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hops-hunny · 3 years

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What’s in a Name?

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Chubby!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.6k

Request: N/A

Summary: When two beautiful people fall in love, everything can go right. Or, the one where Blaise gets the girl of his dreams.

Warnings: None?? Mentions of past self hate, positive use of the word fat.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this. Enjoy!

Fat. It was a word (Y/n) had thrown at her from a young age but had grown to become neutral with as she got older. See, the (y/h/h) was fortunate enough to grow up in a household with her dear aunt Marlene who brought her up on the principle that ‘fat and ugly were not synonymous’ which she found herself quite fortunate of. You see, Marlene herself was an extravagant woman. She never stepped out of the house unless she was runway ready, long acrylic nails, hair curled in the prettiest of waves, and a face of makeup that could put anyone to shame. Marlene found her niece to be reminiscent of herself when she was younger. But, she also knew no matter the great example she showed her and the encouragement she’d give her, the world around her would affect the way she viewed herself until she reached a certain age.

However luckily for (Y/n), that age was when she hit the ripe age of 14. She was sick of it. Sick of feeling like a prisoner of her own body. Sick of hiding from mirrors, sick of wearing clothes that fit her like potato sacks just to hide the figure that she was naturally born with. Why should she have to feel bad because the world wasn’t ready to accept her for who she was? Why should she have to hide away due to a bit of extra weight and fat? So, after a long night of crying she decided from that day forward she would do her absolute best to at least accept her body for what it was. She didn’t wanna skip meals anymore just to make everyone around her comfortable. She didn’t want to avoid clothes that made her figure less of a figure. She wanted to live and be free in the body she was currently in.

If she could go back to where she was when she was 14, she’d tell herself she had exceeded that limitation. She was far beyond just accepting herself for who she was, she loved who she was. (Y/n) found herself falling in love with a new thing about herself every time she found herself blessed with the fortune of time to look in a mirror. Whether it was the way the rolls of her back reminded her of the ocean or the bumps and lumps around her hip area that were reminiscent of clouds, she loved every bit of herself. Even though it took her time to get there, she didn't regret it one bit.

Her confidence and demeanor attracted a lot of positive attention wherever she went. Her friends adored her and so did many other people around the castle! There was always a few wronguns here and there but that goes without saying. Even if you change your outlook on life, in a society where fat is a sin there will always be your self proclaimed saints. The more popular opinion shared throughout the castle though was ‘if she could find love in herself, why shouldn’t I be able to as well?’. Although it’s hard for one girl to change the world, she came quite close to it, always offering a shoulder to anyone in need and a helpful word of advice to anyone on the path of self acceptance and love.

There was one person who noticed her much more than that. Some would say it was a crush but no, it went quite deeper than that. He found himself being absolutely enamored by her. Her confidence, her positivity, her ever radiant beauty. All those things he found to be addicting, entrancing. Never had he come across a woman of any sorts who was so sure of herself, so proud to be in the skin she was born in. (Y/n) knew who she was and honestly? It was fucking hot. Blaise Zabini wasn’t one to make wild claims which is why when he thought about how he felt, he was very sure of the feeling. He absolutely adored the goddess that was (Y/n) (L/n). So why was it so hard to say it to her?

The way she made him feel had him in a whirlwind of emotions. A lot of the times, he was infuriated. Not by the way she made him feel, but the way she made him act. Blaise was always a hit with women from all houses around hogwarts. Why wouldn’t he be? When you’re a tall, dark, and handsome man with oodles of charismatic charm and yes, a fat load of cash, who wouldn’t wanna be yours? He could have any woman he wanted wrapped around his finger before he even opened his mouth. But around her, around her? His mouth would close as soon as it opened. He’d feel a rush of heat move to his face and his ears would start ringing. What was this feeling? This feeling that made him act so idiotic. This feeling that had him awake late at night, wondering what it would be like if he only said-

“Hi.” his head snapped up at the sound of a familiar warm voice. The same voice that made his heart race wildly, the same voice that made him act like one of those stupid fucking Hufflepuffs. All nerves and scurrying to find something, anything to say. There she was right in front of him, looking uncharacteristically shy. She had her arms behind her back one hand gripping at her other wrist as she looked up at him through thick lashes. “Have I wronged you in any way?”

“Hm?” he hummed out, still dazed as he looked down at her with a soft look present on his face. He cleared his throat slightly, pulling at the collar of his shirt that was suddenly too tight. Too constricting, too-

“Have I wronged you? I always see you staring at me quite a bit.” she repeated, gaining her confidence back some. God was he always this bloody gorgeous? Well, to her he was. She had her eye on him ever since she’d ran into him on the train back in first year. “I know I’m quite pretty, but I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate that. No?” she questioned, taking a step closer to him. She felt her hands grow sweaty at the smell of his aftershave, a sharp smell in comparison to her own strawberry body mist.

Was she flirting with him? He couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t he tell? He always could tell. Many upon many times he found himself rejecting women before they could even get the chance to confess how they felt. So why now, why with her could he not? Was this- was this nerves? “My girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate that. I-I mean I don’t have a girlfriend!” he stumbled out, cursing under his breath slightly. He felt himself grow quite warm as he heard her giggle. He looked up at the sound once more wishing he hadn’t. She looked radiant in the glow of the late evening sun. Her round cheeks prominent as her face turned up in a smile before she quirked a brow at him.

“Ah I see then. You don’t have a girlfriend but you were staring?” she questioned, feeling a bit guilty about how she was enjoying the usually calm and collected boy lose his composure. His face fell straight before processing what she said. (Y/n) could see a whirlwind of emotions happen behind his eyes in such a short period of time. ‘Isn’t it funny that only a few years prior this would have been me? I can’t wait to tell Rose-Marie about this later.’

“I-I.. you know what? Yeah I do stare at you quite a bit. More often than not, I find myself staring at you.” he closed the distance between them, her soft frame pressing against his tone one. He lifted two of his fingers up to her chin, lifting her head softly. “How could I not? You’re an absolute work of art. Only the most worthy of men should be able to gaze at such a rare beauty and I find myself to be very worthy.” he whispered softly, his dark umber eyes staring into the (h/c) haired girl’s (e/c) ones.

It */was crazy how with such few words, he could make her feel so breathless, so woozy. Was she awake right now? The moment she had been waiting for since first year was currently right in front of her. The years spent dreaming, pining from a distance all gone in a few words. She smiled up at him, placing a soft hand on the man’s toned chest. Even through his clothes she could feel that he had a nice build to him. “I suppose you’re worthy. I mean look at us, we’re both beautiful. Imagine the gallery of art we’d be together.” she said, confident in her words as she bat her eyelashes. (Y/n) would be damned if she was the only one left breathless and flustered after this exchange.

“Well, why imagine dear? I’ll be taking you to Hogsmeade this weekend.” He said, turning around as he began to walk off. She was stunned. Was this the infamous charm she had heard him having? As much as (Y/n) had heard about how charming and suave Blaise was, she had never heard of him asking anyone out for a date. Knowing this gave her her own boost of confidence.

“You will be? What makes you so sure I’ll be there?” Blaise froze, turning his head back at the girl’s teasing words. He smirked. She really was something else.

“Oh I know. I wasn’t the only one staring all this time, I saw you too.” he winked laughing some before turning around walking off. (Y/n) felt herself smiling some as she shook her head before her eyes widened.

“Wait, what am I gonna wear?!”

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There was exactly 30 minutes until Blaise was meant to arrive and (Y/n) was nowhere near ready yet. See, she had planned on being ready early, even going as far as to get up at the time she usually did for class. However, after an impromptu dance session in her underwear her luck had run out. She wasn’t completely unprepared though, her hair had been done the night before and her makeup not taking much time, the main cause of concern was her outfit.

The problem wasn’t a lack of clothes, it was quite the opposite. She had so many clothes that she had absolutely no idea of what to wear! She frustratedly slammed her fist on the pile of clothes in front of her letting out a few choice words. In a moment of defeat, she looked up at her empty wardrobe- wait a second. (Y/n) quickly scrambled to her wardrobe, slipping and sliding on the sea of clothes that lined the way before quickly yanking out the clothes covered hanger. On the hanger was a two piece set.

The top was a wisteria purple crop top with puffy short sleeves, the skirt the same exact shade with a ruffle hem. “This is perfect! Where did this come from?” she said, checking herself out in the mirror. The outfit clung to her plush body, every curve visible and apparent. The girl smiled, smoothing her hand over the outline of her stomach that was apparent through her skirt. Years ago she would’ve been bothered by the entire concept of the outfit but now the outline of her figure made her smile like an old friend. She quickly put on a pair of white chunky sneakers, accessorizing the outfit with a few necklaces and rings as well just in time to hear a knock on the door. She did another once over in the mirror before quickly running to the door pulling it open to reveal Blaise standing there. She felt her face grow warm at his appearance.

He wore a form fitting maroon sweatshirt that he had rolled up to his elbows, a pair of jeans that weren’t skinny but fit to his figure in the most flattering of ways, and a pair of expensive shoes from some brand she couldn’t even begin to try and pronounce. In his hands were a bouquet of flowers composed of forget me nots, baby’s breath, and daisies. Blaise was in awe. He had seen her outside of her uniform a plethora of times but knowing that she had dressed up so nicely just to go on a date with him made his heart soar. “Wow, you look breathtaking. Look at you!” he hyped her up, grabbing her hand. He held their entwined fingers above their heads, signaling for her to spin around. “Lovely, absolutely divine. I can’t believe I’m going on a date with a deity.” he said, smile growing more as (Y/n) grew shyer.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Zabini. You look great, maroon is definitely your color.” she gushed, closing the door to her room. She looked down at their still entwined fingers, squeezing his large calloused hand with her small chubby one before bringing her gaze up to his face. Unsurprisingly, he was already looking at her.

“Thank you, dove. Let’s get going shall we? I’ve got a ton I wanna do with you and such a short amount of time. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

“We shall.”

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The first place they arrived at was a building she had seen many times during her visits to Hogsmeade but had never been in. It was an old brick building with a paintbrush on an old rusty sign above it.

“An art store?” she questioned, looking up at him confused but not against his choice. They both walked in, a sound of a bell dinging as they did so. She looked around in awe at the abundance of supplies. The store was sort of stuffy and crowded but that was a part of its charm. Blaise scratched at the back of his neck nervously as he watched her roam around.

“Yeah I don’t know if I mentioned it before but I enjoy doing art in my freetime. I thought I’d take you to one of my favorite places first.” He said, walking up behind her as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “A-and well, everytime I imagined going on a date with you, I always pictured the two of us showing each other our favorite hidden gems. We can leave if you wa-”

“That won’t be necessary. This is really cool and I’ve always wanted to learn more about art! I’m more of a reader and writer myself.” she said, grabbing his hand. Blaise let out a huge breath that he didn’t even know he was holding in in the first place before dragging her off in the direction of his favorite brand of oil paints. The two walked hand in hand, exploring his favorite parts of the store. When he’d see something he used himself or was familiar with, he’d explain it to her, rambling off about it excitedly.

Blaise wasn’t normally the type of guy to speak many words but being around (Y/n) brought out that side of him. It wasn’t that his friends were bad per say, they just weren’t very fond of listening to things that didn’t pertain to them which he was more than fine with. However, it was nice having an outlet to share his interest for once. He loved that she would ask questions about things and even let him talk about his own work. Most girls he talked to never really cared to listen to what he had to say, often spending more time kissing him breathless than listening to the words that flew from his lips. But (Y/n) was very attentive, listening to everything he had to say, eyes full of the same excitement he held.

“Alright, I think I’ve bought everything I’ve needed from here. Your pick, where do you wanna go?” he questioned, grabbing the girl’s hand again as they walked out of the small art store. He offered the old man behind a small smile before turning his attention back to his date. (Y/n) thought about it, humming as she tried to figure out before her eyes lit up.

“I have the perfect place! Come on Blaise, you’re gonna love it.” she exclaimed before taking off down the street, dragging him along with her. He smiled fondly at her letting her lead the way.

“This something I could get used to.” he muttered, trying his best to keep up with her pace.

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About 10 minutes later, they arrived in front of what looked to be a bookstore. Blaise looked around, swiping his fingers across the dusty books. “Welcome to the place where I spend most of my time when coming to Hogsmeade. It may look like just a bookstore but you’ll see why it's not in just a minute.” she said. Blaise watched as the girl got on her hands and knees and began to crawl making a ‘spspsps’ noise. He was confused, rightfully so but he didn’t question her actions. All of a sudden, a floof of white fur came crawling over to the girl purring as she scratched behind its ears.

“It’s a cat bookstore! How cool is that? There’s a bunch of these little guys just running around here.” she said, standing up with the kitten in her hands. Blaise’s heart beat wildly at the sight. She looked too cute with the kitten in her hand, holding it gently against her soft chest. He was brought from his thoughts as he felt something brush against his leg. He had to stop himself from losing it at the sight of the little calico cat brushing against his leg.

“Hi there little guy.” he cooed softly, reaching a hand down to pet the cat’s head. The cat jumped up to meet his hand before it could land, nuzzling its fuzzy little head against the boy's head as he purred loudly.

“That’s not the only thing. They also carry some muggle literature too! Don’t tell anyone though, it’s a secret.” she said, placing the kitten down as she began to browse the books on the old wooden shelves.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” he promised, eyes never leaving her curvy figure. She looked right at home in the book store, reading the titles like they were old friends. “I’m a bit of a muggle literature fan myself. Ever heard of Shakespear?” he asked. (Y/n) looked at him with wide eyes before nodding. She would’ve never expected that from the man, knowing how against all things muggle related purebloods slytherins were. He walked over to her tilting her head up as he looked into her eyes. “ What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” he whispered, dragging his thumb along her bottom lip. Her breath hitched slightly as she began to scowl as he walked off laughing some.

“Jerk! That was not funny.” she said, punching him in the arm as she glared up at him.

“Wasn’t supposed to be, love. You just look too cute when you’re nervous!”

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It had been a few weeks since their date and (Y/n) was starting to grow nervous. She and Blaise hadn’t been on another one and it confused her deeply. She had an amazing time on their date, in fact it had been the best one she had ever been on! Did he not feel the same? Maybe he had commitment issues? It couldn’t have been her. No, she had done everything right. She spoke well mannered, bantered back and forth with him, and she looked bloody amazing.

She sighed, opening the door to her dorm. It had been a long week. She threw off her robes before turning to her dresser before gasping. On top of the dresser laid a huge painting surrounded in a beautiful antique golden frame. She hesitantly walked over to it, brushing her fingers along it before looking at the note attached. Opening the wax sealed envelope she began reading the note out loud.

“My dearest rose, how are you? I apologize deeply for my lack of presence. Not being near you for so long deeply hurt me so but it was not in vain. You see, after spending such a lovely time with you that day, I felt extremely inspired. Your beauty deserves to be captured in something far more grand than a simple photograph so I painted you this. I hope to see you soon. To my greatest muse, Blaise Zabini.” she smiled as she read the words, goosebumps going up her arms. Blaise was indeed a talented artist. In photo realistic detail was a large painting of her smiling with the white kitten from before in her hands. She was lost for words. Never had someone done something so amazing for her. “Do I really look this beautiful? Is this how he sees me?” she asked no one in particular.

“It is and you are. You’re absolutely gorgeous.” she jumped at the sound of the deep voice. Turning her head she saw the man she had been thinking of for weeks. Slowly she walked over to him, smiling before wrapping her arms around him hugging him tightly. Blaise froze for a bit, not used to receiving such gentle forms of affection. He pulled back before placing a soft peck on her lips.

“Let me take you out again tomorrow, yeah?” he asked her in a soft tone. She simply nodded before standing on her tiptoes initiating another lovely kiss. Blaise wrapped his arms around her soft waist, bringing her closer to him.

“I really am one lucky bloke.”

#blaise zabini #blaise x reader #blaise x y/n #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini x you #blaise zabini x y/n #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #plus size reader #chubby reader

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utterlyhopeful-fics · 3 years

Text

Goodbye - Epilogue (Captain Syverson)

MASTERLIST P1 P2 P3 P4 P5

A/N: I happy cried writing this. I apologize for it’s delay but sincerely hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy!

If I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF, language, a hint of smut, more fluffy domestic goodness, reference to PTSD

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An arid summer’s eve laid upon them yet a welcoming, cool brisk dispersed through the night’s mellow sky. It was one of those magical July nights, a night that didn’t cause you to swelter miserably. At least not as fast as usual. Y/N gazed up at the array of luminescent stars glistening down on her sighing contently. She eyed the big dipper with ease thinking back to every astrological book she’d homed over the three decades.

Her hand grazed her bulging belly soaking in the last days before her son’s arrival. She leaned her head against the cool cushion contemplating the peaceful the evening. Soon her thoughts drifted to her husband, Sy putting their two miracles, Luna and Oliver to bed. Her eldest, Oliver was the definition of a blessing in disguise. Now her baby was five and the celebration of Luna’s third birthday long past. Where did the time go…every mother greatest fear.

Briefly, Y/N closed her eyes listening to the music laced in the wind. Soon they would be outnumbered, something both of them were slowly coming to terms with. Sy cherished the swell of her belly and the fullness of her breasts secretly wishing for as many kids as humanly possible.

Y/N, on the other hand figured three was plenty but Sy was a tricky one, a handsomely tricky man who worshipped the ground she walked on. A different man from their initially rocky start. Granted, looking back on the beginning of their relationship left a small twinge in her chest, he’d tried his damndest to make it up to her every day since leaving that hospital.

Sy had gone through hell and back clawing his way from death’s vicious grip. Rehabilitation had kicked his ass but he persevered gradually gaining strength after every tedious therapy session. Needless to say, the last couple years weren’t always roses and butterflies. Oh no, there were times when Sy admitted defeat, yelled in unbridled anger, and genuinely resented the cards he’d been dealt.

But it brought them here together, in this moment, forever thankful of their ever-growing family. And for that she would be infinitely indebted for the rest of her days. Thankfully after two intensive years of non-stop motivation and assistance, the only sign of his accident was a minor limp Y/N found absolutely loveable.

Cicadas pierced the silence as lightning bugs alit to life. Sy’s heavy steps protruded along the wood stripped floors making his way towards his magnificent wife. The swivel of the sliding door popped Y/N’s serene daze. A thunderous voice echoed; “Baby?”

Y/N hummed sensing him approach from behind. His meaty hands met the crook of her neck massaging her swollen shoulders. An uncontrollable exhale escaped her.

“Hey good lookin’.”

His lips brushed against her moisturized skin grazing her collarbone before roaming towards the corner of her lip. Taking his own cue, Sy continued his trail of hot kisses down her chest wavering towards her plump breasts. She moaned in pure bliss.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to send me into labor.”

Sy stopped, a chuckle reverberating from his chest; “Ain’t that a good thing?” His Texas twang was the equivalence of freshly churned butter, a noise so familiar her heart still soared to cloud nine.

Choosing to ignore his sass, Y/N found herself staring upwards at the stars and many constellations. Sy’s large frame settled into the chair beckoning her towards the setta lounge chair. Y/N nodded unwilling to deny her handsome husband a minute longer sliding into his lap. His heat immediately emitted to her core warming every bit of exposed skin.

“I see you made it out in one piece?”

Sy’s massive arms engulfed Y/N’s changing body perching his chin atop her shoulder.

“Hardly! If I have to read Uni the Unicorn one more damn time I might have to be committed.”

Y/N jokingly slapped his shoulder; “Oh c’mon. You love seeing Luna’s beaming smile or else you wouldn’t give in to her every night.”

“Sure, she’s cute now but wait til she’s datin.”

“Nope, nope. She’s still gonna be my sweetie.”

Sy considered his wife’s words coming to a conclusion that she was shamelessly right. His girls had him tightly wound around their fingers. He wasn’t your average fool, no he was now a family man fool. If someone told him this is where his life path would’ve led him, he’d have blatantly laughed in their face but now he saw no other future than the one right in front of him. The numerous doctors and therapists saved his life but Y/N truly revived him from the perverse melancholy of PTSD.

The woman who hung the moon, balanced his universe, the woman who miraculously gave life to two healthy children, and the woman he once stupidly shoved aside. That was in the past and for the first time in his life, Sy looked forward to the future, their future.

Together they sat tangled as one listening to nature’s melody. After leaving the city, they’d purchased ten acres ready to rear their children outside of hectic city living.

“Baby, have I told you I love you today? Because if not shame on me.”

“Only bout a million times but who’s counting.”

His arms draped around her waist tenderly rubbing her jutting stomach.

“God, you are so fucking sexy like this.”

“Like what? Bloated and gassy?”

Her sarcasm was undeniable.

“No, horny and swollen with my child.”

“Man, you really know how to get my hormones raging….”

“Seriously babe, I love seeing pregnant. It’s incredibly hot. Bigger boobs, higher sex drive, these curves, I mean who would complain?”

“Ha ha. Well, that makes one of us because I feel like a whale.”

Syverson didn’t miss a beat; “But a very sexy whale.”

“Kids go down easy?”

“If by easy you mean fifteen minutes of reading with light back rubbing, and a fight over that squirrel night light, then yes, they went down easy.”

“Thank you for the peace and quiet. Sincerely.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

“Any more thought on what to name bubba here?”

Y/N caressed her belly protectively searching for catchy names.

“What about… Henry?”

Sure enough, Y/N nodded liking the ring of it; “Henry Syverson. Sounds pretty awesome if I do say so myself.”

He held her jaw lightly guiding her to face him admiring the sparkle in her eyes.

“Well cowgirl, I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I can’t believe we’re about to be outnumbered.”

Her pulse accelerated at the terrifying notion alone but Sy remained calm, cool, and collected.

“Y/N, we’ve got this. You and me, together. We’ve mastered two already, what’s one more?”

Her newfound nerves evaporated. Y/N squirmed trying to stretch her sleepy bones. A sensational moan flowed from his lips. So, Y/N repeated her previous movement wiggling her hips for full effect.

“Darlin, that feels fucking fantastic.”

“Mmm, yeah?

Taking charge Y/N kissed him sliding her tongue along his lower lip. With every passing second the intensity skyrocketed; Y/N passionately kissed him. Syverson devoured her like a man starved deepening the connection. Breathy pants circulated around the air. Before Sy could enunciate another vowel, his zipper was down and Y/N palming his hardening dick. He was damn glad he married a minx. His head back launched against the cushion at the sensation coursing through his veins. Y/N made quick work unbuttoning his pant clasp tugging the offensive material below his knees.

Sy’s fingers danced over her hips clutching at the sheer nightie. Silently taking his cue, Y/N raised to her knees giving him full access. Sy didn’t hesitate ripping the material watching her round breasts shimmer underneath the moonlight.

“God baby. You are gorgeous.”

“And to think you almost passed all this up.”

His laugh was hesitant thinking back on his former idiotic actions. Y/N allowed him a couple seconds of consolation before snapping him out of his self-hatred inner monologue. Her hand gripped his chin forcing his gaze; “Don’t do that, honey. Our past is what saved us. You are the only man for me.”

He plunged two fingers into her soaked pussy jolting her system. Her hips moved as Y/N fucked herself atop him. Sy watched on in awe basking in marvel.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I gotta be inside you. Now.” Choking out the final word Sy knew he wouldn’t last long at this rate. He teased her clit rubbing his bulging tip teasingly along her most sensitive part. Y/N slid down his thick cock relishing in his fullness.

Every push and pull succumbed to a harder thrust. Sy held on for dear life losing himself in her sweet essence. Fireworks sparked beneath her lids as Sy pulsated within her velvety walls. Underneath the stars, two lovers made love uninterrupted for as long as the darkness lingered. Two mind- blowing orgasms later, two lovers remained intertwined and imperfectly in love.

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“Mommy! Dada!”

Little feet pattered down the hallway nearing with every step. Y/N’s lids were sleep heavy enveloped by muscular arms.

“The rascals are awake and on the prowl.”

“Too awake. It’s Sunday! The day definition of rest.”

“Not when you have kids, hon.”

“Quick! Kiss me before the barge in.”

Sy leaned closer admiring his wife’s morning beauty sealing the deal. Milliseconds later their bedroom door burst open as two little people climbed the chest located at the foot of the bed. Grinning smiles in tow, Oliver and Luna snuggled towards their drowsy parents. Oliver landing atop Sy’s bare chest and Luna snuggled Y/N’s welcoming bosom.

“Mama! You pretty.”

Y/N grinned at her beautiful baby girl wondering just where the little baby she gave birth to went. Her heart ached wanting to memorize every last detail.

Sy’s booming bravado could awaken an entire hotel spinning her kids into endless giggles.

“Good morning my cubs!”

“Daddy, we’re not cubs!”

“To me you are.”

Y/N shot him a glare; Sy joined in breaking into a fit of laughter; “Who’s hungry?!”

“Me!”

“Me, me, daddy!”

Jumping up and down, they were ready to greet the day bushy-eyed and energetic. Momma was in serious need of a strong cup of peppermint tea.

“But first lemme kiss baby Hen.”

Too distracted by husband caressing her loving belly, Y/N sighed at the newly created nickname.

“Hen, huh?”

His magnetic eyes travelled to hers; “You like?”

“So much. But let’s address the real elephant in the room… What’s for breakfast?”

Oliver continued jumping as Luna squirmed in Sy’s strong arms.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Y/N feigned coyly suppressing her glee; “Hmm, I’m thinkin…...WAFFLES!!”

“My favvvvorite!!”

Shuffles of tiny feet waddled echoing down the hallway. Sy placed a loving kiss on her forehead; “Take your time sweetheart. I’ll watch the monsters.”

“You’re a godsend.”

“Only for my girl.”

Heavy footsteps followed suit. As much as Y/N treasured the last few months of pregnancy. With that being said she was more than ready to greet her bundle of joy. Out of nowhere a pain shot through her spine down to her pelvis knocking the wind from Y/N.

“Ouch...” She rubbed her stomach; “Hungry little man?”

Again, another kick radiated her body. Y/N ventured forward heading towards the loud noise coming from the kitchen.

Splash. Glancing down, Y/N noticed a puddle between her legs staring wide-eyed; “Shit, shit, shit!”

A dull ache riveted feeling overwhelming pressure on her uterus. Warm liquid dripped down her inner thighs. This could only mean one thing; show time.

“Sy!”

No response.

“Syverson! Get your cute butt up here! NOW.”

Sy magically appeared out of breath, concern written all over his face; “What? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

With her contraction temporarily paused her brain was able to formulate words; “I uh, believe my water just broke.”

“Holy shit.”

“Language, damnit!”

Sy threw her a stern spirited look; “Hi, Pot. I’m Kettle.”

“Hush it and make yourself useful. Suitcase is in the hall closet by the front door. I’m gonna grab my slippers. Meet you in a jiffy.”

An arm reached for Y/N; “Ah, ah. Not so fast. I moved them two days ago. I had this weird feeling buggin me and well, ya.”

Taking a deep hearty breath, Y/N collected her impulsive thoughts; “Okay, let’s’ get the littles buckled and do this, baby.”

“One sec.”

Locked in his hug, Sy wanted to remember every detail of Y/N, just like this, in the home they built and the family they were blessed with. Words were no longer necessary. But just as quickly, another wave of contractions hit Y/N sending her hurling over.

“Okay, moment over. Let’s get the show on the road.”

And just like that the once too painful burdens Syverson lugged with him the past years vanished never questioning his luck and life again eternally grateful to the woman who simply said I do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira @cap-barnes @henryfanfics101 @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos @justaboringadult @peakygroupie @nalathefirefly @vikingsbifrost @bloodyinspiredfuck @moderapoppins @cooldiva1234 @icedcoffeeismythang @titty-teetee @summersong69 @kaatelyyynn @missursulacalmet @michelehansel @iloveyouyen @shyshu @star017 @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83 @starrynite7114 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @i-love-scott-mccall @darkbooksarwin @ellieseymour70 @designerwriterchic @studywithrosie01 @dangerouslovefanfic @lebguardians @crazybutconfidentaf @hen-cavill @cavill-sass @oh-for-fic-sake @icedbottles @buckysgoldenheart @brexrif @gryffindorwriter @laketaj24 @foxyjwls007 @lawsofthejungle @henrycavillfanpage @kaboogie21 @fangirl199812 @gothicninibalor @qualitynightkoala @strictlybuckybarnes @toomanyfandomsshreya @hersilencescreams-blog @viking-raider @sesamepancakes @madbaddic7ed @fuckoffbard @funfickgirl22 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @hoeforhenry @henrycavills-babe @abschaffer2 @loving-this @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs @lovelycavills @beck07990 @bokillylovesloki @michelehansel @lharrietg

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x y/n #captain syverson x y/n #my writing #goodbye #henry cavill fluff #cpt sy #syverson #bernie sanders #netflix #captain sy #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill drabble

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stusbunker · 3 years

Text

AGA: Word to the Wise

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Denny AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, past Dean/Jo

Other characters: Sam, Bobby, Cas, Mick, Ash, Jo

Word Count: 3000 (whoa)

A/N: Sam gets on Dean’s nerves and Dean ends up taking a late night detour. Big talks ahead.

Special thanks to my beta @cracksinthewalls who puts up with my whiny ass. Also grateful for @there-must-be-a-lock‘s insight.

The bowling league was in lean attendance due to a surprise snowstorm, but that didn’t keep Singers’ Slingers from mopping the floor with their competition. Dean ended on a spare in the last game, putting him just over his average for the night. State bowling wasn’t until spring, but if they kept up their momentum Dean was sure they could place well. And a weekend away would be a welcome break from his usual exhaustion.

Dean still owed Mick a rematch from last year’s trip. Mick drank him under the table and Dean didn’t want to lose two years running, he had a reputation to uphold afterall. Bartending had cut into his training time, among other things.

Ash was the first one to bow out for the night, knowing his side towing business would be busy with vehicles in ditches for however long the storm lasted. Cas bummed a ride with Mick, since his car had never done well in this weather and he was still dragging his feet on upgrading. Dean knew he had been hinting at shopping around, but Dean wasn’t going to push the topic and get dragged into helping or finagling with the salesman for the guy. Cas could figure it out on his own, and Dean was finally in a place where he felt comfortable letting him. Huh.

Sam had been quiet all night, but Dean hadn’t mentioned it, attributing the sour mood to post-break up blues. They bought Bobby his weekly drink, “team dues” as he called it and settled in along the bar.

Dean kept the conversation going, trying to keep the mood light, but Bobby was too tired to ham it up and Sam was not amused by his brother’s antics. Once Bobby polished off his last beer and headed home to Ellen, Dean was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, you know what, I’ll reel it in, don’t want to interrupt your sulking,” Dean muttered after another joke fell flat. Sam winced at Dean’s jab, which Dean instantly regretted. Though it did seem to shake Sam out of his funk, if minutely.

“So, tell me about Benny,” Sam brought up with elephantine grace.

Dean stared at Sam like he proclaimed he was quitting the law firm and joining the circus, coulrophobia and all.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“Nice segue there, counselor,” Dean grumbled. “What about him? Hmm, you want a new bowling bag? Because that was already on my list for you for Christmas.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do that. I mean, that’d be great, but no, I was kind of wondering what your deal was? Like do you hang out a lot?” Sam started fishing.

“Yeah, totally, everynight,” Dean deadpanned. “I mean I only work two jobs when I’m not moving your sorry ass back into Mom and Dad’s.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said, waiting to figure out where he was going with this line of questioning and just shot in the dark.

“What I’m trying to say is, is this, like, a Cas thing?” Sam choked out, unable to put it any more delicately.

Dean burned with shame as his hackles raised in defensiveness. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips, unamused and unimpressed. “You know what I mean, man. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Dean wouldn’t budge, he dropped his beer with a thud. “Well, you’re gonna have to, because I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dude!” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“The fuck is your problem? You got something to say, just say it, Sam.” Dean fumed, daring him with a murderous glare. Sam inhaled pregnantly, face still inching towards bitch mode. Sam eyed the bartender who was trying not to listen and the late game bowlers who suddenly decided they could catch up lane side instead.

What Dean didn’t realize was that he needed Sam to say it. He yearned for it, for his truth to be spoken, and known without him having to say it himself.

“Look, I know this isn’t something we talk about. But, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Alright? In the beginning with Cas, it was like you were obsessed, man. And since he just always seemed to need something from you. I just want to make sure you’re not getting used, I guess,” Sam unraveled the heart of his concern without saying too much, which Dean was not expecting, at all.

Dumbfounded, Dean retreated, annoyance trumping any chance at relief.

“I think I can handle myself, thanks,” Dean spat. Petulantly, he took a sip from his beer, the cold glass solid in his hand, giving him something to clutch or even throw, if it came down to it.

“I didn’t say---,” Sam broke off. “Fine! You know what? You’re on your own. Just remember that I should have listened to you about Ruby and now I’m paying the price for my own stubbornness.”

Sam stood and reached for his money clip, tossing an extra five on the bar for the dramatics. He gave Dean one last chance to come clean, to own up to what they weren’t saying. Dean stared straight ahead, eyes unfocusing on the liquor labels behind the bar as if Sam had already left. So he did, just as he came: pissed and questioning his brother’s motives.

Dean didn’t go home after that. Instead he absently followed a plow down the main road until he happened upon a familiar turn off. Which he took slow and steady until it ended in a T. The little brick ranch at the end of the lane held a lot of memories. And it was more inviting than ever with its Christmas card perfection in the falling snow. Dean put the Impala in park and let the radio play, wishing he had a joint just for the sake of something to do.

He wasn’t there ten minutes before his phone rang, which he answered without processing the caller ID.

“You gonna come in or you just gonna sit out there feeling sorry for yourself?” Jo’s voice sliced across the line.

“Didn’t know if you were still up,” Dean bullshitted.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Backdoor’s open,” her unimpressed reply. She hung up before Dean could make up an excuse to leave. He slouched out of the car and trudged down the long country driveway. As soon as he had stomped the snow off his boots, Jo welcomed him in with a firm hug and an appraising glint in her eye.

“Thanks, it’s a real mess out there,” Dean explained.

Jo just shook her head at him. “How’d ya bowl?”

“619 series, finished strong in the last few frames,” Dean answered. “Were you at your folks?”

“Nah, just know it’s Wednesday night, which means the boys were at the alley,” Jo smirked as she reached atop her fridge for the good stuff.

She held up the whiskey in offering and Dean nodded, bending out of his coat. He slipped it over the back of a chair and settled in at the vintage kitchen table. She poured him a glass and watched as he inhaled the first round like he had been outside for hours and needed to fight off a much deeper chill.

“Well alright,” Jo resigned herself to playing shrink and poured Dean another drink. “So, what’s got you stuck in your head, hm?”

Dean weighed his head from side to side as he let the whiskey roll over his tongue. He never got far into a pouting session when Jo was around, but he also didn’t know which chamber of his heart he could stand to prop open for her inspection tonight.

“How’ve you been, Jo? You still schooling those truckers on taking care of their own rigs?” Dean sidestepped with ease.

“You know it,” Jo confirmed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t have to put another asshole in his place. Pays good, though.”

Jo had followed in Bobby’s footsteps and became a mechanic, but two Singers were already one too many for the shop and salvage yard. So she took her skills out to the interstate and made a name for herself as the only female diesel technician in four counties. Dean used to hate it when she would fix something faster than him, but it had been more than a decade since her skills had made him feel inferior. Dean knew Jo’d be his boss someday, but he wasn’t too worried about those far off futures; Bobby wouldn’t retire unless Ellen made him or killed him first.

“How’s Rufus holding up?” Jo teased, knowing her dad’s old friend was getting worse for the wear, much like John had.

“Stubborn, and as glib as ever. Good thing your dad rehired him, because he’s a bit too mouthy for most customers,” Dean admitted.

Jo hummed with nostalgia. “I gotta swing by and bug you guys sometime, but it just keeps getting busier.”

Dean sighed. “I hear that. What’s it been? Labor day? No. I haven’t even seen you since the Fourth. Christ!”

“Yeah, well, you’ll see me next week for Thanksgiving, don’t get too sentimental about it now,” Jo quipped. She took a short sip off the bottle as Dean swirled the last of his second helping.

“I’m seeing someone,” Dean staggered the words, like he wasn’t sure if their meanings and sounds fit together.

Jo sighed dramatically, “Finally, the truth is revealed! What’s up? She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“No.” Dean had to bite back his guffaw. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, then why the sad face? Not pulling a Ruby on ya, I hope?” Jo tested the waters.

“No, it’s--uh--- it’s been good. Really good. I just, kind of need to make up my mind if I’m in it for the long haul. Ya know?” Dean clarified, relaxing with each little confession.

“Uh-oh it’s getting serious,” Jo mock whispered.

Dean rolled his shoulders. “No, well, it could be. I don’t know.”

Jo giggled. “I can’t believe you! You’re fucking twitterpated, aren’t you?!”

“Jo, if you start making Thumper jokes, I’m shutting up right now,” Dean warned with a pointed finger. “Care to top me off while you’re at it?”

“Okay, okay, gosh.” Jo rolled her eyes dramatically as she poured him another drink before pointedly putting it back on the fridge. “But you’re in deep. You’re all blushy about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go big. It just means they’re willing to put up with me until I say the word,” Dean tried to downplay his feelings and Benny’s confession.

“So do it! Bust out the grand gestures already,” Jo encouraged.

Dean scoffed, “I’m not built for commitment, you know that!”

“Except you kinda are! You’ve changed, Dean,” Jo insisted, head hung to pour her honesty from her eyes. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not that reckless boy that I knew. You’ve always been a good guy, but now?---- Maybe it’s been since Sam came home, I don’t know. But somewhere along the way you grew up.---- It’s okay to let yourself want something more, you know.”

Dean grumbled and rolled his neck, breaking the eye contact. She always could do this to him, just like her mother, see straight through his every defense. “I always thought it’d be you, you know?”

Jo smiled without teeth. “Firsts can do that to people. But, we’re not those kids anymore, Dean. So, if you’re asking for my permission or seeking my approval---?”

Dean dropped his head to his hands, thick fingers poorly hiding him from Jo. “It’s a guy, Jo. I’m--- I don’t know--- Bi? I guess?”

“Dean?” Jo waited until he stopped being sheepish and looked at her, even if it was only out of the corner of one eye. “You’ve been head over heels for Cas for years. If you dare tell me this is about him, so help me, I will throw you out right now.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh ruefully at that and toss back what was left of his whiskey. “You saw that, huh?”

She didn’t answer, waiting for him to work through it on his own.

“It’s not Cas.” Dean smacked his lips and held up his glass for a refill. Jo stood and brought the bottle back to the table. Dean poured himself three fingers worth and pondered the sloshing liquid before he continued. “Your mom know?”

Jo licked her lips, cocked her head, and sighed.

Dean closed his eyes and asked, “Bobby? Fuck!--- my mom?!”

“No one has ever said it out loud, Dean. I don’t know who knows, honestly. But we’re family, that doesn’t change.” Jo grasped his wrist firmly, he held her hand to his and then she slapped her other one on top. Time stopped long enough for Dean to accept that his secret was finally out, but also that it was safe.

“I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you, of all people.” Dean thumbed her knuckles, staring into eyes he knew as well as his own.

“Really? Who else would you be talking to about it? Sam? Ash, maybe?” Jo giggled. “I’m honored, actually. It means you stopped hating me.”

Dean pulled his hands away and took another drink. “I never hated you.”

“Okay, well, maybe it means you stopped hating yourself,” Jo corrected.

Dean’s brows crooked incredulously.

“Too much?” Jo asked apologetically.

Dean shook his head and sighed. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Now you’re the one being rude,” Jo muttered before taking a solid drink off the bottle this time.

Dean let himself relax, let the whiskey and conversation work into his muscles and set his worries aside. They talked like the old days and about the old days. Those in between years after high school and before anyone was ready to face responsibility. When half their friends went to college, they had just kept on working. After another hour, Jo leaned back in her chair and started scrutinizing him once again.

“You know how I know you’re happy with what’s his name?” Jo teased.

“Beh--- I didn’t tell you, fuck! Benny, his name is Benny. Goddamnit Joanna Beth,” Dean cursed through a chuckle; more details dragged out of him than he had planned on.

Jo cocked her head and considered the name.“Benny, right. You wanna know how I know?” Jo pushed.

“Fine, how?” Dean held up his hand, beckoning for her to hit him with her response.

“Because this is about the time of night you start giving me the lazy once over. But not tonight,” Jo proclaimed, chin out condescendingly. She had him, every few years they’d find themselves back in each other’s beds, for a night or a weekend and then they’d move on. He always thought of her as his home, his starting point. But maybe they weren’t the same thing at all.

“You still look good, Jo,” Dean replied, trying to save face.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean. Besides, I know!” Jo snarked, straightening her spine and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore and it spilled out over a toothy grin, making Jo almost choke on her drink. God, Dean felt like anything was possible. That life was good.

After the hysterics had calmed down, Dean exhaled. “Thanks, Jo. I needed this.”

“You sure did, nobody else was gonna hand you your ass so kindly,” Jo agreed, standing and taking the bottle and Dean’s glass with her to the counter that held the sink. He whined comically, but knew her timing was right. She leaned back and smirked.

Dean grew quiet and Jo waited to see if it was exhaustion, the alcohol or something else. She didn’t have long to prepare.

“How’m I gonna tell my dad?” Dean asked, the pain and panic pulling at his face until she saw the telltale tears well up.

“Fuck ‘im. I mean it, if your dad can’t get his head out of his ass to see how happy you are, he isn’t worth your time,” Jo said adamantly.

Dean let his thoughts roll to the side of his head and licked his lips, biting against the tremor. He quickly wiped away the tears that escaped and inhaled wet and ragged. Jo slipped to his side and ran her hand through his hair, letting his face fall against her chest as he breathed through the onslaught. Dean couldn’t help but think how motherly the affection felt.

She pulled back to look him over at arms’ length.

“So what now? You want the couch? Or should I call you a ride? I’m sure Sam owes you one,” Jo asked, as no nonsense as ever.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean dismissed her concern, rubbing up his face to wipe off his nose.

“Well, you ain't driving.” Jo held up his keys. Dean blanched, feeling his pockets for them, fruitlessly. He stood to snatch them, but she had already skipped across the kitchen, too far to catch. “Nuh-uh, no way I’m letting you risk your baby. Or your thick skull in this weather.”

Dean put his hands on his hips, and blinked through the dizziness. He realized he hadn’t stood in a few hours. “Sam.”

“What’s that?” Jo prodded mischievously, ear leaning in as if she couldn’t hear him.

“Very funny. Call Sam, will ya?” Dean rolled his eyes as she scrolled through her contacts, murmuring the names under her breath. His keys were raised in victory, as if he couldn’t reach them above her head. He could have snagged them in an instant, if he wanted to.

While Jo woke Sam, Dean checked his own phone. Ignoring some texts from his mom and Cas, he selected the conversation with Benny. There were no new messages since that morning. Dean hesitated before relocking his screen.

“Sam’ll be here in twenty. You want something to eat? I’ve got chips.” Jo offered, opening the cupboard.

Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @fookinghelljensensthighs @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary @itmighthavebeenintentional @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6 @cracksinthewalls @atc74

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#A Gentlemen's Agreement #Dean Winchester Fanfiction #dean/benny #dean x benny #bi!dean #coming out #aga: word to the wise #dean winchester/benny lafitte #dean/jo #sam's trying he really is #stubborn dean

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margoshansons · 4 years

Text

Desperate Measures: 18/?

MASTERLIST

Summary: Y/N comes back to camp, where several people are waiting to welcome her. But she can’t stay long, especially with Finn and Murphy out there. Bellamy doesn’t take too kindly to a figure from Y/N’s past.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of a massacre, swearing, guns, death.

Notes: MY BOY DESERVES FUCKING BETTER JROTH! Anyway, I decided y’all needed some healing after that last episode so please enjoy this long chapter filled with plenty of Bellamy/YN.

If any of you guys ever need to talk about 7x13 and what happened, I’m always here for you. Based on 2x05 “Human Trials”

***

Her breath threatened to betray how strained she felt from the walk to Factory Station and back. She clutched Monroe closer to her. The two women, suffering from similar wounds, leaning on each other for support as they struggled to cross the last few meters.

Her side split in pain, legs buckling underneath the weight of Monroe on her shoulders. She thought she could feel the stitches in her leg come undone.

“They’re back!” Someone shouted as they collapsed against the grassy fields, Octavia relieving the weight by taking Monroe off her hands. Y/N raised herself up, leaning against Bellamy for support.

“I’ve got you sparky.” He whispered, a reassuring smile on his face. Y/N couldn’t find it in her to berate him about the nickname. Her energy cells were depleted, and her leg was ready to bust open. “You’re going to be okay,”

Her balance was thrown off by a body colliding into her, disbelief erupting in her body as she removed her arms from Bellamy’s neck to her long lost friend. The blonde curls impedeing her vision confirmed her theory. Clarke was home.

Clarke was safe.

“You’re okay” She murmured through tears threatening to escape her, voice breaking, “You’re alive.”

She felt Clarke’s smile against her shoulder, “I thought I’d never see you again,” The blonde murmured, tightening her embrace, not ready to let go.

“Neither did I.”

When the two women let go, Clarke shared another tight embrace with Bellamy and Y/N felt herself almost plowed over by another body colliding with hers.

“Holy shit you’re actually alive,”

Her heart almost stopped when she heard the voice in her ear, hands running through the dirty blonde waves that had once been so familiar to her.

She pulled away, unable to believe who she was seeing. “Kyle?” Her voice broke as she said his name for the first time since solitary.

“Hey Sparky,” Wick’s eyes glazed over before pulling her back in for a hug, arms tightening once again around her waist as she buried her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his familiar frame, “I missed you,” He whispered in her hair.

She pushed herself away, wrestling herself out of his stupidly strong grip. “Hey,” she spoke through unshed tears, voice thick with emotion, “Feelings are dumb remember?”

He let out a chuckle and she forgot how much she missed hearing him laugh. “Right,” Wick replied, pulling her inward toward his side, “Feelings are stupid.”

She let out a similar chuckle before a cough threw them out of their reunion. Y/N locked eyes with Bellamy, her throat constricting as nerves jumped upward at the thought of them meeting. This was going to be awkward.

***

Bellamy curled his lips at the sight of the taller guy holding Y/N so close to him, and he didn’t really like the anger stirring within his stomach as he caught the looks they gave each other.

Not that he had any claim over her, but he thought they were headed toward something at least.

“Who’s this?” He asked, trying to keep the irritation from leaking through his voice.

Y/n swallowed before plastering a bright smile on her face, “This is Wick, he was my partner in engineering on the Ark.”

“In more ways than one.” Wick remarked, garnering a playful snort and a smack across the chest from Y/N.

Bellamy nodded, hoping the white hot rage deep in his gut wasn’t visible to everyone the way he thought it was. What the hell did he mean? Who was he to talk about her that way?

“Anyways,” Y/N continued, gesturing toward him, “This is Bellamy, he’s my…”

He swallowed as she creased her eyebrows, struggling to find a way to define their relationship. “He’s my co-leader.” She settled on, and he tried to ignore the way his shoulders seemed to deflate at the sound of the term. He had hoped they were something more.

He wanted to be something more.

Didn’t she?

“Nice to meet you man.” Wick offered his hand out, which Bellamy took for the sake of being polite. “Y/N’s told me all about you, you know before Councilor Sydney went all batshit and crashed the exodus ship.”

“Wait?” Y/N asked, “That was her? That makes so much more sense.”

Wick nodded, wanting to continue talking. Bellamy was grateful for Clarke’s interjection.

“We can play catch-up later” She announced, turning back toward Bellamy and Octavia, “Where’s Finn?”

He saw the hope in her eyes die as Bellamy uttered those three words. “Looking for you.”

Clarke stepped back, ready to launch into a series of questions about what had transpired until a gasp of pain coming from Y/N’s mouth tore them from their conversation.

“Y/N?” Wick’s trembling voice came from Bellamy’s side, the two boys rushing forward to catch her as her leg buckled “Hey, Sparky can you hear me?” Bellamy shoved down his irritation at the use of the nickname and focused on Y/N’s smaller frame.

“Come on,” He urged, pulling her into his side, her head resting on his shoulder, almost fading out of consciousness from how hard she had walked. His breathing increased rapidly, heartbeat pounding against his ribs as they made their way to the med tent, Bellamy’s gaze never leaving hers.

If they had he would’ve caught the look of realization crossing Clarke and Wick’s faces.

***

For the first time in a very long time, Y/N actually felt somewhat normal. Her leg was hardly bothering her anymore and she could actually move it without worrying too much about any extra pain.

“Hey Sparky,” A familiar voice called beside her, and she smiled in relief as she realized that her reunion with Wick hadn’t been a dream.

“Hey Kyle,” She moaned as she pulled herself up, the lack of sleep over the past few days finally catching up to her. “Where’s everybody?” She asked through a yawn as she gazed around the medical walls surrounding her. She drew her eyes to the gaping hole in her jeans as she ran her fingers down the perfectly neat stitches, the other hand embracing Kyle’s. “How did I get here?”

“Bellamy Blake,” Wick responded, the slightest smirk on his face as he leaned back, releasing his grip on her hand, “You know I think he really cares about you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shifting her weight so her legs hung off the table, ready to jump to the ground. “I’m not doing this now.”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted me to come down to help with this situation.” Wick brought up, and she groaned, her feet slapping the floor as she remembered their conversation from long ago.

“I hate that you remembered that.” She uttered, able to walk better than usual. Her eyes glanced around until they fell on a pile of clothes not that far away.

Wick stood up to follow her, “I remember a lot of things, like how Jackson said that you shouldn’t spend anymore time on that leg until it’s fully healed.”

Y/N scoffed, ripping off her tank to replace it with a grey thermal from the pile. Wick’s eyes lingered on her torso, eyebrows shooting themselves up into an arch.

“You gonna stop staring or do I have to close that mouth of yours myself?” She teased, the familiar flirtation sending something uncomfortable ripping through her.

She hated this feeling.

She hated the fact that even having Wick here was bringing these memories back.

She hated that it wasn’t Bellamy she was trading innuendos with.

Y/N ignored the smirk spreading across Kyle’s face as he leaned back, “You were the one who broke things off, so just remember that when you want some of this.” He defended, gesturing to his body.

She threw her head back and cackled, the sound freeing her from some of the responsibility she had been shouldering since she came down.

It was true what they said.

Laughter really was the best medicine.

“You come all this way to try and rekindle something Wick?” She used his last name, knowing it was less intimate. First names meant something to them, they didn’t just throw it around because they could.

“Actually I’m here to check on you,” His eyes flickered to her bare legs as she pulled on a new pair of jeans, lacing up her boots as she turned to face him. “And to tell you that your friends are planning on going after the two you left behind.”

Finn and Murphy.

They were still out there and Clarke was back home.

As if sensing her confusion, Wick continued to explain, “The council’s cutting them loose, Raven and I are helping you guys sneak out.”

Y/N bit her cheek mirthlessly, “Great, when do we leave?”

The medical flap opened, revealing Raven standing there with a brace surrounding her bum leg, a duffel bag of rifles around her shoulder as she handed Y/N a pistol. “Now.”

***

Bellamy failed to hide his surprise upon meeting Raven and Y/N at the electric fence, the latter in fresh clothes with a pistol strapped to her side.

“I don’t like you coming with us.” He muttered, shifting his gaze between the two women.

“It’s a shame I don’t listen to you then.” She smirked, handing him a rifle as the pitter patter of footsteps rounded the corner.

Clarke smiled at the two of them, “Nice to see that not everything has changed.”

Bellamy scoffed, hiding the pleasure he felt at the idea of Y/N accompanying them on their journey. He liked her company, and he knew Clarke wouldn’t leave without several stashes of gauze and painkillers on her.

Octavia’s wild braids made an appearance and determination crossed her face. “I’m not letting you leave here without me.”

“Octavia--” Y/N moved before getting cut off by the other girl.

“Finn and Murphy are headed for Lincoln’s village,” She brought up, the argument clearly practiced, “I’ve been there, have you? Have they?” She threw a pointed look at Bellamy and Clarke before Y/N pulled out a pack.

“I was going to say I know.” She smirked, the two girls sharing a smile before Octavia moved forward.

“Whoa,” Raven drew her cane in front of his sister, “Not so fast Pocahontas.” Her cane touched the fence, electricity sparking and crackling as the five of them jumped back.

“I thought you said it was handled,” Bellamy growled.

“It is” Y/N spoke up, raising a radio to her mouth uttering three simple words. “Shut it down Wick.”

She handed the radio to Raven, and Bellamy once again tried to get a hold on the anger raging inside him at the thought of Y/N and Wick spending time together while he was out petitioning to save their friends.

He hadn’t been there for her. Not like Bellamy had,

The next time the cane touched the fence, nothing happened. And he supposed he had Wick to thank for that.

He sighed as they snuck out, barely catching the look Clarke gave him and Y/N as they shuffled forward behind Octavia, footsteps matching each other.

***

Bellamy shifted uncomfortably on the log, eyes locking onto Octavia’s sleeping frame, a small tug at his lips recalling everything the two had been through. Clarke slept a few beats away, curled up next to the flames, blonde hair splayed out on the grass beside him. He was grateful to have her back. Having her around made things so much easier.

When his eyes flitted to Y/N’s blanket, he perked up in worry, the pack abandoned on the forest floor as he looked around, searching anxiously for his co-leader, his friend, his...something.

“Relax,” Her soft voice answered, footsteps settling next to him before she sat down next to him, her body warming him more than any fire ever could. “I was just scouting the area,” She waved her pistol before holstering it in her pants like he once did, letting him know that she was armed and ready to defend herself.

He let out a sigh of relief before turning his gaze beside him, eyes scanning her illuminated features. She stared out at the fire before him, ponytail drifting over her shoulders as she leaned forward, elbows against her knees.

“Did you mean what you said?” He swallowed his nerves, ready to get an answer to the question that had been plaguing him since the day she got shot. “Back at the dropship, before we got seperated. Did you have feelings for me?”

He watched her shoulders tense at the question, and he knew he had taken it a step too far. They were in the middle of a war, they shouldn’t be talking about this. They shouldn’t be focusing on this, but he needed to know.

“Yes.” She breathed, eyes flickering to his mouth, “I do have feelings for you. Murphy was right.”

His chest exploded at the confirmation, nerves evaporating into relief as it pumped through his veins.

“That’s a relief.” He joked to ease the tension, “I was afraid I had to beat Murphy if it wasn’t true.” She chuckled, the hushed laughter sending his chest pounding with pride. “Maybe I’ll beat him anyway.” He continued, his lips tugging involuntarily. “Just for kicks.”

“You should cut him some slack,” Y/N spoke up, surprising both of them before letting out a yawn “Even he and I have something in common.”

It was Bellamy’s turn to chuckle, “You should get some sleep,” He brushed a piece of hair that had fallen loose aside, pushing it behind her ear as he examined her beautiful face again, the touch sending shivers down his spine.

“So should you.” She pointed out, hands brushing themselves across the wrinkles in his forehead.

He couldn’t keep the adoring smile off his face, wanting nothing more than to press his lips against hers right then and there, to take her in his arms and forget the rest of the world existed. She made him want to be better.

She made him want to live.

“I’ll sleep when we find Finn,” He said, shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind as he remembered his own reality. “I knew what they were capable of, and I let him and Murphy leave with two automatic rifles.”

“We let them leave.” Y/N reminded him, grasping his hand in hers, drawing his gaze toward her intertwined digits. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

His gaze moved up her arm, meeting her exposed neck until it finally landed on her soft lips, and the desire to kiss her had never been greater until that moment.

It seemed so perfect.

The gap was almost nonexistent.

Inching closer and closer--

“I’m sure it was just like the dropship,” Clarke’s trembling voice rang through the fire, tearing the two apart. “It had to be done.”

Bellamy nodded slightly before shifting his gaze to the fire, one final question lingering on his mind. “How long until chocolate cake turns into being hung upside down and drained for their blood?” His voice shook, as if he couldn’t handle the truth. As if one wrong move would topple him.

“I don’t know” Clarke admitted, sitting up, “But we don’t have much time.”

Y/N nodded with him, “First we find Finn,” She chimed in, “And then we rescue our friends in Mount Weather.”

“And Lincoln.” Octavia announced, everyone finally awake. “Think we’ve slept long enough.” The rest of the group agreed.

“I’ll go find us some water to extinguish the fire.” Y/N announced, tearing herself out of Bellamy’s grasp to enter the darkened forest.

“She’s good for you Bellamy.” Clarke told him as soon as Y/N was out of earshot.

Bellamy nodded, ‘She’s good for all of us.” He said instead, ignoring the knowing look on Clarke’s face. “I don’t think any of us would’ve survived if she hadn’t been on that dropship.”

“You got that right.” Octavia snickered, a soft smile on her face as she caught the look in her brother’s eyes. “We got lucky.” She said.

Bellamy nodded, sending a look in the direction she had disappeared in. “Really lucky,” He murmured to himself.

***

“We’re almost there.” Octavia announced, continuing her way through the endless amounts of trees, “Once we reach the statue it’s only another kilometer or two.”

Y/N creased her eyebrows in confusion, she tilted her head as she linked eyes with Bellamy.

Statue?

Were there remnants of Old Earth that had survived the bombs?

Her question was answered once they stepped deep into a clearing, the dirt path stretching before them, but Y/N’s eyes were trained on a vine covered monument above her, a brief moment of awe crossing her face before a sob pulled her back to reality.

“The reapers came from there.” Octavia spoke, tears falling down her face, “I couldn’t save him Bell, I couldn’t save him.”

Bellamy pulled Octavia close, reassuring her that they would find Lincoln again and he would make sure of it. Y/N shuffled closer to Clarke, glad to have her with them as they traversed forward.

“I recognize this statue,” the blonde announced, “He was a great peacekeeper before the cataclysm.” Clarke and her stared up at the statue once again, letting Bellamy and Octavia have their moment. “I destroy my enemies by making them friends.” Clarke whispered, and Y/N tilted her head, not recognizing the quote. “It was quote of his. One that I think we need to implement.”

“How you reach the goal matters.” Y/N told herself, realizing what Clarke was hinting at, “You wanna seek peace with the grounders?” She asked, knowing it was the most logical conclusion.

Clarke nodded, “Their people are in the mountain too. We need--”

Shots rang out, pulling the foursome back to reality as they raced toward the village, hoping they weren’t too late.

They scrambled down the man-made path, dirt roads and statues forgotten as their eyes graced the horror awaiting them at the grounder village. A burnt farm crumbled at their side, blood poured onto the streets and a man with a face tattoo released a guttural scream to the sky.

They scrambled down the hill, and Y/N’s gaze went to Murphy, whose gun was slung behind him. She turned her eyes to Finn, smoke rising from the barrel of his rifle.

She leaned down next to Octavia, examining the warrior--no, the child bleeding onto the pavement beneath him.

Beside her, the sobbing man closed the child’s eyes whispering one phrase. “Yu gonplei ste odon*.”

Behind her, Finn’s crazed eyes were locked onto Clarke’s whispering a phrase of his own.

“I found you.”

***

That night her mind refused to sleep, replaying the massacre over and over, recalling the final words the man with the face tattoo had spoken to that child, the screams that followed. She couldn’t get them out of her head, and when she slept they only made things worse.

She wanted Miller here.

She wanted him to steal moonshine and tell her that things were going to be okay, to cheer her up with his awful jokes and play games together as they spilled secrets they wouldn’t whisper to anyone else.

Pulling herself out of bed, she shoved the flap of her tent open, wind rushing against her exposed legs, not caring about who saw her. His tent was close enough to hers.

No one would question it.

Especially what remained of the hundred.

Warm light flooded the room, almost blinding her as she stormed into Bellamy’s tent, the brunette rushing his hands through his hair. She suspected his mind was doing the same thing.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Was all he asked, eyes widening.

She shook her head and he gestured toward his own bed, she moved in next to him, the last of the oil in the lamp burning out as she pressed her body against his, relishing in the warmth they gave each other.

***

A/N: IT FINALLY HAPPENED!!!! Our babies are together at last! I debated about changing it so it happened much later, but after tonight I think we all could use some romance in our lives, especially with Bellamy Blake.

DM Taglist (closed): @chloe-skywalker @im-a-writer-right @clarkewithameme @shatteredlovesick @your-typical-giggle @rhyxn @amongthewildthingss @furiouspockettoad @niammain @cxddlyash @lena-davina @kaylinfayezink @gingerxarmy @super-marvel-dale @travelnottogoanywherebuttogo @nerdbookish @valeskasecco @strangerliaa @simsvetements @molethemollie @thebookisbtr @im-a-stranger-thing @jordangdelacruz @oopsiedoopsie23 @multifandombookstore @okj232 @asian-male-enthusiast @minigranger @jooheonbee @libraryoffandomsuniverse @pancakefancake @weird-pale-blonde-person

#the100fanfiction #the 100 imagines #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake imagines #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake #reader x bellamy blake #fic: desperate measures #series: desperate measures #otp: I need you to live #desperate measures #my fics #{FUCK JROTH}#{THAT SHIT DOES NOT FLY HERE NO SIR}

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darkhymns-fic · 3 years

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Grief and Love Shapes Us

When Kratos stays at Dirk's home, unable to follow the others to battle Mithos, he fully realizes the wisdom of the dwarf with the gentle hands of a craftsman - and Dirk is reminded how freeing it is to open one's heart.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Dirk/Kratos Aurion, Lloyd Irving Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: I was part of the Tales of Rarepairs event, arranged by @talesofexchanges! This was written for @theguineapig3! Thanks so much for this fun event. :D

“Already noticed the flowers wilting, haven’t ya?”

Ever since the man named Kratos visited his home, Dirk had already had his suspicions. The mercenary didn’t flinch, instead simply turning towards the dwarf who walked towards him and the gravestone. The white lilies on its well-tended grounds had already lost a few petals to the poor weather.

“Pardon me,” Kratos said, stepping back to allow the dwarf some room. “I did not mean to trespass onto your property like this.”

“Ah, maybe next time you’ll succeed in being a bit stealthier then.” Dirk gave a great grin as he said so, and the look of confusion that passed over Kratos’ face was so stark that it nearly made him laugh as well. But in just that particular shade of the moonlight, and the way it bounced off the man’s hair, Dirk could see those familiar features. Such details had grown under his eye for over a decade.

He replaced the flowers over the stone, feeling Kratos’ eyes track his every motion, a great weight felt within the silence paused between them.

“You knew the boy’s mother?” Kratos asked him, and in that tone, perhaps he hadn’t realized just how much he had revealed just then.

“For a short time – enough to give me her name and Lloyd’s.” Dirk stood back up, the dying flowers held in his thick hands, cradled carefully, for they still had their own uses in the garden. “All these years, I had a small worry if I had carved it correctly. Sometimes human names still go past me.”

A small thread through the night, seeking and gentle. Dirk only dared a brief glance towards Kratos before the human turned away, his steps as fleeting and light as a deer who had come upon something too close, much too close.

“It is,” Dirk heard. He let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding.

Perhaps from a certain standpoint, he could admit when one was being reckless. Lloyd had given him that depth of knowledge more than anyone else.

Kratos winced as he tried to move his leg, and from this other certain standpoint, he could see that it was a mistake. “Urgh…”

“What did I say about moving?” he heard echo from the hallway. Dirk opened the door to the room as he held a platter in his arms, with what looked to be a wooden bowl along with a mug of hot tea on its surface. “More likely to keep that leg splintered if you go rushing off.”

“I was doing no such thing,” Kratos argued, and wondered why he had to come off sounding like such a petulant child. “I was merely trying to get comfortable.” Another shift as the bed underneath him creaked. “I don’t think this bed suits my stature.”

“Aye, and it barely suits Lloyd either. Boy kept outgrowing how fast my hands could even build!”

Kratos leaned back, hitting his head smack dab in the center of the headboard where one potted plant was still placed. “I see…”

Though it was not only the bed, but everything else in this home that had been built by such steady hands, he realized.

This place was simply a wooden structure on the outskirts of Iselia, entrenched within a clearing in the woods, but it was only now that Kratos had ever truly gotten a view of what such a home was like. Where the sunlight pierced through the open balcony doors, where the leaves rustled during the night, like whispers in sleep.

It was oddly nice, to just sit here, in a simple place, and worry only about just how the sun would hit his eyes as he rested. That is, when he didn’t keep knocking over the plants that were next to him…

Luckily, his host paid no mind to such accidents, instead taking the wooden chair placed next to a work desk and bringing it closer to the bed. “This is no potluck surprise, but the broth should get rid of any chills you might be having.”

The scent of chicken and spices permeated the air, and somehow, it instantly made him more relaxed. Perhaps it was combination of the room he was in, along with the assortments of potted greenery. Dirk had insisted the man stay in this room, though he was worried as to how Lloyd would feel about such a thing.

“You know Lloyd would insist you rest up here too,” Dirk had told him once, right out of the blue. Kratos had not voiced such thoughts, yet the dwarf’s words gave him a relief he dared not even confirm. And perhaps, after giving Lloyd his sword, maybe his son would not mind him using the only bed in the home that was even close to holding his frame.

He brushed such things aside. Dirk was still holding the food, as patient as the ancient trees in the backyard.

“Thank you,” Kratos finally said. Sitting up was at least slightly less awkward then laying down, though he thought he felt his back creak from the effort. The dwarf placed the platter over his legs, not disturbing even a fraction of the hot liquids in their respective containers. Once again, the scent seemed to instantly relax him.

Kratos reached for the bowl of soup – but Dirk got to it before he could.

Confusion was plain on his features until he saw the dwarf dip a polished wooden spoon into the broth, then bring it near his face. “Careful, blow on it first.”

Oh, he was not this bedbound though…

“I promise you, I can feed myself quite well,” he argued, trying to sit up straight and ignore the fact that his legs nearly shifted the tray a few inches too far to the right. “It is only my leg that is injured, not my arms.”

Dirk chuckled. “Ah, can’t even spoil an old dwarf, can ye?” But the dwarf conceded, placing the spoon back into the brothy depths. “Just brought old memories of when Lloyd would be sick as well.”

Kratos could not completely curb the mixture of both jealousy and embarrassment in his mind, and cleared his throat well before he spoke again. “I am not so grievously ill, mind you. Simply a tenacious injury…”

“Brought on by my son,” Dirk finished. “It’s not surprising. That boy will never know when to give up. He once insisted on doing all of my woodcutting when I was finishing up a job for a client.” The dwarf shook his head, but laughed at the memory that only he could see. “Even I was surprised he was able to do all of it! Though he was foolish to not wear his work gloves during that time.”

Kratos listened aptly to such a story, questions rising in his head all the sudden. How old was Lloyd then? Had he stopped asking about his parents? Had he learned to call Dirk his father so readily?

But he didn’t, simply nodding. “Then it was a very good ideal you’ve taught him.” Though still, his leg was quite stiff, and the sword that had cut such a wound on him had been done so expertly. Had it been Lloyd’s skill? Or the power of his special Exsphere? Even now, Kratos still wondered… and then such thoughts fell away once Dirk cleared his throat.

“I taught him another ideal that I think you should be learning yourself.” He gestured at the tray still over Kratos’ legs. “Eat up and be well-rested.”

Ah, to be chided by another adult was quite embarrassing. But few times had Kratos felt so caught off-guard, and all by a dwarf’s well-meaning words and a smile that could only barely be seen through a thick beard.

“I will. I just-” But even the simple act of reaching for the spoon seemed to be a monumental task. The stiffness from his leg seemed to travel up his side, to grasp at his shoulders and make his fingers twitch. He groaned, exerting all he could to keep his body in place and not knock over the tray to the ground.

It made such little sense to him. He had only been injured at the calf. Why was his whole body betraying him like this? Another shift, and the mug upturned, spilling tea all over the tray. “Damn…”

But Dirk was quick, belied by his stature. A towel was already in hand as he went to pat away the liquid before it could trickle onto the bed. The mug was already in his right hand as he took it away. “There, no harm done. Even if the tea had spilled further, ya wouldn’t have been burned. No use brewing a cup that ya can’t even drink.”

Kratos said nothing at first, shame keeping him bound before it was enough. “Forgive me. It seems I’m more injured than I thought.”

“Luckily one of us is the better thinker here then,” Dirk chided, but with another smile thrown his way. “This is what happens when you try to go it alone, you know.”

The words flew over Kratos’ head so swiftly, that he could feel their metaphorical flightpath just through his hair. “I don’t follow…”

“Let me put it another way then.” Dirk placed the now clean mug on the work desk. There were the leavings of a tools over its surface; a box full of jewelry parts, a discarded chain, and half-cut gems, as if their crafter had been in a rush to leave, forgetful in putting them away properly. “Why do you think Lloyd was able to defeat you?”

Whether Dirk was asking him such a thing to humor the dwarf, or if there were any true wisdom here, Kratos couldn’t decipher. That, and he was still feeling rather exhausted. “Because… he has grown strong.”

Dirk shrugged. “Aye, you’re not wrong. But it’s not only that.” The dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow at him. “Come now! Isn’t it something you’ve taught Lloyd yourself?”

How lost Kratos was. Or maybe it was the way the dwarf was positioned, his broad arms crossed over his chest, sitting up straight and looking as thick as a mountain where not even the most furious Desian could throw him down. Perhaps, he was distracted by that gentle air of dignity then anything else.

“The lad would complain about that to me when he would come home.” Dirk then uncrossed one arm to clap the man’s shoulder with a rough pat. “Don’t overdo it.”

Of course Lloyd would vent about such a comment. Kratos sighed. “I only said such things so that he would be more careful…”

“And since when does such comments not apply to yerself?” Dirk shook his head, but with a familiar motion, with a wisdom that Kratos had eluded for thousands of years. “You have been going through so much alone. It is too much for just one man to bear. But Lloyd is smart enough to know that you need more than just yourself to get through life.”

Being rendered speechless was a bit of an understatement, yet Kratos couldn’t deny the truth ringing through Dirk’s voice. “I had no choice,” he excused.

“As I said before, Kratos, your determination is admirable.” The dwarf sighed, placing his hands on his knees. “But, that is why I have said ever since you’ve arrived, you must rest, and you must rest well.”

It was difficult to argue against. It wasn’t only the injury keeping him bound, he knew though he tried to deny, but of bone-wearying fatigue that had been weeks in the making. Of long days and nights searching for the materials to craft an ancient ring, of careful wording in his throat to avoid the suspicion of Mithos, of Lloyd, of everyone else. He had traveled to both worlds more than he had ever done in the last four millennia.

He was tired. So very tired.

Perhaps if Kratos hadn’t shed all his tears on that night over a decade ago, he would have done so now. But he felt Dirk’s gentle gaze, felt no judgement in them, despite everything that had occurred. He stared at the breakfast tray and at the soup that was no doubt growing cold. “It is a beautiful place you have here.”

He could hear the dwarf’s smile in his tone. “I put much pride into my work. When Lloyd finally settles to make that boat of his, I said I would help him with it.”

So he knew of that dream as well? Of course he would, for he was Lloyd’s true father. Even as he felt envy at that, he felt relief as well. “I will look forward to when it is complete then.”

“Ah, enough about that. Now will ya be finally eating or what?”

“Well, of course,” Kratos said, but how could he exactly? His hands still shook a bit.

He already predicted the answer before Dirk reached for the spoon once again, taking it in rock-steady hands.

The dwarf’s grin could be seen through his beard. “I promise ya, I have many years of experience.”

“I don’t doubt that…” Kratos said with defeat. “Don’t I still need to blow on it?”

“Of course. Unless you’re asking me to do it.”

Something about the image flustered Kratos just a tad. “No, no, I can…at least handle this.” Must I really be treated like a child?

But once Kratos finally conceded, it hadn’t truly been the worst. Despite still being a head shorter than him, Dirk held the spoon at perfect level each time it was brought to his mouth. The soup was only slightly less hot, warming him enough to make him feel sleepy. Or was it all of his years, catching up to him finally, after living for much, much too long?

Maybe Dirk had advice for such a thing, being long-lived himself. But it would be much too silly to ask.

“Good, ya even finished the whole thing!” Dirk spoke with pride as he placed the spoon in the empty bowl. “Now I can see where Lloyd gets it from.”

“I normally don’t eat so quickly…” Though that was all that Kratos would argue about, also a bit surprised at how famished he had been.

Then, something unexpected. He felt Dirk’s hand brush through his hair, firm but gentle. The slight pull relieved the tension in his skull, and the warmth he felt from such fingers made him lose his train of thought for an impactful moment.

He caught the rare flash of surprise on the dwarf’s face before the hand left him. “Ah, sorry about that,” he apologized with a soft chuckle, the kind that reminded Kratos of the distant boom of thunder from a short summer storm. “Old habits. Always gave Lloyd a pat on the head for finishing his meal.”

That would explain his appetite, but Kratos kept that to himself, not out of any worries. More so because he was still trying to process the feel of Dirk’s callused palm over his skin. “Think nothing of it. Thank you.” He cleared his throat, watching as the dwarf took the tray and mug, and left the room, keeping the door half-open in case the man needed to call out to him as he worked.

And yet…how could one man tell another that a touch from him made him feel oddly comforted? Kratos fell asleep with such a question held inside his heart.

Dirk had always felt more at ease with his hands, aged as they were. From forging broadswords to carving out the ancient runic structures on metal, he had kept them steady. So, of course, holding a spoon to feed another was simple to him.

Yet Kratos’ eyes had been very distracting.

Ah, but he was being foolish, and it was always said that dwarves such as he, of those who favored wood over iron (despite how well he handled both) were of the gentler sort. Or perhaps he needed to be, to care for a human child he had found hidden within the protective curl of an injured creature. One’s nature can always shift, always grow.

After washing the bowl and mug, Dirk went on to continue with his chores. The logs out in back still needed cutting, and Noishe’s stable also needed a bit of cleaning, with more fresh hay to give the poor whining dog a bit of comfort since Lloyd’s absence. After traveling as much as the he could with Lloyd, Noishe had finally reached a point where it would have been too dangerous for him to continue going.

That was what was Dirk’s home was filled with – two old men and a dog, who could only give Lloyd their best as he went forward on his journey. Yet still, was it not important to keep a home steady for when their son would return?

At that thought, Dirk paused in mid-action – a trowel in hand as he had been moving the soil from the garden that was at the front of his home. “Our son, huh,” he said, and true, Kratos was his father, and Dirk considered him a father to Lloyd in his own right. But hadn’t what he thought just now sounded as if they were married? Now, that was just silly.

It was almost too perfect when he heard the creak from the stairs inside the house, and the soft call that followed. “Dirk? Are you…?”

“Outside doing some gardening!” he boomed back, knowing that was more than enough for the man to hear. Though, he seemed to recall a story from Lloyd on how angels could hear much too well… Hopefully, he hadn’t just blown out the other’s eardrums just now.

Through the half-open door, Kratos appeared, walking with a slight limp, dressed in his shirt and trousers, his cape long discarded once he had stayed here. He gazed down at the dwarf doing just what he had said he was doing, so why the surprise on his face?

“Still not resting your leg, I see,” Dirk intoned with a smile. He was kneeling beside the garden bed, already abandoning the trowel to start using his gloved hands once the soil was loose enough. “You can’t rush yourself.”

He thought a caught a flush on Kratos’ cheeks, and the sight only made him smile more warmly, happy to have witnessed what he was sure was a rare sight. “My Exsphere heals my body more quickly than most. I am fine to walk for a little.”

“Got tired of being cramped on that bed?”

“…It is quite small for me.”

Dirk couldn’t resist a chuckle leaving him, but it felt good to have it bubble within his chest. The lilies in front of him stood out starkly against the dark soil, but some were entwined with the weeds that had snuck in and took root. Though it was more difficult than he expected, Dirk moved his focus from Kratos to the flowers that needed his care.

“There’s a small trail out in the back if you would like to get some fresh air. Monsters don’t come by at this part of the forest if you’re worried about such a thing.”

“I gathered it was more than safe here,” Kratos said, his gaze shifting to the trees and their outreaching boughs that just brushed against the rooftop. “Noishe wouldn’t be sleeping soundly otherwise.”

Another chuckle that was a bit harder than the last. “Ha! So you do have a sense of humor about you.”

The flush from Kratos was another reward on its own. “I didn’t really mean that as a joke…”

Dirk tried to refrain from teasing the man, but it proved to be too tempting. He still continued his work on the garden, dirt staining his elbow as he shifted plenty to get at a particularly stubborn weed – when he felt Kratos’ presence right next to him. This was followed by the man's knees creaking slightly from the strain.

"What have I said about pushing yourself?"

There was a pout – one that echoed such familiarity that Dirk already had another reprimand on his tongue. “I assure you I am feeling better. Besides, I am allowed to be curious.”

“Never weeded a garden before then?” Dirk chuckled. Gloved hands shoveled the dirt to get at the invasive little plants, their roots holding firm into the ground. “Even angels such as yourself must look at the earth every once in a while.”

“Well… my particular angelic role as kept me preoccupied.” A clearing of the throat as he looked at what Dirk was performing, fascinated by something as simple as gardening. “And even when I wasn’t one, I never found the window for such an opportunity.”

“A window? All ye need to do is look at the ground and start planting.” Dirk shook his head. Sometimes, humans still baffled him exceedingly. “No need to overcomplicate things.”

Kratos didn’t answer him. Instead, the man kept looking at the plants, eyes rapt on the lilies, petals hanging from the stem like arms reaching out.

“I would, like to help, if I may.” Kratos cleared his throat, looking as shy as if he were a child, caught in a secret he wasn’t sure if he should share. “These are for her, aren’t they?”

Dirk weighed on it, though it was not the answer he was pondering. He had already decided Kratos would help the moment the man had come outside, sensing his unspoken request. But with a nod, he then reached to grab a pair of gloves from his pockets and handed it to him.

“First, you must use the tools necessary. Calluses from sword work and from gardening are quite different.”

Kratos only hesitated a moment before he took them, and Dirk couldn’t help a strange sense of pride then. It was familiar again, this feeling of helping another. Lloyd had also been eager to try his hand at his work before boredom would strike him. Hopefully, Kratos would stay more invested.

“These dandelions are particularly nasty little things. Ya can only uproot them with your hands, and ya need to do so carefully. Already they’re trying to take up the other flowers’ space.”

“I see…” Kratos answered, as he tried to mimic what Dirk was doing but with halting motions. He grasped at one dandelion, the seeds already blowing and getting caught in his hair without him noticing. “It should be simple to-” He pulled, stopped, and creased his brows.

Dirk grinned. “Weeds stronger than an angel?”

“I am just… not at my full strength.” Another shift, but the roots stayed attached to the dirt. It was with a particular twist that Kratos finally got the dandelion out, more of the seeds floating away on the breeze. He half stumbled on his knees, but Dirk quickly reached out, grasping the man by the shoulders to keep him steady.

A pause, more than a few seconds of breathing, and then the dwarf reached out to brush the dandelion seeds out of Kratos’ hair, its auburn shade always echoing that familiarity.

“…Horticulture has never been one of my talents,” Kratos admitted, looking everywhere he could.

Dirk could only smile, feeling comforted at the shyness of it all. “Ya can be decent with some practice.”

Kratos did keep trying, rooting up the rest of the dandelions along with Dirk, and then following along as the dwarf took up a few pots to place some full-bloomed lilies within. He gave them to Kratos, no words exchanged, and gestured the swordsman to follow him to where the grave was. Noishe was already there, curled up around it, enjoying the heat of the sun beating over his fur.

Healing can take so much time, Dirk thought, watching Kratos place the flowers on the ground, watched the motions done so more easily, a calmness that had not been there before. But we all go at our own pace, don’t we?

It was at the age of ten that Lloyd had been the most mischievous he’d ever been, much to Dirk’s surprise.

By then, calling the dwarf his father was done so without any pause or hesitance, even when those in Iselia questioned so. It was with that same surety that he called Noishe his dog, the great creature three times larger than any dog that lived within the village, with fur as verdant as the hills they lived in.

But this was also when Lloyd had been more daring, sometimes sneaking the sacred Chosen away from her church lessons to play sword fights in the woods just outside of Iselia’s gates, or when he’d readily tell Dirk he had done all of his homework and then rush down the pathway towards Genis’ home to ask for help with such things. A time of evading chores, of staying up late to work at a project that took stock from the gems in Dirk’s workshop, or simply to seek out discoveries – for Lloyd, despite his energy, also got bored so very quickly.

That tendency to seek and disobey Dirk had seen in plain sight when he caught Lloyd in the dwarf’s room. It was a simple room, with just a bed, work boots placed to the side, and a cabinet off to the side with dwarven letters inscribed over its surface. Lloyd was holding precious papers in his hands, reading through them thoroughly as if suddenly he enjoyed the written word for the first time – all while the cabinet he had just lockpicked stood half open.

“Lloyd!” Dirk shouted, and all the papers went flying out of Lloyd’s hands, like a flock of birds heading towards the sunset.

“I-I didn’t do anything!” Lloyd swiveled around on his feet, half-leaning from a stumble he quickly saved himself from. “I was just… Um…”

The letters stayed uncrumpled at least. Dirk sighed, crossing his arms as he watched the boy fidget underneath his gaze, the scrape from an earlier tumble through the brush still plain on his face. The light from the gas lamp placed on the wall hook cast flickering shadows all around the room – his room. Not that Lloyd wasn’t allowed to be in it, but snooping around the corners was another matter entirely.

There were words that hovered on the dwarf’s tongue, ones that echoed for when Lloyd wouldn’t finish the vegetables off his plate, or when he didn’t wake up in time to get to school. But his eyes kept straying to the papers with their curved handwriting, the dates on them calling to his heart with a plethora of memories that felt as warm as the sunshine on his back when he cut the wood for the fireplace.

Dirk then bent down to pick up the papers, thumb lingering on a word he had brushed over by chance before reaching to another. Lloyd stood in silence, and that silence might as well have been as loud as the boy’s shouts when he’d practice his sword skills.

Then a small creak of the floorboards. Lloyd was on his knees, reaching for one paper that had slyly flew underneath the dwarf’s bed. “H-Here. Uh… sorry…”

Dirk gratefully took the letter from Lloyd, looking over the signature on the bottom with a fondness. He knew he should be disciplining Lloyd right now, but it was hard to do away with the smile.

“I’ve not seen these in several decades,” Dirk mused aloud, shaking his head. He slid the letter along with the rest. “It’s a wonder the parchment hasn’t turned to dust yet.”

He could tell that poor Lloyd was confused. Hands on his knees, he looked to the letters with the same curious gleam in his eyes as when he did so just moments before, reading the words underneath the flickering glow of the lights. At least from this, he now knew all those lessons on dwarven languages hadn’t been for nothing.

Dirk had to ask. “So, how much do you even understand?”

Lloyd started, eyes as wide as the gems he’d just started working with. “I didn’t read much! I swear!”

A few moments passed, Dirk as patient as stone. Lloyd fidgeted again, doing his best to not let his mouth betray him. “Okay, I read like five pages… This Deagen guy doesn’t write like the textbooks that we read in class.”

Ah, how long had it been since Dirk heard his name aloud?

“He was always a very spirited writer,” Dirk confessed. He chuckled, shuffling the letters once more. “Had a talent for the pen over the pickaxe, but it was one of the things I’ve loved him for.”

After reading through so much, even Lloyd must have gathered what the letters truly meant, and why they had been locked away in a soft leatherbound skin, to keep the sun’s rays from fading away the ink.

“So I was right! He was your husband, wasn’t he?” Lloyd grinned wide, as if he had just solved one of life’s greatest mysteries. “I thought so!”

“Very confident in that statement now, are we?”

“But it’s true!” Lloyd wouldn’t back down, eyes brighter than the fire in the forge. “It’s why you sometimes wear that ring when you’re working. How come I’ve never met my other dad?”

Oh, Lloyd was already dreaming and wondering, and Dirk almost felt cruel to bring such dreams back to humdrum reality. Yet to think he had noticed the ring, an old comfort for the dwarf that was hard to let go of. “Well, you are half-right, lad.” He nodded, getting to his feet while clasping the letters in both hands. “He was meant to be my husband – but he was only my betrothed.”

He could see the surprise on Lloyd’s face, but some things must be done first. Going to the cabinet, he placed the letters in their leather skin, tied up the string around it, then placed it back inside, along with old trinkets, old photographs, old friends that could not be brought back. There was a soft click of the cabinet lock mechanism working as he shut it away.

“Sickness took Deagen before we could make our vows.” The dwarf rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers – yet the smile remained on his face all the same. “But even in his final days, he would still write to me such poetry.”

“Oh…” He heard Lloyd’s soft intake. Once facing him, the boy looked flustered then, scratching the front of his scalp in nervousness. “Sorry, I didn’t know… The ring made me think that…”

A soft pat on his head by the dwarf’s great hand. “I should have answered your questions sooner, Lloyd. Sometimes, I still grieve, and the grief stays for too long.” He shook his head. “Despite it being over a century or more…”

“Whoa…and you still kept what he wrote to you?” Lloyd’s own reluctance was quickly being blown away, finding the opening to dive in and learn all that he could. “Did you write him back? I didn’t see any letters from you!”

“Aye, well that’s because he had them. That is the point of a letter, after all.”

“So you did write to him! About what?!”

Dirk made a show of thinking on the question, all while Lloyd looked up to his dwarf dad (that he was close to outgrowing), his feet shuffling on the floorboards in his excitement.

“I’ll tell ya… If ya do the gardening chores for the next three weeks.”

“What?! But that’s so much!” Lloyd pouted. “No way!”

“And no more lockpicking. Or are ye going down the path of thievery?”

“But that’s not fair! I didn’t lie-” Lloyd stopped, remembering what had just happened a few minutes ago. “Okay, never mind…”

All young children are curious at heart, and Lloyd’s heart was filled with it – and it was only right for a parent to nurture his child’s curiosity.

“You’ll really tell me then?” Lloyd asked, as if binding Dirk to a sacred promise.

The dwarf would treat it as such. “Of course. Gives this old man an excuse to talk for hours.”

When Lloyd was home, suddenly the previous quietude of the home felt more energetic. No longer was it just the sounds of Dirk’s hammer clanging away over the anvil, of Noishe’s soft whining on his lap when he visited Kratos in the room, or of the rhythm of bird chirping from the branches overhead. Lloyd stomped over the stairs as he rushed to pack his belongings, as he greeted Dirk each time he passed him by the forge, as he moved with renewed motivation for another journey out into the world.

Kratos, meanwhile, sat at the dining table, content to watch his son already make his decisions. As he would need to do so himself. His leg had healed up, in part by his Exsphere, but also by Dirk’s care.

Yet he wondered if it was more due to the latter…

“Krato- Uh, I mean, dad.” Lloyd ran up to him, still stumbling over the word that was both familiar yet not. But the effort was appreciated. “Here, I meant to give you this, since you have to go… It’s a wooden charm! Presea helped me out with the design a little, and since you’re giving me your pendant, I figured… well, you know.”

The gift was unexpected, but Kratos held out his hand to accept it – a polished piece of wood, set in the shape of a seed, with curves and sigils carved into its surface. A long piece of twine looped through a makeshift hole at the top of the charm, creating an intricately made necklace. Lloyd scratched his cheek, looking slightly nervous but eager all the same.

“You can adjust it to fit around your neck or wrist if you wanted! But, you don’t have to wear it at all, I mean.”

Kratos smiled. Even as his first instinct of denying he was not worthy of such a gift resurfaced (old habits), he instead tried to learn acceptance of himself. “Lloyd, thank you. It is more than enough for me.”

The pride on Lloyd’s face was nearly so infectious, a grin that sported a brightness matching the sun. “Hehe. I can help you put it on!”

Well, perhaps Kratos could go about acceptance a bit more slowly then. “Ah, I can do it myself-”

“Ay, now that’s nonsense.” The thick-accented voice of Dirk reverberated throughout the household, followed by his stomping footsteps. Even so the dwarf was at his side in barely a moment’s notice. “Allow me to help then. Can examine my son’s handiwork in the meantime.”

Kratos’ embarrassment must have been so plain on his face. He cleared his throat, but Dirk had already taken the wooden charm necklace, unfurling the string. “Really, I can do this myself…”

But he was helpless to Dirk’s smile, to his gentle hands as he shifted aside Kratos’ hair, sliding the necklace over him. He felt the other’s fingertips brush over him, even the frizzle of his beard that took up nearly half the dwarf’s face, yet it didn’t dim the other’s smile in the slightest.

Now why was Kratos so nervous over something this simple? He couldn’t understand it…

“Been improving, lad. Maybe Presea can be your new tutor.” Dirk tied the knot just at the base of Kratos’ neck.

“Told you I was getting better! I always made sure to practice while I was away.” Lloyd discussed with Dirk so easily, despite Kratos’ blush that must have been growing more obvious by the second.

Once Dirk stepped back, he let out a breath that had been held so long in his chest – and then inhaled again once the dwarf wrapped a friendly arm around him.

“You do make your fathers proud, Lloyd,” Dirk complimented, before looking down at Kratos. Seated at the table as he was, he was now, for the first time, at a lower height than Dirk. “Looks very fine on you, too.”

“I-” Kratos stuttered, cleared his throat again, feeling the cool surface of the wood against his collarbone, but remembering the warmth of the hands on him. “That is… It is only because of Lloyd that…”

“Learn to accept a compliment, why don’t ya?” A grin that could warm the ice on a chilly winter day. “A handsome man like you should be used to it.”

“That’s… not necessary…” But the arm around his shoulder felt so welcoming that he stayed in it, with no thought to leaving it just yet.

It took him a moment to remember that Lloyd was but a few feet away from them. He gazed back at his son, who was looking at the two very curiously.

“Huh, did I miss something…?”

Oh, I’m being a fool, Kratos thought with a bit of shame. But the arm only held him more firmly, so steady.

“Just a bit of fatherly bonding, is all,” Dirk told his son, with a confidence that Kratos wondered if he ever had in his entire life.

Lloyd blinked, angled his head just slightly – and then realization hit. “Ohh!” His grin was practically identical to Dirk’s. “I see! That’s great for both of you!”

With a cough, Kratos placed a hand over his forehead, unused to such vigor from so many at once. It is not even true, yet he accepts it so easily, Kratos thought, even as he felt a sense of relief. Or, was it true? He wasn’t even sure now.

“Does that mean you’ll send him letters too then?” Lloyd asked suddenly, eager just as before.

Kratos raised his head, once more left in the dark. “I’m sorry. Letters?”

Dirk’s grin stayed on, but with an air of fondness. The arm around him seemed to feel even gentler. “Aye, a bit of a story there. If ya want to hear, I could tell it.”

“Let me tell it! Let me!”

“Lloyd, don’t you have some packing to do still?”

“Aw, but I can tell it good, I swear!”

Kratos sighed, feeling a little weary, both for the situation and for what he would need to do once he made his own journey. But a smile finally graced his lips, hearing both Lloyd and Dirk chat away, still being held so close.

Maybe it was okay to be this happy, at least for a while.

#tales of symphonia #lloyd irving #dirk #kratos aurion #fanfiction

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silverskatana · 4 years

Text

sorry for being late

word count: 4534 warning: occasional expletives

( r e w i n d . )

“Sorry for being late!” you yell out as you jog up to your waiting friend, his slanted silver hair easily recognisable in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. He turns to pin you with a half-glare and you shrink back slightly, a nervous laugh fluttering past your lips as you allow a sheepish grin to slip onto your expression as a form of silent apology.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Obito,” he mutters, beginning to walk towards the training grounds where both of you frequently train at. You trail after him, laughing a little at how disgruntled he sounds.

“It was only once or twice,” you reason, your voice filled with mirth. “Don’t make it sound like hanging out with Obito is a bad thing. He’s a good guy, you know.”

Kakashi shrugs, pushing the gate open. You duck into the training grounds, hearing him say over his shoulder, “He’s a loser.”

You roll your eyes, heading over to the set of logs to set down the bottle of water you’ve brought with you. “He’s your teammate, you know. You can’t keep calling him a loser.”

“There aren’t any rules against calling a teammate names,” Kakashi counters, swinging a kick at the side of your head. You dodge, retaliating with one of your own, laughter bubbling in your throat.

“You’re a prick,” you shout at him as you jump back, putting some distance between the two of you. “What’s so hard about treating people nicely?”

Kakashi weaves through hand-seals and you copy him rapidly, both of you releasing steady streams of fire at nearly the same time, which results in a mini-explosion - not enough to cause much harm, but enough to leave a small area of charred grass and dirt across the training ground - which you use as an opportunity to perch yourself on top of the nearest tree.

“I can still sense you, idiot,” Kakashi says, and there’s a pause before he calls, “And besides, Obito is a loser. I’m just telling the truth.”

You laugh quietly from your spot. Kakashi’s not a sensor. It’ll only be a matter of time before the smoke and fire clears and he spots you, though, so you decide to reveal your location anyway. “Obito’s not a loser,” you tell him, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you smile, “If anything, I’d say you’re just jealous that I spend more time with him than with you.”

Through the dying embers, Kakashi looks up at you, the faint orange catching the dark of his searching gaze. You watch breathlessly, watching as he begins to weave through hand-seals faster than you can process, and then curse under your breath as the trees around you light up in a familiar burning orange.

You leap from the tree that you’re situated on, and it’s a mad rush of movement as you flee from the fire technique that Kakashi has unleashed upon your hiding spot, and as you flee deeper into a separate thicket of trees, you hear his voice ringing out quietly from behind the fire, behind you.

Maybe.

Your heart is hammering too loud in your head and the adrenaline is rushing too fast in your veins for you to think straight, and as you land on the ground several metres away from harm’s way, you pass it off as your imagination.

Later, however, after the rather intense round of training, Kakashi offers you a faint smile and a quiet good job, and you can’t help but wonder if you had heard correctly after all.

( r e v e r s e . )

“Sorry for being late, I was-” Your voice falters and your words fade into the heavily-hanging silence, your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of Kakashi sitting with his knees curled to his chest and his eyes - eye - staring vacantly out of the window, the vase that was supposed to hold flowers from visitors lying in shattered fragments on the ground, and the flowers strewn carelessly across the floor, petals torn and leaves separate from their stalk. “... Kakashi?”

He offers you a listless glance, and you suck in a breath at the look in his eye. It’s a look you’ve seen before. The same look he wore on his face the day his father died. The day you stood trembling at the door as your childhood friend screamed until he cried and cried until he collapsed. Broken. That is the only word that comes to mind when you attempt to describe the very look that’s sitting so crooked on his weary face. He’s broken.

“Kakashi,” you avert your gaze, because the expression scrawled across his features is bringing a lump up in your throat and making it hard for you to speak. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

“Obito-” He draws a shaky breath, and it’s almost as though it physically hurts him to even mention his teammate’s name. He turns his head from the window again, trying for some eye contact, but drops his gaze immediately after, shifting his eyes to the blankets in - guilt? Shame? Anger? A mix of emotions you can’t place? You can’t quite tell anymore; he lets out a breath, clenches his fists around the blankets hard, and chokes out, “- I couldn’t save him.”

You fight back the tears that are threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes - of course you’re sad, Obito was your friend too - but you can’t cry here, not in front of Kakashi, not when he’s already so broken inside. “It’s not your fault,” you say, hating how weak and hoarse your voice sounds, echoing emptily around the four walls of the otherwise silent room.

“It is,” Kakashi whispers, and you catch the cracks in his voice as he speaks. “If I didn’t care so much about the damn rules. If I had acted faster. Maybe then he wouldn’t be dead.”

“Kakashi,” you say, and he doesn’t bother to acknowledge the calling of his name, but you know he hears you anyway. “Kakashi, it’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself for all of it.”

“But it is!” Kakashi half-yells, only that his voice breaks in the middle and the rest of his words abruptly grow faint, and he swallows hard as he stares over at you, his uncovered eye glimmering with a thousand unshed tears. “If I had been a better person, if I had cared more about my teammates-”

“Kakashi,” you interrupt gently, allowing a shuddering breath to pass through you, “There’s nothing you could have done.”

Kakashi is a smart shinobi.

He knows exactly what you mean.

And he must have seen the way the tears begin to run down your cheeks without stopping, because he turns away from you to face the window, and the scattered sunlight that filters in through the glass reflects upon his cheek, making its silvery trails glow with the light of a thousand tears.

It’s too late.

( p a u s e . )

Your footsteps sound awfully loud against the dead, damp leaves littering the ground, you think. Kakashi must have sensed your presence long ago, given the noise that you’re (unintentionally) making, and you’re only proven right when he doesn’t blink, let alone flinch, when you come to a halt a few metres away from him.

He looks… forlorn. Defeated, really. He’s standing in front of the gravestones in the pouring rain without an umbrella, and his normally-spiky silver hair is plastered to his skin, his dark clothes flat against his frame that’s thinner than you last remembered.

You hesitate from where you’re standing, your heart throbbing painfully in your chest. It must hurt. You’ve heard all the stories, all the rumours, all the perspectives and opinions from gossips who you couldn’t care less about. You can’t and you won’t bring yourself to believe any of them. Kakashi was your friend for as long as you remember; the same person you’ve known since you were a small child learning how to walk. He’s not the type of person to kill a friend, a teammate. You know him better than them. You know him better than the rumour-makers claim to.

“Kakashi,” you utter softly, your footsteps quieter now as you walk towards him, reaching up so that the umbrella covers both of you. It’s not that it does much difference, considering how he’s already soaking wet, but it’s better than nothing.

There’s a moment of silence that surrounds the two of you, save for the sound of raindrops pattering harshly against the umbrella’s surface.

It’s followed by a sudden, dull thud as the umbrella hits the ground, its tip striking the surface of a puddle, causing small droplets of water to splash lightly onto both of your clothing.

You stare at Kakashi, holding your bottom lip between your teeth. For a second, he looks almost apologetic for knocking the umbrella out of your grasp so roughly, but then his expression changes, written over by a steel-eyed look. You’ve never seen him like this before. So… angry. So dark.

“Go away,” he says, his words tinged - no, laden - with irritation, and you feel yourself recoiling at the harshness of his tone.

“I just wanted to say-”

He cuts you off. “Go away,” he snarls, and you can hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears, a dull thud that’s increasing in speed by the second. “I don’t want you here. I don’t need your pity, your sympathy, your company. Just go.”

“It’s not your fault,” you yell at him, frustration causing your voice to rise in pitch. “You need to stop-”

“I need to stop what?” The cold frigidness of his tone makes you shut up, and you can’t bring yourself to do anything more than stare at him in stunned silence. “I need to stop blaming myself? I need to stop telling myself it wasn’t my fault when it was, when I was the one who killed my friend?”

He raises his voice, and you find yourself taking a step back unconsciously, a tangle forming in your throat and preventing any words from escaping. “It was my fault, so stop telling me it’s not my damn fault!” He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze furious, his words biting. “Maybe if you were there-”

You forget how to breathe.

He’s blaming you?

“I was only dispatched as backup, under official orders,” you spit out hoarsely. “By the time I got there-”

“It was too late, wasn’t it?” Kakashi snaps bitterly. “Too fucking late, because she died.”

You refuse to let yourself cry.

“You’re telling me I was too late?” you choke out in disbelief, bewildered laughter tinging your voice. “You’re telling me I should have saved her? Fuck, Kakashi, you think I didn’t wish I could? You think I wanted to show up to see her dead? What the fuck do you want me to say?” You throw your hands up in the air, and you’re sure that Kakashi can hear the barely-contained rage in your voice as you continue to shout at him over the cacophony of the pouring rain. “I’m sorry for being late? I’m sorry for not saving her life? I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to bring her back to life? She was my friend too, you know. Do you think I wanted her to die? Do you think I wanted to be too late?”

You stare at him, breathless from yelling, the back of your throat burning white-hot, and your gaze searches his to see what you can read from the expression that he slaps over his facial features.

Nothing. You can’t understand the look on his face anymore. You don’t know what he’s thinking anymore.

And it terrifies you.

He’s different. Different from the same person you grew up with, trained with, progressed through the ranks with (albeit with him being a tad bit faster than you). Different from the childhood friend you knew so well, different from the person you thought you knew better than the rest.

You’re floored, the words evaporating past your lips and dissipating into thin air. You don’t know what to say anymore. You don’t want to say anything anymore.

“Yeah,” Kakashi rasps out, “You were too fucking late.”

A voice inside of you tells you that he’s being unreasonable. That he’s overridden by grief and guilt for letting his friend and teammate die. That it isn’t him saying all these terrible things, that he’s just letting his emotions get to him.

Another side of you tells you that he means every word he says.

You’re torn between staying and leaving - you look at him, searching desperately for anything, any sign that would make you stay, but you find nothing. Just a cold emptiness. A cold, uncaring emptiness.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, a disbelieving, strangled laugh forcing its way out of your throat as you shake your head and drop your gaze, turning your body away from him. You don’t bother to pick up your umbrella. “Sorry for being late.”

Kakashi doesn’t respond, but you hear his answer clearly in the preceding silence.

You begin to walk, your footsteps achingly loud in the quietude that settles around the surroundings like a suffocating blanket.

You’re half-expecting him to move, to run after you and catch your wrist like all those years ago when he shouted you to get out and never come back after you caught him crying over his father’s suicide. You’re half-expecting him to apologise for his words, for him to tell you he didn’t mean what he said.

He doesn’t move from his place before the gravestones in the pouring rain.

You swallow down your tears and take your leave.

( p l a y . )

You’re laying down flowers by Obito’s and Rin’s graves when you sense a distant presence; distant, but close enough to be recognisable. It makes you quicken your pace, arranging the flowers swiftly before taking your leave in a swirl of leaves. He’s on his way over from the Fourth’s grave, and he hasn’t sensed you here yet. He’s not a sensor.

You re-appear in another corner of the village, a more populated area you know he doesn’t frequent. He’s never been the type to like being around people. Neither were you, really, but you feel relatively secure blending into the shadows with your porcelain white mask fitted onto your face. It’s much easier to hide, to be just one of many, to be nobody. You prefer it that way, and you know he once did too.

But now - now everything has changed. For him, at least. A sensei to a genin team now, they say. You know that the possibility of him being one has been there for a while, ever since he was made to resign from ANBU (and you would know, because you were the one who filled the spot that he left behind). But no one - yourself included - really expected any team assigned to him to be able to pass.

Your eyes soften as you catch sight of a blonde-haired boy with the Third’s grandson. Uzumaki Naruto, and a genin of his team. You wonder if his current team reminds him of his genin team. The blonde boy who is a walking replica of the teacher he respected the most, the ambitious raven who bears the same crimson eyes and family name as the best friend he lost too early. You wonder if it haunts him sometimes, and you’re sure it does.

A part of you wishes you could ask him, even if you know you can’t.

You’ve never spoken to him. Not once. Not after the day Rin died and the two of you shouted at each other in the pouring rain. He’s never made any attempt to speak to you, either, and you suppose that being shinobi hasn’t helped in closing the divide between both of you - it’s surprisingly easy to cast someone out of your life as a shinobi, you’ve learnt.

Right after Rin’s death, he joined the ANBU, hiding behind the same porcelain mask you don now. You specialised in your respective field as a Toukubetsu Jounin, and it became almost too easy for the two of you to avoid each other just by keeping to your duties. You barely even had a chance to encounter each other, let alone bother with avoiding one another. And then he stepped down - no, was made to step down from his position, forced to join the ranks as a regular Jounin. And that’s when they contacted you, offered you a position in Konoha’s ANBU. He removed his mask, and you put yours on; you don’t think he knows. You’ve simply faded out of his life that same way you tried to let him fade out of yours, and you’ve just become another white mask in the crowd that he was once a part of.

After joining the ANBU it was even easier. You saw him more often - every time he walked into the Hokage’s office, really - but he never saw you from your position in the office’s shadows. You know he knows that there are ANBU members - four, to be precise - positioned in the office at all times, considering how he was one himself, but you know that it’s impossible for him to know it’s you.

He’s not a sensor, and he’s cast you out of his life too long ago to care about your existence anymore. The thought of it makes you laugh a little - you wonder if he still remembers you, if he even wonders whether you’re still alive or not.

Sometimes you wonder where it all went wrong; whether you should have tried harder to fix all the cracks in your relationship, whether you shouldn’t have left that day. Sometimes you wonder if this was supposed to happen after all; that the cracks couldn’t have been mended, that it was bound to collapse into oblivion and render your relationship to nothingness, that even if you had stayed it wouldn’t have made a difference.

And then you end up laughing to yourself after wasting all your time mulling over the possibilities - there are no possibilities, not anymore. Any possibility of reconciliation died a long time ago, and it’s far too late to fix anything now.

You’ve become familiar strangers now, you realise.

And each time, returning to the thought of him makes it feel like you’re standing on parallel shores and watching different skies, like you’re standing on opposite ends of a road that’s broken halfway down the middle.

Like you’re returning to a home that’s lost its welcome mat.

( r e p l a y . )

You’re a strong shinobi. Good enough to be recruited as an ANBU member. One of Konoha’s elite, one of the few trusted with guarding the Hokage’s life. It’s something you’ve always taken a slight pride in, knowing that you’re capable, that you’re good at what you do, and that your years and years of training and more training have paid off.

And yet you’ve never felt so weak, so incapable before. You’re a strong shinobi, proven many times by your mission count, your successes, your position, the enemies you’ve defeated. Yet you find yourself standing before an enemy you can’t defeat, an enemy who puts your abilities to shame; an enemy who makes you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time, not even on highly classified and dangerous ANBU missions.

Fear. Not the regular adrenaline-inducing kind of fear, nor the what-if-I-die kind of fear. It’s the kind of fear that pulses through your veins with every beat of your heart. The kind of fear that makes you feel your heart beating in your throat and the kind that makes you hear yourself screaming mutedly in your head. It’s the kind of fear that renders you immobile, that clamps down on your larynx and prevents any sound from escaping, and the kind that makes your thoughts go hazy and your brain unable to function.

The only thing you’re able to think of is, I’m going to die.

Your breathing is getting laboured; you cling to your sword, but you don’t miss the way that your hands shake against your will. Your eyes fix themselves on your opponent’s black robe, the colour of midnight, and the red clouds that adorn it, the colour of fresh blood. Your blood, perhaps, that you can taste in your mouth and feel wetting your clothes and staining them red.

You’re going to die.

You’ve done your duty, you think dimly as you struggle to maintain your grasp on your sword and fight to keep yourself from falling to your knees; you’ve done your best to protect Lady Tsunade, you helped to save Iruka, you helped by facing this opponent who can’t be beaten so that he claims your life before claiming the life of someone else. Someone more important than you, someone who has a name and a face, someone who doesn’t hide behind a porcelain white mask and shelve away their identity willingly.

For once in your life, you’re glad that you don’t mean anything to anyone, because you’re going to die and you’re tired of people crying over their lost loved ones. At least when you don’t mean anything to anyone - when you spend half of your life hiding behind a mask and living in the Hokage’s shadows, it’s hard to interact with anyone save the higher-ups, let alone mean something to anyone - so no one has to waste their tears on you. And no one will have to apologise for not saving you, for being too late to prevent your life from being taken, because you’re expendable.

You prefer it that way, you think.

You watch as he begins to walk towards you, his orange hair uncomfortably vivid in the saturated sunlight. You wonder how he’s going to kill you - if he’s going to manipulate gravity again to pull you to him, to push you away, or if he’s just going to walk up to you and run your own sword through your gut. You don’t think you’re strong enough to run; it’s not like it would do any use, anyway.

He raises his palm, and you grip onto your sword with all the remaining strength you have. If he tries to pull you towards him, the least you could do is attempt to run it through him before you die; but you’re sure he must have noticed, for the look in his purple-ringed eyes change and he intones something under his breath - and then the world freezes on its axes for just a moment before you feel yourself being pushed away by an incredible force, your sword ripping free from your hand as your body hurtles across the air like a ragdoll being thrown backwards.

You’re going to die, you muse as you close your eyes, preparing for the impact. You’ll either slam right into the rubble or the wall at an alarming speed, and with your chakra exhausted, multiple parts of your body broken, and your mental state collapsed, you know you won’t survive the impact.

You’re going to die, you think to yourself. You wonder when the impact will come, and if you’ll live to feel it, or if you’ll die immediately. You wonder what death feels like. You hope no one mourns your death.

You feel the impact, you note as you feel yourself crashing into something; and then your eyes snap open as you feel part of your body colliding with the ground, and you hear footsteps that don’t belong to you skidding along the ground.

You’re alive, you think numbly, and your eyes widen as you hazily take in your surroundings; the same blue sky, the same annoyingly bright sunlight - and looking down at you, a familiar yet strange face. The same mask that you’ve seen since young on an older, more mature, more tired face, the same slanted silver hair, the same dark eye that you learnt and then forgot how to read, coupled with a crimson one that spins wildly in its place.

You’re alive, you think, opening your mouth only to spit out blood all over his flak jacket, you’re alive and he’s here.

“Rest and recover for now, and I’ll take care of him,” he whispers, cradling your head close to his chest, and that’s when you notice he’s holding you in the bridal position, crouched on the ground several metres away from where your opponent stands. He must have caught you.

He saved your life.

You shake your head at him, trying to warn him to stay away; just let me die, and run, you want to say, but the blood is thick in your mouth and the words refuse to escape your throat, so instead you settle for staring up at him, hoping he can read you just as well as he could in the past.

Even if it’s been years.

Even if you’ve become nothing more than familiar strangers.

Even if both of you had grown up, changed, and even if the two of you had never met each other’s changed selves.

He looks down at you, and you know he understands.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at you from under your mask, and you know from the look on his face that he isn’t going to listen.

“Just stay here and wait for me until I’m done,” he says softly, removing the remainders of your cracked porcelain mask from your face and wiping the blood away from your lips with his thumb.

“How did you know,” you rasp out, coughing a little as blood clogs your throat, “That it was me?”

He lays you down on the ground gently, the smile still playing on his lips. “I sensed you.”

You want to chuckle but your ribs hurt too much, so you settle for a half-smile instead.

Liar.

He isn’t a sensor.

“By the way,” he says as he rises to his feet, and you’re stricken by the look on his face - how similar he is to the him you remember in the memories of your past, how he wears it on his face the same way he always did back in the past when looked at you, and for a moment you wonder if you’re hallucinating, that you’re just imagining that a ghost of the past has come back. But you blink - one, twice, several times - and he’s still standing there, eyes soft and a smile pulled onto his face beneath his mask.

And then you realise he’s still him.

He’s not a stranger.

And after all this time, the part of him that you knew is still the same, and the part of you that he knew is still the same.

You’d cry if you had enough strength to.

“Kakashi,” you murmur, realising that he had stopped speaking, “What were you going to say?”

It’s been years since you’ve said his name, you realise.

And you’ve missed it, you realise.

You’ve missed it so much.

He says your name for the first time in years, too, his voice tinged with an odd mix of nostalgia, affection and regret, and his eyes curve into a gentle smile.

“... Sorry for being late.”

#hatake kakashi #naruto #reader insert #kakashi x reader #kakashi reader #kakashi

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robbyrobinson · 3 years

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OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS: GODS AWAKEN (XIX)

Odalia walked into Emperor Belos’ throne room and prostrated herself before him and Nyarlathotep. “Lord Nyarlathotep, I have retrieved the book.”

Luz and Amity awoke in the original bodies and sprung back to life. “Uh? What happened?”

Amity groaned and fell backward her head throbbing with pain. “Why is my head spinning?” Her cheeks grew green and bloated out of the instinctive urge of retching whatever sour contents were churning in her stomach.

“So that is apple blood,” Luz spoke to herself, “after this, I’m never going to try that stuff again.”

Amity and Luz stared at each other surprised to find that they were back in their own bodies. They waved their hands in front of their faces and squeezed their arms until they took on a bluish hue. Their probing would only strengthen the notion that they were truly back in their bodies. But one thought came to their minds: if they were borrowing the bodies at the time, then what happened to the original host’s souls?

“Welcome back to the Isles, human.”

Belos had gotten off his throne and his large frame towered over the two. Unlike Odalia’s height at around 6 feet, Belos stood at a startling 8 feet. He eclipsed obviously Kikimora, his most trusted servant and right hand, but he was also an imposing figure when it came to the members of his imperial guards. This only accentuated the perceived majesty and authority he encouraged from his worshippers.

Luz stared at the Emperor with contempt manifesting on her face. “Belos.”

“I see that you are still bitter over our last encounter?” Emperor Belos asked. It was more a rhetorical question, really, but one he made out of amusement.

“Where’s Eda?” Luz asked.

Emperor Belos raised his hand. “Unharmed, I assure you, but we must keep her from interfering with our plans.”

He looked at the murals depicting the wild witches. “As you may have guessed I had...taken care of the wild magic practitioners...one by one.”

Luz internally shivered at the implications of what he was entailing. He raised his staff and carefully traced an invisible line through the savage witches on the murals. “The Day of Unity is now upon us.”

“How dare you send your hideous monsters to attack my home?” Luz demanded. Her fists shook and turned red to match the increasing anger in her face.

Belos chuckled. “It was more of a method of ringing you out; I knew that because of your compassionate heart that you would rather give yourself up than allow more of those rats to die in your stead.”

“Well, you got me now,” Luz stated never taking her eyes off Belos’, “so leave the Earth alone.”

Belos tilted his head. “The Titan proclaims that the Earth must be laid to waste before it returns to its full powers. There is no stopping the inevitable. The Earth will bleed a deep, gushing red, before it crumbles away to its slow, miserable, pitiable demise.”

Luz fought the urge of drawing a glyph to cave Belos’ head in. “Mami..”

Belos’ eyes flickered and glowed. “Oh, your mother? She is here.”

Luz’s eyes shot up. “She is.”

The metallic fingers of his gloves came together to create an echoing snap. Warden Wrath walked into the throne room alongside the Owl Spy. Luz’s eyes widened, her mouth hanging agape. A middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and tan skin was brought in with chains. A metal ring was fixed around her waist, and the heavy metal shackles around her ankles echoed on the floor in miserable tune.

She wore glasses topped with a red frame. From what Luz could see, she was a continually tired woman with heavy bags behind her glasses. Her hair was in a disarray as well as her uniform, one of those outfits you would see in hospital settings. Tears were crudely decorated on the woman’s uniform, particularly towards the bottom where the hem of her shirt was.

“Mom?”

The woman looked up to see Luz running towards her. “Luz!?”

Luz jumped and practically tackled her mother. “Is it really you?”

“It is me,” she stated. She tried to hug her daughter back with her limited capabilities. “I have been so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Luz said, looking down. “I didn’t actually go to that summer camp that you wanted me to.”

“I am just delighted to see that you’re okay,” she replied, “when those letters stopped coming in, I almost had a mental breakdown.”

Luz felt moisture building in her eyes. She hated that she had to put her mother through that, but she had no other option in order to keep Belos from getting to Earth. She knew that at some point, the letters that she would send her Mom would soon drain up, but she was the optimist believing that she could find a way back home before her mother had the chance to worry.

Amity scanned the woman Luz was hugging. “Who is that, Luz?”

Luz looked back at the young witch her smile shining brighter than before. “This is my Mom, Amity.”

Her mother gave a smile, but it was more forced given the circumstances. Amity’s thoughts spiraled out of control. “My future mother-in-law?” she asked.

“What was that?”

Amity quickly caught herself. “Um, your mother and my mother in the same room.”

Luz’s eyebrow peaked. “Why are you here, Mom?”

Emperor Belos interrupted the reunion disgracefully. “Yes, why don’t you tell my grandchild why you are here, Camila?”

The room grew quiet with not even the sound of a pin dropping on the floor could spur any response. Luz eyed Belos sternly. “Grandchild? What are you getting at?”

“My, Camila, you kept this secret about yourself successfully hidden for years?” Belos asked again.

“Mom, please, tell me what is going on.”

Camila sighed. She exhaled sharply now looking at her feet in deep shame. “Luz, you love the Good Witch Azura books, don’t you?”

Luz nodded. “Me and Amity both; we bonded over them.”

“What if I were to tell you that there is some truth to those books?”

Luz couldn’t understand what her mother was saying at first, but it did slowly start to dawn on her. “Are you saying that you’re Azura?”

Camila snickered a bit and shook her head. “No, no; Azura is a fictional character...but I did use creative liberties when it came with writing the books.”

The thought that the events of the books, regardless of whether they came about as fictious stretches of the actual events, crossed Luz’s mind. “Why did Belos call me his grandchild?”

Camila sighed. “When I was around your age, I found myself in the demon realm much like you – I can’t for the life of me remember how if it was through some door or other means – but I was a foreigner in a world that discriminated against humans.”

Luz listened carefully not noticing that Odalia was singling for her daughter to be taken away.

“One day, Emperor Belos discovered me with some old scraps of metal and trash and decided to adopt me for reasons I did not understand at the time. He told me that humans were unable to practice magic on the Boiling Isles because of them lacking the bile sac necessary for it, so he placed a bit of his evil, dark magic into my body and took me as a protégé.”

“So that was why I was able to see those glyphs?” Luz asked.

“After being trained under him for some time, he told me of the Day of Unity. It was some weird, cultish holiday I had initially taken it. But I soon found out what intentions he had for the Earth, and I fought against him. With his own magic surging through my veins, I easily overpowered the Emperor and...I might have caused him to be in his current unhealthy state of being because I can sense now that Belos is slowly dying.”

Luz saw discarded palisman carcasses around Belos’ throne. “Was that why you wanted me to stop being obsessed with fantasy books and magic?”

Camila nodded her head. “It was a selfish thing for me to do, but I wanted to protect you from the knowledge that such a world existed.” She looked at her feet again likely fearful of meeting her daughter’s eyes. “That was why I was hopeful that the trip would remove that desire so you would never come to this world.”

Luz didn’t know what to say after being given such a bombshell. Her mom knew about the Boiling Isles because she had been there at some point only to somehow escape once things got sour. Now she learned that Belos took her mother in and how she was now his granddaughter. She had his malevolent magic flowing through her body. Her heart was pumping his unholy blood into her veins and through her bloodstream. It made considerable sense because, as was explained to her by Eda years ago, humans could not practice magic.

“Luz?” Camila asked.

Luz was still speechless and incapable of reaction. Belos laughed again and tapped Camila’s forehead with the staff. “I was hoping that I could take your daughter in and have her as a protégé to turn her against you, but that plan went awry.”

He glared at Warden Wrath. “Take her to the execution site.”

Warden Wrath shook his head and grabbed a hold of Camila. Camila’s legs shook but were heavily weighed down by the shackles. “Luz!”

Luz tried to run after Warden Wrath, but Odalia shot a blue stream at Luz; it ripped into the floor dividing it in half. “No wrong step, or I will slice you in two as well.”

“Mom!” Luz shouted. She shot daggers from her eyes at Belos. “Unhand her at once!”

Belos shook his head. “The sins of the past must be made to pay for.” He exited the throne room before turning around once he reached the exit behind the beating heart of the Titan. “I’ll have my master take it from here.”

Nyarlathotep, once more in his Black Pharaoh guise, approached the girl. “Hello once again, Luz.”

“It’s you!” Luz shouted and pointing her finger at accusingly. “Was this all your idea!?”

“I’m not a man who has pre-made plans just hanging there collecting dust,” Nyarlathotep said with a half-serious tone. “Odalia, give her the Necronomicon.”

Odalia’s eyes shot up. “Lord Nyarlathotep, why would-”

“That is an order,” Nyarlathotep replied. His voice went down a couple octaves.

Shaking, Odalia handed the Necronomicon to the human girl and made her leave. Luz had a weird feeling about this. “What game is this?”

“When you are literally older than time itself, it’s always best to play a game to take a load off your mind,” Nyarlathotep answered.

Nyarlathotep snapped his fingers. Above him was a column wherein a trap door opened. From there, she could see a large, glass cage descending. She squinted her eyes to make out the figures. Eda, King, and Lilith were inside. At the side of the cage was Hypnos, once more in his youthful appearance, flowers and all. He held the piece of horn in his hand.

“Eda!” Luz proclaimed.

Eda looked up happy to hear her apprentice’s voice. “Kid, you made it!”

King and Lilith also turned their glances to Luz. King jumped up and down much like how a dog does whenever they are happy to see their owner come back. Lilith smiled as well, but it was a small one. Luz slammed against the cage’s walls. “Youch!” Luz rubbed her injured nose with her hands. “You guys are alive?”

“Nyarlathotep took us as prisoners and had us as bargaining chips for you,” Lilith explained.

“Well, don’t worry, I’ll have you out lickety split!”

“Wait, Luz!” Eda screamed.

Luz smashed her fist on the glass only for it to bounce back. Thinking, Luz looked into the bag to find something she could use to break the cage. She scribbled glyphs on paper and activated them, but it only made the magical glass stronger. Luz turned to her bag again this time drawing out the jar containing the shoggoth. She tossed it at the cage, but, like with the other objects she tried to use, it rebounded and skyrocketed off the glass. It shot across the room and exited out the door when Kikimora opened it.

“Luz, you can’t break the glass; we all tried to break it ourselves, but there’s no use,” Eda said at last.

“There has to be something..” Luz lamented.

“Aye, there is a way, my dear,” Nyarlathotep answered.

“Why should I trust you?” Luz asked in a matter-of-fact way.

“The glass can either be broken two ways; either I can use my powers to free the three captives, or an Elder God can destroy it.”

“Well, I want you to free them!” Luz declared.

Nyarlathotep held his finger up. “Quid pro quo, my dear, quid pro quo.”

“Squid pro what?” Luz reiterated.

“I will free them and you will all go on to live happy lives if you gave me the book.”

Luz held the demonic book between her arms. “But I can’t just give the book over to someone like you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re evil; I know somehow you were responsible for the attack on the Earth; a lot of people could die if I gave you this book.”

“Are a million lives more important to you than the lives of your mentor; her sister; and your pet?”

“I am not a pet!” King remarked.

Nyarlathotep ignored the demon and kept speaking. “It would be an unfortunate occasion if they were ripped away from you.”

“Nyarlathotep, before you do your business with the three captives, do allow me the opportunity to give this demon his horn back.”

Nyarlathotep looked at the Elder God with suspicion, but flicked his hand. “At least he should be presentable before dying I presume.”

Nyarlathotep snapped his fingers allowing a small hole to form in the wall. Hypnos slipped the horn into the hole and it resealed after he removed his hand. Eda eyed the horn piece with curiosity. “It looks like it’s the size of your horn, King.”

She dropped the horn in King’s lap and he sniffed it. “Feels like it; smells like it to...how did I lose it again?”

He shrugged and dropped it over the crack of his horn. Before he could say anything further, the missing horn piece slipped in like a jigsaw puzzle. A green light glowed around the horn acting as an adhesive glue. In a flash, everything became crystal clear to King as his memories came blasting in at full force. An overtaking sensation. It all came flashing at once: the woman. The large, bat-like monstrosity with the one, three-lobed, bulging eye. The screams. And the smoky vapor – now he could perceive that it materialized together to form the appearance of a man. A tall man wearing a dark cloak. One who was bereft of any strand of hair and his skin darker than the darkest night. The green orb came out from a spell circle the hideous man drew. His mouth was stretched inhumanly widely into a twisted, ghastly grin.

“Well, what do we have here?” he asked.

King sprawled on the floor of the cage sweat beads rolling down his skull head. He retched but nothing came up. Panic was building within him writhing in anguish for release. He looked at Nyarlathotep with complete hatred. “You were the one who killed my Mom, weren’t you?”

Nyarlathotep looked at him with an amused smile. “You have to be more specific than that, child; I may be eternal, but that doesn’t mean I have an internal memory box that catalogues every individual scream.”

Luz gripped the Necronomicon with anger. “So you killed King’s mother and cursed him?” She looked at the despairing demon. “And you decided to take it as a memento to remember your kill?”

Nyarlathotep shrugged. “As I have said, I cannot be held to remember every one of my little endeavors.”

Nyarlathotep snapped his fingers again. This time, the top of the cage opened with a gush of running water dropping down. Eda and the others were not too freaked out in that moment, but they could quickly see that the more water flowing into their cell, it was accumulating quickly and already taking the shape of the cage. They looked at Nyarlathotep who in turn gave them a look of humor. They banged their fists against the cage’s walls, but it only rebounded on them.

“Nyarlathotep! Stop this nonsense!” Luz yelled. “You’ll drown them.”

“I will free them,” Nyarlathotep promised, “but you will have to give me the Necronomicon in return.”

“And how do I know that you won’t go against your promise?” Luz asked reasonably. It made sense for her to doubt the Crawling Chaos’ claims, but in her peripheral vision, she saw that the water was already up Lilith and Eda’s waists. King jumped on top of Eda’s head to keep his body dry, but this had the negative effect of pushing Eda deeper into the rushing water.

“I’m afraid that they don’t have long for this world, Luz.”

Eda and Lilith were up to their necks. “I always thought it would end by some overdose on potion,” Eda lamented.

Concern was in Lilith’s eyes, but she chuckled at the dark joke. “That’s my Edalyn, alright.”

Luz found herself in internal conflict. She truly wanted to save the three roommates she had, but she couldn’t just hand a book of such cosmic power to the bad guy. Nyarlathotep seemed to read her mind when he spoke again.

“I feel that you think that if something were to befall your teacher, you would be lost in the world.”

Luz squinted. “What?”

“If you were to give the book to me, I will make you my personal protégé; you will learn about all the secrets of this world and truly become the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles. Leagues above your mentor, and even Belos himself. You can reign by my side as I destroy this world and remake it befitting to our image. The universe and the gods themselves will look at you in favor and you would never have the need to want again. Is that a deal?”

Luz could admit that Nyarlathotep’s deal did have a kernel of her interest. Knowledge over everything could come in handy. While she did love Eda dearly, Eda was at a loss now because of her magic being at an all-time low. Maybe with Nyarlathotep’s help, she could learn a way of curing Eda of her curse and subsequently return her back to her previous state. As she thought, she took another glance at the cage now taken aback. The three captives were completely submerged in the water and were desperately hitting the walls of the cage in hopes of breaking them. Liquid was filling their lungs, cutting their oxygen supply sharply. They moved their legs back and forth in a fishy motion. Yet for every strike and punch they could muster, the cage’s walls jiggled back from the brunt force.

Luz turned to Nyarlathotep. “No; I refuse.”

Before Nyarlathotep’s eyes, Luz flipped the Necronomicon over revealing several fire glyphs on the back. Nyarlathotep’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “Mortal, please reconsider!”

Luz took another glance at Eda and the others and saw that their movements were screeching to a halt and they sunk towards the ground of the cage. Luz had made her decision. She slammed her hand on the back of the Necronomicon, and it erupted in flames.

“No!” Nyarlathotep screamed.

The flames licked the ancient, crisp pages of the Necronomicon and exploded. A shrill hiss filled the air to indicate that the malevolent spirit lurking in the pages of the banned book was dying. Dark green, eldritch smoke crawled out of the embers of the fire and ascended skyward. Luz heard the pages crackle and pop reminding her of the sweet smell of fresh popcorn like the kind you could get at movie theaters. With one final death throe, the Necronomicon crumbled into a heap of ashes.

Luz looked at Nyarlathotep spitefully. “You have lost, Nyarlathotep.”

Instead of seeing his hurt, irritated face, Nyarlathotep was once more smiling. He chuckled deeply from the darkest, deepest regions of his stomach. He held his hands over the burning heap that was once the Necronomicon and absorbed a black light that suddenly appeared. He grew larger with his arms and legs becoming more muscular and pronounced. His abdomen became gargantuan as well to accentuate his broad shoulders. No more did he resemble a human, even if a crude mockery of one. He was now a hulking monster with rows upon rows of sharp, jagged teeth.

A wave of dark power rocked Emperor Belos’ throne room and empire. It shattered the glass cage containing Eda, Lilith and King, and they were washed out on the floor. Eda coughed up the water in a wheeze. “That was close.”

Before she said anything else, she saw Nyarlathotep tower before them. Alerted, she looked at Luz. “Kid, did you destroy the book or not?”

“Yes, Eda, I did, but...something came up that I did not anticipate.”

The ceiling shook and debris started to sprinkle down. From the point of origin, the dark wave of evil magic wreaked havoc through the Isles due to its intensity. Many of the imperial guards were caught in the wave and effortlessly disintegrated. Buildings and houses crumbled from their destroyed foundations compelling the denizens to evacuate from their houses lest they were the casualties. Emperor Belos hid away alongside Kikimora.

“Sire, what happened!?” Kikimora asked.

“It is nothing to be concerned about, Kiki,” Emperor Belos replied. He eyed his throne room. “So it did work as planned.”

Nyarlathotep cackled his deep, monotonous voice shaking the floor. “It has been a thousand years, but it was completely worth it!”

Luz couldn’t comprehend what had happened. “But..but I destroyed the Necronomicon; you saw it.”

“I had already overseen the notion that you would refuse to rule by my side, but the good thing about it is that even if you accepted, it wouldn’t have mattered. I would still have reclaimed the powers that I lost. Even if you destroyed the book, that would entail that my powers would be returned to me either way.”

Luz looked down. “Then it is truly hopeless.”

Nyarlathotep raised his large scepter. “Before I lay waste to this world, I did promise Boscha that I would humor her little battle with your friend; may as well set the stage for it.”

“I’ll find a way to stop you,” Luz declared. It was a heat of the moment thing, but she truly did mean it.

Nyarlathotep chuckled. “After Boscha wins, I guess I’ll honor my deal with Belos and destroy the Earth for good measure.”

With that, Nyarlathotep transformed into a black wind and swirled out of the throne room cackling his head off.

#cthulhu #cthulhu mythos #mythos #owl house #the owl house #owlhouse #lovecraft #nyarlathotep #luz noceda #emperor belos

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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*hums the Up is Down theme* All right, let’s get the usual stuff for the POTC AU out of the way super quick so we can just jump right in --

Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- alternate version of picture two with a lame attempt at blood is here -- and characters that aren’t mine are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier; Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws; Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts; Arjun Singh and Aishwarya Mehra @hogwarts9; and Ellie Hopper @that-ravenpuff-witch! Hope you enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

The crew member Orion sent delivered his Piece of Eight -- his right earring -- to Jules aboard the Revolution. Both Bill and Jules had been concerned about Orion sending it on ahead rather than bringing it back to them himself; they were even more concerned when the fleet of small ships was led by Jae and the Kumiho, rather than by the Artemis. Jacob and Ashe, however, didn’t seem surprised, even though Jacob’s eyes narrowed slightly and he went oddly quiet when he heard the news. If Bill didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn he might’ve even seen some guilt in the curly-haired pirate’s face.

Meanwhile Charlie pulled up alongside the Revolution to drop Chia Dalma off safely before the Phoenix rejoined the Blackbird, Naga, and Treasure. Before parting ways, Charlie actually pulled Chia aside.

“So,” he said a bit sheepishly, “guess it’s time, then?”

Chia nodded. She tilted her head slightly to the right in response to how uneasy Charlie looked.

“Something troubles you?” she asked.

“Not trouble, exactly,” said Charlie, offering a smile. “I mean, I’m glad you’ll get to be free. What the Brethren Court did, back then...it was a right rotten thing to do...”

His smile faded. “I guess I just wondered why you called yourself ‘Chia Dalma,’ and not Calypso. I mean -- you are Calypso, right? It’s not like when the spell is broken, you’ll just...disappear, right?”

Chia was taken aback by the concern. Then her pale face softened, betraying genuine fondness.

“You have a noble heart, Charles Weasley,” she said. “I’m afraid that Chia Dalma will cease to be, when the spell is broken. She is human -- I am human...and I no longer will be, when the spell is broken. I will no longer feel things the way I do now, or see things the way I do now...and my perspective once again will be that of an immortal, not a mere human.”

She gave Charlie a reassuring smile.

“But Calypso will not forget what Chia Dalma has seen and learned. Nor will she forget the kindness you showed her.”

The corners of Charlie’s lips turned up too. He brought up a hand and clapped Chia on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“And I won’t forget the sea goddess who was once my friend,” he said with a grin.

Meanwhile, on the HMS Lion, Cutler Beckett had assembled his higher-ranked officers on deck to give them their last set of orders. There would be no quarter during the battle, no prisoners taken -- everyone in the pirates’ fleet and in Shipwreck Cove would be wiped out, without exception or mercy. Carewyn could see how hesitant the other officers were, upon hearing this. Percy, in particular, looked very troubled.

“Lord Beckett -- ” he said before he could stop himself, “d-denial of quarter -- surely that isn’t necessary...we have more than enough room to transport prisoners back to Port Royal -- ”

“The pirates themselves wave a flag that represents no quarter,” said Beckett very smoothly without stopping his stride as he walked past the line of officers. “They have not earned the right to it themselves.”

Percy faltered. “W-well...yes, but...they are pirates, sir. Should we not...show a better example, as King’s Men -- ?”

Beckett came to a sharp stop in front of Percy, looking up at the slightly taller man with a rather beady dark eye.

“Do I sense a lack of conviction, Captain Weasley?” he asked, his voice very soft but very dangerous.

Percy stiffened, his freckled face losing quite a bit of its color. The officers surrounding him looked worried too. Rakepick, who was standing a few feet away from the line of soldiers with her arms crossed, didn’t look worried, but her dark blue eyes did narrow grimly upon Percy and Beckett.

“No, sir!” said the red-haired Captain very quickly.

“Ah, then it’s a conflict of interest, perhaps,” said Beckett, his voice becoming a bit harder as his lips spread into a cold smirk.

He leaned in a bit closer, and whispered something else in Percy’s ear that no one else could hear. It made Percy’s entire frame stiffen, his face blanching in horror as his wide brown eyes flickered over to Carewyn.

“Lord Beckett, Captain Weasley’s loyalty to the English Crown is unflappable,” Carewyn said in a very loud, harsh voice. “As is the loyalty of all of our officers. He meant no disrespect, I assure you.”

Beckett looked at her, his eyebrows raised high over his coldly narrowed eyes. As he strode purposefully over to stand in front of Carewyn, all of the officers tensed up even more anxiously, none more so than Percy. Rakepick had uncrossed her arms and was watching the scene unfold like a hawk.

“I certainly hope that is true,” said Beckett very softly. “Treason is -- as we all know -- a death sentence.”

Carewyn met Beckett’s icy gaze head-on, even as he likewise leaned in, his head once again lingering over her shoulder like it had back in his cabin, so that his breath grazed her face.

“I will not punish your brother for his insubordination, as a favor to you. But I expect proper gratitude on your part. After all, I’m already doing quite a favor for you already, allowing you and him to remain among the ranks.”

Carewyn’s almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed, but she refused to look at him or speak. Beckett’s face grew a bit colder still as he tilted his head enough that his lips were mere inches from her ear.

“Don’t forget, Admiral,” he whispered, and there was an odd satisfaction creeping into the corners of his pitiless voice, “your loyalty is, first and foremost, mine.”

He then moved away, turning his focus back to the rest of the officers with his more usual, detached sort of expression.

“Attack when ready -- no prisoners, no mercy. You’re dismissed.”

The officers all saluted and immediately bustled off to head back to their ships. Carewyn glanced over just in time to see Percy, rather than heading immediately back to his ship, rush up to her. His freckled face was ashen and his eyebrows were knitted tensely over his eyes.

“Carey...Lord Beckett -- ”

“I know,” Carewyn cut him off. She already knew what Beckett must have said to Percy, for the rose-colored lenses to fall from his eyes so quickly.

Percy’s brown eyes widened even more. They darted over to Beckett heading up to the helm and then back to Carewyn, welling up with anxiety.

“He suspected it after you expressed interest in him hiring a woman,” said Carewyn softly. “I reckon him knowing Rakepick first made it easier -- she dressed as a man for a while, when she was in the Navy...”

Percy seemed to be losing more and more of his courage every second. His face suddenly looked so much more boyish as his gaze fell away from Carewyn’s face, staring down at the deck of the ship without seeing it.

“It’s my fault,” he mumbled.

“Don’t say that,” Carewyn cut him off firmly.

Percy closed his eyes and shook his head.

“It’s all my fault,” he repeated, shame and pain pulsing through his face. “I never should’ve trusted him, I never should’ve believed -- I just -- he was so against piracy, and I...after you were taken by Orion Amari -- after you got kidnapped by the crew of the Revenge -- ”

“Percy -- ”

Carewyn brought a hand onto his shoulder, but he cut her off, his soft voice more choked and upset than ever.

“I never should’ve let Bill and Charlie go after you alone -- I should’ve followed them myself in my own ship, if I had to -- ”

“Percy.”

Her hand clutched the top of his shoulder, right beside his neck, so as to force him to look up at her.

“You were only trying to do what was right, as an officer,” said Carewyn, her blue eyes blazing with conviction despite their pain and empathy. “The Navy is your dream, far more than it ever was mine, or Charlie’s, or Bill’s. Don’t hate yourself for trying to do things the right way. ...That’s always been who you are.”

Giving Percy’s shoulder a tight squeeze, she steered him forward enough that she could bring her other arm around him and give him a hug.

“I know what Beckett must’ve threatened you with, Perce, but I want you to forget it,” she said, and her voice betrayed a crack of emotion Percy had never heard before. “Don’t try to protect me or my reputation -- those things won’t matter much longer anyway. Do what you need to, to do what’s right...for yourself and them.”

Them... Percy tensed. He knew who that “them” was, but...the way her voice choked -- was she...trying not to cry?

He looked at his surrogate sibling with dismay, but he couldn’t see her expression.

“Carey -- ”

“Admiral.”

Carewyn pulled away from Percy and looked up.

Rakepick had approached them, her dark blue eyes flickering from Carewyn to back over her shoulder at Beckett, who had seemed to have turned his focus back to the two red-haired officers -- almost as if she was...trying to warn them.

Recovering from this surprise quickly, Carewyn turned to Percy with a harder, more serious look and grabbed his shoulder, giving him a light push backward.

“Go, now,” she said, her voice hardening to try to obscure the pain and tears she was trying to force back.

Percy’s brown eyes rippled with anxiety. He clearly wanted to insist on her explaining, wanted to argue her point -- but he too could sense Beckett’s gaze. So, with a pained expression, he reluctantly straightened up and exchanged a salute with Carewyn, before finally leaving the deck and returning to the jollyboat that would return him to the Clearwater.

Rakepick and Carewyn both watched Percy go.

“You didn’t tell him,” said Rakepick lowly. “No doubt because you don’t want him to try to stop you...”

Carewyn looked at Rakepick, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Didn’t tell him what?”

Rakepick, however, didn’t respond. Her eyes watched the horizon absently, but seemed to almost look beyond it.

Carewyn's eyes flashed with even more distrust as she turned to face the older woman. “Don’t play games with me, Rakepick -- ”

“The time for games is long since through,” said Rakepick sharply, as she turned to looked Carewyn straight on in the face.

What...was that, in her expression? It was certainly harsh and arrogant as ever, and yet...there was something almost sadder there.

“You truly are a guardian, Admiral Weasley,” murmured Rakepick. “Right now, though...it seems to me that it’s you who most needs guarding.”

Carewyn felt a knife in her chest at the thought of Jones and the fate that awaited her. Her blue eyes drifted off to the side and away from Rakepick’s face, hardening further as she tried to obscure her emotions.

“I’m not so much of a coward as to choose my safety over the lives of others’,” she said very harshly, turning her focus to the helm.

She turned her back on Rakepick, her arms looping behind her straightened back in proper Navy posture.

“You should return to your post...before Beckett gives you the side eye too.”

Rakepick didn’t respond, and Carewyn refused to look back as she strode away.

Almost immediately, the strategy Jacob had devised did not go as planned.

The plan had been for Jules to bluff Beckett before releasing Calypso -- but although the Revolution, as flag ship, had pulled into position at the head of the pirates’ charge, Beckett’s (and therefore the Navy’s) flag ship the HMS Lion did not. Instead it hung back, letting individual Man O’ Wars immediately start the charge without it.

In alarm, Jules ordered her crew to hoist the colors and signal to the rest of the Pirate Lords to attack, as the Flying Dutchman sailed out in front as if to meet the Revolution. Charlie and Merula led the charge in the Phoenix and the Blackbird, firing at will against the Man O’ Wars in an attempt to hit their stores of ammunition, even as the Navy’s ships’ superior firepower quickly overwhelmed them, cutting down the smaller ships in the dozens with their cannons.

“Captain!” said Barnaby from his place at the helm. “We just lost three more ships -- oh. Make that four!”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he racked his brain.

The Man O’ Wars were too powerful to face head-on -- they just had far too much firepower, compared to their pirates’ fleet --

A mad idea beginning to take root in Charlie’s head, he whirled around toward Samantha O’Connell, who’d been up in the rigging adjusting sails so that the Phoenix could better avoid the Navy’s cannon fire.

“Signal to the Naga! We need to get closer to that Man O’ War at the front!”

Samantha’s mouth dropped open disbelievingly. “Closer? But that’ll only make it easier for them to shoot us down!”

“Not if we divide their attention!” Charlie shot back forcefully.

He ran up to the deck of the ship and leapt onto the railing so he could dangle off the rigging and better talk over the sound of cannon fire.

“We’re going to do what pirates do best,” said the red-haired pirate captain, shooting a huge, blazing grin up at Samantha, “we’re going to sack and commandeer that Man O’ War ourselves!”

With some help from Arjun and Aishwarya running interference, Charlie was able to steer the Phoenix up alongside one of the Navy’s ships, called the Clearwater. As mad as Charlie’s idea was, however, it seemed he hadn’t been completely off-base -- just as Ben Copper himself had proposed earlier, the Navy had indeed not expected the pirates to try sacking and stealing their ship. Unfortunately to get close enough, the Phoenix ended up directly in the path of the Clearwater’s cannons, and as the pirates started to board, cannonballs blasted through the air, smashing the Phoenix to pieces.

“ABANDON SHIP!” roared Charlie. “ALL HANDS TO THE CLEARWATER!”

The pirates all flocked to the rigging and gangplanks to board the Man O’ War, now their only hope at avoiding the ocean waves. Charlie met up with Barnaby on deck, even as its planks was blasted to pieces.

“Is everyone else off?” demanded Charlie.

“Aye, Captain!” said Barnaby.

As splinters of wood and metal shot through the air, Charlie and Barnaby both leapt up into the rigging, preparing to swing across --

Unfortunately, just as they both swung, a cannonball collided squarely with the ringing. In an instant, both men were flung off of the ropes they’d been holding and into the air, falling toward the water with the weight of stones.

Barnaby, in a purely instinctual move, leaned forward in mid-air and, with all of his strength, shoved Charlie forward just enough that he could clear the hurtle between the two ships.

Charlie ended up colliding harshly with the deck of the Clearwater, his leg collapsing out from under him with an unpleasant CRACK.

“ACK!”

With a bellow of pain, the red-haired pirate captain crumpled in on himself, gritting his teeth as he struggled to control his breathing.

“Charlie!”

Samantha chucked a lit grenade right into the side of one of the Navy soldiers’ heads, using the Navy officers’ alarm and the subsequent small explosion as a distraction so she could run over. Bending down, she quickly grabbed hold of his arm to help Charlie to his feet.

“Augh -- “ choked Charlie. “My leg -- I can’t...ack!”

Samantha secured her arm around his waist, using a considerable amount of strength to try to hold him up at her side. “Hold on -- I’ve got you -- ”

Charlie looked up and around, taking in the scene of his men hot in battle with the Navy’s men.

“Barnaby?”

Charlie looked around. His First Mate wasn’t there.

Limping badly on his injured leg, Charlie threw himself across the deck to look over. In the ocean between the two ships was an unsettling set of ripples -- as if a body had collided with the water.

“BARNABY!”

“LOOK OUT!” yelled Samantha.

Charlie would’ve likely thrown himself overboard to try to retrieve his fallen comrade, but he immediately had to yank out his cutlass and defend himself against a Navy soldier who‘d made to attack him. Samantha pulled out her pistols and began shooting, trying to beat the enemy forces back as they descended on the fallen Phoenix’s captain.

Neither Charlie or Samantha saw the second cluster of ripples and bubbles that burbled up from under the surface, nor the gold mermaid tail that briefly flipped up out of the water before disappearing again under the waves.

Nothing turned out as it should. The battle plan Jacob and the pirates had devised hoping to scare the majority of the Man O’ Wars into surrendering was cut off at the legs. If they released Calypso now, there would be no reason for any of the Navy officers to think that her release was a threat pointed squarely at them. Calypso would certainly have no reason to cooperate, even if Chia Dalma had expressed some favoritism toward Orion and Charlie previously. They were still pirates, and Calypso had no reason to help the kind of people who had trapped her for so long just because they released her, especially since the decision was made out of desperation. The only thing guaranteed by Calypso’s release would be that the battle would be harder and would likely put everyone’s lives in even more jeopardy.

Despite this, however, Jules was firm in her conviction. They’d made a promise to release Calypso, and more importantly, it was a decision that was already well overdue. Regardless of whether Calypso decided to help them or not, she didn’t deserve to stay in bondage.

So despite the hesitance on Jacob’s and the majority of her crew’s faces, Jules fetched the tricorn hat full of the seven Pieces of Eight she’d been given by the other Pirate Lords -- Orion’s gold hoop earring, Jae’s copper mun coin, Ellie’s sunflower-engraved pocketwatch, Arjun’s snake-engraved fob seal, Charlie’s “S”-trimmed anchor button, and Merula’s jade ring. Then Jules plopped in the eighth that Samantha had fetched from the inside of the Pirate Codex (a cheap copper brooch shaped like a mermaid and scarred over with greenish-white rust), to represent her as Pirate King, and handed the full hat to Chia Dalma before setting the pieces on fire.

“Calypso,” Jules murmured as gently as she could, “I release you from your human bonds.”

The transformation was terrifying. It was little wonder that the process of turning Calypso into a human was described as her “being bound in her bones,” for when the goddess was set free of her human form, it was like a foreboding, slow-motion explosion. Chia’s eye sockets erupted blueish-white light, while her hair and clothes dissolved away into terrible gusts of wind and crashing sea spray. The low, rumbling, earthquake-esque sound that erupted from her could not be contained by her lips, instead coming from her every pore, as she levitated up off the ground, her flesh and blood limbs dangling uselessly in the face of her supernatural essence breaking free of them. Her flesh seemed to melt away, becoming more liquid and blue and white and incorporeal -- until at last, Chia Dalma’s frame burst open in a violent crash of seawater that for an instant submerged the entire pirate ship.

Jules, Bill, Jacob, and the rest of the crew were suddenly underwater, scrambling to escape so they could breathe. It was only thanks to Ashe that they survived. The merman quickly swam up to the helm and took control of the ship’s steering wheel, chucking it all the way around to tilt the Revolution sharply enough that it forced the ocean wave that had been Calypso back off the side.

Calypso, however, was not just the wave, as the pirates quickly found out. Overhead, there was a horrible rumble of thunder. Within moments, the ocean began to quake under the Revolution and the Flying Dutchman, darkening forebodingly. Somewhere in the distance, Jules could hear a delighted roar, like a triumphant beast’s -- it was Jones, delighted by the liberation of his lover and by the vengeance she would wreck for him.

Rakepick stared up at the darkening sky, her eyes very wide. “This...this storm -- it can’t be -- !”

“Oh, but it is.”

The cursed captain whirled on Rakepick, a smirk curling up into his octopus-stained features and a malevolent gleam in his eye.

“And now,” he said as he unsheathed his sword, “I fear no consequence o’ this!”

Rakepick cried out in agony as Jones plunged his sword right through the upper-right side of her chest. The privateer-turned-pirate-hunter crumpled up on the base of the stairs, her tricorn hat flying off into the wind. She tried to pull the blade out, but she was pinned down to the deck, unable to move as blood spurted out of her chest like a red flower.

“Augh...augh...”

Satisfied that the woman who’d so haughtily lorded over him was going to suffer properly before dying, Jones whirled on the rest of his crew with a victorious gleam in his eye.

“Let’s finish dismantling this ship afore us!” he indicated the Revolution, which was sailing up alongside the Flying Dutchman. “Then we can turn our sights toward different prey!”

Out of the blackening sky, a bolt of lightning crashed down, colliding with the ocean a mere twenty feet from the HMS Lion. The threat of fiery white death terrified Beckett’s men. Carewyn struggled to keep them calm, ordering them to weigh anchor so the HMS Lion could join its brothers in the charge. Beckett, however, contradicted her.

“If we advance, then we’ll merely be sailing right into the pirates’ hands,” he said coolly, as he sipped a cup of tea from the helm. “Our other ships are already dismantling them well enough.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes flashed. In an oddly harsh move, she brought up a hand and slammed it down on the table, making the china tea set rattle precariously and her fellow Navy men flinch.

“Don’t be a fool!” she hissed. “This isn’t some normal storm! Look at the waves you’ve sent our ships into! Look at this lightning -- it’s touching the sea itself! This is not an act of God -- this can only be Calypso!”

The rest of the Navy’s crew tensed up at the name. Beckett looked up from his tea, his dark eyes flickering with some interest for the first time.

“Calypso?” he repeated.

“The Pirate Lords bound her years ago, and now it seems they’ve released her,” said Carewyn fiercely. "We can’t stay still, if we hope to evade the wrath of a sea goddess -- ”

“But you believe she can, in fact, be evaded,” said Beckett mildly, putting down his cup on its saucer with a soft clink. “Good. From what I understand, Calypso doesn’t particularly like pirates much either...so it seems we can have her do some of our workload for us, if we merely steer clear of her destructive path.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened, her pupils narrowing to slits of rage.

“So you sentence your men to death? You choose to abandon our other ships to the mercy of both the pirates and to a vengeful goddess, in the deluded hope that they’ll destroy each other and leave us be -- ?!”

She didn’t even care if her voice was shriller than it should’ve been, thanks to the emotions that rebelled against her chest.

Beckett got to his feet, stepping right into Carewyn’s personal space with a fierce, cold eye.

“Our men know where their loyalty lies -- may you not forget the placement of yours, Admiral!”

Carewyn, however, got right back up in Beckett’s space in return, yanking her pistol out of her belt and pointing it right between his eyes.

All of the soldiers on deck stiffened or let out small, shocked cries. Even Beckett, whose expression did not flinch, raised his eyebrows.

“Just because my soul is no longer mine doesn’t mean that I won’t protect my men, Beckett,” Carewyn spat.

Beckett’s eyebrows furrowed over his eyes, which gleamed with cold, stony, foreboding rage.

“You dare...?” he whispered.

Carewyn’s eyes flared with hatred. “The only leverage you had over me is currently out there, being sent to his death on your orders.”

‘You have nothing left to take from me, Beckett. I’m already enslaved to Jones, and therefore you. I have no future. I can’t do any more good for the others. ...I’m worthless...’

Carewyn returned her pistol to her belt and turned to her men with a gentler, but still very serious look.

“Prepare to abandon ship, Lieutenant.”

The young Lieutenant who’d nearly caught Ben the previous night straightened up sharply. “Sir?”

“I will not have men who were assigned to this mission lay down their lives fighting a sea goddess,” said Carewyn solemnly. “Just as I don’t intend to let the men out there do so. We can’t signal to them to retreat from this far-off, but I won’t endanger your lives while I call them back. Tell the men to abandon ship and head for the Swallow...and then do so yourself.”

Despite the firmness of her voice, she knew the gravity of what she was asking of him.

The boyish, uptight Lieutenant looked from the silently seething Beckett to the grim, pale face of his commanding officer, visibly conflicted. Then, his lower lip trembling, he saluted.

“...Yes, sir,” he said weakly.

The young officer and his compatriots reluctantly followed orders and left the helm, leaving Beckett and Carewyn alone.

“You will regret this most dearly,” Beckett said in a very soft, pitiless voice.

“I only regret that I wasn’t able to do it sooner,” Carewyn shot back icily.

“There will be no safe place to hide from me,” said Beckett. “The entire world will know who and what you are. I will hunt you down with the might of my Company and the English Crown, until you sit under my heel like a dog.”

Carewyn was reminded of how he spoke to Orion, back on that tiny island -- like he was some pathetic, disgusting cockroach.

“I’m not a coward like you, Beckett -- I have no intention of running and hiding.”

‘You won’t need to hunt me down,’ she thought. ‘I already know I'm trapped.’

She turned her back on Beckett and walked away, shooting coldly back over her shoulder,

“Flee with your life while you still can.”

Once Carewyn was sure that her soldiers had all boarded the jollyboats and were on their way toward the HMS Swallow, she immediately made her way down to the lower deck, to where she knew Ben Copper had set up the explosives from the previous night.

The HMS Lion could not use flags to signal the other ships to fall back, from this distance...but the flagship being in distress would be more than enough for them to come back to try to help.

Carewyn approached the highly flammable barrels of black powder, her jaw set in determination despite the fear and paleness of her face. There was only one way she could make it explode on her own -- and so, with a deep breath and a faintly trembling hand, she slowly slid her loaded pistol from her belt and raised it to point at the barrels.

All of a sudden, Carewyn felt someone grab her from behind. She struggled against the grip as the person’s hands seized her arm, trying to pull it back -- “No, please -- please, no -- please -- ”

The voice made Carewyn freeze where she stood.

It was soft, detached, almost airy, and yet so choked and tense...she’d never heard that voice sound that way. Not that voice, at least...only a voice much younger, much less confident --

Carewyn slouched immediately.

“Orion?” she breathed.

The Pirate Lord’s shaking hands still clutched at her arm even after her pistol was no longer raised.

“Please,” he gasped for air, clearly trying to steady his heavy breathing. “Please -- ”

“Orion!”

Carewyn dropped her pistol to the floor with a clatter. She couldn’t pull out of his grip, but she tried to turn around to face him. Only managing to make it half-way, she looked up at him, taking in his parted lips and hollow dark eyes, and reached up to take hold of his face.

“Orion...it’s all right...”

Shakily Orion released her arms. Then, very abruptly, he just as quickly grabbed the back of her head with one hand, cradling it almost desperately.

“Orion, breathe,” Carewyn said desperately as she trailed a hand through his dreadlocks to try to comfort him. “Breathe...I’m here -- I’m here...”

The pirate closed his eyes. His breathing gradually slowed and quieted as he worked to ground himself.

“...Carewyn...” he murmured against her hair at last, still sounding faintly tense, but much more level again.

Carewyn’s chest was so overfull of emotion that her eyes flooded with tears.

“God, Orion!” she swore.

She placed a short, searing kiss against his lips before pulling away to look at him and tearing into him with anxiety,

“What are you doing here!? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“I could say the same to you,” said Orion, his much more usual, calmer voice low in his throat with disapproval.

Carewyn’s eyes fell down to his shoulder uncomfortably. “I have to signal the rest of the fleet to retreat -- ”

“You needn’t sacrifice yourself for that.”

“I can’t make this signal any other way!”

“Don’t take all of this onto yourself -- ”

“It’s the only way I can help now!” Carewyn burst out. Her own hands were shaking now. “I know what you and Jacob were trying to warn me about, Orion, but it’s no use -- I can’t just stay off the Dutchman! Jones told me that the contract can’t be undone unless I wanted to condemn someone else in my place, and I...I can’t do that, Orion! Even if it means I can never make that world I promised for you -- even if it means I can never get Bill and Charlie and Jules their lives back, or protect Jacob and Ashe from the Navy, or even see you again...”

She fiercely tried to hold back her tears even as they blurred her vision.

“My life isn’t worth protecting, if it means I lose you! I can’t lose you! Without all of you, there’s no point to anything, anything I do!”

Orion’s dark eyes were swirling like miniature galaxies as he adjusted his hand on the back of Carewyn’s head more securely, tilting it up to try to prompt her to look at him before speaking again.

“Carewyn...will you marry me?”

Carewyn looked up at him like she’d just gotten a splash of cold water right to the face.

“What?”

“Will you marry me?” Orion repeated, undaunted.

Carewyn’s mouth hung open in disbelief. Where in the world did this come from?!

“I don’t think now’s the best time!” she said in a weaker, more high-pitched voice than usual.

“Now may be the only time,” said Orion, sounding oddly serious.

Carewyn scanned his face, struggling to understand his thought process.

“Orion...I’ll be part of Jones’s crew -- there can’t be a future for us, even if we -- ”

“On the contrary,” Orion cut her off gently. “We would only have the freedom to be together, this way.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. Then, very, very slowly, her blue eyes widened in understanding.

“You’d be a member of our family,” she whispered.

Orion inclined his head in a nod. “I’d take the Cromwell name, rather than give you mine. That would make it so that Jones’s conditions could apply to either of us -- and so, if we wished to be together...the one Jones does not take could volunteer to remain with the other, as part of his crew...or, if not...one of us would be free to leave, with the debt still paid.”

Carewyn stared, hardly believing what she was hearing. She clutched at Orion’s shirt with both hands.

“You...you can’t!” she said desperately. “Jones is still under Beckett’s command -- if you join Jones’s crew, you...you’ll never be free again! I can’t let you enslave yourself to Beckett, not after what he did to you!”

“What he did to me...” murmured Orion.

He cradled Carewyn’s head as he leaned his forehead against hers so that their noses touched.

“Carewyn...what Beckett did to me was make it so that I’m no longer able to live a normal life. What he did to me was make it so that the only life I can lead is that of a pirate -- a creature of few friends, adrift on an unfriendly sea. However much I’ve been able to find independence and camaraderie on the high seas, that doesn’t mean I’ve ever been truly free. For I was never free to stop being a pirate. I was never free to stop running. I was never free...to return to the island where I first met the girl who would flit in and out of my dreams, like a songbird on the wing...see if she was happy...see if...she even still remembered me...”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“When I met you, I was an orphan with no name or home to call my own,” murmured Orion. “Although I’ve since crafted a name for myself...thanks to Beckett, I can never have the second. And even if I somehow ever could...that home would not be complete without you.”

His lips spread into a smile as his dark eyes slowly flooded with tears too.

“The freedom I want more than anything,” he said, “is the freedom to stay. Perhaps this choice wasn’t one we ever wanted to make, and perhaps it will be one we’ll have to live with longer than either of us envisioned, but...please...will you let me stay with you?”

Carewyn choked, trying to hold in the storm of emotions beating at the inside of her chest. She covered her face in both hands in a vain attempt to obscure the pain. She could feel Orion’s hand on the back of her head tense slightly, but he made no move to comfort her -- the pirate wasn’t entirely sure how, and he didn’t know if he should, since he knew he’d unloaded a lot onto her.

At last, Carewyn finally tore her hands away and threw her arms around Orion’s neck, burying her tear-stained face into his chest.

“Yes,” she whispered against his neck. “...Yes...”

She placed a feathery kiss to his collarbone.

“...Orion, I’m...I’m so sorry...”

Orion mirrored her, bringing his lips into the crook of her neck.

“Don’t be,” he said seriously, “for I am not.”

Carewyn looked up at him, prepared to speak -- but she stilled when her ear caught the sound of a pistol being cocked.

“GET DOWN!”

In an instant, she’d thrown herself against Orion, knocking him down to the floor just as the bullet whizzed overhead with a loud BANG, just barely missing the barrels of black gunpowder and instead colliding with one of the columns.

Carewyn and Orion both shot up, to find Cutler Beckett standing at the base of the stairs, his stony eyes set ablaze with a kind of hatred Carewyn had never seen.

At the exact same time, the Revolution and the Flying Dutchman were hotly engaged in battle on the rockier, more tempestuous sea. Jules had been firm in not having anyone swing over to the Dutchman until their ship had the upper hand, since she knew her mortal men would be outmatched by men who were already technically dead -- but Jacob, it seemed, had no intention of following her direction. Jones was still aboard the Flying Dutchman, and he had a score to settle with Jones. And so he swung over to the ship of the damned himself to confront its captain.

“Ah, Captain Roberts,” sneered Jones. “Welcome aboard.”

“Where is she!?” he snarled.

Jones’s dark eyes narrowed coldly. “If you mean the Admiral, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. Her enlistment isn’t set to begin for another month or so.”

With a roar of fury, Jacob lunged at Jones, hacking at him with his cutlass. The shorter man was very talented with a blade -- it was fortunate, considering he was hotly engaged in battle with someone who couldn’t be killed through ordinary means.

“Don’t know what you’re intending to do, Jacob Roberts!” spat Jones. “The contract is not one I can break either! The Admiral will be in my crew, no matter what she or anyone else thinks of the matter -- ”

Jacob slashed at Jones’s beard, slashing off several tentacles. Jones cried out in pain and frustration and when Jacob tried to attack again, Jones seized his arm in his claw, snapping down on it really hard.

“AUGH!”

Jones lifted the smaller man up off the deck by his arm so that he dangled off his feet.

“She only has her brother to blame for her misfortune,” the captain of the damned said lowly. “Yet she somehow has enough grace to not do so.”

Jacob’s face blanched and his slit-like pupils flared with hatred as he fought against Jones’ grip.

“You -- argh!”

Jones’s claw twisted Jacob’s arm painfully, making him drop his sword.

“Were I not a heartless wretch, I would feel remorse, knowing I have to condemn so decent a person,” said Jones.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, Jones cried out in surprise as a sword was plunged through his back.

It was Bill.

The eldest Weasley knew that the wound wouldn’t really hurt Jones (and he was correct), but it was the proper distraction for Jules to jump in from the other side and bring her sword down on Jones’s claw with enough leverage that he dropped Jacob. The curly-haired pirate captain fell onto the deck, clutching his arm, as Bill yanked his sword back out of Jones’s back.

“That is for Carey,” he snarled at Jones.

Jones whirled on Bill with his own cutlass, hacking away at him. Jules rushed to help Bill, while Ashe ran over to Jacob’s side to help him up.

“Jack, you’re bleeding -- ”

“I’ll be fine,” croaked Jacob as he clutched his wounded arm.

Jones fought both Bill and Jules singlehandedly, his cutlass slashing at Bill as his claw snapped at the air sweeping through Jules’s dark hair.

“Tell me, William and Juliette Weasley,” he crowed, “do you fear death?”

“Do you?”

Jones froze. Everybody else on the deck froze. Then, as if as a unit, they slowly turned, to look at Rakepick standing at the foot of the stairs.

The privateer-turned-pirate-hunter had shed her red jacket, leaving her in her blood-stained, high-necked and long-sleeved white undershirt, and her ginger-red hair had come loose of its bun and flapped in the gusting wind like a flag. In her hand was the throbbing, pulsating heart of Davy Jones.

Both Jacob and Bill lunged forward, but Rakepick moved before either of them could. Her dark blue eyes flaring with pure, undiluted hatred upon Jones, she yanked her loaded pistol out of its holster, thrust Jones’s heart down hard onto the deck, and fired at point-blank range.

BANG.

Jones lurched forward as if he'd been shot in the chest. He choked, his dark eyes going very wide as he struggled to breathe -- then he swayed, suddenly finding himself unable to stand, as his claw shakily clutched the railing of his ship.

Rakepick’s eyes held no compassion whatsoever as she bore down upon the crumpled-up Jones.

“The Chest’ll be doing its work soon enough,” she said very softly. “As it’s said...‘the Dutchman must have a captain.’”

Jacob suddenly felt like his hand was on fire. Ripping off the bandages, he stared in disbelief as the Black Spot Jones had given him so long ago seemed to shrink and disappear, leaving his palm completely unscarred.

For the deal Jacob had made was only in effect as long as both he and Jones lived.

Jones gasped for air as Rakepick seized him by the collar.

“I would ask if you wished to serve under me -- but I don’t want scum like you on my crew. So I’ll instead be kind...and send you to meet your dear Calypso.”

In a heartless move Jacob only knew too well, Rakepick shoved Jones overboard, right off of the Dutchman into the rushing waves.

“No!” hissed Jacob.

Rakepick turned to Jacob, a cold smirk spreading onto her face. “You know what this means, then, Black Jack? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised!”

Out of nowhere, Rakepick lurched forward, clutching at her chest, which pulsated with demented, sickly sea-green light. She shrieked in agonizing, hellish pain as her chest ripped itself apart, her own heart molting out of her skin -- the Dead Man’s Chest appeared out of nowhere in a flare of light at her feet -- and it swallowed up the heart that had ripped itself out of her chest before snapping shut.

“What -- ” gasped Bill, “what is -- ?”

“The one who stabs the Heart,” said Ashe, his face very pale with fury and anxiety, “must replace it with their own.”

“And become the immortal Captain of the Flying Dutchman.”

Rakepick clutched her chest with one hand, her long ginger hair in her face. She breathed heavily as her lips spread little by little into a broad smirk. When she pulled her hand away, the wounds in her chest and in her shoulder had completely sealed up. Even the blood had dissipated.

“Incredible,” she whispered. “I can feel the Dutchman -- the sea -- the creatures of the deep, all responding to my every whim...”

She flung out her arm. In an instant, Jones’s fallen barnacle-encrusted blade soared into her open hand, and she raised her head, her dark blue eyes devoid of human light or mercy upon Bill, Jacob, Jules, and Ashe as her loosely flying ginger hair seemed to smack the air like tentacles.

“Now I finally have the power I need,” she whispered triumphantly, “the power to destroy all of you and Cutler Beckett, in one fell swoop!”

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kindajared · 4 years

Text

Dear Diary || RisottoxReader (Smut) Part 1

(This ended up being 6k words so I uh...wanted to split it up into parts... this is what happens when I get thirsty...)

You had kept a diary your entire life. Ever since you were around the age of 10, in fact. Though you were free to confide in many different people around you. Your diary was your most trusted companion. You put absolutely everything in there. You wrote about the good times and the bad. The love and the hate. The trauma.

You were 21 now and by gosh, you weren’t going to stop now. Not even the new hitman team you were apart of would. Adults could write in diaries too. No one could ever tell you otherwise.

You’d been a part of ‘La Squadra’ for what seemed like ages but was only about four months. You weren’t the biggest fan of dirty work, but you liked the money and comradery aspects of it. You liked your team and they liked you. You did in, fact, write about it.

You tried to write an entry every day, having to buy a new book every now and again because you had used up all the pages inside. Missions did of course unfortunately get in the way, but your confidant was always there when you returned to base, hidden under your mattress.

You wrote in detail about how your experiences had been within the squad, how you felt about each member and some…juicier things. You’d never hidden anything from your dear friend. All your dirty little secrets would go right inside.

It was black, faux lather bound. Your pen was a thin, a deep purple. You always chose darker colors. It made you feel better about the whole thing…like it was something important. Not some pink booklet with childish flower embroidery on it that read ‘Diary’ on the front. That was just a little much.

You never rushed yourself when you wrote. Everything needed to flow out perfectly, plus you wanted to be able to read your writing. Here are some things you wrote about:

How full of himself Formaggio was, though he was plenty friendly.

How stuck up Proscuito seemed to be, though also friendly enough.

How much of a crybaby Pesci was, though indeed sweet.

Ghiachio was a crazy motherfucker, but you kind of liked that about him.

Melone was fun to be around, perverted, but friendly.

Gilato and Sorbet were nice enough, but mostly just payed attention to each other.

And your Capo? You could go on about how you felt about him. How deliciously beautiful he was. How his voice was the best sort of music to your ears. The way his eyes traversed the members and came upon you made you feel things you’d never quite felt before. You wanted to touch him all over.

But…you couldn’t tell a real person that, could you? No, you couldn’t. So, this was where your handy dandy diary came in. You wrote about him plenty of times. It helped you manage your hunger a little better. God… could your thirst get out of hand sometimes. Just being around him was enough to get you a little exited. It was just a shame you were always teamed up with Formaggio and never with Risotto…but Risotto worked alone. Oh well…you’d manage.

Today was another one of those days…everyone had missions except for you and Risotto. You hated not being able to keep busy. You’d lose yourself in your own mind. You’d either become completely bored or think a little too much about…well, everything, if you had to be honest.

You had just finished writing in your diary when you heard a deep voice call your name. You placed your pen on the page you had been writing and placed it next to you on the bed before getting up. Risotto had called for you.

“Yes, Capo?”

You knocked once on the frame of the door to his office with your knuckles. He looked up from whatever he was reading, a stack of folders piled up next to him. You waited in the doorway.

“Did you read up on the Alvaro and Enzo file I gave you?” He asked, index finger holding his place on the paper resting in front of him.

“Yeah, of course I did. That job should be easy, I’d prefer not to bring Formaggio, if that’s alright?” You crossed your arms and lifted your shoulders, bracing yourself for an unknown answer.

“That’s fine.” He replied simply. He removed his finger from the page and stood himself up. Your heart skipped a beat. He walked over to you with no hesitation, holding a folder in his hand.

“Here’s another. Read it carefully.” He held it out to you. You took in from him slowly. You looked up at him, trying not to cower. You weren’t exactly scared of him. He was a fine man, a good Capo. He was just so intimidating. His eyes always managed to burn holes into your own. Sometimes you just wanted to look away, but you never did. The fact that he was well over a foot taller than you also didn’t help. He must have neared seven feet. You swallowed.

“Alright. Anything special about it?” You asked. You held the folder firmly in your hands. Risotto shook his head.

“Not that I can explain. Just go and look it over.” He told you finally before walking past you, out of his office. You sighed to yourself. That was a typical interaction between the two of you. You just wished things were more exiting. You wouldn’t actually mind getting to know him honestly, but Capo’s didn’t share much.

You turned to head into the main area of your base where all the seats resided along with a coffee table in the middle. You sat down on the black leather love seat and rested one of your feet on your opposite knee. You opened the folder and began to read it. What you hadn’t taken into account was…was where Risotto was going.

He did indeed do a routine check of each room when everyone was gone. He never dug through people’s things. He just generally inspected the area.

What your problem was though, was that you had left your Diary on top of your bed. That could only mean one thing. Risotto would see it and most likely look at it. It did look suspicious after all, there was no denying it. You sat reading. Unaware.

Risotto grasped the doorframe when he came upon your and Illuso’s shared room. Everything seemed to be as it always was, except for the open book on your bed. Risotto’s interest was piqued. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew it was a diary and not some secret booklet for evil plans, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to respect your privacy. He walked over and picked the book up off of your black duvet, turning it around in his hands so that it was facing the right direction for him to read it.

What you had written about today wasn’t anything special, so he began to flip the pages. Some of the things you wrote caught his attention. Your thought process and way of thinking was different than he imagined. You were smart. Thoughtful.

He did chuckle at some of the entries. Finding it amusing that you complained about Formaggio and Proscuito so much. What really struck him though was…what you had written about him. When he read his full name, he straightened his posture and lifted it so that he could read it. What he read surprised him:

‘Today wasn’t great, but it wasn’t awful. Formaggio, Melone and I went to pick up a sum of 1 million lyra and brought it back to base. Nothing exiting happened on the way there or back. I sort of wanted to get my hands dirty today. I could use a good fight, you know? None of that really matters though. Getting back to base was the best part of the day. Seeing Risotto is always a treat. The sight of him makes me melt. I love drinking him in. well, that’s all I’ve got. Until next time. (Y/N).’

Risotto’s eyes widened a bit. You felt that way about him? You were damn good at hiding it. He smirked. He wanted to read more, so he flipped through more pages until he saw his name once more. This page read:

‘I need to vent. I can’t stop thinking about the Capo. How much I want him to touch me. Touch every inch of me…and by that I mean EVERY inch! I don’t want to be gross, but I might have to. He’s just...If he wanted to cum on my face, I’d let him. I want that so bad,’

Risotto stopped in his place, blinking quickly. Holy shit. His brows were raised high. He had to keep reading.

‘I mean of course I’d want him to fuck me first. Oh god would that be incredible. I can’t even imagine how big he is. I’d love to put my mouth on that…yeah. I think I’d want him to do me from behind…no, maybe just missionary…Mating press. I want him to fuck me DEEP, you know? I need that. I’d honestly let him do anything to me…Anyway, I’m going to rejoin the gang, see you tomorrow, friend. (Y/N).’

Risotto couldn’t believe what he had just read, he was baffled. His mouth hung open slightly. His face was flushed. He could feel the heat erupt from below the surface of his skin. She really did feel that way.

Honestly. He wanted all that too. He’d had his eyes on you. Though not a single soul would ever know. He chuckled lowly to himself. It was just you and him there that night. What was stopping him from confronting you? Nothing. Nothing at all. He smirked before closing the book, tucking it underneath his arm. Your purple pen rest on the bed all by its lonesome as he left the room.

He entered the room where you had been reading. You were still doing so. He let his smirk fade and cleared his throat as he approached you, standing right behind the couch. You were startled.

“O-Oh! Yes? I’m almost finished.” You let the folder lay open on your lap. When Risotto didn’t reply you became nervous. You kept looking up at him, all you could do was wait.

Suddenly he reached for something underneath his arm. You gasped when you saw what it was when he removed it. Your diary! Shit! You were an idiot! What did he see? SHIT.

“Th-That’s…an invasion of privacy.” You shifted, tuning your body so you could face him better. Risotto shook his head.

“Is it?” He proceeded to open it up.

“No! Please…”

You begged him. This was the last thing you wanted. You were screwed. Risotto flipped through the pages before stopping on a random one. He cleared his throat and began to read from it. Your eyes widened.

“‘Sometimes during meeting I can feel myself get wet when he’s speaking. His voice makes me so hot. I want him to say nasty things into my ear. Just destroy me.’”

He quoted you, looking from the pages to you. You felt yourself become nauseated. No…No!

He flipped to another page.

‘”Sometimes I dream about him fucking me hard up against the wall. That’s the dream right there. I bet his cock feels great.’”

You whimpered, looking away from his ominous stare. You didn’t know what to do, think or say. You just sat there. You heard Risotto close the book. You hadn’t realized it, but he had leaned down to speak into your ear.

“Is that true?”

His voice was firm. You could feel his breath against your ear. You felt your palms begin to sweat.

“Yes.”

You replied quietly. You squeezed your eyes shut. It’s not like he was going to hurt you, but you felt some sort of fear. You then felt the folder slip off of your lap and onto the floor. Thank god, an excuse to turn away from him. You did turn away from him, reaching down to gather the papers.

Risotto circled around the couch and knelt. You saw hm before you through peripheral vision. You kept your hands on the floor, as well as your eyes.

“Look at me, (Y/N).”

He ordered. You hesitantly looked up at him. Your eyes were still wide. Your body shook slightly. Then he spoke.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

...

Here’s Part 2

#dear diary #risotto nero #risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #la squadra #golden wind #vento aureo #jojos bizarre adventure #smut

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xsparklingravenx · 3 years

Text

crystalize

Title: crystalize

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Childe, Zhongli

Rating: T

Word Count: 4126

Summary: When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred. For Tartaglia, who held a Hydro vision, who coated his heart in water’s protection, there was no such shelter from the Tsaritsa.

Or, Zhongli stumbles across Childe and is asked to dinner, all while Childe plans on stealing an unsuspecting Archon's gnosis.

AO3

Across the inky canvas of Teyvat’s evening sky, stars glittered like wishes, the night holding them captive for itself. From the balcony of one of Liyue Harbour’s many inns, a man held onto the railing with knuckles white, regarding them with a careless look that belied the truth held within.

The evening breeze teased past locks of wavy hair, toying with the end of a distressed scarf. It was cooler than during the day, but the city itself was no less bustling, moving about below him as if he wasn’t there. Couples linked themselves arm-in-arm to visit attractive restaurants while sailors made their way to taverns, all while merchants finally packed up their wares to return home for the day, perhaps to partners or children, or to empty rooms that were little more than a place to stay. The world went on, unaware it was being watched.

The man felt a little like one of the stars in that moment, though less powerful. Not in the common sense of the word—he was plenty strong—but more in the metaphysical sense. Unlike those stars, he held no kind of ability to grant a wish within him, but he was an observer from further up, something a little more, a Delusion slung around his head in the form of a mask and a night sky to return to when all was over.

Although Snezhnaya would not welcome him home until his mission was complete.

Not far from the inn, the man could see the Wangshen Funeral Parlour, and it was there that his thoughts drifted away from him, an idle smile playing upon his lips. His target resided there most days, going about his business, his work, making his contracts and assisting the people of Liyue throughout some of their hardest times. Zhongli, or, so he said his name was, but the man knew better.

Dark hair, twisting into that thin pony-tail of his. Amber eyes that only legends spoke of. Broad shoulders and always delectably dressed, with a voice so deep that the man on the balcony could only imagine that hearing it was what drowning felt like. He’d never been afraid of water; it was difficult to be, when it bent and broke at his command.

“Childe?”

The voice made the man jolt, hands falling away from the balcony railing, which was unusual for him because he was so rarely ever startled. So deep in his thoughts that he’d conjured a fantasy? Hardly. He was not that careless. No, instead, when he looked down, he found the object of his wayward musings standing beneath him, still dressed to the nines as he always was, those amber eyes he'd been imagining peering up at him curiously.

The name juddered harshly against his psyche, because for a moment, it was not the right one.

“That is you, isn’t it?” said Zhongli, impatient for an answer even though he must have known that he was correct. If there was enough lamplight for the man on the balcony to see him clearly, then there was enough for Zhongli to see him back. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were staying so close by.”

The man, whose name was not truly Childe, made it so it was. He grinned down at him. “That’s ‘cause I’m always full of surprises. What’s up? So eager to see me that you had to come say hi?”

The edges of Zhongli’s lips quirked up near imperceptibly, but it was a smile all the same. “I was just passing through on my way back to my abode, and thought I would give a quick greeting. Though, I will admit, I do feel guilty for drawing you from your thoughts. I don’t imagine you spend a great deal of time in your head, do you?”

Childe barked a laugh before staggering back from the railing with a look of mock offence, one hand covering his heart. “Ouch! Kind of rude, don’t you think? You wound me!”

Zhongli blinked languidly up at him. “Oh. Then I must apologise. I didn’t mean any offence.”

It was difficult to tell if he was joking. Framed in both the silver tones of the starlight and the warm tones of Liyue’s streetlamps, Childe raked his eyes over his form, black and gold and elegant. He was a god in human disguise, something far more than him, and yet someone he'd come to enjoy the presence of regardless. This was the man who he had to break and bend like the water he enjoyed, and yet, here he was, having fun while wearing the skin of the person he knew he could never be.

Leaning back over the railing, Childe said, “Yeah, I know you didn’t. Are you just going home, or do you want to do something fun before you get there?”

“Something fun?” Zhongli said it slowly, as if he was deliberating it. “And what is fun to you, Childe? You wish to break into a hilichurl’s camp for target practice? Or is a theatre play more your fare? I’ll be truthful, I’m not certain.”

Shooting at hilichurl’s did sound entertaining, especially when he thought of fighting at Zhongli’s side, covering his spear with his bow, learning the ins and outs of his style while searching for the weak points. Then again, he had a feeling that Zhongli would prefer something less violent. He enjoyed history, given his encyclopaedic knowledge of Liyue’s past, and he enjoyed talking about it, given his inability to not drop his explanations on anyone who so much as expressed an interest in it. Something quieter would be to his tastes, of that he was sure.

“So, that’s a yes?” Childe asked.

“To?”

“Doing something with me.”

“Ah.” Zhongli smiled again, so nearly invisible yet still there. “So you want to surprise me? Then yes. I’ve nowhere to be, not tonight, so why not spend it in the presence of a friend?”

Friend. Childe grinned, dipping back into his room for his coin purse before returning to the balcony once more. He’d spent more than enough time with Zhongli by now to know how lackadaisical he was when it came to Mora, so it was better to come prepared than be caught short. He was well-stocked, the Fatui’s coffers helping immensely with his (many) expenditures.

“Hey, Zhongli.” He tossed the small bag once into the air before letting it land in his waiting palm. “Catch me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he leapt over the balcony’s edge, delighting in how Zhongli started forward as if he really was going to humour Childe’s request. Still, the fall was not great—he’d traversed Liyue’s cliffsides and mountains enough by now to know when something was too much for him. He landed in a crouch before him, half bow, half flourish, and remained there a moment before straightening to his full height.

“Shame,” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “You nearly made it.”

Zhongli raised his brow. “Indeed, although I fear that if I had tried to catch you, you would have bowled us both over.”

“Would that really have been so bad?” Childe asked. “To fall with me, I mean.”

Zhongli considered this a moment, the way he always tended to do, giving Childe’s inane questions more thought than they deserved. The Tsaritsa was not so patient, but he pushed her out of her mind almost as quickly as she entered it.

“Perhaps not,” he answered finally. “So, might I ask, where do you intend for us to go?”

Childe hummed, and then set off ahead of him, linking his hands behind his back as he took large strides. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

***

When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred.

It was common knowledge throughout Teyvat, elemental compositions were taught to every child at the same time they were taught to read, and so all knew. To be caught in a rainstorm when a frozen slime dared approach was sure to spell death, and so travellers oft sought shelter when clouds covered the sky, not so foolish to afford such a fate.

For Tartaglia, who held a Hydro vision, who coated his heart in water’s protection, there was no such shelter from the Tsaritsa. Water was such a malleable element; it could be burned and turned to vapour. It could be caught up in Ameno’s gusts and wielded as a weapon. Electro used it for its own, turning it into a catalyst of death, and beneath Cryo’s touch, it was shaped into something unbreakable and immovable.

Maybe he had been weak once, a time long ago before the Tsaritsa put her hands on him and fashioned him into the frozen thing he was now. It was not worth remembering. He knelt before her and took her orders, and the ice that surrounded his heart helped him in carrying them out. To spy, to interrogate, to kill—that was the life he had chosen in standing at her side, and so, it was the life he had to live out.

“You wear your masks so easily, Tartaglia,” La Signora commented once, just before they left on their concurrent assignments. He was to leave for Liyue to track down the Geo Archon, while she was destined for Mondstadt and its deity of Ameno. “Why, I often find myself wondering if I’m ever looking at the truth.”

She was as frozen as the Tsaritsa, wielding her frost like gloves as her fingers caressed his face, tipping his chin so he would look up into her eyes of ice. Body frozen beneath her touch, he made himself grin, though he was hardly entertained by her display of dominance.

“Says you, when you’ve always got your face half-covered,” he replied, reaching up to grasp her wrist, fingers tight against her pale skin. “What secrets are you hiding, La Signora? Care to spill?”

“Deflecting? How childish a move.” La Signora chuckled, her fingers still about his face, freezing impressions left behind as she used her fingertip to trace his skin. “Such dull eyes you have, Tartaglia. No light left in there at all. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were little more than a living corpse, something brought back from the dead.”

“Still alive, sorry to say,” Tartaglia said, finally pulling her hand from his face. When he let go, she sneered at him, a delightful expression on her haughty face. “You came to find me here for a reason, and somehow I don’t think it was to insult me, so why not say what you came to say?”

Haughty and cold, a favourite of the Tsaritsa, La Signora couldn’t resist her biting words and frozen tones. He already knew why she was before him. She was an extension of their Cryo Archon, a god's words often sitting on her poison tongue.

She reached out again, though this time she touched not his face, but the real, physical mask that sat on the side of his head. There was power in that mask, Electro sparks sealed within it, Electro sparks that would take control and use his Hydro vision for its own should he choose to wear it. Her smile was a bladed thing, and she said, “I trust you’re showing me your true face now, right, Tartaglia?”

He smiled. It was easy enough to put one on his face. “Naturally.”

“You understand how important this mission is, do you not?” La Signora said, still caressing the mask. “And you understand what it is you will face? The Geo Archon will not show himself so easily to someone as tricky and deceptive as yourself, Tartaglia, and there will be no help from the other Harbingers either. You are on your own, little boy, and your punishment will not be kind, should you fail.”

She pulled back from him and walked away, each footstep crashing hard against the stone floor of the Fatui’s base. Tartaglia watched her go, still feeling her ice in his soul. It had not been this way, once. He had not been Fatui, and he had not been a Harbinger. He had not been shackled to this destiny, and he had not enjoyed his fate.

But now? He had been shaped to someone else’s will, taken beneath someone’s wing, given a place to belong and a position that required only his best. He was Fatui. He was a Harbinger. He was shackled to his destiny, and yet he did enjoy it.

When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred.

When Tartaglia encountered the Tsaritsa, he’d been made hers.

***

On their way through the streets, not long after he’d begun leading the way, Childe did what he was best at. He overstepped ordinary boundaries, slowing down to let Zhongli catch up with him, and then linking his arm with his.

Zhongli didn’t seem all that surprised at the action, but he did look over. “What are you doing?”

“Trying something out,” Childe replied with a grin, testing him by pulling a little. Zhongli let him, but didn’t allow him to go free entirely. “Yeah, this is fun. Now it really seems like a night out, huh?”

He was mostly teasing, even if there was a small, fragmented part of him where the Tsaritsa’s ice hadn’t touched that wanted Zhongli to agree. The stars still watched them overhead, still caught up in the night sky’s hold, yet he felt freer than usual beneath their gaze.

“I don’t usually see friends this close,” Zhongli observed. “I’m certain this is something that lovers do.”

“Is it, now?” Childe asked, deliberately playing ignorant. Zhongli must have realised that, given his tone, yet still he let it pass, and still, he didn’t move away. Perfect. This was how one got close to a mark—he had to make their relationship, whether that was friendship or something more, as legitimate as he could. It was swapping masks for masks, looking for quirks and delights, picking apart at the person he was to betray to find out what made them tick. It wasn’t real, and it never would be, but it had to feel that way, to both him, and the mark too.

“Something tells me,” Zhongli said, all smooth tones and raised brows, “that you’re intending for this to look that way.”

With a chuckle, Childe leaned into him, still leading the way to the destination in mind. “Is that a problem?”

Zhongli was quiet a moment, once again deliberating, taking Childe seriously when he really didn’t have to. “No. No problem at all.”

Childe ignored how his heart skipped over a beat, glancing up at the curve of Zhongli’s jaw, at the glittering amber of his eyes. A thought came to him then, one he really shouldn’t have been entertaining, and he said, as a way of leading onto the topic he desired, “You know, I’ve always thought that your eyes look pretty…well. Bright.”

“Please, save me your comparisons to Cor Lapis, or what have you. I can assure you, I’ve heard it all before.”

“So modest!” Childe snickered, shaking his head. “Wasn’t intending on it. They sure are something though. What about me? What would you compare mine too?”

“If I’d known you’d asked me to go out just so you could fish for compliments, I would have driven a harder bargain initially,” Zhongli said. “You can pay for the food tonight, if that’s acceptable.”

“I was gonna pay for it anyway. You think I’d trust you to bring your own bag of Mora?” Childe shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway, I’m waiting.”

La Signora’s words resided in his ears, echoed sounds that he was ashamed to say had cut a little too deeply. Such dull eyes you have, Tartaglia. How part of him wished to rip hers from her sockets for saying such a thing.

Zhongli thought on it long enough that Childe thought he wasn’t to get an answer, but eventually, he spoke. “There are pools in the mountains here, Childe, where fish swim beneath the surface, that shimmer delightfully in the sunlight. When the sun shines here in Liyue, your eyes look remarkably the same, although there are no fish, I’m pleased to say. That would be quite odd.”

It was a thoughtful answer. Painfully so. Struck silent, Childe could do nothing but ruminate on it, on how it contrasted with La Signora’s frozen insult, how it clashed with the ice about his heart.

“Thanks,” he whispered after a moment, a little touched, perhaps, enough to quieten his inner-voice that always pushed him to make light of a situation. Shining lights ahead alerted him that they were nearing their destination, a restaurant that served Snezhnayan cuisine. “Hey, we’re here. Check out this place, you’re going to try something new!”

“New?” Zhongli snorted. “Childe, if you think this is new, then you’re quite mistaken. I once shared meals with a friend from Snezhnaya quite a few many years ago—”

“And I’m sure that was great and all, but I bet it’s changed since then.” Childe was well aware of what he was speaking of, even if Zhongli didn’t realise that. “Now this is my treat, so I’m ordering.”

Zhongli hummed, one hand at his chin in thought. “Do you really think we’ll get a table without a reservation?”

Childe dragged him forward. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Now, let’s go!”

***

In reality, it was all a ruse.

Encountering Zhongli tonight was a happy accident, but the invitation to the restaurant was nothing more than an attempt to get him to let his guard down. When dinner was done, Childe planned to get him alone in some quiet area of town, reach his hand beneath skin, and rip out the thing that made him more than mortal.

For Zhongli was Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon, and Childe was the eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, and he’d been sent to retrieve his gnosis.

The table had been easy, once Childe had replaced his mask with that of Tartaglia and spoken to the owner in his Snezhnayan tongue. As fortune would have it, the owner was Snezhnaya born and bred, and he had much love for his motherland. Perhaps more than Childe did.

“Your grasp of language is impressive, Childe,” Zhongli said once they were seated and champagne was poured before them. He picked up his glass and swirled the liquid within, gazing into it. “You never fail to surprise me. It’s perhaps my favourite thing about you.”

Unbeknownst to him, his words, though coated in honey, were like a dagger to the ribs. I’ll be surprising you even more, once this is through, thought Tartaglia, but it was Childe who said, “Oh? That’s a loaded statement. Okay, so tell me, what else do you like?”

“And you say I’m immodest!” Zhongli sipped at his drink and laughed around it. “I enjoy your company, though, if I must say something. And your bag of Mora. It's always at hand to assist me in a pinch.”

“That’s a joke, right? It’d better be a joke.” Childe reached forward, though he didn’t grab for his own glass of champagne. Instead, he went for the water beside it. Alcohol would distort his mind and muddy his aim when he went for the gnosis. “C’mon, you can’t just like me for my Mora, right?”

“It was a joke,” Zhongli clarified, taking another sip, and Childe couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he was enjoying one of his home’s beverages. He’d have to order vodka next time—

No. Not next time, because it wouldn’t come to be.

“Regardless, if you’re that desperate for another compliment…” Zhongli carried on as if Childe’s mind wasn’t running away with itself. “The colour of your hair is rather delicate, even if I can’t tell precisely which colour it is. In some lights, I daresay it’s more the colour of Cor Lapis than even my eyes. In other, it resembles more earthen stone.”

Despite having not taken a sip of alcohol, Childe felt warm, his cheeks heated. “Wow, you really lay it on thick, don’t you? Stone, though? Got to say, don’t think I’ve ever really been compared with Geo structures before.”

“Understandably. It seems we are often drawn to the colours and concepts that our Visions invite.” Zhongli glanced up. “Might I ask what food we are to sample tonight?”

“You can wait and see on that too,” Childe said, leaning back in his seat, and before long they were greeted by a waiter holding red soups in large bowls. Zhongli tilted his head as his was placed before him, and Childe rose to answer his question before he even asked it. “It’s called Borscht. This looks pretty good, actually. Thick and stodgy.”

Zhongli, eager to sample it, took his spoon and went for it. He remained quiet for a moment while he experienced the flavour, and then said, “Hm. Rather sour.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what to expect. It’s good though!” Childe took his own mouthful, and then another sip of water. “Oh, yeah, this is how it should be. Real sour. But good. What do you think?”

Zhongli went in for another spoonful, which was promising. “Unusual, but something I could get used to. A little bit like you, I suppose.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, promise,” Childe laughed, making himself slow down as he ate, not wanting this moment to be over too quickly. The end of the evening would bring the end to this thing he’d been building here in Liyue, and there was no need to rush it. Zhongli would be merry by the end of it, and Childe would finish it there, before escaping into the night, never to be seen by him again. Quick. Easy. A soulless end to a not-so-soulless mission. He’d return to the Tsaritsa and let her put her hands on him again, refreeze his heart and mould himself back to her will.

And so the meal carried on, their chatter a murmur against the warm buzz of the restaurant, another pair amidst many.

***

The stars still glittered when Childe led Zhongli from the establishment, his head clear despite how his heart beat hard in his chest. The moon hung between them, a silver curve nestled amongst a thousand lights, the only witness of what was to pass.

“I should return home,” Zhongli said, not muzzy in the slightest despite how much he’d drank. He’d made work of the entire bottle, Childe’s share and his own, and then he’d gone on for another, apparently not caring for the dent it made in Childe’s bag of Mora. “As pleasant as the night has been, I do have work in the morning. The funeral parlour will not excuse lateness, not even from me.”

“Hold on,” Childe said, linking their arms anew, pulling him around the side of the building. “You’re gonna leave, just like that? C’mon, don’t I warrant a couple more minutes?”

It was dark, behind the restaurant, cool and shadowed, the moonlight not quite reaching. Childe shuddered, uncharacteristically cold, and Zhongli frowned. “Everything alright there, Childe?”

“Just fine,” Childe replied, pulling away and turning to face him. Zhongli peered at him with a bemused expression. “Stop looking at me like that. Hey, listen, close your eyes for me, just a sec.”

Zhongli considered his request as he did everything else, slowly and thoughtfully, but he complied. Easier than expected, Tartaglia thought, but Childe’s heart smashed into his ribs with renewed anger. There was no coming back from this. This was the end of his mission.

He pressed his hand to Zhongli’s chest, pushing aside his jacket, and Zhongli tensed beneath his touch. He could feel him breathing, chest moving, and how odd it was, for something so godly to draw breath. It was human. Just like him. Just like anyone.

He curled his fingers, ready to dive beneath-and Childe, inexplicably, hesitated.

“Do it,” whispered Zhongli, cracking one eye open, a glint of amber in the dark “if you can.”

It was a dare. Or was it a challenge? Childe’s voice broke in his throat as he closed in, as he felt Geo crash against him, warm and inviting. This was his mission, he told himself. This was what the Tsaritsa wanted. This was his role as a Harbinger.

Yet he did not reach beneath skin. Instead, he reached up, and pressed his lips to Zhongli’s in a kiss.

Another night, Tartaglia told himself.

When Geo met Hydro, Crystalize occurred. A crystal that provided a safeguard, a defensive property, something to keep a person safe.

When Childe’s touch met with Zhongli’s, the ice about his heart melted away, replaced with a shield for the future.

#Genshin Impact #Zhongli #Childe #Tartaglia #chile #My Writing

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winter-soldier-vibes · 4 years

Text

Am I wrong? (Steve rogers x depressed reader)

Am I wrong?

based loosely on he song “Self fulfilling prophecy” by Maria Mena

Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 2116

Warnings: depression, mild starvation, crying, trust issues

Summary: You have trust issues and isolate yourself to protect yourself from getting hurt. But your neighbor, Steve, can’t help but notice that you cry most nights alone in your apartment.

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

You had grown up in this town your entire life. And it has never been kind to you. The people you grew up with were jerks to you. Your parents never really understood you. They meant well, they really did. You knew that now. But growing up, you had no clue. Now that you had moved out, gotten a job, you thought things would be better. But no one really got who you were. They never even tried to. You felt trapped in a world where nobody gets you, and everyone hates you.

A few years ago Steve Rogers moved into your apartment building, 2 apartments down from yours. A few weeks later you realized he was Captain America. You didn’t think much of it. Why would anything you did be of any concern to him? Simple answer: it wasn’t.

It wasn’t until you ran into him while you were on your way out and he was on his way back in from a run that you introduced yourself. He was very kind, and for a second you thought maybe you could trust him. But that was idealistic thinking. What made him different from all the people who betrayed you in the past? All the liars and the cheaters...you made yourself a promise a long time ago that you’d never trust again.

After that day, you would continue to make friendly conversation with him in passing-by. You never exactly sought him out, but you always did like talking to him. He was the one person in your life who hadn’t tried to use you or hurt you in some way. It was a nice change.

Despite what you would say to Steve, you weren’t ever actually fine. Most of the thoughts that ran through your head were built upon self-hatred. Why, you didn’t know. You just knew it was eating you up, inside out. But you couldn’t say anything about it - nothing would help you.

A while ago, you weren’t sure how long it had been, You started losing your appetite. It started as a conscious effort to not eat as many pizzas as you had been, but it quickly became a competition with yourself to see how long you could go without eating. Nowadays, you just couldn’t be bothered. Food was in no way appetizing, and you saved a lot of money since you didn’t have to worry about going to the grocery store.

You lost the weight you had initially desired, plus a lot more. You were dizzy, your hair was falling out, and your bones were jutting out of your frame. You couldn’t bring yourself to care though. You just didn’t have the motivation to do something about it.

You knew you were depressed, you experienced most of the symptoms. You just didn’t have enough self-worth to bring yourself to a therapist. And even if you did, you still had trust issues with everyone. Plus - even if you did bring yourself to see someone, they’d probably just tell you you were fine.

You spent most nights in your apartment listening to sad music, crying. You felt like nothing you did or said mattered. Hell, you didn’t matter. No one would notice if you disappeared. You kept everything you felt to yourself, nothing ever got further than your mind. Your mind liked to self destruct but they didn’t want anyone to know about it. You didn’t want this; you seemed to be someone who had a target on the back from the universe. You just needed it to stop. You didn’t want to die exactly, you just didn’t want to live anymore either.

But what you didn’t know was that sometimes when Steve would come home late at night, he would hear you. The music, the crying, everything. And he would walk past, and then turn around and walk back to your door. He’d stand there for a few minutes, trying to figure out if he should do something. The two of you weren’t super close, and he didn’t feel like it was his place. What he didn’t know was that you weren’t talking to anyone besides a quick “Hey” or “See ya,” every few days.

After a few consecutive days of the same thing though, his concern overpowered his will to respect your privacy, and he knocked on your door.

He heard a gasp and the crying quickly stopped. You were listening and could feel your face burning. Surely nobody actually cared enough to check on you. Still, you turned off the music and crossed your arms tightly, walking slowly towards the door.

Steve knocked again and this time followed with “Y/n? It’s Steve. Listen, I, uh…” He took a deep breath before asking, “Look, I heard you crying. I just...are you okay?”

You stopped in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle. He couldn’t possibly care, could he? But wait this is Steve you were talking about. He gave you no reason to not trust him. He was Captain fucking America for crying out loud. Out of nowhere you blurted out, “Do you really care?”

Now, usually that kind of a phrasing would have been offensive to Steve. But something about the way you said it, you sounded...defeated. But also hopeful, like you were praying he said that he did. Shifting on his feet, he replied. “Of course I care. Please, y/n. Just let me in.”

And with that you opened the door. His expression quickly melted into worry when he saw the state you were in. Your hair was a mess, sticking to your face but also flying everywhere. You had tear tracks down your face, along with makeup that was 2 days old. You had been wearing the same tank top and loose sweatpants for a few days now as well. You were sure you looked like a train wreck, but once again, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Steve cleared his throat. “Can I - may I come in?” he asked softly, concern filling his voice. You stepped to the side, giving him your silent consent, before closing the door again. You crossed your arms and looked at your feet, willing yourself to stop crying. It wasn’t working too well.

Steve was taking in your bony frame. You had lost a lot of weight in the past few weeks, and he was wondering how he didn’t notice. He scanned the room which was in a similar state than you were. Besides the kitchen, which remained spotless. You had no need to use it, so there was nothing to clean up.

Turning his gaze back to you, he asked, “Can I ask what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You shook your head, still unable to make eye contact with him. He sighed. “Look, I just wanna help you out here, but you have to help me a little too. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

You shook your head slightly, meeting his gaze with tears shining in your eyes. “I-I can’t -” you breathed out and let the tears fall, unable to stop them. You turned around and leaned against the door with one hand, bringing the other to your mouth to try and muffle the sobs that began to escape your mouth.

Steve came over to you and helped you over to your couch, where you proceeded to put your head in your hands and rest your elbows on your knees. You didn’t even know why you were crying, you just couldn’t stop. Steve didn’t know what to do, he wanted to comfort you but he also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You were neighbors but you didn’t know each other much beyond that. He just wanted to help because that’s who he is.

What he didn’t know was that inside your mind, you were fighting a war with yourself. You wanted to trust him so badly, to tell him everything, but you just felt like you couldn’t. Like you weren’t supposed to. You were afraid that he’d look the other way like countless people had before him. You were terrified to be wrong about the one guy who was decent to you.

When your sobs had finally died back down to within your control, you had honestly forgotten that Steve was with you, on your couch. When you realized this you let out a small squeak, and you stood up, quickly following up with “I’m sorry - you shouldn’t have seen that - I shouldn’t have -”

“Hey, stop that.” he said, standing up with you. “It’s alright. I just want to help. Just please, tell me what’s wrong. What’s got you this upset this late at night?”

You shrugged lightly and said “I dunno.” When he opened his mouth to protest you added “I really, truly don’t know why I spend most of my nights crying like you just saw. I really don’t I just…” you stopped, worried to finish your sentence out of shame.

“Just what?”

You took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m about to get a little personal with you so just bear with me for a minute. You are the only person I talk to. Yeah, every few days. Basically my entire life has been filled with people betraying me or hurting me. My friends, my parents, people at my job, boyfriends...everyone. There was never really any escape. I thought it’d get better when I got my own place, but,” you motioned to your apartment before putting your hands on your hips, “clearly that hasn’t happened. I told myself I’d never trust anyone ever again, which is why I don’t talk to people anymore. It’s why I’m not looking for help with my crippling depression. It’s why I spend most nights here, alone, in the dark, crying to myself. I just wanna live my life, I just wish I could breath for like, two minutes.”

You finished your long rant with a long exhale before you brought your eyes up to meet his. He looked shocked and a little confused. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.” he said, shaking his head slightly. You shrugged and crossed your arms. “Guess that was kinda the point.”

He stepped forward and shook his head a little more. “This...this isn’t healthy. You’re hurting yourself and you may not even realize it. Which is even more concerning.” he sighed. “How bad is it for you?”

You looked at him before saying “Pretty bad.”

He nodded and averted his gaze for a minute. “How can I help you?”

You gave him a funny look, as if you were studying him. “What?” he asked. You shook your head. “Nothing, it’s just...I’m surprised you haven’t left yet or tried to talk your way out of the situation. Not that I’m upset by your response to all this, I guess you could say I’m just not used to people sticking it out when they realize how much I’m going through.

He gave you a sad smile. “Well, looks like I get to be that person to help you,” he said. “Listen. Now, this is completely up to you but...I know a guy with a lot of great connections to some great people. I could see if maybe we could set you up with someone to talk to? If you're interested, that is.”

You considered it for a moment. Suddenly, you asked “Do I have it wrong? Is my impression of the world wrong?” When Steve raised an eyebrow, you elaborated, “Like I was basically taught that people can have the best intentions but still cause a lot of pain, or how most people shouldn’t be trusted.” Fresh tears were brimming your eyes again, and you looked at him. “Am I wrong?” you asked shakily.

He took a deep breath. “Honestly there can be a lot of cruel people out there. People who seem like you can trust them but they really just want to hurt you. But, there are a lot more good people than bad people on this planet. I just think you haven’t had the best luck up until now.”

You nodded and dropped your gaze, and a letter of tears fell in front of you. You sniffled and looked back at him. “Thank you,” you said.

“For what?” He didn’t feel like he had done much of anything.

You smiled at him. “For listening. And for staying despite it.”

He smiled back at you. “Anytime, y/n. You just let me know when you need someone to talk to.”

#avenger #avengers #avengers imagine #steve #steve rodgers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captainamerica #depression #depressioncomfort #maria mena #self fulfilling prophecy #lyrics #songlyricinspired #songlyrics #lyric inspired

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chaostheoryy · 4 years

Text

Fallen Star [A Valvert Drabble]

Summary: After Valjean spares his life and he finds himself unable to kill the convict at the sewers, Javert makes the decision to throw himself into the Seine. Before he can end his life, however, Valjean intervenes. Is this a torture brought on by the fallen in Hell? Or does God have something planned for the faithful lawman?

Word Count: 1,252

Rating: Teen

Warning(s): Suicide attempt, mentions of blood

A/N: This is my first time writing for Les Mis and Valvert and it’s certainly been a long time coming. I’m actually considering expanding on this piece and turning it into a longer fix-it fic so I’m very eager to hear what you think about it. If you enjoy it and want to read more, please consider commenting or sending me a message with your feedback! Thank you.

I am reaching, but I fall

And the stars are black and cold

As I stare into the void

Of a world that cannot hold

I'll escape now from that world

From the world of Jean Valjean

There is nowhere I can turn

There is no way to go on

Javert closed his eyes and exhaled. The sweat on his brow mixed with the blood still caked against his temple, oozing down the side of his face like some cursed stroke of watercolor paint. Crisp evening air tickled the hairs on the back of his neck and gently coaxed him forward. One step was all it would take. One step and his nightmare would end.

With a clenched jaw, he took the step. The entirety of his body weight fell forward, his feet instantly clearing the safety of solid ground. Rushing water and sparkling mist called his name down below and Death himself finally opened his arms to welcome the inspector with a warm embrace.

But the embrace never came.

Javert had fallen only a foot or so when something drew his descent to a halt. His collar grew tight around his neck as he dangled there over the Seine’s violent waters. Had it not been for the deep grunt of a man overhead, he might have actually believed God was holding him up amongst the stars.

Startled, the inspector opened his eyes just as he felt himself being hoisted upward. An arm hooked underneath his own and a large calloused hand latched onto the breast of his waistcoat. Even without seeing the bearer of that hand, he knew perfectly well who it belonged to. And even surer he became when he heard his savior cry out from the exertion of lifting him skyward.

The second Javert’s legs cleared the railing, the hands at his waistcoat fell away. He collapsed onto his backside, the impact of his shoulder blades against the hard ground forcing a sharp breath from his chest. For a moment, he lay there, eyes locked on the Heavens above. The stars stared right back, just as they always had. But whether they looked upon him now with pride or shame, he simply could not comprehend.

From underneath the roar of the waters, heavy panting seeped into Javert’s ears. He knew that breath, knew those exhales of relief. He’d heard them so many times before: in the factory office after long days of bookkeeping and busy work, in the shipyards of years past when chains fell slack around wrists and the merciless labor of the shift was through. Yes, Javert knew that breath well. Just as well as he knew the voice that went along with it.

“Is this really what you want, inspector? To throw your life away in the name of justice?”

Javert finally looked over at the figure who intercepted his fall to find Valjean propped up against the railing. He looked confused, his face twisted into a scowl. His chest rose and fell beneath the stained uniform as he fought to catch his breath.

“I have spent nearly a quarter of my life chasing you,” Javert said, “Wanting nothing more than to see you rot behind bars. You have fled to the ends of the Earth, changed your name, taken up the care of a child. The Heavens see you wage this war and grant you the chance to end my life but you don’t take it.” He shook his head, still in complete disbelief over the encounter at the cafe. “A convict with the opportunity to end his pursuit by killing the man he hates chooses mercy. How can a lawman such as me continue to uphold justice when justice itself is but a shadow?”

The last thing he expected in that moment of vulnerability was laughter. Valjean was not a man of disrespect, Javert knew that much. Even in the face of isolation and punishment, the man always remained sympathetic and sure. And yet, there he was scoffing.

Javert’s brow furrowed.

Valjean waited for his chuckle to fade before speaking. “Javert, I could not hate you no matter how hard I tried. And, believe me, try I did. The first few months on my own, all I did was seethe. I lied and I stole and I set myself ablaze with hatred. But it was a flame that could only burn for so long. By the time I had stumbled upon Montreuil-sur-Mer, the wick of my anger had burned away. All I wanted —all I have ever wanted— was to help those less fortunate than myself, to help to their feet those that feel they have no strength to carry on.”

Javert wanted nothing more than to mock the old man. After all, he was a fool wasn’t he? A man aiming to help the poor and the helpless when he was just as unfortunate as them? Even the literary greats could not have written something so tragic.

But Javert couldn’t laugh, couldn’t taunt the man that sat across from him. Valjean’s desire was that of the angels: selfless and warm. Misplaced as it may be, it was a gesture God would have praised. And who was the inspector to question the work of the almighty?

“And so I become the less fortunate,” Javert mused, turning his attention back to the twinkling stars above. After years of devotion, I too have fallen.

Valjean groaned and the scuffling of heavy boots against stone alerted Javert that his counterpart had risen to his feet. Two bold strides and he was standing over the inspector. For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes scanned the horizon, took in the beauty of the cathedral just beyond the Seine. Then, with a sigh, he held his hand out toward Javert.

“Come.”

Javert was unsure whether the man standing above him was from Heaven or Hell. Every defensive instinct that had been engrained in him over the years told him it was the latter. And yet, when he looked up at those gentle eyes framed by graying curls, all his brain could picture was feathered wings and a halo of pure light.

Without uttering a single word, Javert seized Valjean’s waiting hand and allowed the sturdier man to hoist him off the ground. Once the inspector was on his feet, Valjean clasped his shoulder in solace.

“Wash up at my home. Cosette and I shall make you a warm meal and strike a fire. Should you choose to stay the night, there is an extra bed down the hall and plenty of blankets to spare.”

“Why are you doing this? Why would you help the person who has done nothing but cause you pain?”

“Because I believe in second chances, inspector. Every man deserves them,” Valjean explained, “Especially those who feel they do not.” Valjean’s hand slipped off of Javert’s shoulder, but the warmth it had brought with it remained. “Now, come before the rains wash us out.”

Valjean started off toward Rue de l’Homme Arme and Javert followed suit. The figure that guided him down the dark Parisian streets that night did not bear a crown of light or boast a wingspan of golden feathers. Nonetheless, Javert was convinced that Jean Valjean was not of Earth. For what purpose he was saved, the inspector did not know but there was no doubt in his mind that the Heavens had sent an angel to ease his pain.

Perhaps, Javert thought, a fallen star can rise to the Heavens once more.

#This could be the beginning of something beautiful 👀#I am so tempted to keep writing but I'll wait for some feedback #Valvert #Valvert Fanfiction #Valjean/Javert #Jean Valjean/Javert #Les Mis #Les Miserables #Les Miserables Fanfiction #My fic #Drabble #Jean Valjean #Inspector Javert

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fiction-in-my-blood · 4 years

Text

The Bewitching Hour Part 1 (SITS Smut) Kyohei x MC

I’m thinking of turning this into a series with all the guys in it, so if you enjoy, stay tuned :)!

Warnings: Fingering, Sex

~~~~~~

Work had been trouble lately. Not only was the ghostwriter severely struggling with doing her own job, a lot of the Revance members were on edge because of it. Takashi’s Demon Mode had been making more frequent appearances and many worried for their own safety, few also worrying for the only woman in the house. Not only that, The morning the producer woke up, there was a stranger in their kitchen.

“Who the hell are you and how did ya get in my house?” Kyohei roared at the half naked, rejectfully majestic man that stood at his fridge, peering at the contents like they were going to put themselves together for his breakfast. The man didn’t seem much phased by the shock of one of the inhabitants of the house that wasn’t his, he found it amusing, that showed on the smirky, mysterious grin that appeared on his face when he turned around.

“Hey, man, don’t worry about it, I spent the night.” The admission did nothing to ease Sir Kyo’s suspicion, instead making him more pissed off in the early hour. No one would be a morning person if this is what they had to deal with first thing.

However, before he could argue, demanding him to explain, a high whine came from the far end of the room. “Mitsu~, I told you not to come down until I was ready.” The strangely provacative yet shy call of the young woman, merely dressed in an overbearing sweater and shorts, hair a mess after the activities she had partaken in the past night, shocked the other resident.

“But, my dear, you were taking too long. I was getting a different type of hungry.” The man, surely older than her but a gentlemanly youth about him, cooed, a teasing smirk forming on his lips as he remembered what he had been hungry for only a few hours before this conversation. Masami blushed.

“They call it a walk of shame for a reason, Mistu. Get your stuff before anyone else wakes up.” She crossed her arms in defiance, the brunt of her configuration halted by the notebook she held in one hand. Kyohei recognised it as her writing journal.

“Okay, I guess I can get dressed. Unless you want to keep something for future uses?” The man with fair hair long enough to be pulled back into a long pontail sauntered over to the ghostwriter, leaning over her to steal her lips. Before he could catch them, however, he was blocked by a wad of paper.

“No kissing, Mitsu. It’s in the agreement.” She sighed, almost exhausted with having to remind him all the time. The roll of her innocent eyes didn’t go unnoticed by the slightly distracted producer.

“Hello. What the hell is going on here?” A little pissed with having such a rude introduction, Kyohei made himself known to the couple. The fact he would soon learn about some of her stress relieving habits brought a blush to Masami’s cheeks, trying to hide them with her hand as Mitsu chuckled to himself beside her.

“I-I have those lyrics done, Kyohei. Read through them when you’re ready!” The ball of red quickly made her exit after slapping her notebook on the coffee table in the living area. Mitsu couldn’t help but enjoy the sight Kyohei would usually also be happy to see.

“There’s nothing to fear, sir. Just a trade in professions. You may like the use my services too one day.” With the way Mitsu’s been acting in this extraordinary scenario, Kyohei couldn’t tell what he was suggesting. What was this man’s profession and what did it have to do with Masami?

“If you’d like to see my portfolio, I’d love to comission if you find it desirable.” Only now did Kyohei spot the large art pad held to Mitsu’s body with his arm as he continued to rest his hands in his pockets.

“You’re an artist?” Kyohei, significantly cooled compared to moments ago, grew slightly curious to the man’s offer.

“And Miss Mami is my muse, and I her’s. We arranged it years ago.” The nickname rolled off with such ease it showed how close the two must be. Kyohei almost felt jealous just talking to the man.

“Show me.” He demanded, wanting more to see what had impressed the girl so much to have the obvious relationship they had together. This made that mirthful chuckle reverberate from Mitsu’s chest once again. Despite the clear irritation on the producer’s face, he placed his sketchpad on the kitchen counter and opened it up. Kyohei’s eyes went wide at the images before him.

Pages upon pages of naked women, mostly Masami, framed in comprimising positions, always a lewd look in their eyes. The drawings seemed so realistic, Kyohei almost felt like he was there when it was created, even if they were just sketches- mainly black and white. The one that really caught his eye was the masterpiece on the back page. It was Masami, on her back with her knees pressed to her chest, feet up and vulva on full display. He looked away, an intolerant blush surfacing on his cheeks.

“I’ll say, my most recent piece is my favourite. Masami surely was in her creative flow last night.” A look of pure pride overtook what his usual expression seemed to be as he gazed upon the picture of his business partner. She seemed too innocent most of the time, it was only Mitsu who ever got to see this side of her.

“Creative flow?” Kyohei was drawn by the odd explanation for such a drawing, his gaze following the man as he ripped the page out with little regard to his other pieces.

“You don’t know of her Bewitching Hour? And how long has she lived here?” A tone of pity mixed with amusement filtered out of his mouth as he placed the sheet of paper on the counter before closing his book once again.

“Like any woman, Masami is a powerful being. Sometimes her talent gets too much for her and she can’t seem to let it out at all. She gets so pent up sometimes, I’m man enough to admit even I can’t satiate her creativity.” Mitsu laughed on the memory of an irritated Masami climbing off his lap with a heavy sigh of not being able to pleasure herself with his body. He didn’t mind, he had those nights too, it was the joy of their agreement that made him so confident in his abilities.

“But what’s a Bewitching Hour?” Kyohei was beyong interest by now. For months he had wanted to her his hands on the innocent cutie that lived under his roof. This might finally be his chance.

“It’s just my term for it. She does her best work, in the bedroom and in her songs, at night. The only way she can filter her ideas is in the act, as one would say. On nights I can’t get to her, she’ll desperately play piano. I’ve never heard it myself, but I’m sure its beautiful.” A mesmerised look drifts into Mitsu’s eyes as he imagines all the dirty scenarios he could get into if he could just catch her off guard in one of her musical trances.

“Remember, if you ever hear music in the dead of night, the Bewitching Hour has begun.”

~~~~~~

Several days after the mysterious and mature artist escaped the Revance home without being spotted by any other members, Kyohei has gotten very little sleep. Mostly from anticipation to hear any type of tune drifting through the halls and some due to the thoughts that clouded his brain. How would he initiate such an occasion? Were her trances even a thing? Would it be right to take advantage of that to experience the feelings he’s been waiting so long to feel? Maybe yes, maybe no. It all depended on her, really. If he showed up, made himself known, and she just happened to jump on him, he wouldn’t stop her. Even if she needed a little coaxing, he would be happy to take the place of her muse if for a night. He just wanted to encounter what he had heard, and seen in still images, was so magical.

Then, on one fateful night, a jolly tune bounced in the distance and Kyohei shot up in bed. Where or who it was coming from didn’t matter as long as who it was he hoped it would be. He grabbed a shirt just in case this didn’t turn out how he had hoped and stormed out the door.

In the hallways, following the strangely enticing sound to what must have been from the recording studio, the darkness and tune was a little eery. It was upbeat and fun, but the emptiness of the halls and the hyperawareness that everyone was asleep made a suspicious shiver run up Kyohei’s spine. Please, please don’t let this be Takashi.

Sure enough, through the door that was standing open, was a risquely dressed woman, her fingers jumping along the keys of the keyboard in their in-home recording studio. She was in her pyjamas, a worn tank top that must have been from her teenage years from the cute character on the front and shorts of a different design but just as old. Her hair was up in a rushed bun, sagging to the side when she tilted her head in frustration. Her ideas weren’t flowing the way she wanted them to and Mitsu was in Osaka for an art showing. She had no other outlets.

Except for the man that now stood directly behind her. She didn’t notice him at first, too wound up in her musical whimsy until she felt a warm pressure on her shoulders. She jumped, the electric instrument groaning with a clatter of keys as her fingers slammed down at the unexpected sensation.

“So tense. You need to relax if you want to get your work done in time not to get punished.” A tone she was all too used to breathed on her ear as Kyohei leaned over head, the feeling of his erection pressing into her back. Not that she could feel it, she was too stunned as to why he was here and too busy trying to bay her urges. No matter who it was, she would go for anyone in this state. Before she had met Mitsu, she would go on the prowl in less that suitable establishments, usually mistaken for a prostitute, even though she was the most dressed person on the whole block. Although, it didn’t matter to her, she usually got what she needed.

“Help me then.” The demanding tone spurred Kyohei on, the stern look making him chuckle. She looked as frustrated as Mitsu had made her sound and that led him to believed that this could happen. That he could get what he want. What they both wanted- for whatever different reasons.

Slowly but directly, Kyohei’s fingers from one hand drifted over her bare skin, along her collarbone and arond her neck, making her look up at him by tugging lightly on it. From some of the sketches in Mitsu’s book, she liked and was a frequent user of positions like these. Masami gulped at the heat that suddenly flooded in her.

With that slightly startled but so heavily lustful look in her eyes, Kyohei continued, inching his other hand down her chest and under her top. She moaned the second he tweaked her nipple. Both of their hearts raced at this less than innocent act taking place in such a common area of their home. Masami didn’t think about it, too caught up in trying to filter through the words flying around in her head, but Kyohei was metaphorically shitting bricks. If someone came in, would it be his fault? Would she get angry? The sound of a whimper pulled him out of those thoughts though.

“K-Kyohei, ca-can you... Can you finger me?” The forwardness of Masami’s words and the pleading look in her eyes as he held her face up to meet his gaze caused a shot of arousal to fire through Kyohei’s body and he wasted very little time in pulling her up. He quickly looked around for a surface to lay her on, but there was only the couch and the office chair that didn’t have any important equipment on it, so he pushed her onto the ground, laying her legs over his as he leant over to her. His hand was no longer around her neck, instead both were either side of her head, holding himself up over her.

With her hair sprawled out around her, pale wrists settled close to were his hands were, eyes slightly wide at seeing him in this position and cheeks flushed with desperate but embarrassed need, Kyohei had never been more turned on by any other woman. Masami wasn’t anything special. She didn’t have the ‘perfect’ body or have the greatest make-up skills. She was slow and at times absent-minded, just like right now, she seemed to be concentrating on something else and Kyohei didn’t know that this was what she was usually like in the moment. She was concentrating on her lyrics.

But Kyohei didn’t want that. He wanted all thoughts on him.

So, sitting back onto his heels, he focused all of his attention to her lower half. Palms falling on her knees, which only now had he realised were slightly bruised and was sure they were from the last time she had done something like this, his hands crept up her legs. The warm sensation on her body, chilled by the cold room and limited clothing, sent an excited shiver through her- dispersing any thoughts of music to the side, just for now, just so something could make sense. There was Kyohei Rikudoh, having her straddle him while she was on her back, making his way to her nether region with a look that seemed a little too excited.

But, Masami didn’t have time to think that fact over as she felt some sort of pressure on her clit. She gasped out a moan as she looked down to see Kyohei’s thumb disappearing underneath the fabric of her shorts. The motions on her fastened the more she moaned but the second she got a little louder, it was gone.

But only for a moment. Masami was about to complain before she felt that same digit enter her fully. Although shorter and thinner than some men she’s had, Kyohei’s thumb worked wonders on the nerves that were building up in that area and the nerves that had been in her head for the past few hours. He enjoyed the silent gasping as he pressed in different directions before slipping out and replacing it with his middle finger, once again seeing that short burst of annoyance before her lips parted to take in enough air to remind herself to breath. He wanted so badly to trap those plump things under his, exploring her mouth like it was the Mariana Trench, so, he leaned in.

“No.” A muffled call escaped Masami’s lips as she covered them with her hand, protecting herself from his advances. He stopped his thrusting fingers, wondering if he had hurt her, but she shook her head.

“N-Not on the lips.” She stuttered, the darkest blush she’s had tonight ligthening her face as she kept her hand there. Kyohei was slightly confused, his brows frowning at the strange demand. She would let him fuck her, but she wouldn’t let him kiss her? Well, he knew she was strange, but he didn’t believe it when she had reprimanded Mitsu. He thought it was just because he was there.

“I-If that’s gonna be an issue for you...” Masami led off as she sat up, inched herself away the best she could to keep the distance away from their faces and his fingers, which he hadn’t realised where still in her, slipped out. She bit back a moan at that, too embarrassed and scared to have annoyed him to make a noise.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not going to force you.” Kyohei smirked, wanting this more than he wanted to exercise each of his fantasifull whims. Masami’s shoulders eased at that and her gaze wondered down his body.

“Oh?” She muttered at the tent she saw pitched in his shorts. They were loose and thin, something like basketball wear, so she could definitely tell most of that height wasn’t material. She was in for a treat tonight.

With the tilt of her head, she reached forward, pulling down his waist band and helping his cock escape before he could say a word. To his surprise, he panicked as she grabbed it with such gentle fingers his hands flew behind him to keep himself upright. As her knees weren’t hooked over his anymore, she could sit on her own legs as Kyohei’s crossed his in front of him.

Masami knew what she was doing, she had a routine. Something she knew worked every other time she had done this act with someone new, so, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his dick before licking it.

“You’re rather forward, huh?” Kyohei tried to regain his usual composure as the petite woman before him hardened him so suddenly he worried there’d be no blood left in his skull. She looked up at that incredulous smirk and couldn’t help but blush as she realised what she was doing.

“I want this.” She replied bluntly, not blaming herself for her less than ordinary ways to relieve stress. She licked him one last time before she brought her lips right next to his ear, careful not to let go of his cock. “So, will you fuck me now, Sir Kyo?”

Her questioning tone was almost innocent if not for the words that spilled out of her mouth so easily. Kyohei felt something come over him, an all too familiar feeling of lust, and he pushed her back by her shoulders onto the floor where she had been moments ago. He pulled her shorts and panties off, all in one go, and threw them behind him without much care as to where they ended up.

“You came prepared?” Masami frowned her brows at the condom Kyohei pulled out of his pocket. She wasn’t mad, she was happy he had one, but it did confuse her. She didn’t really know he was aware of her trances.

“Always am, Miss Mami~.” Kyohei’s teasing tone, mimicking the voice of her usual muse, made the girl blush, covering her frown with the back of her hand as she laid there, waiting patiently. She looked too cute for what he was about to do to her.

“Shut up and help me.” She grumbled, reminding him why they were here in the first place, and Kyohei couldn’t help but chuckle. The two stayed in their separate states until Kyohei sharply entered her.

Both mind’s turned into a pleasured fog that distracted either side of this couple from the outside world. Not that anything was happening that they would need to look out for, everyone was asleep and Kyohei hade the foresight to close the door. This allowed them, mostly Masami, to moan to their heart’s content. She clutched the top that fluttered over her as Kyohei towered over, holding himself up with one hand and her right thigh with the other.

“K-Kyohei.” She gasped out, eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him as his hand massaged that part of her leg, waiting for her to be comfortable enough for him to move. He seemed pushy, but he did care, being the secretly thoughtful guy he was. The sound of his name told the producer he could start thrusting.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted as those movements pulled him out of the short but sweet trance he found himself in as he watched the young woman writhe beneath him distracted him from the tightness of her. How could a woman said to be so risque and ravaging seem so virginal?

“Y-You’re just big.” The comment made her blush and she pouted, momentarily preoccupied from the heavenly sensation slowly grinding into her.

“Don’t frown like that. I’m sure you’ve dreamt about this, haven’t you?” He drew even closer to her once again, propped on his elbows as he continued to thrust in and out of her, one hand holding her cheek. He was careful not to make it seem like he would try to kiss her.

The smugness of his tone and sudden hard pound of his hips made Masami’s hands fly down his torso to grip the skin of his behind, hoping it would spur him onto giving her more of that much needed pleasure. “K-Kyohei.” Her ideas were finally organising themselves. She was so close. All she needed was a little encouragement.

“Go on. Scream my name. I know you want to.” Even though his own breathing started to hasten, his heart racing and his words sometimes tripping over themselves, Kyohei tried to seem as cool as he usually was. But, the clawing feeling on his lower back and arching of her’s, pressing their bodies even closer together was just so erotic, he found his own thoughts becoming jumbled. There was so much he wanted to say, so many dirty things he wanted to whisper in her ear to make her blush harder, to stutter his name more, he couldn’t understand any of the words that threatened to spill out of his mouth. Something about loving something, but the shriek of the woman below him pulled his thoughts away from that strange sensation.

“K-Kyohei!” Arms flying up his body and around his neck, pulling him closer and her up so he could snake an arm around her, holding their bodies flush together, Masami couldn’t hold back anymore.

“More. Please. I need so much more!” She whimpered in his ear and he only just realised his thrusts had slowed while he was thinking. Then, one thought made sense. Flipping them over so he was on his back and Masami was sitting on his lap, his cock buried so deep inside her she was sure she must have been hollowed out by him, Kyohei smirked.

“Go on, do it yourself. Use me to inspire you.” Sitting, holding each other, his hand clutching the back of her hair so he could whisper in her ear without risk of her pulling back, Kyohei pulled as much out of her as he could. Albeit the ground prohibitted most of his movement. When he loosened his grip, Masami sat up, looking at him with another one of her cutely questioning expressions.

“How do you- Oh!” Masami gasped as he pushed her hips down, mainly to distract her from her question and also to pleasure himself. Her hands once again clenched the fabric on his chest and she subconsciously started bouncing up and down, the sound of skin hitting skin sounding between them. Heavy breathing, moans of each other’s names, and the smell of hot, sweaty sex filled the room. It was lucky they had good ventilation in here.

It didn’t take much longer for either to finish, coincidentally at the same time, and when they both felt each other’s releases, Masami collasped forward, landing on Kyohei’s chest with a soft thud. She was panting, her thighs aching slightly from the exercise, and Kyohei chuckled, his arms sprawled out either side of him. The two finally had a moment of silence...

...Until Masami jumped up, his penis sliding out of her but she didn’t seem to care much, and yanked her journal from the table she had been struggling over before he showed up. As if this hadn’t just happened, as if one of the most sort of bachelors at the moment wasn’t laying half-naked on the floor behind her, Masami started working. She started pouring her heart out onto the pages in front of her, making quick work of the song she had been struggling with for the past day and a half.

It couldn’t be hidden, Kyohei was a little pissed. He had just had one of the most amazing sex sessions he had ever experiences, and she was still able to make it to the desk chair and write? So, he got up, meaning to turn her around and pound her against that journal that seemed to occupy her thoughts, when she met his stern gaze with a delighted smile. He only now saw the slightly darkened rings under her eyes and, despite that, she still looked adorable.

“Thanks, Kyohei, you were a big help!” Masami cheered, slapping her book shut and standing up, only to find the two much closer than she had anticipated. Both their lower halves were completely on show, but she couldn’t let herself look down. She was beat but, most of all, she was able to write. She had been able to accompish what she set out to do.

Kyohei just chuckled at his own stupidity. He should have understood what Mitsu meant when she really did just use his body to satiate her creativity. This was just a trade in professions, a transferable muse and a writer, nothing more, nothing less.

“Call me if you need anymore help.” He winked, his smug smirk returning to his face as Masami blushed at the offer, turning to find her shorts, throwing them on and running out the door so she could finally get some much needed sleep. What neither of them had realised was the pair of panties, tucked behind a filing cabinet after Kyohei had carelessly thrown them over his shoulder.

#scandel in the spotlight #kyohei rikudoh #sits #voltage games #voltage fanfic #voltage smut

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going2go-away4-awhile · 4 years

Text

This isn’t What I Wanted: Chapter 4- The Miracle of Anger

Summary: Waking up in a hospital is always alarming, waking up in Hope County Hospital is terrifying. Suddenly thrust into a body that isn't hers and knowing nuclear fallout is on the horizon. Adaine must gather supplies while she can before the big day happens, and trying to stay clear of a radical cult is easier said than done.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25543036/chapters/62343265

TW: Brief mentions of Death and Torture

She looked rough, but what should he have expected from a former dead person. He could tell she was scared of them, from the way her hand tightly gripped the door knob, to the way her eyes were dilated. Jacob watched as she shifted nervously in the door frame in thought, before she motioned them into her house. The smell of cleaning products and fresh linens entered his senses as he took in the older house. From the lack of care around the outside of the property, coupled with boxes pushed against one another labeled with “Sell”; Jacob knew this wasn’t her home. She hadn’t settled into the place, there weren't any personal touches: no knick-knacks or photo frames of her life or her interests. It reminded him of open houses ones his foster parents went to.

Easing himself in a kitchen chair, he declined her offer for a drink, and watched her move around the kitchen preparing John some coffee. Jacob raked her over, accessing the miracle his brothers were enamored with. She was a pretty thing and had a healthy glow to her. He noted he wasn’t the only Seed in the room to be taking in the sights. John wasn’t hiding his interest in the slightest, and Joseph's gaze was just as intense as it usually was. Jacob kept quiet as the woman and his brothers chatted, it was nothing of interest; though the tension could be cut with a knife.

It seemed that Joseph was done being a normal house guest and got to the reason they were here. “Ms. Adaine, we apologize for stopping by unannounced. But, I have come to tell you that I have seen you in my visions. I have seen you die and live again.” Now when people normally heard his brother’s prophecies they scoffed it off or even laughed at him, however Ms. Adaine here didn’t do any of that. In fact she didn’t do much of anything. Just sat there with a glazed look over her eyes. Jacob tuned out the rest of Joseph’s speech, and focused on Adaine. She didn’t fidget under the brothers’ eyes, she didn’t rebut Joseph’s claims, just sat and listened. He shifted ever so slightly to test her alertness. Her eyes unfocused and narrowed in on his form. Good situational awareness, she still knows there’s danger in the room. Good girl.

She interrupted Joseph’s talk with a very interesting question, “So you know everything?”

_____________________________________________________________

Adaine wished she could leave, she wished she could make them leave. He knew, they all knew. She could feel her brain start shutting down in panic. Of course he got visions of her, why wouldn’t he? She wanted to throw up, I just wanted to duck my head down and live a relatively normal existence. But why did she ever think that anything would be normal again after waking up in a video game? She wanted to scream and rage, this isn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair. She was trying to rebuild her life. A life that was taken from her, over a stupid mistake to go on a walk. But man bun Jesus over there just couldn’t leave her alone. He just had to know about a walking dead girl. A miracle he called her, a new age Lazarus. A gift sent from God himself. So that’s all she was? Not a person, but an object? Fuck his visions, fuck his cult, and fuck his stupid ass family.

A movement across the table, brought her back from the brink. She can’t lose focus, not when the devil himself is at her dinner table.

Adaine knows what they’ve done and what they’ll do. How does she approach this? Joseph in his long winded spiel hadn’t mentioned her other worldliness. Knowing how the Seeds are, this won’t be their last visit to her place (and hopefully they won’t just take her to their place). With them lurking at her doorstep then it was only a matter of time before something slipped and they figured out she knew things. Very valuable things. She would be branded as a liar, a sinner. Adaine shuddered, she knew what they did to sinners. Burnt Corpses, people being kept in cages like animals, skin carved off the flesh, bodies poised like Christ’s on buildings, and walking corpses pumped full of Bliss. No, she had the slimmest chance of making it out alive by telling them things, and she would risk it. If she also had an even smaller chance of preventing total war in Hope County she would do it in a heartbeat.

“So you know everything?”

Only the quiet breathing of the people in the room was heard for a minute. Joseph's eyes focused back on hers, and spoke in a solemn tone, “About you? No, Adaine I’m at a loss about certain things. But, I’m sure with time we can all get to know you better. About your death? Yes, I’ve seen and felt what you’ve felt.” He started offering her a warm smile but it went away with the shaking of her head.

Taking a deep breath in, she steeled her nerves and went for it. “No, I’m talking about how you weren’t real in my world.” A humorless smirk worked its way on her mouth, “This is crazy right? I bet you’re normally the one being looked at with disbelief.” Adaine had the brothers full attention now. “This is a video game, all of it. You’re just a story made from pixels. Yet, I found myself here. I know this story, I know your stories, but most importantly I know the ending.” Staring deep into Joseph’s eyes she continued. “The project fails because you kicked the hornets nest again and again and again. Till finally the snake enters the garden and strikes your family dead. Your pride killed your family and everything you held dear. You lived past the bombs, but it really didn’t matter because you begged for death in the end. A shade of a man consumed by grief.” Adaine waited with baited breath for one of them to attack her, to kill her for speaking so disrespectfully to The Father. She found herself not caring, if she was to die right now then she at least got to say her piece.

Watching her could be attackers, Adaine noted that John and Joseph seemed rattled, but she couldn’t get a grasp on Jacob's body language. Adaine watched as John’s shaking hands reached and grasped Joseph’s arm. “Tell me she’s lying, please Joseph, tell me she’s lying.”

Grasping his baby brother’s hand he responded hoarsely, “No John, I’m afraid she’s not. I’ve seen the possibility- but I was doing it right. I thought I was doing it right.” Adaine watched as he gulped down air, before settling himself. “ This is why you’re here. This is the reason God sent you to us, a warning of our ways, we’ve sinned.” Quicker than she could react, Joseph’s hands now held hers in a warm tight grip. His thumb stroked the back of her hand as he spoke to her, “Thank you Adaine.” The look on his face could be a kin to that of a worshiping man at the altar.

Holding her gaze he addressed his brothers, “If she’s here then the collapse is soon upon us. We need to meet with the project and discuss further plans.” Before Adaine could tell him off, no this wasn’t what I meant, you loon. A knock sounded at her door once again that day. If that’s the Deputy themselves I’ll walk into that bunker and never leave.

She watched as John and Jacob left the room to answer her door, still her hands still held by Joseph’s. Adaine felt her face grow hot under his intense look on her face. It was mostly her own discomfort at the situation but a small,very small voice in her head whispered. When's the last time anyone looked at you like that? Like you hung the moon and stars just by being there? Adaine wasn’t dumb, she knew Joseph liked what she had to offer and not her. However, it was nice to be appreciated, even for the wrong reason, every once and awhile.

Hearing a familiar deep voice from the front of the house told her who her visitor was. Pulling her hands away from Joseph’s, Adaine made her way into the foyer. Scooching past Jacob’s imposing form, she came to rest beside John. Who sounded like he was in the middle of a small gloating fest.

“-Already looking for more members Pastor Jeffries? It’s a shame to say the lovely Ms. Adaine is not interested in joining such a small congregation.” A scowling Pastor Jeffries stood on her front step, clearly agitated by John’s needling.

She tentatively placed a hand on John’s shoulder to shut him up. “Thank you Mr. Seed but I believe I can accept and decline invitations on my own accord.” She let her hand fall as she walked out to properly greet the Pastor. “Hello Pastor Jeffries it's good to see you again so soon.” She made a move to follow the man off the porch to talk away from the brothers, but a noise of disapproval from Jacob made Adaine stop and continue the conversation here. Nosy controlling bastards.

Pastor Jeffries rightfully looked worried between her and the brothers. “I had heard from a friend that Mr. Seed was looking for you, but I can see he’s already found you. I wanted to stop and let you know Ms. Adaine that if you need anything at all, please call me.” Adaine was once again struck on how good the Pastor was. He helped her when his congregation had fallen apart: giving her a ride home when she had no one, getting her help with her house, and now he showed up personally to make sure she was okay. If this man ever needs help from me, he’ll find it 10 times over.

“Yes the Brothers came and visited today. I know that I’ll always have help from a friend.” He blinked in surprise then grinned at her. They spoke for a minute more before he parted in goodbye with a promise to call her tomorrow. Probably to check if she’s still breathing.

Before he could get in his truck and leave, Jacob’s voice stopped him. “Tell your friend Eli I said hello.” Are all the Seeds this petty? The pastor paused and nodded at Jacob before leaving. What felt like the millionth time today Adaine sighed, before a yawn over took it. She was exhausted, today was too much. Her brain hurt as did her body. A chuckle from the door, pulled her attention back to her guests.

Joseph gently ushered his brothers out of her home. “It seems to be getting late Adaine, we’ll take our leave for the night. I’ll make sure one of us is back up tomorrow to keep you company.” With a final wave from Joseph and John, all three climbed into a black SUV and left her standing alone on her porch.

Fuck my life.

#far cry 5 #far cry #far cry imagine #far cry 5 imagine #joseph seed #john seed #jacob seed #joseph seed imagine #john seed imagine #jacob seed imagine #Chapter 4

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johnny-and-dora · 4 years

Text

we can stay here (and laugh away the fear)

93. “i believe in you” requested by no-one i just really wanted to do this one in which amy's confidence takes a knock and jake whips out the official jake peralta fiancé experience guide to help her out. (pre 5x15)

read on ao3 -

Something is bothering Amy.

Jake goes over the facts one more time in his head, sneaking a furtive glance at his fiancée over the top of his computer screen – his first clue was when she came out of Holt’s office twenty minutes ago with a slight slump in her shoulders, a blatant violation of the “Posture” section of her mentorship binder.

She’s taking twice as long as usual to do her paperwork and it doesn’t even look like she’s enjoying it. Her brows are furrowed and her lips pursed in this totally adorable yet slightly worrying way and she’s tapping absentmindedly on her desk in thirty-second increments, meaning she’s desperate for a shame cigarette. Conclusive evidence that something is stressing her out.

(The thing that’s stressing her out might be him seeing as he’s been bragging about a major drug bust he just pulled off for most of the morning; but he also brought her coffee and did the dishes last night and laundry mountain is now more of a laundry molehill, so he’s pretty sure he’s in the clear.)

They don’t call him Jacob Sherlock Peralta for nothing (no-one calls him that, but he’s still confident it’ll catch on eventually). And though he can’t figure out what it is just yet, he’s determined to solve the case of why the love of his life can’t even enjoy her paperwork.

To: Amy Santiago, 12:23 u ok? need a break???

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible but can’t bring himself to miss the tiny smile that flickers on her face upon seeing the text. He pretends to be absorbed in the criminal database he’s scouring while he waits for his phone to buzz.

From: Amy Santiago, 12:24 I’m fine.

He shoots her an overdramatic disbelieving look over his monitor and she rolls her eyes.

From: Amy Santiago, 12:24 Okay, maybe not totally fine. Can we talk? x

To: Amy Santiago, 12:25 meet me in evidence lockup 5 mins x

She’s there when he quietly closes the door behind him a few minutes later; it causes such a strong swell of deja vu, memories of so, a lot of change around here and more recently Jake Peralta, I will marry you that it almost overwhelms him. So he does what he always does.

“Thought I might find you in here.” He jokes – she laughs a little but her body language is so tightly wound that he moves almost on pure instinct to give her a hug. The way the tension instantly disappears from her frame as she buries her face in his shirt tells him he must be doing something right.

“You okay?” He says softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead; she looks up at him, hands still snaked neatly around his waist, and he’d let all the criminals in holding walk free if it would make her feel better.

(Not that it would – he’s never been that good with metaphors, but the sentiment remains.)

“Fine. Really, I just…I needed this.”

“You sure?” He asks, and he can tell when he only gets a sigh in response that he’s going to have to break out the Official Jake Peralta Fiancé Experience Guide to Comforting Amy Santiago, The Greatest Woman In The Universe. (The title still needs some work.)

“It’s just…the results of the sergeant’s exam come out this week. Holt just told me.”

“Oh.” He says, trying to connect the dots. “That’s a good thing, though, right? You’ve been waiting for ages - and you totally aced that test, Ames.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “I just can’t help thinking – what if I don’t get it?” He prepares a reprisal of the speech he made that day on the roof, but she continues. “And what if I do, and I can’t handle it? What if it’s way too much work or my squad doesn’t respect me or I get transferred or…“ It’s a spiral, he realises – a knock to her confidence that breaks his heart a little.

Fortunately, it’s also something he knows exactly how to handle, and it involves one of his top five favourite activities.

“Have I ever told you,” Jake says as he takes her hands in his, “that you are perfect?”

Amy predictably rolls her eyes at his blatant cheesiness, but the hint of a smile that appears on her face is more than enough fuel for him to keep going.

“Well, you are. Perfect! Perfecter than perfect.”

“It’s more perfect, babe.” She says, and a million years ago in 2013 he’s wearing ill-fitting sandals and Captain Holt is disappointed in him and Jake just wants to find a way to rip through the very fabric of space and time, grab his past self by the shoulders and tell him that using correct grammar is going to get him some of the best sex in his life in the future so he better start learning now.

(And also, as an afterthought, that everything is going to be okay.)

“Actually, no.” He grins, shit-eating Peralta special. “Because in the language that I just made up, perfecter is actually more perfect that more perfect. Perfecter than perfect is a special term invented for the light of my life, the most amazing woman in the history of the universe, Amy Santiago.”

She prods him lightly in the shoulder, now completely failing to tamper down a warm smile. “Dork.”

“Queen of the cosmos. The one true love of my life. Divine goddess of wisdom and beauty.” He punctuates every new fancy title he gives her with a kiss – one to her neck, one to her jaw, one to her cheek, and gains a great sense of satisfaction from the way she melts into him, humming in content.

He initially thinks he’s won this round, but she still looks way too stressed out, exercising a relatively new nervous habit that makes his heart stutter – twisting the engagement ring on her finger.

“You don’t believe me.” He pouts and she sighs, briefly retreating someplace he can’t follow her. When she finally returns his gaze she’s all dark doe eyes and he’s sure there’s space somewhere in his Addams Family themed wedding vow rap for one more promise; a commitment to convincing her she’s more than enough for the rest of his life.

“Nobody’s perfect, Jake.”

“Yeah, no doy. That’s why you’re perfecter than perfect, obviously.”

“I just…I worry, you know? I feel like I need to prove myself.”

“I know. But Ames, you have proven yourself a billion trillion times over. I told you when I proposed, you’re the best detective I know…and there’s no-one else that deserves this more and no-one else that is going to be a better sergeant than you are.”

“Thank you for being perfect.”

“I am flawless, yes.” He grins, but it soon turns into something softer. “I believe in you 100%, okay, babe? You’re going to be an amazing leader.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too. I also feel like the word perfect is beginning to lose all meaning.”

“Oh, there’s a name for that!” She pauses, lost in thought, and sometimes he wishes you could take package holidays in other people’s brains just because he’d love to walk among the endless bookshelves of infinite knowledge in hers, and sometimes he just gets lost in endless endearment for how much of a nerd his fiancée is. This time is definitely the latter.

She snaps her fingers after a moment, eyes bright – “Semantic satiation!”

“That’s so hot.” He smirks, and he’s only half joking. They share a chaste, probably work-appropriate kiss – Jake’s tempted to deepen it, but also not totally convinced that the ghost of Dozerman isn’t frowning down upon them right now so decides to keep it PG. It doesn’t matter anyway – they’re soon rudely interrupted by a loud rap on the door which makes them both jump apart.

“You two horndogs finished being gross in there? I need a case file.”

They both answer with similar cries of indignation and disgust, which just elicits a sharp laugh from Rosa.

“Whatever. Just tell me when you’re done.” She walks away, and Jake laughs at the shade of red Amy has turned, earning him a well-deserved punch in the shoulder.

“So, you wanna get lunch? I happen to know a polish place recommended by a pretty dope soon-to-be sergeant.” Her face lights up and in just a few short months they’re going to be married and Jake has never been more excited for the rest of his life to start.

“Sounds perfect.”

#b99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #my writing #it's been years and i still don't know how to spell sergeant #enjoy the last of these 'i love you' prompts (for now)!#sometimes we all just need a bit of vicarious comforting from our favourite fictional character #<3 #shut up sian

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