#suddenly my heart is aching for these two like it hasn’t in decades | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cissyenthusiast010155 · 11 months

Note

Could you do these prompts, with Lady Lesso and y/n. However you want to do it I don't mind

Heyyy @principal-weems09 !! I wrote all three for you, with a song on the side 🤭 Thanks for the request, babes! Hope you Enjoy 💋

Careful What You Wish For ~Lady Lesso xFem Professor!Reader

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

#27. “If you hate me so much, why do you moan my name in the shower?!”

#40. “Right here? Really?…”

#52. “Fuck… Mommy! … Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out…?”

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, little angst, little fluff, little smut, strap-fucking, kissing, confession of feelings, praise kink, mommy kink, overstimulation, etc.

Enjoy (;

You’d categorize your relationship between you and Lesso as, well, complicated…

You were a new teacher at the school, and you were the first Never and Ever teacher. You taught English and History, having a classroom in the library. Adjustments had been going well. You had good connections with your colleagues, especially Emma and Clarissa.

Of course, nothing was perfect. The chunk in your armor was Leonora Lesso. She confused the hell out of you. She was snarky and a bitch. But she was like that to everyone…?

With the new joining of the two schools, Lesso seemed to have extra hatred for you, specifically. And the age gap, different level of experience, and power dynamic did not help. Hell, she was twice your age (if not more), had been teaching for decades, and co-dean of the entire school.

Deep down you also knew that something else was going on with you in regards to the one and only dean of evil. Even with her snarky taunts and wicked comments, you still got butterflies whenever you spoke to the woman. Followed by aching in your heart as you remembered the woman practically hates you.

~~~

You entered the new, Never & Ever teachers lounge with a sigh. It was your off period for the day and you were hoping to get some grading done on a literature essay you’d assigned to your students. But as you went to go sit down at one of the tables, you noticed Emma and Clarissa whispering by the couches.

Clarissa caught your gaze and immediately tapped Emma, and they both turned around, quietly beconning you to come join them in a hushed tone. You put your things down and went over to them.

“What…?” You asked.

They both shushed you and Clarissa quickly patted the chair next to her and across from Emma for you to sit.

“What is it…??” You whispered.

The women exchanged glances before pulling in even closer to the circle.

“Not to gossip—” Clarissa began in a hushed tone, but was interrupted by Emma’s hand dramatically tapped Clarissa’s thigh and a stern ‘oh really…?!’ look.

Clarissa stuck her tongue out playfully before continuing, “Anyways… Last night I was getting ready for my nightly bathing ritual, and now with the Never/Ever shared bathrooms… I ran into Leo.”

Clarissa called Lesso ‘Leo’, and Emma called her ‘Leonora’ but you never dared call her anything rather than ‘Professor’ or ‘Lesso’…

“Well not really…” Clarissa continued in her hushed tone, “I didn’t see her… I… I heard her…”

“What…?” You whispered, “What do you mean…?”

Emma smirked at your slight ignorance and her eyes flickered looked down to hide her reaction.

“I heard her moaning, Y/N…” Clarissa whispered.

Your eyes widened.

“You heard her moaning…?”

It hasn’t clicked for you yet…

“Yes. But Y/N… I heard her moaning, Y/N…”

“Oh—OhhHhh…” you stuttered, your face turning red.

Suddenly you felt Emma’s hand embrace yours.

“Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone…” she whispered, “for either of your sakes… It’s up to you what you do with that knowledge…”

You gulped.

~~~

You had decided to do nothing about that knowledge but overthink it. The weekend had come around at a decent pace, and you were spending your Friday evening still grading those essays…

Maybe giving each and every one of your students an essay assignment was not your best idea… you thought to yourself, cringing a bit on the inside with the amount of work your gave yourself.

You took a deep breath, going to pour yourself some more tea. As you sat back down, you heard a sudden rap! of Lesso’s signature cane on your door. It startled you slightly and your cheeks flushed red, the comment from earlier rushing back into your mind.

“I… Uhh—Come in…!” You chocked out.

The door swung open as the red head entered your classroom with a strut and a slam of the door.

“Oh…—! Professor…! What… What can I help you with…?” You stuttered, your face deepening in its shades of red by the second, your eyes looking anywhere but her gaze.

“What we’re you thinking?!” Lesso snarled.

You gulped and shivers ran down your spine.

“I… What…?” You stuttered, completely frozen.

“You let one of my Never students off the hook for the detentions I assigned?!!” She jeered.

Your breath hitched and your eyes widened as the woman stalked towards you. Your lip started to quiver slightly.

“You imbecile. stupid. idiotic girl…” Lesso sneered, “You do that again and you’ll deeply regret it…”

“She… She didn’t… deserve it…” you stuttered.

Lesso was now inches apart from you, and towering above you as you trembled in your chair.

“Pathetic.” Lesso snarled, “Don’t. Do. It. Again.”

Your breathing was completely uneven and you couldn’t help the tear that escaped your eye. At this, Lesso placed her hands on either side of the chair, getting in your face.

“Right here? Really? You gonna cry like a baby…??” She sneered.

Another tear escaped your eyes and then another.

“Stop, please stop…” you chocked out, pushing the red head away.

The red head huffed in annoyance and rolled her eyes. It made your blood boil.

“I hate you…” she muttered.

“Do you, now??” You choked out, annoyed now yourself.

“Yes.” She gritted out, “You’re incompetent, useless, and diffic—”

“If you hate me so much, why do you moan my name in the shower?!” You blurted out, interrupting the red head.

At your words, a myriad of emotions washed over Lesso’s face. Then before you could say another thing, her lips crashed into yours. You whimpered into the kiss, as the red head pulled you up from your chair and onto your desk. The red head was eager to ravage your lips but you pulled away slightly. At the sign of your hesitation, Lesso immediately began searching your face concerningly.

“I… I don’t understand…” you stuttered, your eyes looking away from Lesso’s gaze.

Lesso looked down in shame.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” she spoke softly, “I didn’t mean all those things I said…”

You said nothing.

“I… I like you…” she continued, “And don’t know how to express it…”

You looked back up at her, to see her eyes full of vulnerable sadness and concern. She tried to pull you closer, but you jerked back slightly.

“Why didn’t you just say that…? Why were you so mean…?” You whispered, another year rolling down your cheeks.

“I guess I’m the cliche of ‘picking on a girl because I like her’…” Lesso chuckled lightly.

This made you giggle slightly. Lesso face lit up at your sounds.

“Maybe ask me out on a date, first…?” You chuckled.

~~~

It had been a few days since Lesso had asked you out, and you guys had gone to dinner. It had gone pretty well, all things considered. But only a few days later, as you sat in your chair, grading once more, the red head barged into your classroom for the second time. She startled you, coming up to, and so you stood up.

“What, what is it…?” You asked concerned.

The red heads pupils were blown out of proportion as she came up flush against you, meeting your gaze.

“I… I want you…” Lesso lustfully panted.

Your breath hitched at her words.

“But I want it to be on your terms… please…” Lesso pled.

You cupped the back of Lesso’s neck with your hand and gently pulled her lips forward and onto yours. This kiss was a lot more gentle than the last. Lesso was still the obvious dominant one, but she led this kiss with less vigor and more care.

“Is this okay…?” She murmered into your lips, as she guided her own hands to your hips.

You nodded breathlessly, throwing your arms around the red heads shoulders and jumping into her arms, your legs wrapping around her waist.

“More than okay…” you muttered, crashing your lips against hers once more.

Lesso moaned into your mouth at your eagerness, as she carried you out of your classroom.

Thank goodness it was late and no one was out in the corridors…

“Your place or mine…?” She murmured into the kiss.

“Yours is closer…” you muttered into her lips.

With that, Lesso moaned into your lips in agreement as she carried you to your private quarters.

~~~

Damn, this woman had resolve…

And you weren’t one to complain… She was always checking in with you, and you were to use the safe word if you were uncomfortable. But she hadn’t done anything to cause you to even consider stopping her…

~~~

“Fuck fuck fuck—!!” You cried out, as Lesso was pounding into you with her favorite strap.

“That’s it, Baby… Lemme hear your screams…” Lesso encouraged.

Lesso then hit a particular spongey spot inside you, causing you to keel over, spiraling the edge once again.

“Fuck… Mommy!” You screamed, reaching your upteenth climax of the night.

At this, Lesso froze for a minute.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out…?” You stuttered out.

“Don’t apologize, Baby…” Lesso purred, as she started thrusting into you again helping you ride out your orgasm.

You whimpered at this.

~~~

Pretty soon, Lesso brought you to yet another impending high.

“Leo M’mmm gonna cum…!!” You moaned out desperately.

“What’s my name, baby…?” Lesso wickedly purred in your ear.

“Leo—!!” You cried out.

Lesso tutted you, shaking her head.

“Try again…” she warily purred.

“Mommy please—!!!”

“That’s a good girl…” the red head purred.

~~~

Lady Leonora Lesso Masterlist

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littleoddwriter · 2 years

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Good evening 😌

I‘m the biggest simp for Viago and I’m so happy you added him to your writing list. Currently imploding, thanks!

Dying for Viago x male reader content so I’ll give you a smooch for this. Viago meets the reader one night and originally planned on making him his dinner but he finds himself enjoying the conversation he’s having with the reader too much. They agree to hang out again, go on cute nightly dates because they both have horrible sleep schedules (wink) and eventually develop massive crushes on each other.

The reader finds out about his vampire situation when Viago blurts it out while they’re getting midnight snacks for the reader. They both kinda just stand there for a few seconds until Viago grabs the reader and plants an awkward but very sweet kiss on his lips. 😌

Thanks :>

Willing for Something New | Viago x Male!Reader

Well, hello there! Jjdsflsdjfldsh, that makes me very happy to know. :') Thanks so much for this entirely too sweet request, ah! Viago. <3 I really hope you like what I've done with it! Also, sorry for working in quite a bit of German. I had to take my chance, djkshjfhs (I'm German)! Didn't write in his accent, though.

summary; See above.

notes; Human!Male!Reader; Talk about Food; Falling in Love; Social Awkwardness; First Kiss; Fluff.

German Translations: Tut mir leid = I'm sorry Ja = Yes Nein = No Ich bin ein Vampir = I'm a vampire (Ach,) scheiß drauf = To hell with it/Fuck it

When you’d been brought to him as your dinner, Viago felt eager to drink your blood after making it a beautiful, unforgettable evening for you. You smelled delicious, you were handsome and, oh, so nice. It’d be a shame to kill you, but you would also be one of his best dinners he’s ever had.

Well, so he had thought, at least.

As it turned out, he couldn’t stop talking to you. Your conversation was interesting and fun, so different from what he was used to. And besides that, it was so easy to talk to you. Time passed by like nothing else.

You spent time with each other all night long, until you had looked at the clock out of curiosity and realised that it was almost five o’clock in the morning, thus leaving in a hurry with promises of seeing him again.

He let you go. He wanted to see you once more. Suddenly, you were not his dinner anymore. Viago had no idea what had been so different about you to make that happen, but he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he might.

The next time you saw each other, it was the same thing all over again. He had had all intention of drinking your blood; but at the end of your little get-together, he let you go home and fed from a stranger on the streets, who he presumed wouldn’t be missed. Certainly not his best choice for dinner, but it had to suffice.

After that, you met up several more times. Because you barely ever slept at times that humans usually would, it was never a problem for you two to meet at night when he could go out, which was very convenient for him, but also agonising to have it to be so easy to see you again.

Every single date ended with him letting you go home and his hunger for you waning, turning into a different sort of yearning. He desired you. He wanted to be with you. He thought he might have been developing feelings for you.

And that terrified him a little.

After all, he’s been in love before. It hadn’t ended so well, had it? She’d found someone better than him, another human, leaving him heartbroken for decades. Why would he cause himself the same pain by falling in love with you? Another human, who was bound to break his heart.

But - and call him anything derogatory that you want - he thought you might have actually liked him back. So has Katherine, though. Until she hasn’t.

Yet he was willing to keep going and see where it would all end up with you two.

This night, you had been spending time at his home again, where you hadn’t been since the very first time you’d met. He should have thought about it beforehand. You liked to snack when you spent time with each other. Midnight snacks. He knew them well, but they looked different for him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought about buying you something beforehand. He felt ashamed of himself for being so inconsiderate.

“I’m really sorry about not having anything at home. Tut mir leid,” he told you, wincing, “We can go to the nearby store and buy you whatever you like!”

Smiling at him, you put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, “Hey. It’s no problem. I could have taken something with me from home. It’s not that urgent, Viago. I can deal with no snack.”

He shook his head decidedly, “Nein, we’re going! I insist.”

You chuckled softly and rolled your eyes at him, “Fine, then.”

Thus, you two made your way to the convenient store that was near his house. It was nice to get out for the night. He liked seeing the people that were still up at late hours. He thought it was interesting.

“Say, Viago, what is your favourite snack? Or do you really not like to eat any at all? Because when I first offered you something, you didn’t want any of the things I had at home. Made me wonder. ‘Cause I’d like to be able to provide that for you, too, when you visit, you know?” you asked him after you’ve been walking in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Hm,” Viago hummed, looking for a plausible answer that wouldn’t reveal to you that he was a vampire and couldn’t eat human food, “I, um, I just don’t like to eat any snack, ja. All I need is one meal a day!”

“Just one?” you looked at him in disbelief. Had he said something wrong? It’s been so long, he didn’t know what was normal for humans to eat and how much. “That’s probably not healthy. It’s recommended to eat three meals a day, plus some snacks. Although not the ones I’m eating, probably,” you explained, laughing at the end.

“Oh, ja! That’s what I meant. Three meals,” Viago corrected, nodding for emphasis.

“Ah, okay! Got really worried there for a second,” you chuckled and he, too, let out a short, awkward laugh. That was close.

At the store, you quickly found the snack aisle and picked out your favourites even faster. Sometimes, Viago felt a little jealous of your ability to eat and taste all these delicious variations of food that humans have come up with over the last few centuries. He wished he could know what some things - new ones especially - tasted like, and while he technically could, it would make him puke out his guts and he wasn’t fond of potentially ruining his clothes in the process, or worse, any of his furniture.

“You may not like snacks. But do you want anything else to eat while we’re already here?” you asked with a gentle smile, once your hands were full of bags of various snacks.

“I’d rather not, but thank you,” Viago said, shooting you an awkward little smile in return. Why did you have to be so persistent about his eating habits now?

You frowned, looking thoughtful and slightly concerned.

“Viago, are you okay? I mean, if you have some sort of condition that’s fine and you don’t have to tell me. I’m just worried, I guess, sorry.” You shrugged, seeming so uncertain for what might have been the first time since he’s met you.

“Ich bin ein Vampir!” he blurted out before realising what he’s said and in which language, too. He could still save himself. But as soon as that registered, his next words were already out, “Sorry! I- I am a vampire. I can’t eat human food anymore.”

Panicking internally, Viago looked at you with wide eyes. You were still standing in the snack aisle. No one was nearby, he knew, and even if there was, he was only concerned about your reaction now. Only you were making him feel so terrified of what he’s just told you.

You showed no reaction at first. You simply stared at him, snacks still in a tight grip, and with your mouth slack.

He waited.

Would he ever see you again after this?

What should he do to get you to react?

It was agonising.

“Ach, scheiß drauf,” he muttered before moving in and planting a short, sweet kiss on your lips, licking over them for a split second when he parted from you. You were delicious even so.

You looked even more shocked now, but a smile slowly stretched your lips at last. What a relief!

“What was that for?” you inquired softly.

“I, uh, I’m not sure. I mean- I like you. A lot. But I don’t know why I felt like doing this now. Other than making you finally react. Maybe I also just wanted you to know that only because I’m a vampire you don’t have to be scared of me. I would never hurt you, Y/N,” Viago stumbled his way through an explanation, searching for the reason for this kiss as much as you were. It sounded plausible enough. It could have been the truth. He really didn’t know. It was as though in his (presumably) last moment with you, he wanted to at least have kissed you once.

Chuckling, you leaned in and pecked his lips.

“I thought I had imagined all of this. I’m glad I didn’t,” you murmured.

“And the fact that I am-”

“I don’t care. Actually, I think that’s pretty cool! But yeah, I don’t care. I really like you, Viago. So, if you’ll have me…” You trailed off, leaving him to answer you.

“Always,” he said, “I’d love to be with you.”

No matter what his past love has taught him, he was willing to try again.

In response, you kissed him once again, longer this time, more passionate as well.

When you leaned back, you grinned at him.

“Let’s get outta here,” you told him before walking off to the check-out. He followed you on shaky legs.

The things you did to him, he would never understand. But he liked it. He thought this could be an exciting new thing for him.

#please consider this your birthday present even tho it is your request <3 #and probably a bit late now sorry! ^^"#male reader #x male reader #viago von dorna schmarten scheden heimburg #viago what we do in the shadows #viago wwdits #viago x reader #taika waititi #what we do in the shadows 2014 #what we do in the shadows #wwdtis #fanfiction #fanfic

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

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Can you do a soulmate Stucky x reader? I feel like you would write that so well, especially how you portrayed bucky in "are you mad at me" was so soft. The soulmate version would be so cute

Summary || Bucky and Steve meet their soulmate, which they had no idea existed.

Warning/content || fluff, a small explicit scene, fighting. Soulmate AU.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve rogers

I got a little carried away, but enjoy ❤️ not edited or beta read but I'm sleepy 😴

Bucky and Steve have had each other from the moment they have met. Imaging their surprise, being two little boys from Brooklyn seeing colors, something the two agreed to hide, pending the time period.

It was different now, a different time. They were accepted and while both of them loved each other, so very much, especially through the mind control, fighting each other, then for each other. They always knew something was missing.

A color, maybe even two, three. A part of them missing but they both collectively came to the conclusion that it was just that. Some missing colors, it happens sometimes.

It happens when they least expect it.

After Thanos, after Tony finally deciding to leave that kind of life behind, buying a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. A home to grow old in, be together for the first time since before the war started but only one thing prevented that.

The house was a disaster, gutted to the foundations, no running water, green moss outside covered the whole house, the lawn completely out of control. For Bucky it was a hard no, it was a dump but the moment Steve fluttered those ridiculously long lashes, how could he say no?

So here they are, sweating on this 90 degree day, putting up new dry wall with no air-conditioning.

"What color should it be?" Steve asks, glancing to his dark haired lover, taking notice of his now shirtless appearance. Bucky let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe we should get all of the walls up first."

Steve clicks his tongue, "I like the color green, like a nice pastel mint green."

"Whatever you want, honey." Bucky wasn't too picky, besides whatever made Steve happy, made him happy.

"Hello?" A sweet, feminine voice came from the kitchen. The doors left open because of the heat, there was nothing much in here anyways.

Steve pulls away from his task, pulling his shirt over his head to wipe his forehead with it. "Come in, we are in the kitchen."

Bucky wasn't too alarmed, Steve had told him previously that he hired a someone to make up the yard, nothing too fancy but the both of them were completely clueless when it came to plants, or gardens period.

"Quite a project you have going on here, Mr. Rogers." No doubt taking in the half gutted house along the way. While they have never met, they spoke on the phone briefly about his wants.

"You have no idea, Hun."

The woman looks around the kitchen first, noticing the freshly painted cabinet, the smell a dead giveaway, half eaten burgers thrown to the side on a small, make shift table with barely enough room to fit.

At first glance towards the man she notices the sharp jawline, defined but soft feature of the blonde as she greets him with a smile which soon drops in confusion as small dots of color appear. Stormy blue eyes with a full beard, Steve's mouth dropping agape as he notices the splirts of color - the missing colors for 106 years finally appear.

Bucky notices the tension in the room, shifting his attention from the wall to Steve, noticing how intensely he's staring, Bucky follows the line of vision and meets sweet eyes.

She's hit with another line of color, different from Steve's but now there's no more gray hue, bright yellows and blues. The outside is suddenly so bright and Bucky mouth drops.

This cannot be happening.

They sit there and stare for what seems like hours.

"I - ugh.." she starts, "What is happening?"

***

Sometimes life just throws curve balls, like finding out that your soulmate or in this cause soulmates are two, one hundred year old super soldiers who have already been in love with each other for over a decade.

The pull is already strong, nature intended for these souls to be together until death due part and honestly Bucky could feel it. With Steve he was used to the urge of wanting to have him close, kiss him every free minute he has but with the woman in front of him, it's new.

He doesn't even know her name, watches the way she nervously flickers from Steve's gaze to his own. She's beautiful.

Strong but delicate features, the curve of her nose is cute, cupid lips are so full... kissable. He can't stop staring, even with Steve and her in the mist of conversation. The make shift table cleared of all prior mess, Buck and Steve have to share a chair, which is quite comical, seeing two giant supersoldier try to share a small, old, dinning room seat.

Bucky's metal fingers twitch, metal plate click and whirl to life as he tights to urge to map her face out with his fingers. His heart is beating so fast, filled with so much... Love? Joy?

No matter how much Steve and Bucky try to hide it.. deep down they always knew, something was missing and in this case, someone.

"You're beautiful." The words catch both her and Steve off guard, Bucky blushes red something terrible but the sweet smile defuses the fire.

Well until she says something back, "You are too."

His whole face is hot and Steve reaches over to affectionately rub the back of his shoulder. Of course Steve was calm, he always is.

He handles things with lots of thought and understanding, while Buck is more hot headed, acts on the moment.

***

"It doesn't feel right." Bucky comments, watching from the window to insure she safely gets into the car. Steve sighs, by the time they're done talking darkness has filled the house. Steve affectionately squeezes the brunette's bicep, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I know Bucky. This is a lot for her, for us. She needs to take time and reflect on this. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Bucky knows nothing then her name, and love for plants but chews at his bottom lip nervously. She's too far, the bond pulls at his heart strings. Now bonded forever. "What if she never comes back?"

"She will."

***

A few days pass, the kitchen is finally done, new appliances, new china and kitchen fully stocked. Steve is making something for Dinner - it smells amazing while Bucky starts painting the walls of the lifeless living room.

It's bare, not even something to sit on but no doubt with the stamina of two super soldiers it will be done by next week.

The knock on the front door is unexpected, but Bucky replies quickly. "I got it, Stevie!"

He expects some older, much wrinkly neighbor to be complaining about the noise of the nail gone or something this late at night. His mouth drops, a little shocked at the sight of her.

A very formal sitting dress, long and black, dips into a sweetheart neckline, the valley of her breasts easily visible. Hair is thrown into a neat updo, sexy and sleek.

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi." He squeaks out, feeling like a total idiot as he watches her nervously shift her weight from one heel to the other.

"Hi, I was in the area. A wedding for one my clients, thought I'd come say hello." Bucky wants to shake his head in disbelief that something so beautiful, just like Steve is made for him.

The universe sculpted and made two beautiful, breath taking human beings to be his and it's overwhelming. She's so pretty it's alarming.

It was a good excuse, the truth but not the real reason she stopped by. How could she tell them that they have been on her mind none stop? It physically hurts to be away for so long.

"Who is it, Buck?" Steve mumbles, interrupting the thick tension between the two.

"Come in, doll." Bucky's helps her with the jacket that lays over his shoulders, mentioning his head towards the direction of the kitchen, where his other lover is.

Steve is stunned none the less, he at least expected a few more days. Also, feeling much like Bucky, amazed by the radiating beauty.

He decides to play it cool, dimples forming with a breath taking smile. "Do you like spaghetti?"

Hours pass, time moves so fast with conversation, and adding wine to the mix surely didn't help.

The trio once again in the kitchen, but this time each have a chair, a new, more comfortable dinning set.

"You got this done fast. It's beautiful." She comments, "Colors are beautiful, I guess I have you two to thank for that."

Bucky shifts in his seat, the glass of wine is useless but still finds himself sipping from it. Her eyes are red, watery with a slight buzz.

"Do you feel it?" The question has both Bucky and Steve look at each other, watching her teary eyes as she presses a hand to sooth the ache in her chest. "It hurts, it hurts to be away. All week."

"It's normal." Steve answers just above a whisper, his next words make Bucky's bottom lip quiver. "I felt it every day for the last 5 years, Bucky was gone."

Bucky had never thought about it - there hasn't been enough time to. It's only been a month later since the return and it never occurred to him what Steve has gone through.

"Steve.." He starts, tears kiss his waterline as his fingers run through the blonde's hair. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't know, I -."

"Couldn't prevent it Buck. It happened but you're here now and.." Steve turns his attention towards the girl, tears slip past her eyelids. It's for Steve, for Bucky.. all the pain and suffering they've been through. "Hey, don't cry, it's alright beautiful."

It's feels right, despite barely knowing the man, nothing feel more right then being pulled into his chest as a large metal hand comforts her in a different way, rubbing the loose strands of hair as he murmurs. "We've got you now, you're our other half."

***

Months have past from that day. The house is finally done, everything they could have imagined with the additional of an extra tooth brush in the cup that sits on the bathroom sink, a pile of fuzzy blankets at the bottom of the bed and a five year old chocolate lab. Steve didn't mind much, he's always loved dogs, Bucky on the other hand...

"Alright, alright, Maverick." Bucky huffs, grocery bags in hand as the dog excitedly nuzzles his legs, following him throughout the house like it wasn't only an hour ago he's seen him. Once putting the bags down, hears the whine, big brown eyes staring up at him. Bucky sighs, dropping to a knee before petting the pup's head. "Alright you mutt, don't tell anyone about this."

"Too late, pal." Bucky jumps, hearing the amusement in Steve's voice, followed by the giggle of the woman that peers out from behind him. Wrapping her arms around Steve before testing her head against his shoulder.

"Caught you red handed, you love Mav." Bucky grumbles at her words, feeling two smaller hands wrap around his waist as a head falls into his chest. He presses a soft kiss into her hair before taking in the blonde that barely fits through the doorway he leans against.

Bucky's free hand reaches out, mentioning him closer but as she's soon finds herself in the middle of a super soldier sandwich. "Hi, baby." Bucky presses a kiss to the blonde's lips.

"Hi, pal."

***

"It's only one mission. That's it, we will be in and out." Steve promises, not liking the way his girls face twist into a worried expression.

Heavy eyes, lower lip sticking out to pout. "What if something happens? If you get hurt? Or if they find you, Bucky?"

"I told you, Hydra is gone, honey." Bucky's large hands sooth over her tight shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of her upper traps.

"No. You still have nightmares at least three times a week. This can't be good for you. And you." She turns her attention back towards Steve, "Barely sleep four hours a night. You carry the fault on your shoulders, you don't need anymore. I don't want you two to go."

"We don't have a choice. They were my family once, I owe this to them." Steve didn't miss the way her lips moves to form a snarl, not sparing another glance as she makes a b-line for the stairs.

Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall. "She's going to be mad at us." Rubbing his chest with hopes to ease the burn.

The bond pulls at their hearts, a slow, painful punishment for their actions.

They return two weeks later, tired, just wanting to see their girl. The moment they walk into the house they look at each other with will wild eyes, heart pumping as they fear the worse. The dog, the annoying wiggling tail that would bark is one where to be found, something is wrong.

It's alarming. "Where is that freaking mutt?"

Steve calls her name, but there is no answer. Bucky and him are searching the house, ascending the stairs, opening the bedroom door with a deep sigh of relief.

The stupid dog takes up half of the bed, but is cuddled into his owner. Arm draped around the ball of fur, amount as long as her.

The dog lifts his head, a little tail waggle as Steve stretches his ears, lowering to his knees and laying his top half over the bed to press loud, audible kisses to his ears. "Good boy, protecting our girl while we are gone."

When morning comes she notices the dog is still pressed against her, licking small stripes against her cheeks. "Have to go out, buddy?"

She barely makes it five steps before tripping over two rather large bodies, sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor. Bucky groans and Steve's eyes flicker open.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Wanted you to sleep pretty girl. Mav was taking up all the room and you looked like an angel." Bucky hums in agreement despite his eyes being closed.

"Mmm, well it's all free now." It's short, simple but the sarcastic tone has Bucky's eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend's. They both sigh, staring up at the ceiling, knowing it's going to be a long day.

And it is. She's does whatever she can to get away from them, only answers with short replies to the point Bucky can't take it anymore.

"Sweetheart," Bucky tries again but she doesn't acknowledge him, eyes stayed glued to the book. He gets fed up, metal plates click as artificial appendages run over the binding and pull it from her grasp.

"Give it back, James."

He cringes at the name, a displeased frown wears his face. "No, you have to talk to us."

"No."

"You're bring a brat." Bucky starts, watching her expression change from annoyed to anger, wrinkles of frustration pinch between her eyebrows.

"Buck - don't say that to her." Steve comments, it's his fault, he's the one who said yes without confiding in her first.

"She is, it's over with now. She has no right to be this mad."

"No right?" Her chest fills with emotion as a humourless chuckle causes both men to stiffen. "No right? Huh Buck? I sat here for two full weeks, no communication, nothing while the two of you are out there fighting God knows what after you swore, promised you would always be with me. Don't promise me forever if you're just going to throw yourself in danger! You're going to die and leave me, or worse! Both of you will."

No one says a word, only watch as her chest rises and falls with deep, heavy pants despite the tears that rolls past her eyes lashes.

"Honey, I'm sorry -."

"I don't want to hear it James, and you." She turns towards Steve, fire in her soul. "I thought you would understand, more then him, considering it has happened to you."

She leaves the room without another word, Buck turns towards Steve, watching the way he fights the tears that gather. The pain of loosing Bucky is still so fresh, "She's right Buck, we fucked up."

"I know, I know." He mumbles into Steve's shoulder, pulling him close.

***

"You're so good to me, sweet girl." Bucky moans as she shifts her hips against him, the blunt end of his cock hitting the spot inside her that makes her squeal for more.

Large hands squeeze her hips as Steve leans over to find his boyfriend's lips, kissing him through the gasps and whines of their girl's name as she circles her hips around Bucky.

Steve's hands pull at his hair, lips trailing from his lips, down his cheeks before nipping at his jaw.

"How does he feel honey?"

"So good, Stevie." For a second he's in a trance, watching the way her face contours with pleasure and the pain of her third orgasm well on its way.

Steve lays next to Buck, hand wrapping around his own heaviness between his legs as he stokes it, switching between her face of pleasure to Bucky's, who bites his lip to suppress a moan.

It's short lived as hips stutter against her own, coating her walls with his warm cum.

Steve barely gives her time to recover, positioning her on his hands and knees before hovering over her ear and nibbling on it. "My turn, honey."

***

Her hands nervously shake, the kitchen table is all set up, dinner is ready but at the moment she doesn't have an appetite.

Between this morning sickness, the overall change her body is under going, food makes her sick. The opening of the front door makes her sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

Two voices conversationing in the hall, "I thought I said for you to lock the door when we leave." Buck is clearly annoyed, it's been a long day but Steve rubs his shoulders, mumbling something incoherent.

Upon entering the kitchen, they both grow worried. Face drained of color, red blotchy eyes with shaky hands.

"Hey, hey." Steve drops to his knees in front of her seat in an instant, hands curling around her wrist as worried steel blue eyes follow his stance, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." She pauses, "I'm scared, I'm scared. What if someone comes for you? How are we supposed to raise a baby? What if it has the serum, will it ever be safe?"

The questions fill Bucky with dread, how much though put into every sentence, every word is like a new hit of pain to his body but he stays strong. For his girl, he leans forward, wiping the tears away from discolored cheeks. "Everything is going to be fine babydoll, you're going to be fine, our baby is going to be fine."

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fluff #fatws bucky #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve x bucky #steve x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #stucky x reader #stucky

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Chick Flick Before Dick

A/N: Sooo I know I’ve written tons of fics featuring reader worshiping Jax’s dick – and I do plan to continue – but we also know he’s all about the service 😜 Based on the below requests, here’s a fic about the wicked magic Mr. Teller can work over you, with those talented fingers and tongue of his...

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, teasing, edging (fingering + oral, fem receiving), semi-public setting (movie theater but no one else is there) Requests: 3 separate anon requests – 1 | 2 | 3

Word Count: ~2.9k

“You say that shit to me one more time, bitch—I swear you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

Oh, you don’t doubt it... Jax Teller has become more possessive than ever, since he claimed you as his wife. But today you have taken a stand, sticking to what you’ve planned; you’re not about to let him use some idle threat to get you out of it.

It never fails to make you smile, how your husband whines and grumbles like a child, when you turn down his cock to hang out with your friends every once in a while.

Jax respects you too much to seriously hold it against you, and yet it’s no secret just how much he hates it when you ditch his dick to spend time with your girl crew. Leaving him high and dry, so horny he could die... alone with thoughts of all the dirty shit the two of you both love to do...

You tease your man about it for a minute, just for kicks. “Say what—‘chicks before dicks’...?”

He cringes and sticks out his tongue, as if hearing that phrase makes him physically sick. “Yeah, I mean, it’s just wrong. It’s insulting. Disgusting. The reigning queen of Charming shouldn’t say that to her king.”

“The queen says whatever she wants.”

“She better remember the king owns her cunt.”

“Well, now that’s what the king likes to think...” you taunt, though it’s a struggle to stay strong when his tone gets all dark and dominant.

Your husband knows just what you want. “Bitch, I know what you’re doing. You’re pissing me off on purpose ‘cause you’re desperate for some kind of punishment.”

You pretend to be appalled, although you really are aching for him to slam you up against the goddamn wall. “Behave, my king! Your lady would never do such a thing...”

“Cut the shit and run off to your ladies-in-waiting,” Jax says as he opens the car door for you to get in. Chivalry isn’t dead, though he’s less of a gentleman when you’re in bed. “Tomorrow you’ll spend the whole day as my personal plaything.”

Well, okay—fuck if that didn’t get you soaking wet. And yet tomorrow is a special day; your man has never missed special occasions ever since you started dating. “But did you forget—”

“That it’s our anniversary tomorrow? God, no,” he insists with a kiss on your forehead, amused that you thought he forgot. “Of course I didn’t, darlin’... but I said what I said. About you being my little plaything. Anniversary or not, won’t change a thing.”

***************

It’s eleven-thirty on the morning of your anniversary... and your husband hasn’t even fucked you once yet. After finishing your second cup of coffee you’re still thirsty. Jax had cooked you a whole feast of chocolate chip pancakes and maple-glazed bacon and your favorite style of eggs, but until you have sex, you won’t feel fully fed.

“But I thought we were spending the whole day in bed...” you protest, as he drags your ass out of the house after breakfast.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” he huffs, promptly plopping you onto the back of his Harley and then speeding off. “Just ‘cause you’re spending the day as my slut, doesn’t mean we’ll be cooped up all day. Plenty of other places to play.”

Oh, boy. Just what he means to say... you’re not sure. Jax has fucked you in public before, but you don’t want the whole town of Charming to see him use you as his personal toy. His filthy little whore. What does he have in store...?

You don’t bother to ask where you’re going; you know him well, know he won’t tell. He loves feeling you squirm against him from behind as you agonize over not knowing. It’s literal hell.

And then, suddenly yet smoothly... his bike redirects and pulls up at the last place you’d ever expect: the movies.

What the hell? This early in the day? You can’t even remember when you and Jax last saw a movie together, out in theaters, and most certainly never a matinée. What kind of game is he trying to play...?

Scratch that—you definitely do remember the last time Jax Teller took you to the movies, at this same exact theater. Years ago on the day you first met. Day you’ll never forget. The first day of your last year in high school... that fall when you’d just moved to Charming, the new girl on campus that morning, fumbling through the halls like a fool... then you laid eyes on this guy who captured your heart without warning and had you drowning in a puddle of drool.

Needless to say, you played hooky on your very first day at Redwood Hills High. ‘Cause when Jax Fucking Teller offered you a ride on his bike... that was not something you were about to deny. Powerless to resist cutting class when he already owned your ass in every way. You were psyched. So damn psyched you could die.

And you did in fact die on that fine afternoon, when Jax took your ass out to the movies and spent the whole time ruining your pussy with his fingers and tongue and that huge monster cock till you came like a fucking monsoon.

Now here you are again. So much has changed since then, when your lifetime beside Jax began. Yet so much is the same. High school sweethearts, in love from the start... it’s been almost a decade and nothing can tear your apart. To this day you are still that same girl who repeatedly moaned out his name, in a movie theater with no fucking shame, as you came, came and came...

Your man can see the memories replaying in your head, as he removes your helmet. The sweetest little smirk lights up his gorgeous face. “Remember this place?”

You smile and nod, swooning just from the thought. “Yeah, it’s crazy that we’ve never been back here since our first date...”

“I figured it’d be cute to recreate.”

Ugh, this man is so perfect it’s rude. You playfully scrunch up your nose as the two of you hop off his ride, holding hands like teenagers as you head inside. “Since when do you do cute?”

“Since I met you, babe,” he coos, as you practically trip over your shoes, stumbling through the doorway. “What can I say, you put me in the mood...”

Jax knows already what he plans to see: some dumb romantic comedy. One that’s been out in theaters for months, so the space will be empty just like he wants. Picks up your tickets and passes right by the popcorn since you both have had plenty of food. And since he’s bound to spend the whole film facedown in your cunt. His face is gonna be fucking glued.

Well, except for when he shifts position every so often to pound you with his massive dick. You already can’t wait for it. Hope he gets to it good and quick; you’re fucking desperate...

You have no clue, just yet, how much your man is gonna make you beg for it.

***************

“How many minutes of the movie do you think we managed to see on our first date?” Jax asks, as he sits his fine ass in the row farthest back. Looking like a damn snack. He’s all yours to attack, just as you are to him, and you can’t fucking wait. The lights dim, as the last of the trailers just played.

You’re the only two souls in this place, thankfully.

Scooting in beside him and all ready for him to devour your pussy, you think back to that day so long ago. “I don’t know... three?”

“Yeah, sounds right to me.”

“Let’s go for zero now, shall we...?”

“Nah, babe—that’s too easy,” he teases, resisting your hand as you reach toward the bulge in his pants to squeeze it. “We should give ourselves some kind of challenge, don’t you think? We were just kids back then. Now we’re the queen and king.”

“What’re you saying?” you mutter as you try and fail to grab hold of his dick. “Jax, please...”

“Think we should double it, at least. Let’s make it six.”

“You fucking serious?” you whimper like a spoiled little bitch. “You’re gonna make me sit through six whole minutes of this shit? You know I hate these sappy crappy chick flicks...”

“Shut up and watch,” he commands, slipping into his natural-born role of pure dominance. “Get your greedy whore hands off my crotch. I’ll tell you when you get to touch.”

Well, fuck. You know you shouldn’t push your luck, although you’re absolutely aching for his cock. You’ve never wanted anything so much.

Squirming in your seat, burning with need, you’re about to explode from the heat. You can’t be asked to keep your damn eyes on the screen, when Jax looks hotter right now than you’ve ever seen. Good enough to eat. Gawking at his chiseled profile limned by the light that projects, you just marvel at how he’s so totally perfect...

“You watching the movie, or me?”

As if he has to ask. You can’t wait till six minutes have passed. “What the fuck do you think? Don’t you wanna use me as your plaything...?”

“Sit back and obey your king.”

“Why are you being so mean...”

It’s no secret that Jax loves to torture his queen. But your juices are leaking all over the cheap fabric seat, and the mess that you’re making is fucking obscene.

That’s why you need his face to be down there to lick it all clean.

“Payback, bitch,” he replies with a devilish wink. The wink that always makes your pussy throb and twitch. It’s a whole fucking kink. “You know how it is...”

And with the words that Jax says next, denying you the privilege of having him between your legs—you understand exactly why he’s doing this. Dishing out punishment and getting off on it, because he knows that you deserve this shit. So savage and sadistic. After the way you spent yesterday pushing his buttons for kicks... now the king is the one playing tricks.

“Chick flick before dick.”

***************

“Jax, I think it’s been six—”

“I’m the one keeping count, bitch. Two more minutes.”

Fuck. Every minute feels infinite. With no luck, you struggle to think about anything other than Jax Teller’s cock. How he’s probably already hard as a rock, how your pussy is bursting and needs him to get all up in it...

Now you’re pretty sure it’s been another two minutes. Moaning like a slut, you know that you should keep your mouth shut, but it’s so hard to resist. Why can’t he just get down to business? You’ve already gone ahead and taken off your panties underneath your dress, to give your husband easy access.

Forcing yourself to take your gaze off Jax, you lean your head back, close your eyes, and try to just ignore the flood between your thighs. His brutal punishment is pushing you right past your limits. Now it’s definitely been more than two minutes...

Oh shit—just then, you feel his touch upon your clit. Right here in this empty theater. You honestly couldn’t be wetter. “F-fuck, Teller… I need your dick…” “Know you do, bitch,” he snickers and wickedly curls up his fingers. “You just gotta wait till the end of the chick flick.”

Till the end of the—what?!? You groan out, needy and loud, unable to keep your mouth shut. “What the fuck...!”

Now he’s shifted position to kneel before you on the floor. The dim light in the room reflects off of the black of his kutte, as he seals your fate as his dirty little slut. Still the one in control, even down in his kneeling position, sending you reeling even deeper in submission as he uses his skillful fingers to service your soaking wet hole. “Thought you heard me before. You naughty fucking whore.”

Holy mother of shit. You’re already about to explode and can barely fight it. “Yeah, I did—”

“Then repeat it.”

You’ve never been so fucking heated, so wrecked in the head, as you echo the words he’d so cruelly said. “Chick flick before dick.”

“That’s a good girl,” Jax purrs as he slides his two fingers straight into you. Long and thick, stirring you up as they twirl, so damn sinful and slick. Growling in satisfaction, watching your reactions, enjoying the view, the sensation of you being so wet and tight. “You know what that means, right? Of course you do.”

God, this man is too good and too bad to be true... “B-but I didn’t think—”

“Bitch, I swear by the end of this flick you won’t be thinking anything,” Jax interrupts viciously, as two fingers become three. “Now sit back and be good. Let me use you like I said I would. As my filthy fucking plaything.”

Thirty seconds letter you are quaking. Heart aching. Feels like every fiber of your being is fucking breaking.

Although you know you shouldn’t dare cum without his permission... it’s harder and harder as Jax drives his digits in farther and farther, his every move sparking your fucking ignition. The tight coil of arousal inside you is past your control, as he ruthlessly ruins your hole, filling you to the core of your soul.

And before you know what’s even happened, your body explodes with an orgasm more intense than anything you have ever imagined. Beyond your wildest dreams. The whole town of Charming can no doubt hear your screams, as you frantically shout out the name of your king, in this fucking theater, cunt spastically squirting all over the letters engraved in his thick metal rings.

“Such a sweet fucking cunt,” he grunts, watching your face with a devilish chuckle, as he slurps the taste of you off of his knuckles. “But you’re so disobedient. Cumming before I allowed it? Mmm, almost as if you want more fucking punishment... can’t live without it...”

Your whole body shivers and convulses, as your pussy quivers and pulses. “J-Jax...”

As you clumsily try to pull him toward you for a kiss, he pins down both your wrists. Has no patience for any of this. Jax’s dominance hits like a fucking attack. “Slut, I told you to shut up and sit... the fuck... back.”

The first time you came, only his hands were to blame; your sex god of a husband had not even started to use his mouth yet.

Now he starts. And the second his tongue hits your sensitive pussy, so swollen and juicy, unspeakably wet... you already feel ripped apart. Ripped to shreds. Already dead.

He’s licking at your slit, while sucking on your clit, and you’re losing your absolute shit.

You’re pretty sure you just came three times in less than a minute, but it’s not as if you’re in a state to keep track. You can’t bear to look down at him doing his thing, golden hair gleaming in the faint light as he feasts on your cunt like a king. You’ve always been his personal plaything. He has every right to eat you like a snack.

Yet he’s pushing you past every possible limit of orgasms and that’s a fact.

You just moan and gasp, losing what little grasp you have on sanity, slipping away from reality, throwing your head further back. “Jax—fuck, Jaxxx...!”

After his next round of wrecking, he finally pauses for just a few seconds. You need him to cut this shit out but can’t say it aloud; you don’t have any breath left for begging.

His flawless face is glistening in your juices, snickering as he gets off on putting you through this. Whenever the king and queen go to battle in the bedroom or any damn context involving sex... queen always loses.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for what Jax says next.

“You good?”

What the—did he just—

But before you can even attempt to protest, the bastard goes back at it like no man on earth ever should. ‘Cause of course he would. He fucking would.

The audacity?!?! You have officially lost any hope of regaining your sanity. Ever.

FUCK Jax Fucking Teller. You should’ve known that you were doomed from the day you two first got together, right in this theater...

But then again, you fucking did. Of course you fucking knew it. Knew all along that this would happen. And that is exactly what you had imagined, what you had signed up for: to serve him forever, to let him destroy you whenever, wherever, use and abuse you as his own personal fucking whore.

Your soul doesn’t even belong to you anymore. Jax Fucking Teller just sucked it right out of you, several times over. He’s not even done yet. Won’t be till you’re dead. Your man is one goddamn savage motherfucker, but that is what makes him the most perfect lover.

Although you’re not sure if you’ll ever recover... you do know one thing for sure: by the end of this movie—even if your poor pussy physically can’t take an orgasm more, really, truly—you’re taking his dick. Dick is the only cure. You fucking live and die for Jax Teller’s dick. Fucking need it more than you can even afford.

And that is why from this day forward, you both know that no chicks—and sure as hell no goddamn chick flicks—will ever come before.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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slytherinnbitch · 3 years

Text

Proposal Part 2

Part 1

Harry walks into the cemetery in happy spirits. He can't wait to tell his parents about his decision to marry Draco.

When he stops infront of his parents grave, he finds fresh flowers there already. That's weird...

He frowns as he vanishes them and conjures up his own flowers in their place.

"Hey Mum, hey Dad," he says as a way of greeting as he sits down beside them.

"So I'm proposing to Draco tomorrow, I think it's about time, you know? It's just...I- I miss you. Like I have everything but one. Draco's parents, they aren't bad. I think I like them somewhat. Yeah I know how that sounds, Padfoot is probably horrified right now. The Malfoys, pup? How could you!" Harry makes a poor impression of Sirius and smiles as he thinks the scene which is hopefully happening in some other world.

"Tell him I know what I'm doing. Well somewhat. Do you think he will say yes? What if...what if he doesn't want to marry me? What will I do then, Mum? Honestly, I have no idea but I hope I don't have to think about that. I shall get going now, it's late and Draco is waiting." He caresses the grave once fondly, says his goodbye and apparates away.

...

"Hey Mione, I can hear Pans in the background as well." Draco says when he answers the phone call. It had taken him some time but now he could easily use most muggle appliances.

"Dracoooo," Hermione slurs and that astonishes Draco because Hermione never drinks a lot. Just a glass of wine or maybe two mugs of lager but not so much to get drunk. Just 'happy tipsy' she had called it when he had asked years ago.

"We have a secreeeeeet," Pansy sing-songs in the background.

"What secre-" Draco starts but suddenly it's Ron on the line, "Hey mate. Don't pay them mind, I have never seen these two more drunk. Hermione wanted to call to tell you that everything is in proper order and they have told Harry that tomorrow you have a picnic under the stars, as a gift from them. We'll meet you after, yes?"

"Yes, if everything goes well. Otherwise I would be vanishing from the face of the Earth for the next decade or four." Draco jokes, not really. Ron chuckles and they hang up.

Just then, Harry comes home and they order takeout, both of them too tired to cook dinner.

Just before midnight, Draco traps Harry between his body and their bedroom wall, "Hello, love."

A shiver runs down Harry's spine and Draco grins slyly, even after a decade Harry has the same reaction. Honestly, it's good for his ego.

"Hi..." Harry breathes, as he arches his neck in a silent request. Draco places sweet kisses all over his jaw and neck, sucking new marks and biting the tender skin now and then.

Harry is panting by the time he finds his lips. His wand vibrates in his pocket at the slight reminder that it's their anniversary.

"Happy Anniversary, Scarhead." Draco says against his lips and Harry smiles.

"Happy Anniversary, Ferret."

It's tradition to call each other names when wishing the other on a special day and at this point, it's quite adorable. You didn't hear that from him.

...

"We should really thank Hermione and Pansy for this, don't you think?" Harry asks as they finally sit down on the picnic blanket. The sky is bare of any clouds and they can easily see all the stars.

"Indeed, we should. What about an exclusive vacation to some exotic place? You think they would like that?" Draco suggests. It's the least he could do after such an wonderful arrangement.

"I think so, point me your star again?"

He takes Harry's hand and points towards the sky, slowly making an imaginary line with their hands.

There's a pleasant breeze blowing and the place is absolutely perfect, it's now or never.

"Harry, love. I have something to say," Draco says tentatively. Ugh, nerves!

"Oh? I have something to ask as well. You can go first though," Harry offers and smiles charmingly at him. Salazar and Godric, hope he says yes. Because Draco doesn't know how to live with a no, not after everything.

Here goes...

"Could you please stand up, please." Draco asks, "There's something I like to show you."

Harry frowns at him for a moment but stands up and faces Draco. He really hopes Hermione and Pansy can see them and start-

The sky is filled with different fireworks and Harry looks at them in awe. Harry had always been fascinated with fireworks and nothing brings Draco more joy than making Harry smile.

The words Will You Marry Me? shines through everything at last, crystal clear- thanks to Fred and George's handiwork. He gets down on one knee and takes out the ring box and holds it open.

Harry frowns at the words in the sky for a moment, then opens his mouth to say something to Draco and freezes when he sees him on knee.

"Draco..." Harry gasps, and his eyes widen. Maybe this was a bad idea, well it's too late now anyways.

"Harry, love. Today marks our ten years and in the past decade, I have learned so many things, I learned kindness and how love feels like and how- what I'm trying to say that in the last decade you have made me a better person each day and made me fall more in love with you. I want to do that for the rest of our lives and even if I don't really deserve it, I want to make you mine forever. So tell me, Harry James Potter, will you do the honour of marrying me?" Draco finishes with a smile and a single tear rolls down Harry's cheek.

"As inspiring as that was. This just isn't fair!" Harry whines and for a moment Draco thinks Harry is going to stomp his foot.

Draco hasn't been more confused in his entire life. He gives Harry a questioning look. Is he even going to get an answer or what?

Harry takes a calming breath and goes down on his knees. "This is what I'm talking about," he says and fiddles with his jacket and produces a black box, a ring box and was he ......

He opens the box and Draco looks up at him, "Yes, you idiot. I was planning on asking you tonight but no you always have to compete me." Harry huffs and then Draco starts laughing.

He can't help it, it's funny. They are both idiots, utter idiots. Harry looks very much like he wants to join Draco in his amusement but he holds off for ami minute, looking slightly put out. Then he joins in as well.

"So that's a yes then?" Draco asks, it doesn't hurt to be sure. Harry looks at him with are-you-actually-this-daft expression, usually Harry is on the receiving end of that expression.

"I can't even look at you right now." Harry says and drags him in for a rough kiss.

"Idiotic prat." Harry says as they break apart. "No Draco, I won't marry you. I just wanted to see how it might feel to propose to you on our anniversary just for laugh, yeah?"

Draco gives him a sheepish smile and Harry shakes his head.

"Give me your hand," Draco demands and Harry smiles fondly at his tone and gives his left hand. Draco takes out ring and places it on his ring finger where it will rest forever.

"My turn," Harry says and takes his hand in his and delicately places the ring there.

They look at each other tenderly with all their love on display, then slowly come closer. As if it's their first kiss and it feels like such as well, almost shyly they kiss each other, tender with love and rough with passion.

...

As they pull apart, someone behind them mutters, "Fucking finally!" And then all their friends are there, yelling out congratulations in various degrees as they come out from wherever they were hiding.

Pansy is the first one to reach them and she engulfs Draco in a hug and murmurs something in his ear which makes Draco swat her arm. She is onto Harry when Hermione arrives, closely followed by Ron, Blaise, Luna and Ginny.

They all congratulate them as hugs and kisses are exchanged. Harry is grinning throughout the night, even as they make their way back home.

He had been surprised when he noticed that they both had chosen almost identical rings for each other, except for the size of the diamonds. He had kissed Draco very inappropriately when he had noticed, much to Ron's horror. Seriously, the dramatics never stopped when it came to Ron and Draco.

"Draco...did you...visit my parents yesterday?" Harry asks as they keep their coats.

"...yes, I did, you know to ask for their permission. How did you-" Draco doesn't get time to finish because Harry is onto him.

He can't express the amount of love that passes through him at that single sentence. Draco went to Godric's hollow to ask his parents. The gesture is so sweet that he can actually feel his heart ache. They lose themselves in one another after that, no longer waiting for words to express their feelings, but rather showing it with their actions as they make sweet tender love.

Unbeknownst to both of them, craved inside their rings, is their story.

Masters of Their Own

Tagging @cissa-bee @sorry-i-ship-drarry @cupofsquirrelfan @textrovert-01 @a-disasterperson @thebusyfangirl @moramystery because you all requested this!

Part 3

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Deep Breaths

Valkyrae x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Panic Attack, Mentions of past domestic abuse, Mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, Swearing

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst to Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having received a call from the correctional facility where their alcoholic/drug addict mother is being kept, Y/N gets some intense nightmarish flashbacks to a time that still haunts them despite a decade having passed. Luckily their girlfriend Rae is there to comfort therm.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your lovely request, I hope I captured what you wanted to read! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete and post the fic, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Love, Vy ❤

“Hey Y/N, I-“ One step in the living room and that’s all it took for Rae to pick up on the melancholic mood in the room.

Her partner hasn’t even noticed she’s entered. Instead, they are sitting hunched over on the couch, elbows on knees, hand seeking their hands’ support to stay upright and their eyes hiding a thousand yard stare that’s got Rae worried sick.

“Babe, what’s wrong?“ She asks softly, inching closer to the couch to take a seat next to Y/N, “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?“

Through the fog surrounding their brain, they somehow manage to catch onto Rae’s words, forcing themself to give her at least a nod in response as to not scare her with their unresponsiveness. They can’t bring themselves to speak, it’s too hard on them to even think of what to say let alone spit it out, especially when their chest feels like it’s caught fire and their mind is still going haywire, heartbeat thumping in their ears as the adrenaline rush refuses to cease.

“Hey, look at me...“ Instead of sitting down, Rae ducks down in front of Y/N, taking their hands in hers, almost wincing at how cold they were. “Tell me what’s bothering you, baby.“

The girl is trying her best not to freak out or lose her cool, despite her already quickened heartbeat she can hear in her ears. She has every right to be reacting the way she is. Her permanently happy, bubbly, optimistic and cheerful partner who always seems to be as energized as though they’d just had a gallon of coffee is now a pale ghost sitting statue-still, staring off into the void with eyes that look empty yet terrified simultaneously.

Y/N’s mouth falls open as though they want to say something but the words die out somewhere along the way, refusing to leave their mouth and give them the relief of sharing their pain with the only person they trust limitlessly. “I-...“ They finally manage to find their voice though their gaze is still avoiding hers, “I got a call from the correctional facility where....” They trail off, a bitter taste forming in their mouth, making their stomach turn and bite the inside of their cheek as they feel the urge to throw up start to become unbearable. “She wants to s-see me...”

They don’t need to say anything else, Rae’s already connected the dots and her complexion has gone just as pale as theirs. She knows how sensitive and triggering this topic is for Y/N, how many bad memories are tied to this one person in their life. To make matters worse, they’re the one person who was supposed to take care of them yet she couldn’t even take care of herself - Y/N’s mother.

Rae distinctly remembers the night Y/N told her the truth about their family life - or the lack thereof - almost a year since the two had started dating. Rae never questioned their secretiveness and respected their privacy enough not to ask about it, patiently waiting for them to tell her on their own time and own terms. It was no secret even from the very start that Y/N had a very hard time connecting to people and trusting them. It took them maybe two or so months to be able to call their now-girlfriend a friend instead of an acquaintance. Rae didn’t question that too, didn’t push to pursue a friendship with them since, from her point of view, they were already her friend, so she patiently waited for them to come around and start trusting her enough to accept her within their tightknit circle of trusted people called ‘friends’.

Things progressed from purely platonic to sweetly romantic a little more quickly which pleasantly surprised Rae. The two were quick to grow to be inseparable though that didn’t mean Y/N gave up all their secrets. The darkest one, which happens to be this one regarding their mother, is the one they hid the longest and the last one they had to share with their girlfriend. The night they did tell it was a very emotional one: plenty of tears were shed by both Y/N and Rae but luckily they had each other’s embrace to seek comfort in and protect themselves from the ghosts and demons of a past Y/N spent so much time running away from.

An abusive parent is not a bit of baggage you can just get rid of. It’s something that weighs so heavy on you and is such a big part of who you are that you can feel it as a part of you. It haunts you no matter how much you try to run or hide. It’s not something you can shake off or forget. You might have physical and visible scars from the time spent with said parent or the trauma can be entirely psychological - regardless, it lives within you. Follows you around, raises questions you’re not sure you want answered, degrades you - making it seem like what happened was your fault in one way or another - it destroys you slowly very time something triggers a memory of that time, be it a simple conversation that has nothing to do with the subject or be it the glimpse you accidentally catch in the mirror of a scar on your body - a scar you remember being inflicted on you like it was yesterday.

That’s how Y/N’s been living. Feeling responsible, feeling unloved, feeling chained to their past. They’ve done all in their power to appear unbothered and let it be visible, not even when around Rae since they don’t want to worry her.

But seeing as their past has caught up to them now and they inevitably have to face it, they’re forced to let it show, they couldn’t hold it in even if they tried. Although they don’t wanna play the unbothered, unfazed part any longer. They have been strong on their own for far too long and it’s taken a toll on them. If they keep up with the act, they’ll be completely and utterly crushed.

Not that they’re feeling any better at the moment.

“Stay with me, Y/N. Stay with me. Keep your eyes on me, ok? Take deep breaths. Deep breaths, baby. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. It’s ok. You’re ok.“ Their short-circuiting brain has been spasming under the influence of the adrenaline, anxiety and panic brought on by the memories of every time they felt small and helpless while at the merciless hand of their alcoholic, drug addict abusive mother, begging to be spared the pain of being hit with whatever object the deranged woman could get her hands on - yet somehow, Rae’s voice still reaches them through all that messy dark fog. “Come on, Y/N, stay with me ok? Please don’t do this, I’m right here, there’s no need to be afraid,”

“I...“ they can barely hear their own voice over the racing of their heart, “I don’t...I don’t wanna go....“ is all they manage to say, a tear falling from their eye.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to go. We won’t go. Your mental health is the most important thing here, Y/N. We’re not going and that’s final.“ Rae replies vigorously, tightening her hold on Y/N’s hands.

Despite the state they’re in, Y/N can’t help but take notice of the use of the word ‘we’, Rae’s reminder that they are not alone, that she’s there for them and will not let them go into this alone. That brings a small smile to their face, calming their heart and panic ever so slightly, “N-no, I have to. It...it’ll help me.” They sigh before attempting to express themself again, “It’ll give me...closure, I guess.”

Seeing that Y/N’s doing a bit better, Rae’s hand move to cup their face instead, pushing the stray strands of hair away for their features to be full exposed to her, especially their eyes, “Are you sure you want that? Can you handle it? It’s not supposed to be your obligation, Y/N. I mean, the woman’s a monster and she hasn’t even thought to contact you in half a decade, and now she suddenly wants to get back in contact? She has the audacity to disturb you after all this time? You don’t have to agree to this, Y/N.”

Y/N shakes their head, “No, no, I want to. I want to agree to this. I want to live a normal life, Rae. I want to leave her and all she did to me behind. And I can’t do that if I keep running away. What happens when I stop to catch my breath? It still catches up to me like I made no progress whatsoever. That’s not a way to live, not the way I wanna live, at least.”

Rae nods slowly, fully understanding what Y/N is referring to. She maybe hasn’t said anything about it ever, but she’s always seen that little bit of darkness behind the happiness and excitement Y/N always displayed. Rae’s heart ached every time she caught glimpse of those little signs Y/N was putting on a performance while actually hurting on the inside.

And if a meeting with their mother was what would help them finally fully embrace a happy life, then who was she to stop them.

“Ok.“ The girl sighs, “Ok, we’ll go see her, but only if you’re 100% sure you’ll be able to handle it.“

They shake their head again, sighing with unease, “I can never be 100% sure, my emotions have a tendency of being unpredictable so I’ll just have to pray I don’t have a breakdown or a panic attack.”

Rae swipes her thumb over their cheekbone wiping the tear that just escaped their eye, “If you do, don’t worry, I’ll be right there. You know the drill: squeeze my hand, take deep breaths and most importantly, don’t forget I’m there for you. Ok?”

Y/N nods their head, the small smile reappearing on their face. They squeeze Rae’s hand and take a long inhale. “Hand squeeze, deep breaths, noted.” They say when their eyes meet hers, “Thank you so much, Rae. Thank you so much for putting up with me and all my shit and thank you so much for never giving up on me no matter how much work I am or how hard dealing with me and my demons becomes.”

Rae’s heart stings at Y/N’s words, tears brimming her eyes when she raises a bit on her knees to press her lips against Y/N’s forehead. “Don’t thank me, angel. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and I never want to get gratitude for it. Love doesn’t ask for gratitude, and neither do I.”

Y/N lets out a small laugh to cover up an emotional sob that escapes their lungs. “I love you, Rae.” They say with a trembling voice.

“I love you too, Y/N.“

This time, the Y/N’s lips met the lips of their girlfriend, reminding themself that their safe haven isn’t a place, it’s a person - their girlfriend who means the world to them.

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babemendesbarnes · 3 years

Text

A two way deal | one shot

Paring: Bucky x DemonFem!Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: Bucky is tired. He hasn’t gotten a single good night of sleep in decades, and he’s done with the nightmares. Hearing about a certain woman who makes deals that could get him what he needed sounds like a miracle. Only when Bucky does find her, it’s no miracle, and she’s no saint.

Warnings: 18+ only, SMUT, talk of religious subjects (devil, hell...)

A/N: This is inspired by the character Maze in the show Lucifer, I absolutely love her arc. This is initially a one shot, but I liked it so much I might write another part. Also my first smut. Tell me what you think!

The club lights flashed red and you downed your vodka shot, body getting warmer by the second. Excitement ran through your veins as the familiar feeling clouded your thoughts.

Something was different though.

Everything was so much stronger this time. The feeling so powerful you were forced to close your eyes, the fake human color being replaced by their true shade of black.

You could feel his memories, almost taste how they haunted him.

The second he sat on the table across from you, everything slowed down. The music beat got sexier, tempting, as the air got thicker. His piercing blue eyes examined you from head to toe, searching for threats in your tight leather pants and black corset.

You could see the disappointment in the brunette woman sitting with her legs on top of yours as she realized you would be busy. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, you whispered that you would find her later, gently patting her legs for her to leave.

Bucky didn’t stop staring at you for even a second.

"Didn’t take you for a club kind of man, Mr. Barnes."

If the super-soldier was surprised you knew who he was, he didn’t show it, his eyes still fixed on yours as you took him in.

He wasn’t dressed properly for the club, his dark jeans, black shirt, and leather jacket standing out from all the expensive suits you saw all night. And yet, the man looked better than anything you had ever laid your eyes on.

The contrast of his apparent demeanor to the things you saw in his head was admirable. The former Soldat knew how to show just what he wanted to, his face not giving in the demons dancing on his mind.

His hands tucked in his pockets, you ponder if he’s still afraid of his own body.

Wakanda might have given him a new vibranium arm, yet you wonder if he still sees blood whenever he looks at it.

"I heard you make deals."

Bucky seemed reluctant to speak at first, although his voice was still steady.

He didn’t want to be here, but to be honest, none of your clients ever did, so you were pretty used to this. The only reason they come to you is that they’re always just way too desperate, just like he is.

"You heard right, Mr. Barnes." you crossed your legs slowly as you called for the waiter to bring you a martini. "And a whiskey for the gentleman, please."

"I’m not drinking." you waved the waiter off, ignoring completely what Bucky had just said.

Surprising you was difficult. You’ve lived long enough to see just about everything, and well, you were created in the pits of hell, so there were not that many things that could amaze you. And yet, there was so much about the man in front of you that just picked your curiosity.

The brave Sergeant Bucky Barnes, the only Howling Commando that gave his life for his country. The infamous Winter Soldier, tortured and manipulated, stripped of his humanity. And now? A fucked up super-soldier with no family, no friends, and a man out of his time.

That’s something not even a demon sees every day.

The drinks were set on the table and you pushed his whiskey to him, watching him through your lashes, a smile planted on your lips as he took a big gulp. The tip of your red bottoms slightly brushing against his leg.

"Tell me, Mr. Barnes, " your body fell slightly forward, your tongue wetted your red-painted lips as his gaze followed every move. "what is it that you desire?"

Bucky felt lightheaded.

The sound of your voice dripped with something he couldn’t recognize, and yet, so desperately craved. He suddenly couldn’t form words.

"I need..." Bucky felt nervous, "I can’t..." his mind going against his commands and his eyes focused on the contour of your lips, how soft your skin would be upon his touch. So lost in thought he forgot he should probably finish his sentence.

You saw right through him though.

"You want them gone. Don’t you?" the world seemed to fade around your form. Your head tilted to the side as you so sweetly said the exact words he needed to hear. "You want the demons to go away."

Bucky never thought he could feel this again, to feel... understanding. And it only took a demon to do so.

Rounding the big red seat and dragging your body closer to Bucky, your lips brushed against his ear.

"You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?" His body stiffening as your nails traced his flesh arm.

"I have." his words were a little bit harsher this time. Your eyes locked and your hand touched his chest, the sound of his heart beating faster, almost as loud as the music.

"Let me take care of you, James." your voice just above a whisper, his fate settled as he silently consented.

You got up and signaled for him to follow.

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice, his body aching to be close to yours again.

This was not something he should feel. The priest of the small Brooklyn church he went to every Sunday morning used to lecture about how the Devil and his demons could lurk you in, bringing you to their sins just to drag you to hell.

But it was Bucky who came looking for the wicked, all you did was welcome his desires with open arms.

You two walked into an elevator, and you instantly felt his stare on you.

The last bit of sanity in the 106 years old man screamed at him, begging him to run. Demons were not givers, whatever they gave, came with a cost, and for someone like him, owning a favor was not a possible option.

"What’s the price?" His hands began to sweat, your answer being able to end the last ounce of hope Bucky had.

The metal doors reopened, revealing a breathtaking penthouse. "Don’t worry about it, I have no interest on bring the Soldat back, Mr. Barnes."

That was all it took for him to finally exhale the breath he didn't even notice he was holding.

Maybe stricking a deal with a demon could end well. Okay, probably not, but still. How the fuck did he even end up here anyway?

Well, too late to back out now.

Bucky looked around, the Los Angeles skyline visible through the giant glass walls, a bar filled with alcohol he had never even seen before, and a large grey couch next to a bookcase filled with books from probably before he was even born.

You grabbed two glasses and poured a black licor on them. Opening a glass door, Bucky followed you as your arms leaned against the balcony’s railing, giving him his drink as you watched the city.

"What is this?" he reflected your stance. The usually loud noises of the big city down below now quiet, you're breathing the only sound he could hear.

"Something special." His suspicious gaze made you laugh, the sound alone being able to wash Bucky’s distress away. "Don't worry, tastes like wine."

You two stayed like that for a couple of minutes, the soft Autumn breeze hitting your hair, the soft strands dancing in the air, hitting Bucky’s face a couple of times.

"Can I look?" your voice broke over the silence and Bucky didn’t need to ask what you were talking about.

"Haven’t you already?" you chuckled and a smirk played on your lips. "A little bit. Just the things I already knew. But for this... I have to see everything."

You knew what Hydra had done to the man. Although, by the few things you noticed about Bucky, you were pretty sure the torture inflicted upon him was not the biggest issue here.

"I would say going inside my mind is like walking through hell, but I’m guessing that’s not a problem for you."

Leading him to sit on the couch, Bucky noticed how you seemed to avoid answering the comment.

Everything about you confused Bucky so much, and every damn word you said just filled him with more questions.

"Sit."

You sat next to him, the tips of your fingers slowly touching the side of his head. If he noticed you wondered around his mind earlier without touching him, he didn’t complain about you doing it differently this time.

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat as images started to flood his head.

Both your chest’s rising and falling fast, his anxiety at watching his memories traveling to you.

A small Brooklyn apartment. George, Winifred, Rebecca. Dark alleys. Steve. World War II. 107th. Europe. Hydra. Captain America. Howling Commandos. Fall. Hydra. Pain. Erase. Cryo. Isaiah. President. Cryo. Stark. Gun. Cryo. Erase. Red Room. Blood. Cryo. Fury. Bucky?. Steve?. Erase. Lake. Steve. Zemo. King. Winter Soldier. Siberia. Stark. Sam. Wakanda. White Wolf. Thanos. Shield. Walker. Karli. Sam. Captain America.

Bucky’s hands are shaking against the couch.

As you open your eyes, you see his tear-stained cheeks, and only when his long fingers gently wipe your face, you realize yours were too.

It never felt this personal, to look into someone’s head. You just took what you needed and that was it. Not this time thought. An urge to give the man any possible comfort made you get up in a rush and almost fly to get a refill.

Bucky starts to calm down and when his eyes follow you, he finally sees a black shining piano in the corner of the room that weirdly seemed to call out to him.

"You play?" your voice took him out of his thoughts. He left the couch and took a few steps towards you, who was now leaning on the instrument.

"My ma taught me before the war." you smiled softly and told him to go ahead. "Oh, no. I probably don’t even know how to anymore." he all of a sudden felt shy under your gaze.

You walked slowly to him, taking his vibranium hand in such a natural way, Bucky wondered how you had never done that before.

Taking him to the piano, you both sat down, sharing the small seat.

"This is not something you forget," leading his hand to the keyboard, you placed your fingers on top of his, pushing the keys down, and shortly, a soft jazz melody echoed in the room as your skilled hands moved in sync. "there are some things no one can take from you, James, not even time."

As both your hands kept making music, your eyes locked and Bucky forgot all about the definitions he heard all his life about the divine and the profane.

Your smile felt like heaven, only your lips were sin.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, his eyes asking for permission you happily granted, your lips meeting as you pulled him to you.

The kiss was eager, your lips moving fast as you didn’t waste a second to open your mouth and welcome Bucky’s tongue.

You climbed his lap, your hands running through his short locks as he kissed along your neck.

Lust almost felt like a drug. You were sure you were addicted.

Between gasps and shivers, you fell to your knees and heard him take a shaky breath. Placing your hands on his face, you pulled Bucky down to look you in the eyes.

"When was the last time someone made you feel good, James?" Bucky gasped as your delicate fingers slowly undid his belt, your voice sweet like honey. "Answer me, baby."

"I... I can’t even remember it."

You chuckled lightly, pushing his jeans down, your nails trailing along his strong thighs, wet kisses following the path of the fading red lines. "Let me make you feel good, James."

Your light touches and lust dripping voice made Bucky feel like he could come undone by this alone, his hands holding tightly onto the piano bench.

Your tongue traced the trimmed hairs on his abdomen, your own personal path to paradise, disappearing into his black boxers. You pulled at his shirt, ripping and throwing it somewhere in the room.

"What do you want, James? Tell me." you pulled his boxers down, Bucky quietly moaned as his cock sprung free.

Your mouth salivated at the sight of Bucky’s hard cock, his impressive length making your walls clench around nothing, panties ruined at the thought of him inside you.

"Your mouth. Please, Y/N, I need your mouth." The desperation in James's voice only made you want to pleasure him even more, eager to hear his sweet sounds.

Your hands pumped him before your tongue traced the vein running along the side of his cock. You licked him top to bottom a few times, his pleas finally attended as you swirled your tongue over his tip, relaxing your jaw and taking him in your mouth. Each time going further down his length, you hollowed your cheeks, a raspy moan he let out going straight to your core.

"Fuck, doll." Bucky wrapped his hands on your hair, pushing you further down his dick, saliva dripping down his balls. "You look so fucking good with your mouth wrapped around my cock."

His sudden vocality only spurred you, moaning when his tip reached the back of your throat.

"That’s it doll. Come on, take everything."

Bucky’s head fell back as you choked on him, his grip moving your head to take him faster, a familiar feeling of pleasure he missed so much clouding all his senses.

"Shit... I’m not gonna last long, doll." you took your lips off of him just for a second.

With puffy, red, and wet lips, you glanced at him with lazy eyes, the sight alone bringing him closer to falling apart. "Come for me, Bucky."

Your lips wrapped around his dick again, and with two more hard thrusts, Bucky came with a groan. You swallowed every drop he gave you.

"Holy fuck." he swore as his breathing calmed down and you gave him a mischievous smile.

"Not exactly holy, Sargeant." you both chuckled and it didn’t go unnoticed by you the twist on his face at the use of his old title.

Bucky kicked off his jeans and picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your back hit a wall as he kissed your neck, biting and sucking on the soft skin.

You moaned when he found a sensitive spot between your neck and collarbone, his mouth leaving red marks behind. You jumped out of his embrace and led him to your bed, throwing him into the mattress.

His stare never left your body. At every piece of clothing you removed, the blue in his eyes seemed to disappear even more, his pupils so blown out it reminded you of your own.

"You have been bad, Sargeant."

You crawled into the bed, taking your time on getting on top of him. The feeling of your hot, wet core against his skin made Bucky’s cock impossibly harder. Your hand pulled at his hair, forcing him to look at you, a raspy moan escaping Bucky’s lips. "You like being bad, James?"

"No." his answer made you chuckle.

"No?" your lips kissed his jawline, licking every piece of skin you found, your teeth biting his earlobe. "But look at you, Sargeant, falling apart on my hands."

Your hands rested against his chest as you bent forward, guiding his cock into your core.

"Fuck." you both moaned as his tip slowly entered you.

Bucky’s hands had a tight bruising hold on your hips, he slowly helped you sink down his length. You didn’t wait before moving your hips back and forth, loving the pain of being stretched out by him.

"Shit, you feel so good around me, doll."

Bucky pulled you to him, his mouth catching one of your breasts, biting and kissing your nipple, his hand caressing the other as you bounced on his cock.

You tugged harder on his brown locks as he started to thrust up, fucking you harder. You nearly screamed his name when he found that special place inside you, hitting it with every thrust of his hips.

"You’re so fucking tight." Bucky let out a groan as your pussy squeezed the shit out of him.

Everything was way too much. You felt dizzy as you met his hard, frenetic thrusts. His cold vibranium fingers found your clit, drawing fast circles, bringing you even closer to the edge.

"Bucky! Fuck, I’m gonna..."

You pushed his body down, your hands grabbing his throat and giving it just a little bit of pressure, his eyes rolling back, and his deep moans getting louder.

Your veins turned to fire, your whole body shaking as you felt the waves of euphoria taking over. You threw your head back, tears falling as the strong orgasm hit you, your eyes turning into their natural black as you stared at the ceiling.

"Come here, doll." he tried pulling you to him, but you just pushed him further down.

Bucky pushed himself up, pulling you by your neck, his hands forcing you to look at him. Your breath hitched as his hands held your cheeks with a tenderness you had never known, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss. Your mind was spinning at the sudden change.

Your breath caught in your throat as Bucky´s beautiful blue eyes stared at your empty ones like they held the keys to Eden.

"You’re not scared of me?" the confused, bitter tone on your voice made Bucky’s heart break in two, cause he recognized that. He heard it in his own voice every damn day.

"Are you, of me?" a tear fell down your cheek, his thump gently brushing it away. You knew every part of him, so the quiet 'no' you whispered made Bucky’s smile grow. "There you go, sweetheart."

For some reason, after that, everything seemed to change. Bucky turned you both around, your back hitting the mattress as he slowly pulled out, just to fill you up completely again.

His thrusts became harder and faster as he chased his own orgasm, driving you into your second one, but somehow, it felt more caring, personal.

Your nails scratched his back, leaving red angry lines behind, a reminder you would leave on him of this night.

Your legs hugged Bucky’s form, urging him to hit deeper inside of you, if that was even possible. His vibranium digits finding your clit again.

"One more, doll." his hands brushed the hairs out of your face, his eyes filled with unfamiliar adoration. "Come for me."

He kissed you gently as you felt his dick ripping you apart, ruining you just the way you liked.

You came again, milking his cock and triggering his own orgasm.

"Fuck, Y/N!" Bucky came hard, chanting your name as his cum shot deep inside you.

After you both felt like you could breathe again, Bucky slowly slipped out and fell next to you on the bed.

His eyes had already started to close, his chest falling and rising evenly as he searched for your body, pulling you close to him.

You both fell asleep and for the first time in decades, Bucky’s demons didn’t haunt him in his dreams.

The sun was rising and you had been awake for a long time, your mind racing as the events of just a few hours ago played in your head.

Demons weren’t born. They were forged in hell.

You were made with one purpose only, to serve Lucifer and torture the souls that lost themselves into perdition. The lack of your own soul was never a problem as you spent your days in the pits of hell. But now? Joining Lucifer on Earth showed you just how much you couldn’t have.

Bucky reminded you of what you couldn’t have.

As the man woke up, he felt an unusual sense of cold enveloping him, and that’s when he noticed your body was no longer pressed against his.

Opening his eyes, he noticed a small note resting on top of the pillow you had laid in, all night long, as he held you in his arms.

I’m not one to break a deal, your nightmares were gone for this night just like they always will be from now on.

Don’t worry about your part of the deal, you’ve paid me already.

And before you get any ideas, I’m not a name on your make amends list, you can’t help me, Mr. Barnes. Do not come looking for me again.

Sweet dreams, James.

#bucky barnes #bucky oneshot #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #demon reader #marvel one shot

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slightlycrunchy · 3 years

Text

pre-slash geraskier, angst with happy ending, whump, bodyswap, hc

1800 words

Enjoy!

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

“Dammit Jaskier, did you really have to call her that—“

Geralt stops mid-sentence, hand flying up to his own throat to stop the sound that has come from his mouth. He’s panting slightly, the witch having thrown them through a shoddy excuse for a portal into some endless partition of wilderness.

It looks like Velen. He’s sure it’s Velen.

His fingers crawl up his throat to his face, feeling slight stubble instead of the beard Geralt has grown over their weeks on the Path, which blankets a thinner face than Geralt is accustomed to. He looks down, expecting to see leather armor covering black cloth, the straps that cross his chest to hold his swords at his back, only to see silk; red, and gleaming with gold stitching across his torso.

Jaskier’s favorite.

He curses inwardly, kicks himself mentally for bringing the damn bard along. Of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, of course just as Geralt had finished his business with her and was accepting payment the foppish dandy had to go run his mouth.

“My dear, I thought witches could keep themselves young forever, and well, I think we can all see that maybe you aren’t as powerful as you try to appear—“

The bard had got no further than that. Witches and mages have notoriously short tempers and Jaskier knows this—and yet, here they are.

Thrown away like refuse and trapped in each others’ bodies.

Geralt can feel the snarl on his lips and it feels entirely wrong, the shape of his mouth pulling where usually it would not. He feels small and light, where usually the bulk of his own muscle would weigh him down at every turn, and as he lifts his hand to marvel at the foreign sensations, he gapes at his long and slender fingers.

Geralt has always felt…something about Jaskier’s hands, something he struggles to name. Sometimes he thinks it admiration—for their ability and their elegance. Where Geralt’s are toughened by hard labor and age, Jaskier’s have always been the complete opposite.

Geralt has held them, a time or two, and the almost feminine quality to them is a novelty. He looks at them now, controlling them as he clenches and spreads them, flipping them over to see unblemished skin and pale knuckles. He’s so engrossed for a moment that the rest isn’t noticed immediately.

Silence.

Pure, blessed silence.

It surrounds him, like a cocoon, like thick wool wrapped up to his ears in softness and calm. Geralt has lost his age—he stopped caring decades ago, after all, the information does him no good—but he knows he’s over a century by now, and yet he can’t remember the last time he felt like this. A time when every snap of a twig or breath of the people around him could be heard and analyzed for danger. Hypervigilance. Always, always Geralt is ready. For his next fight, his next job, the next time he must defend himself from the world that dislikes him for no good reason. His time before the trials is blurry at best, forgotten at worst, and he decides right now that this is the most peace he’s ever felt.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Ger-Geralt,” Jaskier gasps as he falls to his knees inside a witcher’s body.

It’s strange hearing his own voice sound so vulnerable, broken, breathy and quiet as he rushes to Jaskier’s side while the bard’s chest—his own chest—rises and falls rapidly. The comfortable silence inside his mind is restless now; Jaskier’s suffering is loud and insistent in an intangible way. It always has been.

“It burns Geralt—“ Jaskier bites out between clenched teeth, canines long and conspicuous. It’s strange seeing his own body like this, housing Jaskier’s soul, his very being. It clenches something in Geralt’s chest that he has not time to name.

“Jaskier, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Had the witch done something else to him? In her anger had she cursed the bard, hurt him in some other way? He can’t smell blood—but then again he wouldn’t be able to now, would he?

Jaskier’s body is heaving, on his knees and doubled over like some wounded thing. Geralt can see tears fall and hit the dirt, nails scrabbling for purchase at Geralt’s borrowed forearm, nearly tearing at the thick fabric of Jaskier’s frivolous doublet.

“My head, it’s exploding— It’s too much— How do you…” Jaskier starts and stops and slowly, in horror, the reality washes over Geralt.

While Geralt enjoys his first peace in an era, Jaskier has been dropped into a pit of torture.

Immediately Geralt places slender hands over Jaskier’s ears, attempting to muffle the onslaught of sensation that he must feel. Every sound, every vibration must be pounding at Jaskier’s head, wave after wave of movement, life, the earth shoving its way into Jaskier’s consciousness.

Jaskier’s golden eyes connect with Geralt’s borrowed blue, wide and wet, before he promptly turns and vomits onto the ground.

“Jaskier, I’m sorry, I’m sorry just—hold on.”

He doesn’t know what to do. They’re an unknown distance from the one who caused this—from relief—and yet Jaskier can hardly handle minutes of this. Jaskier chokes and spits, his entire body trembling under Geralt’s palms and the witcher can do nothing but stroke gentle thumbs over wet cheeks. It hurts him when Jaskier rises again, looking with pained eyes at Geralt. He doesn’t speak, Geralt isn’t sure if he really can, yet his eyes plead with Geralt to end it, please I can’t take it.

Geralt doesn’t know how he understands these words without hearing them, but they only drive the stake further into his heart.

Jaskier is suffering, and it’s Geralt’s fault.

He can remember, now especially, how those first weeks had been at Kaer Morhen after the trials were complete. Utter agony and sleepless nights as he withered away with the inability to keep anything down. Sound, feeling, pain overwhelming him constantly until his body could adjust. He remembers the fevers, Vesemir by his bedside with cool cloths and the kindest words he could remember hearing in recent memory.

He thought he would die.

“End it, please I don’t want to do this anymore—“

But he had survived…and somewhere along the way he had forgotten the beginning, the mutagens running through his veins like fire and adding to the never ending harshness of his new life. Now, however, he remembers in startling clarity.

Jaskier won’t survive this.

Geralt brings Jaskier to his smaller chest, forcing one ear against his rabbiting, human heart all while holding his hand closed over the other—acting as a beacon, a point of focus for Jaskier’s hearing that takes in everything around them. It won’t fix anything, but Geralt hopes it will help. Jaskier shivers, his breaths stuttered and sick, gasps taken between chattering teeth. Geralt knows his real body will be fine, it hasn’t stopped being a witcher’s after all, no matter who holds the reins, but Jaskier’s mind…humans were not built for this. They are fragile, temporary things.

Geralt feels panic bubble up within him and it is a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Geralt feels fear, contrary to popular belief, though not for himself. He has felt fear on behalf of others many times, but it is dull, manageable. He can easily breathe through it and tackle the situation at hand, the slow beat of his heart keeping the adrenaline from flooding his veins. But Jaskier’s body is mortal and weak in this regard, and he feels it slam into him, sharp and all encompassing as his stomach lurches when the bard falters beneath his palm, sagging with exhaustion so quickly that Geralt struggles to hold him up. Geralt’s borrowed muscles strain, but they hold; to be honest, Jaskier’s body is stronger than Geralt would have given him credit for.

He tightens his hold on the bard, and a thought suddenly occurs to him.

“Jaskier, you’re going to be alright, I want you to listen to my voice.”

Jaskier’s voice has always been calming to Geralt, and so he does the only thing he can think of: he talks.

About what, he doesn’t know; he certainly doesn’t have the wherewithal to make a coherent storyline, but he babbles all the same. He speaks of Roach and his contracts, his brothers and his childhood—the good parts that he remembers and his early days on the Path.

All the while he runs hands through white strands, putting a pleasant (he hopes) pressure against Jaskier’s scalp. He remembers Eskel doing this for him in those early days; it helped. He hopes it helps now.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there awkwardly upon the ground, Geralt’s untrained legs falling numb as his knees begin to ache. The time doesn’t matter, only keeping the pain at bay, the war against Jaskier’s fragile mind as it rages and slashes at the door.

Eventually Jaskier’s stamina gives out, and he falls, but only so far. Geralt catches him, and after folding his legs out from beneath him with a grimace, lays his actual body against his borrowed one, Jaskier’s head falling to the side in his unconsciousness. All the while long, slender fingers never stop carding through white strands.

Geralt lets the panic ebb away, having come up with a plan some time ago while holding Jaskier so close they practically felt like one. Jaskier’s bag lays to Geralt’s right, just at arms length and inside he knows the xenovox is cradled between extra pairs of garish clothing. When Geralt had remembered, he had never been so happy that Jaskier tended to keep his things on him rather than tied up with Roach.

Roach. With a sigh Geralt realizes he needs to find her too. Another thing to take care of after the witch.

He won’t forgive her for what she’s done.

With ginger movements so as to not wake the sleeping bard on his lap, he grabs the bag and soon finds what he is looking for. He savors the moment of quiet that has descended in Jaskier’s sleep, letting the panic and fear that tastes bitter on his tongue disappear into a practiced ease.

Yennefer will be annoyed with him, and once Geralt has gotten over what has just happened, he in turn will be annoyed with Jaskier. The bard got them into this mess after all. But as he looks down on Jaskier, his own sleeping form—a shudder going through him at the wrongness of it all—he decides perhaps not.

The bard has gone through enough, after all.

A voice comes over the device, slightly muffled and crackling, “Geralt?”

“Yen.”

“The bard? What are you doing with this, this wasn’t for your use.”

“Yen, it’s Geralt.”

Silence rests between them for a moment, the only sound Geralt hears with his human ears being the rustling of wind through the trees around him. He tries to savor it.

She sighs. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

He smiles.

#the witcher #geraskier #angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #fic

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

The Rising Lady

Pair: Alcina/The Duke

Summary: Alcina, in the middle of her growth spurt, struggles to get used to her size and the gawking and commentary that comes with it. She finds common ground with The Duke who also seems to draw many stares. (AU Where Alcina knew the Duke before her mutation.)

AN: This is another experimental piece. Warning for fat shaming.

Sometimes she wishes that she could be more like The Duke. The way that he handles things with a jest and a hearty chuckle. He is hard to phase and words seem to roll right off of him. For it, he is a lucky man.

Perhaps it is that he is used to the remarks and the stares.

At best, Alcina finds them rude. At best she can offer them a scowl and comment on the impoliteness of their ogling. Mostly it makes her uncomfortable. Mostly she finds herself shifting and squirming in her chair. People never paid her much mind before, not after Miss D put down her microphone and retreated back into the shadows of her castle to endure her faulty genetics.

She is a quiet woman and was perfectly content to be an unremarkable one to boot. Sometimes she thinks that it was a mistake to trade disease for…

She stares down the extended length of her body…

For whatever this is.

She is a large woman and sometimes she still feels growing pains. Every now and then they shoot up and down her spine, along her arms and legs. Her chest and rear ache with it and on occasions, her belly. And on the worst of days she can feel the tingling sensation of the mutation in her face. On the most unbearable days it is an all over pain--on these days she grows most noticeably.

On these days she is on the floor screaming, tears streaming down her face as she begs her body to settle.

Sometimes she doesn’t think that she will stop growing. She doesn’t know what she will do when she is too tall to even duck under the doorways. She has to get new clothes, a new bed, new chairs…

And every time she does, she grows taller still. It isn’t becoming on her in the slightest. It is grotesque and sickening.

And to delicately salt a rapidly widening wound, stretchmarks have begun to decorate her chest, thighs, and tummy. Perhaps when she was some two decades younger, she thought herself attractive. She thinks that her beauty has waned since then, it was bound to…

But this? This is stealing from her the last fragments of her youth and an unhealthy portion of her confidence. And this time she is finding it difficult to put on a bolder facade. Truth be told she is terrified. She doesn’t know what she is becoming.

She is too big for her own skin. Her body is too big for the mind locked within it. And these days if feels like one very spacious prison.

She catches a glance of The Duke sitting on the other end of the ballroom. She wonders if the man had ever felt the same. She has known him for many years. She knew him when he was merely a boy. She knew him when he was much slimmer. Relatively speaking anyhow. She supposes that people always stared at him, have always had some comment to make about his size.

And maybe this is exactly why it bothers him none.

The village folk stare at him too. “How does that tiny cart hold up such a large man?” They ask.

“That’s no man, that’s a…” cow, hippo, elephant, bull--Alcina wonders which they will pick this time.

“I think even elephants ain’t that big.” Responds another man. “That thing could kill an elephant, I reckon.”

And somehow, Alcina finds herself furious on his behalf. Furious where he only chuckles and says, “Just give me a chance and good footwear and I can wrestle a rhino with my bare hands!”

Maybe this is why he is left well alone after the initial remark. Of she and her transformation they say more unpleasant things, crass and vile things. Things that she doesn’t like to repeat even privately to herself.

She no longer feels right in her body, if she had ever felt secure in it at all. And sometimes she feels like an object. They make her feel like an object between their open stares, their routy whistling, and their constant remarks.

Somewhere down the lines she stopped being Miss D. And then she stopped being Alcina Dimitrescu. She is now, ‘the big lady’, ‘the tall lady’.

Alcina burrows deeper into her coat, she tries to anyhow, only to find that she has grown even further. Alcina closes her eyes and very silently begs her coat to just fit, but she can’t seem to reach it across her bosom, much less get it to button up. Perhaps she is, in her dismay, only imagining it, but her shoes feel tighter and when she looks down she can swear that her legs are longer still. Hadn’t her coat reached past her knees only moments before?

She has gotten quite used to waking up to find herself less comfortable in her bed and night gown. But this? She hasn’t ever grown before her very eyes.

And she feels nothing at all.

She wishes that a soreness or a burning sensation would accompany her growth. At least then she would know for sure that her mind isn’t playing tricks on her. She hasn’t even that sort of reassurance.

She has reached eight feet now.

Eight dizzying, disorienting feet.

“Look at the big lady!” The girl can’t be older than twelve. “She’s even bigger now!” She doesn’t draw her brother’s attention but also the attention of nearly the entire market square. Everyone should like to take a gander at the strange, big lady.

At least now she knows that it isn’t her imagination.

Her clothes suddenly feel much too tight for her, much less breathable. She isn’t sure if it is a physical sensation or the product of anxiety that grows at a rate faster than her body. She hugs her arms around her chest. She was a fool to trust Mother Miranda.

Beautiful, youthful, and healthy Mother Miranda, who has swapped one of her torments for a new one.

At least a blood disease is rather common. At least it is expected of a Dimitrescu woman. This...she clutches herself tighter…is unnatural. This is...

“Good evening m’lady.” The Duke greets. She feels the bench dip under the weight of him and frets that it will splinter under their combined weight. “Having a dreary evening?”

Alcina nods, “I can’t leave my castle without getting stared at.”

“Aye...of course they are staring, you are a beautiful lady, Miss D.”

She clears her throat. “You are a charming man.” She notes. “But I don’t think that, that is why they’re staring at me.”

He offers a sympathetic chuckle. “Yes, perhaps not.” He shifts from side to side, it takes her a moment to realize that he is feeling for a lighter in his side pockets. Upon finding it, he plucks a cigar from his chest pocket. “Fancy a smoke?”

“A drink would be more helpful.” She confesses.

“You’ll make me waddle all the way back to my stall?”

“If you’ll be so kind, Duke.”

For only a moment, the time that it takes him to walk to his stall and back, attention is taken from her. Her heart aches for the man; he’s a strange one but a good natured one. Perhaps the only gentleman left in this damnable town. And they treat him with such disrespect and mockery. It isn’t enough to rudely gawk. No, they also have to mimic his wide gait and make attempts to shove him over.

By God, were she him she would shove them down and crush them. He could be quite a punishing force were he a cureler man. She wonders how long it will take before the villagers make a game of trying to topple her. She wonders how long it will take before she grows sick of them and tests her own strength. She can’t imagine that this body is just for show. It isn’t as frail an delicate as the one she’d had before.

“You gonna share with the lady or is that all for you?” She hears someone quip.

“If it was for me there’d be a lot more food than this!” He declares proudly. He comes back with a bottle of wine and a raspberry spongecake.

“You spoil me, Duke.” She takes the treat.

“You have been having a troubling week, Lady Dimitrescu. I thought that I would bake something special for you.” He takes a drag from his cigar.

She could very much use special. It is nice to feel special and sometimes the Duke makes her feel just that. “How do you do it?” She inquiries.

“Hmm?”

“How do you put up with all of the leering and commentary.”

“Truth be told, m’lady, I’ve been hearing it my entire life. Remarks lose their impact when you’ve heard the worst of them incessantly.”

Incessant. That is a good word for what the remarks are. “At least they aren’t constantly salivating over your chest, Duke.”

“You would be surprised, m’lady. They might fancy my chest more than yours.” He wiggles his brows.

“You disgusting oaf.” She grumbles.

He only laughs louder, it is the deep and booming sort. “I jest.” He says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Honest, I just.”

Alcina sighs, “you jest too much for you own good, I think.”

“Perhaps so.” He replies. His expression growing suddenly and uncharacteristically dim. “But if I didn’t jest, I don’t know that I’d be able to smile at all.”

“That’s how you do it.” She nods. “You make jokes so that they cannot.”

“It’s a learned skill.” He confirms. “You won’t need comedy, Miss D. You have sophistication and a pretty face.”

She thinks that her pretty face may be part of the problem. A double edged sword that brings her a last scrap of confidence at the same time as it seems to attract the most dull of men. “My face isn’t what troubles me, Duke.”

The man nods. “I can imagine. You have changed. And not slowly either. It must be difficult to adjust.”

“Yes.” She takes another dainty nibble of her cake and a less than refined swig of wine.

“Well those simpletons would do well to respect you. I mean look at you…” she tries not to do that. “You can break any one of them.”

“Why haven’t you? Crushed one of them I mean.”

“I could but then I’d be down a customer. They have a lot to say until I tell them that the shop’s closed and they’ll have to get their wears elsewhere. They’re all gentlefolk then. Hell, they’re even willing to pay double.”

“At least someone in this town has intellect.”

“And it’s all right here.” He chuckles with a sturdy pat to her knee.

Her face flushes lightly, “it isn’t quite as lonely when you make your rounds, Duke.” She doesn’t feel quite so freakish when he is around. And maybe it is that they are very like each other. They are both big people. Perhaps the both of them have outgrown this loathsome village. If only fleetingly, she wonders what it would be like to escape it with him. To find a new place and live out the rest of her days in the man’s company. But then she comes back to herself and she knows that she cannot. She is an oddity in this village, a thing to marvel at in a place teeming with bizarre things and curiosities. To stray to another? Impossible.

A silence falls between them. He watches smoke lazily drift up to the sky and she, for what must be the hundredth time, studies and scrutinizes her body. Tries to make herself comfortable in a chair that is meant for people several feet shorter. Tries to make herself comfortable in skin and bones that have stretched well beyond what they were supposed to. At curves that are too new and too pronounced for her comfort.

She steals a glance at the Duke. He leans back, one hand holds the cigar in place and the other rests upon his stomach. He looks quite relaxed. He looks cozy and self-assured.

Perhaps in due time she will learn to appreciate her supple curves and accept what she has become.

Perhaps in due time she, like the Duke, will have a confidence to match with her size.

#Alcina Dimitrescu #Lady Dimitrescu #Alcina/The Duke #Resident Evil #Fanfiction

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itsamejin · 4 years

Text

goodbye || yoongi angst

Part 2

Summary: Yoongi watched silently as you exited the car and out of his life, but he can’t help but feel a sense of panic at the thought of you leaving him for good.

Warning: cursing, fighting (verbal)

Genre: angst

Premise: Yoongi drives off without you after a heated argument and now you’re gone.

Commission Request: @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom

Word Count: 3,434 words

—

Yoongi doesn’t quite remember when this heated conversation started or how it really ended either. He just recalls how furious you were leaving the restaurant you two had reserved weeks before for your anniversary and how he was left to clean up the mess. Wine was spilled onto the white table sheets and he had to pay the waiter extra for leaving in such a hurry.

Now here he was, driving silently with you sulking in the passenger seat. Even as he sat in the car, hands on the steering wheel, he couldn’t help but feel like you were the one driving with how closely you kept your eyes on the road. You glared at the view in front of you, paying him no attention. His throat itched to say something, anything to break this uncomfortable silence.

“Are you gonna stop being mad at me now?” he asks, annoyed with the little puffs of breathing you would make just to spite him. “Did you get it all out of your system yet?”

You had shouted in the restaurant, loud enough for the other patrons to hear and tense up at the sound of your voice. When the waiter had come to calm you down, you had stomped out of the restaurant.

He was sure the conversation started on the topic of you possibly adopting a new pet, but it somehow morphed into a whole debate about his bad habit of staying cooped up in his studio until the break of dawn. You wanted him to spend more time with you and he wanted you to be more understanding. It was the same old argument you two had, rehashed into a different day.

“Well you’re still being an asshole,” you start, rolling your eyes, “so I don’t want to fucking talk to you until you apologize.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. It always seemed to be his fault in situations like this and you always had to pout like a child to make him feel bad. He was getting sick of this- of trying to constantly figure out what you wanted from him. It’s like you two would try to communicate like all those other stable couples, but the wrong words would spill from your mouths each time.

“We didn’t even get to eat,” he mutters under his breath, slightly hoping that you would hear him just to piss you off even more. If you wanted to be grumpy the whole way through then he too could play that game.

“You’re such a dick you know that?” you sigh, shaking your head at his words.

“How could I not when that was all you were screaming about,” Yoongi replies as he rolls his eyes. He yielded at a stop sign, making sure to still abide by the law even though he was fuming with frustration. “You made a fucking scene and embarrassed the hell out of us.”

You scoffed. From what you remember, he was the one trying to escalate the argument when you calmly tried to convince him of getting a dog. It was a rescue- a St. Bernard that would make a mess from time to time, but you were fine with taking care of it by yourself. He had said no so quickly and a little too disdained that you switched the conversation to something more light-hearted. You asked him a day when he wouldn’t be too busy to go on a date and somehow that had pissed him off even more. To you, it felt like he hated the sight of you lately.

“I ask you for something simple. ‘Hey Yoongi, we haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe we should go out more?’ But, no! You say the same fucking thing about focusing on your music like you haven’t been doing that for almost a decade. You’d think after three years of dating I’d be more of a priority by now...”

Yoongi grits his teeth. That’s not what he said back there and that’s clearly not what he meant either. He was frustrated that you changed the topic when clearly you two weren’t done discussing about the dog yet. He didn’t want to suddenly walk home one day and find some mutt lying on the apartment floor without his permission. You guilt-tripping him to go on a date with you so quickly after you demanded for a dog didn’t sit well with him either.

“It’s my job, you can’t ask me to just forget about my job just so we can go on dates with each other,” he sighs, attempting to calm his nerves by squeezing the steering wheel a bit tighter. “You know how sensitive I am about my work.”

You scoff in response.

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “I’ll always be the second choice. I know that by now Yoongi.”

Yoongi bit his lip and shook his head.

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” he says, exasperated. “I would never pin you and my work against each other-”

“And if you had to?” you ask menacingly. “If I fucking asked you right now if you would choose me over your music, what would you say?”

Yoongi sighs deeply. This was not the direction he wanted this conversation to go in and this was not the direction he was supposed to be taking the car either. He glares at the GPS as it reroutes, avoiding eye contact with you simultaneously.

“You know how fucking self-centered that question is,” he replies, venom laced in his voice. It felt like this conversation always comes back every few months, your words grating in the back of his mind until the next outburst would pop up. “I’m not gonna fucking answer. You know I’d actually really appreciate it if you would just get to the point and stop being a bitch.”

You scoff at him. There he goes again. When he was left speechless, he’d resort to calling you names and giving excuses. It didn't matter to you what the outcome would be, but you wanted to see this argument until the end.

“Yoongi, what is the point really?” you snide, crossing your arms over your chest as if forming a shield around you. “Is it how I said I wanted a dog because I was getting lonely at the apartment?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“You can get the fucking dog, I don’t care about the fucking dog [Y/N]-”

“Or is it how you ignored my calls when I had the flu so you can go drinking with your friends?”

“[Y/N] I literally apologized for that months ago, why the fuck-”

“Oh my god and how dare I ask for time with my boyfriend when I haven’t seen him properly in months, especially on our anniversary day!”

“You’re really pissing me off-”

“Or,” you raise your voice slightly, shifting in your seat as Yoongi slowed the pace of the car. “Was it when you accidentally called me while you were talking to Hoseok?”

Bingo.

Yoongi screeched the car to a stop. Your shared apartment was still miles away but he had stopped at a suburban block of townhouses to face you. His hands were shaking and he glared into the side of your head, beckoning for you to return his gaze. You refused, keeping the seat belt tightly against your chest as you stared at the night sky ahead of you.

“I said that when I was drunk,” he said slowly, intimidating you just a tad bit. “I thought we already went over this.”

You pursed your lips and shook your head, tears threatening to spill over your already puffy eyes.

“You can’t keep fucking saying ‘I apologized’ or ‘we went over this’ and expect me not to still feel hurt,” you say through trembling lips. “It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Yoongi adjusted himself on the driver’s seat so that he was facing you.

“Is that why you’ve been mad at me?” he asked seriously. “It’s not because of the dog?”

You sighed out of frustration, throwing your hands in the air.

“It was never about me wanting a fucking dog, Yoongi!” you scream.

—

“Hoseok, can I tell you something?” you hear through a call from Yoongi that seemed more like a butt-dial the more you listened to his drunken voice. You kept trying to get a response from him, but it seemed like he was talking to someone else.

“Dude, you're fucking wasted,” you could hear the sound of his group-mate’s chuckle on the other side.

“No, like seriously,” Yoongi whined. “It’s about [Y/N].”

“Girl troubles?”

“Nah, she’s just being dumb lately,” you heard him mutter. A tiny part of you had felt hurt, but then again you two had argued a bit before he drank. You would complain about him similarly to your own friends, so you couldn’t really judge him for talking shit about you.

“What did you do this time?”

“It’s not me this time, bro,” he said through his laughter.

“Really? Then what the hell did she do?”

“That’s the thing,” Yoongi said, slurring his speech to the point that you could barely understand him. “She hasn’t done anything and I still fucking find her annoying.”

Now that one hurt. It was no secret that Yoongi and you were going through a rough patch in your relationship, but to hear him talk about it in so much detail with his friend made you nauseated. It was an extremely uncalled-for insult and you weren’t sure if the tears that streamed down your face fully conveyed the ache in your chest.

“Relax, bro,” Hoseok says reassuringly. “Don’t say anything you’re gonna end up regretting later.”

“No, but seriously,” Yoongi protested. “Her voice is so fucking irritating lately and, like, I’m not even sure if I really like her anymore, you know?”

You could feel your heart crumble at the spot. No matter how bad an argument got, statements like that always went too far. How was Yoongi able to spit it out so easily?

“Okay man, we need you to sober up,” Hoseok sighed. “You sound dumb as hell right now.”

“Hoseok, I want to break up with her so fucking bad,” Yoongi sighed through the phone. “But like it’s been so long I feel like I should just wait it out and see if she wants to end things first.”

You could hear something drop from the other line.

“And now you’re on the fucking floor,” you hear Hoseok mutter. “Dude I think you butt-dialed someone. Oh shit-”

You took the phone away from your ear, not wanting to hear Hoseok apologize for stuff your stupid boyfriend said. You hung up the phone and wiped away your tears. Yoongi didn’t love you and you didn’t know what hurt more- the fact that he could say it while intoxicated or that he didn’t have the guts to tell you sober.

—

“Whatever I said that night wasn't me,” he said, trying to get you to face him. “You know that. I said it when I was mad at you and mad at myself and I will never say it again. I swear.”

You refused to even take a glimpse at him, grabbing your purse from the car floor and clutching it to your torso.

“I love you [Y/N],” he pleads. “I said that shit because I needed to get it out of my system. Please, at least... just look at me.”

You shake your head as you wipe away a tear from your eye.

“I don’t want to look at you,” you whisper solemnly. “All I fucking asked for was some time together and you think I’m ruining your career.”

He closes his eyes out of frustration. By now he thought you’d know the consequences of dating an idol.

“Because our relationship will ruin my career [Y/N], what aren’t you getting?” he replies. “The more dates I go out with you, the more people that watch us- the more people that criticize what we have.”

“Would that be so bad?” you say, finally staring up at him, but avoiding eye-contact. His heart clenched at the sight of you in pain. “Would it hurt you so much that we’re seen together?”

He shook his head.

“You’re twisting my words, I never said that,” he sighs.

“If you want to say you’re ashamed of me then-”

“That’s not what I’m fucking saying!” Yoongi screams, grabbing onto your shoulders to face him fully. “This isn’t just about us. I’ll be affecting the lives of so many people in my company, but I choose to still be with you despite the consequences because I love you-”

You detach yourself from his reach as your cries get louder. It hurt to hear him speak.

“This isn’t love anymore Yoongi,” you whimper, your purse falling onto the floor as you tried to breathe through the sobs. “You said it yourself, you’re annoyed with my fucking voice.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he says softly, stroking your cheek as you looked down at your lap. “You know I love you. I tell you all the time.”

You pushed his hand away from your face and looked up at him in anger.

“Do you, Yoongi? When was the last time you showed that to me?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. Why do you keep asking these questions.

“I’m making enough money to support us. I buy you gifts all the time,” he replies. Yoongi feels that he must’ve said something wrong as you verbally cringed at his words. “I’m literally paying for the fucking apartment we live in right now. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be doing all this for you to live a comfortable life!”

You scoff at his words. Clearly he thinks money solved all the issues in your relationship and that you should feel thankful for him being so “considerate”. You were sick with his reasoning, not really convinced that he even knew what you two were fighting about.

“Well how about this: I can’t fucking get a pet without asking for your permission; I can’t go out with you unless I wear something that conceals my identity; I can’t even fucking tell my friends or family that I’m in a relationship!” you scream as your sobs get louder and louder. “And I can’t even get you to spend some time with me without begging for your attention.”

His own tears had started to fall, staining the velvet seats of his car. You had looked so furious at the restaurant, but before him you were so very vulnerable. He can’t help but feel like he had broken you somehow. He realized then that he went too far- that maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut and let you air out your grievances.

“I’ll do better, I promise I will,” he says softly in an attempt to comfort you, patting your hair gently. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

You bring your hands to your eyes, crying into them as Yoongi tried to console you. It wasn’t working and you weren’t even sure if anything he could say would cheer you up at this point.

“I don’t even know you anymore, Yoongi,” you say between sobs.

“Yes you do,” he replies, albeit a bit aggressively. “Stop saying shit like that. You know me better than I know myself.”

You shake your head as you clicked out of the confines of the seat belt which suffocated you, but not as much as his touch was.

“We should have never gotten together,” you say harshly. “If dating you was just gonna end in me hating myself I would have much rather not known you existed.”

He blinked back from the harshness of your words. Where was this coming from?

“You don’t mean that,” he says softly. “I know you don’t mean that.”

You pursed your lips. He was making it so hard for you to leave and like always, he found a way to get you back into his arms with little difficulty. You always listened to him, always at his beck and call. It was tiring being in a relationship with you being the one at his mercy.

“I can’t do this anymore, Yoongi,” you say, pushing him away as you reach your hand out to open the door to the passenger car. “I can’t spend the rest of my life feeling like I’m not good enough to be with you.”

He holds onto your wrist before you do so.

“Just calm down,” he croaks. “Please.”

You shrug his arm off.

“I don’t want to,” you sob. “Just let me end this. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to leave first so that you wouldn't have to feel like the shitty one in the end?”

An uncomfortable silence formed between you as your words echoed in his ear. No matter how many times he apologizes, it seems like you weren’t willing to forgive him.

“If you leave, I’m not coming to get you,” he seethes. “If you leave, that’s you telling me you’re giving up on us.”

The first time that night, you looked directly into his chocolate eyes and with a new sense of determination, you opened the door.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you say, exiting the car finally and walking away from his sight.

He didn’t even notice how you had hesitated, how you secretly wished for him to beg for you to stay- that he would finally learn his lesson and apologize the right way. Without excuses and without pinning the blame on you.

Instead, Yoongi opted to punch his steering wheel and let out a groan as the pain in his fist formed. Were relationships supposed to be this hard? Was he supposed to fight for you every time you tried to walk out of his life? He didn't know anymore. If you wanted to come back then you would, it shouldn’t always be up to him.

—

Yoongi made it home safely, parking in front of your shared apartment, looking from his car window to see if the lights were on.

They weren’t.

Yoongi heaved out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. You weren't home yet and it was the dead of the night. ‘You know what, whatever,’ he thought to himself, ‘it’s none of my business anymore.’

He had assumed you got a taxi ride back home, but obviously he was proven wrong when he walked into the dark apartment, cool from the lack of heating. He went through each room and you weren’t anywhere in sight. He sighed. Was this really it? Did your relationship just end because he wouldn't let you get that stupid dog?

He could hear you crying out to him that it wasn’t about the dog- that it was him who ruined the relationship. Yoongi ignored that voice in his head, in fear of guilt taking over his body.

Yoongi tried to quell his solemn thoughts with a few cans of beer on the lonely living room couch, but nothing really numbed the pain enough for him to stop visualizing your tear stained face. It was the way you looked at him so sadly, so full of disappointment. He used to be able to tell why you were sad, pinpoint the exact reasons, but now he wasn’t sure anymore. He opened the fridge, greeted by the anniversary cake you had baked for him just the night before. He cringed at the sight of it as it made him feel even more regretful with how the night’s events unfolded.

Yoongi didn’t take the cake out and closed the fridge door. He didn’t know why it took a well made cake for him to realize that it was fucking stupid to let you walk out by yourself all alone. He moved to grab his cellphone to hopefully apologize and end the argument, but alas no answer. He tried several times again and nothing. He grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter and raced downstairs to his parked car. As he was about to start the engine, Yoongi saw from the corner of his eye that your phone was on the passenger seat.

It was fully drained of battery and the purse you were clutching so tightly just earlier was on the car floor. Immediately, panic had overcome his body and he banged his head on the steering wheel for how careless he had acted. You were missing and in a part of town that neither of you were familiar with. He groaned out of frustration, no longer angry at you but with himself.

“Why the fuck did I let her go?”

—

A/N: Finally getting around to finishing my commissions. Sorry for the delay @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom , but hopefully you like this first part! Thank you so much for your patience and for requesting something that I was really interested writing about. You are a *star*. I hate writing about arguments because they make me sad but I love the angst that comes with the aftermath LOL. Who do you side with more? Was Y/N too stubborn or was Yoongi too insensitive? Let me know!

PS. Currently working on it’s you part 2. I’m really busy with personal life stuff so please be patient with me. I love y'all <3

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joonkorre · 3 years

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(love) is a heartache

@drarrymicrofic prompt: hope is a heartache - léon

let it be known that harry goes through life purely on vibes. half of his reasons why for every decision at his big age are “idk imma just hope for the best”

ao3

People’s hearts twinge sometimes. For Draco, he can barely remember the last time he doesn’t have these twinges. It’s pretty normal at this point.

“No, it’s not,” Pansy says. She’s a Healer, so she’s probably right. But Draco prefers to ignore that.

“Leave it be,” Draco murmurs, lips against her scalp, “I’m fine. Say, are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah. You want to go somewhere?”

“Mm. Sleep.”

They go out the next morning, Pansy in thick makeup and Draco practically drunk under nine layers of Charms. The air is a bit humid, which seems to get worse when the bustling street intensifies in volume into a roaring din. Pansy pulls him under an awning, yanking at his sleeve a bit to try out her disgusting sugary coffee. She always does this whenever she wants to take his attention away from something, which means he just has to look at exactly where she’s doesn’t want him to. As his lips wrap around her lipstick-stained straw, he glances up.

Across the street, a couple strolls through a gushing crowd. Fiery red hair, airy laughter, a pale arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. Curls of black, sleek spectacles, a protective palm on his fiancee’s shoulder. They make the perfect picture, a vibrant oil painting. Their existence is formed from bold strokes of sunlight and starburst kisses, with the focal point being a shock of phthalo green and cadmium lemon, two minute specks that make all the difference. As all good paintings do, they pin the viewer on the spot, as if the viewer himself is a thing to behold. Then they shift away.

The exhibit moves forward and out of sight. It’s closing time, the viewer has overstayed his welcome.

Something leaps in Draco’s chest and splatters on the floor of his stomach. Placing her hand over his heart, Pansy frowns at him. She doesn’t ask why Potter stared at someone who looked like a stranger to him. Only tells him to start finding answers.

Months later, on the most awaited day in recent Wizarding history, there’s a knock on Draco’s door.

He throws on a sweater, and a throw, too, for good measure. Ambling to the door, he checks the mail slot before peeking through the peephole. Nobody but a package is outside. Draco hums and unlocks his door, crouching down the moment it opens. What feels like soft satin brushes against his cheek, cool and smooth. With a flash, a pair of shiny dress shoes appear before him.

“Draco.”

Draco peers up as he rises, hands around the package. Potter has his maddening Invisibility Cloak slung over his arm, his roguish charm heightened by a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. A tiny posy is pinned on his left lapel, muted green hellebores with a few sprigs of privet berries. He’s dressed like a man in love.

Draco feels something he hasn’t felt in months at the sight. He’s trained himself to suppress it the moment it showed itself and has been relatively successful until now. The sting, without warning, bursts from within his chest, calling forth a slight wince. Potter’s brows furrow.

"How do you know where I live?"

“How long has this been going on?”

Draco frowns. “Pardon?”

“That,” Potter gestures at Draco’s chest. “The heartache.”

He rears back. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? At Potter’s unchanging expression, Draco shoves his hair out of his face with a quiet huff and puts a hand on the doorknob.

“It’s none of your business. Please leave.”

“It is, actually,” Potter stops the closing door with one arm.

“Excuse me? We haven't had a proper conversation in more than a decade and suddenly you want to act like we're friends? Leave, now.”

“Listen to me. How can it not be my business when I feel it, too?”

“Check with a Healer, then. If you can put past grudges aside, I can hand you Pansy Parkinson’s business card,” Draco grits through his teeth, pushing against the door with his entire body, his throw slipping to the ground.

“Draco, stop, I already know, stop.”

“Know what? No, I don't care. Leave at once, else I’d alert the Aurors.”

A rough slam sends Draco staggering back. Potter pants, hard lines on his face. His chest heaves under his crisp white shirt, its top two buttons unclasped, and he steps over the threshold, closing the door.

“You think they’d believe you?”

The pain shoots from his chest to the rest of his body, and for several seconds, his lungs wouldn’t work. He whips his head away from Potter, who groans and sags against the wall.

“I told you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, that was a shitty thing to say,” Potter says immediately, sweat dotting his temples.

After an uncomfortable pause, clearing his throat, he picks up the near-forgotten package from the carpet. His hand feels around the outline of the object within, rectangular and heavy. Glancing at Draco, he says hoarsely. “I know why you bought this book.”

“Know this, know that, you know nothing,” Draco lunges forward, only for Potter to twist out of the way and raise the package out of his reach.

“The Life-long Burden of Dark Curses: A Caution by Elise Arrowlane, limited edition,” he says, unbothered by Draco’s slackened jaw. “You ordered it from the new bookstore on Diagon months ago. You were small and old and grey, but I recognized you. I always could.”

“Okay,” Draco sneers, “so you’re a stalker. Old news. Anything else?”

“There’s no need to order one. I would’ve borrowed it from Hermione if you had only asked,” Potter says. “Instead, I got curious and read it for myself. That’s how I connected the dots about the heartache, how I realized we’ve both had it since that day years ago.”

“Oh, the day you slashed me into ribbons and almost cut through my heart?” Draco clenches his jaw.

Being able to shout this ugly kind of truth into the perpetrator’s face feels oddly liberating. That is, if liberation also comes with a specific kind of agony that makes Draco want to fall to his knees.

“Dark Magic leaves a mark on both the wizard and their victim, doesn’t it? No need for a book to tell us that,” Potter says, the harsh afternoon glow of him gentled by the soft lamplight in Draco’s hallway. “In certain cases, it even leaves a link. A connection.”

Draco bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. The only consequence from that horrid night was his fucked up heart and nothing else, nothing at all. Whatever Potter is insinuating, he hates it. He hates this. He hates him.

“How are you so sure there’s a connection.”

“I wasn’t,” Potter says. “The Healers said it’s a health thing I developed after the War and I just needed to avoid strenuous activity. I didn’t think much of it, but then I read the book and realized that it usually flared up whenever you watched me.”

Scoffing, Draco turns and stalks into the kitchen. Walking past the boiling kettle, he throws a cabinet door open and grabs a mug, his hand trembling.

“Interesting how my health suffers when I see the bastard who quite literally carved me open.”

“I was eating dinner when I thought I was going to die of a heart attack at 23,” Potter continues. Draco pulls the drawers out, unable to find a single bag of tea for several excruciating moments. “The next day, I was reading about your mother’s death on the Daily Prophet. That was the first sign.”

Grabbing a rag and wetting it, Draco wipes the countertop even as he’s just done so last night.

“When Ginny saw you on the street during our date and extended her hand toward you, you shook it. But your heart ached.

“I saw you looking at the picture of Ginny and I kissing on the front page of Witch Weekly. Your hair was brown and your back was curved, but I saw you. Your heart ached.

“When I announced my engagement to her on the Battle of Hogwarts’s 10th Anniversary, you were clapping along with everyone else. But your heart ached.”

Draco throws the rag on the counter. The kettle whistles, a piercing sound. “What’s your point? Are you here purely to flaunt your relationship and imply that I’m in love with Ginevra Weasley? If so, I got it. Thank you so very much, it’s been enlightening. Now get out.”

“The point is,” Potter says, lifting the kettle off the burner to pour it into Draco’s mug, placing his tea bag in, “unless the article about you being gay was wrong, Ginny isn’t the one you’re in love with.”

“What arti—” Draco stops. “That was years ago.”

His sexuality was leaked to some irrelevant gossip rag, not even making the front page. Nobody noticed, nothing changed, and it hasn’t entered his mind in what feels like forever until Potter reminds him.

“I remember.”

“You—” Draco frowns. His eyes strain on the cup of tea until they hurt. He squeezes them shut, sighing. “It doesn’t prove anything. Perhaps I’m jealous of my childhood nemesis having a better life than me, ever thought of that?”

“Yeah,” Potter says, “I’ve thought about this a lot. Which is why I’m here. To make sure.”

Draco takes it in, then, unable to help himself, curls his lips at Potter and his attire. At his artfully gelled hair, his hanging bow tie, the elegant boutonniere on the lapel of his dark blue suit. His empty ring finger.

“Couldn’t you have chosen a better date to make sure? Preferably before your wedding day?”

Potter steps closer. A respectable distance away, but closer.

“I could’ve, but I spent most of those days in denial. Then the dots connected and I couldn’t deny it anymore, so I decided to just go through with the wedding regardless, be with the woman I loved. Hoped that maybe the odd emotions I had would go away,” he shrugs, raising his eyes to meet Draco’s. “Saw Ginny at the end of the aisle and, well, I couldn’t stop thinking that it should’ve been someone else. All this time, I’ve thought that she didn’t feel… right in my arms, but I pushed it down. And there she was in that white dress.

“Seeing that today was the last straw. I had to leave.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat. Swallowing it down, he grabs his mug, scooping out the tea bag just to have something to do. He takes a sip without blowing, ignoring its scalding heat.

“That was stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Draco can feel a headache building. “That was a horrible decision. I never imagined you—you!—out of all people, could be this irresponsible. What the fuck.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Merlin, that poor fucking woman. If your purpose here is to make me feel bad for Ginevra and all 300 of her relatives for once in my life, you’ve succeeded, congratulations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that to me, say that to—oh, you’d do what you want no matter what I say, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends on the situation.”

“‘Depends on the situation,’ he says,” Draco mocks, getting a carton of milk from the fridge to save his bitter, bitter tea. Potter doesn’t reply. Stirring the milk in, Draco lets out a heavy sigh.

“What do you want me to do about this?” He says. “I didn’t make you run out of your own wedding. If you expect me to take the blame for your inane decisions, the first person I Floo wouldn’t be the Aurors, but Ginevra Weasley herself.”

A small smile graces Potter’s lips. “I don’t expect anything from you but honesty.”

Draco squints.

“And how will you know if what I say is a lie? Will you reject my genuine answer if it’s not what you want to hear?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Potter says. “I trust your heart will speak the truth for us both.”

There’s a pang in Draco’s chest, and judging from the twitch of Potter’s brow, he can feel it too. Not another word is said, the two men merely facing each other from across a tiny kitchen, considering. Draco can feel the warmth of sunlight beaming through the little window and coating his nape as he leans against the sink, earl grey on his tongue. Lovely citric notes of bergamot drift up his nose. He closes his eyes. What to do, what to do.

Weightless oxfords clack against the yellowed tiles, clear and bright in Draco’s ears. Fabric rustles as Potter slips a hand into his pocket only to retrieve it a second later. Draco lets himself be cornered, barely glancing at the wool-clad arms caging either side of his waist. A clink catches his attention, however, and he tilts his head to the left.

Millimeters beside Draco’s hand on the counter, glinting in the sun, is a wedding band. Draco knows Potter and Ginevra’s in and out, has examined the picture on that day’s issue of the Daily Prophet more times than he should have. He knows the marquise droplets of Ginevra’s gems and the chevron curve of her ring, the blankness of Potter’s own band a dream and a question in his mind.

The band that’s resting on the counter is different. Rustic gold and a fissure in the middle, the fertile earth splitting open to reveal a stream of diamonds, a sparkling river. Draco sets his mug to the side and holds the ring up close, his finger smoothing over the grooves of its texture.

“Did you make a stop at a jewelry store before breaking into my home?” He asks.

“No,” Harry murmurs. Draco looks at him in surprise. “I’ve had this with me for months.”

A pause.

“I thought you said you were in denial.”

“I was, but I knew, somewhat, that I wanted someone else,” Harry’s head lowers, slow and careful, until his forehead rests against Draco’s shoulder. “I told myself that I just liked the way it looked, had to get it in case I didn’t want the other ring anymore. But I got it a size smaller. Been carrying it in my pocket ever since.”

Draco’s heart throbs and throbs. Large hands circle his waist, bunching up the back of his sweater and pressing him close, chest to chest. A blanket of pure heat envelops his body as he breathes in the timeless saffron and neroli of cologne, half-lidded eyes pinned on the band he’s given. Oh, dear, he thinks, and again when it settles at the base of his ring finger with ease, as if it belongs there and never left. Oh, dear.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #yeah erm harry isn't the brightest bean in the pod or whatever that saying goes #they'll work it out i promise #draco's idea of a first date would be dragging harry over to the weasleys and forcing him to give ginny a formal apology #like ok he doesn't care about her at all but having this woman's unhappiness on his conscience is unbearable #also i really like the idea of the sectumsempra fucking up draco's bodily functions #the scars are really cool but i especially like it when the consequences are idk more visceral and clearly lower draco's quality of life #im not gonna get into the whole connection thing bc idk either #just know that whenever draco feels something intensely #like grief fear jealousy and ooooh heartbreak #his heart throbs and harry also feels it #in this fic harry's secretly happy that despite the whole shitty heart thing there's an unbreakable connection between the two #he needs some work in this fic but he means well i assure yall #draco seeing harry canoodling w ginny and feeling his heart hurt: that was weird haha #joonkorre writes

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pretendingboyfriends · 4 years

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click here to add yourself to the taglist!

A/N: heyyyyyy i know this took a long time to finish BUT shit happens and mental health comes before fanfiction. anyways, i hope u guys love this part and pls do not hesitate to send comments, suggestions, etc. when you’re finished and pls don’t forget to reblog!! also, thank u @sunflowers-styles and @fromyourstrulyh for beta-ing this part it would be a mess if u hadn’t <3

Warnings: angst, sadness, slightest bit of sexual tension, deidre being a bitch

Word count: 6.5k+

previous part . fic masterlist . fic playlist

Harry’s aching to talk to you. He still has no clue what he did wrong and he desperately wants to fix things, but you won’t even give him the chance–refusing to do so much as make eye contact with him when speaking. You’re humiliated. Not only because you wanted to kiss him, but also because you made it seem like he did something wrong. However, being your non confrontational self, you haven’t gained the courage to explain anything to him. Plus, you don’t want to make Deidre suspicious, so you force yourself to act just as casual as you had before and, of course, she hasn’t noticed a thing.

The day has been nothing out of the ordinary, you’re sprawled across the couch with your leg in the air, allowing your toe-nails to dry after their first coat of olive green nail polish. The weather is exceptionally nice and your hair is still wet from the dip in the pool you had taken earlier when the sun was significantly hotter than it is now. Harry left for groceries an hour or so ago and now you’re just waiting for Deidre to come out of the bedroom so that the two of you can go out and do something together.

“Okay, so-” She calls from the end of the hallway as she walks, “There’s this party tonight that the boys invited me to and I think you should come with me.”

You frown, swinging your legs back over the edge of the couch so that you can sit up straight and look at her. “What?”

She shuffles through the doorway in a crop top and skirt, her shoes clutched in her hand as she runs her fingers through her hair. “C’mon, It’ll be fun! We haven’t gone to a party together in ages.”

“I thought we were gonna go out together, just the two of us. Wasn’t that the whole purpose of this beach getaway? Just us spending time together?”

She shrugs, “I mean, we never really made a plan, it was just an idea.”

“Well, that’s not fair,” You bite, standing from your spot on the couch and crossing your arms over your chest. “I feel like it was implied that we were going to hang out tonight and now you’re going to some party with people you barely know?”

She rolls her eyes, “We can still hang out at the party!”

“No, Deidre, because I don’t want to go to a party with a bunch of people I don’t know!”

“Oh, come on,” She groans, “Nobody knows anyone at these parties, we’re all just there to have fun!”

“I still don’t want to go.”

“Fine. I’ll just go by myself, then.” She huffs, hunching over to slide her shoes on.

You take a deep breath, “I don’t think you should go either.”

“Oh my god,” She groans, “What are you, my mom?”

“No, I just think, as your best friend, that going to a party with a bunch of people you don’t know very well--a bunch of men you don’t know very well--isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s just a party, I don’t understand why you’re so worked up about it!” She yells, arms flailing around her in frustration as she walks across the living room to the door.

You drag both your hands down your face, groaning in exasperation. “Deidre, you met these guys a few days ago and they’re asking you to get drunk with them. How do you not see how dangerous that is?”

“They’re nice guys, they would never do anything to hurt me!”

“You don’t know that!” You retort, “For all you know, they could be planning to drug you and drag you back to a room to do who knows what to you!”

You hear the honking of a car horn coming from the front of the house and she huffs, shaking her head at you as she leans forward and grabs her purse from the coffee table. “I’m leaving. I’ll send you my location when I get there.” And with that, she’s gone.

You’re left alone in the house, the only sound that can be heard is the choked sob that erupts from your chest as soon as the screen door slams shut behind her. Tears spill down your cheeks with each sob, your body collapsing into the couch before you drop your head into your hands. All you can feel is anger, frustration, and anxiety. You’re concerned for Deidre, however, you’re also infuriated with her. She’s selfish; so selfish, in fact, that she doesn’t even consider that you and her entire family might be affected if anything terrible happens to her.

You sit there on the couch for what seems like decades, your body wracked with sobs as tears stream down your cheeks. Every emotion from the past few days has suddenly burst from within you and you’re unable to contain it.

Finally, after gathering your emotions as much as possible, you lift yourself from the couch and trudge to the kitchen for some comfort food. Swinging the fridge door open, your eyes almost immediately land on a large, unopened bottle of red wine.

“Fuck it.” You mutter, reaching forward and grasping the chilled, glass bottle by its neck. You place the bottle on the counter as you recklessly search for a corkscrew in one of the many drawers lining the countertop. Moments later, you’re mustering every bit of strength inside of you to open the bottle with the screw and after nearly 10 minutes of struggling, the cork pops out with a loud “THUNK”.

You sigh, reaching for the cabinet above you for a wine glass out of reflex, but you quickly decide against the use of a glass and gulp the liquid straight from the bottle. You know your behavior is reckless, but you can’t find a single part of you that cares. You need the pain and frustration to go away somehow and drowning them with an $11 bottle of wine would suffice for now.

Dragging yourself out to the patio, you allow the thick, heady liquid to slide down your throat and settle into your empty stomach as you plop yourself into one of the chairs. A loud rumble of thunder in the distance draws your attention from the bottle, causing you to pull it away from your lips for a moment. You watch as a faint, almost unnoticeable, drizzle gradually turns into a steady shower and then into a heavy downpour. The scarce amount of people that had been on the beach when you first stepped out onto the patio are now shoveling all of their belongings into their arms as fast as they can to avoid being trapped in the downpour.

Soon, the beach is completely vacant. Not a soul is in sight and, oddly enough, you’re drawn to it. Nearly two-thirds of the bottle is resting warmly in your stomach at this point, so your decision making skills are not the most reliable, but something’s telling you to go out and sit in the rain. So, after chugging the rest of the bottle (and quickly rushing inside to use the bathroom because alcohol on an empty stomach is like a free pass to pissing yourself), you allow your intoxicated brain to wisp you down the patio stairs and into the thick, sopping wet sand.

Your clothes have already begun to soak through from the rain as you stumble along the shore, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot from crying and your head is throbbing with every step you take. Then, you stop, allowing your body to drop down into the sand before looping your arms around your bent legs and tugging them to your chest.

It’s nearing dusk as you sit there, the sun slowly sinking further and further beneath the horizon behind thick clouds. Your clothes are completely soaked through by this point, but, in your drunken state, you can’t find a reason to care. Tears begin to spill down your cheeks again, mixing with the rain drops already pelting your face and you don’t even bother to wipe them away. Your chest feels numb from the sobs that incessantly wrack your body, but you can’t find the strength to stop. It feels like you’re trapped. Unable to escape the sinking loneliness that increases with every moment of every day and ignoring it only makes it worse.

When you’d first agreed to the trip, you were given a sense of hope. You thought that maybe, if you were around people that made you happy, your loneliness would dissipate and you wouldn’t feel like this anymore; but it’s only become worse.

Unbeknownst to you, Harry is sprinting from his car with an armful of groceries to the front door of the beach house and swinging it open. He calls for Deidre, then calls for you finding silence within the house. He frowns, stumbling further into the living room towards the kitchen so that he can set the large, paper bags down on the table to relieve himself of their weight. He leaves the bags there and begins to search the rooms, finding each one of them empty and becoming even more confused. Lastly, he slides the patio door open to find each chair empty, the empty wine bottle sitting alone on the metal patio table. He steps out, shutting the door behind him before walking to the table and taking the bottle into his hands. The glass is still damp with perspiration, but there isn’t more than a few tablespoons of wine left sloshing at the bottom of the bottle. He places it back where it had been resting before as he lifts his head to look out at the beach. The downpour is so thick that it’s difficult to make out any sort of shapes, but when his eyes land on your figure in the sand, his heart nearly leaps from his chest.

He calls your name as he bounds down the porch stairs and into the sand, jogging to where you sit with your knees pressed to your chest. You turn to him with a sorrowful expression, lip quivering uncontrollably with your weak sobs.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” He stutters, dropping to his knees beside you with one hand on your back and the other on your knee. “Are you hurt? Should I call somebody?”

You shake your head. “M’alright.”

“It doesn’t look like you’re alright,” He frowns, reaching his right hand up to gently turn your face towards him. “Wh- why are you- what’s going on? Why are you out here in this weather all alone?”

The rain is still incessant and it’s hard for either of you to see anything but you’re able to sense just how much Harry cares. You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and shake your head.

“Dee went out,” You slur quietly. “Then, I had a bit of wine.”

“You’re crying.” He points out.

You shake your head again, avoiding his eye contact. “S’just the rain.”

He sighs in defeat, hand dropping from your face as he pushes his wet hair from his own. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” He grasps your hands gently as he stands, pulling you up with him. You stumble slightly, falling into him and his arms reflexively wrap around your waist, mumbling: “Easy, darling.”

The unremitting mizzle of rain pelts against the both of you as he drags you back up to the house with one arm wrapped around your waist. Your head leans lazily against his shoulder and your body melts into his due to the alcohol coursing through your veins. Keeping a tight grip on you, Harry quickly leads you up the porch stairs and back inside the house, careful to keep you from tripping over your own feet.

The temperature of the house is slightly cooler than outside and you’re unable to keep your teeth from chattering as you step inside. Harry notices this.

“Stay right here, I’m gonna go get some towels.” He mutters, shuffling off down the hallway and leaving you standing soaked, shivering, and intoxicated in the entryway. He returns within a few moments holding a stack of fluffy pink towels (courtesy of the beach house owners), quickly unfolding one of them and wrapping it around your shoulders. You tug the fabric around yourself, teeth chattering as you take a deep breath and look up at him through bloodshot eyes.

“Thank you.”

He nods, taking a towel for himself and leaning over to shake out his dripping hair. You step past him into the hallway, walking towards your bedroom with the towel still wrapped around your shivering frame. The house feels like it's spinning with every step you take, your hand pressed against the wall to support yourself as you guide yourself to the bedroom. You know Harry’s watching you, longing to ask you why you were out in the rain completely wasted, but you don’t feel sober enough to trust him or yourself.

Stumbling into your bedroom, you shuffle through your drawer for some dry clothes, settling on an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. You don’t even bother with closing the door all the way as you peel the wet clothes from your skin, carelessly dropping them onto the carpet. After you successfully pull the sweatshirt on, you attempt putting on the sweatpants, discovering that in your drunken state, finding the correct leg hole is much harder than you anticipated. So, after struggling for all of one minute, you huff and throw them aside.

“Need help?”

You glance up from where you sit on the edge of the bed to find Harry leaning against the doorway, dressed in a dry t-shirt and sweatpants. You frown, “Were you watching me?”

“No,” He pauses. “I mean- just for a moment, but I swear I didn’t see anything.”

You nod slowly with a yawn, “It’s okay. I’m too drunk to care, anyway.”

He chuckles at that and watches as you stand, stumbling to the upper end of the bed and pulling the comforter down to make room for you to slide beneath it. You plop yourself onto the mattress with a yawn, patting the empty space beside you and looking up at him.

He raises his eyebrows, “Y’want me to…?” You nod at his unfinished question, giving him a small, drunken grin. So, after a moment of hesitation, Harry walks over to the bed and climbs into the empty spot beside you with your eyes glued to him the whole time. He sighs, “What now?”

“Will you… hold me?” You request quietly, avoiding his soft, virescent stare.

He pauses. There isn’t a single fiber of his being that doesn’t want to feel your warmth against him, arms looped around your waist, nose buried into the crevice of your neck; but he knows that you’re drunk and he can’t be sure that you won’t regret anything once the intoxication has passed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” You shrug. “Unless, of course, you aren’t comfortable with it,”

“I am, but you aren’t fully… ‘here’ right now and I don’t want you to regret anything.”

You sigh, “I think I’m sober enough to ask you to harmlessly spoon me to sleep.”

“Alright,” He nods, moving to lay on his side, head against the pillow. “C’mere, then.”

You smile to yourself, leaning over to switch the small bedside lamp off before allowing your body to lie against the mattress fully before turning to face away from him, waiting for him to wrap his arms around you. The hem of your sweatshirt rides up with your movement and, although you’re completely oblivious to it, Harry notices. His eyes focus on the soft skin of your hip and the thin fabric of your panties resting against it. Fuck. Swallowing the heavy lump wedged in his throat, he moves forward and loops his arm around your waist, tugging your back into his chest with a quiet grunt.

One may assume that two people in this situation, given the status of your relationship being strictly friends (in the lightest sense of the word), would feel uncomfortable or awkward, but both of you, somehow, feel a sense of relief. Two long, breathy sighs emit from both of you in unison as your bodies fit together like two pieces of thread, meant to intertwine perfectly to create a beautiful piece of clothing.

The two of you lie there in the dark silence, taking slow, deep breaths to calm your fluttering heartbeats as the tension builds. If you were sober, you definitely wouldn’t have even considered being in this situation, but since there’s nearly 25 ounces of liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’re unable to keep yourself from being brutally honest about what you want. Silently, you move your hand from where it rests on the mattress, sliding it over his hand that rests just between your stomach and ribs and taking it into your own. He feels your hand, but doesn’t say anything.

Every sense of your caution has been thrown to the wind at this point, so you don’t even consider hesitating when asking: “Do you remember that song that came on the other day when we were in the car?”

He’s caught completely off guard by your question and frowns. “I-uh, yeah, I remember. ‘Dancing With Myself’?”

You nod in acknowledgement, silence settling over you again for a few lasting moments before you speak again. “The other day when you were talking about the meaning of that song, how it sounds upbeat and happy but the lyrics are actually him talking about how lonely he is, it reminded me of myself…” You pause, sighing quietly, trying to blink away the inevitable tears. You can sense that he’s listening, though, so you continue. “I just- sometimes it’s hard for me to feel at home with people even if they are my friends, and there are many times when I just see myself with them and I just don’t even feel like I’m there. Like, despite being in a room full of people, like the song says, I’m dancing with myself, trying in vain to make myself look like the exact opposite of how I feel. It’s like I just have to go through life alone, despite the people around me.”

He’s quiet for a while and it scares you. Maybe you said too much. Maybe he’s uncomfortable. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the tears to spill and then he speaks.

“Is that- is that why you were crying?”

“Partially,” You whisper, staring straight ahead into the dark room. Harry’s arm moves a little and then you feel his fingers brushing against your hand before lacing his fingers between your own without a word. His body presses closer to yours and you ever so faintly feel his lips against your shoulder for just a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the tears fall and trickle down onto the pillow where your head lays. “It fucking hurts,” You take a long, shaky breath. “It hurts when I can’t even tell my best friend about how I feel because I feel like I’m being selfish for giving her the weight of my issues.”

“You’re not being selfish,” He whispers, squeezing your hand gently. “If you’re hurting, she should be there for you no matter what. Just like you are with her,” He pauses for a beat, taking a deep breath. “I think you’re one of the most caring people I have ever met. You have always been there for Deidre even though recently she’s been a bit of twat to you.”

“Yeah,” You chuckle at that and he breathes a small laugh, tightening his arms around you. Silence settles around you once more, and you think that maybe he’s fallen asleep but then he stirs and moves his hand from yours to tilt your face and body in his direction, leaning over you. Your eyes meet as he gently swipes his thumb against your damp skin, collecting the tears that had just escaped from your eyes with a small smile. Just as he is about to drop his hand from your face, you grasp him by the wrist, pressing his large palm to the curve of your cheek. His gaze flickers between your lips and your eyes, even in the darkness of the bedroom you’re able to make out each other’s faces and you see the edges of his lips curl up into the faintest smile.

“Also,” You breathe, thumb stroking the skin of his wrist gently, “I’m sorry about the other night.”

It takes a moment for him to process what you mean, but when he does he shakes his head. “No, no, it was my fault. You didn’t want me to kiss you and I shouldn’t have crossed your boundaries like that. I’m sorry.”

“No, Harry, that’s not-” You sigh, “I just- I was afraid it would mess things up with Deidre and I was putting her feelings before my own, which I now realize wasn’t fair to either of us.” You motion between the two of you.

“I get it,” He nods, watching as you take his hand from your cheek and interlock your fingers between his. You’re still mildly intoxicated, so your confidence levels are also quite a bit higher than normal. Harry watches you in silence, the two of you mindlessly fiddling with each other’s fingers like it was the most normal thing in the world for you to do. And then he clears his throat. “So, you- you did want to kiss me?”

You pause, bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you look up at his face. “Yeah.”

“Hm… good to know.”

Silence falls over the two of you again as you focus back on your fingers dancing against his. You want to keep talking to him; You want to say ‘fuck it’ and throw every bit of caution to the wind regarding Deidre, falling into this “scandalous” affair with her brother; You want to tell him how you feel, express every bit of longing you’ve had for him since the first day his dimpled smile met your gaze, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open, the alcohol in your system taking over and pushing you to surrender. So you do.

You yawn, “I think I should probably go to sleep now.”

“I can leave if you want…” He responds, lifting himself up from the mattress slightly, but you stop him with a quick shake of your head, tugging his arm back around your waist.

“Stay until I fall asleep?”

He smiles to himself, arms tightening around you as he nuzzles his face into your hair. “Okay.”

Harry hadn’t intended on falling asleep with you. He’d planned on waiting until you fell asleep and then would sneak off to his own bed, but it’s morning now and the two of you are lying fast asleep in the exact position you were in the night before. His arms wound tightly around you, chest pressed to your back, and his nose pressed into the base of your neck. In a way, the warmth and peace his arms give you feel completely normal; like you’re long-term lovers, dozing in the soft morning sunlight, awaiting the new day.

The alarming screech of your ringtone rudely interrupts your slumber and causes you to lift yourself from the mattress and angrily slap your hand around in search of your phone. Finding it, you squint at the illuminated screen to see Deidre’s profile picture and name, you groan and push yourself to sit up on the mattress as you slide your finger across the screen to answer the call.

“Hello?” You croak, knuckling frustratedly at your puffy, sleep-filled eyes.

“Hi,” She sounds out of breath, almost frantic. “I know you’re probably still mad at me but everything is okay. I didn’t come home last night because I ended up passing out on Jeff’s couch after everyone left and he failed to wake me up, even though I told him to. But yeah, um, I’m sorry, I’m on my way home. Please don’t be mad at me.”

You should be mad at her, but it’s early and your hungover brain is making it harder for you to form any sort of emotion. “It’s fine. We-I fell asleep early anyways so I didn’t notice.”

She sighs in relief, “Okay. Well, I’ll be home in like 10 minutes,”

“See ya.” You mumble half-heartedly before the line cuts out and you’re dropping your phone into your lap with a yawn. Somehow, during that conversation, you’d completely forgotten the presence of Harry. That is, until he clears his throat and shuffles on the bed, causing you to turn and look at him.

“G’morning,” He mutters, his deep, syrupy accent tainted with sleep. “Was that-?”

“Deidre, yeah,” You finish, rubbing your hands over your face. “She’s on her way.”

“Oh… then I should- I should probably get out of here,”

You nod and he pushes the comforter off of his body, sliding over the side of the bed and planting his feet against the carpeted floor. Once he’s left the room, you drag yourself out of bed to change into something a bit more appropriate.

Your memory of the night before is somewhat of a blur due to the amount of wine you’d consumed, but you do remember the things you said to him right before falling asleep; the way he touched and held you like you were his own. Your heart flutters at the memory of the way he brushed a fallen tear from your skin and spoke to you in a soft, soothing voice. You’ve deceived yourself by saying that this is just a crush, because it’s more than that and deep down you’re slowly beginning to realize it.

After pulling on the clean, discarded sweatpants that, in your drunken frustration, had been left in a crumple on the floor, you make your way to the kitchen. Harry’s there already, spreading mashed avocado onto freshly toasted bread before lightly salting it with garlic salt and placing a perfectly fried egg on top. He’s humming to himself as he works to make more slices and you smile, clearing your throat to catch his attention.

He turns his head in your direction. “Oh, hey! Do you want one slice or two?”

“Um, I’ll have two, please,” You respond, slowly making your way across the small kitchen to where he stands at the counter. “You didn’t have to make breakfast, though,”

He shakes his head as he sucks a bit of avocado from his thumb. “It’s no problem, really. I don’t mind.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, Deidre walks through the front door, calling: “Hello! I’m back!”

You walk through the kitchen doorway to find her at the door, sporting the same outfit as she had been last night. Her hair is tied up into a messy bun, though, and her shoes are in her hand instead of on her feet.

“Good morning,” You greet.

She tosses her shoes aside and smiles at you. “Hey, I’m sorry about last night. Can we talk later?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nod and give her a small smile back, lacking the energy to still be mad at her and giving into your tendency of forgiveness.

As she follows you into the kitchen, she greets Harry with a quick ‘good morning’, grabbing a fully assembled piece of toast from him before scurrying off for a shower and leaving the two of you alone once more. It’s easier being around him now. There’s a hint of tension now, but it isn’t malicious or uncomfortable tension. You feel drawn to him even more than you did before and you can tell he’s feeling the same way.

“God, Harry, that was so good.” You nearly moan as you wipe the crumbs of toast from your fingertips.

He smiles, swallowing and wiping the corner of his mouth. “M’glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to teach me your cooking and baking skills someday,” You chuckle, subtly hinting at spending more time with him.

He downs the rest of the coffee in his mug, humming. “I’d love to.”

You smile at him, standing to take your dishes to the sink and holding out your hand for his. He frowns and shakes his head. “None of that, I’ll clean up.”

“At least let me help.” You pout.

He chuckles. “If you insist.”

You follow him to the sink, watching as he takes the dishes and begins to rinse them and hand them over to you so that you can place them into the dishwasher. There really isn’t much of a reason for you to be helping him, but you’re finding it hard to keep yourself away from him. The giddy flutter of your heart when his fingers brush against yours and the flirtatious smiles spread across your faces makes you feel utterly alive and you never want it to end. But, eventually, there are no more dishes to clean and you’re in desperate need of a shower, so he thanks you for your help and the two of you go your separate ways.

Cold, frothy water splashes against your bare feet as you walk along the sandy shore. Your sandals are dangling from your fingertips and your loose-fitted jeans are rolled up to your shins to allow a more comfortable stroll. The sun is just beginning to set, casting a peach hue along the crystal-like water as it rolls lazily back and forth.

Deidre is a few feet behind you, collecting a lone seashell she’d spotted during her stroll. A quiet moment passes and then she’s beside you again, palm stretched out into your direction to show you the small, detailed shell with a glowing pride.

“Oh, that one’s gorgeous.” You gush at its beauty, taking it between your own fingers to examine it further. It’s a small tulip shell, only about two inches in size, but its shimmery, pearlish gleam is almost breathtaking under the dim sunlight.

“Think I’ll try to find another one and make them into earrings.” She smiles as you place it back into her hand.

“Yeah, that’d be cute!”

The two of you have only just left the beach house in an effort to be somewhere alone so the two of you can talk things out. Deidre is silent for a moment, both of you ruminating the possible ways to begin the conversation. Then, she speaks.

“I’m sorry for leaving you like that yesterday, that wasn’t very cool of me.”

You smile a little, “Thanks. I’m sorry for getting so upset with you. I definitely could’ve handled that better.”

She nods. “Yeah. I think we both could’ve handled that much better.”

“Definitely,” You agree, kicking the damp sand with your bare feet. “I just think that, you know, you promised to spend time with me on this trip and I feel like I’ve barely seen you. And I’m glad you’ve made friends, but I’d kinda like to just spend time with you at some point.”

“Yeah,” She sighs, “I’m sorry.”

You turn to her, stopping in your tracks and opening your arms for a hug. “Are we good?”

“Of course.” She smiles and wraps you into a giant bear hug, causing both of you to stumble on the sand a bit. Both of you are giggling uncontrollably once you pull away, nearly falling into the sand beneath your feet.

“I’ll race you back to the house,” You smile deviously, planting your feet in the starting position and waiting for her to do the same.

She smirks and positions herself beside you. “Oh, you’re on.”

The two of you bolt towards the house at top speed, sand kicking up behind you in big clouds as scurry along the beach under the pale evening sunlight.

You reach the house moments before her, immediately collapsing into the sand in front of the stairs to catch your breath. Deidre is quick to stumble up behind you, nearly skidding to a stop as she takes several big gulps of air through a laugh.

“Still got it,” You wink at her, a similar image of the two of you in the same positions at a much younger age flashing across your mind briefly.

She flashes you a mocking smile with a tilt to her head and then the repetitive ring of her phone in her pocket interrupts the moment. You watch as she tugs it from her pocket, sliding her finger across the screen and lifting it to her ear with a peppy greeting to the other person on the line. Immediately by the tone of her voice you know exactly what’s about to happen. She’s going to do exactly what she’s been doing since the trip began– or rather, since the two of you were teenagers– she’s going to sputter out a mouthful of excuses and then she’s going to leave.

“Okay, I’ll be out front in five minutes! See ya!” She says before sliding her phone back into her pocket and smiling at you. “That was Jeffrey and his friends, they invited me out again tonight and I promised I would go.”

She doesn’t even fucking realize...

Sheathing your blinding frustration with a tinge of annoyance, you nod, motion up the stairs before mumbling: “Well, then, you better get going.”

Watching her scurry back up the stairs and into the house, your heart sinks into your chest. She’s so used to you just allowing things like this to happen that she doesn’t even realize how much it’s hurting your relationship and how much it’s hurting you.

After dropping your sandals there you find yourself wandering from the bottom of the stairs back out into the shore, lazily kicking at the shallow water whilst your arms are wrapped around your chest. It’s gotten much darker and people are beginning to filter out through the dunes, lugging their belongings or simply just walking hand in hand.

The waves crash repeatedly with a lulling, crisp sound that drowns out all other sound in your ears. The air is warm and so is the wind as it swirls and whips around you, causing the loose fabric of your sweater to flap obnoxiously.

Faintly in the distance, you can hear the screen door of the back porch swing shut and it draws your eyes back up to the house where Harry bounds down the stairs with a smile on his face. A smile just for you.

“Hey!” He calls, gasping for air as he jogs towards you across the sand. You wave back at him with a small smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you stand and wait for him to reach you.

“Hi,”

“You alright?” He frowns, stepping closer to you.

You sigh, fingertips pressed against your forehead in a weak attempt to hide your distress. “I- uh, yeah I’m okay.”

“Doesn’t really look like it,” He says, tilting his head to examine your face a bit better.

You squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to hold back the tears beginning to build at the edge of your lash line, taking a deep breath. “It’s just- fuck, Harry, she keeps doing it. She keeps telling me that she wants to spend more time together and then she just leaves me. And she doesn’t even fucking realize it,” You look back up at him in the dim evening lighting, wrapping your sweater clad arms around yourself. “Like- what am I supposed to do? She doesn’t listen to me.”

A pregnant pause follows when you finish speaking before Harry speaks. “I don’t know if you can really do anything. Deidre is going to do what she wants to do, regardless of how it affects you.”

He’s right. As much as you never thought you’d actually admit it to yourself, you know he’s right. It feels almost as if a weight has been lifted off your chest; a weight that’s been there since you and Deidre blossomed into teenagers and she gradually began to treat you this way. And then you’re looking back at Harry, gears turning in your brain at a pace that’s almost too fast for you to process. Then, without any sort of caution or judgement as to what it might result in, you’re surging forward pressing a hand to the back of his neck, beneath his mop of hair, and frantically pulling his lips against yours.

It takes a millisecond for him to react, but then he’s kissing you back harder, long arms coming to wrap around your waist and press you into his chest as his soft, supple lips move skillfully against yours. Every long, heart aching year that passed that you had grown to care for him flashes through your mind; every smile he directed at you; every time he wrapped his arms around you in a giant bear hug, mumbling: “Nice to see you,” in your ear; every moment that you spent falling in love with him.

He’s the first to pull away, arms unwavering from their place around you. “What about Deidre?”

You stare back at him for a moment before shaking your head, mumbling: “I don’t care.” under your breath, eyes flickering down to his lips before both of you are lunging forward once again.

Both of you stumble around on the sand for a moment and then Harry falls back into the sand, ass first, bringing you down with him. The two of you are a fit of giggles and snorts as you land in the fluffy, damp sand, limbs tangled between limbs. You land with your legs straddling his slim waist, hands planted against the sand beneath him, hovering over him with a smile. He gazes back up at you with his own dimpled smile, his hands resting cautiously on your hips. He stares at you, studying your face as the two of you catch your breath before he says something that has your stomach twisting into knots and your skin bursting into flames.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,”

You lift one of your hands to cover your face, giggling nervously at his words as he lifts himself to sit in the sand with you in his lap. “I’m serious.”

“Why?” You whisper in response, hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

“God,” He mumbles your name, “You might not see it, but I see it. And I’ve seen it since we were kids; since I was 18.”

You’re speechless, unable to form a full sentence to respond to him, so you just grab his face between your hands and latch your lips onto his again. You stay like that, lips dragging against each other’s lazily until the sun finishes setting and the only source of light comes from the bright glow of the moon. And then he pulls away again, hooded eyelids trained on yours.

“Let me take you out. Like, on a date.”

You smile, “Okay.”

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like-rain-or-confetti · 3 years

Text

Blackout (Edward Nygma x Reader)

WARNING: Mental Illness themes and mentions are strong throughout. Death!

"(Y/N)?" A nurse with a shrill voice said making you flinch and turn to face her. She was smiling, one that was rather malicious. That made you nervous as to what was her next words would be. "Doctor Strange wants to see you. I believe he has a new treatment for you." Your blood ran cold before draining from your face.

Just about every patient at Arkham has figured out that those who catch Dr Strange's attention either never returned or were never the same. You felt pairs of eyes on you, some over hearing, just by the very mention of his name got everyone's attention. It was like being in a slaughter house and you had no doubt that such an environment wasn't helping your mental state.

"No..." You said quietly, curling into yourself slightly as though it would change her mind. "Come now, (Y/N), you've been so good this past week. Don't you want to get better?" The nurse moved a hand to your shoulders, her grip tight but not painful. "It won't be long. By the time you're done, it'll be time for dinner. That's very soon." You still didn't budge. The nurse's demeanor changed ever so slightly, a bit of aggravation tugging at her. "(Y/N), do you really want to undo all of the hard work you've done and lose day time privileges? You'll risk solitary confinement and things will be a lot more difficult for you. This treatment is happening whether you like it or not!" You knew you couldn't push any further and so slowly you stood up and the nurses attitude changed to the once again pleasant nurse who gently guided you. Before she could nudge you out the door, you halted turning back to look at the other inmates within the cafeteria. "They're not going anywhere." The nurse assured you with another soft tug. You complied.

"What's with that one again?" Edward raised an eyebrow watching just like everyone else had as you left the room. "Well they don’t know, they have many theories but there's always something else that’s unexplained." Jonathan said smoothly. "Something else?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "They are aware of everyone's surroundings, better than ordinary." Jonathan explained. "What?" Two-Face furrowed his brow and Jonathan sighed. "Think of Arkham as a doll house and every person is a doll, (Y/N) knows what everyone is doing, what's happening even when they aren't there, a spectator to real life." "How can someone know what's happening when they aren't there?" Harvey pressed. "Well...security cameras if they had access but that's the point, how can someone know what's happening if they aren't there?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Oh I get it!" Harley suddenly spoke up. "They don't! They imagine it!" Jonathan gestured to Harley sending a pointed look to Two-Face. "So they daydream? That's it?" Two-Face said gruffly. "No, Harv! They stare at everyone, watching us all day long so they predict what we would do and where we'd go!" Harley continued. Two-face shook his head. "They say I'm crazy." "Crazy... or smart, smarter than many of the crazies in here." Jonathan responded. "I personally would say they're in a better position than most of these meat heads." Edward said. "Wow, complimenting someone other than yourself Edward? Looks like your treatment is working." Jonathan smirked. Edward scoffed. "Hardly! It's not difficult to outsmart these dimwitted goons. It's not even a challenge! If anything they've barely proven that they've got more than one braincell!" Jonathan sighed in response but Edward continued. "Besides, I would know, I'm the smartest man in Gotham! If not the whole world." "Oh clam it, bozo!" Harley rolled her eyes. "Now, now Harley...the clown many be in solitary but keep your cool." Jonathan said smoothly. "So I can sit here I listen to the cucumber spout Riddles and call me a dumb broad!?" "No one is calling you such things Harley." Jonathan responded all the whilst Edward gawked. "Cucumber!? Seriously!?" "Hey! Check the facts yourself, you wear green, your green with jealousy half the time when Batman is around and you’re made of mostly water! Now who's the dumb broad!?" "Harley, again, no one is calling you that. No one doubts your intelligence, we only doubt how willing you are to use it." Jonathan finished. Harley huffed.

You hurriedly looked around the room to find nothing out of place, the walls dirty and barely resembling the white painted walls. They hadn't been cleaned in at least a decade, grime filling every corner as well the random stains that likely had a grotesque story behind each one. No doubt the asylum blamed all of this on a lack of funding rather than admitting to Gotham city that the asylum isn't fit for purpose and hasn't been for years.

Dr Strange sat at a steel table in the middle of the room that was big enough for two people to work at either side. A bulb hung down from the ceiling which no doubt would explode any given moment just to add to the worn down Arkham aesthetic. "Ah, finally we meet at last." Strange's voice gave you the chills. You didn't look in his eyes, keeping them on your now seated lap. "Your name is (Y/N) (L/N), yes?" You nodded. "I'm told you have been very well behaved over the week. You've been working on social boundaries of sorts, yes?" "Do you mean not spying on people?" You asked. "Is that what you'd call it?" "No. It's what the nurses call it." You retorted. "I understand you were in some trouble when you broke in-" Dr Strange began but didn’t get to finish. "I didn't break in." You interrupted. "The door was open and I didn't break anything." "Yes, you left everything untouched, but nevertheless, you know you can't be in the security room. What were you looking for?" Dr Strange asked. "You know that." You retorted. "I need to hear it from you." Strange pressed. " I wanted to see the security cameras." "Why?" "So I could see what people were doing." You said flatly. "Do you know why you care so much?" Slowly, you shook your head. "That's your job though, right? Your job is to help me figure that out and move on?" You replied. He seemed to think about this statement momentarily. "Indeed. For now though, we are working towards really understanding your mind to get an idea of a diagnosis. I see in your file that there is mentions of multiple possible disorders?" You shrugged slightly. "Although this wasn't confirmed due to your...obsession." Dr Strange finished. "Is that what they call it?" You asked lightly. "No." Doctor Strange said flatly. "That's what I call it." Finally you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. "Dr Arkham missed the 'g' in 'diagnosis'." Strange looked at the file in his hand to realise there was that typo but wasn't certain how you could have seen it at such an angle. "Now, let's see about these blackouts." He began.

Dinner had come and gone and you hadn't returned, not that it surprised anyone at all. The expectation was that if you did return, you were lucky. Even if you had completely lost your mind.

At ten thirty, the lights were always out, other than the very dim ceiling lights that were solely for staff to maneuver in and out of the corridors without disturbing the patients. Despite lights going out at ten every week night (and at ten thirty on weekends), patients didn't actually go to sleep at that time. The staff didn't seem to care, as long as they were in their cells. That made the routine rather redundant in terms of creating a daily routine for the patients. So ten thirty rolled around and a nurse was pushing a patient on a wheelchair, seemingly back to their cell.

Harley wanted to have a look and recognised the patient. It was you, slumped over yourself and unmoving. Harley kept quiet, watching intently as you were wheeled past her cell. You were a lucky one. You had made it back here in the end.

You woke up the next morning with a very bad headache. It reminded you of your blackouts but judging by your 'treatment' that was likely the cause. Your limbs felt heavy, your brain working on empty. There was many times that you stumbled over yourself on the way to the cafeteria. The same nurse from yesterday was in charge and awaiting your arrival as she moved her attention from Harvey Dent to you. She immediately tugged you to sit next to Jervis Tetch. Across from you sat Jonathan Crane and Harvey Dent. You jumped slightly when Harleen Quinzell no so gracefully sat beside you. However the nurse kept your attention in her with a wide almost menacing grin. "Good morning, (Y/N)!" She said brightly. "How are you feeling today?" She was too happy and by far too loud. Her voice grated against your ears, making you wince though the pain if your pounding headache. "My brain has exploded and my heart is racing like a train." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut. "Oh is that so? Well, I'll get you some painkillers for that head whilst you have breakfast. How does that sound?" You grumbled with a nod, anything to get her to stop talking.

As she walked away, you rubbed your aching temples, eager for some kind of relief. "Oatmeal and toast, it seems to be today...as usual." Harvey grumbled. "My puddin' still ain't here!" Harley scowled, making you wince slightly. "Hey, do that one a favour and don't make such a fuss." Harvey gestured to you, sending Harley a look. "Give it a rest for today won't you?" Harley rolled her eyes. "Fine!" She turned to look at you with a sweet smile. "Sorry, dollface!" You nodded. "Don't worry about it, Harley." You groaned, putting your head on the cold table. "That bad, hm?" Two-Face asked. "I don't even remember what happened." You grumbled against the table. "My hands hurt. My head hurts...everything hurts." The nurse caught Jonathan's eye, she was briskly approaching that sadistic grin still on her face. "Well, your saviour and your hell is approaching. Someone actually did get you something after all." Jonathan nudged your side. You groaned. "Maybe it's rat poison." "It's pills by the look of it." "Arsenic then." "Here you are, (Y/N) dear. For all of your cooperation last night and as well as your behaviour." You picked up the glass of water in front of you as she handed you two pills. You cast a quick glance at Jonathan who was also looking back at you. "C'mon arsenic." You mumbled, popping them in your mouth. Jonathan smirked. He understood, you weren't the only one who thought Arkham Asylum was worse than death and hell combined. The nurse grabbed your jaw, opening your mouth and making sure the pills were gone before she left you alone. "Why wouldn't I take the painkillers if I'm in agony?" You asked dumbfounded. Jonathan shrugged. "Probably checking you still have that initiative." Two-Face smirked.

As trays of oatmeal were given out, you couldn't help but notice that whilst you had been sat with this particular group, one of them were missing. "Where's Edward?" You asked. "He's usually one of the firsts to get here." "He was put in solitary confinement." Jonathan said, making a look of disgust at the greyish, blob on his plate. "Solitary confinement? Why?" You asked. Two-Face shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe riddled one of the docs to death." He snickered. "He was taken for his own treatment, going crazy!" Harley grinned at the fond memory. "After some time, you were brought back to your cell and minutes later he was covered in blood and being almost dragged to Solitary Confinement." Harley explained.

You couldn't help but notice that during this time, Jervis hadn't looked up from his lap, not even so much as glanced at his food. Although you had been around long enough to know that Jervis had some days like this. Perhaps running around in wonderland in his mind. You turned back to Harley. "Blood?" "Yeah, news has it that two guards were killed a few rooms down. I say good on him. No idea he had it in him! " Two-face responded. "Damn...and I missed it." You said eyes wide. "You were out like a light when I saw ya!" Harley giggled. "You could have been that bozo's puppet and never had a clue!" "Who's?" You frowned. "The-The puppet guy! Y'know, talks through that puppet. Scar-face? Damn what's his name!?" "Arnold Wesker." Jonathan replied. "Yeah, him!" Harley said excitedly. You turned to the other side of the room.

You'd seen Arnold Wesker a couple of times but never actually spoken to him. Across from him was someone you were had spoken to many times. Peter Merkel Jr. Also known as Rag Doll. He was mostly known for being triple jointed, a contortionist. Well...rumour had it that being triple jointed ran in his family. A trait he didn't inherit and in the end, he supposedly had many life-threatening surgeries to allow his joints to move in inhuman ways. He could actually be a decent funny guy...once you got past his creepy communication skills. You turned back to the group around you.

"Group therapy today, shit I forgot." Two-Face said suddenly. "How could you ever forget such a momentous occasion?" Jonathan said sarcastically. "It's you, me and (Y/N) in this one. If Edward is there, who knows. Don't know about who the others will be though."

As each patient was situated in a seat within the circle of chairs, a guard approached you. "Hands out." He commanded gruffly as he took out hand cuffs. "Are you kidding me? For what?" You nodded to the cuffs as Dr Vern approached. He was one of the more patient and less brutal doctors who seemed to actually somewhat want to help patients, rather than torture them. Since observing that many times, you learned to somewhat trust him. Especially since he had treated you a couple of times and actually considered you a person. "It's just a precaution due to your therapy last night, (Y/N). I can assure you, it's nothing to worry about, they'll be off as soon as the session is over." He put a hand on your shoulder and you looked uncertain before showing your hands and wrists. You noticed Edward was getting the same treatment, looks like he made it out of isolation after all, even if it's only for a brief time. Although he was cuffed because he was in isolation and therefore deemed just as unpredictable.

Dr Vern sat on the opposite side of you and at the top of the circle. "Alright..." He hummed to himself as other inmates began to settle, whilst he looked at his clipboard. "...we have Arnold Wesker, Peter Merkel Jr, Edward Nygma, Harvey Dent, (Y/N) (L/N), Jonathan Crane, Victor Zsasz ...Jane Doe and last but not least, Roman Sionis." He looked over everyone with a small smile. "How is everyone today?" "Is that a legitimate question?" Edward huffed. "Of course, it is. It's the whole point of these sessions." Dr Vern responded. "Honesty is encouraged, there is no wrong answers." "Well then, I've felt like crap all day and to top it off, I'm now handcuffed." You grumbled. "I know, (Y/N). As I said, it's only a precaution whilst we wait to see if your treatment worked. Please don't take this as a punishment, you've been doing so well as of lately." Dr Vern turned to his right. "Roman, how are we doing today?" "Everyone is wearing their masks today." Roman responded quietly, as though distracted, not entirely present in the room. "You've been keeping to yourself, more frequently lately. Are you feeling okay?" Dr Vern pressed. "Yes, doc. In truth there is nothing new with me. Although that shouldn't be a surprise when it's clear that I am not insane." "Yes, so you've said but unfortunately your results say otherwise. Psychosis, remember?" Dr Vern responded. Roman grumbled. "Whatever." "Forgive me, Doctor but I can't help but notice Jane is here." Edward narrowed his gaze on the masked woman across from him. "We all know she doesn't respond as herself and hasn't said a word since she's got here. So pray tell, why exactly is she in a group therapy session where the whole point is to talk?" Jane continued to look down at her lap as though she hadn't heard anything. Her mask covered her entire head. She had two, that were known, this one was Arkham's 'finest'- hardly of her collection. Accommodations were made for her after discovering she tended to become violent and otherwise catatonic without a mask. So whilst she was usually in a straight jacket, they kept the mask on, she was more cooperative with it. Arkham figures it would be a process that eventually shed no longer need the mask. You begged to differ. You were willing to bet that it's simply Arkham giving her exactly what she wants. She was good like that, you admired it. "Jane is more than welcome to these sessions, Edward." Dr Vern responded, almost scolding in his tone. "She is more than welcome to break her silence at any time and if being here encourages her then she'll have overcome a great milestone. Leave her be." Edward rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Dr Vern looked towards Peter Merkel Jr, who wore a ghost of a smile on his face, all the while, his eyes wide. "Hello Peter, I haven't seen you in a while. How are you doing today?" Peters head flopped to Dr Verbs direction. "Hello, Dr Vern. I am doing just fine." His tone dripped in sarcasm. "I assume you are still in a lot of pain. Have you received those ointments today?" Peter hummed, rolling his shoulders further back than should be humanly possible. Then again, Merkel went through a lot of surgeries to make sure of that. "Yes, but only recently." "Ah, I see. Well, I'm certain you'll begin to feel better soon. What have you been doing since I last saw you?" Dr Vern asked. Peter hummed again. "Nothing. Staying in my cell. If not there-" Peters head snapped to look at you with his wide eyed smile. "- I've spent most of my time with (Y/N)." "I see. Are you two friends?" Dr Vern asked looking between you both. You shrugged. Peter responded. "Sure. Something like that. They are very intriguing." Dr Vern nodded as he scribbled on the clipboard, immediately you tried to see what he was writing, the cuffs making a clang.

It was like an impulse, you had to know what he had written. Whilst you were excellent at keeping secrets, things went south if you were kept in the dark about anything, even the tiniest of details. Peter's grin widened in amusement and Dr Vern looked up at you. "It's alright, (Y/N). I'm just noting down what Peter has said. It's good progress for the both of you. If you two don't mind, might I ask Peter a question about this new friendship?" Your eyes narrowed but sat back on your chair whilst Peter agreed. "Peter, I hope you're encouraging (Y/N) to continue this good behaviour and not reduce it." Peter cackled. "That is your job, Doctor! I neither encourage one or the other. They appreciate my talents and I appreciate theirs." Doctor Vern didn't seem to like that answer much but continued. "(Y/N), why don't we move on to you? We have a lot to talk about." Dr Vern leaned forward in his chair. "You say you weren't feeling well this morning?" "Yes." You responded simply, shifting your wrists in the cuffs. "Describe it to me." Your face contorted as though remembering something suddenly. "What time is it?" Dr Vern caught on immediately. "I'll tell you after today's session, (Y/N). That's not important right now." "Yes, it is. I need to know." You insisted with slight panic. "No, you don't." Doctor Vern responded. "There's no need to be anxious, (Y/N). It's not necessary." "It is to me. You-you know that." You said shakily, fidgeting. "I'll strike you a deal, hold off for as long as you can, I guarantee by the end of the session you will know the time." Dr Vern responded. The distress was sudden upon your face, as you shifted against your cuffs. "Looks like the doc is gonna make them cry." Two-Face smirked. Dr Vern ignored him as your knees bounced with anxiety, looking almost uncontrollable. "(Y/N), focus of me." Dr Vern said soothingly. "I know why you want to know. The treatment has had you a little foggy and you've remembered about others outside of this room. You're trying to pin point where they are what they could possibly be doing. That's why you want to know the time. I promise you, you're stronger than the urge to know. You've not known all morning and everything is fine. Push through this urge." "Oh, now I get it." Jonathan thought aloud. "Put some volts in them and who knows what else you did to them last night and then torture them now. Very helpful indeed, doctor." "Jonathan, that's enough." Dr Vern looked at Jonathan. "You're agitating them." "Of course, they're agitated!" Edward said loudly with a roll of his eyes. "You'd think you'd take it easy on them after all that but no let's push them and wonder why they lash out! Morons!" "Both of you. Enough." Dr Vern said sternly. "You're encouraging them whilst I am trying to reason with them."

Suddenly, your shaking stopped. You leaned back into your chair once more, oddly stoic. The shift was most definitely noticed by everyone in the room. "What's going on!?" Scar-Face snapped. "This'll be good." Two-Face smirked whilst Peter giggled with glee, eyes wide and unblinking. "It's between eleven and twelve. We haven't had lunch yet. Group therapy always happens at that time." You said quickly, answering your previous question. Dr Vern blinked with unease. "Alright, good. You've got your answer, now lets-" Suddenly, you spoke again, staring at nothing whilst your words came out rapidly."If it's eleven fifteen- the nurses will be going for their coffee break. Nurse Jill will be sneaking away with William Dean, the guard for the other ward probably for a quickie in the closet. If it's eleven thirty, Nurse Gillian will be preparing the next round of meds and wondering just where the hell Nurse Jill went." "Stop it." Dr Vern said quickly. Jonathan and Edward couldn't help but smirk at you but you didn't seem to notice anyone, lost in your own head. “If it's eleven forty-five, Nurse Jill will be hurrying back to her post before Doctor Strange leaves his office to head for the staff room for his own coffee. No milk, no sugar. Then he'll take a detour for the cameras, have a look at what we're all doing whilst Dr Vern rounds up today's group session, before Edward and I get the cuffs removed, we'll all be led to the cafeteria. Then Dr Vern will call his wife, and not get an answer, especially when his erratic patient reveals that his precious Sandra has been sleeping with the neighbour, fourteen blocks away. No doubt he'll rush home because he can't ignore what his patient said-" "(Y/N), enough!" Dr Vern snapped in anger whilst you finished your sentence "-even though he'll lose his temper at his patient." You finished in unison with Dr Vern's outburst.

After a moment of silence, Dr Vern finally spoke. "You know where I live?" You smiled simply. "Of course. The security room isn't the only place I can get into. Dr Arkham's files are more than interesting to read. Although I'm certain he has just as many mental issues as the rest of us." "You've been sneaking in there too? Where the Asylum's files are kept?" Dr Vern asked. "Would you like to know the combinations for the locks?" You asked lightly. "You're asking for isolation, (Y/N)." He earned in response. "Am I? It says on your clipboard that I only get isolation if I black out." You shrugged. "I am perfectly conscious. Whilst I'm at it, that is not how you spell my last name." You said flatly. "See? Fun." Peter grinned at Victor Zsasz. "Now how about you don't put a recommendation in for another one of those nasty therapy you wrote down next to my name. My head is foggy as it is and I don't want to be a vegetable." You wagered. "So you can see what I've written?" Dr Vern stared you down. You smiled. "First, you can spell my name right, then you can score out that recommendation and then you can stop pressing me about every little thing I do or else I will do a lot more than prove how much I know. I'll also prove how I can use all of that really screw up your life." Dr Vern's eyes narrowed on you. "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means, your life wouldn't be the first persons I've ruined. My family tries to keep that quiet, pay off anyone who will speak out but not even they weren't safe in the end." Dr Vern was quiet for a moment. "You were doing so well, (Y/N). We had really really hoped you wouldn't ruin all this good behaviour. So is this what you were doing last night? Spying with the security camera's again when you were supposed to be in bed?" Your face changed to confusion. "What?" "You were found out of bed with Mr Nygma last night. Have you been pretending all this time?" "I wasn't out of bed." You glared. "Ignore him, (Y/N)." Edward spoke up. "What do you mean I was out of bed!?" You glowered. "(Y/N), leave it." Jonathan said quieter. "No!" You said sharply. "You've already asked me about the incident and I told you what happened!" Edward glared at Dr Vern, ignoring your protest. "What happened!?" You snapped. "You and Nygma were found covered in blood last night." Dr Vern responded looking between the two of you, his pleasant demeanor long gone. "Two staff members were killed in that very room you were found in." "They deserved it!" Edward snapped. "They were hurting them!" "You expect anyone to believe that you defended (Y/N) and effectively killed those two people when you've shown almost no interest in (Y/N) before?" Dr Vern asked lightly. To his surprise, Jonathan responded. "I do. Your staff members are deplorable. I speak through experience on both ends. I think (Y/N) to be very lucky Edward was there." "Too right!" Harvey agreed. "The shit that goes down in this place is downright evil and that's coming from us!" Edward's jaw clenched. "Besides, (Y/N) was in an absolute state after that so-called ‘therapy’. They were wandering around and those two guards were going to take advantage of that. I would know since they were supposed to take me to my 'treatment' and suddenly (Y/N) wanders by and the things those men were saying... disgusting! I intervened the moment I saw that (Y/N) was beyond confused and dazed and instead growing distressed!" "Forgive me, doctor." Roman spoke up. "Isn't it Arkham's finest of staff's job to ensure the safety of all patients?" "Of course, it simply adds to the poor reputation of this place that they simply do not. So much so that other patients have to step in." Jonathan responded with a smirk. Your gaze was locked into Edward as you struggled to believe the story.

He was narcissistic at the very least and didn't spent much time on you. Edward Nygma just didn't strike you as the saving type and you would have known if that was the case.

You were waiting for Edward at this point to come out of isolation. You had asked almost every one Edward spoke to in the asylum. No one seemed to know anything and even confirmed your suspicions, Edward wouldn't just jump in to save an inmate but for whatever reason Edward had to lie, they'd support it.

When Edward got out of isolation it was like a tease, you barely saw him, Arkham staff doing it's best to keep you apart. However whilst this was irritating, it got to a whole new level when Edward’s associates seemed to know exactly what had happened and weren't willing to share. Just the thought made you tremble, that Edward and his friends knew what really happened that night...and you didn't have a clue.

You usually had taken satisfaction when Dr Vern handed in his resignation, he had to now that he knew how much you knew about his life. However, you noticed how disheveled he was and it dawned on you he must have confronted his wife. Dr Vern couldn't ignore such accusations, you knew that. It would have chewed away at him but you didn't get to enjoy the satisfaction. Not even when he glanced at you with unease when quitting. You couldn't enjoy it because your own thoughts were chewing away at you. You needed to know what happened that night and the longer you didn't get answers, the more drastic measures you'd take.

By Saturday morning, you couldn't take it anymore. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep, or indigestion...or it was the question that had been tearing you apart for days. You knew you'd have to force Edward to talk. He was incredibly intelligent, he didn't slip up or give things away like the others did and in that moment, it simply drove you mad.

When Edward locked eyes with you, his stomach dropped. To put it simply, you didn't look well. Clearly you hadn't been sleeping, there were dark circles under your eyes and you slightly curled into yourself, as though barely having the strength to hold your body up. Edward also couldn't help but wonder if you had been eating. From what he had seen you were in a foul mood, nearly getting yourself isolation multiple times. Each time Edward, Jonathan and Two-Face got you out of it.

"Alright (Y/N), you can calm down now. Jervis picked up your book by mistake." Edward had said once, sliding the book towards you before you could get into serious trouble with the nurses. It seemed to distract the nurse more than it did you and his action, yet again caught you off guard.

The second time he set off Harley, distracting the nurses, all because he insulted the joker who had still not gotten out of isolation.

Your piercing stare could have surely killed him if he hadn't been across the room. He knew immediately that you were hitting your breaking point and so when you stormed off, he followed.

You led him to an empty lab. A lab with no camera. That left Edward on edge but held onto the fact that you were still very much coherent. The empty glazed over look in your eyes like that night was far away. "Do you know that I killed two people in a blackout once?" You asked, your back still towards him. "Yes." Edward responded.

Many Arkham patients had murdered. So much so that two was virtually nothing in comparison to the number that many inmates had, Edward included. "Do you remember when I first got here?" You asked. "Yes. You weren't responsive for four days. The one that got you to break your silence was Dr Vern." You were impressed although not so surprised that Edward knew so much. Of course he knew. "I couldn't believe what I had done. When they told me my father and stepmother were..." You looked over your shoulder. "They put me in here, undiagnosed as well as not knowing a motive as to why I'd ever murder my father and the one woman who had been the closest thing to a mother I had ever had." You blinked back a memory. "I don't know why they painted such a picture that those two were so wonderful. They weren't." "Reporters and the justice system love their innocents." Edward replied in disdain. "My parents weren't innocent. If the GCPD looked a little further. They'd have known the motive." You finally turned to face him. "Why?" Edward asked. "Because they deserved each other." You responded icily. "They were committing fraud, wanting the extra money and expected me to play along regardless of how nice they were to me. They began to put their problems on me, expecting me to fix them. They never thought about what that could to do their kid." You swallowed. "Every mistake they made, I was blamed. To the GCPD I was a difficult child, it wasn't that my step-mother was trying to steal multiple bottles of alcohol and convinced me to carry them in my bag. Every single time, my parents chose each other, every time it was at my expense and I never got even as much of an apology. That's what I was there for. To hide their mistakes, I was to play the problem. So I accepted that. I accepted this is what they wanted, what they deserved. It hadn't been the first black out I had but it was the most brutal. Their bodies were side by side." Your gaze met Edwards eyes. "I couldn't forgive myself when I found out what I had done. I didn't speak a word after that, not until that day after some time here. Dr Vern was the first, as you said. Look where that got him." You couldn't help but smirk. "I actually liked the guy but, I knew where his loyalties lie." Your smirk vanished, your brow creasing. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I don't know what happened that night Edward but you do and you lied to Vern, you lied to Strange and you're lying to me. You're getting your friends to do it too." "(Y/N)-" You cut Edward off. "No!" You said sharply. "I want the truth. I need it. You're going to give me the truth."

Edward stayed silent. "Damn it, Edward!" You snapped, digging into a drawer behind you before pulling out a very large syringe. "Don't do this." Edward said lowly. His hands raising slightly to calm you. "You know something I don't!" You snapped. He thought this over. "I know many things you don't." "You know what I mean!" You yelled. "You didn't care before. Why now? What changed? Are you using me?" "No...no, I'm not." Edward said. "Then what is it!?" You cried. "Put that down and I'll tell you." Ed nodded to the syringe in your hand. You looked at the syringe before back at him as he hesitantly took a step closer. "Give me the syringe and I'll tell you." "You won't lie?" Edward shook his head. "I have no reason to."

After a couple of seconds you dropped the syringe and it clattered to the floor. Edward immediately lunged, taking your hands and pulling you into his arms. You gasped, panic setting in. The Riddler was one of the most dangerous people in Gotham and he could kill you in a heartbeat. Although it took you a moment to realise that he was simply holding you to him, almost like an embrace. A quiet voice, almost a whimper escaped him. "They were hurting me." He began and you heard a slight quiver in his voice. "They were hurting me and you helped me. I know you don't remember that night but I do."

Edwards plans for the night didn't include electric shock therapy. Regardless if it was Arkham's so he kicked and screamed creating a fuss along the way. The more he struggled, the more assistance was needed. He had even caused a few other patients to cry out from their cells, a minor but pestering bother for Arkham staff.

By the time they reached the room with the chair, the guards had enough and immediately surrounded him for a beat down. Edward curled into a ball, covering his head and ribs as much as he could as doctors and nurses hurried away from the room. Typical.

Suddenly there was a yelp that didn’t come from Edward, everyone seemed to freeze, Edward looking up to see what had happened. One of the guards were stunned, frozen in shock, staring at the other guard who looked horrified. In his neck was a syringe of what was previously a sedative for Edward. The thumb pressed down, plunge the contents into his neck. A laboured breath escaped the guard before he fell to the ground before Edward, who was slightly alarmed and wondering just how strong that sedative was, if it even was that. The hand had been yours, eyes glazed over and very still.

Without warning, as soon as your eyes locked on the other guard, you lunged towards him. He had no time to process what had happened or even prepare himself for the attack. He fell to the ground, you on top as you ferociously beat his face with your hands. Your strength was astounding and it was the clearly why you were such a threat. You were like an deranged animal, it wasn’t enough even when he was out cold. Edward wasn’t even sure if the guard was still alive. However, you moved onto the next guard just as quickly. Perhaps you hadn't noticed him.

He stood corrected when you halted your attack and turned your sights on him. Slowly he stood up, wincing at the pain in his ribs. You followed suit, your eyes still wide and empty. Slowly you moved forward. Edward went to move back but something blocked his path. He felt panic run through him but did his best not to show it. Something he often did with the Bat. Although you didn't lunge, as a matter of fact you were incredibly slow.

You seemed to notice his pain. Edward stiffened as you slowly wrapped your arms around him. You were so gentle he didn’t even entirely feel the hug. He looked down at you, your head resting against his chest. You were looking at the ground as though feeling guilt. In that moment, Edward took charge. ”Give me your hands.” He said quickly. He did his best to wipe the blood from your hands and onto his own as well as his arms. Edward always did have a soft spot for you. He never allowed it to show but he couldn't deny it to himself that it was there. So in the moment you had saved his life, he knew he had to protect you. No one had ever helped him yet you had, whether it was consciously or not didn't matter. If he didn't do something you'd wake up in isolation with possibly even more deaths.

Edward knew you better than you thought, killing wasn't something you were proud of. You didn't want to add more to the list. So maybe in this way, he was protecting you just as you had protected him. Edward also noticed something that seemed to trigger your violent tendencies. It was violence itself. If you witnessed it, it seemed to drive you to be violent to the point of deadly. So he took the fall for it and eventually, they seemed to buy his story and take you back to your room. Throughout all that time, you didn't speak a word and the next morning you didn't remember a thing. Just as suspected.

"I couldn't tell you." He said, looking into your eyes. You had never seen him so vulnerable. "I couldn't risk Strange finding out. It was better for you if everyone thought it was me." "Why? Why protect me?" You asked. "Because you protected me...such a thing is very hard to find in Gotham." "I...I killed those people." You whispered and Edward nodded. "You saved my life." He corrected.

#batman #gotham #the riddler #edward nygma #arkham #arkham asylum #one shot #oneshot #warning

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bloody-bee-tea · 4 years

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BeeTober 2020 Day 3

Divine Harvest

It's day 3 of BeeTober and the Untamed Fall Fest and those two words in combination really screamed for a continuation of my LXC is a god and JC is his trusted chosen disciple. Finally some backstory as to how the gods were forgotten. Plays after Worthy of a god and before not dead, just forgotten.

Jiang Cheng is getting more and more worried with each passing day. There are rumours in the air, conversations held behind closed doors and in hushed whispers and which each speculation that Jiang Cheng catches his worry grows.

War is in the air, and Lan Xichen won’t tell him about it.

But Jiang Cheng wants to know—he needs to know in order to protect his god—and so he goes looking for Lan Xichen.

“You’re keeping secrets from me,” Jiang Cheng opens the conversation with as soon as he finds Lan Xichen in front of his house and the guilty look on Lan Xichen’s face is enough confirmation for Jiang Cheng. “You promised to never keep anything from me,” he quietly tacks on and Lan Xichen sighs.

“How do you know?” Lan Xichen asks him and Jiang Cheng gives him a look.

“I’m not stupid. There’s talk all over the place. No one quite dares to say it out loud yet, but I caught something about a Divine Harvest?”

“Oh, my beautiful heart, you have always been so clever,” Lan Xichen says with a slight smile and beckons Jiang Cheng to his side.

Praise from Lan Xichen is nothing new; it’s almost like he makes it a point to praise Jiang Cheng at least once a day, but it still never got easier for Jiang Cheng to accept it. To accept that maybe Lan Xichen means it, that he is awed by Jiang Cheng.

It’s been at least seven decades with Lan Xichen now—Jiang Cheng finds it increasingly difficult to keep track of the time—and even though that should be more than enough to make up for only eighteen years of his father’s callous words, Jiang Cheng still struggles with it.

“Stop it,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, like he always does, but dutifully goes over to his god. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Lan Xichen tucks him into his side, close and protected, and this is something else Jiang Cheng has noticed in the past. Lan Xichen’s need to keep him close and to touch him often.

He guesses it’s because Lan Xichen’s last disciple died so violently, but he never dared to ask Lan Xichen directly. Jiang Cheng isn’t even sure if he wants to know, if he’s just filling in some empty space in Lan Xichen’s life; a replacement for someone Lan Xichen loved dearly but lost.

“Don’t do that,” Lan Xichen chides him gently and rubs a thumb over the worry lines in Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “You shouldn’t worry.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have to if you could just tell me the truth,” Jiang Cheng shoots back, diverting his thoughts to the much more pressing issue at hand.

“I had hoped to keep this from you for a little bit longer,” Lan Xichen admits. “Because once you know that worry line will be permanent and I didn’t want that for you,” Lan Xichen explains and then sighs. “But you’re right. I promised to never keep secrets from you.”

“So tell me,” Jiang Cheng urges and he’s already prepared to do anything for Lan Xichen if he should need to.

If this Divine Harvest is something that is worrying Lan Xichen this much, Jiang Cheng better get prepared for a fight sooner rather than later. He’s already thinking about doing more training session, even though amongst the disciples there is only Wei Wuxian who can match him now.

“The Divine Harvest is a very ancient technique. Maybe even more ancient than any of us,” Lan Xichen starts his explanation, and though he keeps his voice light, Jiang Cheng can tell that he is nervous.

This seems to be more serious than he originally thought.

“What does it do?” Jiang Cheng asks but he can tell by the tension in Lan Xichen that it’s nothing good.

“It harvests the power of the gods, leaving them unable to do anything but exist in the most basic forms, and then it uses that power to erase the knowledge of the gods from the mortal plane. Humans will forget us and all knowledge about us will be swiped from the records.”

Dread pools in Jiang Cheng’s stomach, because that doesn’t sound good at all. It sounds like something that can never be allowed to happen.

“I don’t like it,” Jiang Cheng says almost petulantly and just like he hoped it brings a smile to Lan Xichen’s face, no matter how small it is.

“I don’t like it either, my heart. We all don’t like it. But it seems like Wen Ruohan unearthed that technique and we’re all just waiting to see what he’s going to do with it.”

“It’s not going to be good,” Jiang Cheng knows that much, because Wen Ruohan is one of the cruellest, most power-hungry gods Jiang Cheng has ever seen.

“Of course not,” Lan Xichen agrees and squeezes Jiang Cheng one last time before he puts some distance between them. “But nothing happened yet, so let’s not think the worst. Maybe he’ll just sit on the knowledge and not actually do anything with it.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs at that, because they both know that that doesn’t sound like Wen Ruohan at all. If he has the chance to destroy the gods, then he’s going to take it. He makes no secret that he would like to rule the humans alone, after all.

“Yeah, let’s hope,” Jiang Cheng still whispers, because maybe, just maybe they will get lucky.

~*~*~

They do not get lucky.

They are incredibly unlucky, is all Jiang Cheng can think when he sees the fire spread further and further in the place he had called his home for the last centuries.

Wen Ruohan has taken his time, has chosen to spread unease and growing worry amongst the gods instead of using the Divine Harvest immediately, but it seems like he finally tired of that as well.

There’s a fluttering panic in Jiang Cheng’s belly because he hasn’t seen Lan Xichen since it all started and Jiang Cheng’s entire being aches with the thought that maybe it’s already too late for Lan Xichen. That maybe he died without Jiang Cheng by his side.

But then he reminds himself that he still remembers Lan Xichen—still remembers their time together—so Wen Ruohan can’t have completed the ritual yet. And Lan Xichen is too formidable a fighter to simply die in hand-to-hand combat.

“My heart,” Lan Xichen suddenly says from behind Jiang Cheng, and when Jiang Cheng turns around to look at him, he sees that Lan Xichen must have been fighting already.

There’s sooth all over his usually so white robes and a speck of blood mars his cheek.

“Are you hurt?” Jiang Cheng breathes out, rushing forward to check Lan Xichen over but he only breathes easier when Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“I’m not,” he reassures him and that finally allows the anger to take root in Jiang Cheng.

“Then what the hell is going on? I should be fighting with you, why did you go out alone?” he demands to know, because he is still Lan Xichen’s disciple and it should be on him to fight for Lan Xichen.

To fight with him.

“You’re not going to fight,” Lan Xichen tells him, and his voice is all steel.

Jiang Cheng has never heard him sound like that before.

“What is going on?” Jiang Cheng whispers, as he fists his hands in Lan Xichen’s robes.

“He’s performing the ritual. He’s going to erase us.”

“Then let’s fight him!”

“No,” Lan Xichen says and covers Jiang Cheng’s hands with his own. “I’m sending you down to Earth.”

“Absolutely not,” Jiang Cheng immediately snaps back, but Lan Xichen doesn’t seem like he is even listening to Jiang Cheng.

“He’s killing the disciples,” Lan Xichen says, a faraway look in his eyes. “He’s killing them all, and I’m not going to lose you, my beautiful heart. He’s coming for you, especially. He’s afraid of you.”

“If he’s so afraid of me, then let me fight!”

“No.”

“Xichen,” Jiang Cheng chokes out, because Lan Xichen seems seconds away from crying and Jiang Cheng cannot take it. “Let me stay by your side.”

“You can’t. You’ll be safer on Earth.”

“I will forget you, if you send me down there,” Jiang Cheng argues, because even though it has been so many years since they last talked about the Divine Harvest, he still remembers that.

Everyone on Earth will forget about the gods.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lan Xichen says with a shake of his head. “You’re my most wonderful disciple, loyal down to the single last atom of your very being. You will remember me.”

“What if I don’t?” Jiang Cheng whispers, because that grain of self-doubt still sits deep within him. “What if I don’t?”

“You will,” Lan Xichen says with conviction. “You will remember me.”

“What if Wen Ruohan finds me first?” Jiang Cheng goes on, because he cannot bear to leave Lan Xichen behind.

“He will not. He forgot that he is divine, too. The ritual harvests the power of the gods. Of all the gods. And at the end of the day, no matter how highly he thinks of himself, he is just a god as well. He’ll be powerless and the people will forget about him, too.”

Jiang Cheng likes that thought, likes that Wen Ruohan can grab for power all he wants, but that he is still bound by the rules as well, but it doesn’t do anything to make this situation right now any less awful.

“Please don’t make me leave,” Jiang Cheng begs and startles when Lan Xichen rests their foreheads together.

“I cannot let him kill you, I cannot go through that again. Wangji already sent Wei Wuxian down, and I think Nie Mingjue sent Mo Xuanyu away as well. You’ll find them again and then you’re going to remember me, no matter how long it takes.”

“What are you going to do without me?” Jiang Cheng asks, and he hates how his voice shakes, he hates how desperate he feels at just the thought of being separated from Lan Xichen.

“I’ll be waiting for you, my heart,” Lan Xichen easily replies. “I’ll wait for you to find me again.”

“Please don’t,” Jiang Cheng tries again, but then he can hear yelling and he knows their time is almost up. “Come with me,” he urges Lan Xichen but he shakes his head.

“There’s still a slim chance that we can stop him. I have to stay. But you, my beautiful heart, you’re leaving now,” Lan Xichen says and Jiang Cheng can’t help the sob that breaks through.

“I will find you,” Jiang Cheng promises, his voice already shaking with his grief and Lan Xichen smiles at him.

“I know that you will,” he whispers as he brushes his lips over Jiang Cheng’s. “And I will be waiting for that day.”

It’s the last thing Lan Xichen says to him, because immediately afterwards Jiang Cheng finds himself in the middle of a field down on earth.

He’s crying freely now, tears streaming down his face, but when he turns his gaze upwards to the Heavens there is no sign of the turmoil, of the war up there.

Jiang Cheng thinks that’s monumentally unfair, and he tries to ascend by himself, but nothing his happening.

Lan Xichen and the others must have done something to prevent the disciples from coming back and if Jiang Cheng only cries harder at that, then no one is around to see.

“Xichen,” he whispers, hoping that at least his voice will reach his god, but he doesn’t know if it works.

“Xichen, Xichen, Xichen,” he repeats, over and over again, hoping to keep on to his memories but by the fifteenth time, the name doesn’t make sense anymore.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know a Xichen, and he also can’t remember why he’s out at night, in the middle of nowhere.

He thinks something must have happened at home, because he has been crying, but even that memory escapes his grasp.

“Xichen,” Jiang Cheng mutters again, the name foreign and strange on his lips and then he shrugs.

Better not think about it anymore.

On the way home his gaze keeps wandering up to the sky as if he should be able to see something there, and that doesn’t make sense at all.

The old gods are dead, after all.

Next part

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #beetober 2020 #untamed fall fest #untamed fall fest 2020 #mdzs #the untamed #xicheng #lxc is a god #jc is a disciple #THE disciple #hurt #angst #the comfort is in the sequel #i'm sorry

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zhaozaipalooza · 3 years

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Your Weekly Drabble! - Day 1 | Festival

The missing drabble for LuZhao mini-week where I brought to you Holi? — here it is! ✨

The court painter fiddled with the array of tools at his side - paled slightly, lips forming a curse - then quickly bit it down, stammering about getting a few supplies before he excused himself. Red curtains framing the prince’s portrait-to-be settled behind him.

Lu Ten sprang from his seat. He paced to drum out his annoyance through the silks lining the floor. When that didn’t work, he ducked out of the same opening.

A massive, tiled chamber cleared of the average riches piled in a palace room, sunlight streaming from the corridor outside, gave him more breath than his lungs knew what to do with. When the day glowed, he couldn’t resist the same - not as a child, not as a princeling aware of his place in a turning world, fire in his heart and fingers. Dance with me, sing with me, run with me, said the sun… and Lu Ten followed.

The rays guided his eyes over ornate fixtures, twisting pillars and rosy walls, to a guard stationed beside the open door. His helmet was clutched in a free hand to keep it from slipping over his eyes. He caught Lu Ten smiling, and mustered a look of confidence.

Peace that uncommonly smoothed Zhao’s face - in his presence, no one else’s - was knocked off when Lu Ten jabbed a fist into his side. “Yip!” His eyes bugged, rubbing at the sore spot.

“Loosen up! You’re only in charge of me and the, uh…” he cleared his throat, “snail sloth. And no thief is going to steal the wallpaper.”

“It’s only been half an hour.” He gripped the helmet. “Anything could happen. Do you know how much this sort of position pays? To serve inside palace walls? I’ll never go hungry again.” His lips turned firm. “I wouldn’t have managed to land it without your pull. I can’t go risking it now.”

Zhao grabbed in air when the headpiece slid neatly off his topknot. The prince tucked it in the crook of his arm. “You won’t go hungry again. Ever.”

“I promise.” Their eyes met, something of more absence than they knew what to do with fleeing their lungs.

Lu Ten blinked off the daze first, hauling him by the arm behind the curtains, where the painter had abandoned his things. He was first to press his lips to his and linger slowly, sweetly.

Zhao’s laughter was between a rumble and a sigh. “You thought you could get bored when I was right outside?”

“Pah... I have you around for more than that.” He strung a lock of Zhao’s hair around his knuckle, thumb skimming his cheek. Within an instant, Lu Ten tugged free, jumped onto the chair where he was meant to sit motionless for hours - looking so daring and heroic that it was comical. “We’re adventurers! The gods threw us together, watched us train together, conquer together. We’re meant to make history, not lounge around waiting for history to make out who we were from a painting.”

“Hm, now there’s a good point.” His disbelief mingled with awe in Lu Ten’s shadow - one he barely noticed. Zhao laughed more, the sound crinkling with a soft snort. How are you so full of life?

“We could cross the tundra, climb mountain ranges where airbender ruins still whisper to the living,” Lu Ten pantomimed an otherworldly sensation, with a swirling mock of airbending - Sozin’s descendants weren’t taught much in the way of regard. Neither was the nation; Zhao fought a grin. “Or! We could master our firebending under the greatest there ever were… the very first benders to learn from the dragons.”

“The Sun Warriors?” He leaned against the wall, hoping it wasn’t indecorous - some part of him would always feel like an ugly blot in the lap of luxury. Zhao’s memory tingled, “I read of them. Once. Sounded like a tall tale to me. If they existed, they’re far gone now.”

“I say they’re alive and well.” He hopped down. The legs of the chair jerked back. “Fire of every color thrives there. Blue, purple, green, all blazing hot. Colors that don’t have names! There’s a thousand stairs to reach the golden temple behind a sea of clouds, and once you-”

“Come on, green fire? Your head’s stuck in a sea of clouds. I say tundra.”

“Stuck in a- you hate snow!” The prince’s huff spoke easily for him after all the time they’d spent together: dream a little! He gave Zhao one of his father’s looks and went to the pigments sitting in neat boxes in a larger hinged case, and grumbled again. This one stood for that sore loser…

“He hasn’t even mixed the powders into paints. I can tell where he sourced some of them - the white is crushed seashells, it looks like. Fragile, tiny shells… Four hours is starting to look like ten.”

“Green fire, purple fire, ooh,” Zhao was teasing, “What’s next, each of them stand for a pillar of society? Yellow for contracts, green for tea, pink for… hm, intercourse? I think we should start with that one when we get th-”

A creative itch had sprouted a full-out snarkfest; the prince suddenly twisted, flinging a fistful of ground powder in his guard’s direction. Outside of these walls they were lieutenant and ensign, soldiers homeward-bound if luck was on their side.

“Or maybe it stands for paying a little more respect.” Lu Ten smirked, hands at his hips. “Not that you’ve ever followed that pillar of society.”

Zhao shielded his face too late, swiped off the glimmering traces. Face ajar and upturned at his nerve.

Here, they were a lot younger, and they were home. As young as they should be.

“So that’s how it is.”

One half-hour stretched out for twenty more minutes, the seconds passing like snow in a blizzard. Fun thinned time, after all, dragging the sun higher into the sky, melting down their reservations. “You want to learn from the Sun Warriors? Well, I’m twice the warrior you are, and Agni knows my family has the divine blessing of the sun - so why not learn a lesson or two?”

“You’re on.”

Lu Ten ripped each box loose and scattered them outside the curtains; clouds of mushed petals, the deep green of palm leaves, a reddish rust like clay shingles, and pale alabaster shells - all drifting in the air like trails of smoke. The prince was splattered, his friend powdered head to foot like a circus novelty, and their laughter shook the gleaming (once spotless) hall.

“Get back here, get back here- oh no you d- ack!” Fingers smudged like they’d been rooting in the royal kitchen and licking off cream, sleeves rolled and rumpled, armor stripped so their feet could race lightly back and forth on the slippery floor.

“I’m over here, old man!”

Endless, Zhao thought, let this moment be endless. Bare skin freckled in a dizzying prism of sight and scent; he’d thrown something of tartness, plunged through the aroma of flowers to streak Lu Ten’s beaming face. He ceded him the point, returned with a swipe of orange made from dried seeds, dusting the top of his head like a showy plume. He puffed out a pale wisp. Lu Ten folded, cradling his colorful, aching gut.

They ended sprawled wide, one on top of the other, undistinguished from anything. Littering the crook of his collar, neck, cheek, and ear with kisses, the one pinned muffling a fit with the back of his palm.

“Hey,” Zhao rolled aside, the both of them heaving, trained on the hazy light pooled in the ceiling. “Don’t fire that painter.”

“Huh?” Soaking in the quiet, Lu Ten glanced over.

“He’s new to this. Wracked with nerves. Who knows if he’s trying to make ends meet? Give him a chance.” Like you did me.

The prince thought it over. “Of course. Snap judgements are more my uncle’s thing.”

“Oh gods, does he scare me.” They spent the little breath they’d scraped together snickering.

The Firelord’s firstborn accompanied the worrisome painter to pay his son a visit… No sooner had they entered the corridor did the spray of lavender on a flowerpot clue the artist to go lightheaded.

Iroh hurried to promise his compensation, divined the prince’s likely attitude to having to wash off and remain statuesque until dinner, and decided the best course of action.

The painter was redirected to capture the fiasco in a sketch, nearly abstract: both boys with their arms looped over shoulders, a smile held in their eyes as long as their warmth was close. The young man tutted under his breath as he improvised, following the stains and speckles on Lu Ten and Zhao with a deft fingertip. In the final touches, he seemed to have enjoyed himself, too.

“You should join us for dinner.” It was sundown. The prince held the piece of parchment gingerly, softening whenever his eye crossed it again.

Adventurers.

His father had extended the gesture, son nodding along. “No, no, I couldn’t.” Zhao held up his palms, still tinged with a sea of floral and earthen smells. “The pay as a royal guard is plenty, even for a temporary station… I can look after the rest myself. I know how.”

“It would be bad manners for us to let a guest leave without experiencing the most of their stay.” The general’s eyes twinkled. “And here is the best of the best! Meals so fulfilling they leave room for fifth helpings.”

“You are more than a royal guard here.” A warm, heavy palm took Zhao’s shoulder. “As close as you are to my son, I think of you as my own.”

All he knew, even decades after the best meal of his life, was that things would have gone a lot differently if he had refused.

- - -

What a dark path, the one that lay down the other fork in the road. Thankfully, in this life, Zhao had not strayed.

The city was rife with celebration, lanterns dazzling the canals as their reflections bobbed in the water. Brilliant red, jade, and silvery powders made from starch and ground herbs coasted the night air.

A young girl in braids scampered down the pavement - chin purpled, hair smattered with blues and greens - and leaped into Zhao’s arms. He spun on a heel with her momentum, hearing a shriek of delight before her fists anchored themselves in his front.

“This is the best! I never want to sleep again. And Ma bought me these!” She placed a warm cake before his face, expectant, and he nibbled off one end. Sweet bean paste.

Her smile revealed the gap between her teeth; snuggling to his chest again, she sighed in content. “It’s so pretty… How come this wasn’t around when you were a kid?”

“Well,” Zhao rocked her gently, an unconscious swaying that soothed her since she could crawl. “It’s actually for someone very special. He was alive when I was young. I knew him. Firelord Iroh wants the world to know him, too.”

Her eyes lit up. “I read about him in school. I tell my friends, ‘My daddy knew a prince!’ and they ask so many questions.” Zhao laughed softly, and she asked, “What was he like? Really like?”

He thought it over. “… Like this. Just like this.” Like what? Lights and colors flickered over the darkness, an endless sun, a glow that rose and went on forever.

“Wonderful.”

#ray's friday ficlets have evolved into: a palooza submission!#luzhao #sideburns are a war crime #zhao #lu ten #iroh #zhaozai palooza 2021 #your local clown writes!

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