haven’t you told Dean?”
“Because,” you blurted, tears making a steady trail down your cheeks now, “this wasn’t planned, okay? I don’t know if I can have a normal kid, not with this lifestyle. Ya know, Dean and I haven’t even talked about it, not really. He could be furious, kick me out or hate me. It was an accident, a mist-” you stopped yourself, placing a hand over your mouth.
“Hey, this is not a mistake,” Sam came closer, taking your free hand in his, “I know it might be scary, but you need to tell him. I promise, it’s for the very best. I know my brother better than anyone and he loves you. He’ll love you through this and after.”
After some serious convincing from Sam, and a much needed hug, you slowly walked to the bedroom where Dean was. Entering the doorway, you saw he was in the middle of cleaning some guns for their next hunt. A part of you told yourself not to disturb him, but then you remembered how Sam had said Dean wouldn’t be as harsh as you thought and that it’d be the healthiest thing to do for your relationship.
“Hey,” you crossed your arms tight across your chest, as if to hug yourself as you stepped in the room.
“Hey, pretty lady,” he gave you a smile, watching you come sit on the edge of the bed.
You were quiet. Beginning to rub your palms together in a slow circular motion, you played over what you should say, how you should say it.
“There’s something I want...need to talk to you about,” you began, but couldn’t finish.
Holding your breath, you knew if you let go you’d start crying again and you were right. Noticing your state, Dean safely put down the gun and came in front of you, crouching down so he could see you. His hands rubbed the top of your thighs soothingly, only making you cry more.
“Whoa, whoa,” he whispered, “hey, what’s wrong? Sam start something?”
Shaking your head you looked up to meet his emerald eyes in front of you, something in you feared that after you told him they’d never look at you the same. Preparing yourself, you swallowed harshly. Tears ran down your cheeks as you attempted to continue breathing normally while tilting your head back to avoid eye contact.
“What is it?” Dean asked sincerely, “please tell me, Sweetheart.”
“I’m pregnant,” you managed before the tears really started to come.
Ducking your head, you held your face in your hands. Your words left Dean completely speechless for a few moments. Sheer shock fell over his expression, until a smile.
You felt his gentle hand stroke the back of your head, and come to push the hair out of your face before tilting your gaze up with a finger hooked under your chin. His smile made you feel better, but your anxieties were stronger still.
“I’m sorry,” you hiccuped.
“Sorry? You don’t want this?” He asked carefully.
Searching his eyes for any emotions, you gave up when you only saw his intense concern for you. Somehow he was always able to put his own feelings aside and think of you first.
Shrugging and trying to pull yourself together, you thought you were ready to speak again, but it came out broken, “I’m so scared.”
“Aww, Sweetheart,” Dean sympathised.
Immediately at your side, sitting next to you, arms wrapped around you. You instantly clung to him, burying yourself against his chest, not caring that you were probably soaking his shirt.
“I know,” Dean said resting his chin atop your head, while rocking you a little, “but as long as you got me, I promise there’s no need to be scared. Cause I got you, and this kid. You’re my responsibility, okay? There’s nothing to be scared of.”
His words only made you hug him tighter and longer. He held you the entire time, just to a calm. Finally pulling back, you met his gorgeous green eyes with your teary ones. Dean hating seeing you so scared. He always wanted you to feel safe, no matter what the situation. Granted this was far different from anything he had encountered himself, but it still counted. He wiped your stray tears away with his thumb.
“We’re gonna be okay, right?” You whispered, eyes pleading for assurance.
“Yeah, Baby,” he nodded with a loyal smile, “we’re gonna be okay.”
The room fell silent as you hugged him again, closing your eyes and repeating his words to yourself in a whisper.
“Except...one thing,” Dean winced.
“What-what is it?” You pulled away to listen, a shot of anxiety sparking up again.
“I don’t know if I can do nine months without us having sex,” he whined with a fake frown that didn’t last long.
Your face fell from an expression of anxiety to annoyance, gently shoving Dean in the chest before a light laugh of relief broke you. Wiping away the tears as you tried to frown.
“Don’t,” you warned.
“Alright, alright,” Dean rubbed your back, “why don’t you go get cleaned up and then we can tell Sammy the news?”
“Okay,” you nodded, not too worried that Sam would reveal that he already knew.
For a moment you didn’t move, you just took in the fact that someone like Dean, so protective and loving, was going to be by your side the entire time. No matter what, your boy wasn’t going anywhere.
Pushing yourself up a little, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Calm and slow at first, but swiftly moving deep and passionate. Dean couldn’t help but slip his hand against the side of your neck, bringing you closer. It was your way of saying thank you and his way of saying you’re welcome.
Pulling back to rest your forehead against his, you closed your eyes, “thank you, for everything you are and for loving me.”
“No matter what, I’m gonna keep on loving you,” Dean placed one more kiss to your lips, before smiling against them.
#spilledkauffie#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester one shots#dean love club#supernatural#Supernatural fanfic#supernatural x reader#supernatural one shot#SPN#spn x reader#spn fanfic#spn fluff#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fluff
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no more wasted opportunities
Summary: “Friends are all we’ve got, and I’m glad we have each other.” She believed those words to be true; Louis is her friend. Aside from AJ, he’s the one person she’d deem her best friend within the walls of this school. However, to say her feelings halted there behind the line of friendship would be a lie.
Based on Louis’ friendship route.
Author’s Note: Hello. I’m still seriously sick. I forget what being healthy feels like because all I feel is bleh. But, while answering asks the other day I was reminded of this in my drafts and thought, “Haven’t posted a story in a while and I remember really wanting to write this one after ep4 dropped and then I went and abandoned it because I’m the worst ahhh!”
Still working on [with you] but that’s taking forever and I don’t wanna be inactive in my story writing so here’s a thing.
Read on: AO3 | FF.net | Wattpad
Clementine thinks about that night in the music room a lot.
The soft song lulling through the dark hallways, Louis’ comforting smile at her uneasy silence and the tenderness she showed when speaking to her, trying to pry the smile out of her. Every so often, his foot would brush hers, their knees would press together, and despite a faint chill brought upon that music room, his touch was warm. Everything about him emanated warmth; his voice, his smile, his eyes, this touch.
She remembers taking the knife from him, their fingers brushing sparingly. Knife in hand, eyeing the L he carved into the old wood before adding her own, the thought to carve a heart around their initials quickened the pulse in her neck. It would’ve been so easy to lean forward and do it.
Of course, her embarrassment was only inflated when he reached over to carefully take the knife out of her hand, calling her, “Charming, but also sometimes scary.”
Now, every time he brings her to the music room to play for her, her eyes wander to those initials and she can’t help but wish she had taken the chance. Perhaps if she had, she would’ve had the courage to tell him how she truly felt.
The opportunity was there. He’d opened up to her, stared at her with those dark, hopeful eyes with a steadily falling smile, and the words were there on the tip of her tongue.
“I like you, Louis. A lot. As more than a friend.”
But, on that night, even with the knowledge that the raiders could come knock on their doors any moment and all hell could potentially break loose, Clementine choked.
Instead, all she could manage was, “Friends are all we’ve got, and I’m glad we have each other.”
She believed those words to be true; Louis is her friend. Aside from AJ, he’s the one person she’d deem her best friend within the walls of this school. However, to say her feelings halted there behind the line of friendship would be a lie.
Hell, saying those words, hearing them dissipate in the air… they didn’t even scratch the surface of what she felt for him.
And she could see it- the disappointment furrowing his brow, fluttering his eyes shut as if he’d been hoping for something else. Something more. Something she wanted to give him.
That sullen look was brief, soon covered with a smile and a joke. And a fist bump.
A fist bump.
“Clem?”
Broken of her thoughts, Clementine glances over at Louis.
She’d asked him to help her sit on one of the tables outside, allowing her to rest her good leg down on the bench seat while her injured leg hung over carelessly. From the high spot, she can feel the cooling evening air press against her skin much better.
Louis sits beside her on the bench with one leg under the table and his cheek resting in his palm. She notices the bandage around his thumb; apparently, he sliced it open doing something, but he was rather dismissive about telling her what that something was. His gaze darts down to her leg before meeting her eye.
“Are you hurting?”
“Hm?” she blinks down at him. “Oh, no, I’m okay.”
Louis frowns, cocking his head slightly, the concern prominent in his brow. “Your face says otherwise.”
“It’s not my leg, I’m-” she sighs, shifting to stretch her good leg out, “-just thinking about things.”
He nods, offering her a comforting grin. From the deck of cards beside him, he pulls the top one off and offers it to her. “Joker for your thoughts?”
She smiles at that, taking the card and studying it. The corner’s bent and the Joker's face is smeared on one side, likely from water damage. Running her thumb over the damaged corner, she says, “I was thinking about the piano. You promised you’d teach me to play.”
“Ah,” he grins. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
Something strange dances over his face, a thoughtful expression of hesitation and something else she couldn’t pinpoint before it’s gone, replaced with another smile and a soft, “I’d love to teach you.”
That tingle in her gut is back. Her fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and lock their hands together as a thank you. Her skin feels warm despite the setting sun, likely due to a combination of the hot, setting sun and the effect of the boy beside her.
“Just give me a time,” he says. “Morning, noon, night... Perhaps all three? A full day of nothing but piano and very sore fingers.”
“In the morning,” she says. “After breakfast.”
With a smile, Louis twists his body around to peer about the yard. Most everyone’s gone inside with the exception of Omar and Violet.
It’s Omar’s turn for the first night watch, and while Violet’s sight is anything but the 20/20 vision it used to be, he still brings her up with him, insisting she’s good company and a terrific listener.
Even AJ isn’t out here, instead inside with Ruby for his weekly medical lessons. Learning how to fully and properly treat any sort of wound became a clear interest for him after he cut her leg off and watched Ruby work over her. He wanted to be more prepared for anything thrown at them in the future.
Seeing that it’s only the two of them out here, Louis takes a deep inhale of the summer air, floral from the blooming flowers surrounding the school grounds.
“Speaking of pianos…”
He swings his leg back over and stands to climb up beside her. He’s close enough that their forearms press together and their knees knock softly, and Clementine has to bite her lip to repress a smile at the closeness.
Clearing his throat and shooting her his flashiest smile, that cocky, happy-go-lucky persona surfaces again.
“I made you something.”
Her brows shot up, eyes widening as she watches him reach into his coat to pull out a small, gray pouch with a cinched drawstring keeping it closed.
“Think of it as a ‘sorry you lost your leg, but that leg was going to kill you so I’m glad it’s gone and you’re still alive’ gift,” he says before his grin falters. “Uhm, I mean, not that I’m glad you lost your leg, per se. If it were up to me, you’d be alive with both legs but, uh… It’s just that if I have to choose between you alive with one leg and you dead with two, I’d pick one leg every time, so...”
His shoulders slump defeated as his voice trails off. His flustered expression makes her smile, a giggle shaking her shoulders.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, then elbows him. “And for the record, it wasn’t my favorite leg, anyway.”
A smile of his own resurfaces at her somewhat dark joke. They stare at each other, and in those seconds Clementine takes in those features of his that she’s grown to love, gaze darting from his kind eyes to the freckles scattered along his nose and down his chest.
Louis, realizing the intimacy of such a shared stare, glances away.
“I wanted to wait until you were up and outta bed, and mostly outta pain.”
She runs her fingers over the velvety material, briefly wondering where he found such a pretty bag. Slipping her fingers inside, she hooks a thin piece of leather cord and pulls it out. At the end to form a necklace is a small block of wood painted white. It only takes a moment for her to recognize it as a piano key.
Her eyes snap up to his, lips parted in a silent, questioning gasp, but she can’t find any words. Seems to be an unfortunate habit she has whenever he’s around.
“It’s the C key. Y’know,” Louis grins sheepishly, shrugging a shoulder, “for Clementine.”
While small, it’s carved smooth, the hole drilled through the perfect size for the black leather cord to slip through, and the paint has very few visible brushstrokes.
“You made this?”
“With my own two hands.”
No one’s ever given her a piece of jewelry before, especially not something beautifully handmade like this. Her cheeks, surely rosier in color by now, strain from her smile as she says, “I- thank you, Louis.”
“You’re welcome,” he grins. “I just… wanted to make you something to prove that I’ll always be here for you. I’ll have your back no matter what. You-” a nervous chuckle catches in his throat as he looks away again, “-You’ve done a lot for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. I see a lot of things differently now, y’know? About the world, about our home, about myself, and you made me see it.”
“You made me see things differently, too.”
“Me?”
Her eyes dart down to his lips.
“Life’s about more than just survival,” she says, holding up the necklace to him. “Help me put it on?”
She turns away from him as Louis brings the necklace over her head and begins to fasten it behind her neck, struggling with his shaky fingers. She touches the wooden piano key against her chest.
She can’t be the only one feeling this. It’s thick in the air between them. How could they keep ignoring it?
While Clementine isn’t exactly an expert when it comes to boys or dating or romantic feelings in general, she knows that by those endless stolen glances, those nervous fingers, those tender words… he has to feel this, too.
After they escaped the cave after defeating the delta, he’d come looking for them. The way he looked at her, so elated to see she and the boys survived, brought back that desire to kiss him.
“...but you came looking for us?”
“Never would’ve forgiven myself if I didn’t.”
Hug him, kiss him… something.
So many opportunities were wasted, and thinking about what could’ve happened to him on the bridge…?
What if it had been too late? What if AJ hadn’t reacted the way he did, as fast as he did? Losing Tenn had been heartbreaking, but losing Louis as well would’ve been devastating.
And if he had died on that bridge, she never would’ve forgiven herself for not being honest with him.
Hell… she hasn’t forgiven herself, anyway.
Clementine turns to glance behind, taking a risk in leaning back against him. His fingers pause, then finish securing it before resting his hands on her shoulders.
“There,” Louis says.
She holds the key in her fingers, twisting it around to admire it.
“I love it,” she beams.
“It suits you,” he grins.
“I wish I had something to give you.”
“Nah,” he waves his hand dismissively at that. “I don’t need anything. You’re enough.” Then, as if realizing he said that out loud, his eyes widen as he faces fully forward, stuttering, “Uh, shit, I mean-” he sighs, contemplation knawing at his lip.
When he doesn’t continue, she quietly asks, “What do you mean?”
“I mean… your friendship is enough.”
Somehow, that sinks her heart just a bit.
While being his friend is something she’d never reject, she still wants more than that. Is the possibility of them being close friends and together romantically so far fetched? Certainly, it couldn’t be…
That is, unless he really doesn’t-
“You’re important to me, Clementine.”
His voice is barely above a whisper, narrowly drowned out by the noise of the nature surrounding their walls, and the urge to kiss him is strong.
It’s stronger than the moment they shared before infiltrating the delta when he asked her to slap him. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the impact. Holding him in that moment, telling him he’d be okay…
All she’d have to do it lean forward and press her mouth to his, maybe even sneak a hand behind his head to deepen the kiss. Would he be okay with that? Would he kiss her back, or would the shock of it leave him dumbfounded, frozen until she pulled away?
Louis’ warmth is gone. He’s on his feet, reaching down for her crutches and saying, “We should go inside. It’s late and we have morning watch. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not sleep in and have to deal with Ruby’s wake up call.”
She didn’t realize how dark it’s gotten. While not totally nighttime, the sun’s fallen completely and the air is skin-tingling cool.
Clementine peers around. It’s still just them, again with the exception of Violet and Omar on watch.
Louis nudges her, offering the crutches.
As she stares at them, something’s bubbling in her throat.
This isn’t working.
Ignoring her feelings- both of them ignoring it… She has enough to deal with; the loss of a leg, worries about AJ being more independent and going off on his own most of the time, keeping everyone fed, the lack of Violet’s sight, working up a trade with the traveling caravan…
And she could argue that pursuing this with Louis would bring up more worries, more potential to be heartbroken, but the idea of never giving it a chance only hurts more.
It’s like what Louis himself told her once.
“There’s only one guarantee: this moment.”
“Clem, c’mon-”
“-Might as well enjoy it.”
“Lou?” she interrupts. “Can… can we stay out here a little longer?”
Louis quirks a brow. “You don’t have your jacket. Won’t you get cold?”
“-this moment.”
“Not if you’re here with me.”
Her words have a small effect on him, she can see it in the way his hands grip the crutches tighter and how his brows furrow. She can see the debate playing in his eye of if he should argue.
“Only for a little while,” she says. “Please?”
His shoulders slump.
“Can’t say no to a face like that,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay, but if you get sick I’m putting you on bedrest for an entire week.”
“A whole week, huh?”
“Yep!” He sets the crutches aside again, moving back to his spot beside her on the table. This time, though, he’s more aware of how close they were and scoots away to give her more room. “And don’t think you’ll be able to escape. There’ll be top security watching your every move.”
“And where exactly will you find this top security?”
Louis smirks. “His name is AJ and he takes his job very seriously.”
That gets a laugh out of her.
They laugh together as they sit on that table, peering out at the trees hanging over the walls. They remain out there until goosebumps rise along her arm and she has to control her body from shivering.
Louis seems to sense her tensity regardless of her efforts.
“Are you cold?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you wanna go in?”
With her heart thumping so damn loud against her ribcage, Clementine shakes her head and scoots closer to him until their arms and thighs are pressed together. He watches her closely, exhaling shakily through his nose. He doesn’t move away, and he doesn’t say anything. She takes this as a good sign.
“We don’t have to stay out here if you’re cold.”
“It’s a nice night,” she says. “Peaceful, like the dead aren’t out there walking around. I just want to enjoy it a little longer.”
“Well,” he hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “Do you want my jacket?”
“Won’t you be cold, then?”
“Nah, I don’t get cold easily. Here-” Louis leans away to shrug off his jacket and helps wrap it around her shoulders. The warmth soaks into her chilled skin, making her smile as she pulls the material closer.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Louis nods up at the sky. “Stars are starting to come out,” he says.
She follows his gaze up to the one lonely star occupying the darkening sky. The more she gazes, the more stars seem to appear until they’re all scattered across an inky sky. She finds herself peering up at the moon, or rather the half moon, and thinks of how dark the world would become if it weren’t there, how cold it would be.
Clementine anxiously picks at her cuticles, glancing over at him and speaking before she loses her nerve.
“Lou?”
“Hm?”
“Can I hold your hand?”
He cocks his head to look at her, blinking in confusion, clearly wondering if he heard her right.
Clementine reaches over to run her fingertips over the top of his hand before flipping it over and lacing their fingers together. His hand is much bigger than hers, rougher. Not that she has silky smooth hands, but they’re different. Slimmer, more delicate, and not nearly as warm.
“Is this okay?”
“Oh, uh, heh-” Louis shakes his head, nervously chuckling. “Yeah, no, I don’t mind. We can- we can hold hands.”
He doesn’t say it out loud, but she knows he’s thinking it: Friends can hold hands! It’s no big deal!
But, rather than genuinely thinking that to be true, it’s an excuse.
Clementine moves even closer, taking his hand in both of hers and resting her cheek against his shoulder. This gets another anxious chuckle out of him, so she runs her thumb in calming circles along his wrist and hums lightly to herself. She lets her eyes fall, savoring the closeness as she racks her buzzing mind for something to say.
She hadn't been completely honest with him back in the music room those many weeks ago and has had nothing but regret ever since.
It's time to take the risk and change that.
She won't miss another opportunity.
Clementine turns so that her chin rests upon his shoulder, her nose nearly grazing his cheek. If he were to look at her now, they'd barely be an inch apart. He doesn't, fully aware of her every movement, fully knowing that if he did, everything would change.
Within the quiet of the night, she whispers, “You know you’re important to me, too, right?”
He doesn’t say anything, but his hand tightens around hers.
"You're one of my favorite people."
That makes him smile.
"I'm honored."
He doesn't look away from the sky, forcing a fascination with the stars.
Clementine pulls back to see his face, catching his glance towards her movement.
"Louis?"
Another glance.
"I like you."
Silence.
"A lot."
Then, he says slowly, forcibly light, "I like you, too."
Her heart drums in her ears, heat vibrating in her cheeks.
"You-" Louis' eyes fall shut, and with a sigh, he says, "You're an amazing friend."
"...So are you."
His eyes fall shut as he slips his hand free of hers.
Before Louis can move off the table, she asks, "Is that all you want?"
"What?"
"An amazing friend?"
"I- ... we should go inside. It's late."
This time, Clementine rests her hand on his knee, stopping him from getting off the table. He finally looks at her, and she can see it again. That disappointment mixed in a cocktail of melancholy and frustration, trying to hide beneath a cheery exterior. However, it seems that said exterior is starting to crack as he glances down at the hand touching him.
"What do you want, Clementine?"
"You."
Louis searches her face, trying to find something to doubt, looking for a double meaning behind that single word.
All he manages out is, “...We’re friends.”
“We are, but…” Quietly murmuring, just loud enough for him to hear, “That’s not all we have to be.”
“What, uh-” he clears his throat, scoffing and attempting to joke only for it to come out somewhat bitter, “like we could be super awesome best friends?”
“We can be that, too-" she removes her hand from his knee, trailing it up his neck to press against his cheek, "-and also be something else."
His hand moves on top of hers, conflicted on what to do here.
"Like what?"
That thought blares in her mind again as her gaze darts down to his slightly parted lips. He notices, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting.
"Louis?"
A glance.
"Can I kiss you?"
A shaky sigh.
"Please."
An experimental press, there and back again, quickly turns into the kiss that continued to linger in her mind after that night in the music room. Warm, slow and unsure, but comforting yet thrilling. With every kiss, Clementine grows bold, keeping on hand on his cheek while the other pulls him closer by the nape of his neck. A pleased sigh escapes her, and she feels his lips curl into a pleased, giddy smile as he kisses her.
When they break apart, Louis' giggling to himself and staring at her with those dark, loving eyes.
"Didn't know best friends did this," he jokes.
"They don't," she smirks. "But boyfriend and girlfriend's do."
"Well, too bad we're super awesome best friends then, huh?"
"Louis."
He laughs, so happy and warm.
She can’t help but kiss him again.
And as she kisses him, she makes a mental note to fix those initials during their piano lesson tomorrow.
#twdg#twdg fanfics#twdg louis#twdg clementine#twdg clouis#clouis#louis twdg#clementine twdg#twdg louisentine#louisentine#twdg aj#twdg violet#twdg ruby#twdg omar
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I Love You [Edgar Allen Poe x Reader]
"Edgar?" a feminine voice cooed, "Edgar?" The second call had more energy to it, the young lady stepping through the door to the apartment he had bought.
"(Y-Y/n)?" the male whispered, turning to face his friend, "I-I never expected to see you, o-oh dear, I would've tidied up if I ever expected to have you over, I-I'm so sorry for all the clutter-"
"Edgar, it's okay," she chuckled, "I don't mind."
The clutter of the room only seemed to add to the effect of how "him" it was. The walls were dark, painted a blackish-grey, curtains drawn closed and the rooms lit by a few candles he had littered around. The scent of lavender lingered around, the scented candle you had given him in order to help him sleep better obviously well taken care of. Karl lay asleep on the sleek black desk, the rather bulky chair he always kept around half under the desk, half out. She smiled to herself, looking at him fondly,
"Great to see you're feeling at home here in Japan," she chuckled, taking a seat at his desk.
"(Y-y/n), I have to work.." he whispered, motivated to finish the new novel he was working on but not wanting to brush off his closest friend.
"Edgarrrrrr," she whined, standing up and pulling him into a hug, "Please just spend the day with me.. I've missed you."
A shiver ran up his spine at their closeness, his arms wrapping around her feebly.
"I-"
"Or are you really gonna spend another six years trying to beat that guy, huh?" she whispered, "At least make time for me, Edgar, please.."
Her voice wavered heavily, cracking up at times. It nearly brought tears to his eyes, hearing her sound so hurt.
"A-alright, (Y/n)-Chan.." he cooed, the lady pulling away with a small smile as she whiped her eyes,
"Really? Oh that's great, Edgar!" she said, "Have you made any new friends?"
"I.. I think so.." he muttered, "There's Ranpo, after I showed him my novel he asked me to give him more puzzles sometimes.."
She hummed,
"Ah okay," she smiled, assured that the tall recluse would make time for her. He sat in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"It's been so long since we've talked.." he whispered,
"If you ever gave me your number, I could've called or messaged you," she whined slightly, leaning on the desk.
"I-I know.."
Before he could think, she had already picked up his phone and began punching her number into his contacts.
"Now you can call me!" she beamed brightly.
.
"So, what are we gonna do?"
"I.. Maybe.. I'm not sure.. Maybe we could go to a library of sorts?" he suggested, watching as she petted Karl adoringly.
"Could we not stay here?" she objected, "Maybe I could read the draft for your new book?"
"I- Okay.." he whispered, leaning over his desk to pick up the notebook he had drafted in. "I-it isn't all that good.."
"Edgar," she said curtly, "Stop doubting yourself; if it's written by you it's amazing,"
"I-" he began, cutting himself off as he felt himself blush,
"Actually," she began, looking up, "Can you read it out for me? I feel like it's better if I hear it from the author,"
"O-okay.." he muttered, retrieving the notepad and reading outloud what he had written.
As he did so, he noticed his close friend sit on the desk, swinging her legs lazily and looking at him encouragingly.
The first chapter he drafted went by, his voice steady and calm, completely emmersed in reading out to her.
"That's amazing!" She beamed, jumping off of his desk and sitting sideways on his lap, "I love it," she smiled.
The man blushed heavily, about to protest at her (in his opinion) bold action.
"Is it okay if I sit like this?" she cooed, voice barely above a whisper as she leaned into him, "It's more comfortable than on the desk and there are no more chairs,"
"I-I ca-can go g-get you a chair..!" he stammered, about to jump up and find one for her. She stayed still, leaning against his chest as she smiled slightly,
"It's comfortable like this.." she whispered, "But if you insist," she stood back up, the male still blushing madly.
.
Hurrying into another room to retrieve a spare chair for his close friend, the reclusive male began to panic,
"Oh dear.. She was so close.." he whispered frantically, "I- She-.." He attempted to string his feelings into a mental note to himself.
Eyes scanning the room, he found no trace of a chair.
Of course, he wouldn't mind her sitting like that with him were it not for his nerves.
He could barely speak when she was sat so close.
"Edgar?" she cooed, peeking through the doorway. She stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and cuddling him, "Could you not find one?" she sighed, the man stiffening under her hold as he turned around to face her.
"(Y-y/n).." he whispered, blushing madly,
"What is it, Edgar?" she cooed looking up at him, "Do you need help with anything?"
"I-N-no.." he breathed, relaxing slightly.
"Okay," she hummed, "Can we sit down?"
The way she said we sent a shiver of nerves down his spine,
"S-su-"
Before he could finish his answer, she had tugged him into the room they were in before, a smile bright on his face as he sat down, the lady cuddling up to him in his lap once more.
Poe couldn't quell the frantic beating of his heart as she remained so close to him, simply enjoying him being there.
"Edgar," she began, barely above a whisper, "You're really comfortable.. Can we do this more often..?"
His face flushed further,
"O-okay.." he nodded weakly, "(Y/n)..?"
"Mhm?" the lady nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck loosely,
"Th-there's something I should.. Probably tell you.." he muttered, looking at anything but her.
"What is it, Edgar?" she said with a small, encouraging smile,
"Well.. I.."
It was then that he rethought what he was doing.
He was confessing, right?
Of course.
But he was confessing to his best friend, who was currently hugging him.
Sure, it was something that gave him confidence in his feelings.
But it made him more nervous as he choked on words he couldn't quite say.
If she said no, it would only make everything so much more awkward.
If she said no, his confidence would be shattered. Worse than when he lost to Ranpo.
"Edgar.. You can tell me anything, you know," she coaxed, "You don't have to, but it might help yo-"
"I can't stand this, (Y/n)," he said suddenly, cutting her off, "I can't stand being so close to you when I know you'd never like me back,"
He sounded more confident, but his words were filled with anxiety and self doubt,
"I can't stand being like this when I know tomorrow you're just gonna treat me as a friend again tomorrow," he continued, voice edging further and further onto the line of being angry, "I can't stand beingg so close to you.. But if there's ever distance, it makes me feel sick.. Like I'm never going to be good enough to confess.."
"I-.." she whispered, not sure how to react.
"No," he snapped, lifting her off of himself, "Dont say anything,"
"Edgar I-"
"Don't call me that, (L/n)-San," he said coldly, "Don't give me hope like that."
He stood up,
"I'm going to my room, get comfortable or leave, I don't care," he hissed, turning away and leaving.
He knew he cared.
He knew he loved her; wanted to be with her.
But he couldn't let himself fall anymore than he already had.
"Poe."
Her voice was steady.
"We can talk about this," she continued,
"No we can't, (L/n)," the male snapped, turning on his heels o face her, "We can't work this out, okay? Not everything is gonna sort itself out, not everything gets better with time, not everything can be talked ove-"
"Fine," her voice seemed to waver slightly, "At least I know I tried."
Before he could think over what he said, she was gone.
Regret began to sink in, the weight of everything he said crashing down.
How could he be so rude to the only one who supported him over those long six years?
How could he snap at someone he cared about so much?
How could he say that to her?
Guilt began to consume him.
It riddled gaping holes in his already withered self confidence, tears pooling in his eyes,
"How could I ever.. How could I ever do that.. To her.." he whispered, staring at where she once stood, "How..?"
.
.
.
Days passed, dragging on unbearably slowly.
He felt choked by guilt, nothing else on his mind.
He thought over and over.
Things he could've done differently to stop it.
To have her still there with him.
But no.
He was horrible to the only person who had stuck with him. The only person who seemed to really care about his feelings.
And he shoved her away.
A loud knock on the apartment door ripped him from his thoughts, the male deciding to ignore it.
"Edga- Poe.. Please answer.. I know you're there.."
It was her.
Why?
Why did she still care about him?
"Poe please.. I know you think we can't talk things over, but I have to tell you at least one thing first.."
He longed to see her again.
Say he's sorry.
Tell her he didn't mean all the things he said to make her sad.
But how nervous seeing her would make him shattered him.
"I know you're listening, Poe.." she said once more, "Please let me in.."
He lifted himself up, unable to resist the thought of things being okay with her again.
He swung the door open, instantly leaning down slightly to hug her.
"I'm sorry, (Y/n)-Chan.. I'm so, so sorry.." he whispered, tears threatening to fall,
"It's okay, Poe," she cooed, rubbing soothing circles on his back as she stepped inside, weary to move too much or bother her close friend, "I'm sorry I acted the way I did, I shouldn't have been like that," she whispered.
The man stayed quiet, wrapping his arms around her tighter,
"I just.. I just wanted to try and let you know I like you.." she confessed, "I'm sorry I left you like that, I should've tried harder to help you,"
"You didn't do anything wrong.." he spoke up, "I shouldn't have snapped like that,"
Her words began to sink in. She loved him?
"It's okay," she cooed, leaning her head against his chest, "It's okay.. I'm here now.. You're here now.."
He nodded slightly, pulling away from the hug with a small smile.
"I.. I guess I never said it properly, huh..?" he whispered, face bright red, "I love you, (Y/n)."
"I love you too, Edgar," she smiled, planting a quick peck on his cheek and wrapping her arms around him once more.
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