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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 8 months

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Two Eyes - a Magnus Archives fic

“Can I have a cigarette?”

No. No, this… couldn’t happen.

One moment of fear gripped me, memories of stories, and of the thing I’d seen in the Unknowing, shucking people out of their skin like corn. But I wasn’t the same; the world wasn’t the same. Even if this was happening, I was not some weak human anymore.

Part of the Magnus Monsterverse.

AO3

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Martin and I spent the rest of the day celebrating my new job and pretending we didn’t feel like there was a threat to the whole world possibly looming over our heads.

Was something going on? Absolutely. Did we have further means to figure it out right now? We did not! Did we need stress relief? Yes.

And… well. We hadn’t really gotten the chance to be… goofy together. Silly.

Dating.

Flirting. (As absolutely poor as mine was, he received it with grace.)

Eating each other’s ice cream, and… all those things.

Here we were, giggling over dropped whipped cream on a cafe table, leaning in, and being ridiculous.

I only saw him. I only wanted to see him.

He took my hand and brought it to his lips, smiling at me over my knuckles. “I’m dating a hot librarian, did you know?”

“Not a librarian,” I said. “Only a temporary worker. Shelver.”

“Bringing down hot librarian money ,” he said.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Right. Flush.”

“Absolutely rich,” he murmured, absolutely not meaning money, looking at me through his lashes.

Oh, Martin…

I’m sure, statistically, I must have been happier in my life, but at that moment, I could not think of one such time.

“I have to admit it,” I murmured, my head on his shoulder. “Quiet London is nice.”

“Right?” said Martin, his head resting on mine. We sat on a bench in a park called Hadrian’s Folly. (Not the Roman general, but an architect born eight hundred years later, who’d tried to turn this park into a palace and discovered it to be all but swamp, sinking his creation. You could still tour the upper rooms.) “Honestly, it… it’s nice. When I need to be alone, I can be. Truly. Or at least, according to my five senses.”

I knew what he meant. It was quiet, but oh… I still knew. Knew every mind that passed, knew the fleeting hearts that beat with such concerns all around, knew the weight upon them to be silent and show nothing and stay calm.

I did not yet know why they felt those things. Which was curious. I’d have to push to learn more, and I didn’t want to do that. I exhaled. “I just wish we had more time like this.”

“Maybe we will. We don’t actually know what’s happening. What the danger is. If there is any.”

“I think the Gerrys are right,” I murmured. “And I think that… possibly not-evil Jonah was genuinely trying to warn me of something.”

“So let’s go eat Leitner and cut it off at the pass,” Martin said, mostly joking. He threaded his fingers between mine.

“Ha,” I said. “If he’s cagey enough to make Jonah Magnus nervous, he’s probably even worse than a pair of haunted eyeballs.”

Martin laughed and began naming other potentially haunted body parts.

We grew quite ribald, and had anyone come near, I suspect we would have embarrassed them.

But no one did. In Quiet London terms, we were loud, but we were also left alone.

That night, tucked into his too-small bed, we slept. Or really, Martin slept, and I lay awake, trying to ignore the next logical step staring me in the face.

I wanted to learn more without losing myself. I knew I hadn’t exhausted my fellow Eye-based resources yet. Not at all. However, I didn’t want to see him.

I didn’t want to! But there weren’t a lot of us Eye-type folk here, curiously enough. I wasn’t sure why that was, and the Eye wasn’t telling me (tonight’s topic was the history of Nesalogus netscheri , the world’s rarest breed of rabbit). I’d exhausted the Gerrys; I already knew that even if I visited the other two, they would basically say, We already talked about this? And then maybe go make out with Michael, or whatever.

But Jonah was new, I told myself. He wouldn’t know anything, I told myself. It would be a waste of time, I told myself.

The Eye wanted me to talk to him.

The Eye still wanted us to… get along.

I fidgeted. Rolled over. Flopped over Martin, spooning him from behind like some weird ocular backpack.

“You good?” he murmured.

“No,” I moaned. “It wants me to talk to Jonah.”

“You’re probably going to have to, anyway,” he said.

“He’s not asleep.” I knew . “He’s waiting for me.”

“What… now?” Martin half sat up and checked his phone. “Jon, it’s two in the morning.”

“I’m sorry,” I said pitiably.

He rolled over.

This bed really was too small for us. Even on our sides, we were face to face, or pressed up close; and neither of us wanted anything else. (Which amazed me, because shouldn’t he want space from me?) “Do you need to go, Jon?” he whispered.

“It’s not exactly visiting hours.”

“Sasha doesn’t sleep. She’ll let you in.”

“You’re awfully calm about this,” I said.

“I’ve been over there this late.”

He said it so casually, so… so throwaway. But I knew, suddenly, why. Panic attacks; feeling the world go vague; terror that he’d just… lose himself, and wander Quiet London in a state of emptiness, or an empty city, or maybe that he’d make it empty, and wouldn’t even know, and—

“Martin,” I breathed. “How… how long have you been here?”

His eyes tightened. “A while.”

“How long has all this been going on?”

“A while.”

“Martin…”

He touched my cheek. “You don’t know how long I waited. How long I had to wait. I gave up, Jon.”

Here we were, lovers, together in a way we’d wanted to be in the non-apocalyptic world, and never had the chance… and I hadn’t known this about him. “I’m so selfish,” I whispered. “I should have asked.”

“If I’d wanted to talk about it, I would have,” said Martin. “If you need to go see her tonight, go on. You’ll be fine.”

“Hunters?” I suggested.

“They’re rare,” he said. “And you’ll be careful.”

“And we’re currently suspecting Leitner and have probably got on somebody’s radar,” I said.

He kissed my forehead. “And you can stop them. Which nobody else is able to do.”

He really had changed.

I mean. I knew that. Of course he had. So had I. But he… he was so much quieter. Solemn. The nervous fidgeting was just… gone; his caution, too, seemed to be largely lost, in odd ways.

His focus on me was so very steady. Like I was the only light he could see. And I was missing something else. Something…

Forgive him , the Eye encouraged, but I had nothing to forgive. Martin had never wronged me. “You’re really encouraging me to go out in the middle of the night and see the younger version of a man I hated so much I ate .”

“Admit it,” he said. “You’ve done far weirder.”

I laughed. “I get it now. You’ve become the mad old wise man who lives in a cave.”

“Absolutely,” he said. “With a baking show. Also a blazing social life.”

“Blazing, you say.” Did I really have to leave?

“Absolutely hedonistic,” he said with a small smile, and kissed me.

We were busy for a little while. I no longer felt nearly as anxious, and that truly helped.

He exhaled slowly, forehead against mine. “I choose to believe you’re going to be fine. That you can handle whatever comes at you. That we will be fine.”

This sounded like a mantra. “I can get behind that.”

He looked at me again. “I waited so long. I don’t think I can do it again.”

“I love you,” I whispered. “I…” We weren’t each other’s… us. But we were. Weren’t we? “This is confusing,” I added.

“Yeah,” he said, not asking for clarification, and kissed me again.

“You sure I should go tonight?”

“Will you sleep if you don’t?”

I made a face. “Probably not.”

“You have to go sign paperwork and all of that tomorrow. Go see him. Might as well get it out of the way.”

“You really think this isn’t dangerous.”

“What I think,” said Martin, unblinking, “is that if I don’t choose to trust you now, and get all possessive and weird, I will be feeding the worst parts of myself. So I choose to trust you’ll be safe.”

He wasn’t okay, was he?

The Eye was silent; It didn’t know. This was Martin. It saw Martin. It didn’t analyze Martin. It saw him. Not helpful.

Maybe Martin had just… figured it out. Maybe he really was older and wiser, and I was worried over nothing.

He laughed suddenly. “Your face is a journey right now.”

“Caught me.” It didn’t matter if he wasn’t the one I’d known before. I knew I wanted him now. I knew I loved him now. At this point, I think we both would have known if we didn't fit. “All right. I’ll go.”

“I probably won’t sleep until you get back,” he said, watching me dress in the dark.

“Bribery,” I pronounced, and kissed him again. “I’ll be back.”

“Jokes aside.. If you do somehow run into trouble, please just run.”

I looked down at him, sprawled in his bed, watching me unblinking. “I will. I promise.”

He touched my hand, and I left.

Quiet London was, big shock, even quieter at night.

Not much was open. Lights kept things feeling safe, but there just… wasn’t anyone. No music. No late-night plays letting out. People were awake; I felt them—more pf them lived in London than had in my time, because here, somehow, rent prices had stayed within the grasp of the common man.

It wasn’t really a comforting quiet, though. There was something abjectly miserable about it, though I couldn’t say what. Anticipation? No; a sourness, familiar enough to leave me almost knowing what it was, and yet just altered so that I could not immediately put my finger on it.

I could know.

“Yes, Jon, let’s do that, risking losing myself on a public street, alone and without help. Brilliant,” I muttered.

“Can I have a cigarette?” someone said.

I froze.

To my right was an alley. A shape stood there, human, swaying almost hypnotically, rhythmically, over and over, left and right.

Had I stroked out? “What?”

“Can I have a cigarette?”

No. No, this… couldn’t happen.

“Can I have a cigarette?” said the shape, swaying.

“Listen,” I said, taking a step closer. “I may be new, but I damn well know you’re not supposed to be hunting on your own.”

It swayed, mesmeric. Echoes wafted around it, things I heard not with my ears—cries, screams, the loss of life thanks to this horrifying creation. It had been hunting for a very long time.

Oh, I was getting angry. “Last chance. I will react with prejudice.”

“Can I have a cigarette?” said the shape.

I opened all my eyes and saw .

The angler fish was no solid thing, no proper, unified construct, and it began to peel, shreds of skin and the barest shape of a person beneath cracking and dropping away. The horrifying blob beneath that shape shuddered as if in pain (but it felt none, because it was not real), slivering and melting and falling apart in globs of stolen fat until all was gone.

Behind it stood the puppetmaster.

How could I be surprised, and yet not surprised at all? How could I even have missed the fact that I had met only one Stranger here in our entire group? Stranger-survivors were even rarer than the Eye's, and we were opposites, opposed, enemies.

Especially this one. “Hello, Nikola,” I said.

“Archivist,” said Nikola, her borrowed voice box just as twistedly bright as her old one had been. “Funny meeting you here in the middle of the night! I suppose you want to have a little chat. It does seem your style.”

And she—

This wasn’t the Nikola who’d been locked up. I knew that. So how the hell was she here?

I knew something else, too, as I stared at her, as she stepped out into the light of the street lamps, her hideously malformed plastic smeared with blood and gore, her ringmaster’s uniform shredded and faded: she was old . Very old. Much older than the Nikola I’d known. Impossibly so. She was far, far older than the portal Manuela had made to get to this place.

It was so funny, not being afraid of her anymore. Absolutely bizarre. “How did you even get here?” I started.

“Are you going to turn me in, Archivist?” she said. “I suppose they might believe you, though I don’t think you could actually force me to go with you. A manhunt, I think! How fun! Well, they wouldn’t find me. Not like that other .”

“The other you,” I said.

“Oh, yes! She’s a copy, you know.”

She…

I almost understood that. She was Stranger, and… well, that was the whole thing, wasn’t it? None of them were real . So a copy of a copy may not make a difference to the rest of us, but it did to them, for some reason.

But hadn’t they gotten that Nikola in the usual way? Scooped out of another world? How could that one be a copy of this one? This one… who had been feeding on people for so many years .

She wasn’t building toward the Unknowing. This was just for her. Taking children, taking people, keeping them in an impossible grip of terror and confusion until their bodies simply gave out. Torturing them and enjoying the absolute nightmare she put them through as they screamed, louder than they had ever been in their entire lives.

She’d been doing it for so long. “How dare you hurt people,” I hissed. “You could’ve gone any other way, could’ve joined us, could’ve been helped , and instead, you’re doing this? How dare you!”

“Funny words from a funny man,” said Nikola, clacking her filthy hands at me (one with eight fingers, the other with three). “You feed all the time… do you feel guilty? Oh, I’m sure you do . I’m sure it just eats at you, makes you question everything. I don’t, little Archivist! Isn’t that lovely? You could join me, instead, and avoid their gaze. You could be free of the worst wickedness!”

What the hell was she talking about? “I’m… I… I do not feed all the time, and you are changing the subject,” I snapped, ignoring her accusations of guilt, because of course I felt that, we all felt that, how could we not?

“Funny, funny man,” said Nikola. “I must go rebuild my prop, though, so if you’re all done being scary …”

“I am not done being scary!” I blurted like an idiot. “I can’t leave you out here. Come with me, turn yourself in, or I swear to hell, I will destroy you.”

She stared at me, or I thought she did—whatever paint her face had once had was gone, burned away, leaving patches not quite in the right places for face, nose, eyes—and then, she laughed. Because of course she did.

“I mean it, Nikola.”

“I know ! That’s why it’s delightful. Do you think I’m going to… oh, what is that phrase? Come quietly?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you have any sense of self-preservation?”

“You are far more confident than my last Archivist,” she said, and (predictably) revealed a morbid history. “Chomp, chomp! He was quite gamy. And he cried.”

Yes, yes, she’d killed me, whatever . She was covered in the blood of innocents here . Why was I even fooling around with this? “We are not far from Sasha’s. You’re coming. Or you’re dying. Now. ”

The Eye was eager for both. Either. Whichever one didn’t matter.

She sighed. “Oh, very well.”

She didn’t want to die. I had that to leverage over her. “Do you know where the hospital is? For our kind.”

“I do.” She sounded so bored.

“Lead the way. I am not taking my damned eyes off you.”

“As if you’d take them off me no matter where I walked,” she said, but began lurching up the street at speed.

“Nikola!” I snapped, and ran after her like an idiot. This was not what I’d promised Martin I would do. Oh, well! I was in it now, wasn’t I?

Sbe surged up the hill, her limbs moving slowly but covering great and terrible ground, and I knew I was going to lose her.

Idiot! I thought to myself, and taking out my phone, sent Sasha a message without taking my eyes off Nikola. Incoming Via Sacra going north passing Branzen’s pub right now Help Help

Right, that would tip her off, but the activity of running as fast as I could while watching Nikola and also looking at my phone was… dizzying.

Straining? No, not exactly, but this was splitting attention in a way I hadn’t done before. I was amazed I could, and sort of proud of myself, but also running out of mental space very damn quickly.

“Stop!” I called after her. “You’re making things worse!”

“I think not, Archivist!” Nikola called back at me from near the top of the hill. “I think the next meeting will be on my terms, don’t you?”

How dare she threaten me. How dare she threaten those I love, because if she was coming after me, then Martin was not safe—

Which was when Sasha hit her from the side like a wolf, or a truck, or a saber-toothed lion.

Hit her so hard that they both flew through the glass of a shop, and the sounds were nightmare—screeching and yowling, weird plastic torque and a howl that could have come from any damn thing, Stranger or Flesh alike.

No siren sang in response to that destruction, which in itself was bizarre, but I had no time to consider. I ran up, gasping, feeling the limitations of a body I did not understand at all, and found—

The Sasha-mass of flesh boiling and bubbling like smoke, battling some unspeakable thing in a shape I could almost identify, a creature I almost knew, which filled me with instinctive fear because, whatever it was, it was just a little wrong, and within it, Nikola wielded her disconnected limbs like clubs.

She hit, and the mountain of flesh that was Sasha bled, and though it did not seem to slow her down, it hurt .

She’d hurt her , hurt Sasha , and did it with joy.

I would not permit. “Stop!” I roared, command in my voice, a weird echo I couldn’t explain and felt vibrating through my entire form, and the word cast forth from me with physical effect and swept before me like a wave.

Pieces of glass and carnage whipped up as if in a gust of tornadic wind, violent and concentrated. Nikola recoiled from my cry as if I’d somehow smacked her with an enormous glove.

Sasha shuddered, her form not quite returning to familiar and beloved woman.

Nikola fixed her gaze on me, and I knew. We both knew. She hated me, on a level I couldn’t begin to comprehend, and I knew she’d decided this was it. I wouldn’t let her leave. She wouldn’t let me. She would die here, or I would.

She lunged.

Sasha tackled her from behind (neither of them had mass in the way understood, both a surging bulge of fear converging in will, affecting the physical world, but not of it), and slowed her enough for me to… react.

To…

Do something.

To fill with a thing I did not understand, to channel the helplessness and rage and other feelings I’d ignored and pushed down and denied, to feel the truth of what I spoke even as I spoke it, and I said these words with full knowledge of what they would do, and at the same time, absolute and puerile ignorance: “No.”

And with this word, I denied her.

Denied her right, denied her future. Denied her further chances to change her ways, to alter paths, to do anything other than shatter on the limit of my anger.

Nikola blew apart. Exploded. Slammed into me and the streetlights and the goods in this electronics shop and Sasha, and knocked me over and cracked the street and sent the fire hydrants shrieking water into the sky, and made the city shake and the earth sing and caught the attention of

Caught the

Caught the attention

Something looking at me, something seeing me , something I’d disrupted, something too big to understand that turned toward me at the speed of galaxies, and I—

Sasha stood over me, looking normal, though her hair was a mess and had bits of glass in it. “Jon?” she said softly. “Hey. Hey, there you are. Look at me, Jon. Come on.”

Oh. I was on the ground.

Still no sirens, but for this place, it was awfully noisy: there were voices, and the sound of water being pumped over crackling fire.

I hurt. So much. “What…”

“Martin’s on his way,” said Sasha softly. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” I said like an idiot.

“Maybe what just happened?” she suggested.

A debrief. She desperately needed one, not just for her own sake. Terrible things had happened here, and she needed to know I was innocent. “Saw her,” I managed. “Offered a cigarette. Like the… the… angler fish.”

“I remember the angler fish,” she said, soothing. “What happened?”

“Confronted. She ran. I texted you, tried to keep up.”

“And what happened then, Jon?” she said evenly. “What happened while we were fighting?”

Something absolutely terrifying that no one else in this world could do and I did not at all understand.

Fuck.

Lie?

I felt the lack of that ability right now. I couldn't lie, not seeing like this. I saw her, saw the fire, saw the people fighting the fire. Saw the reporters, saw the news, saw distant people lighting up as if touched with some current as they learned of the weird incident here.

I saw too much, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t turn it off . “I…”

“Just try,” she said softly.

Too many people. Too many emotions. Dreams and hopes and fears, lusts and disgusts and rages. Too many, flooding me, turning my tongue back into to eyes.

My own fears joined the world's. What would happen if I told her I didn’t know? Was I about to be locked up like the other Nikola? Would Sasha try to kill me? To help me? Was I going to lose my freedom? Would Manuela dissect me like a bug? I couldn’t make my tongue work.

“Let me help,” said Jonah Magnus, kneeling beside her. “He’s overwhelmed. Seeing too much. We called it inebrians cernentia—intoxicating visions.”

The children of parents who heard the news and feared some political rebellion and how it could affect their jobs and their lives, the police who suspected supernatural bullshit but had no way to verify or defend and had to pretend it wasn't weird, the—

She gave him a stern look. “Jonah, if you mess this up, you ruin all the progress you’ve made. You know that, don’t you?”

The conspiracy theorists who wondered if this was tied to Them, the foreign spies who parsed the official report of a gas leak and refrained from opinion until they knew more, the—

“Oh, of course,” said Jonah happily. “I would never harm him. You ought to know that.”

“Well, fine,” said Sasha. “Give it a try, then.”

Wait, what was happening?

Jonah smiled down at me, absolutely beatific; though clean-shaven, he’d kept his hair long enough to fall in those loose, golden curls. In a simple white t-shirt and jeans, he looked so damn normal . He’d catch a glance, perhaps, for being pretty, for being mildly cherubic in spite of a torso now revealed to be suspiciously wiry with muscle, but one would never know, looking at him, that he was one of the wickedest humans who had ever lived.

My own fear spiked.

“Oh, no, not that,” he said, his eyes widening. “No, no—don’t be afraid of me. Never of me. I adore you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I slurred.

“This will,” he promised, and—

We saw?

My vision, in my mind, briefly split, all those lives and people and homes, all those opinions and broadcasts and feelings, the murmur of conversations and spike of emotional concern, all of it split , came apart neatly as if the glue had failed, and…

Relief.

I made a small sound, feeling as though I swam up from the bottom of a well. Getting better, feeling lighter, less overwhelmed.

Feeling… more me.

I stared at him.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he said softly, eyes lidded, unblinking.

BROTHERS , the Eye chirped at me wordlessly.

Dear lord, get me out of here. I tried to sit up and groaned; my side felt… really awful. Burning and sharp and terrible.

“Easy,” said Sasha. “You’ve been impaled.”

“I what?” I blurted, looking down. Oh. Oh, I… lay on some kind of rubble with rebar sticking out of it? Out of me? Right through my side? Oh, I… oh. “That’s not good,” I said in a high, weak voice.

“Shhh. You’re all right. You don’t even have organs , Jon.”

“It hurts!” I said, because it should hurt, shouldn’t it, because I’d done something awful , and I didn’t even know what, and it was frightening, and—

“It’s all right, Jon,” Jonah purred. “Breathe—not that you need to, of course, but psychologically, it helps. You’re all right.”

“But it hurts,” I said like a stupid child.

“So see it,” he said. “See yourself free of it. See it gone, dissolved, turned to something so sweetly organic it cannot hurt you or the environment. See yourself free, Jon, because you can. ”

What was—

Why—

Why did his words matter?

I was angry over it, offended, even as what he said came true, because I understood (in a vague way I doubted I’d be able to repeat with ease) what he was saying, and freed myself from the horrible thing in my side.

It melted into sugar, into water, into nothing that mattered at all. Some laser-like awareness I hadn’t even noticed eased. Relief. Like stepping into shade, after standing in hot sun.

But I couldn’t quite envision being healed. I couldn’t see this body, couldn’t see myself, and so could not see the hole in my side closing. Now, it just hurt. I cried out.

“Jon!” Martin cried, running toward us, and anyone in his way was moved aside as if some unseen wave carried them. He fell to his knees beside us, practically showing Sasha away, and pulled me into his arms.

It hurt. It really hurt. I tried not to cry out.

“He’s wounded, Martin,” said Sasha. “But I think he’ll be all right.”

“This is my fault,” said Martin, and pressed his face to my head. “Oh, gods. Jon. I’m so sorry. I did this.”

“You didn’t do this,” I mumbled, and clutched his shirt. My hands shook. “I did this. Broke my promise to run.”

“I’m fairly sure the weird thing I just fought did this?” said Sasha. “No blame here.”

“No,” purred Jonah, who was watching me, who had not blinked, whose gaze held a sweetness I could not ignore, and it made me want to cry and I didn’t even know why. “No blame.”

Martin did a double-take. “What the hell are you doing out?”

“Therapy!” said Jonah with a bright smile.

“I think I’m passing out,” I told Martin, because these things should be communicated.

“Fascinating,” murmured Jonah.

“Sasha,” said Martin evenly. “I need a reason, right now, not to fucking drown something.”

“Let’s talk about it at the clinic, all right?” she said cheerfully, and stood.

Martin stood as well, holding me.

I felt drugged. Sluggish. Safe, with him. “Love you.”

Martin’s eyes filled. “I love you. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“This wasn’t you.” He needed to know. He shouldn’t feel guilty for this. “Broke my promise. I chased her.”

“I shouldn't have… what was I even thinking? What did I do?” he murmured. “Oh, gods. Jon, I’m so sorry.” Tears slid down his face now, dripping on to me, and his heart ached, pounded , and I could feel it, because I knew him.

No. No, I… I didn’t want him to feel this way. He shouldn’t be squashed with guilt, weighed down, his heart aching in his chest. Not my Martin. I couldn’t quite lift my hand to touch his face. “Not your fault.”

Sasha was talking to someone (police, I knew ), getting us out of here without having to make a report or anything, and they knew who she was, and she had power over them somehow (What? How?), and they were going to let her go, and I didn’t care.

Martin. Martin ached.

I couldn’t let Martin ache.

The Eye whispered, and I knew what to do. “All is forgiven, my love,” I whispered, too.

And the world

Changed.

The tiniest tremor, the shiver of reality shaking snow off its shoulders.

Jonah gasped.

“Oh,” said Martin, and stared at me. His eyes grew wide. “Oh,” he said again, more firmly, and frowned.

He looked toward Sasha, and I didn’t understand. It was not a good look. It was… angry.

Then he shook his head as though discarding whatever that had been, and looked back at me. “You’re going to be all right. I’m carrying you to her hospital.”

“All right.” As if I had any problems with this. The pain was terrible; but the relief…

Jonah had… shuttered it all, somehow. Done, really, what I’d hoped Gerry would do: he’d shared the load.

I hadn’t even realized how much I was carrying. “I’m going to sleep now,” I murmured, because Martin had me, and I was safe.

“Incredible,” Jonah whispered. “Beautiful.”

Then Martin began to describe some truly inventive ways for him to violate members of his own family, and I let myself drift to sleep.

#tma #tma fic #tma au #tma spoilers #magnus monsterverse #jonathan sims #nikola orsinov #jonah magnus #sasha james #martin blackwod #jmart #jonmartin #teaholding

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niobiumao3 · 1 year

Note

( no excuse writing meme ) POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

I'm probably not going to write the squad and Phee's side of Descent, or, not any time soon, but in order to make sure I understood the scene where Hondo contacts her I actually wrote it from her point of view. So, here's all of that.

~*~

Phee sighed, swept at the console to display the incoming message details. Hondo Ohnaka, contacting her from somewhere in the Inosion system, for the fourth time. She'd been ignoring him, wanting to see how many times he'd keep at it. Probably trying to talk her into more fake relics—where would it be from this time, Alderaan? Correllia?

“Who is it?” Echo asked, offering her a cup of caf. Phee accepted it, hovered her face in the steam.

“Just an old contact. Likes to try and sell me fake shit. And sometimes legitimately pay me to determine provenance.”

Echo looked vaguely amused. “So he values your skills, but not enough to not try and pull a fast one.”

“Something like that.” Her hand hovered over the dismissal button. After another second she tapped ‘ACCEPT’. Echo arched an eyebrow at her. “I could use a laugh,” she said, which got a snort out of him. He stepped aside, keeping himself out of the camera’s line of sight. Phee set the caf aside.

Ohnaka’s projection drew in, flickering and low resolution. Echo frowned, moved to the communications console. Before Phee could ask him what was up, Hondo launched into his greeting.

“Phee Genoa! It’s been far too long, my dear.”

“Ohnaka. To what do I owe the waste of my time?”

“I have a business venture for you.”

A wave of exhaustion passed over Phee. Seconds ago she’d been ready to laugh at one of Hondo’s ridiculous ideas; now she just wanted to sleep for a cycle. She rubbed her face, muttered, “I bet,” to herself. “I am really not in the mood, so whatever snake oil you’re trying to pawn off on me this time, I am not interested.”

Hondo’s image wavered, his tone growing sharp. “Now see here, Genoa, that was 100% pure krayt dragongris, and furthermore—” He stopped short, jolting and glaring at something out of view of his camera. Echo paused in his work at the comms to flick a glance at Phee. Someone else was listening to this, just as Echo was.

“Yes, yes, fine. I am contacting you on behalf of someone who wishes to meet and discuss a proposition.”

Echo shook his head at Phee. The last thing they needed was for someone to overhear one of the squad, or worse, determine where she was. She rolled her eyes, reached for the disconnect switch. “Right.”

Hondo’s voice rose in panicked concern. “A certain brown-eyed pilot.”

The words froze Phee on the spot. She glanced at Echo, who seemed similarly stunned. She righted herself, cold all over. “A what now?”

Hondo calmed visibly, clearly pleased at having bought himself a few more seconds. “A pilot who requires your skills. Obviously I offered my own, but you are by far the more experienced, ah, liberator of ancient wonders.”

Phee’s head buzzed. This couldn’t be happening. But here was Hondo Ohnaka, the slipperiest smuggler Phee had ever known, saying things to her only a handful of people could know about, almost all of whom were right here on Pabu.

All but two.

She tried to pull her thoughts together. “Well. I’m a busy lady.” She gathered disinterest about her, folded her arms. “And I’m assuming you’re not relaying this request for free. What’s your finder’s fee?”

“I was thinking twenty thousand—”

Phee knew what was expected here. She feigned reaching for the off switch, saw the projection waver as Hondo raised his hands, “—which is of course entirely negotiable.”

This was only half an act. If Tech was alive on the other end of this connection and Hondo was attempting to extort money from them for his safe return, it was going to be a close race to see who got their hands on Hondo first—her, or the boys. She lifted her chin. “Awful lot for a finder’s fee.”

“And yet, I have found you a business proposition of considerable value. One you are not likely to be able to find elsewhere—and there are, I'm sure, others who would be glad to take it instead.”

Oh it would be her, that was for certain. She let Hondo see her watching him, contemplating exactly what she would do to him in the event this was a successful ruse or a failed rescue. Echo was tapping and swiping at the comms, probably tracing the signal. He frowned, made a face, nodded at Phee.

“Alright,” she said. “Five thousand down for the finder’s fee, six more when we meet.”

Hondo swayed. “You’re requesting a steep discount. It’s only out of the kindness of my heart—” He stopped abruptly, flinching and rubbing at his leg. “—and this annoying pain in my leg, that I’m willing to do this. For you.”

She didn’t dare to hope it was Tech, sitting right there, jabbing Hondo any time he was too much like himself. “Very sweet of you.”

Hondo was looking—no, glaring, at whoever was out of view. “I am the soul of generosity. Sending you coordinates, account ID, and a time now.”

Despite saying this, Hondo didn’t move. A moment later the comms lit up with the data transfer request, which Echo accepted and verified. A display requesting a decryption passphrase popped up; Echo squinted at it, looking uncertain. He tried two different passphrases, neither of which worked. Then his expression lightened with recognition, or maybe understanding, and he typed in a new passphrase. The message decoded with the relevant information.

Echo let out a long, slow breath, nodded at Phee. She looked back at Hondo. “Received.”

He grinned, fingers steepling. “A pleasure doing business, Phee.”

She stared hard at the projection. Was he there, just out of view of the camera, like Echo was? How was that even possible? She wanted to demand he give her some sign, some signal. Though given how Echo looked right now, maybe he already had.

“Yeah, same Hondo,” she said, clicked disconnect.

Voice hushed, shaking, Echo said, “It can’t be him. We saw…” He shut his eyes, shook his head.

Phee swallowed, nauseated. “Is this a trap? Could this be?”

Echo shook his head. “No. Not with that passphrase.” She frowned, and Echo elaborated, “Plan 56 CT-9902. Exfiltration.”

Phee took up the mug of caf, gripped it tight in her hands to stop them from shaking. Echo got up. “I have to find Hunter,” he said, stepping outside. Phee just nodded, her eyes fixed on the spot Hondo’s projection had filled.

#tbb echo #phee genoa #hondo ohnaka #the bad batch fanfic #fanfic #the bad batch #star wars

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights.

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter).

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking.

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly.

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened.

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second.

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King.

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year.

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

Head over to This List to see what I’m working on next, and cast your vote!

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thepremedthatwrites · 3 years

Text

Insufferable

request: Hi lovely, can you do Peter pevensie x reader imagine, please? The reader meets Pevensies in Narnia, but from the beginning she and Peter can't get along together, lots of arguments, while secretly and slowly developing feelings towards each other they don't want to admit, lot of sexual tension before smth happens but eventually they'll end up together. you can include some smut stuff. Thanks xx

hi, so i was gone for a while sorry about that haha but now school is done for the year so i can focus on writing more also this is going to be a multi part story cause it’s enemies to lovers

part 2 | part 3

A soft breeze brushed my face as my eyes fluttered open. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion as I turned to where my bedroom window should have been. Instead, a large bookshelf filled with a myriad of leather bound books was there. The confusion grew as I took in my surroundings. Where my nightstand should have stood was a trunk. My dark blue comforter was now a deep maroon. My sheets felt softer than they ever were. As I ran a hand over them, I realized they were silk.

“You’re up,” a voice said. I jumped, my head snapping in the direction where the voice came from. A tall, blond man sat in an armchair across the room. “Lucy found you laying in the meadows. I carried you here. I should fetch you a maid. You look like a mess.” He spoke quickly, not giving me any time to interject until he was finished.

“Where am I?” I asked, choosing to ignore the man’s last comments about me.

“Narnia,” the man said. He stepped closer to me and as he approached, the light from the lantern on the nightstand illuminated him. On top of his head sat a golden crown decorated with jewels. He had good bone structure, his jawline strong and sharp. His sparkling blue eyes studied me.

“I’m being serious,” I said, crossing my arms. I wasn’t wearing a bra and the shirt I was wearing did not offer much coverage concerning my breasts. The man pulled his full lips into a smirk.

“And so am I.” I took a deep breath, not wanting to start a fight with the man who seemed to have some power if his crown was any indication.

“Please just tell me where I am. I have a very important presentation for school tomorrow and I cannot be wasting time sitting here.”

“You’re from Earth, aren’t you,” he said, the smirk still on his face as he sat down on the bed.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I am.”

“I hate to break it to you, darling, but you aren’t on Earth anymore.”

“I seriously don’t have time for this. If you don’t tell me where I am, I’ll have to call the police.” I started searching for my cell phone which had been tossed somewhere onto my bed before I fell asleep. My hands moved the sheets around, my eyes frantically looking for the familiar rectangular shape of my phone.

“I already told you where you are,” the man said, laughing at me. “You are in Narnia.”

I let out a huff as I gave up my fruitless search. “Alright fine, whatever. I’m in Narnia. How do I get back to Earth?”

“How would I know?” I wanted to bury my face into the pillow and scream. Was he being serious?

“If you won’t be of any help, you can leave.”

“I’m afraid not, darling. You see, I’m the high king here which means I have to make sure you aren’t a threat to my nation.” I let out an incredulous laugh.

“Who let you be king?”

“High king, actually.”

“King, high king, whatever. You most certainly aren’t acting like any sound ruler right now.”

“Would you prefer I tied you up and interrogated you?” I bit back my response. I wasn’t sure if he would actually do that if I weren’t careful enough.

“Okay fine. What must you know in order to determine that I am not a threat to your precious nation?”

“Well first, you could be a bit more respectful. You are talking to the high king after all. Second, tell me your name.”

“I was told not to tell my name to strangers.”

“I’m hurt, don’t you trust me?” The man feigned a look of betrayal as I stayed silent, narrowing my (e/c) eyes at him. “Okay fine, I’ll go first. My name is High King Peter the Magnificent, Lord of Cair Paravel and Emperor of the Lone Islands.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Now that you know my name, will you tell me yours?”

“Okay, fine,” I sighed. “My name is (y/n). Happy now?” King Peter smiled, nodding his head slowly.

“Very good, (y/n). My second question is how did you find your way to Narnia?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, my voice softer as I tried to rack my brain for any memory of how I could’ve ended up here. “All I remember is falling asleep in my bed and then waking up here.”

“Interesting,” the king said, almost more to himself than to me. “Well, I’m not sure how you got here or how we can get you back but I’m sure Aslan would know.”

“Who’s Aslan?” I questioned. King Peter looked at me, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Perhaps I’ll have Lucy explain that to you.”

“Who is Lucy?”

“My sister. You’ll meet her tomorrow along with all the others. But now, you should sleep. It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow (y/n).” He walked over to the large mahogany doors.

“Good night, Your Majesty. It was a pleasure talking with you.”

“You should drop that sarcastic tone if you want to survive here,” King Peter said as he started to open the door.

“Is that a threat?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

“Only if you want it to be.” And with that, he left the room, closing the door behind him. I buried myself deep into the covers, squeezing my eyes closed. Maybe when I woke up, I’d be back in my bedroom. That’s what I hoped. Instead, I tossed and turned in the sheets. Although they were of the softest material imaginable, I couldn’t fall asleep. I let out a sigh, admitting defeat before getting out of the bed. I looked around the room, spotting a wardrobe in the corner. I pulled open the door to see a white robe, along with a few other articles of clothing. I grabbed the robe, wrapping it around my body before opening the door.

The door opened to a hallway, torches lighting the way. The cool stone pressing against my feet as I walked along the corridor. Every now and then I would pass a few doors. All of them were always tightly shut. I wasn’t sure where I was going and I was definitely not sure of how to get back to the room I had been in before. That didn’t matter to me. I just needed to clear my head. The hallways I was walking in seemed to be reaching an end, two large wooden doors waiting for me. The right one was slightly ajar, candlelight spilling from behind it.

I crept towards the doors. I peeped in to see shelves upon shelves of books. I felt my mouth fall slightly open as I cautiously walked into the room. The shelves reached up to the tall ceiling. In the middle of the ceiling was a large glass dome where the full moon was visible. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said. I tore my eyes from the moon to see a man sitting in an armchair near a fireplace, a brown book in his hand.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” I said quickly. An amused smile formed on his face.

“Don’t be. You must be the girl Lucy found in the meadows.”

“Apparently I am,” I said while slowly walking towards the man. “May I?” I asked, motioning to the empty seat across from him.

“Of course.” I quickly sat down, fidgeting with my hands.

“Am I truly in Narnia?” I asked.

“Trust me, if Peter was lying you would know. He is a horrible liar.” I couldn’t help but smile.

“I just never heard of Narnia before.”

“Most people from Earth haven’t.”

“I feel like I should do my research on the place. I don’t want to offend anyone.” As soon as the words left my mouth, my mind immediately flashed to my interaction with Peter. “Well, not offend anyone else, I mean.”

“I’m guessing Peter wasn’t the most welcoming.”

“I don’t know. There was just something about the way he talked to me that was infuriating. It was like he was amused by me. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Well, I apologize for my brother’s actions.”

“You’re his brother?” The man nodded. “Does that mean you’re a king too?” He nodded again. Great, I’ve met two royals and both meetings had been in my pajamas.

“King Edmund, that’s me.”

“Why isn’t your title long like your brothers?”

“Oh it is, I just don’t like stroking myself.” I let out a chuckle, King Edmund joining in. “You’ll get to meet Susan and Lucy tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

“Oh, I’m invited to dine with the royals?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Only if you choose to grace us with your presence.” I felt my lips tug into a smile.

“Of course, I couldn’t disappoint the kings and queens of Narnia.”

“How generous,” King Edmund replied, a matching smile on his face. “We should head to bed now. You don’t want to be sleeping at the dining table tomorrow.”

“Yes, we should,” I said, exhaustion finally hitting me as I got up.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I can show you, I have a feeling I know which room Peter put you in.” He got up from his seat, walking towards the doors with his book still in his hands. I quickly followed as he opened the door, holding it open for me. We walked down hallways that seemed somewhat familiar to me.

“How do you remember where to go?” I asked as we walked.

“I don’t. I just walk and hope I go to the right place.” I let out a soft laugh as we passed a door where guards stood. “I would use the guards as reference,” he continued, motioning towards the standing guards, “but they all look the same with that ridiculous face.” He mimicked the face of the guards, eyebrows furrowed, nose flared, and mouth twisted into a frown as they stayed focused on protecting whatever was in their room. “They look constipated all the time.” I let out another laugh, louder than the other. I immediately covered my mouth, hoping the noise didn’t disturb anyone. Edmund laughed at this, the sound of the door opening cutting him off.

King Peter stood in the doorway, sleep still clouding his eyes. “What are you doing, Ed?” he asked, before his eyes landed on me. “You both should be asleep.” His voice was sterner than before as his cold blue eyes focused on me.

“Don’t worry Pete. I was showing her back to her room, that’s all.”

“You two shouldn’t be alone together, lest someone believes you two to be partaking in a scandal.” My face warmed at his accusation.

“I’m sure my reputation isn’t going to be ruined by being seen with King Edmund,” I said.

“I wasn’t talking about you. Ed, you are a king. You shouldn’t be seen with any girl, especially a peasant.”

“I’m not a peasant.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t royalty.”

“So that makes me less than?’

“Technically, yes.”

“Well being royal doesn’t make you any more pleasant!”

“You should be thankful I’m letting you stay here. Unless you want to live on the streets.”

“At least the streets don’t have you.” I made my eyes meet his. My face felt like it was on fire as I narrowed my eyes. His jaw was clenched as his eyes stared down at me.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Edmund softly said, his hand wrapped around my arm. “And you, go to bed,” he added, looking at King Peter.

“Good night,” King Peter said roughly.

“Good night, your majesty,” I replied before mockingly curtseying. He turned around, slamming the door behind him.

Edmund and I walked on in silence for a moment. “Well that went nicely,” Edmund finally said as we neared a door.

“He truly is insufferable. Did you hear what he said? Calling me a peasant like I was worth nothing. The audacity!”

Edmund only nodded, a small smile on his face. “You should go to sleep before you get yourself kicked out by Pete.”

I let out a huff. “I’ll try to be on my best behavior tomorrow,” I promised as I opened the door. I was surprised to see it was the same room I had woken up in. “How did you know which room to take me to?”

“This is the room Peter has his most important guest stay in,” Edmund said, the smile still on his face.

#peter pevensie #high king peter #high king peter the magnificent #King Peter the Magnificent #peter pevensie fanfic #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie smut #peter pevensie x reader #peter x reader #Peter x Y/N #narnia #The Chronicles of Narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia imagine #narnia smut

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ghost-ghost-baby · 3 years

Text

We're Just Friends! (Omega!bakugo x alpha!reader x omega!Izuku) pt. 3/?

Pt. 1 / / pt. 2

A/n: cannot believe we made it to pt. 3 I’m sksksksksk,,,, they finally get together! Pt 4/5 will b them all together and adjusting and then it’ll b readers bday so 👀👀

Lore: Once an Alpha reaches 21 they get their first rut, they’d either already have their mates or the rut will act as a push for them to get together and bond.

Summary: Reader and Katsuki have been friends for years, and everyone expects them to get together, until reader rescues an omega that lives in their building, and things get a touch more... complicated

Warnings: swearing, omegaverse, mad pining, Katsuki get exposed for going to therapy lmao, Izuku is kinda a shithead, Katsuki b mad insecure, reader is still dumb- everyone except for Izuku is bad at feelings

The two of you had gotten sidetracked, really quickly, it wasn’t even twenty minutes before you were putting a horror video on the tv. That was almost an hour ago, and you were about to doze off now, laying on your back with your head on the arm rest, Izuku right on top of you with his head tucked under your chin. You didn’t know how you got into this position, but you weren’t complaining, it was… nice. Perfect, almost, but something still felt like it was missi-

“Y/n- why the fuck are our stupid friends asking me about your new- Deku?” Katsuki burst through the door, already yelling, and his scent took on a burnt tinge that almost had you gagging when he slammed the door behind him.

“Kacchan! I didn’t realise you were Y/n’s roommate!” Izuku perked up almost immediately, sitting up so he was straddling you with his eyes fixed right on Katsuki.

“Wait, you two know each other-“ You tried to sit up, barely managing to turn your head to see Katsuki, Izuku was stronger than he looked, and he obviously didn’t want you moving-

“Yeah we go way back, childhood friends, right Kacchan?” Izuku’s tone was light, but you couldn’t see the feral look on his face from where you were trapped on the couch.

“Right… that doesn’t explain what the fuck you’re doing here, Deku.” Katsuki snarled, and Izuku giggled at the blonde. What the fuck kinda thing were you stuck in the middle of-

“What does it look like, Kacchan? We’re courting now! And Y/n’s already been such a good alpha, I’m surprised you didn’t ask them-“

“What does he mean you’re courting?” Katsuki’s tone was something you’d never heard before, and your heart twinged at it. “Get the fuck off of them Deku.” He walked closer to the couch, until he could grab onto your arm and haul you off, Izuku sliding back to the couch and pouting.

“He asked me on the way home and I accepted-“ Katsuki’s heart sank, he’d been too late? “I didn’t think you’d care, aren’t you courting Kiri?” Your scent was far too comforting, and the way it accompanied Izuku’s had Katsuki feeling something he definitely didn’t want to. Deku was a stalker! A creepy little nothing stalker! With great hair- no! And you looked so cute when you were confused like this-!

“Katsuki, are you okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face, and the blonde only let out another snarl. What if you found out about what he’d done to Deku, you’d never look at him the same, and from the way Deku was smirking the bastard knew it too.

“Whatever- I’m fucking going to bed.” Katsuki pushed past you, and you could only gawk as he disappeared down the hall and into his room.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this, you were meant to be with him, it had been the two of you for years! Why were you such a fucking idiot! Katsuki was fuming even as he hugged the pillow he’d stolen from your room, how dare Deku come back and steal you! Still, the nagging thought that coming back to the two of you… had felt like home wouldn’t get out of his head and it was only making him angrier.

“Katsuki? Izuku went back to his apartment, do you have any requests for dinner?” Your voice floated through his door and Katsuki opened his mouth to respond on instinct. No, if you wanted to be with Deku so badly you clearly didn’t care about him, and so he would stop caring about you.

“Katsuki? Please come out, I don’t understand why you’re upset but I want to.” You tried to keep the desperate tone out of your voice. It didn’t work, and Katsuki was biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself crooning in an attempt to calm you down.

“Okay… I’ll uh, just be in my room if you want to talk.”

This was getting out of hand, it was like you were living with a ghost. It had been three days of Katsuki ignoring you, three days of no contact whatsoever, and even though you had Izuku, and he was just… amazing, it still felt like something was missing. You actually didn’t think you’d gone this long without talking to Katsuki in- well since the two of you had met. But, it was finally the weekend, you’d have to run into him at some point, and then you could finally talk, even if he didn’t feel like it.

You were pulled into Izuku’s apartment before you could even knock, the omega giving you a deep kiss before quickly tugging you into a hug and rubbing his cheek over your scent gland.

“I missed you, Y/n! What took so long?” Izuku only pulled away when he couldn’t smell anything except you, and pride filled him when he saw you were wearing his sweater.

“Sorry Bub, I was trying to get Katsuki to talk to me but he’s still giving me the silent treatment.” You shrugged as he walked you over to the couch, something already playing in the background, and Izuku pushed you down without hesitation. You let the omega position you how he wanted, wasting no time wrapping your arms around him once Izuku settled down next to you with his head on your chest and your legs tangled together.

“You know… it does seem like he likes you, maybe you could suggest a triad? I know I wouldn’t object.” Izuku’s tone was so nonchalant you’d expected him to ask what you wanted to watch, not suggest bringing Katsuki into the relationship.

“You’d be okay with that? Really?” You hadn’t even considered that, you felt kinda stupid, honestly. Why hadn’t you- oh, right.

“I think he’s courting someone else, actually, I’m sure that’s why he’s being so weird.” You pushed any hope you had down when you remembered how much time Katsuki actually spent with Kirishima, and how close they seemed to be.

“If you say so, but I wouldn’t write the idea off, Kacchan’s always been good with surprises.” Izuku shifted to press a kiss to your scent gland, before he grabbed the remote and returned his attention to putting on a show.

It was Sunday, you hadn’t seen your roommate all weekend, this really wasn’t going how you planned. A sigh left you as you pushed open the door to your apartment, you’d been with Izuku for most of the day, and you were so, so ready to just go to sleep. You’d been exhausted for the last few days, and Denki kept commenting about how snappy you were and asking why your scent was ‘so weird man’ when the three of you had met for lunch. It was sweet how much they cared, but annoying as fuck nonetheless. You were wide awake outside your door though, almost missing the sweet caramel smell that leaked out until you had your hand on the handle. Your room didn’t usually smell like that, not unless-

“Katsuki-? What’s going on?” You pushed open the door to a very, very startled Katsuki, like a deer in headlights, really, and your confusion only grew when he was holding onto an armful of your clothes. “You could have just asked if you wanted something for your nest, but isn’t Kiri helping with that?” You closed the door behind you, and Katsuki’s eyes darted from you to the door. Fuck, you weren’t supposed to be home for another twenty minutes, you’d usually spend at least two hours at Deku’s place, why the fuck had you come back so early? Katsuki clutched the clothes tighter against his chest as neither of you spoke, you really still thought he was with shitty hair when all he really wanted was you?

“Katsuki? This is ridiculous- what’s going on with you? Why won’t you talk to me?” You stepped forward and Katsuki growled when you got within a foot of him, the sound setting you on edge and making you release a growl of your own on instinct.

“We’re gonna talk about this, I’m not letting you ignore me anymore, it sucks! It feels like there’s a piece of me missing-!” You stepped forward with every word, flinching at yourself when you heard your voice crack at the end.

“What does any of that matter? You have Deku now, the two of you are perfect together, you don’t need me anymore!” Katsuki yelled back, everything that happened the last day and the confused puddle that the state his feelings were in finally bubbling over. It was too much, he’d barely seen you and now here you were, reeking of Deku of all people, and accusing him of liking someone else.

“How could you say that? I need you, Katsuki-! I always need you! These last few days have been hell without you! It’s bad enough I have to deal with you courting Kiri, but now you don’t even talk to me and I don’t understand what’s going on!” Tears kept welling up in your eyes, and Katsuki dropped the pile of clothes on the floor, his hands balling into fists by his side.

“Because I don’t know- I don’t know what the fuck I’m feeling!” Katsuki’s voice broke, and you barely had time to open your mouth before he continued. “I thought that we- that we were set in stone, and then I come back to you and fucking Deku on the couch and fuck that hurt! But it fucking- it fucking felt like home, and all I wanted to do was join you and I don’t understand why!” He turned around to wipe his eyes, and your jaw hit the floor as you tried to process. He wasn’t… courting Kiri…?

“You’re such an idiot- you couldn’t just tell me this?” Exasperated didn’t even begin to cover how you felt.

“How could I say anything? I was horrible to Deku in school because I couldn’t deal with my feelings, why would either of you want to be with me after how awful I’ve been?” There was no anger in Katsuki’s tone anymore, and the guilty scent he was putting out was just putting you on edge.

“You regret it though, don’t you? And I know you’ve worked really hard to be better, and you even go to therapy now-“ Katsuki snarled at the last part, he hated whenever you brought up therapy, but at least you weren’t yelling.

“We actually talked it over and… Izuku and I both like the idea of a triad with- well with you, if you wanted.” You reached out to grab Katsuki’s shoulder, though he refused to look you in the eye when you turned him to face you. You had to be lying, you had to, you couldn’t mean that and he didn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.

“Katsuki, you gotta talk to me, I can’t read your mind.” Your cards were all out on the table now, and your anxious scent was a dead giveaway to your feelings. What if you’d ruined everything? What if you’d gotten everything wrong- you were never good at guessing-

“You’re being serious? This isn’t some kind of payback?” Red eyes finally met yours and you could only nod, you still got caught of guard by how pretty he was. “Okay, I’ll join your shitty fucking triad.”

Taglist (pls lemme know if any of em r wrong)

@pasteldaze @hopeless-ro-simptic @ntngann @somerandominternetgirl-blog @ianem005 @lalaluvzen @antisocial-minnie @rogueofbullshit @hakunamatatayqueen @so-uncute @therealwalmartjesus @unlightedfool @all-the-kings-reblogs @cth-l

#omegaverse #bnha #bnha x reader #yandere x reader #yandere bnha x reader #omegaverse x reader #alpha reader #omega izuku #omega bakugou #bnha omegaverse #izuku x reader #yandere izuku x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #poly #poly imagine

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

I turn and reach for you

Summary: Three months after Hankel, Spencer starts getting terrible nightmares that keep him up at night. He tries desperately to keep his secret until one day when it's all too much to bear anymore. Luckily, Derek Morgan is there to hold him together as he falls apart.

Tags: nightmares, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst with a happy ending, fluff, literal sleeping together, getting together, post-revelations TW: past non-con drug use mentioned once in passing

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This feels the "Nightmares" square on my Bad Things Happen bingo card, and was written for this prompt by @i-write-whump. Title from a poem by Devon Strang.

After Spencer is kidnapped by Tobias Hankel, he stays with Derek. Nobody on the team wants him to be alone, and he’s always felt the most comfortable with him, so it makes sense. Besides, he’s got the space.

Spencer sometimes wonders whether the team pushed so hard for it because they genuinely believed that, logistically, Derek was the best option, or because they could also see the slow-burning romance simmering under the surface of their relationship. They’ve always had a special friendship, but Spencer can feel the growing tension: the deep and intense looks they share mid-case, the lingering touches on backs and arms, the affection leaking into each ‘pretty boy’ and every ‘Der’.

Perhaps if Hankel never came into the picture they’d already be together — it really had felt like they were on the precipice of something special — but it’s three months later and Spencer’s still sleeping in the spare room; there’s still just as much will they, won’t they lingering in the air between them.

He tries not to mind too much. After all, he’s never had so much free access to the man he’s pined after for years now, and they’re living in each other’s pockets. Almost every waking hour is spent in one another’s company: they cook together, eat together, watch films together, and neither of them are showing any sign of getting sick of it. But every time they’re cooking pasta and Derek says something ridiculous, Spencer wishes he was allowed to lean in and kiss the tip of his nose; every time they sit down to watch something together, he wishes he could burrow into his side and rest his head in the crook of his neck.

(Sometimes, Spencer wishes he could rewind to the weeks immediately after the Hankel incident when Derek would carry him around the flat to keep him off his broken feet; when he could press his face into his shoulder and inhale the scent of complete and utter safety.)

It’s almost torturous, being so close yet so far.

He isn’t quite sure why the nightmares start so late. The nights during the first couple of months are blissfully dreamless, so exhausted from the physical and emotional trauma that sleep was a tantalising escape, but once he’s back in the field, once normal life resumes, everything changes.

The first time he wakes up sweating and panting, heart pounding as he tries to convince himself that he’s no longer in Hankel’s clutches but is safe and sound in Derek’s apartment, he dismisses it as a one-off. He hasn’t had nightmares yet, so why should they start now? He doesn’t go back to sleep that night, too shaken to relax back into the comforting embrace of sleep, too afraid of deception: that he wouldn’t sleep dreamlessly but that the nightmare would be waiting for him once again.

The second time worries him. He gets up this time and gets a glass of water as quietly as possible, leaning with his back against the kitchen counter as he ponders what this could mean for him. The thing is, they’re so incredibly vivid. It really feels like he’s back at the mercy of a three-in-one torturer armed with drugs and belts and guns, genuinely unsure of whether he’ll ever see his family again. He doesn’t go back to sleep this time, either, instead pacing around the living room until Derek wakes up. He lies that he’s only been up for half an hour, and Derek believes him.

The third time solidifies for Spencer the fact that this is a problem. Three is a pattern, everybody knows that, and Spencer spends the rest of the night scouring the internet for studies conducted around delayed trauma responses and discovers the prevalence of delayed-onset PTSD. He’s tempted to contact a professor he met during his third PhD who specialised in the psychology of trauma, but he thinks better of it. Admitting these nightmares would be admitting defeat.

This is something he has to deal with alone.

(He ignores the truth that it’s more fear than anything else that keeps him from telling anyone: fear of being seen as weak, fear of nothing changing, fear of voicing his trauma out loud. It’s easier to pretend it’s about independent agency.)

It doesn’t affect him too much at first. Sure, he’s scared to go to sleep and he sweats so profusely that it soaks through his bedsheets almost every night, but he’s managing. He’s okay. He contributes just as much to their profiles and takes down unsubs without flinching. He dances around Derek like they have done for over a year, and he sits through Dr Who marathons with Penelope just fine. So what if he’s a bit tired? He’s stared down some of America’s Most Wanted and interviewed famous serial killers, he can cope with a little fatigue.

It doesn’t stay that easy for long.

Soon everybody’s asking about the bags under his eyes, his slower reaction times when they visit the gun range, his twitchiness around the team.

“Are you sleeping okay, Spencer?” Penelope asks him one day, brushing a curly lock of hair behind his ears as they sit side by side on the sofa next to a conked out Derek.

He can’t nod his head quick enough. “Yeah! Yes, uh. Yes, Penelope, I’m sleeping fine, I promise,” he says as convincingly as he can, flashing her a smile. He hates lying to her, but he can’t let anyone find out, he just can’t.

Slowly, he begins losing his grip on reality. He’s almost delusional from the sleep deprivation, and he starts seeing Hankel everywhere he goes. He’s stood behind the fridge door, in the foyer of the FBI Headquarters, in the toilets of a local police station, stood right behind the unsub they’re currently trying to talk down, goddamnit.

He’s beyond exhausted, but some nights he still refuses to sleep, too afraid of what awaits him in his dreams, too afraid of the fear he knows he’ll carry into the next day, too afraid of feeling weak again. Helpless. Completely and utterly without agency.

He sits up with his back against the headboard, the main light off but the lamp switched on, scrolling through as many scholarly articles as he can read in a night, drinking cup after cup of steaming black coffee. Most nights he makes it through till morning without sleeping a wink, but sometimes he can’t stop himself from drifting off The nightmares on those nights are the worst.

He isn’t okay and people are starting to notice. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him right now, but he knows it won’t be long before Penelope organises an intervention that Hotch hosts and Derek directs. The worst part about it is that he feels like a trainwreck waiting to happen. He’s headed straight for complete and utter collapse, and the only possible way to stop the train in its tracks is to reach out and get help, the one thing he can’t get himself to do.

And he isn’t even really sure why.

It all comes to a head on a warm night in July. He’d fallen into bed that night deliberately, actually intending to sleep for once. The bone-deep tiredness had finally caught up to him and he didn’t even care that he was walking straight into the arms of Tobias Hankel, if it meant he got even an iota of refreshing sleep, then it would be worth it.

But he isn’t quite of the same mind when he wakes up at two in the morning like he does almost every night: soaked in sweat with his heart going a million beats per minute, with only one difference. Tonight, he’s crying.

Maybe it’s the emotional turmoil of the last few months catching up to him, or maybe it’s just the severity of this particular dream, but whatever it is, he can’t seem to stop even once he’s awake. Sobs wrack his shoulders as he cries miserably into the pillow, finally letting out the emotions he’s kept bottled up so tightly, and he’s almost wailing after a couple of minutes of anguish.

All he can think as he cries helplessly is how badly he wants Derek. He wants to be wrapped up in his strong and safe embrace, he wants to feel the movement of his soft goatee against his cheek, he wants to inhale the comforting scent of his sleep t-shirts, he wants the warmth and solace that only Derek Morgan can give him, and in that moment, emotionally distraught and so incredibly sleep-deprived, he decides to get it.

He stumbles out of his bedroom and down the hall, stopping once he reaches Derek’s door. He hesitates for only a second before he pushes it open slowly, allowing the light from the lamp they keep switched on in the hallway to gently illuminate the shadows of his bedroom.

“Spencer?” Derek asks groggily, immediately sitting up and wiping his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

At the acknowledgement of his tears, Spencer starts to cry harder, and as embarrassed as he feels, he can’t slow the steady stream of tears rolling down his face as he stands in the doorway like a child in their parents’ room.

“Spence,” Derek says again, gentle and sympathetic, “come here.” He lifts the duvet up and scooches over slightly as if to make room for him in his already spacious king-size bed.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, though, and he stumbles forward, collapsing into bed and wrapping himself around Derek instantly. His arms come up to circle Spencer’s waist, caressing him gently as he holds him close to his body, shushing him quietly.

“It’s okay, Spence,” he murmurs. “I’m here now, alright? We’re gonna fix whatever it is, I promise you. We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”

He lets himself cry and cry and cry until his tears are dried up and he’s hiccupping from the force of his sobs. He would feel terrible about the damp spot left on Derek’s t-shirt, but he simply doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he continues to lie there on Derek’s chest, listening to his softly spoken assurances and losing himself in the sensation of Derek’s fingertips caressing the skin of his waist.

After a couple of minutes of silence, interrupted only by the odd hiccup from Spencer’s tired lungs, Derek finally asks the question. “What was that all about, pretty boy?” he asks with a tenderness Spencer isn’t sure he’s ever heard before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Been having nightmares,” Spencer whispers, keeping his eyes closed against Derek’s imploring gaze.

He feels Derek tense beneath him, his fingers briefly pausing before resuming their comforting patterns on his waist, and a heavy breath escapes his lips. “For how long?”

“Last couple of months,” he mumbles, and somehow another tear manages to escape Spencer’s screwed up eyes.

“Well,” Derek sighs, “I suppose that explains a lot. We’ve been so worried about you, Spencer. We had no idea what was going on but we could all see you withdrawing, and it wasn’t exactly a secret how exhausted you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Derek says sadly. “I should’ve pushed harder to figure out what was going on with you. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this all alone.”

“I didn’t know how to tell anyone,” Spencer says, suddenly desperate to explain as he shifts slightly to look Derek in the eye. “I was so scared and I didn’t want anyone to think that I was weak or I couldn’t do my job anymore, and I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I know, Spence,” Derek says soothingly, “but you’ve told me now, haven’t you? And I’m going to do everything I can to get you some help. We’ll fix this, baby. I promise you, I’m going to make sure you’re happy and healthy again if it’s the last thing I do, okay?”

Spencer sniffs a little, wiping tiredly at his eyes as he blinks up at the sincerity on Derek’s face. For the first time in far too long he manages a smile. “Okay.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair before dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Spencer’s smile widens and he buries his face in Derek’s chest again as his cheeks flush red. “Please.”

Months later, they’ll realise they never officially asked one another to be in an actual, exclusive relationship. Months later, they’ll know instinctively and with absolute certainty that this night was the night that changed everything for them, and exactly one year later, they’ll celebrate their first anniversary on that date.

Tonight, though, they sleep curled up next to one another in Derek’s bed, and although Spencer doesn’t fall into the same dreamless sleep he grew used to immediately after Hankel, for once he isn’t haunted by nightmares, but dreams inflected with hope for what the future holds for them, and he’ll take that over dreamlessness any day.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @ @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds (add yourself to my taglist)

#my writing #moreid #derek #spencer #derek morgan #criminal minds #spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fanfic #moreid fanfiction #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #userpenemily

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emikadreams · 3 years

Text

You are dead to me

A/N: Um.. yah so this is a fic where Feyre confronts Nesta, I really needed Feyre to confront her properly so this is self indulgent in a way and I will not be writing a part 2 for the anniversary fic cuz I lost all motivation for that 💕😅

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Feyre was seething in fury.

She had half a mind to mist Nesta and knock her off her high horse.

She wanted to rip her sister’s throat out for having the audacity to accuse Rhys of not caring enough for Feyre before doing the unthinkable and throwing Tamlin’s name in his face.

“Darling, you know that’s not true so let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rhys replied cautiously with his hands raised in surrender, his eyes softening. She couldn’t believe that he was the calm one in this scenario, if the roles were reserved-if Nesta had uttered some bullshit about Feyre Rhys would forget negotiation altogether, retorting to action before consulting her.

Feyre scoffed, “I don’t care! She had the gall to accuse you about-” her voice wavered in pain, thinking of how it must’ve affected Rhys before continuing, I’m not going to let her think she is untouchable-even if Cassian is going to hate me for it I’m going to end her ridiculous notion of superiority.” Her hands curled in a desire to punch her sister. Feyre was done- absolutely done with defending someone who deserved none of her mercy.

Rhys swallowed- probably worried. Feyre smirked with barely contained anger.

He should be.

“Nesta Archeron.”

Feyre stormed into the house of wind, the floor shaking with her rage. Cassian breezed into the room with a concerned look, “Feyre- what happened?” He started to walk towards her but she stopped him with a look, “Are you Nesta Archeron?” she asked, her voice dripping with venom. Cassian had the decency to not ask why she had stormed into the room, “No- but I would like to know why you’re asking for her.”

He looked at her with worry but his body settled into a defensive stance before walking towards her, Feyre’s hand twitched and she bit out,

“I really don’t need to explain myself to you Cassian, I want to speak to my sister,” his eyebrow raised knowing that the reason was clearly not friendly but she ploughed on, undeterred, “ I’m going to see her whether you like it or not.” She moved to sidestep him saying, “move,” but he blocked her, “Feyre, you look really angry-” she cut him off, “ I said move Cassian.”

He crossed his arms across his chest, unrelenting.

Feyre slapped him faster than the general to register, using his momentary surprise she kicked him in the groin and gracefully walked away as he doubled over in pain.Feyre looked back at him and said, her voice softer, “ I’m sorry but I really need to see her.”

Cassian nodded, his eyes closed in pain he said weakly, “I’ll get you for that.” Feyre smirked, a bit of the anger leaving her, “I look forward to it general.” with one last look over her shoulder she walked to the library, knowing exactly where her sorry excuse for a sister will be holed up.

On seeing her sister look completely unworried in the library, all the anger that was leeched out of Feyre came back in startling force, she straightened her spine and drew herself up to her full height, she stood in front of her older sister and cleared her throat.

Nesta looked up, blinking in surprise and smiled making Feyre see red.

Nesta was going to die tonight

Nesta continued, ignoring her sister’s tense stance, “ Feyre, I was coming to see you actually-” she cut her off, her voice dangerously low, “How could you Nesta! How dare you,” Feyre snarled, baring her teeth.

Nesta looked confused and stood, her book forgotten, “I- what?” she stammered, Feyre laughed darkly, “Of course you wouldn’t know. How could I forget you are the very definition of a hypocrite.”

Nesta straightened and retorted calmly, “ You talked to Rhysand.”

Feyre looked at her as if she was a mere inconvenience, “Of course I did, did you think this would get past me?” She held her sister’s glare, “Well, I’m not going to apologise, I meant every word.” Feyre didn’t miss a beat, “You think I came here to ask for an apology, you may not have any dignity left but then again, I’m not you.”

Nesta’s jaw dropped, but Feyre was far from finished, “I actually thought that you had changed, but there’s no ripping away the deep-rooted poison in you is there?” Nest tried to cut her off but she ignored her, “ I tried confronting you the civil way, but that didn’t work, I left you alone thinking you needed space but then you threw that in my face and I thought- I genuinely thought,” Feyre laughed in disbelief, “ that after saving not only my life-but also Rhys’s and Nyx’s that you had changed but I was wrong again.”

Nesta shook her head, her eyes flashing with her power, “Feyre what are you saying I love-” She lifted a hand cutting her off, “ You will let me finish, I don’t care about whatever half-assed apology you have planned, “ she looked at her sister, and saw fear reflecting in Nesta’s eyes, only then did she realise that her grip on her powers had lessened.

Fire was now licking at her fingers and darkness swirled around them but Feyre didn’t care, let her sister realise that she was a wolf who can tear her apart with half a thought.

“You have done nothing for me, you refused to help when we were stuck in that godforsaken cottage and instead opted to leech off of me till I was taken by Tamlin, need I remind you that he looked at you.” she pointed a finger at Nesta accusingly. “ You could’ve gone instead of me but of course, that would deter your plans of being the Queen of a no man’s land right?”

Nesta only stared at her with her face impassive but she could see the shame in Nesta’s eyes, “ You did help me, yes, only to further the insecurity that you planted in me and when I was killed and drowning in despair I had no one but Rhys.” Feyre’s heart squeezed in pain at the thought of her mate, her breathing became shallow yet she continued,“ He was the only one there for me when I was wasting away, he saved me.”

Tears were now flowing freely down her cheek but Feyre refused to wipe them away, “He is not perfect, he has made many mistakes, believe me, I know and I haven’t forgotten or forgiven them but I would not be here without him.” her gaze softened briefly as she said, “ You have gone through hell Nesta I know that,”

Nesta straightened and bit out, “You have no clue what I have gone through while you were busy galavanting with high lords.” Feyre knew this was coming so she drew in a breath before saying, “ Fine. If that’s what you think, be it, but can you disagree with the fact that you weren’t there to help me when I was in a hell hole.”

Nesta looked down at her feet, feyre smirked, satisfied, “ Of course you can’t and you what I don’t even blame you! When you were suffocating from the pressure of life, I reached out but you refused.”

Feyre barked a laugh, “ Me being me, I respected your wishes out of love but you crossed the line when you opted to drink and fuck your life away. So look at where we are now, a year after I forcefully sent you to the Illyrian mountains,” Feyre gestured to Nesta and she looked up with tears in her eyes, Feyre’s anger took a back row on seeing them but she needed to get things off her chest,

“ You can hold your own in a fight, can use powers and even made friends with people that you call your sisters, remember when you had scoffed at me for saying I forgot you and Elain when I said that I made a different family, one that treated me with love and respect that my own flesh and blood refused to give me.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak but closed it instantly,

“ Then to add fuel to fire, you insulted the very man who helped me become myself, do you know what he said when he let it slip what you said, “It doesn’t matter darling, I’m sure she didn’t mean it”

Nesta looked surprised and ashamed, “ Exactly. So all I have to say now is, Fuck you. Don’t you dare disrespect Rhys or my family ever again because if you do Nesta, I will show you exactly how I treat my abusers, because that’s what you are, my abuser.”

Feyre was exhausted but she spat the words in Nesta’s face knowing that it would hurt and turned on her heel and all but ran to the door but not before hearing Nesta’s whispered words, “I’m sorry Feyre. I truly am.”

Feyre’s tears returned, her knees buckled from the weight of what she had said but she responded softly, twisting the knife deeper into her sister’s heart,

“Too little too late Nesta”

she walked out as sobs racked her body and slammed into a chest, she looked up to find Rhys gazing into her eyes with concern and pride, he gave her a sad smile and she broke down. His arms encircled her stroking her hair, soon she was in their room, the high lord held her while she wept with pain, hatred and regret.

Taglist: let me know if you wanna be tagged💕

@thebonecarver @story-scribbler @surielandiareendgame @kayla-2 @feysand-loml @ratabrasileira @feysandandnyxsworld @wintersouldier57 @flyingtortillasworldsblog @stromysea @rhysandswingspan @live-the-fangirl-life @pagemasters @nehemikkele @pagemasters @evolving-dreamer @tanvee1231

*bolded tags don’t work

#feyre #feysand #rhysand #the archeron sisters #nesta #cassian #my writing #angst #confrontational #fanfic #fic #don't kill me pls #feyre archeron

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superfanficnatural · 3 years

Text

Out in the Open

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Male!Reader

Summary: You always loved to tease Steve Rogers, always messing around with him and just having fun. Little did you know, he was going to pay you back for all of the embarrassment in full.

A/N: Ok so I haven’t written in a little over two months so I am soooo nervous to be posting this. This is also my first fic for the Marvel fandom and for Steve Rogers, I really hope you guys don’t think I’ve gotten senile haha. This was written for @anaelsbrunette “YAS’S 20TH BIRTHDAY BASH.” As always, I hope you enjoy!

This story was beta’d by the lovely @crashdevlin huge shoutout to her for her help. You guys should really go check out her amazing works!! ❤️

Warnings: Smut, NSFW 18+, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Spanking, Fingering, Rimming, Oral Receiving (Male), Rough Sex, Anal, Exhibitionism, Degradation? Praise? um... fluff? Once again, probably a few others that I’m missing.

Word Count: 4,692

If someone had told you that you were going to be working with the Avengers to fight evil a month ago, you would have laughed in their face.

Now, as you quite literally stand next to your fellow Avengers fighting one of the last remaining Hydra bases, you can’t help but smile at how you could think about that at this moment.

“Y/N! Get your head in the game! Hawkeye needs backup!” a voice rang out in your earpiece.

“I’m all in, Cap, maybe if you would stop staring at my ass you would have realized that you’re the distracted one here,” you responded with wit.

An eruption of laughter was echoing in your comm link, a disgruntled groan coming from Steve.

“On my way to you, Eagle,” you spoke up, wanting to get back on track for the mission.

After the breakout of the terrigen crystals, you were one of the first Inhumans to come into contact with it. You remember how you were taking something as innocent as fish oil when you started to feel like your skin was shedding. It was like a drug, booming throughout your system, making your internal compass go haywire as a black substance swirled around your body. Next thing you saw was darkness, a cocoon of it. You tried to move but you were incapable of such an action, frozen in place as you feared the worst. Eventually, you could feel your body begin to revive, as if new blood was coursing through your system, making you stronger. By the time the strange substance had broken into pieces off of your body, you didn’t know how long you were in there for, but it felt... right. It was as if a forgotten piece of yourself was finally found, you felt whole. Little did you know that your Inhuman DNA was then unlocked.

“I wasn’t looking at your... behind,” you heard Steve say, raising another laugh from both you and the others.

“Whatever makes you feel more like a gentleman,” you quipped.

Ever since you had joined the Avengers, hell, even before then, you always had the biggest crush on Steve. Seeing him on TV saving the world with that million dollar smile, you were swooning every time. Now that you’ve had the chance to fight alongside him, your attraction ran even deeper. Getting to know him, seeing him fight to protect humanity, who wouldn’t find that ridiculously attractive?

You glanced over at him on the battlefield, seeing him expertly take out four Hydra soldiers in six seconds flat. He was a bit ahead of you so you only managed to see his backside... no wonder they call that ‘America’s Ass’.

You decided that was enough looking and got back to the fight, giving Hawkeye an assist as you took out three of the soldiers that were attempting to flank him. Suddenly, Thor flashed past you at light speed and sent tingling electricity throughout your body, crashing straight into a pillbox and taking out a gunner.

“Damn it, Thor. Keep your electricity away from me!” you shouted into the earpiece, your legs feeling weak.

You could hear him chuckle even though he tried to hide it, “My apologies, Sir Y/N.”

You could have sworn he did it on purpose.

After going through terrigenesis, you had no idea what had happened to you. You knew you felt different, but other than that, you were mostly spooked. Instead of trying to find answers to what had happened to you, you had ignored it, not wanting to become a guinea pig at some military black site. But eventually, you couldn’t run from it any further. Whenever you had gotten anxious, or when any of your emotions were heightened, everything around you began to shake and vibrate. It was like you could hear everything around you, and when you focused on one sound, it would become elevated, so high that it began to violently shake. After you nearly caused an earthquake in your hometown, you knew you wouldn’t be safe any longer, you knew someone was going to come for you. So you went on the run, never staying in one place for too long, always on the move. You tried to learn how to control your powers over the few weeks that you were running, actually managing to damn near master it. You knew that you had the ability to tab into the vibrations of the objects around you. After some Google searches, you found out that everything vibrates on its own unique frequency, the plants, the trees, even your cell phone. And once you focused and tapped into those frequencies, you realized that you could control the amount of vibrational frequency coming off of it. It was like a cooler version of telekinesis, you practiced and practiced, being able to move objects around without even touching them. Then after about two weeks, you knew that you had more potential than you realized.

“Stark, get that shield down, now!” Steve belted into your comm, the sound of blasters firing and fighting all around him.

“Relax Cap, just keep staring at Y/N’s ass, I’ll take care of it,” Tony responded.

You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips, “Oh god, what did I start?”

“Something you’re going to regret,” Steve chimed in.

You heard a huge blast and looked up to see the shield surrounding the building had been disabled, or more... destroyed.

“Good work, Tony. Let’s clean it up,” Nat chirped.

Looking ahead, you saw about a dozen or so men with their backs against the trees in front of you. Chuckling to yourself, you thrusted out your arms and focused your power into them, building it up into a large shockwave that rippled throughout the forest in front of you, ripping the trees in half with the force behind them and taking out the remaining men.

“Damn, Y/N! You’ve been holding out on us, boy!” Tony remarked as he flew overhead.

You smirked, satisfied with your work as you turned towards Steve’s direction to see his reaction. The second your eyes found his, they were staring right at you, his body still and his breathing heavy, most likely exhaustion from the fight. Instead of finding shock on his face, it was more of pride, and something... darker.

Once you found out that you were able to tap into frequencies and vibrations, you realized that it could be applied to more than just other objects. Your body was also giving off vibrations, and if you focused on it, you could increase it and send it out in a form of a shockwave. And after finally learning that skill, the government had finally caught up to you. You had mastered your ability so you had no trouble fighting them off, being careful to not severely harm anyone in the process since you didn’t want to be a murderous criminal either. Once you dispatched them, your name was finally known by anyone with power, and eventually, Nick Fury had found you. He said that you had power that you could use for good, to help people. And once he offered you a spot on the Avengers, you were too starstruck to say no.

You couldn’t quite guess what was running through his mind for you had to help rush the base with the others.

“Smash!” you heard Hulk belt out as he jumped hundreds of feet into the air and crashed right into the side of the base.

“So much for finesse,” Hawkeye grumbled.

“It’s the Hulk, what else do you expect?” you smiled, running into the building yourself.

After about another twenty minutes, the entire building was cleared out and your mission was deemed a success.

“Alright, good work everyone, let’s get back to the quinjet,” Cap announced, everyone making their way back to the plane.

On the way there, you were ahead of Tony and Steve and you could hear Tony through your earpiece, “Is there any particular reason that we’re walking behind Y/N, Cap?”

Everyone once again broke out into a fit of laughter, Steve’s face turning bright red, “I’m not looking at Y/N’s ass alright?!”

His sudden outburst shocked us a bit but Tony was waiting for that, “Did-did you just... curse?” he feigned being shocked, his mouth agape with a hand over his heart.

“I never would have thought such profanities would ever come out of the Captain’s mouth,” Thor chuckled as he slapped Steve’s shoulder while walking by.

The god then walked up to you and threw his arm around your shoulder, “Although Y/N does have a mighty fine physique, I have to commend him on his power. Your performance was divine enough to be sung about in the taverns of Asgard.”

You blushed immensely, let alone his thick and huge arm was resting around your shoulders, he even complimented you, twice. Thor was always attractive to you, he’s a damn god for crying out loud! Although, as much as you wanted to see him naked and even go further than that, Steve had stolen your heart... along with another thing of yours. By now, both Steve and Tony caught up to you, Nat and Hawkeye walking with Bruce up ahead. The second you turned your head to look at them, they could see the bright red color on your face, and while Tony was trying to hide a grin, Steve looked absolutely infuriated. You were struck by the anger simmering in his eyes that you looked away, a little bit too fast, for you could still catch the hint of the smirk Thor had on his face.

“Yeah, what the hell was that, kid? I’ve never seen you do anything like that,” Tony questioned.

You blushed a bit more and chuckled nervously, “Just another trick up my sleeve, didn’t really have to use it before now.”

Steve still looked a bit pissed, but a bit of admiration was also found in his expression, warming your heart. To be able to receive praise from the man or woman of your dreams is something that everyone wants, and even though he never really verbally told you, you could tell he was proud. With a bit more banter and laughter from everyone, you got on the quinjet and headed back to the Avengers compound.

The flight wasn’t too long, maybe about an hour or so. The entire time, everyone couldn’t get enough of both Steve cursing and the joke that he was looking at your ass. You swore, he looked like he was about to throw everyone out of the airlock, his face red with embarrassment. Once you had gotten off of the quinjet, everyone headed back to their rooms to take their showers, everyone caked with either blood or mud. You glanced over at Steve before he turned the corner to his room, his handsome face bloodied and dirty, and couldn’t help the tightening in your pants. How the hell was he always so goddamn pretty?!

When you got to your room, you tossed your bag into the corner and began to undress. Your clothes were sticking to your body with all the sweat and grime and you felt incredibly uncomfortable. Turning on the water, you took a moment to let it get warm, looking at yourself in the mirror. You traced every bruise and scar that you had, counting all of them like the stars at night. You couldn’t help the grimace on your face as you looked at yourself. Compared to the other guys on the team, you were probably the least physically defined. Sure, you had muscle, but it wasn’t anything special, not watermelons for biceps like the others. It made you a bit self-conscious; would Steve really get with someone like me when there are so many better options? You shook those thoughts from your mind, getting into the warm shower with the steam rising around you. It felt amazing, the warm water was relaxing the tense muscles you had and was washing away the evidence of your previous battle. You sat under the spray for a while, letting yourself relax and just letting the warm water cascade over you.

Eventually, you decided that it was enough, pushing the electronic button in the shower, it turned off and you opened the door, drying yourself off and wrapping the towel around your waist. You turned on the blowdryer and dried your hair, styling it in the way you always do then walking out of the bathroom, the steam crawling across the floor into the bedroom. Walking over to your closet, you picked out your clothes, underwear, socks, a pair of comfortable joggers, and a loose short sleeve shirt. After getting dressed and applying your cologne, you opened the door to your room, planning to go to the kitchen to find something to eat, only to be met with Steve’s chest.

You staggered backwards a bit and looked up at him, “S-sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

He looked incredible, smelled amazing too. He was clean from his shower and his scent was intoxicating, making your muscles relax and your mind to go a bit hazy. He had no answer to your apology, simply looking into your eyes with a strained look on his face. You were about to ask what was wrong before his lip curled and he reached out and grabbed you with both of his hands, digging into your shirt.

“Steve, wha-” you were cut off by his lightning fast motion of turning around and thrusting you into the glass pane in the hallway.

“You think it’s funny to embarrass and tease me in front of everyone, hm?” he asked angrily, his face inches away from yours, his warm breath spreading across your cheeks.

Your heart was racing and your mind was moving a million miles an hour, “T-tease you? Steve w-what are you talking about?”

“You know damn well!” he shouted, thrusting you back against the wall again, this time his leg slipping in between your thighs.

Shit.

A small whine came from your lips.

He looked down to see your erection poking against him, his knee rubbing it frivolously when he had thrusted you against the wall.

He smirked, “Well look what we have here.”

He moved his leg dangerously slow, just barely so you would whine and break apart.

“Steve, p-please,” you whined.

“You want to embarrass me in front of everyone? How about I do the same to you?” he suddenly turned you around and pressed you into the wall.

You could now have a perfect view of the outside, people walking about a hundred feet below you, the sun in the sky, the clouds flying by.

“I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it,” he growled into your ear, biting it. “Maybe then you’ll feel as embarrassed as I was.”

Liquid heat flooded your body, your cock pulsing heavily in your pants. His strong grip was keeping your hands locked together behind your back, his broad chest laying against your back as he spoke. Luckily for you, this was going to be far from embarrassing.

“Maybe I will be, guess we won’t know until you fuck me,” you retorted, a smirk forming on your lips.

He sneered, “I’m gonna wipe that smile right off your face.”

Since your clothing was so loose, he had no problem ripping your pants down your legs, the cool wind of the AC hitting your legs as your joggers were bunched around your feet.

“Look at this ass,” he groaned, slapping it through the fabric of your underwear.

You jerked a bit at the contact and bit your lip, “Shit.”

He pressed you against the wall again, “Shut up, you’re only gonna make noise when I say so. For now, shut your mouth and take Daddy’s punishment.”

When he pushed you once more, his cock that was way too big to be considered a cock, pressed against your ass. You felt faint, your legs would have given out by now if he wasn’t holding you against the wall like he was. You didn’t even want to think about what he had called himself or else you would have came right there on the spot, and you were just getting started.

He spanked you a few more times, your lip hurting from how hard you were biting down on it to keep from making noise.

“You know, I actually was staring at your ass on that mission,” he admitted, “how could I not with how nice and perfect it looks?” he let out a groan. “Now, let’s see your pretty little pussy,” he teased, slowly inching down your underwear.

You never thought that someone referring to that area of your body like that would have been so hot but the idea that he was straight and was still going to fuck you had you leaking precum. Once he caught a glimpse, he got impatient and ripped off your underwear... literally. He pulled with so much force that a gasp left you, your eyes following a few pieces of ripped fabric float to the ground.

“This hole is mine, boy. You understand?” he claimed, grabbing your hole and the area underneath your balls with his fingers to pick you up just a tad bit further.

You whined in the mixture of pleasure and pain, “Yes, Steve.”

He didn’t let up, in fact, he gripped you a bit harder, “What was that?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you admitted, sagging in relief when he let you go but also missing the feeling his thick and warm fingers brought you.

“Daddy is right, boy,” he smirked against your throat, nibbling on the flesh there, sending shivers down your spine.

You had no idea how your day ended up like this but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, only being able to focus on the feeling of his thick finger pressing against your rim.

“Let’s see how tight you are baby,” he grumbled, shoving his finger into your mouth to suck on before returning it to your eager hole.

The second you felt his finger begin to push in a bit, your entire body tensed up, “Shhh, relax, let Daddy take care of you.”

You went lax at his comforting words, your hole opening up for him.

“Fuuuck,” you let out in a low moan, his finger stretching you perfectly.

He chuckled behind you, “Damn boy, this is a tight hole.”

He pushed in further, slowly, getting you used to it. You were a writhing mess, not sure if you wanted more or for him to stop altogether.

“Daddy, please,” you begged.

“Please, what?” he smiled, sucking a deep bruise into your neck.

“Please, fuck me,” all your reservations were thrown out of the window, nothing on your mind but this man and how badly you wanted his cock.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he teased.

Suddenly, you were left feeling empty, Steve pulling his finger out of you. However, you weren’t stuck feeling that way for long, Captain dropping to his knees behind you and spreading your cheeks with his hands. You knew what was coming and you couldn’t help the satisfaction from spreading across your face, your ass wiggling back into him before he even started.

“Someone’s eager,” he remarked.

You didn’t bother with a response, simply waiting for him to finally reach you. And when he did, it felt nothing short of incredible. His hot tongue pressed against the outer part of your hole, making your body relax more than it already was, your body nearly slinking to the ground. He spent his sweet time tasting you, teasing you, waiting until the last possible moment to enter you.

“God, you taste amazing,” he moaned, returning to his ministrations, pulling a moan to come spilling from your lips.

He was tongue fucking you with such skill you wondered if he had done this before. He was switching between entering and exiting you at a fast pace and keeping his tongue inside of you while wiggling it around, pressing dangerously close to your prostate.

“Ngh, St-Daddy please, just give me your cock. Make your boy scream on it for everyone to see,” you were begging and panting like a bitch in heat.

The added thrill of being caught if only one person below you glanced upwards for even a fraction of a second had you teetering on the edge.

“Such a good boy for me, taking his punishment so well,” he praised, getting back up. “But before I fill you up, you need to get my cock nice and wet.”

He pulled you back around to face him, placing a searing kiss on your lips that had caught you off guard. He filled it with so much passion and drive that your cock jerked, the sensitive head leaking constant precum. Right after he ended the kiss, you were left breathless and he had pushed you down to your knees. You barely had any time to catch your breath before he forced his cock into your mouth, the taste of his precum instantly hitting your tastebuds. God, he tasted incredible. Since his advances were so quick, you barely even had time to comprehend how huge he truly was. Now, with his ridiculously huge member in your mouth, feeling how it stretched your lips out, how heavy it felt on your tongue, you knew you had never had nor seen a cock as thick or long as his.

“Fuuuuck baby, just like that,” he moaned out, his chest vibrating.

The vibration gave you an idea you wanted to try so you focused your power as you were desperately attempting to keep from choking on his length. Once you felt you were ready, you used your power, vibrating his cock as you moved back and forth over it.

He instantly pulled away with an abhorrently loud groan, “What in the hell was that?” he asked, breathless.

You were a bit shocked, “I just used my power and vibrated you while I sucked you off?”

His eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly agape.

“Did I do something... wrong? Did it hurt?” you had gotten up and began to get concerned.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he let out a heavy breath, “it just felt so damn good.”

You smirked at that, proud of the effect that you had on him. Though, you wouldn’t lie and say the mood hadn’t been killed just a bit. To keep from the silence, you surged forward and claimed his lips as your own. Your mouths moving together, tongues entering each other's mouths, moving in a dance. The passion of the kiss reignited the fire in your stomach, pouring out to reach every part of your body, your slightly softened cock revitalizing. The both of you pulled away from the kiss and he looked sexier than you had ever seen him before, his pink lips swollen, his cheeks flushed, hair tousled, and his eyes dark from the expanding of his pupils.

“Enough, it’s time for me to fill that ass up.”

You turned to walk into the bedroom, thinking that you would have sex on the bed, but Steve had other plans. He grabbed your arm and turned you around, pushing you back up against the wall, your face digging into the glass.

“I told you, I’m gonna fuck you against the glass for everyone to see,” he smirked.

With haste, the thick head of his cock pushed against your hole, sliding in relatively easy from all of the preparation he made. Still, the feeling of his tongue and fingers didn’t come even close to the sheer girth of his size, it felt like you were being split in half. Though, you still couldn’t get enough, pushing your ass back into him, feeling the warmth and the pubic hairs at the base of his cock.

“Goddamn, this ass is squeezing my dick so good baby boy,” he growled, jutting his hips sharply, forcing an involuntary moan to rip from your throat.

He grabbed your traps as a way to stabilize both you and himself as he picked up his pace, the sound of his thunderous thighs slapping against the globe of your ass echoing throughout the room. Grunts and groans were filling the space around you two, animalistic groans that made your cock ache against the window pane. Being spread out, submitting to such an authoritative man, it was better than any dream.

“Fuck, Daddy, you’re so big,” you moaned, your hair flying over your face from the speed of his thrusting.

“Yeah? You like my big cock?” he wrapped his arm around your chest and brought you up to his, turning your face to kiss you as he continued thrusting.

Let alone everything that has happened and is currently happening, his dirty talk managed to ramp you up like no other. The way he makes you feel so insignificant yet so special, the way he pleasured you, it was driving you insane. It sounded like a clique, but he truly ruined you for any other man.

His thrusting kept picking up more and more speed and you began to wonder if he could possibly get any faster than he already was. It probably had to do with the super soldier serum... how else was his cock so huge? The window was rocking with the force of his thrusts and your moans were unabashedly resonating in the hallway, any care for someone hearing obliterated. Hell, everyone under you was probably watching as well but you didn’t care, it spurred you on. He was mashing your prostate deliciously, his pin-point accuracy both appreciated and feared.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you whined.

He went from rapid thrusting to a somewhat slower pace but with more force behind each thrust, making you cry out in ecstasy each time he reached that sweet spot.

“Cum, cum on my cock,” he commanded, his deep and gravelly voice sounding like music to your ears.

At his command, you let go, you cock spasming and shooting your load all over the window, coating it in white. The sudden increase in tightness from your walls had Steve releasing a choked moan, his hips staggering in their pace... he was close.

“Fuck yeah Daddy, fill my ass up with your cum, breed me,” you moaned seductively, trying to milk him of his orgasm.

“Oh yeah, Daddy’s gonna fill up this tight hole, get ready,” he warned, getting louder and louder until eventually he reached his climax.

You could feel his warm seed coat the insides of your walls, his member throbbing inside of you, threatening to send you right into another orgasm. He let out a guttural growl and kept pumping through his euphoria, shooting load after load into you, so much that when he had pulled out, a steady stream had followed closely behind. You sagged against the wall, utterly spent and satiated while he had leaned back on the other side of the hallway against the door of your room. There was comfortable silence for a few minutes, the both of you breathing heavily and coming down from your respective highs. Your back was still arched, showing off your abused hole that Steve couldn’t get his eyes off of.

Suddenly, the door had chimed and someone had walked into the hallway.

“Well by the gods!”

You recognized that voice.

You turned your bright red face slowly towards his direction, the rest of your body still. You could see Thor in shorts and a tight t-shirt, hugging his muscles in all of the right places. You then looked down to see the outline of what seemed like a cock about the same size as Steve’s bulging out of his shorts.

He reached down and stroked himself through his pants, “Do you have enough energy for another cock, Y/N?”

You knew you said that Steve had ruined you for any other man, but... Thor wasn’t a man.

You smirked, “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Forevers Tag List: @magssteenkamp @shadowsinger11 @donnaintx @flamencodiva @impala-1979 @talesmaniac89 @malfoysqueen14

Male Reader Tag List: @brymalibu @myybebe @winchesterzforever @spnfanboy777

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bbrandy2002 · 3 years

Text

Fool’s Rush In

Chapter 18

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Book: TRR AU

Warnings: Language, crude talk, and the usual bad writing.

I had planned from the beginning to end this series after the next chapter and an epilogue, but call me crazy, I love it too much. So while this part of the story will end, I still plan to update with one-shots or stories from time to time. If you’re just done with it, let me know.

Also, this chapter felt a little off to me, so I apologize if it's terrible, but I think I ended on a good note.

Thanks @burnsoslow for prereading.and usage of your girl, who finally got to make her debut.

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

"Damn it, Riley! Pick up!" Liam grumbled as he lowered the cell phone from his ear and tossed it in the seat beside him. The royal jet had been in the air for a little over four hours already, and he'd grown frustrated at getting her voice mail each time. Surely, she was home by now.

Even though it was the middle of the night in Las Vegas, it was worth interrupting her. He had tried unsuccessfully to contact Riley since he packed his bags earlier and hastily headed for the airstrip. By this point, there must have been a dozen or so messages left on her phone without so much as a hint she'd gotten them.

While time wasn't an issue -- he'd get to Las Vegas one way or the other -- it was the desperation to hear from his new wife and tell her he knew precisely why she left.

And that he loved her.

Tilting his head back against the headrest, he swiveled side-to-side in his luxury chair while tightly clutching his freshly poured scotch. The security footage he watched earlier that morning replayed in his mind again. There were no doubts about what it showed: Madeleine confronted Riley outside their quarters just minutes after leaving the ball. Without sound, however, no one could ascertain specifically what was said among the two women. It was clear though, Riley was not a willing participant in that conversation. When they saw the disk held up in the Countess' hands, and the look of sheer horror on his pussycat's face, that told Liam all he needed to know. This was a blackmail situation, plain and simple, that included assault; those flowers he found scattered on the ground when he returned to his quarters last night all made sense now. This act was deliberate and treasonous, and Liam would ensure his ex-fiancee paid handsomely for it.

After they viewed the footage several more times, the Royal Guard was immediately summoned to Krona to find Madeleine and take her into custody. Liam knew it was a long shot whether his guards could pull that sting off, but he was working with what he had at the moment.

Despite whatever happened next, there was one thing the King was confident of: He was prepared to give up his entire Kingdom to get his girl back. Returning to Cordonia without her was not an option.

Shaking his tumbler of partially melted ice cubes, Liam leaned forward and steadily poured another bottle of scotch into his glass. As soon as he sat back and raised the fresh beverage to his lips, he was startled by the ringing of his cell phone. In a rush to answer, he hastily set the drink aside and snatched his phone up from where he tossed it earlier.

"Hello! Love?" He answered, hopeful it was her.

"Hey, little brother. Love you too ... Say, do you know if the palace has a Spanish tickler or a breast ripper? Asking for a friend."

Liam furrowed his brows in confusion before rising from his seat, plopping a knee down on its cushioned bottom, and glancing to the back of the plane. "Leo? Why are you calling me? We're on the same damn plane. I'm looking right at you."

"Nevermind that. Listen, I figured out a way to take care of Madeleine once and for all. Behold ..." Leo held up a leather-bound book and waved it over his head while Liam squinted from the front of the plane to get a better look. "... The King Constantine Guide To Fucking Torture In The 21st Century; Father gave it to me after my investiture ceremony. The way I see it, there really is no other option here than to tie her to a tree in front of the palace, invite the public to watch for a modest fee, and do some cool shit with iron rods and spikes. I got dibs on the knee-splitter, though."

"Leo ..." Liam began to warn his brother how ridiculous that plan was before stopping himself and staring off into the distance for a moment in thought. "Wait ... is there anything about flaying in that book?"

"Hell yeah there is! And if you're interested in thumbscrews, my buddy, Pete, has a trunk full of them. He uses them for ass play, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind letting us borrow them to split Maddie's thumbs in half." Leo let out a maniacal laugh.

Liam chuckled, despite the peculiarity of the conversation. "I'm not going to lie and tell you I'm not interested -- to the contrary, actually. And while I appreciate your help in seeing that Madeleine is brought to justice, I think we better stick to more lawful means."

"Boo, you whore!" The line went dead with a click.

Liam held the phone away from his ear, watching Leo sink down into his chair in a huff. "Really?" He called back in agitation. Met with the silent treatment and a middle finger from his disgruntled brother, Liam rolled his eyes, then slumped back down into his seat. Maybe he'd try to call Riley again.

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

The phone on Riley's nightstand buzzed again. She knew it was another call from Liam, and while she felt remorseful for ignoring all of his calls and texts, she couldn't bring herself to look at or answer them quite yet. The sooner all ties between them were broken, she believed, the quicker he could forget all about her and the mess she made of everything.

But even her willpower was slipping. Riley slid her hand out from under the pillow and reached over to pick up her phone. Holding it to her chest, she contemplated for a second just reading his texts and returning his calls, but Madeleine had warned to end all contact with him. Obviously, she was curious about what he had to say, but it was too risky. I'm so sorry, Liam.

Hitting the power button on her cell, the light on the device faded to black before she tossed it in the nightstand drawer.

Early the next morning, Riley's eyes flickered open to the sound of a banging on her front door, followed by the incessant ringing of her doorbell. Feeling exhausted from a lack of sleep, mainly because of crying and unable to think about anything other than how she hurt Liam, Riley decided to ignore it. She just wanted to be left alone, and eventually, they'd give up and leave, right?

Except they didn't.

Annoyed, she let out a sigh and then eased herself up out of bed; the pain in her back was still a problem. Tossing a robe over her body, she slowly made her way down the stairs of her townhome -- each step excruciating -- until she finally made it to the door.

Twisting the lock, she opened the entry door, before letting out a sudden gasp at the tearful person standing on the other side.

"Oh my God, Riley! Y-You're alive! You're really alive!"

"Alyssa?" Riley's best friend from New York pulled her into a relieved hug, nearly sobbing at that point. "What're you doing here?"

"I thought something terrible happened to you, but now that I can see you're still among the living ..." she sniffled before pulling back and narrowing her blazing blue eyes at her friend. "Where have you been? I've been trying to get ahold of you ever since you texted me that you were boarding a plane in Cordonia, and that something serious happened involving Tyler. You promised me you'd call as soon as you landed--"

"I know. I'm so sorry. It was late ..."

" -- and you didn't. Then I worried, even more, when you didn't answer any of my calls back. I had to book the first red-eye flight here to make sure you were all right." Finished with her rant, a huffing Alyssa's jaw immediately clenched. "Now, what did that shithead ex of yours do? I'll kill him if he hurt you, Ri. I might be small, but I'm scrappy like an alleycat. You know I'll claw his eyes out."

Riley let out a light chuckle; Alyssa was always overprotective of her and had a clever way with words, but quickly, that chuckle faded into a teary frown. "Oh, Lyss," she whimpered as her face fell into her hands.

Alyssa quickly wrapped her arms around Riley and pulled her into a warm embrace. "Aww, Riley. Sweetie, it's going to be okay," she soothed.

Stepping inside, Alyssa kicked the door shut and led them both over to the sofa. Sensing Riley was in pain -- and not just emotional -- she helped lower her troubled best friend onto the couch. "I want you to start from the beginning and tell me everything that happened."

The best friends had remained in contact over the last several weeks. It was Alyssa's frantic morning phone call over a month ago that alerted Riley to the news coverage of her impromptu marriage to Liam, having saw it on the news.

And while Alyssa was aware of everything about Cordonia and Liam, and how Riley fit into all that from their prior conversations, she listened intently while it was revealed to her the details of the incident with Madeleine and the video her ex-husband gave to the Countess.

Grabbing a tissue from the end table, Alyssa handed it to Riley. "So this cow confronted you with that disgusting video and basically blackmailed you into leaving, or she would release it to the press?" Riley nodded somberly.."Ugh, I want this treasonous bitch thrown in the dungeon, subjected to live-streamed daily anal fistings with giant Hulk gloves ... And Tyler, I want to break every bone in his rotten body, one at a time. And I want to leave him there afterwards, dripping just enough water on his lips, so he doesn't die of dehydration, screaming in agony for the weeks it will take to die of starvation."

Riley's face scrunched up. "God, Alyssa."

Alyssa shrugged. "What? I don't care; it's what they deserve for hurting you. Did you at least tell Liam what happened?"

This time, Riley shook her head. "No. Madeleine warned me if I told him, she would release the video, and then the council would likely force him to step down. I won't allow him to lose everything for someone like me."

Irritated, Alyssa pressed a palm to her forehead. "Why are you like this?"

"Like, what?" Riley asked in exasperation.

"That whole, 'someone like me,' part. He wanted to stay married to you. He made you the queen of his country. You've said he couldn't keep his goddamn hands off you for two seconds. And more importantly, you told me you have never felt more loved in your life, than you do when you're with him. The fact that you still question your worthiness to him blows my mind."

Alyssa reached for Riley's shaky hand, able to tell by the tears sliding down her cheeks and the soft whimpers that she'd touched on something. "You're his pussycat, Riley. Liam already lost everything when you left him. Tell me you know that."

Riley wiped at her face., her voice stifled, "I just wanted to protect him."

"I know." Alyssa smiled softly. "But you needed to give him the chance to decide what he wanted. You made it for him because you know he'd choose you, regardless if he lost everything else; that's how much he loves you, Ri. You can't protect someone who loves you by hurting them. Besides, he's the King; he can simply execute the council if he wants to -- Liam’s not going anywhere."

"You just HAD to add that last part in, didn't you?" Riley laughed, feeling a sense of ease as her mood lightened. It felt good to talk to someone who could help her make sense of everything and realize she hadn’t exactly made the best call by leaving and not telling Liam what happened. "But what do I do about this video? What if Madeleine releases it to the public?"

"Yeah, a video of a married woman having sex with her husband -- Oh, the shame!" she retorted. "Look, you'll be famous on Pornhub for a few weeks, and it'll fizzle out. I know that doesn't make it all better, but you have a lot of people who love you ... we'll be there for you if that happens. Besides, it's Gonzo Dick; I doubt anyone will wanna watch anyway."

Riley snorted out at the nickname she gave her ex-husband. "Stop making me laugh."

Alyssa cracked a grin. "Nah. If I can make you laugh at that asshole's expense and his crooked dick, then it's worth it."

"Well,” she breathed, “ I suppose I should get dressed and call Liam. Tell him what happened, and hopefully, he'll … forgive .." her voice trailed off at tasting an increasing collection of bile in her throat and a familiar rumble in her stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

Riley frowned. "Damn it, why do I keep getting sick?"

After rushing to the bathroom with Alyssa's help, Riley came out moments later, flushed and perspiring. Alyssa, who waited outside the door to make sure she was all right, eyed her friend with grave concern. "Ri, are you sure you don't have a concussion? You said that Madeleine caused you to fall, and you complained you’ve been getting sick a lot. Is there any chance you hit your head too?"

Riley considered for a moment before shaking her head. "I don't think so. I mean, it all happened so fast I don't really remember, but my head doesn't hurt."

"OH NO! You have memory loss too, on top of the vomiting and a hurt back? Riley, you need to go to the hospital now. This is serious."

"Alyssa, I'm fine. I don't need to go to the hospital," Riley dismissed and hobbled past her friend toward the kitchen. "You always worry too much."

Alyssa followed behind her, brows bumped together in a scowl. "Because you're a stubborn ass who never listens, that's why. You need to get checked out," she insisted. Riley paid no attention as made her way to the fridge; that reaction only served to piss Alyssa off. "You can ignore me all you want, but you know as well as I do, I'll just keep annoying the hell out of you until you do it … I'll sing every Dave Matthews song ever written -- On repeat."

Riley shut the fridge door and turned at the threat, giving her a dismayed glare. "You wouldn't."

Alyssa tilted her chin. "You know damn well I would. I have... so much to say, so much to say, so much --"

"Please stop! I'm going."

---------

At Valley Hospital and Medical Center, Drake sat slumped down in the waiting room of the E.R; a thawed ice pack covered his crotch. His increasingly irritated self caught sight of a nurse escorting yet another patient back for examination. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Tired of waiting, he cast the ice pack aside and marched straddle-legged to the triage desk where a beefy nurse with a scowl sat filing her nails. "How much longer is this gonna take?" He demanded bitterly.

The nurse remained focused on her nails and answered in a careless fashion. "You'll get called back when it's your turn, Mr. Walker."

"My turn? MY TURN? I've been here for 15 fucking hours waiting for my turn. I've watched one person after the next walk right in, get treated, and leave. Whose ass do I actually have to lick to get treatment around here?"

Unimpressed with his theatrics, she folded her arms on the desk and looked up at Drake with a glower. "Look. You got kicked in the wang by a hooker. Shit happens. It's not the end of the world. Go home, have a beer, and a good laugh. You'll live." She resumed her filing.

Drake ran both hands through his rumpled hair, letting out a sardonic laugh. "I cannot fucking believe you just said that to me. I suffer trauma on my transplanted dick, and the greatest healthcare minds in the world tell me to have a beer and laugh about it?" his voice shrieked.

The nurse blew on her nails. "That's what I said."

That snarky remark sent him even further over the edge. A red-faced Drake pounded two white-knuckled fists on the desk and leaned down into her space. "Now you listen here, lady. I demand to be seen right now, or so help me, I'll tear this whole goddamn place apart brick-by-fucking-brick! Do you understand me?"

Having none of that, the nurse, who was several inches taller than a startled Drake expected, sprung for her chair and loomed over him menacingly. Drake flinched when she rammed the nail file at him and threatened, "Now, you listen.You can either sit your ass down, or I will sit you down. Do you understand me?"

He didn't understand. He would never understand.

A security guard who heard the commotion casually approached the agitated pair and placed a firm hold on Drake's elbow. "Do we have a problem here, Betty Lou?"

She shook her head, sizing Drake up. "No, just some whiny-ass Karen griping about his dick."

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

Several moments later, Alyssa and Riley exited an Uber and wandered into the waiting area, making their way up to the triage line -- or what they thought was a line. It was actually Drake still standing there, continuing to protest his case to anyone who would listen and demanding to speak to someone in charge.

While Riley dug through her purse to retrieve her health insurance card, Alyssa couldn't help but be taken in by the fiery debacle taking place in front of them. She inched a little closer, unable to help herself; it was good drama and sucked her right in.

Catching a glimpse of Drake’s sour face, she cocked her head introspectively; there was something oddly familiar about the man in the denim shirt going off. Alyssa tapped her chin. Where have I seen him before?

Before long, the realization set in, and her eyes snapped wide open. She nudged Riley with an elbow and leaned over, whispering, "Hey, isn't that the guy from the news who had the penis transplant? It looks just like him."

Knowing precisely who that was by the description, Riley popped her head up to look. She hadn't known Drake well, only that he was Liam's best friend, and after having spent time together on the plane ride to Cordonia with him, that her maid-of-honor had given him several venereal diseases. "Drake?" she called out.

While Alyssa zoned in on his groin, curious as to what was in there, Drake broke away from the dispute and turned his focus toward the familiar-sounding voice. She was a connection to home and a long-sought-after friendly face. "Riley? Liam's insta-bride, Riley?"

She let out a light chuckle and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose that's how you would know me ... What are you doing at the hospital? Is your body rejecting the ..." Her embarrassed gaze dropped lower with a gulp. " ... thing?"

"No!" he barked. "I just got attacked by that ... uh, someone."

"You got attacked?" Shocked, Riley placed a hand over her chest. "Why would someone attack you? Are you okay?"

Feeling incensed by the memory, Drake shook his head and muttered. "It's a long story ... What about you? What are you doing here? Thought you were in Cordonia with Liam?"

She inhaled a deep breath through her nostrils and forced a smile. "It's a long story too."

Drake peeked over his shoulder at Nurse Ratchet, giving him a gimlet-eyed stare from behind her computer screen. He groused and turned to face Riley again. "I've got time."

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

Nearly 12 hours after takeoff, the royal jet touched down in sunny Las Vegas, an hour ahead of schedule. Liam and Leo stepped off the plane and strolled across the tarmac to the awaiting vehicle, where a smiling man held the rear passenger door open.

"Bastien," Liam greeted as he approached. "Good to see you again."

"Your Majesty." He bowed. "Likewise ... I have the rental car you requested, and the Queen's address is already programmed into the GPS. Should take no more than 30 minutes to get there."

"Perfect,” he replied, clapping Bastien’s shoulder.“Thanks for having everything ready to go."

Liam had contacted the head guard -- who was still jailed for non-support -- and gained him a day-long pass to provide security detail. Bastien was also to stay in contact with his guards to oversee the capture and detainment of Madeleine.

Bastien took their bags, and the brothers hopped into the back of the Escalade. Once they pulled away from the airport, the directions led the group west. The head guard glanced briefly in the rearview mirror as he drove on. “I want to thank you for giving me a second chance. It’s nice to be out of that place, even if just for the day.”

Liam smiled back. “Not a problem, good man. I can’t think of anyone else I trust more for the job than you … though I’m not sure why. Anyway, do you have any updates on the Madeleine situation?”

“Yes, sir. I contacted my colleagues again just before you arrived. Countess Madeleine was taken by surprise when our guards arrived at her family estate in Krona. Once in custody, she was immediately transported to Valtoria for detention, exactly as you requested.”

"That's terrific news ... Wait ...Did you say, Valtoria?" Liam asked with puzzlement in his tone.

"Yes, sir. As you requested."

"Man, please tell me Mads tried to fight them off, and they had to use the taser on her," Leo insisted as he held his crossed fingers in the air. "A billy club ... a rubber hose ... something."

"There may have been a brief verbal exchange and some threats, but the Countess promised if they permitted access to her computer to send a quick email, she would go with them peacefully and without further protest. There didn't seem to be any harm in doing so, and she followed through with her word. Sorry to break it to you, Prince Leo, but no tasers were harmed in her capture."

"Well, fiddle shit." Leo glanced over at his brother --who was still scratching his head -- in disappointment. "If only I'd been able to get that shock collar on her while I was engaged to her, you wouldn't be in this mess right now. She just squirmed too much. I’m sorry I let you down, little brother."

"It's fine, Leo; it's not the first time,” Liam said dryly before turning his head away from Leo to face the front again. "Can we get back to Madeleine being taken to Valtoria? I never requested that. An accused of the Crown is always placed in the palace dungeon. There aren't even cells in Valtoria to hold her in. What am I missing here?"

Approaching a stoplight, Bastien lightly pressed the brakes, then met Liam’s gaze in the mirror. “The orders I was given to pass along to the guards from you earlier were clear in your text: Once she’s taken into custody, she is to be sent to Valtoria and placed in the cage with the monkey until further notice. That’s what they --”

“Mongo! They put her in the cage with Mongo?” Liam exploded before pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing there was no point in asking how that message got mixed up. “Goddamn it, Leo! Why are you, you, sometimes?” He ran a swift hand down his face and turned to glare at his brother. “Do you realize they consider that cruel and unusual punishment? Did you ever stop to consider how much shit I'm going to hear over this if this gets out?" He let out a sharp breath and threw his hands in the air."How? How did you do it?"

"It's simple pimple, Liam. When you went to the bathroom, I grabbed your phone," he replied bluntly with a shrug. "And according to page 24 of Father's torture book: It's not considered cruel and unusual punishment, as long as she has food, water, and clean shelter -- which she does. Or ... if she's housed with a member of the royal family -- which she is. Mongo is the heir to the throne, so we've got that covered too. So just relax, little bro; Leo’s got it all taken care of for you."

Liam dropped his chin to his chest, then let out a weary breath. “Bastien, call the guards and have them move her to the palace at once.”

As Bastien placed the call, Liam shifted in his seat so that he was staring out the window. He put a palm over his mouth to conceal the curved lips that formed a devilish grin, trying to contain the unbearable urge to bust out laughing. Oh, Maddie ... I hope you and Mongo had one hell of a time together.

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

Back at the hospital, Riley situated herself on the gurney while a nurse prepared to check her vitals and ask general health questions.

In the next bay over, separated by a thin sliding curtain, Drake was finally attended to after Riley reluctantly, but willfully, played up her celebrity status. Once she threatened to have the hospital shut down -- which she doubted was even possible on her end -- the proverbial red carpet was rolled out for both of them; she was still a queen, afterall.

Steps were then taken to ensure they both received the royal treatment, so to speak. That wasn’t typically how Riley preferred to handle situations; she hated big fusses over her. But in the end, she did help one of Liam’s oldest friends finally get the medical attention he needed, so it was worth trying.

The blood pressure cuff on Riley’s arm squeezed tighter just as one of the doctors stepped inside and slid the curtain all the way closed. His cheerful greeting drew Riley's fixed gaze away from the changing numbers on the monitor beside her bed, and she smiled up at him.

The doctor was tall and thin, with thick spectacles perched near the tip of his nose. He gave a brief nod to Alyssa, who was sitting in a chair at Riley’s bedside, rubbing her shoulder. Scanning the patient chart, he spoke without looking up, "Queen Riley, it says here you suffered a fall?"

"I'm just Riley, please," she requested.

The doctor looked up from the paperwork and nodded with an understanding smile. "Of course."

After the initial exam concluded, Alyssa remained behind after the doctor ordered x-rays and transport had wheeled Riley down to radiology.

Bouncing her crossed leg as she scrolled through her phone, Alyssa tried to bide her time until Riley returned. An air conditioning vent overhead that she didn’t realize drowned out so much noise around her, suddenly flipped off. Able to catch the conversation on the other side of the curtain better, she listened with a broken heart as Drake reluctantly described to an attending, the worst days of his life. Alyssa shuddered as he recalled the moment his penis fell off, rolled across the bed, and dropped onto Ethan Ramsey’s leather shoe during an exam. “That poor man. I just want to hug him,” she muttered.

Her little ears perked when the doctor mentioned he was “going to have a look at it.” In her curious mind, there were no doubts that she was too. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take a peek at the first transplant of its kind; no way was she going to miss out on that.

Alyssa slid to the edge of her seat and raised her hand to up to the curtain, easing a tiny portion of it aside. Her blue eyes crinkled with frustration at a nurse who was blocking her view. “Move your ass,” she whispered to herself.

Unable to get a good view, she gave up that spot and eyed the other opening in the curtain at the far end of the room. Sliding off her chair to a crouching position on the floor, Alyssa crab-walked as fast as she could without falling off balance until she made it to the other side. Crooking a stealthy finger along the seam of the curtain, she hoped and prayed Drake’s genital exam wasn’t through yet. What her eyes saw on that gurney when she pulled the fabric aside caused her heart to jolt out of her chest.

Alyssa cupped a hand over her gaping mouth before stepping back and letting the curtain fall loosely shut again. Dropping her hand limply at her side, staring blankly at nothing, she mouthed, “Oh. My. God.”

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

Down in the radiology department, Riley sat patiently in her wheelchair, waiting for the tech to return to take the x-rays. Enjoying the lighter feeling of having an empty bladder again, she let out a contented sigh; she was about to bust earlier. That mandatory urine sample couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.

Left alone to ruminate in her thoughts, Riley wondered about those phone calls she ignored last night from Liam. The regret she felt over her actions the last 26 hours continued to mount up. And it took a heart-to-heart with her best friend to really put things into perspective. Her decisions weren’t the best course to take, even if they were done with the most loving of intentions.

There was a lot to make up to Liam, and she only hoped that it wasn’t too late. Could he even forgive her for all of it?

She wished he was there with her right now. If she knew him the way she thought she did, he’d be standing around telling inappropriate jokes to make her laugh or embarrass her with his silly antics. It was like Liam could be two different people sometimes: Kingly and stoic around everyone else, but the second it was just him alone with her, he was such a big kid. Somehow, she could bring out his true self; the one where he felt comfortable enough to be silly and playful. And as much as she tried to play them off, those little pet names he gave her -- she chuckled to herself as they popped into her head -- were funny. What the hell even was a knucklehead mcspazzatron?

“Miss Brooks” Riley shook herself of her thoughts as the x-ray tech returned and made her way over. “I apologize that took so long.”

Riley smiled up at her. “No need to apologize… Are you ready for me now?”

“Not exactly,” she teased in such a cheery tone, Riley slightly lowered her eyelids, holding her gaze. “You most likely won’t be getting x-rays today, sweetie.” She held a fisted hand out to Riley and opened her palm to reveal the small object inside. “You’re pregnant.”

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

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#fools rush in #liam x mc #liam x riley #king liam #prince liam #the royal romance #trr #choices fanfiction #bbrandy2002

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averykedavra · 3 years

Text

wherever we are (it feels like home)

Good evening, I am exhausted and here is a fic for my friend @rain-bound because Rain asked for prinxiety and I decided to deliver, three weeks later, at ten at night. Enjoy this self-indulgent hurt/comfort, because I’m about to collapse into bed and sleep for seventy years. You’re the best, Rain <3

(Title from End of the Earth by MARINA. This fic is on Ao3 here!)

Words: 8463

Pairing: Romantic Prinxiety

Warnings: lots of angst for both Virgil and Roman, mentions of the other Sides but they don’t appear, self-deprecation, anxiety and borderline panic attacks, self-hatred, identity issues, crying, and kissing

Three days.

That’s how long it took for Virgil to mess it all up. Three freaking days.

Honestly, he wasn’t even that surprised--if there was one thing he was good at, it was messing stuff up. Thomas had the chance of a lifetime. The person of a lifetime. Virgil had done something good, something brave, and now Thomas had a date.

It was too good to be true.

So he’d messed it up.

They’d been texting, and Thomas had sent a text where the tone was way off--like, way off, like Nico-probably-hated-them-off, and yeah, it was a bit hasty to say that after one text but--but then Thomas tried to apologize and hit send before he was done--and then Nico called them--and Thomas couldn’t talk on the phone, he’d sound stupid and what would he say and no--

Virgil made Thomas deny the call.

The call from Nico. Who knew they had their phone with them. Who knew they weren’t busy.

When Thomas stopped the ringing, a deafening silence filled the room.

He hadn’t even called Nico back--Logan said something about calming down, which was fair, because Virgil was hyperventilating in the corner. Logan counted with him. Logan steadied him.

Logan said it was okay. That one mistake, especially one so small, wouldn’t jeopardize everything. Logan said that things wouldn’t always be so fragile. They’d fall into a rhythm. And for now, they’d fix things.

Virgil tried to breathe. Tried to believe him.

And still knew he’d come so terrifying close to losing everything.

It was so easy. That’s what they’d all learned that day. If Virgil messed up, just a bit, their relationship went down the drain. It wasn’t the point that things got fixed, that Thomas apologized and everyone moved on--that didn’t replace how delicate things were, how everyone was newly aware that this whole thing could shatter if Virgil stepped wrong.

If any of them stepped wrong. But Virgil, it was obvious, was the weak link.

Virgil was going to ruin this.

Of course you’re not, Patton said. Patton said it wasn’t his fault, that they’d all panicked. Patton said he was doing great.

That’s illogical, Logan said. Logan said anyone could have made the same mistake. Logan said Virgil had helped so much already.

Janus hadn’t said anything--Janus had been hanging around a bunch recently, which Virgil wasn’t really on board with, though he hadn’t given Virgil an excuse to yell at him yet--but he’d given Virgil a slow nod.

Thanks, Thomas said when everything was said and done that afternoon. Always keeping me on my toes, Virgil. I appreciate it.

And that would have been enough. It would have been way more than enough.

But there was Roman.

Roman, who was already infatuated with Nico. Roman, who grabbed Virgil’s hands and spun him around that first day, laughing, smiling so much that Virgil’s heart could have burst. Roman, who’d said this is it, called it their newest chance at happiness, and told Virgil he was brave.

Roman cared so deeply about this. He’d been so quiet recently, so hesitant, and it made Virgil burn with a worry he didn’t recognize. The kind of worry, the kind of care, that made Virgil warm and energized and terrified for someone other than himself.

He didn’t really know what that meant. He’d probably be able to figure it out if he thought about it. He decided not to think about it.

Roman. That was all he needed to know. Roman.

Roman, who had ignored him all day, who had picked at his food and not spoken to anyone, who had flinched when Virgil said his name before mumbling something and excusing himself.

Roman, who was upset with him.

That realization made Virgil feel like he was breathing in shards of glass. He’d retreated to his room, done some breathing exercises, and tried to think through it. Roman was mad about what had happened, Virgil knew it--maybe he thought Virgil didn’t care as much as he did. Which was so wrong. Virgil cared just as much as Roman did, because Roman did.

Maybe he thought Virgil did it on purpose. Maybe he was just angry that another chance could be wasted because Virgil couldn’t stop messing everything up.

Virgil was terrified.

Virgil was worried.

Virgil was worried that Roman was not okay. Against all his better judgment, he wanted to ask Roman how Roman felt.

And Virgil was terrified to confirm that Roman hated him--terrified he might make things worse--terrified to see Roman would turn him away--because anyone’s scorn would hurt him but Roman--Roman. Virgil couldn’t think of anything worse than Roman being upset with him.

Well, actually, he could.

Roman being upset.

Roman was upset. And even though Virgil was scared, that didn’t matter right now, because Virgil needed to do something.

That something was apologize. Virgil needed to apologize. And Roman could do whatever afterwards. Virgil’d be fine with Roman hating him afterwards as long as Roman knew he was sorry.

Maybe that’d help. Maybe that wouldn’t. Maybe Virgil didn’t care, because he was done standing by.

Roman had called him brave.

He was going to be brave.

That night, after everyone was asleep or doing a good enough job of pretending to be, Virgil crept down the hall to Roman’s room.

He should have come earlier. Roman was probably asleep, too. But Virgil was nocturnal by this point, and he’d only just managed to work up the courage, and he’d lose it again if he waited a second longer.

Okay, he was already losing his courage. He could feel it slipping away, replaced by panic-anxiety-fear-worry that made him dig his hands deeper into his pockets and take a few strangled breaths. This was fine. This was fine! He would check up on Roman, apologize, and hopefully not be told that he was a terrible friend. Yeah. Yeah!

“Yeah,” Virgil told himself, his voice sounding off in the darkened hallway. “Knock. Come on.”

Slowly, he forced one hand out of his hoodie and balled it in a fist. He took another deep breath. It made his head spin.

This was a terrible idea.

But he was going to be brave right now, and he was going to check on Roman, and--and whatever was going to happen would happen. Nothing he could do about it.

Virgil held his breath and knocked once.

He tried to keep it to a gentle tap--’cause maybe he’d have plausible deniability, say he bumped the door while going to bed, and maybe Roman wouldn’t hear it at all and Virgil could just go back to his room and pretend everything was fine--but Virgil swore the sound echoed three times around the hallway. He pressed himself into the shadows and waited for someone’s door to open. Nobody came to check on him. They were all asleep.

Like Roman probably was. And now Virgil was going to disturb him, wake him up, and Roman always complained about losing beauty sleep--what was Virgil doing--

Helping a friend.

Virgil knocked again, louder, and resisted the strong impulse to curl into a ball and hide.

There was a long, dark, silence.

Virgil could run. He could just--he could just run, bolt for his room, and say it was a prank from Remus if anyone asked--

“Who is it?”

Virgil’s breath caught. Roman’s voice was sleepy but sharp, and he heard Roman walk towards the door. The knob turned.

Run.

This was Roman. Roman was fine. Roman was safe--Virgil knew he was safe. Roman wouldn’t hurt him.

Virgil stayed still.

The door cracked open. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Virgil forced out.

Roman’s head peeked around the door. He had a severe case of bedhead, with hair flopping over his eyes and pushed up at the back like he’d run his fingers through it. Virgil found that ridiculously adorable.

“Virgil!” Roman said, and for a second, he seemed about to smile. Then it faded. Then it was just Roman, blinking tiredly at Virgil with bags under his eyes, his mouth drawn in a thin line. “What do you need?”

“I, um--” Virgil had prepared a quick speech for this. He couldn’t remember a word of it. It--it included the word ‘and,’ right? Definitely ‘and.’ Maybe ‘but,’ too. “I--I know it’s really late, and I’m sorry, but--” There! Nailed it. “But I need to talk to you.”

“Hmm?” Roman seemed to shake himself all the way awake. His mouth drew tighter. “Talk about what?’

Virgil hesitated. “Nico.”

“Nico,” Roman repeated. “Nico?”

“Nico,” Virgil agreed. He probably sounded so stupid, just parroting Roman, but he couldn’t think of what else to say. “So can I--is this a good time--of course it’s not, you’re asleep, but--”

“I--actually, I was awake, it’s alright.” Roman pulled the door a little wider. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Virgil nodded, swallowed, and let Roman lead the way into his room.

The only lights were a string of fairy lights and a lamp by the desk. They cast a dim golden glow over the room, leaving the red as ashy shadows and the white as creamy dust. Virgil stumbled over something on the floor, and when he looked down, he saw several piles of clothes and bits of paper strewn across the floorboards. The carpet was kicked to the side. Virgil straightened it automatically, and saw a stain in one corner, and a worn patch that dragged over the boards in a way that suggested it was a few days from falling apart.

Outside the window, Roman had chosen a city skyline--dots of white and red filling the sky, lights strung along the buildings like square beads, airplanes blinking their way from place to place. If Virgil breathed in deep, he could smell Roman in this room, like always. Roman smelled like fresh paper. Like rose petals. Like cinnamon. Like something warm and cozy, and Virgil could never get enough of it.

Roman gave Virgil a strange look, and Virgil frantically tried to look like he hadn’t just been smelling Roman’s room like a total creep.

“Sit down, if you’d like,” Roman said, collapsing onto the bed and kicking his legs onto the pillows. Virgil hesitantly perched on the desk chair. Several notebooks spilled across the desk itself, and Virgil quickly looked away. It felt weird to see Roman’s stuff like this--it always did.

Virgil loved Roman’s room, but it wasn’t where he belonged. It was Roman’s space. Virgil was just a visitor--an intruder--an unwelcome guest who ruined the smell of parchment and clashed with the red on the walls.

Virgil loved Roman’s room, but Roman’s room didn’t love him back.

“So,” Roman said, and Virgil realized Roman had been watching him. In the shadows, Virgil couldn’t pick out Roman’s expression--and that set him on edge in a way he didn’t expect, because he knew Roman, and he’d at least banked on being able to read him. Now? Roman could be angry. Roman could be tired. Roman could be any number of things, and Virgil couldn’t tell.

Virgil took a deep breath for like the twentieth time that night and tried really, really hard not to panic.

Roman’s room did make it easier. It was relaxing that way. Maybe it was a thing like Virgil’s room making people more anxious, a side effect of Roman’s power. Maybe it was just because it was Roman’s. Either way, Virgil found that if he tried--if he really tried, and didn’t think about anything except, like, cupcakes--he could avoid entirely breaking down.

Great. Now he had to actually talk.

“So,” Virgil said, an embarrassingly long time after Roman had spoken, but too late to worry about that now. “Um--Nico?”

“Yep, we’ve...we’ve established that one, stormcloud,” Roman said, a touch of fondness in his voice. “We’ve made that clear. Next we go into details.”

“Details. Yeah.” Virgil nodded way too fast. “Cool. So--um.”

“Are you going to talk, or…” Roman laughed a bit. It was a short, sharp laugh, but it was soft enough to make Virgil relax a bit. “It’s okay if you don’t, but I did figure you called this little meeting for a reason, emo.”

“I did,” Virgil protested. “I just--ugh, I don’t know where to start, I--” He looked around. “Um--how are you?”

“What?” Roman was quiet for a second. “I’m...quite princely and glittery, as usual, why do you ask?”

“You--you sure?” Virgil scuffed his toe into the carpet. If Roman wasn’t okay, that was something to talk about--that was maybe a reason he’d avoided Virgil that wasn’t anger--and Virgil was such a coward. Why’d Roman ever call him brave? “Your, um--your room’s a bit of a mess.”

“I suppose I must admit that,” Roman agreed, sitting up and giving the floor a betrayed look. “I’ve been so wrapped up in projects that I’ve hardly had time to clean up.”

“You could have asked one of us,” Virgil said. “I could have, y’know, swept the place a bit. Cleaning’s, like, relaxing for me. I know you don’t really like people in your room, though.”

Roman’s eyebrows came together. “Who told you that?”

“No one?” Virgil blinked. “I just--I mean, I guess I just assumed--”

A sinking feeling in his stomach told him that of course Roman liked other people in his room. He just didn’t like Virgil.

“Forget it,” Virgil mumbled. “Just--yeah.”

He could feel that Roman was watching him. He curled into his hoodie and wondered if he tried hard enough, he could get swallowed up by the shadows.

This was a disaster.

And it could have been better--he’d know what to say if this was Logan, or Patton, or even Janus--but this was Roman. Roman. Roman, who was--he was--

Ugh.

“We need to talk,” Virgil blurted out. Maybe if he said it enough, he’d believe it. They needed to talk. To get this over with. Even if it hurt. “I--I’m really nervous about this, ‘cause obviously, but--” Why’d he say that? To get pity points? Now Roman would be forced to feel bad for him. “--but it’s not a big deal--I mean, it is, but--”

“Virgil.”

Virgil jerked his head up. Roman had turned on another lamp. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, expression achingly soft.

“What?” Virgil asked, all his haunches raised, all his guards up.

“If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do this.” Roman swallowed. “I know it’s--it’s an emotional conversation, and if you would rather Patton or Logan be here--or if you’d like to wait?”

Virgil could wait.

But Virgil needed to--

“We need to talk now,” Virgil said. “I--I won’t have the guts to do it otherwise, I’m sorry--”

“Alright,” Roman said. Virgil thought he saw Roman sink a bit, though. “That works. Take your time, okay? Keep breathing.”

“Okay,” Virgil said. He tried not to feel optimistic about the fact that Roman cared enough to keep him from panicking. Roman could care about him and still be mad--or Roman could just want Virgil to be calm enough for the conversation to happen all at once. Which didn’t really make sense, but Virgil wasn’t about to hope, wasn’t about to try and erase the past days of Roman being upset with him.

With Roman being upset.

If this made Roman feel better, it was worth it.

“So,” Virgil said. And told himself this time--finally--he’d get it right. “We want to talk about Nico?”

“Nico,” Roman agreed, something soft and sad crossing his face.

“He’s--” Virgil fought for words. “He’s--he’s so good, yeah? He’s great. Thomas really likes him, and so do I--I really like him, Roman.”

“I know,” Roman said. Softly. Too softly, and Virgil was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “He’s wonderful.”

“Yeah!” Virgil said. Loudly. Too loudly. His voice echoed through Roman’s room--and he noticed that, unlike all the other times he’d been here, there wasn’t any music playing.

Okay, yeah, it was late. But--it made Virgil’s heart clench a bit, it made his hands jam further into his pockets, and it made him kick at the floor with more vehemence. It was another thing that was wrong--piled onto everything else, onto the shadows and the crumpled papers and everything from the door to the windows. Everything was wrong. Was it wrong because Virgil was there, messing it up? Or had something been wrong from the start?

Patches of light, gold and white and red, skidded over Virgil’s jacket. From the window, from the lamps, from the fairy lights high above. They bled through the purple patches and turned them an ugly shade of brown.

“Nico’s great,” said Virgil, slowly, quietly. Like he didn’t want to disrupt something. “And--and Thomas messed up a bit, the other day.”

I messed up, he didn’t finish with. Roman would know.

“He did,” Roman said, voice tight.

“And that’s--I think that’s maybe a sign that--” Virgil waved a hand, felt self-conscious about said hand existing, and shoved it back into his hoodie. “Look, I like Nico. So much. And I really think we can do this if we try--I mean, I hope so, I really hope so--”

“We can,” Roman interrupted. “We have to make this work.”

“Right. Yeah.” Virgil took a breath. “So--”

“So we’ll work harder.” Roman waved a hand at Virgil. “We’re--we can do this, we’re ready, if Thomas is ready than we’re ready! All of us!”

“I’m not saying we’re not ready,” Virgil said. “I’m saying we need to be careful.”

The brief passion in Roman’s eyes faded again. “I know.”

“So--so--” Virgil tried to force himself to stick words together. He should apologize. He should say sorry and let Roman figure out what to do next, but it was shadowy and cold and smelling of red paint and parchment and Virgil was lost.

“I know,” Roman said again. He sounded tired. It was late--and he’d been awake--and he sounded exhausted--and he hadn’t been planning to sleep, he’d said he had trouble sleeping--and Virgil felt like he was grasping at puzzle pieces, trying to pull the shadows and lights into something coherent. He felt vaguely dizzy. His stomach churned. Maybe it was Roman’s room making him see all these dots to connect, filling him with the worst kind of imagination.

“It’ll be okay,” Virgil said. To Roman? To himself? To someone, anyway.

Roman curled into himself, just a bit. “I don’t know.”

Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah, actually. I--me neither.”

A long silence. Imaginary airplanes skidded over the skyline, and Virgil wished he could go on one of them, fly far away from here. And take Roman, if he was willing--take Roman and steal him away from all this and keep him happy and safe--they could both be safe. And they could see the world.

“So,” Virgil said, slowly, for the seventh or eighth time, like that’d drag the conversation to its conclusion. “I know you’ve been avoiding us--”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Roman interrupted. Too fast. Too vehement. Roman was definitely lying, and Virgil hated how bad that made him feel.

“I know you have,” Virgil said, hating even more the defensive edge his voice gained. “I know you’ve been avoiding me, and--and if you’re cool with that, I’m cool with that, but--”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Roman lied again. Barely trying this time, like he didn’t care if Virgil saw through it. “I’ve just been a bit wrapped up in projects, Stormy Knight, I promise it wasn’t--”

“Princey, c’mon.” Something about the familiar nickname gave Virgil courage. “I don’t mind. I get it! It’s...it’s justified, it was all a mess a few days ago, it’s--if I’m being honest, it’s been a mess this whole time, and--and you can take as much time as you need to figure stuff out on your end. Or--or maybe there’s nothing to figure out, maybe it’s not like that, but--” Virgil was rambling again. He knotted his hands together and focused on the texture of his jacket. “Maybe you--maybe you’ve already made up your mind, maybe this can’t really be fixed, but--”

Everything was a mess. Everything was coming out all wrong and Virgil needed to say something that made sense. His head was spinning with lights and shadows and the smell of roses. He was sure he was tilting forward in the chair. It was late at night. He was running on adrenaline and guilt. He was trying and he didn’t know if Roman got it--if Roman understood that Virgil was sorry, that Virgil would try to be better, and that Roman could be angry as long as he liked, but Virgil was here for him and didn’t want him to be upset--

There! There was what to say! So why couldn’t Virgil say it out loud?

“I’m--this is coming out wrong,” Virgil blurted out. “I’m really not making any sense, am I?”

“I think I’ve put the bigger pieces together,” Roman said.

“Which pieces?”

Roman gave Virgil a sharp look and Virgil wilted. The look softened.

“I can tell you what I’ve got so far,” Roman suggested. “How about that? And then, if I’ve got it wrong, you can correct me. I can ask questions if I’m confused. Does that work?”

Virgil almost collapsed with relief. Yeah. He could do that.

“Sure,” he said. “Shoot, Princey.”

“You’re talking about what happened a few days ago,” Roman said. “When Thomas made a bit of a mistake with Nico. And--and in general, all the bumps we’ve had in the road here, you know? It hasn’t exactly been the smoothest of rides.”

“It hasn’t,” Virgil admitted. “And yeah, that’s--what I was talking about.”

“Good!” Roman looked almost pleased with himself, and Virgil suppressed a smile. “So--we have to work from here, right? We have to figure out--you know, who’s helping and who’s not, and how we can work together. And make sure we’re all clear about--” Something passed over his face. “Who’s not necessarily meant to play a huge role, if we want this to work.”

Virgil balled his fists. “Yeah.”

“We both care about Thomas,” Roman said, a sad smile crossing his face. “I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you. I’ve merely been thinking things through a bit. Nico’s so wonderful, and Thomas deserves him, and it’ll take work for this to become something real.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said numbly.

“So we need to start figuring stuff out on our own ends, and finding out who’s helpful with that and who’s detrimental.” The lights played off Roman’s face as he leaned onto his knees and stared at the floor. “What mistakes can be worked with, and what mistakes are a symptom of something else--and Virgil, I’m so sorry.”

“You--” Virgil felt a strange cold streak pass through his chest, like a comet, an airplane sliding through the sky. “You’re sorry? You don’t--Princey, you don’t have to be--”

“Of course I do!” Roman burst out. “I--you tried so hard to make this happen, you put yourself out there and risked everything for him! I--I gave up, and you kept fighting, and for what? For me to--to ruin everything we’ve built? I’m sorry, I’m trying, and--and I’m really not meant for this, Virgil, I don’t think I am--”

“Meant for--” The cold feeling had spread to Virgil’s whole body now, numbing his fingers. “You’re--Roman, what--”

“I’m sorry,” Roman said again. Like that was an explanation. And his voice cracked in the middle, and it made Virgil want to cry, and he didn’t know what was happening--

“Roman,” Virgil forced out. His voice was raspy. “Roman, what are you talking about? Why are you sorry?”

“I--what?” Roman blinked at him. “Pardon? Why--why wouldn’t I be sorry?”

“Because you didn’t do anything?” Virgil’s voice pitched upwards incredulously. “What are you even saying--I came in here ‘cause you’re mad at me, I’m trying to--”

“Mad at you?” Roman repeated, and apparently it was Roman’s turn to look completely flabbergasted. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“‘Cause I messed up!” Virgil burst out. “I messed up, I almost ruined everything, I’m just so scared I’m gonna take this away from you--and you need it, you deserve it, and I’m trying to get it for you--but I’m not good at this, I’m not good--I’m really sorry, Princey--I promise I’m gonna try--”

“Virgil,” Roman said quietly, and for some reason that made Virgil stop talking immediately. “You--what?”

“I came in here to say sorry,” Virgil said, probably sounding pathetic, but he was confused and tired and three seconds from crying. “I--I’m sorry. There. I don’t know why--why it took me so long to say it.”

“You’re sorry--” Roman looked completely bewildered, but there was concern in there--aching concern that made the lump in Virgil’s throat grow bigger. “You’re sorry--Virgil, I promise you’ve done nothing wrong! I’m not mad at you!”

“You--” Virgil repeated the words in his head. No way he’d just heard that. “You--aren’t?”

“No!” And now Roman looked seriously upset. “You thought I was--Virgil, you’ve done wonderfully during all this, you’re an absolute star, I still can’t believe you made this happen--except I can, quite honestly, I always knew you had it in you--”

Virgil stared at him, mouth open.

“I’m not mad at you,” Roman finished, his voice almost pleading. “I promise. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Oh,” Virgil forced out. It didn’t cover anything. It didn’t cover the way he wanted to cry, or laugh, or hug Roman tight and bury his face in Roman’s shoulder and--

“Oh,” Virgil said again.

“You’re doing so good,” Roman whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. A third time. Because he was going to cry.

Roman gave him a soft smile. “You’re my hero.”

And okay--okay, Roman couldn’t just--he couldn’t just--

Before Virgil could stop himself, he raced over to Roman and tackled him in a hug.

Roman made a surprised noise that turned into a coo as he reached up and steadied Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil tightened his grip around Roman and considered burying his head in Roman’s shoulder, like he’d dreamed of--Roman was so solid, and smelled really nice, and maybe Virgil could just fall asleep here, spend the night in Roman’s room and not worry about anything else--

“You alright over there, emo nightmare?” Roman asked, his voice rumbling in Virgil’s chest. “Anything you need?”

And, oh yeah, this was Roman. Virgil had just tackle-hugged Roman.

Virgil quickly pushed himself out of Roman’s arms, falling into a heap on the bed next to him.

“Whoa, hey, where’s the fire?” Roman laughed, but his eyes were still wide with concern. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Yes. No. More than ever. It’s never been and Virgil wouldn’t know how to handle it if it was.

“You--” Virgil had something he wanted to say. Besides the sorry. Because--because Roman--

“Me,” Roman agreed, giving Virgil a dorky little smile.

And, okay, not fair, now Virgil was distracted by cute. Virgil swatted at him and hissed, and Roman laughed a bit. It was great. It was normal. It was--

It was too normal.

It was the kind of normal Virgil didn’t trust. ‘Cause a minute ago, they’d been staring at each other and Roman had been--

Apologizing.

Hold on.

“Roman,” Virgil said slowly. “What was all that about?”

“What?” Roman blinked at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, lightning bug.”

Virgil fought a flush at the nickname. He swore Roman was doing that on purpose--trying to distract him, turn this on Virgil, but Virgil wasn’t going to lose track of things again. Virgil was going to actually, like, talk about things.

Virgil was such a mess.

Especially late at night, especially while upset, and this was just a cocktail of terrible ideas. And who knew what was going on with Roman? Who knew if Roman was really not okay or if he was fine and Virgil was reading too much into things or--

Only one to find out, though, right?

Bravery.

Virgil looked at Roman. “I’m worried about you.”

There. There it really was. And honestly--under all the guilt, the panic, the self-doubt--this was what Virgil had wanted to say, all along.

Roman, for his part, looked like Virgil had struck him in the face. It took him a few tries to speak. “And may I ask why?”

“You were, like, apologizing earlier,” Virgil said. “You were saying--like, like you thought I was here to yell at you, to say you did something wrong--and I don’t even get that, like what the heck have you done--”

“What haven’t I done?” Roman fired back, and Virgil would mistake it for teasing if it weren’t for the tightness in his mouth and the way he inched away from Virgil on the bed.

“You’ve--you’re Thomas’ romantic side,” Virgil said. “You’re the reason he likes Nico, you’re the one who’s making this work, it’s all you--”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Roman snapped.

Virgil hated the way he flinched.

“I--” Roman looked instantly regretful. “I didn’t mean to yell, I just--”

“It’s fine,” Virgil said. And he took a deep breath. And it was. “I’m saying you’re important. You’re valuable.”

“I know,” Roman said.

“You’re the reason this is happening!”

“I know.”

“Without you, it doesn’t work--”

“I know.”

“We can’t do this without you!”

“Well, maybe you should!”

Virgil flinched again. But not because Roman was too loud--and it was so much better with Roman, it wasn’t perfect and maybe not even that great but it was better, Virgil could take a breath and move forward--but because of Roman’s face. Twisted. Tight. Eyes sparkling in the lights, fists balled on his pajamas, and the way he tried to smile when Virgil looked. He tried to--to smile.

Virgil hated that. So much.

“Roman,” Virgil said, as softly as he could. “We...we need you, we--”

“Yeah, and I’ve been doing a swell job of helping you guys,” Roman said, and that was bitterness, that was a shade of bitter that Virgil had never heard in his life. He hated that, too. “I appreciate the sentiment, Virgil, but I also have to recognize that I’ve hardly been the best at helping Thomas recently--”

“I need you, then.” Virgil didn’t know where the words were coming from. “You know what? Screw Thomas. I’m not talking about him. I need you. I can’t--I’m doing all this for you, Roman. You get that, right? I--you want this, you want this so badly, and so I’m trying to make this happen.” Virgil let out a little laugh that could have been a sob. “And I’m failing. And I’m getting stuck. ‘Cause it’s me. But Roman--Roman, if you need me to, I will keep trying. I will do as much as you need me to.” Virgil choked on something that was definitely a sob. “Because you deserve something good right now. You deserve to be happy.”

Roman was staring at Virgil. Roman was staring and something in him was trembling. Shaking. Coming apart in the shadows and slipping away in the lights.

“And I’m sorry,” Virgil finished. “I’m sorry I’m not doing great at it--and I’m sorry I never told you all this, ‘cause you didn’t know--ugh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you didn’t know, I didn’t see that you--”

“Virgil,” Roman said, voice choked. “Virgil, you--you don’t have to do any of this. You know that, right? You don’t have to make this work for me--to try and be nice--to be here, right now--”

“But I want to.” Virgil shook his head. “Ro, I want to, so much--this is what I want. I want to help. And you...you need help right now.”

Roman flinched a bit, just enough for Virgil to notice. “I don’t--can’t we wait until morning? I’m always incoherent at night, this is all a bit of a melodramatic moment--”

“Nope,” Virgil said firmly. “We’re not gonna dance around this one, okay? I’ve done enough of that. You’re not--you’re so not okay, and I get the feeling I’m only seeing, like, one quarter of it. And you don’t have to hide that.”

Roman was quiet. His eyes followed the seams of the quilt.

“Hey. Look at me.” Virgil hesitantly placed a hand on Roman’s. “It’s okay. I promise. Talk to me--cry, scream, whatever. But do something. We can’t have any kind of true lo--any kind of...anything. If the relationship isn’t built on truth.”

Roman looked up, slowly, and Virgil saw that his eyes were watering.

Virgil couldn’t help the little noise he made. ‘Cause Roman wasn’t meant to look like that. Like he expected Virgil to turn on him and yell. Like he was trying to disappear into the shadows before anyone could know he was there.

“I don’t--” Roman wiped at his eyes. “Virgil, I don’t know--I can’t--I’m not--”

“What aren’t you?” Virgil asked.

“I’m not what I’m supposed to be!” Roman burst out, and then he was rambling, hands flying. “I’m not productive, I’m not able to focus on anything, I never get stuff done on time--Zeus knows I’m not organized, I’m not serious enough--I’m not creative--and I’m not--I’m not good, I’m not the hero, I’m not the perfect prince and you all need me to be that but I’m not--I’m not anything!”

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, and he shook his head, over and over. “Roman, no, I promise that’s so, so wrong--”

“Then what am I?” Roman challenged, eyes sparkling and voice so brittle. He was seconds from breaking. Virgil was watching his best friend--his everything--break apart, and Virgil should have been frantic. Virgil should have been trying to put the pieces back together before everything comes crashing down.

Virgil took a deep breath.

“Roman,” he said slowly, “do you want a hug?”

“I--” Roman looked like nobody had ever asked that question in his life. “I--if you’re okay with--”

Virgil opened his arms and gave Roman a little nod.

Roman’s hug was stiff. Roman’s hug was cold. Roman’s hug would have lasted about three seconds if Virgil hadn’t wrapped an arm around Roman’s shoulders to keep him there.

“I’m okay with it,” Virgil told him, quietly. “And jeez, Princey, you’re acting like I’m holding a gun to your head. Relax.”

Roman did not relax.

“It’s okay,” Virgil said. Even softer. “It’s okay, I promise it’s okay, it’s so messed up right now but we’re gonna figure this out, I promise--”

Roman trembled, just a bit, in Virgil’s grasp. Virgil shifted slightly until he was leaned against the headboard, and Roman was crumpled in his arms.

“Stop trying to hug me,” Virgil said gently. “It’s messing everything up. I’m hugging you right now--you can hug me later, you dork.”

Roman didn’t move. Virgil carefully slipped him off Virgil’s shoulder and pulled him to his chest instead. Roman--Roman was so small, and it made Virgil wonder how Roman could be so firm and solid and still so small in his arms.

Roman’s head was tucked under Virgil’s now. Virgil had the urge to press a kiss on top of it. He settled for running a hand through Roman’s hair, enjoying the fluffy texture and detangling some of the knots. Bedhead. When was the last time Roman slept?

“I don’t know,” Roman said, when Virgil asked him. “I--I don’t know much, Virge.”

“What do you know?” Virgil asked.

“I--” Roman hesitated. “You guys. Logan likes cinnamon buns, and Patton’s favorite dog breed is a retriever, and you--you bite your nails, but you paint them on weekends sometimes, and you pretend they’re all black but there’s a bit of purple on there, it’s adorable--and you hate strawberries--and once you gave me a gift and pretended it was from Logan but I know it was you because you write your R’s all pointy--and your hair always flops over your eyes, and--”

Virgil fought back a wave of emotion. “Um--that’s great, Ro. I appreciate that. Can you--can you tell me what you know about yourself?”

Roman was silent for way too long. “Why ruin the moment?”

“Disagree,” Virgil said. “Anything? It’s okay if not, but--basic stuff. What do you like? What do you think about?”

“I dunno,” Roman mumbled. “I like Disney. But Disney’s pretty stupid.”

“Hey,” Virgil complained. “Disney’s the best. Don’t crap on your favorite company.”

“Disney’s really capitalist.”

“That’s fair,” Virgil admitted. “But--you’re allowed to like stuff, Ro.”

Roman curled up a bit in his arms.

“What do you know?” Virgil decided to say. “About you. It can be anything.”

Roman was pressed tight against Virgil’s chest. Virgil ran a hand down his side and felt Roman shudder a bit. His hands were moving, running up and down the patches on Virgil’s jacket, fingering the bumps of the seams.

“I’m Roman,” Roman finally said. He laughed a bit. Virgil didn’t.

“Good, that’s true.” Virgil nodded. “What else?”

“I’m a Side of Thomas,” Roman continued. His voice was quiet. “I’m his...his Creativity. And Passion, and all that.”

“Yep.”

“I...I work with you guys. I work on stuff. I write. It’s not good, but I write.”

“Yep!”

“I sing, I act, I--” Roman huffed. “Pretty terrible at it.”

“Gonna beg to differ on that one, Princey.” Virgil smirked. “Your singing voice is really loud, but I like it.”

Roman curled, somehow, even tighter. “I--I don’t have anything else.”

“That’s okay,” Virgil said. “Do you want me to take a turn?”

“Okay.”

“Great.” Virgil leaned back against the headboard and watched the lights flicker. “You’re Roman, like you said. You’re--you’re my best friend, dude.”

Roman shuddered, just a bit.

“You’re my best friend,” Virgil repeated. “You--at first, I never liked you, ‘cause you were just...so extra, you know? So big and grand and huge. And that--that scared me. I was so scared of you back then. And I was so envious--I wanted to be like you. To not care what anyone thought. You just...put it all out there, and you were everyone’s hero, and I’d stare at you and wonder how you managed to do it.”

Virgil laughed. “And then everything changed. And then you were my friend--or at least, I hoped so. We--got along, we got to know each other, and all the stuff I didn’t get about you? All the stuff I hated, I was afraid of? It all turned out to be the best stuff. ‘Cause it’s what made you, you. It wouldn’t really work with anyone else--but since it’s all part of you, I never minded. I don’t mind.” Virgil swallowed. “You want me to tell you some stuff about that? Some stuff I’ve noticed?”

“Sure,” Roman whispered.

“Great.” Virgil looked down at Roman. “You stick out your tongue when you’re thinking, did you know that? You stick it out and you’re staring at whatever you’re working on and it’s just stupidly adorable--and! And you do this little happy dance when you’re excited, you kinda bounce from foot to foot and do a little squeal and I wish I could get excited like you do--when you’re happy, you just make everyone around you happier, you’re--” Virgil struggled for words. “You’re radiant. You’re, like--I see you, and I know--I know it’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna work out.”

Roman was shaking now. Virgil tugged him even closer and--because why not--pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“And yeah, we’ve had our rough spots. Everyone has.” Virgil sighed. “And you’re--you’re gonna mess up. Maybe you’re not everything you think you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’re not gonna end up--the prince, the dreamer, or whatever. Maybe not--maybe not even the hero. And that’s okay. ‘Cause you’re still gonna be you.”

Roman’s breath hitched.

“You’re gonna be you,” Virgil continued, “and I’m gonna help you, and I’m gonna fight for you, and--and I’m gonna be brave for you, I promise--and you could be anything and that’d be true. You could be a Dark Side tomorrow. You could completely change functions. You could--you could be anything, but you’d still be Roman, and I--I’ll be here. No matter what.”

The lights skidded over the ceiling. Roman had stopped rubbing his hands on Virgil’s jacket. He was just still, still and silent and trembling like a plucked string.

“You’re Roman,” Virgil said. “And I don’t even have words for how--how freaking fantastic you are, every day--you’re--you’re my friend. You’re--so much more than that.” Virgil closed his eyes. “I love you, Ro. So much. And you might not really have everything figured out, and I definitely don’t, but--if it means anything, I know who you are, because you’re always going to be the person I love.”

And Virgil was crying. Virgil sniffed and wiped his eyes, but the choked noises didn’t stop--and he realized Roman was crying too, sobbing quietly into Virgil’s jacket. It was small cries. Quiet--too quiet, the cry of someone who’d been used to keeping it hidden.

“Oh,” Virgil said, gathering Roman in his arms and pressing his forehead to Roman’s. Tears dripped down Roman’s cheeks, and he clung to Virgil’s jacket for dear life, breath hitching. “Roman, Princey, love, it’s going to be okay, I promise--”

Roman pressed himself closer, crying, and Virgil let him stay.

“It’s going to be okay,” Virgil whispered into his hair, “you’ll figure it out. I’m here. I’ve got it covered. I promise it’s okay--you can let it out, keep crying, it’s okay--we’ll figure it out--I’m not gonna stop loving you, I’m not gonna stop looking out for you--”

Roman’s sobs grew louder and Virgil kept talking. “It’s okay,” he said, over and over again. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Maybe if he said it enough, Roman would believe it.

Maybe if he said it enough, Virgil would, too.

“It’s okay,” Virgil said, and meant it.

“You’re doing amazing,” Virgil said, and meant it.

“I love you,” Virgil said, and couldn’t imagine not meaning it, not being so entirely in love with Roman that it ached with it and dripped with it and filled every word. He heard it. He heard it and he heard it and he finally couldn’t hide from it--because maybe Roman could hear too, and maybe Roman would listen.

“I love you,” Virgil said, and for once he wasn’t afraid of it. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” was the first thing Roman said when his tears slowed. “I love you, Virgil, I love you--”

“I know,” Virgil said. And meant it. “I know, Ro, it’s okay--”

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Fine, then, I’m sorry too.” Virgil pressed his forehead to Roman’s and wiped away his tears with a hand. And he left it there, resting on Roman’s cheek, because he didn’t want to let go. “I’m sorry. And look at that--that’s okay. We can get better from here. I swear.”

Roman laughed wetly. “The Nico thing is a disaster.”

“The Nico thing is something we’ll figure out,” Virgil said. “We’ve got this. It’ll work.”

“We’re not--” Roman sighed. “We’re not ready for it, are we?”

“I’m not, and you’re not.” Virgil laughed a bit. “But, um, maybe two not-readies makes a ready?”

“Doubt it,” Roman whispered, and Virgil suddenly realized how close they were, foreheads pressed together. He could--he could move forward, just a bit, and--

“We’ll try,” Roman said, lips parting. “We’ll try, can’t we? Can’t we try? Do we--do we get that?”

“Yes,” Virgil said. “Yes, we get that, you get that--we’ll try, we’ll try and we’ll make it work somehow, I promise--”

“And if it doesn’t?” Roman’s voice was so quiet, so thin, the trail of an airplane across the stars. “What if we make things worse?”

Virgil couldn’t say he hadn’t thought of that. Obviously. Worrying was his job, and he saw the possible ramifications to everything, of course he’d thought through every possible outcome of this. And--and still.

Whatever made Roman happy, Virgil would do.

Because that always made Virgil happy, too.

“We’ll figure it out,” Virgil said. “You--you know what taking a chance is? You know what it is, to do something you want, even though it could hurt?”

“What?” Roman murmured, just a breath from Virgil’s lips.

Virgil smiled. “Bravery.”

Roman’s eyes flickered open.

They were so, so close. Lights spun around them, shadows crept away, and Virgil could--Virgil could--

“Hey,” Virgil said, barely above a whisper. “Can I--”

Roman’s eyes flickered down to Virgil’s lips and back up.

And Virgil didn’t know who moved. Maybe it was him. Maybe Roman. Maybe it didn’t matter, because they moved, and then Virgil was kissing Roman for the first time.

Okay.

Cool.

Wow.

Virgil didn’t know what he was doing--it didn’t matter, though, since he was kissing Roman--and all he could think of was how much he’d wanted this, how much he’d told himself he didn’t want this, how much he’d never wanted to cradle Roman’s face in his hands and tangle his hand in Roman’s hair and--

Virgil tangled a hand in Roman’s hair. It was exactly as good as he’d hoped.

And Roman pushed him back, against the headboard, and Roman was kissing him, and Virgil was breathless and weightless and absolutely okay with it.

Virgil could have been floating. Virgil could have been drifting in the cold night hair, among the stars, because the world was dark and filled with pinpricks of light and all he knew was warm skin under his fingers and a hand around his waist and the way Roman held him like this was all Roman had ever wanted, too--

And of course, they had to break apart, because Virgil couldn’t stay breathless--although gosh did he want to, to just lose time in Roman’s arms--

They separated.

Virgil was sure he could count every fleck of light in Roman’s eyes. A blush had settled across his cheeks, his hair was even messier than usual, and he was staring at Virgil like Virgil had hung the moon.

“Huh,” Roman said.

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed.

Roman snickered. Virgil snorted. And then they were laughing, inches apart, giggling on the bed at maybe two or three in the morning, still entangled in each other and neither moving to separate their hands.

“So,” Roman finally said, his laughing settling into a smile. “That was...okay.”

“I was okay with it,” Virgil blurted out. “Um. More than okay. And--I don’t know what it means, what you want it to mean, but--”

“It meant I like you,” Roman said. As if it was obvious. Maybe it was. “A lot. And--”

“And we want to try this,” Virgil said. “For real?”

“We can’t exactly try it for fake, can we?” Roman teased.

“We’re trying,” Virgil said. “We’re trying?”

“Yes,” Roman said. “I--I mean, we might fail, I might--”

“And then we’ll figure it out.” Virgil reached for a bit of courage, deep inside him, and found it came more naturally when Roman was pressed into him. “We’ll try it out, okay?”

Roman laughed a bit. “We’re not ready.”

“Nah, but life does that sometimes, right?” Virgil sighed. “We’re--we’ll be ready, soon enough. One day. And right now, we’ll just kind of...wing it?”

“Wing it,” Roman repeated. “A daring battle plan, emo.”

“Hey, you’re the hero here.” Virgil, despite himself, felt his lips curl in a smile. “We’ll figure it out, Princey. And--and maybe we won’t really know who we are, what we want--any of that--for a while. Maybe never again, who knows. But if I don’t take this chance, I’ll regret it.”

“So will I,” Roman said. “And--quite honestly, I’m a bit tired of regrets.”

“So let’s give it our all,” Virgil said. “We’ll never know until we try.”

“We’ll try,” Roman agreed, and placed a kiss on Virgil’s lips that tasted of salt and cinnamon. Virgil melted into it, and when they pulled away, let Roman curl up next to him. It was late. Virgil could happily fall asleep right here--and really, that wasn’t such a bad idea.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he mumbled, watching the lights dance over Roman’s face.

“Dunno,” Roman slurred, watching Virgil with soft eyes.

“Well, it’s gonna be now.” Virgil threw an arm over Roman. “Get some sleep, Princey.”

“You first.”

“What, you think I’m leaving?” Virgil snuggled closer, and Roman wrapped an arm around his waist. “Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

“Hmm.” Roman hummed to himself. “Okay with that.”

“Good, so am I.” Virgil kissed Roman’s forehead. “Come on. No talk, only sleep.”

“I love you,” Roman said, immediately breaking the rule. But Virgil couldn’t get mad. “And--I--thank you, I--”

“You’re welcome,” Virgil said. “I’d do it anytime.”

Roman smiled and closed his eyes. “You’re my hero, emo.”

And Virgil would never admit the way his heart softened.

“Thanks,” Virgil whispered. “You’re my hero, too.”

Roman was already drifting off. The floor was crowded, the door swung open, the desk was messy--and eh, whatever. They’d figure it out tomorrow. Right now, they both needed sleep, and the windows were wide to the starry sky.

“And I don’t even care,” Virgil said, “if you’re not my hero. You don’t have to be.”

He looked over at Roman, and he smiled.

“As long as you’re mine, we’re good.”

“We’re good,” Roman echoed, eyes still closed.

“We’ll be good,” Virgil agreed.

And he tried to believe it--he told himself he would believe it, he could, he deserved to--and he found, in the end, it wasn’t as hard as he thought it’d be.

They’d be good.

They’d be okay.

And they’d find their way forward.

Virgil fell asleep next to Roman, surrounded by drifting lights and warm shadows, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@the-gay-is-back

@dramaticsnakes

@stoicpanther

@chaospersonified

@thatoneloudowl

@jungle321jungle

@mistythegirlfluxmess

@k1ngtok1

@joylessnightsky

@elizabutgayer

@ohheavenlylord

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #prinxiety #romantic prinxiety #i banged ninety-five percent of this out this evening #djkhgfds i'm so tired but i wanted to get at least one WIP out of the way #anyway take care of urself yall don't write 8k in one sitting #averywrites

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

unusable faces

i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA.

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave.

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?”

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable.

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed.

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend.

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially.

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid; when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be.

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that.

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks.

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras.

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man.

“You good?” His answer was predictable.

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands.

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other.

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end.

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything.

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away.

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph.

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt.

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his.

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing.

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else.

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #fluff

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

The divorced fic was so cute i want to scream. Does Obi have any time to be sad or are Anakin and his little demons always there to distract him from his infinite sadness

so i know most everyone wants to know what anakin does about The Kiss but here's a bit of light hearted angst a year before that (because humanity is inherently whatever but i am inherently evil)

aka

the immediate aftermath of the Router Incident (1.4k)

The night of the day of what will come to be known as The Router Incident starts off with a bang.

Obi-Wan gets home a bit later than normal. Not because his work drags on longer than usual, but because he is, on the subject of all things even passably related to his personal life, a coward.

It’s been at least ten hours since he left the house with the goddamn wifi router tucked under his arm because Anakin had said something about finding a new place.

As if this isn’t the twenty-first century. As if Anakin doesn’t have a phone with unlimited data. As if Anakin isn’t the sort of person to walk five miles to the nearest coffeeshop with his kids in their stroller, just to use their wifi to email Obi-Wan a series of italicized question marks.

Obi-Wan’s been practicing his apology ever since he got that email. I’m really sorry, I promise I’m not a controlling megalomaniac. I just panicked because I’m not that good at letting go of things. You’d think I’d have learned by now, but apparently I only know how to dig my heels in whenever I think people are starting to pull away. Apologies again, life is not a game of tug-of-war, and I promise I do know that.

He practices his apology, of course, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t also try to put it off until the last possible moment. When he leaves the building, his car is the only one still in the lot.

I’m really sorry. Here’s the router back. I support your decision. Your kids will be great. I know you probably won’t let them see me, because that’s a bit weird if we don’t all live together, and you also don’t use social media, which is great because I also don’t use social media, but I would have made a Facebook account just to keep up with your family. It’s meant more than I can say to have something to come home to this past year, and I understand that you can’t put your life on hold for a lonely old man like me, and I will endeavor from now on to not impede your search for a new place to live.

No, too needy, he thinks at a red light, dragging his hand over his beard in defeat. He won’t beg Anakin to stay.

He would very much like to beg Anakin to stay, but he hadn’t even begged Satine to stay, and he had been in love with her.

He just enjoys Anakin’s company. His presence. Unwinding next to Anakin after a difficult day teaching is one of the things he looks forward to the most.

And this past holiday season, they’d had a big dinner at his house, filled to the brim with Anakin’s friends and his friends and some people from the local grocery store they’d met when out shopping together, and it had been so loud and so amazing. Nothing had been left untouched, there had been food on the ceiling (Obi-Wan suspects Leia to this day, but Luke had confessed), there had been leftovers for days.

You can’t just give me holidays like that and then take them away, Obi-Wan thinks angrily as he turns into his neighborhood. What will I do next winter, then?

He has to sit in his car for a second after parking, just to calm down. He’s the one in the wrong, he reminds himself. Anakin has all the right in the world to want to leave. It was never Obi-Wan’s family to begin with.

It was never Obi-Wan’s family to begin with.

When he opens the door, he’s met with the sound of children screaming and crying.

Luke rushes at him and jumps on him with enough force that he reels backwards, almost out of the house. He drops his bag on the floor in order to steady the child.

Luke is bawling his head off right next to Obi-Wan’s ear so it’s very, very difficult to hear what a red-faced Anakin is trying to say.

And then Leia runs up to him, tugs at his free hand until he looks down at her, and then stomps her little foot with a scowl. “I hate you!” she declares just as loudly as Luke is crying, before her tiny face breaks into tears and she runs off.

“Oh, for the love of--” Anakin shouts, throwing his hands up in the air and chasing after his daughter.

Obi-Wan, ridiculously hurt beyond measure and without a clue about what’s happening, goes to sit down on the couch, still gently cradling Luke’s body to his as the boy continues to weep.

“Hush,” he says soothingly. “And, ah. Please tell me what’s gotten into the Skywalkers now.”

Luke only sniffles and rubs his snotty nose all over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Well. It’s laundry day tomorrow anyway.

“Daddy says you hate us,” Luke mumbles, just as Anakin comes back into the living room, notably sans Leia.

Obi-Wan feels his mouth fall open in shock. “Daddy says what?” he asks, very slowly, making dangerous eye contact with Anakin over the top of Luke’s blond head.

Anakin flushes an even darker shade of red and looks around the room, as if that’ll save him.

“Daddy says we gotta go because this is your house and we don’t wanna stay over our, um. Welcome. We can’t reproach on your space, which means you hate us.”

“Encroach,” Anakin corrects, which Obi-Wan does not think is the thing that really needs to be corrected. When he tries to communicate this with his eyes, Anakin gulps and says quite quickly, “I’m gonna go check on Leia actually.”

Coward.

“Luke,” Obi-Wan says gently. “Your daddy is just being very, very dumb, a trait I pray with all my heart skips a generation.”

Luke blinks at him, his little eyebrows furrowed and his button nose bright red from all of his crying.

“I don’t hate you at all,” Obi-Wan says. “I love both you and your sister very much.”

“Then why do we gotta leave?” Luke complains. “I don’t want to go, we could never play Space Pirates and Lava Dragons at the old place, it was way too small.”

Obi-Wan thinks privately that his house, while certainly big enough, is by no means the proper size for how rambunctious the twins get when they’re playing Space Pirates and Lava Dragons.

“Well,” Obi-Wan hums consideringly. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

“You don’t?” Luke asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I really don’t. But it’s not my decision to make, Luke.”

“It’s Daddy’s,” Luke concludes, head hanging low. “And Daddy wants to go.”

Obi-Wan ignores the way that sentence drives what feels like a knife straight through his heart. “Yes, well,” he coughs. “Your daddy won’t do anything he knows you and your sister really don’t want.”

Luke looks contemplative. Obi-Wan wonders if he should feel really bad or downright awful for manipulating a child in this way. But needs must.

“And he won’t listen to me,” he continues gently, smoothing down the front ends of the boy’s soft hair. “Because your daddy can be very stubborn when he thinks he’s doing something right.”

“He’ll listen to me and Leia though?” Luke asks, head cocked and eyes bright.

Obi-Wan nods very seriously. “I think he would if you both asked very nicely and thought about a lot of good reasons why you should stay here.”

“I can think of loads! And Leia can think of a ton more probably!” Luke exclaims with renewed energy, launching himself off of Obi-Wan’s lap and up the stairs, ostensibly to their shared bedroom.

Obi-Wan leans back against the couch, equal parts amused, exhausted, and hurt. He’ll need to have a serious talk with Anakin soon. He’d thought the man knew that his home was his as well. Yes, Anakin still paid rent, an unfortunate but necessary sort of system, but they’ve never been normal roommates. And Anakin isn’t a guest who could overstay his welcome.

He’s. Well.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know exactly what Anakin is to him, but he had hoped it was obvious to Anakin at least that Obi-Wan would not ever grow tired of his presence in his life.

So they do have some things to talk about.

But hopefully this means that Obi-Wan won’t actually have to apologize for the router incident, seeing as Anakin’s fuck-up caused much larger waves.

#you want me to think my five year olds know how to create an APA styled bibliography #Obi-Wan???#asks #the kids put together a powerpoint of Reasons They Have To Stay #some of it is obviously written by the kids #other bullet points are things like about school zones and bus routes and neighborhood safety #even if obi-wan refuses to admit he helped them with it #anakin side eyes him the entire time #ESPECIALLY when theres a bibliography as the last slide #and obi-wan is just fake proud #wiping away a tear #'i guess all those games of professor and student really paid off'#KUWSK

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haleigh-sloth · 2 years

Text

Okay. I wasn’t gonna bite and feed into this ridiculous behavior but clearly you’re missing my point.

And I deleted my previous response because it was pretty bitchy and I feel it was overkill, but I don’t feel that what I’m about to say is gonna be any better tbh.

You sound really immature first off. Your expectations of me, someone you don’t know, are a bit outlandish, and you’re just assuming that I have the same relationship with the internet that you do. I don’t btw, and I can tell just based off this interaction.

Listen, I know you think you’re being reasonable—but you’re not.

You are asking and expecting that I:

Background check every internet person I either directly or indirectly interact with, on here, and on other platforms??? Many of which I do NOT use

Just take your word for it without any visual evidence for me to go off of—which I won’t do because I’ve had untrue things said about ME to other mutuals on here, and I’m glad they took it with a grain of salt

OR alternatively if you were to give me a Twitter handle—you’re expecting me to go put in the work myself and do the investigating

But I have a better idea: why don’t YOU compile these concerns and show me privately? To avoid this whole mess?

Also—don’t twist things. “You wouldn’t believe this and that because its Twitter”. That isn’t what I said. I said—I do not use Twitter, so why would I know? WHY WOULD I KNOW? Please tell me. I never said I don’t believe it—but again you will not convince me by just sending an anonymous message. You have to do better than that. Show me this person is fully knowledgeable of the accounts they’re endorsing—show me the horrible things people are doing before expecting me to engage in cancel culture.

Let me tell you what really pissed me off about your first message:

You’re asking as if I’m supposed to know already. THAT is fucking ridiculous and that is what really spurred me into insufferable bitch mode.

I’m gonna ask you one more time: Do you really expect everyone online to thoroughly stalk and investigate every account they interact with?

I can tell you right now if I were to go through the tags for a fandom, I might come across a gorgeous piece of art and reblog it, not knowing that the particular account is associated with all kinds of weird shit. It could happen. It does happen. It HAS happened.

No, I’m not responsible for background checking every account that I think has decent posts. And you deeming my level of righteousness based off of whether or not I do that is laughable.

No, just because I reblog or someone reblogs from me does it mean that I’m super chill with everything they do online. But I’m gonna reiterate—I don’t know what everybody on here does. Of the people I follow on this website, I personally know 5 of them in real life, and a couple I’ve spoken to enough privately to get to know them enough to consider friends. The rest are all literal strangers.

I’m not telling you I like those things being accused, I’m not telling you I don’t straight up believe you and will ignore the issue if there is one, but you have failed to do your part.

You are not helping anything by sending anonymous messages. You think you are, but you’re not. Maybe take it up with that person themselves. That’s the mature thing to do. And more effective. Not coming to me about it.

I’m gonna tell you this one more time: I go off of what I see on tumblr. If someone is a freak outside of this website, I won’t ever know. And you thinking that I’m responsible for being in the know of that is absurd.

I know it may not seem like it, because I never shut up on here, but I DO have other things to do besides background check and stalk people online. I do have some semblance of a life, actually. I work two emotionally taxing and exhausting jobs, I have two dogs to take care of, I have my personal time spent offline, I have family and friends to talk to on a personal level.

When I get on here, I post, read, reblog, like, whatever. I don’t investigate other people. So my advice to you is if this is an issue that you personally have come across, go about it the right way. Please. Don’t just assume you’re credible behind anon. And maybe, idk, call that person out? Directly? Get their side first?

Idk. I used to be an investigator for the state and we kinda had to get all sorts of information before coming to a disposition on whether or not something happened. So yeah no, I don’t just take everything I’m told at face value. Forgive me for not doing that as I would really hope other people would show me the same respect before trying to cancel me for accusations.

Have a nice day.

#netiquette #negative #anonymous

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nicknellie · 3 years

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@fireflyingaway requested: willex + waffle house pretty plz

So I did have to do “extensive research” on Waffle House because I don’t have one near me and have never been to one, and that led me to find an incredibly good dessert place literally a ten minute drive from me so thank you for that lmfao. But anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this, I went with getting together (kind of) fluff because that’s my jam, so I really hope you enjoy it!

Smooth Like Syrup

Somewhere along the way, Waffle House had become Alex’s favourite restaurant. He wondered if it was the childhood memories it brought back, weekend brunches spent there with his grandparents who cared for him and loved him far more than his parents ever had. It could have just been the fact that he loved waffles, and with a name like ‘Waffle House’ they couldn’t really put a foot wrong when it came to serving him. Maybe it was just the familiarity of it all – Alex had always found comfort in routine, after all. Whatever the reason he loved it there so much, Alex went to Waffle House at least once a week, more if he had the time. And it was absolutely nothing to do with the adorable new waiter who had started working there for the summer.

If anything, he was ruining it all.

Because he’d been going to the same Waffle House every week for as long as he could remember, Alex was pretty friendly with most of the staff. A few of them had been working there as long as he’d been a customer, so they were on first-name terms and always took a moment or two to catch up with each other once Alex had ordered his food (which never took long because he always ordered the same thing and they all knew that by now). Seeing the same people working there and having the same generic chitchat with them each week worked perfectly for Alex. It was normal, routine, familiar, a social situation he knew how to navigate.

Then they’d gone and hired Willie. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but it was. A problem for Alex at the very least. Not only did it disrupt his routine and catch him unawares the first time he’d walked into the restaurant to see a new waiter, but the waiter had to look like that. Willie was all dazzling smiles and sharp cheekbones and luscious long hair and it was, quite simply, unfair. Alex came to Waffle House to eat, not get flustered over some ridiculously good-looking boy.

For a few weeks, Alex had taken the admittedly immature approach to just avoid Waffle House altogether. Out of sight, out of mind. The only reason it hadn’t lasted long was because he missed the waffles, and he couldn’t find anything to fill that extra hour and a half of his Saturday. So after not visiting for two weeks, Alex returned to Waffle House and resumed his routine, still flustered by stupidly attractive Willie, but most definitely working on a way to stop it being a problem.

His next plan of action had been simply trying to avoid Willie which was foiled the moment he sat down in his usual booth one Saturday afternoon. He had been hoping that his usual server would spot him and come over for a chat, but as luck would have it, Willie got to his table first.

“Welcome to Waffle House,” he had said, beaming down at Alex, who tried to act as if the sudden appearance hadn’t scared the life out of him. He wasn’t sure how well he pulled it off, but Willie had made no comment. “My name is Willie, I’ll be your server today. What can I get you started with?”

Two things had thrown Alex then. Firstly, it had been the first time he’d heard Willie’s name. It was strange to be able to put a name to the face of an angel and he was certain he would never have guessed ‘Willie’ if he’d been given a million tries. Secondly, the fact that Willie didn’t automatically know his order bewildered him. He was so used to the waiters coming over, confirming he wanted the usual, and slipping into easy conversation. This was new and unexpected, and if there was anything Alex hated it was new and unexpected things.

As such, his mind went blank and he completely forgot what he usually ordered. A plain waffle and a diet coke shouldn’t have been easy to forget, it wasn’t anything fancy, and yet Alex made it work.

“Um,” he’d said dumbly, looking up at Willie’s expectant face with his mouth bobbing open and closed like a mildly distressed fish. He could feel his cheeks heating in a blush and looked away as Willie raised a concerned eyebrow.

“Do you need a minute to decide?” Willie had asked sceptically.

Alex had shaken his head vigorously, aware that probably made him look as frantically flustered as he felt and was trying to hide, which only made him more flustered. He took several shallow but slow breaths before forcing words out of his mouth because that was how conversations worked and he refused to lose the ability to speak over this boy.

“No, no, I know what I want,” he had said eventually. “Just a plain waffle and a diet coke, thank you.”

“Is that everything?” Willie had asked, jotting the order down on his notepad.

Not trusting himself to speak any more than that, Alex just nodded. Willie had shot him a bright smile and disappeared off to get his order prepared. The moment he was certain Willie couldn’t see him anymore, Alex’s head flopped onto the table and he let out a long, exhausted, frustrated groan. He felt like an utter mess.

For the rest of that visit, he’d kept it together by simply not talking to Willie unless it was absolutely necessary. Had he been a more confident person he might have found a better way to handle it, but Alex had been cursed with social awkwardness from the moment he’d been old enough to socialise and it wasn’t suddenly going to fix itself just do he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of Willie.

As time went on, things got simultaneously worse and better between Alex and Willie, enough that Alex both dreaded and looked forward to his weekly Waffle House trips. For one thing, he and Willie had got to know each other a bit better – Willie could anticipate Alex’s order now, Alex could just about talk without tripping over his words or saying something slightly embarrassing (which always felt to Alex like something utterly mortifying and worth overthinking because his brain hated him), and if both of them were in the right state of mind they could manage a very brief chat.

But on the flip side, Alex hated Waffle House now and it was Willie who had ruined it for him. Not for any sane reason like being a bad waiter (because he was actually a very good waiter, which Alex thought had something to do with the fact that he always wore Heelys so he could glide across the restaurant which was much faster than walking). No, Willie had ruined Waffle House for Alex because now he couldn’t go in there and see Willie without getting butterflies in his stomach and a giddy grin on his face.

Now that he knew Willie better, it wasn’t just his beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous smile that Alex liked about him. He was talkative, he was funny, he was sweet. He was extremely considerate – when Alex came in one day, Willie met him at the door, walked him to his usual table, told him they’d run out of diet coke and that he had just popped to the store and bought some just for Alex, knowing he would order it. And he laughed at Alex’s terrible attempts at humour, he drizzled the syrup onto Alex’s waffles in the shape of smiley faces, he made sure Alex’s usual booth was always free of people for when he came in. Everything about Willie made Alex’s heart beat too fast and his breath catch and it was starting to make going to Waffle House a very stressful experience.

So Willie was the reason that Alex loved going there and was also desperate to find somewhere else.

But Alex, despite his many worries about life, wasn’t the kind of person to give up on something just because someone else made it difficult. Sure, that rule had usually applied to very different situations, and he actually liked Willie so it wasn’t as if seeing him was a bad thing, but it helped Alex to remember that he’d always powered through things like this and that was what kept him going to the restaurant.

One day, he arrived to Waffle House later than normal. He had come straight from band practise which had gone on longer than normal because they’d spent the first forty-five minutes arguing about the dangers of fiddling with electrical equipment in the rain and decided to make up that time at the end. As such, Alex arrived almost twenty minutes after he normally would have left.

He didn’t spot Willie immediately as he came in and couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Nowadays, Willie nearly always greeted him at the door, knowing exactly what time he arrived. He supposed Willie had long ago given up waiting for him to get there – he had a job to get on with, after all. Alex tried not to feel too sad about it as he made his way over to his usual booth; Willie was a waiter, not a friend, not anything else, and Alex shouldn’t have expected him to wait forever or be there whenever he wanted.

But when Alex came to his usual seat, he was surprised to see someone already sat there. Even more so when he noticed that person was Willie.

Willie looked up as he approached, expression changing from bored to delighted in a second flat. The grin on his face was more than enough to snap Alex out of his sudden bad mood, lifting his spirits and bringing a smile to his face in an instant.

“Alex!” Willie greeted. “You’re here! I thought something had happened to you, man, you had me worried.”

Alex laughed and sat down opposite him, trying to keep his eyes wandering so he didn’t end up just staring at Willie. “Nah, I’m alright. Band practice ran over, is all.”

“I’m glad it’s nothing serious,” Willie said with a small smile. “But if it happens again can you text me to let me know you’ll be late? Just so I know I don’t need to worry about you and I can still keep your table free.”

“Sure, but I don’t have your number,” Alex said, ignoring the persistent fluttering of his heart and the alarms blaring in his head. It seemed as if his mind had pressed its panic button at something Willie had said but Alex was too distracted to figure out what.

“That’s easily fixed,” Willie replied. He dug his phone out of his back pocket and slid it across the table to Alex. “If you put your number in there I’ll text you so you can save mine.”

Heart hammering, cheeks hot, and smile so wide it hurt, Alex nodded and entered his contact information into Willie’s phone. He tried to act nonchalant as he slid it back across the table afterwards, but in his flustered state his aim was off – he pushed too hard and it fell over the edge of the table, right into Willie’s lap. That was one of those slightly embarrassing moments that Alex’s subconscious would likely rub mockingly in his face for days to come and he couldn’t help but wince at the thought.

“Thanks, man,” Willie said, beaming. “It’s just for peace of mind, you know. I really like you and when you didn’t show up earlier I just… well, I wondered where you were.”

Willie wasn’t meeting his eye all of a sudden. In fact, he apparently found the table top very interesting because he was staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe. Alex knew the signs well enough to guess how Willie was feeling then – nervous. But what did Willie ever have to be nervous about?

“Hey,” Alex said gently, lowering his voice in an attempt to calm Willie’s nerves. He leant over the table a little though so that he could still be heard. “I’m here, aren’t I? Nothing bad actually happened. You don’t need to worry about me, Willie. I promise.”

A small, bittersweet smile fluttered across Willie’s face. “Yeah. You’re here.”

The short silence then felt charged, electric, fierce. Why, Alex had no idea.

But Willie broke it, his usual bright smile back on his face as he said, “I hope you don’t mind me eating with you, by the way. I’m on my lunch break and I’d kept this table empty for you anyway so I thought I might as well sit here.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine by me,” Alex insisted. It was a half-truth. Was he happy to have longer to chat with Willie than normal, eat together as if they were friends rather than just a waiter and a customer? Yes. But did this feel too much like a date for Alex’s anxiety to handle, even though it was very clearly not a date? Also yes. He half wanted to ask Willie to sit somewhere else, but that would have been unthinkably rude, so he settled for trying not to be awkward.

Not long later, another server came and brought their food out. For a moment Alex thought it was weird because nobody had even come to take his order, then he remembered that everyone who worked at Waffle House knew what he got so it would have just wasted time if they’d asked. The two of them ate in silence for a while, Willie enjoying his break and Alex enjoying the first food he’d eaten all day.

Their conversation started up again when they were about halfway into their meals. Willie asked about Alex’s band practise, how things were going, what they had lined up. Alex was more than happy to talk about Julie and the Phantoms for hours on end and the way Willie engaged with his waffling on so enthusiastically only fuelled that fire. But in return, Alex made sure to ask how Willie was, how he was getting on preparing to start college, whether he’d had enough free time to skate lately.

It was weird, he thought, that this was their first proper conversation and yet they already knew so much about each other’s lives that it flowed as easily as it would have if Alex had been talking to one of his closest friends. Perhaps he and Willie were closer than he had realised.

He only stayed until Willie’s break ended, which was painfully short. They said their goodbyes, Alex jokingly promised he’d be on time next time, Willie laughed that beautiful laugh of his as he took their plates away, and Alex left the restaurant. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling in his mind, still wondering what had panicked him at the start of their conversation.

It hit him as he was crossing a road, stopping him dead in his tracks and causing an irritated driver to beep his horn at him: Willie had been worried about him.

It felt so much more personal than it should have. If Willie worried, it meant he cared, and if Willie cared then it could have meant any number of things. It could have meant that when he looked at Alex he felt the same featherlight giddiness that Alex did when he saw Willie. It could have meant that Willie spent his days wishing Alex was more than just a regular customer. It could have meant that when Willie asked for his phone number he was actually asking for more than that.

Alex had no idea what inspired him to do it, what unusual burst of courage gave him the ability to go through with it, but a moment later he had whipped his phone out and opened Willie’s contact. There was only one message between them, the one Willie had sent so Alex could save his information, but Alex quickly typed out another and hit send before he had time to regret it.

I know you said I only needed to text you if I was going to be late, but I figured I could text you about other stuff too. Like the fact I’m free next Friday if you want to hang out.

Something like that ordinarily would have stressed him out but he didn’t have the time for that because Willie’s response was almost immediate.

Sure! I hear Waffle House is pretty great, how about we go there?

Alex laughed at how dorky and cute Willie was even over text and replied quickly with: It’s a date.

Willie replied with three emojis – a smiley face, a heart, and a waffle. Even just from that, Alex knew Willie had understood him and that next Friday they would be going on an actual date together. He didn’t care whether it was actually at Waffle House or they tried somewhere completely new; as long as he was with Willie, nothing else mattered.

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lemonpepperhawks · 3 years

Text

Prey for Me

Oh boi, I’m back. Dropped off the face of the Earth for a while, but it was only so I could become more depraved and thirsty.

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: Your life is saved by a guardian angel, but you soon discover the hard way that even the most seemingly innocent beings can and do fall from grace.

Themes/Warnings: Smut; Yandere!Hawks; Fallen Angel!Hawks; Noncon/Dubcon; some stalker vibes; mentions of car accidents

You weren’t sure when or how it had all started. You could pinpoint the moment when you had actually become fully aware of it happening. But how long had this… person been following you before then?

As you reflected, you became aware of all kinds of little “coincidences” that had you wondering if this - whatever this was - had been going on for a lot longer than it was comfortable to think about. Lately, some of your mail had been showing up already opened. At first you had put that down to a nosy postman, but the opened letters were almost always mundane ones. Offers for credit cards that you would throw away as soon as you received them, mail-in surveys asking about your favorite brands of soap that you would never respond to. What kind of postman would be interested in that? Then there was the time when some gardening tools had gone missing from your shed, only to mysteriously reappear right back where you thought you had left them… five days later. And more and more often, when you went out in public, it had felt like someone was watching you. Not in a casual people-watching kind of way, but in a way that made you shiver to even think of. When had that feeling started? Weeks ago, you were sure.

All of these things, added on top of what happened today, had started to make this feel like something more than coincidence. You were shaken, and full of uncertainty.

Back up, you thought to yourself. What actually happened?

You had been saved from potential death this afternoon by a man who had tugged you out of the path of a speeding car. That’s all that happened. And yet… You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it.

The way he had come out of nowhere. You had been walking on a deserted street, not just devoid of cars but of people too. The car that had almost hit you - that you could understand. Cars were machines, and they were built for speed. The road was curved. It made sense that you hadn’t seen the one that had come barrelling toward you, despite looking both ways as you started to cross the street. But that man - there was no way he could have just appeared like that. No way you could have not noticed him. He would have had to be following right behind you in order to react as quickly as he did - not only that, but he would have had to actually be standing in the street to be able to reach you. You would have seen someone as you looked around, especially someone so unusually close. It was almost as if he had reached through thin air to grab you.

Then there was the way that he had disappeared, just as suddenly. Sure, he could have just slipped into one of the storefronts while you were still reeling, trying to figure out what was even going on. But when you had looked, there were no swinging doors, no faces in the windows. And, more importantly, who would save someone’s life and then just run off, leaving them to wonder what happened?

You needed a nice, hot bath. You decided to lay there in the warmth until something made sense, or at least until the water got cold.

☙

Even after your long soak in the tub, you were still feeling jittery. It was late, and you knew you should be getting to bed. But the thought of that seemed impossible with how wound up you were. There was nothing to do but lay in the dark until exhaustion overtook you. Frowning, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to go to sleep. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning.

But then again…

You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. The more you thought about it, the stranger everything seemed to become. Your memories kept flashing back to that moment when you had been pulled back, out of the path of that car. If you could talk to that driver, what would they say they had seen? A regular man? A shape hovering behind you and then darting away? Nothing?

Had it just been a gust of wind?

No, you were sure that wasn’t it. You had definitely felt a firm, strong hand on your shoulder - and a harsh yank backwards. That was no gust of wind.

But, come to think of it, what could you even say you had seen? As you thought back, you realized that you hadn’t actually seen anything. You were sure it had been a man who saved you, but you hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the person. Why did you feel so strongly that it had been a man? Why did that presence feel almost… familiar?

Your eyes shot open. The room was still dark, and swelteringly hot. A glass of water was what you needed; your throat felt parched. Not bothering with the light, you threw off your covers and started to feel your way over to the doorway.

You froze.

Something glinted in the corner of your room. A corner that should have been empty. Wild possibilities zoomed through your head. A murderer with a knife? The shiny tooth of a feral animal, ready to attack you in the dark? Some horrible, slimy creature who had slid out from your closet-

Stop it! That’s ridiculous.

You tried to steel your nerves. You groped for the lightswitch behind you, telling yourself that it was nothing. It had to be nothing. The switch flipped up and the room was bathed in light…

Standing in front of you was a man. Plain as day, he was perched in the corner of your room, a slightly confused expression on his face.

A look of horror was plastered on your own face. This was no normal man.

This man had wings.

☙

“Who the FUCK are you?!” you managed to scream. Your eyes felt like they were about to fall out of your head.

The man said nothing, but took a few steps toward you with his hands outstretched, a look of worry on his face. You had no means of escape. You were pressed right up against the door to your bedroom, and it opened inwards. There was no way to open it without taking a few steps toward the strange, winged man - and he was already quickly closing the distance between you.

“Stop!” you commanded. “D-don’t come any closer.”

“Please, don’t be afraid,” the man said gently.

He didn’t say anything else, and you weren’t sure how to respond, so you faced each other silently for a moment. The blood seemed to roar in your ears, and you wondered if he could hear your heartbeat as clearly as you were able to.

The man’s enormous wings stretched out behind him, and you noticed that they were an immaculate white - save for one small red feather tucked away near his left shoulder. He had stopped moving toward you, and you took a moment to look him over. He wore pants and a shirt made of the same simple but beautiful white linen. His face was youthful and seemed full of curiosity. His skin was radiant; he almost appeared to glow despite there already being a light on in the room.

Suddenly, it dawned on you.

“It’s you,” you murmured.

Even you weren’t entirely sure what you had meant by that, but the man didn’t look confused at all. He just smiled warmly, his golden eyes sparkling.

“But who… who are you?” you questioned.

“I’m yours,” he said simply, as if that answered anything.

You felt dizzy. You had to sit down. Stumbling, you made your way over to the bed. The man watched you intently - not interfering, just observing. Waves of realization started to wash over you.

“You’re… some kind of angel?”

“Yes,” he agreed, the soft smile never leaving his lips. “I suppose that would be your word for it.”

The two of you started at each other in silence again. Suddenly, your barely-avoided brush with death made a lot more sense. And yet, at the same time, nothing made any sense. Exhausted and at your wits end, you decided not to question it any more. Heck, maybe this was all a crazy dream. Maybe you really had been hit by that car, and this was you hallucinating while lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

“So… do you… have a name?” you questioned.

The man seemed to hesitate for a second, but then answered, his smile never faltering.

“Keigo.”

You let the name roll around in your head for a moment. Keigo. Not the kind of name you’d expect on an angel, but was there really anything that made sense about this? You were about to introduce yourself, then thought better of it.

“I already know your name,” said Keigo, as if reading your mind.

“Right…” you muttered. “Um, Keigo… thank you for saving me earlier?”

“Don’t mention it.”

Despite his words, he seemed to beam a little at your appreciation. Your eyes wandered again to his wings - they were hard to ignore - and you noticed a few more red feathers along the crest of one wing that you hadn’t seen before. Had those been there two minutes ago? They gave his wings the appearance of being splattered with blood.

Keigo seemed to take no notice of your discomfort. He just looked on at you pleasantly as you squirmed a little in your seat. Finally, he spoke.

“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier.” The slightest shadow of a frown scraped his lips. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright now. It’s my job to look after you.”

He trailed off, and you found the courage to give him a sheepish smile. He was so innocent, so genuine in his words and demeanor. He probably had no idea how much it would frighten you to see a strange man crouching in the corner of your bedroom. He was just trying to do his job and look after you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him. “And thank you, really. I appreciate your help… Keigo.”

His face lit up again at your mention of his name. You felt guilty thinking it, but you couldn’t help noticing how undeniably attractive he was. He had gorgeous blond hair and a chiseled jawline. You wondered if he knew how handsome he was. Angels probably weren’t supposed to think about that kind of stuff, you assumed.

Keigo shuffled a little closer to you, the tips of his wings brushing the floor. He stopped just in front of you, smile still beaming down.

“I have to go now, but… I’m glad I met you,” he said warmly. “Sleep tight; sweet dreams.”

You started to look up, to meet his eyes. But he was already gone.

☙

The next morning, you half expected Keigo to be sitting at your breakfast table. Instead, he was nowhere to be found. You had no idea where he had disappeared to. Was he still hanging around but just… invisible? Why had you even been able to see him in the first place?

Rather than drive yourself crazy with questions that would undoubtedly lead you down the path of existential crisis, you decided to just accept it and move on. Maybe it was all a weird dream.

Except it wasn’t. You could tell because now the feeling of being watched was becoming more and more frequent. At first, it was very bothersome, and you found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder only to be greeted by an empty room. You wished you could tell Keigo to knock it off, but shouting into your empty house would just make you feel like even more of a lunatic. After doing your best to ignore it for a few days, you had managed to all but forget the feeling was even there.

Unfortunately, this method also had its drawbacks, because it meant that when Keigo finally did show himself again, you were wholly unprepared.

Your eyes were closed as you stood underneath the stream of the shower, water dripping through your hair. The warmth was calming, and you allowed your mind to wander. Subtly, something seemed to change in the atmosphere, and you barely had time to open your eyes before your shower curtain was ripped aside.

“Hello!” exclaimed Keigo cheerfully.

He was standing in your bathroom. Standing naked in your bathroom, the steam billowing around his chiseled form.

“Keigo!!” you shouted.

It felt like your brain was short circuiting. You didn’t know whether you should try to cover up yourself or him. Water was pouring out of the shower, soaking your bath mat. You snatched up the plastic curtain and used it to cover your naked body. With the curtain bunched up to your chin, you peered out at the man before you, and tried to shield your eyes from seeing anything below his waist.

“Keigo, you can’t just sneak up on me in the shower!”

You desperately tried to keep your eyes pointed toward the ceiling. Keigo, evidently, had other plans. He flapped his wings until he was hovering a few feet off the bathroom floor, looking down into your flustered face.

Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick.

“I’m sorry,” he smiled. “I just wanted to spend some time with you. Isn’t it normal to bathe with people you’re close to?”

“Uhhh…”

It most certainly was not normal for you to shower with other people, no matter how close you were. Even more so if that person was a man who you had just barely met.

“It’s fine,” Keigo assured you. “We are like family.”

He started to step past the shower curtain to join you in the tub. Panicking, you pulled the curtain tighter and moved to block him.

“Keigo,” you corrected, “we’re not a family. I don’t even know you.”

He looked crestfallen for a moment, but quickly started smiling again. He looked so innocent; he probably had no idea what he was doing. You had no idea how you could explain to him how wrong this was. The exhilaration you felt at seeing his bare chest so close to you only made things feel all the more inappropriate.

“It’s fine,” Keigo repeated. “Because I love you.”

“W-we don’t know each other!”

“That’s not true,” Keigo insisted. “I know all about you. I was assigned to watch over you. I’ve watched and protected you, for months.”

You felt your stomach drop. Of course you knew all this, in the back of your mind - but there was something different about hearing him say it out loud. It felt more like an admission of guilt, somehow. Maybe because you were both standing naked in the shower; this whole thing felt like something that neither of you should be doing.

“Look, Keigo…” you started, trying to gather the courage to look him in the eyes. “Why don’t you wait for me outside? We can.. we can talk this over. I’m just very confused and overwhelmed by all this.”

Keigo considered for a moment.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I can wait for you, love.”

With that, he stepped out of the bathtub and left the room. Once alone, you almost collapsed against the wall. This was turning into a real problem.

☙

Part of you was praying that Keigo would just leave before you got out of the shower, saving you both the embarrassment of actually talking about what had happened. But as you walked into your bedroom in only a towel, you saw you had no such luck. Keigo was perched on the edge of your bed, still naked.

“Uhh, here.” You offered him the smaller towel you were using to dry your hair. “Why don’t you cover up a little?”

To your horror, instead of draping the towel across his lap, Keigo brought it to his face and inhaled deeply.

“Mm, you smell so nice,” he sighed.

“No!” You tried to calm yourself, to stop your voice from shaking. “No, that’s not what I-”

Rather than continue, you decided to just take the towel from him and position it yourself. Your heart beat a little faster as you got so close to him, your hands fluttering around his hips as you tried not to make contact with any sensitive areas.

“There.” You breathed a sigh of relief.

“You can get dressed if you want,” offered Keigo.

He shifted himself on the bed, causing the towel to slip down a little. You gave up on adjusting it and just hoped he wouldn’t move around too much.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” you ventured.

“You don’t have to be shy in front of me,” Keigo interrupted. “Like I said, I’ve been watching over you for a while, and-”

“Oooookay,” you stopped him. “I get it, Keigo!”

The man just smiled, unfazed. You groaned as you wondered how you could possibly talk to him about what you needed to say.

☙

“So, what did you want to talk about?” asked Keigo as he swung his legs.

You wished he would stay still. That poor towel was really in danger of falling off him. His bright eyes looked up at you as you stood awkwardly, wondering how to start. Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, your eyes drifted to look at the wings tucked neatly behind him.

They were about half white and half crimson now. Definitely a change from the last time you’d seen him; they had a mottled effect that was strangely beautiful and almost made you think of koi fish. Distracted, you sat down on the bed opposite him.

“Hey, why do your wings keep getting more red feathers?” you wondered.

A shadow seemed to cross Keigo’s face. You thought he wasn’t going to answer, but eventually he spoke in a low, muffled voice.

“I guess I’ve been doing a lot of stuff I shouldn’t, lately.”

You hadn’t expected that answer. It seemed to have dark connotations, and made you question your earlier assessment of him being too innocent to understand that what he was doing in the shower was wrong. You had assumed that an angelic being would not even be able to comprehend the idea of doing wrong. Weren’t they supposed to be perfect? A caricature of everything one should strive to be?

“They were mad that I saved you,” continued Keigo. “Said I wasn’t supposed to interfere, just guard you from evil.”

They? They who? And was he talking about that thing with the car?

“But how could I not interfere?” He was growing frustrated. “To let beauty like yours die - wouldn’t that be evil? It’s my job to protect you, so how could I not!?”

You were stunned into silence. Keigo had just revealed so much, and your head was swimming with the information. You watched him carefully. He sat in silence, staring with ferocity at nothing in particular.

“Can I ask you a question?” he turned to face you as he spoke.

“O-okay,” you agreed.

“Have you ever ‘made love?’”

Wow, what a question. Somehow Keigo managed to maintain his curious, innocent eyes while asking it, but now you wondered if it was just a facade.

“I...I’m not-” you stuttered.

You were no virgin, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever had a sexual encounter that could be called “making love.” The way Keigo had phrased that made it feel like there was real weight to the question. Had you ever had a connection that deep with anyone?

“I’m not sure,” you answered at last.

“I’m sure you can guess that I haven’t,” Keigo said softly. “But I wonder what it would feel like…”

Before you had time to react, Keigo was right in front of your face, and then he was pressing his lips to yours.

☙

Keigo’s mouth explored, his lips locking perfectly against yours. He brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek in his impossibly soft palm. Your eyes were open wide from the shock of his sudden kiss, and you watched as his brow furrowed gently in concentration. He seemed to be savoring the taste of you - certainly a novel experience for him.

You were acutely aware of his nakedness as he pressed into you, flattening you against the bed. Any illusion of a chaste kiss was broken as you felt something hard pressing against your thigh, which was still covered - woefully inadequately - by your bath towel. Keigo broke the kiss to inhale loudly, and you realized that he had been holding his breath.

“P-please.” You took the brief respite as an opportunity to speak. “Please, let’s not do this; it’s wrong!”

“Don’t worry, love,” Keigo soothed. “It can’t be wrong, no matter what they say. We love each other.”

Keigo’s eyelids drooped as he moved forward to steal another kiss. You tried to squirm away from him, but the edge of your towel was caught under his knee.

“Please, Keigo! We don’t love each other!” you begged.

“Of course we do,” Keigo insisted. His arms wrapped around you, pinning you in place. Despite his slender build, he was frighteningly strong. “I love you so much.”

“I don’t love you. I don’t know you!”

“Don’t be silly,” Keigo chuckled. “Of course you love me; I saved your life. I sacrificed everything for you.”

Wings splayed out behind him, Keigo looked downright fearsome. His feathers were now far more crimson than white, and his eyes blazed like gold.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he cooed, brushing a strand of still-damp hair out of your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’re going to seal our love, and then we can be together forever. Then, everything will be okay.”

Were you imagining things, or had the room gotten darker? No, you realized as you looked up at Keigo. Where before the man had radiated a soft glow of light, now he seemed to suck the light of the room in and exude darkness. You tried to protest, but Keigo’s lips were against yours again, stopping you from letting out anything but whimpers.

Keigo must have mistaken the sounds for pleasure, because he let out a soft moan and ground his hips into you. You could feel the length of his shaft pressing against you, harder every second.

“Your body is so beautiful,” murmured Keigo as he lifted himself up just enough to unfasten your towel. “I’ve spent eons watching over Earth, but no creature I’ve ever seen could compare to you.”

His words were sweet - sickeningly so. He held you so tightly you could barely move, and the weight of his body against your chest made it hard to breathe. You felt a twinge of excitement in your core, and scolded yourself - every part of you should have been screaming no, but your body had betrayed you. The way he held you made your heart pound in your chest. Even his scent was intoxicating.

Using a hand to guide himself, Keigo lined up with your entrance and pressed into you. It took a few moments to push himself fully in, your body being as unprepared as it was. Soon, though, you felt your walls growing slick around him, just from the feeling of being full. You cursed your uncooperative body, but couldn’t bring yourself to actually resist as Keigo gave a few shallow thrusts.

“Ah, wow,” he marveled, mouth agape. “This feels amazing.” You swore you could almost see his eyes roll back in his head as he continued to rock in and out of you, breathy little gasps leaving his lips. He was frustratingly gentle. The primal side of you screamed out for more friction. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you, trying to force his pelvis to rub against your sensitive spot. Part of your mind screamed in defiance. Everything about this was wrong; you shouldn’t be encouraging him. But the larger part of you had given into its carnal desires, consequences be damned.

Above you, Keigo was a picture of bliss. He used one hand to grab at your hips so he could grind into you from a different angle, groaning with every thrust.

“Mm, I love you so much,” Keigo moaned into your shoulder. He kissed you there lightly, then gave a surprisingly sharp bite. “So, so much. You’re all mine now.”

You needed more pressure, and squirmed desperately against him. His inexperience was obvious, but you couldn’t deny how hot it was just watching him enveloped with his own pleasure. A pang of guilt flashed through you at the thought, but it was quickly overwhelmed with lust as Keigo began to gasp your name. Too soon, you could feel him reach his climax. Keigo pressed into you as deeply as he could go, and your face grew hot at the lewd sounds he was making.

Had that really just happened?

You could feel your juices mixing with his, running down the inside of your thigh. Suddenly empty, you ached for him as he slipped out. It had definitely happened; this was all too real.

With a satisfied growl, Keigo flipped over onto his back, dragging you with him to rest against his chest. Your gaze roamed over him as he nestled into the pillows: eyes closed, lips set in a satisfied smile.

“Our love is forever,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Light danced across his bare skin before being swallowed up by his aura. Behind him, scarlet wings spread like blood.

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