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neonlights92 · 4 years

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RUN: Chapter II

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for. He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants. So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly. And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook. So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos. How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

WARNINGS: Language, some violence and eventual smut.

A/N:ENJOY!!!!

Your wedding came and went like the wind.

It hadn’t been a large affair - barely more than fifty people had attended - but your mother had cried of course, and so had Jungkook’s mum, and at the end of it you were Mrs Jeon.

Your new husband had kissed you at the end of it - gently, quickly, like it didn’t really mean much - but you couldn’t help it that your heart skipped at the feeling. Your first kiss with the man you’d spent most of your life loving, and it was like vapour.

And now here you were, stood in the foyer of Jungkook’s apartment, wondering what the hell you were doing. You felt like some kind of imposter - a woman only pretending to be Jungkook’s wife. You tightened the hold on your suitcase, the one your mother had made you pack only a week prior.

“Most of your things will be sent over in the days after you marry,” She’d told you, eyes mischievous, “But you’ll need something special for your wedding night.”

You scoffed.

Your wedding night had been anything but spectacular.

Bangtan had splashed out on an incredibly expensive hotel complete with matching robes and expensive champagne, but you’d spent most of the night alone. You hadn’t been able to bare much of the reception, claiming a headache only an hour and a half into the festivities, and though Jungkook had seemed less than happy about it, he’d told you to make your way to the hotel room without him.

Of course, when you’d arrived all you’d done was to get into bed and cry yourself into some kind of dreamless sleep, feeling like nothing could ever make you happy again. Hours had passed before Jungkook joined you, and when he did, you didn’t mention the smell of perfume on him, and he stayed far, far away from you.

You shook your head furiously, trying to rid your mind of all those horrible memories.

One day, you hoped, you’d have beautiful children, and then you could shower them with all of your unrequited love.

“Are you listening to me?”

Jungkook’s voice shook you out of your reverie and you turned to face him sharply, eyes wide.

“What?”

He sighed heavily, “I said you can either move into the guest room or join me in the master bedroom. What would you prefer?”

You knew what your heart wanted of course.

As stupid as it may have been - and it was astoundingly dumb - you still wanted to share Jungkook’s life with him. You wanted to be able to indulge in the intimacies of marriage and your chest tightened as you remembered what you were to your husband - a hindrance.

“Will it be alright if we share different beds?”

He rose a dark brow, “What do you mean?”

“Your employees,” You clarified, tucking some hair behind your ears and avoiding his eyes, “They won’t think it’s… Inappropriate, will they?”

You hated the strange code of conduct you were being forced into. You loved Jungkook - you wanted to give him yourself, whole heartedly - and yet you had to walk around the truth. You had to pretend like every moment you spent here wasn’t causing irreparable damage to your heart.

Jungkook shrugged, “So what if they do? I don’t give a shit what people say and neither should you. You should sleep wherever you prefer.”

The words hung in the air and you watched his face carefully.

He knew how you felt about him didn’t he? So he had to know you’d prefer sharing his bed. You collected yourself, and after a moment smiled gently.

“Then I think we should share the master bedroom.” If he was surprised he hid it well.

“Okay. This way then.”

You followed him down the hallway and stared at the planes of his back. The suit jacket he was wearing hugged his shoulders perfectly, and despite yourself something in your stomach swelled.

You were his wife now, weren’t you?

Did that not come with certain expectations?

You wondered if Jungkook even found you attractive. Surely if he wanted you in any capacity, he would’ve come looking for your company on your wedding night.

You bit back the tears. Now was not the time for this.

The master bedroom was big of course, but basically empty. Jungkook cleared his throat as you stood in the doorway to the room, observing your surroundings.

“I don’t spend a lot of time at home,” He started by way of explanation, “So urm… That’s why everything’s quite bare.”

You nodded slowly, “I understand.”

“You can do whatever you want in here,” He waved his hand noncommittally, “Within reason, of course.” The joke was weak but you pushed out a soft laugh nonetheless.

“Is that all you have with you?” He pointed at the small piece of luggage you were holding.

You shrugged, “My mom insisted she’d have the rest sent over to me,” You dropped the suitcase at the end of the huge bed you’d be sharing with Jungkook for maybe the rest of your life.

“So what’s in there then?” He cocked his head to the side, confused.

You felt your cheeks blush, brazenly, and you cleared your throat, more than a little uncomfortable.

“She told me to pack some things for the wedding night,” You answered, finally lifting your gaze to meet with his, “It’s not a big deal.”

But you knew that was a lie. Your heart was beating rapidly at just the thought of Jungkook knowing you’d brought intimate clothing along with you, and you knew that the only reason you’d told him it was because you wanted him to think about you scantily clad in lacy underwear.

You wanted him to be attracted to you, despite the fact this marriage was born out of duty for him. You thought that maybe if he wanted your body, you could find a way to open up his heart as well.

“They still do that?” Jungkook’s voice was painted with disbelief.

You quirked a brow, “Do what?” “The whole wedding night lingerie thing,” He laughed tightly, “My hyungs all told me about it but it just sounds… Kind of outdated to me.” Another stab in the heart. You tugged a hand through your hair.

“Oh.” He frowned carefully and sighed, “I’m sorry. Did that hurt your feelings?”

It pained you how easily Jungkook saw through your armour. How would you survive a lifetime with him? How could you hide from his gaze when he knew you so well?

You felt stupid and useless suddenly.

“No.” You replied, voice catching slightly at the end, “You’re right. It is outdated.” You thought of the racy red number your mother had insisted Jungkook would love. He would never see it of course - but part of you had hoped he would. Part of you had hoped he’d not only see you in it… But love you in it, too.

It was a foolish hope.

“Is it alright if I rest?” You asked him after a moment, smiling despite the tears that crawled up the back of your throat, “I’m really quite tired. It’s been a long week.”

Jungkook’s eyes searched your face and you forced your expression into one of neutrality. Just because he knew how you felt - just because he knew you loved him - didn’t mean you always had to be the vulnerable one.

You could learn to protect yourself. You’d grown up around monsters. Around people who manipulated and hurt others.

You just had to learn how to navigate this new reality.

This marriage.

“Yes of course,” Jungkook told you once his eyes had searched right down to the very depths of your soul, “Dinner will be served at around seven, okay?”

You nodded, tightly, “Fine.”

He watched you for a moment more, before finally slipping out of the door and allowing your facade to finally relax. You crawled onto the king sized bed, and pulled the blankets up around you - finally giving way to the tears that had been scratching the back of your eyelids since the minute you woke up this morning.

And as you lay in the bed you’d share with your husband - crying once again over the man who had your heart but didn’t deserve it - you promised yourself that this would be that last time.

That you wouldn’t cry over Jeon fucking Jungkook again.

And even though you were lying to yourself, you repeated that mantra to yourself all night. Over and over again.

Until finally you fell asleep.

And even then you dreamt of him.

The days passed through your fingers like sand. You spent more time than ever pining after Jungkook - qua though the two of you now shared a bed, nothing had changed.

During the day your husband was barely home. And even when he was he was always too busy to pay you any attention.

And at night you slept as far away from each other as possible. Most nights were spent falling asleep to the sight of the planes of his smooth back.

Jungkook wasn’t cruel. He always spoke to you kindly. He smiled whenever he saw you, and occasionally laughed at any jokes you tried to make.

But he was distant. Always held you at an arm’s length.

He never searched out your company, and you wondered if maybe that was because he knew how you felt. He knew you loved him - he knew you’d loved him for so long - and maybe he didn’t want to make matters worse.

He had never promised you love. In fact… He had almost promised you the polar opposite.

And so you spent most of your time alone.

Today was no different.

You tugged on the thread you were using to patch up one of Jungkook’s suit jackets - no doubt he’d created the tears during one of his many business meetings - and sighed heavily to yourself.

You’d seen the jacket earlier that morning, hanging in your shared closet, when you’d noticed the hole. Perhaps it was a need to make Jungkook happy, or perhaps it was boredom, but either way now you were sitting with a needle and thread, fixing it.

A knock at the door pulled you out of what you were doing.

“Come in,” You said softly, expecting Jennie to be on the other side. When the portal opened and it was actually Nayeon you stood excitedly, dropping Jungkook’s jacket and rushing over to her.

“Did you miss me?” She smiled widely as you rushed into her waiting embrace, squeezing her tightly.

“Oh my god, so much,” You pulled back and felt your eyes well up with tears, “Sorry. I’m so emotional these days.”

She grinned and ran a hand through your hair, “Nothing to apologise for.”

You led her over to the small couch that sat in the corner of your bedroom, and the two of you sat down together.

“How have you been?” She asked after a moment.

You wiped at a tear that had unceremoniously tracked down your cheek, “He barely talks to me.”

The words were not accusing, but there was sadness in them.

Nayeon frowned, “He’s acting like a real jackass.”

“No,” You shook your head vehemently, “It’s not his fault. This whole situation… It’s fucked up.”

“Still. He shouldn’t be mean.”

“He isn’t,” You insisted, “We just… He’s hardly at home as it is… And when he is the last thing he wants to do is talk to me.”

“I’m sorry Y/N,” She really did look sorry too.

You shrugged helplessly, “How many marriages in Bangtan are loveless?”

“Whatever. I just hope he’s not…” She stopped herself abruptly and clicked her tongue, “Never mind.”

You quirked a brow, “No…What were you going to say Nayeon?”

”I don’t want to upset you more,” She answered honestly, eyes shifting across your face carefully.

“There’s next to nothing at the moment that could make me feel any worse.”

It was a terrible sentiment, but it was the truth. Things seemed so bleak that you couldn’t imagine any information would cause a further rift in your already distant marriage.

“It’s just…” Nayeon tugged a hand through her hair and pursed her lips, “You know what Jungkook is like. He’s always dated lots of women at the same time. I’m just - I hope he’s ended those relationships.”

Your heart sank.

Immediately his words from earlier that month rolled across your mind.

I’m not a man of commitment.

Did that mean he didn’t want to be faithful to you? Was he warning you of his inability to keep to just one woman for the rest of his life?

You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jungkook would cheat on you. Sure, he’d told you he might never love you… But an affair would be too much, wouldn’t it?

“I don’t - we haven’t spoken about that.” You felt your voice shake.

“I know my brother can be a bastard,” Nayeon shook her head, “But if he cheated on you… I would never forgive him.”

Her words fell on you like concrete.

Would you be able to forgive him?

In a sense, Jungkook didn’t really owe you faithfulness did he? In fact… He might have very well warned you against it.

You swallowed thickly.

“You should ask him about it,” Your best friend’s words were resolute, “If he cares for you… Even a little bit, then he’ll give you that respect.”

She was right of course.

Arranged marriage or not, he still owed you basic decency.

You nodded gently, “You’re right.” Your chest was tight as Nayeon reached over and squeezed your hand, “I will.”

Now you would just have to work up the courage to do it.

Nayeon’s words played over and over again in your mind for the following week. You had thought you were strong enough to bring it up to your husband but the truth was every time you wanted to do it, the words had slipped into the back of your throat. Just one look into Jungkook’s dark brown eyes and you had found yourself rendered helpless.

“Y/N.” Jungkook’s voice caused you to look up as you finished working on his suit jacket, “Hi.”

“Oh.” The word left you in a rush, “Sorry. I didn’t realise you would be home so early.” It was a Friday afternoon - sometime after four - and he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom, watching you the way he always did.

“What are you doing?” Your fingers faltered and you pulled the jacket up slightly, “Fixing this for you. It’s been my pet project for the last week.”

“Oh.” He mirrored your expression of surprise from earlier, taking a step towards you, “I see.” There was a beat of silence and then, “Why?” You tightened your grip on the jacket and felt your stomach roll over in anxiety.

“Why what?”

His eyes flickered, “Why are you fixing it for me?” Because I love you.

Of course you couldn't say that, so instead you opted for a shrug.

“Something to do, I suppose.”

After another long moment of watching, Jungkook smiled softly.

“Thank you,” He said, words warm, “That’s very kind of you.” You blushed at the compliment, however small it may be, and returned his smile, “It’s nothing.”

“I uh…” He cleared his throat and shook his head, “I realised that I forgot to tell you something quite important.” You cocked your head to the side, “What is it?” “Tonight. There’s a gala. One of Jimin’s things…”

You felt something akin to excitement swell inside of you. It was sad… But any reason to spend time with Jungkook was something to be celebrated.

“Right.” Your smile widened, “What time?”

“Eight pm,” He told you carefully, “And you’ll need to dress up.” “I know that don’t worry. I’ve been to Jimin’s galas before,” Your voice was slightly teasing and you almost reprimanded yourself for it.

Perhaps once upon a time you could joke with Jungkook like that, but things were different now… Weren't they? Except Jungkook didn’t seem annoyed.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes, “How could I forget? You and Nayeon love causing trouble at the expense of my poor friend Jimin.” You giggled, “We both know Nayeon is the mastermind behind any and all trouble caused,” You shrugged, “I’m a helpless bystander.” “Helpless my ass,” His lips fell into a smirk, “Just because you look like an angel doesn't mean you always act like one.”

Your heart flipped.

An angel?

Jungkook must have noticed the change in your demeanor, because he suddenly seemed awkward himself. He coughed slightly and tugged a hand through his dark hair.

“Anyway. Just uh… be ready at half seven, alright?” His face had slipped back into that infamous Bangtan mask, but you were still warm from his earlier words.

“Okay. I will.” “And uh… Will the jacket be fixed for tonight?”

You felt slightly dazed. Jacket?

“Huh?” His smile was small but he nodded towards the piece of clothing you were gripping so tightly your knuckles had turned white, “Your pet project.”

“Oh right.” You turned the jacket over in your hands and nodded, “Yes. Yeah. It’ll be ready.” “Great. I’ll have Minhyuk prepare the matching trousers for me, then.”

He smiled once more before leaving, and you realised you were holding your breath.

God.

It felt like you had been punched in the stomach.

But you sort of liked it.

“You look beautiful Y/N.” Your maid Jennie tugged the brush through your hair one last time, “The red is striking.” You ran a hand down the bodice of the dress you’d chosen to wear - something stupidly expensive and incredibly tight - and smiled at her nervously.

“Thank you.”

“Jungkook isn’t going to know what to do with himself,” She giggled and your grin widened.

The two of you had always been close, despite the gap in social status.

You didn’t care what tradition dictated, Jennie was your friend - employee or not.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” You chuckled, biting on your bottom lip, “What time is it?” A knock at the door caused your head to turn and Jennie smirked.

“He’s right on time.” Your stomach fluttered at the thought of your husband, and when your maid moved to throw the portal open you almost fainted.

He looked… so good.

“Hi,” He smiled gently, “Are you ready?” You knew you were checking him out but you couldn’t help yourself.

The suit jacket you’d fixed for him fit him perfectly… And the trousers he was wearing only served to accentuate his perfect thighs.

“Y/N?” He cocked his head to the side and your heart twinged as a lock of hair fell precariously across his forehead.

Damn it.

Jennie pinched your arm and you realised how obvious you were being.

“Sorry,” You cleared your throat, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

You weren’t ready at all. Not to spend the rest of the evening in close quarters with the man who made you feel like a lovestruck teenager, anyway.

But what choice did you have?

Jungkook led you towards the garage, where his very expensive Porsche was parked, and when he held the door open for you, your pulse squeezed.

“Thanks,” You said, cheeks blazing.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered as he watched you climb inside, “No problem.” He answered tightly, clicking the door shut and sliding into the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t until you eased onto the main road that Jungkook spoke again.

“You look nice,” He said, his eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.

You turned to face him, your heart thumping uncomfortably against your ribcage, “What?”

“Oh come on don’t act like I’ve never said anything nice to you before,” He groaned, “You’ll make me feel like an asshole.”

“Oh I uh…” You blushed hotly, “Thanks. I guess.”

“You guess? Wow, way to take a compliment, Y/N.” His tone was teasing and you felt yourself falling back into the friendship you’d shared with him before the two of you had been forced into marriage.

This was the Jungkook you fell in love with.

“I just didn’t expect you to say that,” You clarified, turning to look at this side profile.

God he was so handsome, it almost hurt.

“Well it’s true,” He shrugged and shot you a small smile, “You look nice.” “Well so do you.” The words slipped out of you eagerly, “The uh… The suit jacket looks great.”

His smile grew, “It does. Thanks to you, of course. My little seamstress.”

Your heart skipped.

His little seamstress?

“Right,” You choked out, “Well. If you ever need anything fixed then just send it my way.”

“I will.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you but all you could think about was the fact that he’d called you his. Sure, it was in jest, and yeah maybe it wasn't the most romantic of things to say… But still.

It had to count for something.

When Jungkook pulled up in front of the same hotel Bangtan always used for social events, your heart was still fluttering wildly in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain calm.

There were paparazzi milling around the front entrance of the hotel of course, like there always were whenever Jimin organised a gala. Suddenly you felt inadequate.

You’d never been photographed before - your family was not famous enough… You were not beautiful enough for the media to give a shit.

But you knew that Jungkook was well loved by the media - not only was he Bangtan’s resident casanova - but he was also the most open of the special seven. He smiled for photos and had even occasionally bantered with the paparazzi. He dated celebrities - models, singers… Actresses. He was the media’s golden boy.

He was everyone’s golden boy.

Jungkook must have noticed your nerves because he turned to give you a soft smile.

“It’s alright Y/N. Just hold my hand and ignore them okay?”

You nodded, wordlessly, as he stepped out of the car and after a minute opened your door for you. Immediately you felt the buzz of flashbulbs, and you were almost blinded by the light. A warm hand enveloped your own and soon Jungkook was tugging you along.

You blinked against the flashing and watched your husband’s sturdy back, as he led you towards the front entrance determinedly.

“Jungkook! Jungkook! Is this your mysterious new girl?” “Jungkook! Is it true you’re married?”

“Jungkook! Smile!”

Jungkook didn’t stop for any questions and you were thankful for that, holding tightly onto his hand until he finally slipped inside the lobby of the hotel and the paparazzi was behind you. He dropped your hand and you immediately felt cold.

“Here,” He offered his arm, “This is the way Jimin’s always telling me to enter a room.” You nodded and slipped your own arm through his, ignoring the buzz that flitted through you at the contact.

God. You loved him so much.

“Was that as bad as you thought it was going to be?” He asked, eyes sympathetic as he led you over towards the ornate marble staircase.

You bit your bottom lip and sighed, “It was tough.”

“I’m sorry,” He frowned, “Really. It will get better.”

“Jungkook-ah!”

You would recognise that voice anywhere.

Jihyo.

She was coming towards the two of you, beautiful face donning a wide smile. Her eyes flickered between your linked arms for a moment, before she reached you.

“Hello Jihyo,” Jungkook nodded his head politely, “How are you?”

“I’m great Jungkookie,” The nickname caused a hot flush of anger to roll through you. You knew exactly what game she was playing, “How are you?” “I’m fine,” He turned to give you a smile, “You know my wife Y/N, don’t you?” Jihyo’s body froze at the word wife. She was Taehyung’s cousin.

Surely she had to know the two of you had gotten married.

“Yeah, yeah.” She gave you a sharp look, “Nice to see you Y/N.” But her words felt anything but nice.

Immediately you were reminded of Nayeon’s warning.

Your heart thundered against your chest.

What if Jungkook and Jihyo were….

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“Anyway Jungkook I was going to ask you if you were free next weekend,” Her smile was coy as she fluttered her eyelashes up at your husband, “It’s my birthday and-” “We have plans.”

The words surprised you as much as they did Jungkook and you’d been the one to say them.

Jihyo’s gaze flickered over to your own and she raised an angry eyebrow, “What?”

“Me and my husband have plans next weekend,” You pasted the fakest smile onto your face, “Maybe next time.”

And with that you pulled Jungkook away from Jihyo pulse roaring in your ears. You had no idea where that bout of courage had come from but just who did she think she was anyway?

Just because she’d always had everything she wanted, didn’t give her the right to act like a brat.

After a moment, Jungkook turned to give you a smirk, “What was that?” You tried to act nonchalant.

“What was what?”

“That.” His smirk grew, “Were you jealous?” You felt something hot split across your cheeks.

“I don’t want you dating other women.”

The words fell like stones between the two of you.

Jungkook stopped, his eyes raking over you. He frowned.

“I wouldn’t… I would never do that.” “You told me you weren’t a man of commitment,” You told him sincerely, feeling irrational tears crawl up your throat, “But I can’t… I won’t be able to deal with it if you have an affair.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened. He shook his head.

“I didn’t mean I would see other women Y/N.” He pressed a hand to your cheek and you wilted at his touch, “You’re my wife and I respect that. Alright?”

You nodded, eyes boring into his. You wished he would just open himself up to you.

“Okay.” You whispered, not caring that you were surrounded by people, “Thank you.” He pulled his hand away and nodded gently.

Something in his gaze flickered. Whether it was genuine affection or desire or something else entirely you weren’t sure. But it wasn’t that cold indifference he wanted you to believe.

“Let’s go. The others are waiting.”

Your heart turned as he slipped his hand into yours.

If only he could learn to love you, then maybe you really could be happy.

If only.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #fanfic #mafia au #arrange marriage #unrequited love #one sided love #bangtan #bts #fanfiction #angst #smut #fluff

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firehananas · 3 years

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[OS] Midnight Still - Sniper Mask x Gn!Reader

Local sniper and a very lucky human being accidentally adopt three teenagers.

That how you would define your relationship with your team.

The girls have been sleeping for a while now. Your surroundings are pitch black, you navigate in the building labyrinth thanks to your light-torch. You are almost back to your HQ when you heard light footsteps on your right. You don't hesitate to blind the intruder as you reach your gun.

« Wow, calm down. It's just me. »

Sniper Mask... or should you say, Yuka. You were so used to his nickname, it's almost odd to call him by his actual name.

Almost.

You down your light. « Sorry. Anything on your side? » you ask.

« Nope. That's pretty strange, but the masks seem calm tonight. »

You agree. Aikawa is up to something, and you aren't eager to discover what.

When Yuka come closer, you force a weak smile. « There is nothing we can do for now about this. Let's rest a bit. » you mutter as you open carefully the door - you don't want to wake up the sleeping beauties, after all.

As you sit on the couch, you let your thoughts derive. So many things happen in a such short of time. You try to not think too much about this mess: the deeper you try, the less it makes sense.

You tilt your head, just to see Yuka’s back. He’s making a coffee and another hot drink. You smile gently. It's a little nothing, but he always made your favorite when you ended your patrol, or after a tough day. It's sweet, especially from him.

« You know, I'm happy you decided to stay with us. » you start while staring at the ceiling. « I didn't say anything back then because, well, I understood your reasons... but I would have miss you. »

He stops for a second, then continues like nothing happen. « I would have miss you too. » he finally answers, his voice a little deeper than usual. Your smile grows bigger. You couldn't say it out loud, but you are glad he would had feel the same. He makes you feel safe and, somehow, more confident about yourself. You are sure that as long you stay together, nothing could stop you. Not even this shit of Aikawa.

« Here you go. » Yuka puts your mug in front of you. You thought he would sit there, as usual, while you chitchat and share the silent of the night. But he walks around the coffee table to sit next to you.

Oh.

That's new. Not unwelcome, but surprising. You steady yourself as he puts his own drink next to yours.

« I'm glad you are here too. » you turn to him, unsure where he is going. « Things would have been much slower without you. Without you... Kuon would not had make it. ». At the evocation of this incident, a sharp pain awake in your back. It had been worth it but... there had been a price.

Yet, you put a strong facade, crack a smug smirk because there is no way you act whining in front of him. « Well, what kind of “parent” would I have been if I couldn't protect my kid? » Yuka lets a “tsk”, amused, but not as much as you had imagined.

You sip a little of your drink, letting the hot liquide travels through your throat. Ah, it's so good. « Thanks, Yuka. I really need it. » you beam at him. He adjusts his fedora, before deciding to take it off. « My pleasure...»

You are surprise he doesn't smoke tonight. It was one of his habits, to take one or two cigarettes before the next patrol. Yet... nothing for now. Only the smell of cold tobacco remains...

You close your eyes, relaxing on the sofa. Everything is so calm. So nice. What could you ask more than being with the smooth presence of midnight and the man you fall for? You weren't sure if he feels the same... but the ambiguity doesn't bother you right now. You are comfortable with him.

« I wish this moment last forever... » you whisper softly. You heard a brief clicks; intrigued, you squint.

Yuka has taken off his mask.

You quickly shut yours eyes, without even knowing why. Your heart beats harder: something is about to happen but you don’t exactly know what. Or you don't dare to see it.

« We can't stop the time but... we could make it happen again. »

Slowly, you turn your head in his direction as your eyes open. He is looking straight at you. The diffuse light of the living room lamp is brushing his serious face. Serious, but not harsh. A tender pink colors his cheeks - it's so subtle that if he wasn't this close to you, you couldn't have notice. And the soft gaze he lays on you...

It wasn't really the first time you see him without his mask, but it was so rare he takes it off for no apparent reason. You feel move and could only stare his features. « We could... » he pursuits in a whisper. « We could do it all over again. Not just here. When we’ll be back to the real world, we could be like this, just the two of us. At your place, at mine, at your favorite café... absolutely anywhere... if you let me to. If you want to. »

Somehow, the fog on your mind vanished. You never think more clearer. And you are overjoyed.

« Yuka... I would love to. »

You slip into his arms, slowly enough so he can reject you if he doesn't want your touch. But he welcomes you in a sigh of relief. He is so stiff, you can't help but smile as you caress gently his back, inviting him to relax.

« If such a thing is possible... » You step back to put your forehead on his own. « I want to stay by your side until the very end. If you want to.»

He chuckles lightly. « I would love to. » Yuka quotes while his hands cup your face.

You don’t remember who initiated, but soon your lips meet for the first and, hopefully, not the last time.

#sniper mask x reader #Yuka Makoto x reader #spoiler high rise invasion #tooth rotting fluff #gender neutral insert #j'espère que les francophones sont contents parce qu'écrire au genre neutre sans écriture inclusive... bah c'est pas instinctif du tout T-T #fanfic OS

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

overwhelming

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (g/n, no y/n)

Warnings: none? this isn’t explicitly Ace!Din, but it was more or less inspired by the concept

Wordcount: 1.6k

Summary: As Din grows closer to you, he navigates the overwhelming sensations of innocent skin to skin contact.

The first time the Mandalorian's skin touched yours he was woefully unprepared for it. It was innocent, just a brush as he caught you from falling, your hand grabbing at his – you were new and were still a bit clumsy around the Crest. The tips of your finger touched a gap between his gloves and the shirt under his armor. The moment wasn’t lost on you though, the two of you froze and you pulled away with quiet thanks. He had touched others with his hands, rarely, but this was different. Overwhelming.

He turned on his heels and left immediately, shutting himself into his room. Heavy breathing sounded worse through the helmet and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why he felt so vulnerable.

When you saw him again, he didn’t acknowledge it, but you felt guilty.

“Mandalorian…” his helmet turned just a degree or two. “I didn’t mean to offend. Please forgive me! Please…” you gulped, your anxiety obvious, “please don’t send me away.”

You weren’t useless by any means, but you knew he did not need you. But you did not want the only place that had ever felt safe to be taken from you so quickly.

He was confused. Send you away? Why would he do that? You were the only genuinely nice being he’d interacted with in awhile. Why would he give that up if he didn’t have to? Why did you look so sad? Was this because he told you about his creed? You thought he was mad at you?

His mind was running but he said, “It’s fine,” before turning back to his task.

And that was all.

It didn’t happen again until many months later, and the two of you were much closer. You had developed a rhythm, working through tasks like seasoned friends. You even talked sometimes, around the Crest, which was to say that you were special to him. He even told you his real name, and you kept it safe.

So when he came to the ship with a bounty, battered and bruised, he had a thought. It made him jittery but he was sore and exhausted to his very bones, so after the bounty was frozen away, Din went looking for you.

You were making sure everything was secure after he came in, and the protocols were all in place for your next journey. You noticed him as soon as he came into view but he didn’t say anything until he was close to you.

“Would you…” he swallowed, realizing he hadn’t thought this part through. “Would you help me?”

You looked confused, and he pointed to the back of his shoulder, where he’d already removed the piece of armor to reveal torn cloth, an ugly bruise, and a long cut. You nodded, following him silently back to where the medical supplies were.

Your hands trembled slightly as you cleaned the wound, gaining confidence the longer he let you. He was tense, nervous at the intimacy of the act, but your hands were gentle as you spread the cream and carefully applied the bandages for the night.

After you parted ways, however, Din Djarin was overwhelmed again. He couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him like that – with so much care. His skin, even wounded, felt strange and he was afraid.

What the two of you had already was so good. Changing it was dangerous. He was afraid of being so vulnerable with another person. But greater than that, was the fear of how good it felt to have your skin touching his. A very small part of his mind was yelling that if he opened this door – to touching you – he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He would never be able to go another day without wanting to feel you, in some small way. This created a resolve in him: no more. He couldn’t, wouldn’t put himself at risk like that.

Over the next few weeks, this proved to be unexpectedly difficult. He began to realize he was drawn to you, how long had he been seeking you like this? Din kept catching himself stepping close behind you as you walked and leaning in as you talked. His hand drifted towards you: your lower back in a crowd, your shoulder as you worked, your hand as you sat by each other. When did it become second nature for his body to search for yours, to stay by it whenever possible?

Even worse than that was you seemed to gravitate towards him as well. You were respectful – enough to make his heart ache – but still. Once, you put your face on his shoulder, the cold armor squishing your cheek. Another time, your hand tucked itself in his elbow as you wove through a crowd. And when his gloves hand squeezed yours, you always squeezed back. These moments were impossible to ignore: they inhabited his dreams.

So caught up in his self examination, he didn’t realize that you had noticed something change.

You had been overjoyed when he had begun to share little parts of himself and his life with you. Every touch of his was tucked into your heart, the memories to be savored. So when he suddenly stopped, acting increasingly stiff around you, it took no time at all to realize something was up.

“Din,” you said one afternoon, nervous, but determined to make him talk to you. “Have I done something wrong? Have I hurt or offended you?”

He turned in his seat and despite his helmet, there was a familiar feeling of his gaze on you.

“No,” he said, just a touch of confusion slipping through the moderator.

“Have you grown to dislike me, then?”

“No,” he sounded more resolute this time. You smiled a bit, feeling less no less confused but not as anxious.

“Am I repulsive?” your smile grew, “Have I become unbearably smelly?”

“Why are you asking me these things?” his hands moved towards you, then stopped, and gripped the sides of his seat. Quieter, he added, “Of course you are not.”

You shrugged, chewing on the words, trying to find the best way to spit them out. The movement, and repression had not gone unnoticed.

“You are moving away from me,” you said finally, as simple as you could explain it.

He was silent for a long time, barely moving.

Eventually you stood up, hating the expanse the quiet made.

“If I have done nothing wrong, if I have not hurt or offended you,” you moved closer with each phrase, “if you like – if you do not dislike me, if I don’t repulse you, if I am not smelly,” you were right in front of him. “What is it, Din Djarin?”

His gaze had followed you, his helmet tilted up, then down as you sunk to your knees. The closer you got, the harder it had become for him to deny his feelings. It was hard to remember any good reason at all not to have you in his arms. What was he afraid of, again?

There was more silence, and any lightheartedness dissipated, but this time you waited.

The words that finally came out were the very last thing you expected.

“You are too soft,” he said, his tone indiscernible. Your brow furrowed.

“I mean,” he corrected, “I like to be near to you… to touch you…” his helmet turned away from you, almost as if he was embarrassed. “Because of this, I felt I must not.”

Your heart was hammering. You had so many questions, you yearned to dwell on his use of past tense, but you offered silence again, allowing him to explain in his own time.

“Touching your skin, it is intimate. Overwhelming.” He had never been so bold with his words, his feelings. The vulnerability made the silence scream, but his heart skipped as though it had been freed.

“Is it bad?” you asked, feeling a wave of guilt .

He shook his head, looking at you again.

“We move at your pace, Din,” you said honestly, trying to convey your own heart in the words.

They struck him, enough to knock the wind out of his lungs. His resolve crumbled and he was surprised to find that he was not afraid anymore.

Slowly, carefully, he removed his right glove. Your breathe caught, your wide eyes glued at first to his exposed skin, then flying to his visor.

“There is no pressure, Din, no hurry,” you said, but he shook his head again.

“I want to. It is the right time, cyar’ika,” he said, his hand touching your cheek gently, as though he was afraid you would break.

You were unable to resist leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed, warmth seeping into your bones. Spurred by your reaction, his large hand pressed against your skin, cradling it.

The two of you stayed like that - you kneeling in front of him, his hand on you, thumb bravely stroking your cheekbone – for what felt like eternity.

From then on, every day at some point, if the two of you were in the ship at the same time, he would find you. He would yank off his glove, with urgency and annoyance, and hold his palm out to you. You would move towards him, and he would gently touch you for a few moments.

The first week, he only touched your cheek, cradling your jaw.

The second week, his hand wandered across your face, tracing your nose your eyebrows, and reveling in the way your eyelashes brushed his bare skin when your eyes closed.

After that week, both his gloves came off for the first time, and he held your face still as the forehead of his helmet pressed against yours.

He did not need to tell you what it meant – you cried and smiled, and as his hands brushed away the tears, he felt himself doing the same.

Bonus:

“You are so soft,” he said reverently, fingers trailing up and down your arm. It had been weeks of growing with you and still he was in awe.

You laughed, “I would not say my arms are particularly soft.” You reached for his hand with one of yours and lifted the hem of your shirt a few inches with the other. “Here,” you said, putting his hand on the skin of your tummy.

He froze for a solid moment before abruptly standing up and turning with a large step away from you. His heart and mind were reeling, and he moved too quickly, and tripped, falling to his knees.

“Are you okay?” you were startled, scrambling towards him. “Din?”

He sunk down until he was fully sitting on the ground and as you made it to him, his arm slung across his helmet, covering it’s face. He began to shake and when he spoke, and you realized you heard laughter in his voice.

“Cyar’ika... You are going to be the death of me.”

#din dijarin fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #din dijarin x you #maybe i don't know people #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader

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comradekatara · 3 years

Note

ik this is an atla blog but... could we hear some of ur izumi headcanons? (perhaps a sprinkle of izumi x kya if ur feelin generous)

been sittin on this ask since april (sorry!!!) bc i wanted to give this question the attention it deserved (and also there are just. a lot of asks in the inbox to get thru. oof). also yess i’m glad someone else is as fascinated by the potential of kya/izumi dyke drama as i am. fwiw, all of this is canon-compliant with what we know (so far) from lok. some of these have already been said, but it never hurts to rehash deep lore...

izumi is found in a dumpster. when it becomes apparent to zuko that whoever left her there isn’t coming back for her, he decides to take her to a local orphanage. he’s halfway there by the time he has already become irrevocably attached to this quiet, curious, perfect baby and is like “okay my baby now” and takes her home.

when katara gets a postscript at the bottom of a letter from zuko that simply says “oh by the way i have a daughter now” katara doesn’t even respond to the pages upon pages he wrote about import taxes and all that boring shit. zuko merely receives one page in response and all it says is “YOU HAD SEX???? WITH A WOMAN????”

zuko refuses to tell katara the truth. her version is better.

izumi is raised by the firelord and a small army of lesbians. zuko has to stop his friends from trying to give her knives all the time. yes, knives used to be a very loving gift during the war, but he’s trying to teach her about nonviolence goddammit!!!

she never has a crisis of sexuality or feels any pressure to like boys. she’s a lesbian and she knows it. everyone but suki is secretly baffled by how well-adjusted this child is. (suki doesn’t get the big deal.)

izumi knows that she is the crown princess, and that this means that she is going to be firelord someday. zuko always told her that being firelord is about being able to use their nation’s resources to help as many people as possible, and since two of izumi’s favorite things are puzzles and helping people, she is really looking forward to being firelord.

her other favorite thing is reading, which zuko obviously encourages but also finds quite strange because he always assumed reading was an activity solely pursued by sadder, lonelier children.

because she often gets so engrossed in her books that she accidentally stays up all night reading in the dark, zuko gets in the habit of placing extra-long candles in her room that will burn all night so she doesn’t have to strain her eyes. as she gets older and starts spending more time in the library, she winds up just carrying a sack full of zuko’s candles around just in case. it quickly becomes a family joke--if you end up in a dark room, better find izumi.

she winds up wearing glasses by the age of six. zuko is very worried about what this means for her future until izumi points out that her favorite people are visually impaired and they’re doing just fine.

she really likes toph, but thinks her kids are super weird. one of them is very regimented and disciplined in a way she cannot vibe with, and the other is very self-absorbed and theatrical. whenever toph brings lin and su around the palace, izumi ends up hanging out with toph instead.

one of izumi’s favorite pastimes is sokkawatching, which is like birdwatching, but instead of birds, she is studying sokka. she shadows him around all day and takes notes on what it is he is doing. she will hide behind curtains during meetings or walk just far enough behind him that he can’t see her. eventually sokka asks izumi if she would just like to, um, hang out?? but she gets so upset that he is now onto her that zuko has to intervene and convince her that sokka has no idea what he’s talking about, and that she is a master of espionage. since her cover has been blown, she needs a new mark, and starts following mai around instead.

when izumi is eight years old, her great-uncle iroh takes her and her aunt azula to ember island to see a show. izumi has quite a mature appreciation for theater for an eight-year-old—she reads plays, as any child of her father surely would, and has been known to enjoy live performances in the capital—but she fucking hates this play. she squirms in her seat until azula would look monstrous if she didn't take her to the restroom, and there the two of them remain until the curtain call. when it's over, iroh is quite convinced that the two of them concocted that little scheme together… and he's exactly right.

izumi starts attending meetings when she is eleven, and she constantly interrupts to ask questions. if anyone is bothered by this they wouldn’t dare let zuko know. all her questions are so smart and incisive anyway that very few people can find it in them to be annoyed when they are far too busy being impressed.

some monarchs might have felt a bit alarmed, and perhaps unnerved by thoughts of their own mortality, if their daughter applied herself to studying the work of running a country at as young of an age and with as much alacrity as izumi does. zuko, on the other hand, has been hating his job and showing it since 101 AG. izumi suspects the duties of the firelord aren't nearly as bad as all that, but her father is sensitive, and was forced into the role at a particularly difficult time. for her, studying how to run the country that her father has so carefully reformed so that she can step into the role as early as possible is a generous gift.

because izumi is the crown princess, there is little chance of her making it to adulthood without navigating a few awkward encounters with boys who hope to woo her. zuko is too saddened by the idea to know how to begin to prepare her for it. but as it turns out, izumi doesn’t need that from him. starting around the age of 12, she observes that many of the staff around the palace tend to read a lot of old-fashioned romance novels. seeking to better understand the entertainment choices of the women with whom she spends most of her time, izumi selects a handful of books from that genre to read for herself. she finds story after story about young, attractive members of the royal court finding love with unlikely suitors and suitresses. though these books aren’t to her taste at all, she understands the appeal and makes the logical connection that this type of story is viewed as a sort of script—the most sensational path a princess could possibly take. she practices saying variations of "no thank you" in her bedroom mirror until she settles on a polite enough tone that even the most earnest suitor couldn't possibly take issue with it, and that's that.

izumi starts demanding more homework. this ultimately means more work for sokka, who has to create an entirely new curriculum designed just for her, and then has to sit there while she does her homework in case she has any questions. and then, once she’s done, they go over it together and even if she gets everything right she forces him to point out areas in which she could have improved. suddenly sokka longs for the days that katara (and later toph) would yell at him that math is stupid and they shouldn’t have to learn it because they can bend. how foolish he had been at the time… he should have savored that…

izumi's first crush is on mai. it's humiliating, since she's well aware that mai has been playing with her since she was in diapers (and even faintly aware that mai and zuko had some sort of ambiguous summer fling as teenagers that they are now too embarrassed to talk about), but for a short stretch of time between the age of twelve and thirteen, suddenly izumi sees her old family friend in a new and magical light. and during that same stretch of time, she faintly hates ty lee. this confusing intrusion of unwanted feelings leads to a humiliating moment that is best described as izumi's first tantrum. when she is invited to join the adults at a casual dinner, izumi dashes for the seat as far from her object of her affections as possible, and when ty lee teases, "what? do we smell?" izumi blushes and buries her face in her water. she doesn't look up from her plate until mai asks her (repeatedly, as it seems izumi didn't hear her) to pass the dumplings. at this point, izumi doesn't know what else to do but to shove the entire remaining portion of dumplings into her mouth all at once and then flee the room. so she does.

in the morning, she is mortified and apologizes to everyone for her poor conduct. mai and ty lee are nothing but understanding, and mai jokes that now she knows where zuko got his table manners. ty lee adds that izumi was going to have to do something immature at some point, or else no one was gonna believe she was human. the two of them leave court a few days later, and by the time they visit again a few months after that, izumi is relieved to find that her crush has faded away.

the first time izumi meets katara, she feels as if she is meeting a celebrity. since katara never comes to the fire nation if she can help it, their paths have yet to cross, but izumi has heard of her, as if she is this mythic creature, through many, many stories, each more outrageous than the last. izumi does not think that meeting katara will prove a particularly long encounter, since katara couldn’t possibly have the time of day for her. she is quickly proven wrong, since katara cooks her dinner herself and keeps piling more and more food onto her plate. izumi is too well-mannered to inform katara that she is full, and katara keeps insisting that she doesn’t eat enough. izumi has no idea how katara could possibly come to that conclusion, since they have known each other all of one hour, but according to katara, izumi must eat more.

other than trying to feed izumi every three seconds, katara is surprisingly normal. izumi had assumed she was some sort of terrifying goddess by the way people talk about her. she’s very warm and nurturing and personable and has no filter whatsoever. in fire nation meetings, everyone speaks formally as a sign of respect, but in the southern water tribe, apparently it’s considered rude if you’re not completely candid. at first, izumi is horrified by how freely people insult each other, but then she quickly becomes delighted by the fact that bluntness is considered a virtue, and formality, passive-aggression. everyone refers to each other by first name, no title, and they’re all like one big family. people still treat katara with reverence despite this, even though she makes it pretty clear that she’s tired of being hero-worshipped.

one of the most delightful qualities that izumi admires in katara is her ability to memorize, recite, and hunt down gossip. izumi is introverted and polite and would never dream of asking brazen questions like whether haru has finally seen sense and shaved that beast on his lip or whether toph is "still getting her story straight" about where her daughters came from. (as far as izumi knows, toph has only ever told just the one, tongue-in-cheek story: she made the girls herself out of clay and she'll earthbend them back into dust if they don't behave.) but izumi is awed by katara's willingness to just ask these kinds of questions and she decides to take a lesson from this approach. being direct doesn't hurt anyone when katara does it, and it's a skill that will eventually serve izumi very well as firelord.

the south pole is also where izumi first meets kya. to kya, who is being taught two very conflicting ideas of what the fire nation represents, meeting izumi firmly solidifies her in the “the fire nation is nice and progressive” camp. that said, she also knows that her mom would disapprove if she and izumi got involved… which only makes izumi all the more enticing, naturally.

katara teaches izumi about what she considers to be the core tenets of her culture: “communal living, versatility & resourcefulness, democracy, and looking cute on a budget.”

izumi returns to the fire nation convinced that the southern water tribe is the coolest place in the entire world (and not just literally). sokka is so incredibly proud.

and, by the second time she visits katara, izumi is far more comfortable with going penguin sledding.

izumi attempts to go through a phase of teenage rebellion when she is fifteen, but zuko puts an end to it by encouraging her. he’s like “fuck yeah be gay do crimes.” learning that her dad was once a baleful vigilante/highwayman immediately quells her desire for antics & tomfoolery.

...well. most antics, anyway. a few weeks before izumi's second visit to the south pole, kya sends izumi a letter that includes an illustration of a particular type of plant that grows in the fire nation palace garden and a request that she bring a clipping back with her next time. apart from the produce garden where they grow fresh fruit and vegetables for the palace, the palace garden is considered the domain of suki and her friends, so izumi naively enlists suki to help her to find it. suki smirks to herself as she directs izumi to the right place and helps her cut a generous clipping of it. and that's the story of how, on izumi's second visit to the south pole, kya introduces her to the joys of recreational weed: a secret hobby the two of them will indulge in together all their lives, whenever they happen to see each other.

(though this, too, becomes a little less cool and a little less sexy when, one night back in the fire nation, izumi steps out onto her balcony and sees her father, her aunt, toph, sokka, and suki all smoking weed in the courtyard below.)

by the time kya is seventeen, she has petitioned katara that she ought to go travel the world on her own, since she’s the daughter of a nomad and a swashbuckling heroine, so it’s only right. katara finally relents. kya basically just makes a round tour of all the lesbian hotspots across the globe, from visiting her favorite auntie toph, to living it up on kyoshi island, to the fire palace, with a certain princess in mind.

katara keeps insisting to kya that no, she’s not a homophobe, she just disapproves of monarchs! so as a test kya brings the most heinous girl she knows (who isn’t su, that is) over for dinner, and katara has to be extremely gracious the entire time. after she leaves she says to kya “wow....... I love her :’)”

kya and izumi share an intellectual bent, an appreciation for music, and a desire to see the world. they also share their first kiss. izumi breathlessly expresses her surprise that smart, worldly kya hasn't been there before with one of the boys or girls at the south pole, but kya waves a hand and says that no one there is cool enough for her. when kya asks why izumi hasn't kissed anyone before, izumi just quips that books don't have lips as soft as kya's.

they have a whole "together-when-we're-in-the-same-place; single-when-we're-not" thing going on for a while, but izumi really loves to write love letters, and before they know what's happened, they're monogamous and living on opposite sides of the world. oops!

they are very much in love. they are also fully aware that their relationship has an expiration date, and it is the second izumi becomes firelord. kya may be reluctant to admit it, but her mom was right: being involved with the firelord…. well it’s a bad look. she comes from a long line of anti-imperialist revolutionaries. she can’t exactly settle down with a monarch. izumi, having been raised by zuko, is about as anti-monarchy as a monarch possibly can be, so she understands completely. they both agree that their duties come first, and when they do break up, it will be amicable and mutual. their last days spent together while still technically a couple are bittersweet.

izumi’s coronation mostly involves all of zuko’s old friends taking turns squishing her cheeks (even though she is an adult, and also the firelord now) and tearfully regaling her with anecdotes from her childhood, which she remembers perfectly well because she was there. she very graciously hugs and thanks all of them for forging a path to peace, promising to make them proud. they all assure her they already are.

she and kya break up that night, by the turtleduck pond. it is a quiet, poignant goodbye.

the following week, kya immediately travels to the north pole to rebound with the most repressed lesbian she can find. she thinks it’s only fitting.

izumi has a lot more freedom as firelord than zuko ever did, in large part due to the fact that no one ever thinks to question her legitimacy. she has a very commanding presence, always giving off the vibe that she is the most intelligent person in the room (whereas, of course, zuko gives off the vibe that he is just a little boy who loves arson… well into adulthood).

izumi thinks in lists, much like sokka and her aunt azula; unlike most people she knows, her favorite historical avatar is not kyoshi or even yangchen, but szeto, but it’s for good reason. she groups like things into categories and she groups tasks into mental to-do lists which are of course completely different from the to-do lists she does need to write down. this will serve her well as she will eventually go down in history as one of the firelords with the most documentation on her life and the lives of her allies—which is of course part of the point. so of course, she's also strategic about what she doesn't write down: the sexualities of the family friends one generation above her; the quiet trade agreement between the fire nation and the water tribes that favors the water tribes just enough that it would be a whole thing if certain loud fire nation citizens got word of it; and the story of the one time she kissed lin beifong.

izumi’s personal pet project is the implementation of countless public libraries across the country, which also double as shelters. the same way that zuko had a reputation as being the firelord who really revitalized theatre, izumi has a reputation for being horny4libraries, and she’s proud of that reputation, dammit.

one day, for seemingly no reason, sokka decides that he is simply too old to be micromanaging royalty. it was cool and funny and, well, necessary when he was 16, but now he really does have better things to be doing with his time. this doesn’t stop izumi from wheedling him for diplomatic advice, because she refuses to part with such a valuable asset, so instead sokka agrees to play her in pai sho whenever she “needs it.” she always knows exactly how to solve her problem immediately after a game’s conclusion. zuko doesn’t understand how that works at all, but azula’s like “lol classic sokka.”

toph takes izumi on a life-changing field trip to go look at bugs in the woods, and all the headlines that week read variations on “NOTORIOUS EARTHBENDING ANARCHIST KIDNAPS FIRELORD, HOLDS HER HOSTAGE IN A FOREST.” neither of them are aware of the political scandal they’ve caused because they were too busy studying cool bugs.

as izumi approaches 50, she decides to treat herself to a birthday gift that becomes her pride and joy: a top-of-the-line future industries motorcycle. her father may choose to travel the world in style on druk, but izumi's tastes run more toward ground transportation (which is to say: she gets violently airsick, and seasick, too). of course, she can only really ride it anywhere if she's prepared to either travel with a motorcade or sneak out past her guards and keep her face hidden the whole time she's out. the former cramps her style and limits her speed, so she chooses the latter. she generally takes it short distances, just far to get some air, but on one memorable occasion when lin beifong is visiting ember island, she takes it all the way through the mountains and down to the beach just to see the look on that crabby old cop's face.

izumi names her son after her beloved late grunkle… mostly because it was the only way to satisfy sokka, who insisted that since, decades ago, he won a bet against zuko to someday name his grandchild, it was only fair that he get naming rights. zuko, at the time having assumed that he would never have grandchildren, was like “yeah okay whatever,” but sokka never forgot. as if he would ever pass up the opportunity to publicly embarrass the fire nation royal family! but he had to admit that iroh was a pretty good name. almost as good as Sokkaruleszukodrools, which unfortunately and unjustly got passed over.

izumi always loved aang, and found meditating with him to be really clarifying. it's only natural that his death breaks her heart. but it's in her nature to come up with a productive outlet for any emotion she feels, even grief, and that holds true in this case. she is walking through the library on air temple island when it hits her: there ought to be an "official" biography of avatar aang and his life, dictated by his friends. though her initial idea was to hire one of her many respected writer friends for the job, kya and tenzin insist that it'll only be worth anything if izumi writes it. so she does. a biography of the avatar, written by the firelord. friendships last more than one lifetime after all.

izumi is, of course, aware of the new avatar from the moment she's born. the notes she has on korra fill an entire cabinet of scrolls and notebooks (as any of her advisors knows, her choice of paper just depends on how fancy she's feeling). korra is nearly sixteen by the time she's ready to learn firebending, and izumi personally sends the ship that will pick her up and take her to the fire nation. since she has not met korra before and doesn't know her tastes, izumi makes sure the ship is fully stocked with plenty of soft, comfortable clothing in all colors and sizes, all meant to be reasonably modest while still suitable for the warm weather korra will run into on the journey. so izumi is understandably surprised when she meets the ship at the docks and finds korra in a jaggedly sewn scarlet crop top that she clearly tailored herself. korra blushes and explains that she's never experienced warm weather before and got a bit overzealous. they laugh about it, and izumi orders a whole closetload of more teenage-friendly clothing to be delivered to korra's quarters.

zuko dies peacefully, in his sleep, at an old and happy age, but that doesn’t mean his death doesn’t affect izumi. she immediately takes time off to crash at the south pole with katara and kya, and they spend the next few weeks just sitting by the fire, swapping stories about their respective adventures, and having a lovely (albeit extremely tearful) time. izumi then goes to visit toph and suki in the earth kingdom, who are both apparently chilling in different parts of the same vast swamp. they teach her about how everything in the swamp is connected, that separation and time and death are all illusions. finally, the last leg of her trip is spent on ember island, where she sits by the beach, staring at the moon’s silver reflection on the black sea, and once more feels at peace.

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

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Jon & Sasha Arson fic

Little fragment of an idea that never went anywhere. No reason for it. Just thought it would be funny. I was right. Rest under the cut.

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.

*******

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Arson was attributable to a bookshelf of Leitners, humming strange songs and spewing toxic energy into the air in rhythmic hissing motions. The Leitners were attributable to Artifact Storage, a testament to mankind’s hubris and a modern-day tower of Babel where a group of underpaid academics found themselves stress testing kevlar and fire suppression systems each day. Artifact Storage was attributable to the Magnus Institute, where Jon had managed to land a job after three months of desolate post-graduate unemployment. And the Magnus Institute was attributable to - well, probably Jonah Magnus, but Jon found that it was likely a bit of a reach to blame a long dead Regency gentleman for all of his problems.

Jon needed this job. London was expensive and so were funerals, and he couldn’t keep living on life insurance forever. It was even a good job, with decent pay and the exact kind of limp, half-hearted academia that the private sector promised disillusioned English mastery holders. His coworkers were nice - well, Tim was nice, everybody else seemed to hate him for the same reason that everybody else hated him, likely intimidated by how smart he was - and the commute was short. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Spiritually, metaphysically, and literally.

Which was why he should stop staring at this piece of paper. The follow-up research to a statement given by some idiot unlucky enough to cross paths with what was certainly a Leitner.

‘ORIGINATION OF PHENOMENA ISOLATED’, the page read out professionally, yet chipperly, like a young woman in a new office job. ‘ITEM QUARANTINED WITHIN ARTIFACT STORAGE (46B.1)’.

Hm.

Jon pushed down on the floor, rolling himself a meter to the left.

“Say, er, Mr. Stoker.”

Tim “I’m only four years older than you, please call me Tim” Stoker, who had been thumping away on his cheap plastic keyboard either writing up a report or messaging someone on one of those infernal casual sex websites, pulled down his headphones and blinked at Jon owlishly, before splitting his face into a grin. Jon could practically hear the David Attenborough-style narration within his mind: ‘After long weeks leaving out food for the wild Simothan, the feral yet gentle animal approaches the researcher of his own volition. A win for scientists everywhere.’

“Yes, Jon?” Tim asked, in an uncanny yet hopefully unintentional RP drawl.

“What’s Artifact Storage?”

“God, I wish I was you,” Tim said feelingly. But he nodded sagely anyway, milking his ‘wise senpai’ thing for all it was worth. Jon could practically feel Tim calling himself a senpai. It was kind of embarrassing. “You know the shady room locked deep within the basement that exudes a terrible aura of malice and hatred towards you specifically?”

“The gender neutral bathroom?” Jon asked, confused.

“No, the one that always smells somewhat of blood. You hear screams sometimes?”

“The Archives!”

“Yes, but no! It’s Artifact Storage. If the researchers dig up any creepy shit from a statement, or if a statement giver brings in something that melts the metal detector, then we dump it in Artifact Storage and let those miserable fucks take care of it.”

“Is it more of a containment facility, or would you say that they conduct experiments?”

But Tim just shrugged. “My source down there tells me that they do some experiments to justify their budget, but it’s mostly unscientific. Poke this and I’ll give you twenty quid, that kind of thing. They say that if you really want a sick day, all you have to do is touch a mysterious rock and whisper your mother’s name -”

“Fantastic, thank you for your help, must go back to filling now,” Jon said quickly, skittering back to his own desk. He tried to distract himself from the terrifying thought of the basement full of supernatural nuclear bombs underneath his feet by trying to remember his mother’s name, but he was stuck on if it was Marjorie or Margaret. Mary Anne?

Maybe Tim’s personal Meerkat Manor series of Jon’s life had paid off - Sims Shack? - more than Jon would like, because Tim squinted at Jon in an unsettlingly familiar way. As if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking about the literature of mass destruction, and he really wanted Jon to be thinking literally anything else.

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Jon,” Tim warned, sounding a little like a horror movie trailer. “Bushy tailed college grads who go down there don’t come out the same as they went in.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Stoker.”

“For the love of christ call me Tim!”

It really was a pity - Jon had actually liked this job.

*******

It was remarkably easy to commit arson in central London.

Jon had done it once or twice. Three times, actually, although when you think about it arson was a criminal charge and only truly existed so long as someone was charged with it, so technically you could say that Jon had done arson zero times. In his defense, you try making it through Oxford without doing anything embarrassing. 90% of your time was in class or schoolwork and 10% of it was being hazed. At least Jon hadn’t fucked any pigs.

Jon hit up the usual stores, and stashed the usual implements in his rucksack. It was a careful week after his conversation with Tim, as he couldn’t afford for the older man to connect the dots. He made a show of going home at a timely five pm, startling everybody around him, and paced in a tight circle around his flat until he gave up and watched mindless telly until the clock struck midnight.

He took a cab to the park a few blocks down from the Institute, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cool, dim night in London, and the foot-traffic had slowed down to a steady trickle of young people in tight clothing. Jon pulled down his baseball cap on his head, fished a key out from his pocket given to him by a helpful and friendly janitor, and took a back entrance into the Institute.

Said helpful and friendly janitor, whose allegiance had been won because Jon was a “nice young lad” and “I always wanted to burn down the place myself, I’m happy to see the next generation give it a go” had helpfully told Jon that there were no security cameras inside the Institute. A grievous oversight, but good luck for Jon tonight. He took the stairs down to the basement, zipping his jacket up tight against the inescapable chill, and pushed his hat further down his head as he navigated his way towards Artifact Storage.

He unlocked the door with the janitor’s key, hands shaking, and slipped inside into the dusky and unlit room.

It was pitch-black, and Jon quickly fished a torch out of his backpack. He flipped it on, letting it slowly scan the room. It was the lobby into Artifact Storage, familiar from his stake-out missions: you walked in, met the bored woman behind the desk, checked in or checked out what you wanted, and if you needed to go inside she would press the button that unlocked the heavy climate-controlled door and let you into the hallway inside. The only other door in the lobby was to the office of the Director of Artifact Storage, a terrifying short and squat woman with silver hair pulled into a bun.

Jon leaned over the counter and jammed the button, holding his breath until he heard the door click open. He quickly twisted the handle, swung the heavy door out, and slipped inside, taking care to grab one of the chairs in the lobby and prop it open. Quick escapes were necessary.

He was in.

The torch lit up a map taped up to the wall, and Jon squinted at it. Section A, Section B, Section C...he remembered the classification from the document he read a week ago, and slowly walked down the hallway until he found the heavy climate controlled door marked ‘SECTION B’. He carefully wrenched it open, taking care to grab a rolling cart and using it to prop the door open, before stepping inside. He fished the canister of gasoline and the lighter out of his backpack, giving the gasoline a good shake.

It was a library. Small, and instead of shelves there were long metal racks with filing boxes stretching long into the darkness, but Jon knew a library when he saw one. Each box had a clipboard attached to it, and most boxes had very large and terrifying stickers on them painted sickly yellow or dangerous red.

The only thing in the library that wasn’t a filing rack was a battered and beat couch. And the only person in the room besides Jon was a woman, blinking up at Jon blearily from where she had been passed out on the couch.

“Er,” Jon said.

The woman sat up, squinting at Jon’s torchlight until he guiltily aimed it just to her left. She had a wild mane of curly brown hair, and was wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled burgundy blouse. A blazer was folded at one end of the couch, clearly being used as a pillow, and she looked strongly as if Jon had just woken her up from a very nice nap.

“Whuh,” the sleepy woman said.

“My mistake,” Jon said, “this isn’t the loo. Go back to bed, this is - er, a very bad dream, goodnight.”

“Whutuhiseet,” the woman slurred.

“It’s - very late, go back to bed.”

“Alright,” the woman said, falling back on the couch. After a second, her snores echoed through the room again.

Jon very slowly crept backwards. Actually, on second thought, his mission could wait for tomorrow. Bit of a cock block, this, but that was alright -

“Hey! Who are you!”

Jon, hand on the handle of the door, squeaked and turned around.

The woman was back up again, and this time she seemed actually awake. She was frowning mightily at Jon, and was already sliding off the couch in stocking feet to glare at him. Jon was aware that he did not look like an innocent person in these events. The gasoline did not help.

The woman’s eyes trailed to the gasoline, then widened. Jon ineffectually tried to hide it behind his back.

“You’re trying to burn down Artifact Storage!” the woman accused, somewhat fairly.

“Not all of Artifact Storage,” Jon said guiltily, “just the Leitners.”

The woman stared at him further, as if she was a special guest on Tim’s Sims Shack nature documentary.

“Why,” the woman said slowly, “would you want to do that?”

Despite himself, Jon found himself puffing up in indignation. “They’re evil, nasty little books that shouldn’t exist. Forget studying and - and containing them, we should be making sure no more of them ever disgrace the world again. We should be burning every one we see. They’re pure evil given literary form, they are a disgrace to books and libraries, and if I ever met Leitner myself I would beat him to death with a rusty pipe for subjecting me to his fucked up books.”

The woman stared at him.

Finally, she said, “I’m Sasha James. Want some help?”

“I - er, wouldn’t that get you in trouble, Ms. James?”

“I like this job but I hate Leitner and his fucked up books more,” Sasha said gravely.

Jon, having found a kindred spirit, held out the lighter.

Sasha James took it, a wide grin splitting her face.

*********

Jon didn’t remember much else of that night.

There was definitely arson involved - or, seeing as they hadn’t gotten caught, just some good old-fashioned fire starting. He had the sense that they had both been so giddy with adrenaline that they had immediately joined the raging uni students in the late night bars, toasting their success in toasting. There had probably been quite a bit of alcohol.

When he woke up the next morning, it was in his narrow and uncomfortable bed, face to face with an unfamiliar snoring woman. For a second, two, Jon was briefly convinced that he had done something so drastically out of character it meant that a fucked up book had body swapped him with Tim. Bodyswapping was more likely than him having casual sex.

Then Jon remembered the arson, and he exhaled in relief as his life made sense again.

“Ms. James,” Jon whispered, poking her in the arm. She snuffled and muttered something. Jon poked her harder. “Ms. James, we have work.”

Sasha turned around, turning her back to him and pulling up the blankets. “Go back to bed, Tim.”

Ti - oh god. Jon felt like he was in a CW drama. This was why he didn’t interact with people, far too much likelihood that he would accidentally end up interacting with somebody who had sex.

“Ms. James,” Jon hissed, extremely embarrassed, “you have to get up!”

“Mergh mergh fuck off,” Sasha James said.

Jon, like a true gentleman and hero, got up and made them both strong tea. He squinted at Sasha, recalling everything he knew about her (slept a lot, liked arson, hated Jurgen Leitner) before digging out some instant coffee and making some of that too. Finally, after shoving a hot cup of sludgey black liquid at the woman, she grabbed the cup and chugged it until she was able to sit up and open her eyes.

She blinked at Jon, who was already picking his hair in an attempt to get ready for work. He could clearly see the thoughts ‘you aren’t Tim’ run through her brain. Hah! He could be the narrator of the nature documentary for once!

“Uh,” Sasha James said, “I’m sorry, did we…?”

“Commit arson? Yes.” Jon paused a beat. “But as I don’t believe we were caught, call it an indoor campfire.”

Sasha James drank more of her coffee. Jon grabbed his clothing and disappeared into the loo to get changed.

When he re-entered his bedroom, she snapped her fingers at him. “Right! We got pissed after! Good times, mate!”

“I have to assume,” Jon said politely. He was doing his very best to be very polite, because Jon knew he was rude and didn’t want his new coworkers to know that until his probation period was over. Maybe he should have waited until after his probation period for the arson? Would it look bad on his annual review? “Do you need to borrow some clothing? I think we’re about the same size.” Oh, no, was that rude to say to a woman?

Sasha James squinted at him. “It’s like you’re not hungover at all. How old are you?”

“Twenty five?” Be polite, Jon! “And you’re...thirty seven?”

“I’m thirty one, asshole!”

Oh no. Women hated it when you called them old. “You don’t look a day over twenty seven!” Jon cried, panicked.

“Have you met a woman?”

“I had a grandmother?”

“I’m going back to bed,” Sasha James said.

Unfortunately, Jon knew that it would be very suspicious if they both skipped, so he forced Sasha into one of his suits that...looked much nicer on her than him, but whatever, and hustled them both to work. Now that the adrenaline had worn away and the sense of purpose in his holy mission had burned up with the cleansing flames, Jon found himself biting his nails in agony in the Underground.

They had to know. Someone must have caught them. Maybe there were secret CCTVs in the Institute. Maybe Sasha was going to rat him out - but she had helped, so wouldn’t she just be ratting out herself? Was she a double agent? Mr. Bouchard was never going to forgive him, no matter how nice he was and how much he seemed to like Jon to the point where he rather wished someone had given him the ‘Stranger Danger’ speech as a child so he would know what to do. Jon was going to go to jail, or worse - get fired.

Sasha, cooly sipping her coffee and looking somewhat fly in sunglasses and his suit, did not seem disturbed by any of this. Jon’s rapidly spiralling panic attack must have been obvious, because she casually flicked a finger on his forehead. Jon yelped with pain.

“Take it easy, mate. If they catch us, I’ll just say that the books made us do it.”

Jon scowled at her, rubbing his smarting forehead. “The books?”

“Sure.” She waved her fingers spookily as the Underground rattled forward into the heart of London. “Brainwashed us to do their evil bidding of -”

“Destroying them?”

“There’s a lot of arson Leitners,” Sasha James said sagely. “Trust me, this is just a normal day in Artifact Storage.” She clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Jon fought a blush. “Don’t worry. We performed a public service, kiddo. St. Peter’s gonna give us a medal when we get to the pearly gates.”

“I’m an adult,” Jon said, scandalized. He had gray hair!

“Well, I guess, but I don’t know your name, so…”

Jon squinted at her. She squinted at him back.

“You’re thinking that if you don’t give me your name I can’t rat you out to the feds,” Sasha said flatly.

Jon pursed his lips.

Finally, he settled on, “You don’t rat me out to the feds and I won’t tell them that you’re in an illicit relationship with Mr. Stoker.”

“Mr. - how did - what!”

“It’s Jonathan Sims,” Jon said gruffly, crossing his arms. He was slightly hungover and his nerve were jittery and he had set fire to his workplace the previous night, but somehow Jon thought that his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest for a different reason. Somehow Jon felt as if his heart couldn’t stop thumping behind his sternum because Sasha James was staring at him, head cocked, as if he was a mystery she was interested in finding out. “That’s my name.”

Sasha James stared at him, as if surprised, before her face broke into a wide and happy smile. Jon hunched his shoulders up, embarrassed, faintly aware he was blushing. “It’s nice to meet you, Jonathan!” Then she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. “And there is nothing illicit about me and Tim, and there is nothing between me and Tim at all, we are just friends, so get that out of your little head -”

The train rattled on towards the Magnus Institute, and towards the slight smell of smoke in the air.

*******

Sasha: are you coming 2 the pub w/us 2nite?

Sasha: come onnn you should comeee don’t feel awkwardddd

Sasha: I know you hate a) group settings b) drunk people c) Tim in a group d) drunk Tim and e) Tim drunk in a group but that’s no reason not to come!

Sasha: Tim is physiologically incapable of not adopting men 3-5 years younger than him it’s in his blood you can’t escape his affection

Sasha: or at least I find it funny so I’m not letting you

Sasha: Jonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Jon: Yes I’ll come, I need to talk to both of you.

Sasha: WAHOO

Sasha: wait

Sasha: really?

Sasha: did you commit ars*on again

Sasha: wait if you did don’t tell me the courts can request text transcripts

Jon: No, I just need your advice on an urgent matter.

Sasha: do you need to be drunk to do it

Jon: ...maybe.

Jon: ....Mr. Bouchard offered me the Head Archivist Job?

Jon: Which is stupid because I’ve worked here for barely four years and you’ve worked here for about ten years I think. And you’ve published five papers in parapsychological research. I know I helped you figure out that this place is a weird trauma mill but it was really mostly you. It’s completely ridiculous to promote me and I’m afraid it’s favoritism. For potentially heinous ends? This feels awful because it’s such an honor but I would never stop feeling stressed and guilty because I know so many more people (like you) are so much more qualified. Or qualified at all.

Sasha: holy shit

Sasha: ...do you remember the speech I gave you on stranger danger?

Jon: I’m afraid to mention this to Tim because he might beat up Mr. Bouchard for both my honor and yours.

Sasha: Jesus at this point I don’t even want a fucking job anymore. What bullshit. I’m never going to get promoted and I just need to accept that. This isn’t your fault, Jon, seriously, thank you for telling me.

Sasha: we can talk about this at the pub

Sasha: in private. Off the radar.

Jon: Looking forward to it :)

Jon: did I use the emoticon right?

Sasha: Yes, Jon, you did everything right.

#tma #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #sasha james-centric #this is an implied fix-it everybody lives fic #crack #comedy #absolutely nothing sad? in a MEG FIC?#sasha james #tim stoker #jon is based off me at a new job anxiously calling everyone 'mr'#rest assured sasha is trans but it just never came up #my writing

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beca-mitchell · 4 years

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there's no control (you calm my soul) (1/1)

Summary: Dani just wants to feel warmth again. She finds it in a motel room in Vermont, Jamie by her side.

or,

the second first time fic nobody asked for. Rated M/E.

Word count: 3,190

A/N: Fic title from "Spiritual" by Super Duper, ft. Mr Gabriel. This idea would not leave me alone and demanded to be written no matter how horrible the outcome, so my apologies in advance. I wanted to explore how thirsty Dani would be after sleeping with Jamie for the first time so this is kind of a second first time fic.

Read below or on AO3.

“Yeah?” Jamie asks, finger curling around the strap of Dani’s bra.

Dani, who is already hovering above Jamie, basks in how natural it all feels. How natural it feels to hovering over this woman; this woman to whom she is so incredibly attracted.

“Yeah,” Dani agrees. “Please.”

And warmth—warmth spreads everywhere.

There is so much she wants to do.

* * * * *

America is cold.

Colder, perhaps, than how she left it just under a year ago (had it already been close to a year?). England had been cold at the beginning as well, then it had warmed, but nothing quite like a hot summer in the South. Nothing quite like sweet tea and ice cubes and endless sun. But it had been warm—warm enough until the unbearable cold.

And now she’s back in the U.S., less than a year after leaving everything behind. Fall in the Northeast. Close to winter now.

Dani is cold. She shivers, slumping a little in her seat as she takes in the snow-lined trees and the gloomy skies.

Of course, she’s cold, she tells herself. She’s cold because it’s winter. Almost, anyway. It’s fall, it’s winter, and she’s cold because she’s too tired to even reach out and crank the heat in the car.

But Jamie—Jamie is warm.

Dani takes a moment to glance over at Jamie who is seated in the driver’s seat, expertly navigating the unfamiliar roads as they make their way further north.

Vermont, Jamie had suggested. To see the snow. And Dani had agreed because it was better than feeling the ache that continued to permeate her heart—the same ache that had never quite gone away since leaving England for America.

(Perhaps, even, the same ache that never quite went away since leaving America for England—but that alone feels a lifetime away, even if it nips at the back of Dani’s mind from time to time.)

Instinctively, Dani reaches her hand out to her left, longing to touch Jamie again. To feel comfort. To feel safe. To feel grounded. She pauses halfway, hovering awkwardly over the middle console. Dani flushes, quickly turning her head to the side so she can gaze out the window instead. Her hand falls lamely just beside her thigh and she moves to pick at a loose thread in her pants just to have something to do.

As she follows a random, slow trickle of water sliding down the window, her eyes wander to her own reflection, slightly distorted in the rain-speckled side-view mirror. Without fail, she catches the disparity in her own eye color, still as jarring as it was the first time she had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

But—ultimately, that was the important takeaway: she had caught a glimpse of herself and that alone. Herself. Alone.

A soft, gentle touch startles her out of her gazing. Dani turns quickly, eyes dropping to where Jamie has hooked her pinky just around the tip of her finger. Her gaze flicks up, a sheepish smile spreading across her lips involuntarily when she catches the barest hint of a smile—a smirk—on Jamie’s lips, though her gaze is fixated ahead, carefully driving all the while. Dani’s eyes track up and around Jamie’s profile with the kind of laziness she has only recently allowed herself to indulge in: she takes in the curve of her chin, the tip of her nose, the gentle natural red in her cheeks, and finally the unruly curls peeking out from under the soft hat jammed atop her head.

No, not alone, Dani thinks. She will not have to be alone for whatever stretch of life she has left before her.

With a smile and her lip tucked between her teeth for the briefest of moments, Dani relaxes in her seat, curling her hand around Jamie’s and letting herself drift off.

* * * * *

Jamie’s hands on her body are neither heavy or light. Quite simply, her hands feel like they are a part of Dani’s body. Not quite extensions of herself, but gentle like the lap of waves against the shore. Over and over. All over. Everywhere.

Everywhere, her hands roam—but the most striking intimacy happens when her hands grab Dani’s, both of them expelling a trembling breath.

“Touch me,” Jamie whispers. No—begs. She begs, eyes dark and alight with something wonderfully new and exciting.

And Dani does.

Dani won’t stop—she couldn’t if she tried. Not now, knowing what she does. Wanting what she wants. Being who she is.

Jamie has unlocked everything.

* * * * *

They end up in a cozy motel (two words that are not necessarily meant to go together, but Dani has experience with the unexpected at this point) by the time they reach the Vermont state line. It is dark and chilly and Jamie all but drags Dani from the car over the sound of Dani’s half-hearted protests that they just sleep in the back of their car all night. Keep each other warm. Cuddling. She’s sure one of those suggestions will land, but Jamie ignores her and they end up securing a room for the night.

“Motels freak me out,” Dani admits, finally, as Jamie nudges her fully into the room. “Always have.” Her eyes, however, land longingly on the comfortable-looking beds. The two notably separate beds. Dani chances a glance at Jamie to see whether Jamie has a comment or remark about their sleeping arrangement, but Jamie is already grumbling to herself and rifling through one of their oversized duffles.

It takes a moment for Dani to process—like, really truly process—but they’re here. They’ve left that part of their life behind. The very brief spell at Bly, pleasant and horrible memories alike.

A new adventure.

A new adventure, starting with the hunch in Jamie’s shoulders and the determination that seems to reverberate from her with every breath. Dani wonders which demons Jamie herself is running from (she has some idea); Dani wonders if Jamie knows that Dani isn’t necessarily something to run towards either (Jamie knows; she must).

But—

One day at a time.

Dani can try. For Jamie, at least. “Hey,” she calls, taking the chance to step into Jamie’s orbit again, leaning up to rest her chin just over Jamie’s shoulder to peer at the mess she’s making inside the bag. “Let’s just get some rest.”

“Impatient,” Jamie replies, offering a smile over her shoulder. Dani catches the smile with her lips, leaning in as best as she can to press a messy kiss to Dani’s mouth, only managing to get somewhat of an off-center kiss and the corner of her mouth.

Dani stifles a smile at Jamie’s surprised expression, happy to know that her kiss evokes as much a reaction as Jamie’s kisses do in her. She catches the way Jamie’s eyes flick down to her lips as she twists slowly in Dani’s hold, from where she is backed up against the little table in the corner. “We should probably shower though,” Dani suggests lightly, this time unable to keep the laugh from escaping when Jamie’s entire posture deflates and she ends up pouting right at Dani’s face.

Still. This is so new. And Dani still doesn’t quite know what to do with all the warmth that spills through her—spills out of her. A strangeness, almost, this sense of wanting and needing like she has never wanted and needed before. She gapes for a moment too long, something that she hopes looks like desire across her face as clear as day, because Jamie smiles again at her. Jamie smiles, playful and understanding all at once.

“For that, we’re doing this separately.”

Dani protests weakly, still not quite catching up to her own emotions, loosely letting Jamie’s shirt slip past her fingers. “I didn’t—”

“Sure,” Jamie drawls, flashing one last smile over her shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re valid, Poppins.”

Dani’s blush reaches all the way down to her wooly socks.

* * * * *

Dani is brushing out her hair, warm and fluffy from the cheap blow dryer in their bathroom, when she walks out, eyes landing on Jamie already tucked under the covers on one of the beds, nose buried in a book. A swell of affection rushes through her at the sight of her—her girlfriend, as foreign as the thought sounds. Companion. Company. Girlfriend.

She longs to test the word out on her tongue, but her own fears haven’t quite ebbed yet. The move back to the U.S. has barely settled in her chest, let alone the thought of a life past Christmas. And yet, here, in this nondescript motel room, Jamie is setting her book aside and gazing at Dani as if she hung the stars themselves.

One day at a time.

Dani flicks the light off, walking slowly over to the other empty (cold, desolate, lonely), unoccupied bed. She pauses midway and she peeks over her shoulder hesitantly, the question dying on her lips when Jamie is already lifting the edge of the comforter on the too-small bed.

“C’mere.”

Dani bites her lip, sliding beneath the comforter. She shivers as her leg brushes against Jamie’s. “S’cold,” she mumbles, tucking her head under Jamie’s chin.

“You’re always cold,” Jamie teases, though there is a hint of tiredness in her voice.

Dani doesn’t respond for a long moment, wondering if Jamie knows how close to the truth she is—the lingering thoughts and worries always nagging at the back of Dani’s mind. Maybe it’s all just banter to Jamie. Maybe it’s somewhere in between, in that gray area they haven’t really touched yet—but Jamie never pushes. Never forces Dani to talk.

Only when Dani’s ready.

“Not so much when I’m with you,” Dani finally whispers, letting her breath wash over the bumps of Jamie’s collarbones. She lifts a hand slowly, tracing the delicate bone, marvelling in the warmth that crashes through her when Jamie shivers as if she is drawing some of the cold from her lover. Entranced, Dani traces her finger up the delicate column of Jamie’s neck, then to her jaw, and finally to her lips, lingering. Jamie’s lips press forward, kissing her fingertip ever so gently that it makes Dani want to cry.

She doesn’t cry.

She surges up, kissing Jamie with as much gusto as she can, rocking the bed ever so slightly as she does so. Jamie’s tiny noise of surprise quickly morphs into one of distinct pleasure as she responds to the kiss easily and naturally, like they’ve been doing this for years. Like their lips have only longed to meet again and again with the experience of lovers who have had thousands of kisses before.

Jamie’s hand is sure and steady as it slips up the back of Dani’s shirt, fingers mapping new but familiar paths. The faintest memory of their first night together comes rushing back, but the new sensations scramble to overwrite the wiring in Dani’s brain as she arches into Jamie’s warmth. Each sensation feels like a jolt to her own senses—each fractured breath between them as they kiss, messy and desperate, like each kiss is their first kiss anew.

A new first kiss: there is no greenery; there is no lake; there is no haunted spectre. Just them, together in this bed (it’s a bed, even if it isn’t the best), finally.

(But not a first kiss that replaces their first kiss, to be sure. Dani would never.)

“You sure?” Jamie murmurs quietly, the words barely slipping past swollen lips. Dani pauses, taking in Jamie’s murmured inquiry. Jamie is unable to hide the faintest hint of self-doubt in her voice. It makes the last wall crumble; it makes Dani want to cry again, damnit.

Dani nods, swallowing. She leans in again to nip at Jamie’s lips once more. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yes. Please.”

I need you.

I want you.

I missed you.

Her unspoken words fall away into the nothingness—and for once, it is a nothingness that she is comfortable with because the nothingness only highlights that she is with Jamie and Jamie is with her and nothing else matters.

Jamie gently cups the back of Dani’s head, tongue slipping into Dani’s mouth as she goes. With further tenderness, Jamie rolls Dani to her back, keeping a sure hold on her as she goes. Breathless, Dani longs to pull Jamie further into her, but there is no more space between them, not even air and yet—

(damn clothes)

“—Off,” Dani mumbles as best as she can between heated kisses. “Take it off.”

Jamie huffs, something akin to a laugh, and begins kissing at Dani’s neck, nipping and sucking with gradual intensity. She pushes at the bottom of Dani’s shirt, lifting it so painstakingly slow. Her hands follow the path of the shirt even as she stops pushing the shirt up. Slowly, oh so slowly, Jamie’s hand finally reaches the curve of Dani’s breast, hesitating for the briefest of moments before Jamie’s palm rests atop a straining nipple.

Dani exhales loudly, her head tipping back. Jamie does nothing for a long moment. Cherishing. Lingering. Remembering. Her lips move languidly across Dani’s skin, but she does not move her hand as Dani begins to shift restlessly beneath her. Her hands weave through soft damp curls at the back of Jamie’s head, somehow more unruly than before, and she is immediately, once again mesmerized by the texture and the ease with which she can touch her lover.

It is easy, like breathing—something that Dani remembers how to do, but for the first time in a while, it feels like she can do so freely. Breathe easy. Breathe freely.

In and out.

As easy as breathing.

Being with Jamie is as easy as breathing; as easy as existing; as easy as both breathing and existing when both those things were so hard not too long ago.

When Dani opens her eyes again, she is so present and so grounded that she startles at the clarity with which she is perceiving the moment. A soft, wanting gasp leaves her lips as she pulls Jamie in for another searing kiss, this time taking measures to roll Jamie onto her back, tucking their bodies as close to the center of the bed as she can.

Jamie makes a noise of surprise, head falling back against the pillow before Dani is kissing her eagerly once more. Freely. Messily. The rest comes easily, as natural as it was the first time. Something visceral claws within Dani’s chest, entirely needy and wanton as her skin brushes against Jamie’s fully. She gasps, hot and desperate against Jamie’s neck as she rocks experimentally down against Jamie’s thigh. Dani grabs at the sheets, the pillows, Jamie’s hair—anything to ground herself in the moment.

But that moment quickly bleeds into the next and she lets her hand wander as it pleases, delighting in Jamie’s pleased sounds and broken gasps. It is a reaction that Dani wants to elicit again and again until they’ve both exhausted themselves. Like the first night. And more nights to come.

Dani stifles a quiet moan of her own, slipping her fingers down past the plane of Jamie’s stomach—further, further—

“Yes,” Jamie murmurs softly, then louder, “Dani, please—”

It is the choked-off moan that does it for Dani, really. Her cheeks flood with heat and warmth and she clenches—hot and wet around nothing—at the wanton display of need.

She could spend the rest of her life doing this. How had she wasted time doing anything else? How had she bothered to live her life not knowing what Jamie looked like or sounded like with Dani’s fingers teasing at her clit, regardless of how clumsy or awkward Dani feels about it?

Slowly, she slips her fingers through hot, wet folds, careful in her ministrations. Dani tries to recall every single thing they did together that first night, but the memory feels more like an echo or an impression of a memory rather than a clear image. She does not despair. The thought of making new memories excites Dani—feels her chest with something infinitely more than dread.

It is hope.

Her fingers move.

Love.

Jamie whimpers.

Joy.

“Fuck,” Dani whispers, nearly silent. She tries again, louder, punctuating the word with a steady thrust of her fingers. The movement feels natural and when Jamie tenses around her so wantonly—

“Don’t stop,” Jamie mumbles. “I need you to—“ she cuts herself off with a gasp, a knee bending, her back arching—all to take Dani’s fingers in deeper as she curls her fingers experimentally.

It’s then that Dani feels another shift in her mind. She stares with open desire and wonder, looking down at Jamie’s flushed face. Unbidden, a memory of Jamie guiding her hand up her back. Jamie encouraging her always. Jamie wanting her and wanting Dani to want her back no matter what.

God, Dani wants her.

She wants her girlfriend and there isn’t a thing stopping her. Not either of their demons. Not what Dani fears lives inside her.

So she wants, and wants, and wants. The wanting—the sheer act of primal desire—warms Dani like a flame the begins somewhere in her belly and rises up to her forehead. Down to her toes. And oh—how it threatens to spill out of her.

She cracks herself open then and lets her desire run over.

Dani grabs Jamie’s hand, guiding it between her own legs. She lips her tongue into Jamie’s mouth to stifle the knowing chuckle that’s bound to slip past Jamie’s lips.

All that can come later. For now, she wants nothing more than to feel the gentle dampness on their skin, slow build of sweat along their foreheads; she wants nothing more than the rhythmic sound of the bed; she wants nothing more than to want and be wanted because it is better than being lost to the recesses of her own mind.

If Dani could say all this aloud in some way, she would. She could. But as Jamie's breath ghosts down her collarbone, hand curling around her hip, Dani finds that she does not need to say anything at all because she has everything she might ever need within her grasp.

Like benediction—a reprieve from all that has transpired—Jamie's name falls from her lips like a mantra; Jamie's name falls from her lips like she's forgotten her own name and quite honestly, she isn't sure that she would want it any other way.

* * * * *

Dani wakes to the sight of Jamie’s face. Her eyes track slowly across every last inch of skin available to her. Jamie’s nose. Her lips. The golden hues of sunlight glancing off errant curls.

Inside Dani, she is warm. All is quiet and still as the morning air around them. She is sure the silence won’t last - it never does - but for once she does not feel dread or the urge to shiver.

She longs to wake Jamie, if only to see her eyes again, but she settles

One day at a time, as long as she gets this for the rest of her days.

fin.

#dani x jamie #jamie x dani #the haunting of bly manor #fanfiction #damie #my fanfic #mine #bro i dont know where this came from #i dont know where its going #only that it had to be put into the world

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seaweedbrain404 · 3 years

Text

Wolfstar Au!: Hot and Cold (pt 2 of Parties and Morning Regrets)

@icitlali asked if there was a second part and um- yeah i wrote this, there may be more parts to come

pt 1

pt3

read it on ao3

Remus thought inviting Sirius up was the right thing to do which is the only reason he did. He dared to let himself hope but he didn’t really want to see Sirius. Still, Remus had manners and it was so cold outside that his own fingers were turning purple. Leaving Sirius out in the cold and making him probably walk home seemed too mean, even for Remus. Although, he thought Sirius definitely deserved it.

He followed Sirius up to the flat, Lily looked more than surprised when she saw Sirius come in and gave Remus another look. It was one of those looks that Remus didn’t like getting, the we’re-going-to-talk-about-this-later kind of look. He shrugged it off, too preoccupied with his bloody hip.

“Remus, did you really walk all the way here?” Lily crossed her arms over her chest as Remus closed the door behind them.

“Yeah, so what” He replied through gritted teeth. “I’m going for a shower to wash off the smell of stale alcohol”

“You’re going to be the death of me one day, Remus Lupin” Lily’s voice called to his retreating back. “Sirius, how are you?”

Remus heard vague small talk as he navigated his way to his bedroom. The pain in his hip wasn’t unbearable exactly. It was just bad enough for it to consume all his thoughts. All he needed was a warm bath, some painkillers and to limit his movements for the rest of the day. Easy. Unfortunately, the bath would have to wait until later though seeing as it would probably be rude to soak in the tub while having a guest over.

Showering after a night out was always a pleasant experience. He emerged from the shower just a couple minutes later with damp hair, a stolen pair of Lily’s yoga pants and a clean jumper.

“Ah, here’s the idiot who has no regard for his health” Lily smiled as Remus walked into the kitchen. “Are those mine?”

“Maybe, painkillers please?” He walked across the room and leaned his chin on Lily’s shoulder.

Sirius watched the interaction between the two with some hint of longing in his eyes. Remus wasn’t sure why, maybe it was because he had never been so casually touchy with anyone but now him and Lily were even closer than they were in school.

Lily wrapped an arm around his waist, rubbing circles on his hip. “Sirius, there’s a small pill bottle in the cupboard just there-“ she pointed to the right above her head “-would you mind grabbing it please?”

Sirius blinked for a moment, seemingly frozen at the sight of them. Then, he nodded. “Yeah- yeah, I got it”

He passed Lily the retrieved painkillers without looking at them. Lily hummed gratefully in return, easing Remus, who had hid his face in the crook of her neck, off her. He leaned back against the counter and Lily switched the kettle on.

“I promised Mrs Pettigrew from next door that I’d pick up her groceries today” Lily turned to Remus, glancing at Sirius, “and do a bit of cleaning for her since her grandson is out of town, do you think you’ll manage?”

“Yeah” Remus breathed out. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay”

Lily pursed her lips and looked to Sirius again. “Make sure he stays home, yeah?”

Remus made a noise of protest as Sirius nodded, “I doubt he’ll want to listen to me”

“Lily, I can take care of myself”

“Hardly, you’re in a right state after being without me for a few hours” She scolded, “If you strain yourself any more then you’re going to really fuck up your hip”

“I can’t fuck up something that’s already fucked, can I?”

“I mean it, take it easy and don’t be an idiot”

“Alright, fine”

“And I want to talk to you later”

Remus paled a little at that, despite fully seeing it coming. He made a noncommittal sound and Lily, satisfied with herself, left the room to layer up on clothes and help the nice old lady who lived across the hall.

There was a tense moment when she left. The kettle went off and Remus poured himself a cup, then paused. “Tea?”

“Sure”

Sirius seemed more relaxed now that Lily had gone. It was as if he had been on best behavior when she was there and now he didn’t have to be. Remus couldn’t really blame him, Lily could be very scary sometimes and she was always unreasonably overprotective of Remus. In all fairness, he felt the same way towards her.

So Remus poured two cups of tea and then added milk and sugar accordingly. He had assumed that Sirius took his tea the way he did back in school and he was only a little ashamed he still knew what the other man liked in his tea off the top of his head.

“Am I allowed to ask about the accident?” Sirius picked up his cup and took a sip.

“Why do you want to know?” Remus retorted, taking a painkiller.

“Lily wouldn’t tell me… and I’m…. worried” Sirius looked embarrassed to admit it but he did admit it which was good enough for Remus. It showed some sort of growth, some kind of potential.

“Depends on whether you’re going to pity me or not because frankly, I don’t care much for it”

“Jesus, you don’t have to be so snappy”

Remus scowled at him, not saying another word. He didn’t care about being snappy in that particular moment. His hip hurt like hell, he could feel his leg slowly going as well and whenever he told people anything about the accident they all treated him like a fragile porcelain doll.

Sirius cleared his throat before speaking again. “I won’t pity you, if you don’t want me to”

“What do you want to know?” Remus asked, disregarding what Sirius had said.

“What happened?”

“I worked at this publishing place, had a late night so I took a cab home” Remus began, even thinking about that night made his heart race and his eyes sting. “Someone was driving under the influence and hit us- the cab, I mean.. and it was really bad but they put these screws and plates all in my side, shoulder down to my shin”

Remus paused a moment, wiping his eyes on the back of his palm. Sirius made to touch him but he jerked away, a little too fast and hissed in pain. Sirius retreated his hand, looking crestfallen.

“Anyway, I had to quit the job cause it was too far to walk and I refused to get in any type of car or bus or really any type vehicle since then” Remus rushed the end of the story, his hands were shaking and his throat felt tight.

Sirius took a step forward and this time Remus allowed him to. He carefully opened his arms and slowly wrapped them around Remus, giving him more than enough time to move if he didn’t want this.

Remus, however, was just exhausted. He collapsed right into Sirius’ arms which tightened around him. The bad thing was, he was still shaking, his lungs refused to take in air and oh, there was the whole thing about just falling into his ex-boyfriend’s arms. Good thing was, he felt safe.

Then he started crying, his own arms wrapping around Sirius’ waist while his arms were around Remus’ back. He was pretty sure the only reason he still remained standing was Sirius’ strength forged by years of playing rugby. Remus wanted to kick himself, everything about this situation was just so pathetic and he hated it. He hated himself for it.

Sirius, meanwhile, said nothing and just rubbed circles on the taller man’s back. “I’m sorry, I’ve been horrible to you and now you’re literally comforting me, maybe I am the asshole”

“Nah, I kind of deserved it”

“Yeah you did”

“Hey! you’re not supposed to say that”

“But it’s the truth”

“Shut up”

Remus let himself laugh quietly. He was mortified by this display of vulnerability and dearly wished the ground would open and swallow him whole. Then he made a feeble attempt at pushing Sirius away, nearly toppling over himself. He had to grip the counter behind him to stop himself from hitting the floor. Sirius made to catch him but Remus swatted his hand away.

“I think you should go”

“But I promised Li-“

“I’m tired and she’ll be back soon”

Lie. Remus knew that Lily would be gone for at least two more hours, maybe more if Mrs Pettigrew offered biscuits.

“Then I’ll just stay till she comes back, she really worries about you” Sirius shrugged like it was final and Remus didn’t want to talk about it so he slowly hobbled to the living room.

“Do you-“

“No”

Sirius started asking but Remus snapped at him before he could finish his question.

“Sorry” Sirius mumbled, hands up in surrender. Remus could feel eyes on his back as he managed to get to the couch. He switched on the telly, laying on the side of his body that hurt the least.

Remus figured that if Sirius didn’t leave, then maybe he could ignore him to the point of leaving. Unfortunately it didn’t work because this was Sirius so instead of sitting on the chair near the couch or even on the floor, he stood at Remus’ head. Hands were gesturing for Remus to sit up but he ignored them.

“Remus, squish over a minute”

With a groan, he turned onto his back and sat up. Sirius slid into the open space and Remus turned so that his feet were at Sirius’ lap instead of his head. He wasn’t sure how his body would react if Sirius started gently twirling strands of his hair and admiring them as if they were made of gold.

Remus closed his eyes, feeling fingers tracing shapes on his exposed ankles.

Suddenly Sirius spoke. “You and Lily have gotten really close”

His eyes shot open, a little startled by the tone. He wasn’t sure how long he was out but he definitely slept at least twenty minutes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was groggy with sleep, the side of his mouth damp from drool

“It’s weird, I’ve never seen you so much as hug anyone”

Remus wiped the side of his mouth. “People are allowed to change and Lily is my best friend”

“It’s just- you’ve changed so much and I’m struggling to keep up” Sirius’ tone was strange, the most un-Sirius thing Remus had ever experienced him do since they met.

Remus’ eyebrows knit together, a frown now playing on his face. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, y’know… besides, I don’t have to change according to your terms”

“I never said that” Sirius spat.

Remus sat up in response, leaning back on his elbows. “Then why are you constantly bitching about how much I’ve changed?”

“Because you have! It’s like you’re this whole new person and I don’t even know you”

“I haven’t spoken to you since we were 17, that was 6 years ago and you expect me not to change?” Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I went to college, I got in a horrendous car accident Sirius, do you really expect me to be the same person I was when we were teenagers?”

“No- it’s just, I don’t like change”

“Fucking hell Sirius, the world doesn’t care and guess what? that’s constantly changing too”

“Yeah but not as drastically as you! You work in a bakery for Christ’s sake when I know you always wanted to be a writer”

“And I know you vowed to never work for your parents and here you are, doing daddy’s dirty work no doubt”

“Remus”

“What”

“You were never this cruel”

“No, I suppose not”

The two sat in silence, and it took all of Remus’ willpower not to kiss him.

“Can we just be friends or something” Sirius looked sincere enough, good natured enough for Remus to want it.

“Something? Something like wh-“

But Remus never got to finish his sentence because suddenly Sirius’ knees were straddling his hips and they were kissing.

What the fuck!

Remus wanted to scream, he was tired and annoyed and now he didn’t know what to feel. He pushed Sirius away for a second time that day, both their breaths coming in uneven.

“No” Remus breathed out, shutting his eyes tightly.

“No?”

“Yes, no… I can’t… what were you thinking?”

Sirius looked both hurt and surprised but Remus wasn’t concerned about that, he was more confused than anything and also there was the almost unbearable pain in his hip.

“I- well you were being cruel and this is the only way I knew how to shut you up effectively”

Now it was Remus’ turn to look hurt, he pushed Sirius again with more force than before. He brought his head back down and refused to say another word.

“Remus”

Nothing.

“Remus”

He shut his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep again.

“I’m sorry”

“Remus, I’m really sorry”

“I know I shouldn’t have said that”

“I did want to kiss you, I also wanted you to stop being mean”

“Come on Moony”

Remus’ eyes shot open at the childhood nickname. “Leave me alone Sirius, I’m tired and sore”

“Are you cross?”

“With you?”

Sirius hummed in response.

“Yeah but mainly cause I’m tired”

“Oh, I’m sorry”

“Just stop talking”

Sirius did just that. Remus felt bad though, he very carefully and hesitantly moved again so that his head was on Sirius’ lap. “I’m sorry for being a dick” he whispered, eyes closing again.

“I’m sorry for not thinking before I speak” came Sirius’ soft reply.

Remus felt Sirius’ fingers move through his hair tentatively as if he was uncertain whether or not this was allowed. “No, I’m being a moody git, all hot and cold on you”

“I couldn’t blame you for it”

“Well you should”

Sirius didn’t reply and Remus remained on the side that didn’t hurt him, facing away from Sirius and towards the telly.

#marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #the mauraders #modern marauders #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar angst #wolfstar fic #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #lily evans #okay but i love writing lily and remus’ friendship so much #they remind me of me and my best friend

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kalle-and-lita · 3 years

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My half of the art trade with @tagedeszorns featuring their OC Doriel. I can't even begin to tell you how much of a joy it was to work with the mun and their muse!

Lita cast a furtive glance down the long halls of the palace. It was so quiet she could hear the beat of her heart thunder in her ears. Perhaps it was because she was leaving work so close to curfew. Only the foolish would dare to walk the empty streets lest they incur the wrath of the Night Haunter.

Maybe it was the fear of her mistress, whose rage was easily incited these days. Several members of the staff had already gone missing. Lita wasn't fool enough to believe they had just left.

Or perhaps, her nervousness was due to the large platter of food she clutched to. Taking food, even uneaten, was akin to stealing from the barons. If she was caught she'd be killed without a second thought.

But she was on a mission, and she would not be deterred. So Lita steeled her nerves and made her escape as quiet as she could. Every step was carefully planned, every corner scrutinized until she was sure she was safe and alone. She didn't breathe easy until she passed through the servants entrance and out onto the streets.

There was the faintest drizzle pouring from the sky. A cacophony of lights twinkled in the perpetual dark, reflecting off dirty glass windows and pools of stagnant water in the broken streets. Above the familiar hum of the city Lita noted the blessed silence. No screaming, no gunfire. Orderly silence since the whispers had begun.

Whispers of a silent stalker in the night. A savior to the weak who suffered beneath the heel of the barons and their crime lords. Night Haunter they called him, and his was a name revered with fear and awe. Rumors persisted of his speed, his ferocity. While she had not seen his handiwork for herself, Lita knew the tales of the flayed criminals he left out as warning. To take caution because if you caught his gaze there would be no one to save you from him.

Lita's reverie was broken by the sound of shoes scuffing cobblestone. Just like the nights before they came out of the shadows like pale little spirits. Four in total with the youngest looking no older than five or six. The oldest approached first, crossing the street once he was sure they were all alone. He was strange for a Nostromon; his hair was the color of a fire blazing away in the adamantium furnaces. Though he still possessed the pallid complexion and the hardened, steel black gaze of his kin.

"Hello," Lita smiled, "I'm glad you boys are safe. I brought the good stuff from the kitchen."

The redhead eyed her sharply, a frown etched into his features. The smaller shadows of his gang pressed at his back threateningly,

"Ah," Lita warned, waving a scolding finger at them, "Unless you want to go back to eating garbage and refuse I suggest you play nice."

"Fuck off." The redhead snapped over his shoulder. His mates backed off, though they still possessed a hungry look in their eyes. Sure that they weren't going to cause trouble, the young boy turned back to her, "What you want for it?"

"We have this conversation every time." She sighed, she popped the lid off one of the bowls of food. A hearty, and savoury aroma filled the air. If the boys looked hungry before they were absolutely ravenous now. "I don't want anything more than the satisfaction of you boys being well fed."

The redhead shot her a venomous glare, "I still say it's bullshit. Ain't nobody that nice."

"So you don't want the food then?" She teased, the younger kids hissed at their leader,

"Shut up, Doriel, before you ruin it!" One hissed. The young boy, Doriel, scowled right back,

"I ain't ruining shit! Look, bitch, just hand over the food and we'll get out of your hair."

Lita chuckled but pointedly ignored Doriel's rather colorful language. The large bowl of stew was all but yanked from her hands and she happily watched as the children ate. More than once the young redheaded boy thumped one of his mates on the shoulder, a silent admonishment for taking more than a fair share.

And they scampered off just as quick as they came with Doriel offering a cursory glance back at her. She nodded a farewell and tossed the now empty bowl, all too eager to navigate the eerie streets of the upper districts. Her feet pounded against hard stone as she ran, a desperate bid to get to the shops before curfew descended upon her.

Luck was not completely on her side tonight, however. Lita cringed as the shop door slammed shut behind her and locked tight. Lights flickered off, leaving her alone on the dark sidewalk. Her gaze flickered to the shadowy corners around her, their long tendrils closing in on her.

She didn't make it a habit to be out past curfew. A nervous tension settled in her belly as she set off for home. Her footsteps echoed loudly, bouncing off the high buildings ominously. Each passing minute was like agony, the eerie silence fraying at her nerves until there was a burning itch between her shoulder blades.

Lita tensed at the feeling.

She was no stranger to this sensation of being watched. Years of service to the barons, and even her years on the streets, had refined her sense of awareness. All the better to know when to run or hide.

But this was not the first night she felt the piercing gaze of the unknown stalker's eyes. For weeks she walked home with the proverbial dagger aimed at her back, ever nervous for an attack that had yet to come.

Lita turned a sharp corner in an effort to evade her stalker. A stupid idea to turn into the pitch black of the alleyway, but she knew it to be a shortcut home and she was desperate. Her heart thundered away in her ears even as her footsteps echoed on the walls. Save for the drizzling of the rain there was nary a sound above the hum of quiet.

Then, just behind her, she heard something hit the ground. If she hadn't been listening so keenly she wouldn't have heard it. Lita froze with a gasp, a chill ran down her spine and the burn in her shoulder blades grew hot. There was a presence at her back, she could feel its hot breath on her neck.

Against her better judgement she turned to look, oh so slowly spinning on her heels. She came face to face with a monstrously large Nostromon man, the pitch black of his eyes drawing her in. His thin strands of black hair stuck to his face, and fell over his shoulders as he sat nearly hunched over her. Lita blinked dumbly, mouth agape in terror.

All at once her sense of self preservation kicked in as a smile crossed his face. A set of wicked sharp teeth gleamed at her and the fear in her gut rose well past the point of control.

So Lita did what any normal person would do and panicked. And in her panic she did the very first thing that sprang to mind, and she threw her grocery bags at him. She didn't bother to stick around to see his reaction. She was far too interested in running as fast her poor legs could carry her.

And she didn't stop running until she was safely back in her apartment. The keys clattered to the floor and her back hit the door. Her lungs burned and her legs gave out, and Lita hit the ground with a hard thud while her mind tried to wrap around what just happened.

He'd been so quiet. That thought scared her more than she cared to admit. How was it possible that someone so large could be so silent?! And she was fairly certain that the only reason she'd known he was there was because he let her see him.

Just who was he? Why was he following her?

Cold realization hit her hard as she came down from her adrenal high. The whispered tales of the few who'd seen the Night Haunter and lived. Of the man draped in shadow and blood, larger than life who took no qualms in spilling the blood of the guilty.

"Oh gods," Lita's hands flew to her mouth, "Oh gods!"

And she had just hit him.

In the face.

With her grocery bags!

She sprang to her feet and ran to check her windows, futile as it seemed. If the Night Haunter wanted to get to her windows were not going to stop him. For the better part of an hour she paced the confines of her apartment, awaiting retribution despite her own perceived innocence. Fixated on the fact that she had thrown her food at the Night Haunter in blind panic.

Lita resented the fact that if she was going to die, she was going to do so hungry.

The burn eventually came back. Fear turned to trepidation as she paused at her living room window. The balcony was empty, wet with the rain. She took a few deep breaths before she opened the sliding glass door. Before she could second guess herself she leaned onto the railing and took another deep breath.

"I'm sorry!" She shouted into the night. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. "I swear I didn't know it was you. I wouldn't have hit you if I had. I'm so sorry!"

A long moment of silence passed until she picked up the sound of something dragging on the roof behind her. She turned her gaze up to find the Night Haunter casually perched on the roof edge, black eyes boring right into her skull. She averted her gaze in embarrassment.

"I am so, so sorry." She repeated, "I wasn't expecting to be followed, and you appearing out of nowhere startled me, and I panicked..."

She was bumbling like an idiot, trapped between him and the railing. But his silence was making her nervous. Lita felt the hot flush warm her face.

Then, something hit the ground. Lita jumped then stooped over to find her grocery bag, albeit missing some of its contents but still intact. She looked up, still under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Uhhm," she stuttered, awkwardly collecting her bag and shuffling towards the door, "Thank you."

He blinked at her, expression neutral even as he watched her slip inside and close the door.

The itch in her shoulder blades didn't cease as she put away her groceries and started dinner. She tried to ignore it for the most part, though she couldn't help but wonder why he was sticking around. Surely there were more interesting things to do than watch her?

She found her way back to the balcony door eventually, after setting her stew to a simmer. The Night Haunter now perched on the railing so he could peer in. She slid open the door to poke her head out.

"Hi." Lita muttered, he blinked again and let the awkward silence stretch out, "Uh, I made food. Did you want some?"

No answer save for his endless staring. Lita swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped back,

"I'll, uh, leave the door open for you then."

She retreated back to the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand. The minutes passed as she slowly stirred the stew, lost in the rhythmic motions. That was until she felt a presence hunched over her shoulder. Lita dared not look up, instead she simply muttered under her breath,

"I think I need to get you a bell."

#art trade #warhammer 30k #konrad curze #lita #warhammer40k #night lord #Doriel #my writing #night haunter

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muertawrites · 3 years

Text

Two Halves - Chapter Eighteen (Zuko x Reader)

Chapter 17

Word Count: 2,200

Author’s Note: Shit’s hitting the fan y’all - not just in Two Halves but in everything else as well. I’m formatting this and ignoring all the impending doom swirling around me by drowning it out with Disney move soundtracks.

You wake before Zuko the next morning, which isn't hard considering you barely slept. Toph arrives under the cover of early dawn, the sky just becoming gray as her ship lands on the palace grounds; you meet her without your husband, as you never got the chance to tell him she was coming the night previous.

“You didn't have to rush out here,” you tell her, clutching her hands in an anxious vice. “It's not safe.”

“When have I ever cared if anything was safe?” she scoffs. “Sparky clearly needs help protecting you.”

The words are delivered with sarcastic wit, but her fingers shake in your palm.

You decide you won't tell her about Qiang’s threat - you don't want to give him reason to hurt anyone else. Instead, you tell her that the palace is under constant, heavy surveillance, and that you're still unsure who exactly is conducting the strange occurrences that have plagued you or what their motives are. Not exactly a lie, but enough that you feel she won't be put in any more danger.

“Do you think you can even trust your guards?” Toph wonders, her arm clenched tightly to your elbow.

“Suki vetted every one of them herself,” you tell her. “But… we still don't know.”

As you walk with her through the palace, nothing feels secure - the servants that pass you all seem suspicious, the guards and metal benders that flank you all looking like strangers through the gaze of your fear. Anyone could be working under Qiang; the thought of being so unsafe in your own home, even with the people you trust most beside you, makes you ill to the point you feel dizzy.

“Zuko should be up,” you blurt. “Why don't you spar with him before breakfast? I’ll meet you.”

Toph’s brow furrows with unease, her grip on your bicep becoming tighter.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

You nod, but don't bother to put on a brave face.

“I just feel a little tired,” you reply. “I didn't sleep very well last night.”

Again, not a lie.

Toph considers this for a moment, no doubt gauging your pulse, then concedes, letting you go with a firm, nervous squeeze.

“Okay,” she says. “We’ll stay close.”

When you see that she goes without incident, you sweep through the corridor, hastily making your way back to your own, personal bedroom, and locking the door behind you. For a moment, you stand staring at the threshold, considering pushing your vanity or wardrobe in front of it to barricade yourself in.

Your vanity. Your wardrobe.

It sinks in that you haven't been alone in this room since you returned from Ember Island; you moved your belongings into Zuko’s room, opting to sleep next to him and making plans to convert the room back into a sunroom. You pace the floor slowly, inspecting the bed and its thin, billowing canopy, the windows and their gorgeous views beyond lightly veiled curtains; had you stayed in this room, they'd have been switched out for heavier ones in anticipation of winter, but they remain, letting in cool air that chills the dormant space. Dust has gathered on the deep, glossy wood of your vanity, your fingers leaving streaks in their wake as they run along its edge. You pull the single drawer open as if by instinct, something catching in your chest as its only remaining contents slide out from the shadows.

A single pai sho tile - the lotus.

On its side, so minuscule you can barely make it out, is a series of addresses; you discovered the markings one night while nervously toying with the gift from Iroh, finding various locations around the world listed on the piece after inspecting it under a magnifying glass. You told no one of this, not even Zuko, knowing deep down that it was something Iroh meant only for you. Your fingers trace over the address in the Imperial City - a pub by the name of Ichigo’s.

Without a second thought, you dash to the trunk at the foot of your bed and pull a cloak from its depths - the one you and Zuko used to navigate the city unnoticed during your wedding celebrations. You strip out of your ceremonial robes, folding them neatly in the space where the cloak was and replacing them with your traveling clothes. You thank the spirits for the cold weather as you pull the cloak tightly around yourself, making sure it obscures your face before leaving the room once more.

In the corner of your bedroom, there's a hatch; it's hidden under a false floorboard, beneath a thick rug, and leads to tunnels that wind in a labyrinth below the palace. Zuko explained that they've been there for hundreds of years, known to very few select people within the palace walls as an escape for the royal family should the need ever arise.

“It's how we hid when Aang invaded the Fire Nation,” he told you. “It's where I confronted my father and left.”

You raise the hatch from its disguise, slipping into the hole it forms in the floor with a single candle, the lotus tile, and the knife with which Qiang intends for you to kill your husband. In a matter of seconds, the board and rug fall back into place, and you slip from the palace in the dark, the entire world above unknown to your disappearance.

The streets of the Imperial City are unfamiliar to you, but you make an effort to walk with sure steps. Your face is well hidden under your cloak, shadowed by the gray gloom of a silver sky, but it isn't as if anyone is curious enough to slow and peer beneath it; the air is brisk, and people rush past you in a haste to get where they need to go, back into warmth.

Ichigo’s is on the fringes of the city, resting on a small hill beside the docks amongst a cluster of other businesses; together, they form a small alley and marketplace, its shops and stalls either shuttered or lit with hanging burners to fight off the winter cold. As you approach the bar, climbing over a set of wood steps that creak and shift under your weight, rain begins to fall.

The inside of the bar proves much more welcoming than its surly exterior. In one corner, a fireplace burns with a wide, open hearth, a set of thick logs crackling cheerfully within. The paneled walls are decorated in an array of tapestries and promotional posters for other local businesses, and the tables that span the room are cozy and intimate, seated with cushions and placed atop tatami mats that buffer the rough wood floors. The bar itself is also quite quaint; only a few feet long and hosting about four seats, its shelves of liquor bordered by a twinkling string of lanterns and a small, handwritten message board announcing the day’s kitchen specials. What catches your eye, however, is the cluster of pai sho tables against one wall, the one farthest occupied by an elderly man in a white robe; you approach him tentatively, taking the seat opposite him and bowing respectfully under the guise of your hood.

“Are you interested in a game?” the man asks. His voice is kindly, his mouth spreading into a grandfatherly smile as he speaks. “I don’t often find strangers willing to play against me.”

“A game would be nice,” you reply, unsure what exactly you’re doing but knowing this man must be the reason Iroh sent you here. “Do you mind if I play with my own lotus tile?”

“Not at all,” the man accommodates. “I too have my own set of tiles.”

You reach into the pocket of your cloak, placing your lotus amongst the tiles set up on the game board; the man observes you carefully, leaning in to get a better look at the piece you’ve brought with you.

“Do you mind if I see that for a moment?” he asks. “The craftsmanship is exquisite.”

You nod, allowing him to take the piece. He turns it over in his fingers, running the pad of his thumb over the intricately carved design and holding it up to his face, inspecting it with great discretion. A nervous flicker tickles your stomach as he traces over the sides of the tile, no doubt finding the inscriptions on its surface.

“You’ve been sent by a friend of mine,” the man finally states.

“I believe so,” you respond. “I’m in need of some help.”

“Then you’re in the right place,” the man says with a grin. He stands, handing the lotus tile back to you and ushering you to follow him. “Come with me. There’s another friend I’d like you to meet.”

Wary, you follow him to the side of the bar, where he lifts a heavy curtain and slips into a back room. You clutch the knife in your pocket tightly, discreetly, hoping you haven’t just made a grave mistake and gotten yourself in more danger. He takes you through the bar’s storage room, moving aside a tower of boxes to reveal a small door, held in place by a simple, secure latch; he snaps it open, leading you through a low archway that descends into the building's basement.

On the other side of the short passage, you find a tiny, yet nicely decorated sitting room - curtains hang from the ceiling creating a tentlike atmosphere, parted in places to reveal maps of the four nations hung on the walls. The center of the room is occupied by a large desk upon which many books and scrolls are scattered, and the air is heavy with the smoke of incense. Under the single lantern that lights the space, you spot the familiar face and humble stature of an older woman.

“Advisor Yong,” you gasp.

She stands in shock, pacing quickly over to you as you lower the hood of your cloak to reveal your face. She takes your hands in her own, clutching them tightly.

“My lady,” Yong breathes with as much awe as you addressed her with. “How did you come all this way? Are you alone?”

“Iroh gave her his tile,” the man who brought you explains. “I assume he sent her for her safety.”

“There are tunnels under the palace,” you add. “I told the staff I was feeling ill and snuck out. Nobody knows I'm here.”

Yong guides you to the table, sitting you down beside her and telling the man to fetch you a cup of tea. The time-wisened lines in her skin seem deeper than usual, creased by a frown that distorts her whole face.

“They'll be discovering that you're gone soon,” she says, “so we must make this quick. Has Iroh told you about his membership with the Order before?”

You shake your head, furrowing your brow in confusion.

“The Order of the White Lotus,” Yong elaborates, “is an ancient society that operates beyond political bounds. We come together to share ancient philosophy and knowledge, but since the war… we act as a sort of lifeline organization as well. Emergency aid for those who need it.”

“Iroh gave me that lotus tile when he was here for the wedding,” you tell her. “He must have known something I didn't because we’re in much more danger than we thought - Qiang threatened me. He wants me to kill Zuko.”

“Qiang…” Yong mutters. “He can't be the one behind this. He doesn't have the manipulative tact to convince so many groups to act according to his will.”

“He made it seem as if they were huge,” you continue. “He told me they had informants all over the palace.”

“He's a good liar,” Yong dismisses, though her expression remains concerned. “Intimidating, too; that's why he was the one to threaten you. But he isn't the leader. What did he tell you? When he gave you the order?”

“He said they'd kill my family. I don't want to lose anyone, but Katara and Aang…”

Yong nods.

“Aang is too important,” she finishes for you. “His death would devastate the world and put countless lives in danger. I promise, we won't let any harm come to them or anyone else.”

She stands once more, offering a hand with which she raises you up. She continues to clutch it, gripping you as if letting go means surrendering you to the enemy.

“I’ll call a meeting of our members within the city,” she states. “We have a few members staffed at the palace who we’ll ensure are at your guard. I’ll alert internal security and have them investigate Qiang immediately.”

The man returns, and Yong instructs him to leave the tea and accompany you back to the palace - as far as he can without compromising the security of the tunnels.

“Advisor Yong,” you say as you're ushered again through the passage and out the back of the pub, “we only have a week. Is that… do we have enough time?”

Yong’s eyes sweep your face, her pupils flitting back and forth as she tries to find the right words to say.

“I won't lie to you,” she finally answers. “I don't know. All I can promise you is that we’ll do our best. We reconquered Ba Sing Se with much lesser numbers than we have now - here's hoping those odds are still in our favor.”

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valdomarx · 4 years

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*Ahem* don't know if you write prompts or not, but think of this: Jaskier is coming with Geralt to Kaer Morhen, both of them still not in anything romantic/sexual. But it's not Jaskier who's adored and loved by everyone. It's Geralt, their favourite winter bitch. Jaskier stumbles across him being fucked by Lambert, and Geralt comes, looking into his eyes; sees him sucking Eskel off in his bedroom. He had no idea Geralt can be so relaxed and slutty. In the end, they all have some hot group sex.

Anon, you’re a genius. I present to you the Geralt is the slut of Kaer Morhen fic we all secretly wanted.

Jaskier has been waiting months for this, to see the famous Kaer Morhen for himself, to talk with the other witchers Geralt trained with and to hear their stories. He couldn’t believe his luck when Geralt actually agreed to bring him here for the winter, despite the fact Geralt barely seems to tolerate his presence even after all these years.

Walking through the great gate to the crumbling castle takes his breath away, the sad state of the deteriorating walls somehow an apt metaphor for the strong but underappreciated men who live here. And meeting the other witchers is a revelation, each of them throwing Geralt’s character into sharp relief in the way that seeing someone among their very old friends inevitably does.

–

The castle is as homey as one could hope for from a tumbledown ruin, and the witchers have taken care to provide Jaskier with what he might need. Despite their reputation for brutality, they are clearly considerate hosts. The room he is shown to on his first night has a spacious bed, a bowl and a pitcher of water for washing, and even a little tray with some dried fruit on it.

What it is lacking, however, is more than one thin blanket. Witchers don’t feel the cold the way humans do, it seems, and Jaskier lasts bare minutes in bed before he decides that if he doesn’t find something warm to sleep in, he might actually freeze to death before morning.

He does his best to navigate through the twisty corridors and crumbling staircases to Geralt’s room, hoping to beg a spare blanket. But as he approaches the room, he stops short when he hears something unexpected.

The door is cracked enough for him to hear wet slaps and a throaty groan, and Jaskier is not restrained enough to avoid taking a peek. Glancing through the narrow opening, he sees Geralt on his knees, face pressed into Eskel’s crotch, who has his hands twined into white hair and is thrusting down Geralt’s throat.

“Oh, you feel so good, I’ve missed your mouth,” Eskel is panting, and Geralt lets out a high pitched whine which Jaskier has never heard from him before. “Sucking me off so well.”

Jaskier’s pulse races. This is not a side of Geralt he’s ever seen before. Before now, it’s been rushed and infrequent stops at brothels, Geralt disappearing with the occasional adventurous girl in the larger towns. Not this, Geralt pliant and tactile, taking cock down his throat like he’s done it a thousand times.

There’s a thrill of temptation to stay and watch some more, as fucked up as that is. But Jaskier knows how Geralt values his privacy, so he forces himself to turn around and go back to his room.

Once he’s back in bed, the thought of Geralt on his knees keeps him plenty warm.

–

In the morning, Jaskier carefully and deliberately slots the “Geralt and Eskel are fucking” knowledge away and out of his conscious mind, and makes an effort to get to know his hosts. They’re prickly and a little distant, all of them, but if Jaskier can handle that from Geralt he can handle it from these Wolves as well.

He uses his most charming smile to tease a story about fighting a striga out of Eskel, then helps Vesemir prepare and pickle the last of the fresh vegetables to see them through the cold months.

When he heads to bed that night, he swears he doesn’t walk past Geralt’s room on purpose. It happens to be on the route between the kitchen and his room, so it can hardly be avoided. He does, admittedly, slow just a little as he walks past Geralt’s door, left ajar once again.

But this time, he doesn’t hear the deep, scratchy voice of Eskel. This time, it’s Coen’s sinuous tones carrying down the corridor.

And, look, Jaskier never claimed to be a morally upstanding person, okay? And, well, he’s curious. He’s getting a whole new view of his friend. So he takes a peek through the gap in the door.

Geralt is stripped mostly naked and pressed face-first against the wall, with Coen behind him. Jaskier can see by the flick of Coen’s wrist and the way Geralt is practically humping the wall that he has at least two fingers inside him.

“That’s it, good boy,” Coen is saying, voice low. “Gonna open you up nice and loose before I fuck you. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck, yes, I want it, want your cock,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier nearly fucking passes out. He had no idea Geralt could be so… vocal.

He retreats to his room at a clip, and if when he’s in bed he shoves a hand beneath the covers while thinking about the sounds Geralt makes when he’s needy to get fucked, then no one needs to know about that, do they?

–

Jaskier spends the next day very much not thinking about Geralt’s sexual proclivities, thank you very much, and remains focused on ingratiating himself with the Wolves by helping patch up some of the damaged exterior walls. It’s hard, physical work, and by the end of the day his hands are cracked and bleeding, but he’s determined to prove that he can be useful.

Geralt catches his eye at one point and gives him a strange look.

“Do I have cement on my face?” Jaskier asks.

“No,” Geralt says, “you were just looking at me like…” He blows out a breath. “Never mind.”

Shit. Jaskier resolves to be more circumspect in future. He’s going to have to be if he’s going to last the winter here.

Of course, he’s circumspect to a point, but he still has to walk down the corridor past Geralt’s room that evening, his pulse picking up before he even gets close.

This time, the door is wide open, without even a hint of propriety. When Jaskier walks past, there’s absolutely no way he can avoid seeing Geralt naked on all fours on the bed, Lambert behind him using a handful of long hair to yank his head back.

“That’s it, moan for me like the slut you are,” Lambert hisses, slamming into Geralt with deep, hard thrusts. “You know you fucking want it.”

Geralt’s massive shoulders flex and sweat drips down his brow, and he moans in the most filthy way. His eyes are scrunched shut, but when Jaskier’s breath hitches Geralt’s eyes fly open, looking straight at him through the doorway.

Jaskier panics, because even if Geralt having noisy sex with the door open is a bit rich, that still doesn’t excuse his gawping.

But Geralt doesn’t look angry. In fact, he stares at Jaskier in a manner that can only be described as hungry. Jaskier’s heart pounds.

Behind Geralt, Lambert doesn’t let up. He does throw a smirk Jaskier’s way though. “Enjoying the show?” he drawls.

“I…” For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Jaskier is at a loss for words. “Erm.”

He can’t tear his eyes away from Geralt, the way his face is slack with pleasure and his cock hangs huge and heavy between his legs. He’s dribbling seed onto the bed and it might be the most obscene and compelling thing Jaskier has ever seen.

“Best ride this side of the Pontar,” Lambert says, letting go of Geralt’s hair to smack him on the arse. He catches Jaskier’s eye with a devilish grin. “Maybe you ought to have a go at him when I’m done.”

Geralt makes a reedy, whiny noise and comes, messily, spending himself over the bed and staring at Jaskier all the while.

Jaskier gasps. He blushes. Then he turns and runs back to his room as fast as his legs will carry him.

–

The day after that, Jaskier hides out in the library, fussing over the books without reading any of them. He can’t get the image of Geralt being fucked out of his head, and he can’t imagine what the hell Geralt had been thinking leaving the door open like that. Almost like he wanted to be seen. The idea makes Jaskier’s skin prickle.

Vesemir finds him in the library at midday, nodding politely and settling himself in an alcove to read a massive dusty tome on beast classification. Jaskier can’t sit still, worrying his lip between his teeth, wanting to ask for advice but unsure how to proceed.

“Out with it,” Vesemir says after a while, snapping his book shut. “Whatever you want to ask me.”

Oh. He is perceptive. “It’s, ahh, it’s about Geralt.”

Vesemir sighs. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing! Well, nothing important. I just never realised he was so, umm, popular with the other Wolves.”

“You mean the fact he’s fucking all of them?”

Jaskier swallows wrong and coughs.

“Geralt has a lot of affection to give,” Vesemir says with a shrug. “Though gods know it’s hard to tell from that sour expression that’s always on his face.”

Jaskier fidgets. “And are you and he, you know… ?”

“No, little bard. He’s like a son to me.”

Jaskier lets out a breath. Thank the gods. He want sure he’d have been able to cope with that.

“Guess it’s just you and me being left out then,” he jokes.

Vesemir snorts. “Mmm. I’m sure.”

Jaskier has no idea what to make of that.

–

Jaskier dithers about returning to his room that night. It’s not that he’s been avoiding Geralt, not exactly. It’s just that he’s not quite sure what to say to him so he’s arranged for himself to be elsewhere.

What do you say to your best friend when you’ve watched him being fucked and you both clearly enjoyed it?

Maybe it won’t be a problem. Maybe now Geralt has had three witchers on three consecutive nights he’ll be sated.

That doesn’t seem very likely. Jaskier catches himself hoping it’s not.

Eventually he caves, heading to his room through the drafty corridors and down the crumbling steps, his hands sweating as he approaches Geralt’s room.

This time, it’s quiet. No panting or whispered words or sounds of carnal activity. That’s the tiniest bit disappointing, if he’s honest.

The door is open though, candlelight spilling out onto the floor. He looks in as he passes and Geralt is lounging on his bed, wearing a loose shirt which for some godsforsaken reason is unbuttoned all the way down, and a pair of trousers tight enough to leave little to the imagination. Jaskier inhales sharply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt looks up, smiling coyly, and that’s an unnerving expression to see on his face. “I was hoping you’d pass by.”

“Oh? Right. Yes, well, here I am. And here you are. Though I see you’re, ahh, alone tonight.”

“Not any more. Not now you’re here.” Geralt’s eyes looks almost black in the flickering light.

“I suppose that’s technically true…”

“Did you like watching?” Geralt asks it so casually, like he’s discussing Jaskier’s wine preferences. “Last night, and the nights before?”

Jaskier swallows. He can’t very well deny it. “Yeah. I liked it.”

Geralt smirks. “I thought so. You want to watch again? Or, better yet, join in this time?”

It hadn’t even occurred to Jaskier that joining in could be an option. An image flashes through his mind: Geralt bend over, spreading himself for him, making those delicious noises as Jaskier warms him up. He feels light headed as all the blood in his body rushes southward. “You’d… like that?”

Geralt cups himself through his trousers, stroking the outline of his hardening cock through the fabric and making sure Jaskier sees what he’s doing. “I’d like that a lot.”

Jaskier is still standing in the doorway like an idiot when he hears footsteps and raucous laughter echoing down the corridor.

Eskel, Lambert and Coen come barreling toward Geralt’s room and Lambert gives him a wink. “Back again?” he asks Jaskier. “We were hoping you’d return.”

Coen claps him on the back. “Welcome to the team.”

They’re a team? Jaskier looks back to Geralt, who is leering at the four of them and playing with himself. Apparently, yup, they’re the let’s all fuck Geralt team now.

“Come on, Jask, don’t be shy,” Eskel smiles at him warmly. “I’ll show you how Geralt likes it. We’ll even let you go first.” Lambert scoffs at that but Eskel cuffs him round the back of the head. “Be polite to our guest for once in your life,” Eskel chides.

The three of them push past Jaskier and into the room, laughing and chatting, though Jaskier still stands frozen on the threshold. He looks back to Geralt, who has taken his dick out of his trousers and is ignoring the other wolves to stare at Jaskier.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asks, quiet.

Geralt grins wickedly. “So very sure.”

Jaskier feels like he has been handed his life’s desires on a silver platter. His heart races, imagining everything he wants to do to Geralt, everything he can do now.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the room.

#ur local filth lord delivers #geraskier #geralt x lambert #and uhhh others #the witcher #anonymous #my writing #kaer morhen #nsfk #george replies

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elizabeethan · 3 years

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Find Strength in Pain, Find Strength in Me- 1/3 (I Think)

After defeating the wraith, Emma Swan is dragged through the portal they sent it through and suddenly finds herself in the land in which she should have grown up. Lost, overwhelmed, and desperate to get home to her son, she accepts help from the gruesome pirate Captain Hook— and his accomplice.

A Season 2 AU in which Emma ends up the the Enchanted Forest alone, and she and Hook (try to) work together to get to the Land Without Magic.

There are very brief descriptions of near-drowning at the very beginning of this, so if that’s troubling for you, skip the first couple of paragraphs

This fic is all @donteattheappleshook's fault. she also beta'd it, so it would be nothing without her. I think it will have 3 parts but you know... we'll see

Rated T (for now)

Also Available on Ao3

Read my other stuff

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook@therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay

Part 1

The frigid salt water burns her throat and nose, choking her as she struggles to differentiate up from down through the blackness surrounding her. The sudden change in scenery is jolting. Just a second ago she was in Town Hall, and now she finds herself drowning and struggling against the crashing waves.

The irrational part of her, the part that hasn’t recognized how close she could be to death, wonders where she is, where she’s ended up. But a larger, more frightened part of her panics, paddling her arms as forcefully as she can against the strong current that continues to pull her beneath the swell of the water.

She crests over the surface once more, struggling to take in a breath before being assaulted by another crashing wave, her lungs filling with abrasive water as she begins to feel herself slipping out of consciousness. It can’t end like this, she thinks desperately, trying to fight against the warmth she feels threatening her. It would be so easy to give up and let the warm feeling take her. Her body can only take so much more abuse.

She shakes these thoughts of giving up from her mind. Once more, she tries to find the surface so that she can take a breath, but before she can, she takes in more salt water.

Not like this.

She’s fading fast, blackness taking over her vision far too quickly, before she feels a heavy, rough weight thumping against her and circling her arms. As if by second nature, she grabs into the object, unsure of whether it’s a rope or a piece of seaweed, and clings for dear life. It’s her lifeline, or perhaps a security blanket to ease her fears as she succumbs to the death that seems all too impending.

Hugging the thick and heavy object close to her chest, she feels it tugging her against the strong current until she’s out of the waves, the cold air welcome against her hot and freezing flesh. A pair of rough hands grab her beneath her arms and hoists until she’s tossed to the ground.

“Good girl,” she hears from above as she coughs violently. The velvet voice is almost enough to distract her from the fire in her throat. “Get the sea out of your lungs.”

“Who are you?” she rasps, shaking suddenly against the freezing air.

“The name is Hook. Captain Hook. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, my dear.”

Panting, she collapses against the aged deck of the ship she’s found herself on, letting her cheek rest against the wood as she finally succumbs and fades into unconsciousness.

~~~~

“She can’t very well eat a meal while she’s asleep, can she, Mr. Smee?”

“N-no, Captain. Of course not, Sir. I merely thought that if the lass were to wake sometime soon, she’d likely be famished.”

“Aye, I’d imagine she would be. But I suppose we won’t know until she wakes, will we?”

“Certainly, Sir. It’s just that she’s been asleep for a day, and I thought she may want sustenance.”

“And have you become a mind-reader overnight, Mr. Smee? Are you able to predict when she’ll wake?”

“Of course not, Sir.”

“No need to waste food on a sleeping damsel, then. Save it for the crew until we know she needs it.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

She lets herself shift on the small, firm mattress, rolling to one side and groaning at the throbbing behind her eyes once the voices quiet and she hears a door latching shut. The moment she makes a sound, her lungs protest and she’s coughing again.

“Ah, she lives,” she hears, and she starts in surprise, grabbing for the thick quilt that covers her and pulling it up to her chin. “Worry not, love, for I am a man of honor. I shan’t look if you’d prefer I didn’t.”

“Who the hell are you?” she rasps, coughing some more. “Where am I?” She’s so disoriented from her experience and the resulting headache that she can hardly tell what sort of space she’s in.

“My dear,” he chuckles. “We’ve had this conversation already. Call me Hook; I’m captain of this fine vessel. You find yourself aboard the Jolly Roger.” He knocks a metal appendage against the wall of the cabin, smiling pridefully.

“The hell is that?” she asks in confusion, unable to stop the venom from lacing her voice. Then she realizes what she saw him do, looks at his arm, and notes that there’s an actual hook where a hand should be. “Wait… did you say… Hook?”

He smirks, raising a brow in such a dramatic way that Emma can hardly believe him to be real. In fact, she must be in some limbo between life and death, because there is no possible way that she’s in the presence of the Captain Hook. She doesn’t remember the damn Disney character looking like that.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he quips playfully.

In an attempt to make sense of the situation she’s in, she changes the subject, unable to give any more mental energy to something so far from possible. “Just—” She coughs once more. “Tell me where I am. I fell… I mean…” She’s certain her words aren’t making sense. She can’t very well tell this stranger the truth, that she was sent here by magic, despite the fact that he seems to think himself a fairytale character.

“You wish to know what land you’re in?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in Misthaven, love. Some call it the Enchanted Forest.”

She groans. The Enchanted Forest. That’s where her parents are from; where she was supposed to grow up. How the hell did she find her way here? (And seriously, did she have to land in the middle of the ocean?)

“Well I need to get home,” she insists firmly, sitting up and pulling the quilt tighter to herself. Her clothes have been removed, likely due to them being completely soaked, and she finds herself in only her underwear and a thin, black linen slip, trying not to think about who put her in it. “And I’d like my clothes back.”

He hums, pushing himself off of the table he was leaning against and walking towards the door. “I’m sure you would. Peculiar outfit you were donning, love. Where, pray tell, might one find such clothing?”

She gives him an indignant look, raising a brow and reaching a hand palms up towards him expectantly. He chuckles, then exits the room to leave her alone and confused.

She looks around the space curiously, noting the windows to her left overlooking the sea that almost claimed her. There’s a table with four leather-bound chairs, the surface decorated with a candelabra and a strange looking navigation tool. Shelving along the windows is covered in maps and books and strewn-about pages. There’s a chest in the corner, tucked away in a way that makes her curious. She’s about to stand and explore, but the door opens once more and the confident captain swaggers back in.

“There we are, lass,” he says, passing her neatly-folded clothes to her with a cocky smile. “It seems we both have an affinity towards leather, aye? I do enjoy the deep red, very… sensuous.” The smirk on his face is somewhat unnerving. The depth with which he stares her down makes her squirm, but she thinks that’s exactly his goal so she schools her features, dedicated to not giving him any satisfaction.

“Some privacy, please?” she asks, although it’s not as if she’ll be taking no for an answer.

“If the lady insists,” he concedes, continuing to smirk at her as he bows dramatically, his coat sweeping the ground as he sinks- but he still doesn’t leave.

“She does,” Emma says slowly, raising her brows and nodding towards the door.

“Tough lass,” he chuckles, stepping away from her. “Very well, love, I’ll give you a bit of privacy. But when I get back, you and I are going to have a little chat.”

“Can’t wait,” she mumbles.

Once he’s finally gone, she can do what she’s been wanting to and explore her surroundings, taking in all of the information about him she can before he returns. She hops into her jeans quickly, nearly dropping to the ground as she does, but determined to find something she can use on him in case he threatens her somehow. Tossing her shirt over her head and dropping the too-sheer fabric to the ground, she scours the room as quickly and silently as she can, opening books and shoving loose pages aside as she moves along the shelving. She finally gets to the chest and opens it up, finding a small, aged piece of parchment resting on top of its contents, as if it was placed there carefully and with loving respect.

She hums, removing it from the chest to observe the detailed sketch, noting the subject’s beauty— her thick curls and her kind eyes— and the doting way the parchment is placed in the chest, as if being hidden and placed on display all at once. She wonders what else this pirate has up his sleeves based on the care he’s used to store this work of art. She wonders where this woman could be; who she could be.

As she ponders the sketch, the ship rocks and the glimmer of sunlight against metal catches her attention. She glances down and sees exactly what she needs: a small, sharp dagger. Perfect.

She hears the footsteps approaching and jumps, rushing to pick up her jacket and hoist it over her shoulders, hiding the short blade in her sleeve as the door swings open immediately after a soft knock. “Decent, love?” he asks as he pushes through holding a small plate.

She answers affirmatively, although it doesn't seem to matter because he’s in the room before she could’ve stopped him. He hands her the plate with a smirk that she doesn’t think ever leaves his face and walks around her to take a seat in a chair. He gestures in front of him-- though she’s unsure if it’s towards the small mattress she slept on or a chair before him-- and commands, “sit.”

She pinches her brows together suspiciously but listens, choosing to step back and sink onto the surface of the mattress. “What the hell is this?” she asks once she looks down at the contents of the plate he handed her.

“Hardtack and salted meat, love. What’s wrong, would you have preferred gruel?”

Glancing back down and the bland, overly beige food, she makes a face of disgust and takes a bite of the dry-looking biscuit she desperately wishes was a strawberry Poptart. She feels the crumbs drying her mouth and throat and she begins to cough again.

He shakes his head and tsks, taking out a small flask and walking towards her to press it to her lips. She takes it from him with force and tosses it back, sputtering again at the burn as the liquid sides down her throat. “Are you trying to torture me?” she demands as she pushes him away. “Don’t you have water?”

With another smirk, he says, “torture, you say? Well, you are my prisoner. Perhaps that’s not a bad idea.”

“Water?”

“All we have is grog, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t like it much more than the rum.”

Picking up the strange, rigid meat by one end, her face sours at the thought of eating jerky offered to her by a pirate who probably hasn't seen land in months and likely doesn't know much of meat preservation. But she’s starving, having apparently been unconscious for a while, and she can’t resist. “Anything’s better than the lava you just forced down my throat,” she says around the salty food.

“Very well,” he concedes, then shouts, “Smee!”

She jumps just slightly, noting the barely-there ringing in her ears as her head throbs as a plump, stocky man enters the room. “Aye, Cap’n?”

“Fetch the young lady some grog, if you please.”

The man nods once, scurrying from the room. The Captain scans the cabin while he’s gone, taking note of the shirt she left on the floor and narrowing his eyes. “I keep a tight ship, lass,” he chastises.

She almost wonders if she should be worried as his gaze reaches hers, hot and angry at the sight of the small mess she left behind. But the man returns with a goblet, handing it to her with a shaky grip and stepping backwards. “Anything else, Sir?”

“That’ll be all, Mr. Smee. Ensure we aren’t bothered.” His tone is bordering on threatening and her pulse quickens in her veins.

He nods and slinks out of the room once more, latching the door behind him. She looks down at the large cup that was proffered to her and doesn’t think it’ll be much better than his rum, as he tried to warn her, but chances it and takes a sip.

It’s awful, completely disgusting, but it’s all she has and it doesn’t burn quite as much as the rum had. She makes a sound of disgust, sticking her tongue out and reaching for the jerky again in hopes of getting the taste out of her mouth.

“Quite dramatic,” he remarks, and she realizes he’s been studying her with a pensive look on his face, right eyebrow never dropping.

“It’s terrible.”

“Water that sits stagnant tends to collect green slime, which I can assure you tastes far worse than that.”

“So instead you add poison to it?”

He guffaws, tossing his head back and pressing his hand to his middle. “A bit of alcohol is hardly poison, love.”

The meat actually doesn't taste too bad, but it’s so salty and dry that she has to pinch her nose and take another swig of his poison water.

“Now,” he starts, still staring at her intently. “What’s your name, love?”

She rolls her eyes, mumbling around the jerked meat. “It isn’t love.”

His eyes narrow and he leans his arms against the table, cocking his head as he says, “understand this: you’d be dead in the water, quite literally, if not for my men fishing you out of the sea. I’ve fed you, dressed you… I’ve kept you alive all this time warding off fever. I owe you nothing. And you’d do well to remember that as an obligatory passenger on my ship.” She sits quietly as if she was scolded by a teacher, biting her lip and looking back down at her food for one more helping. “Your name,” he demands again.

“Emma,” she grumbles. “Emma Swan.”

“Well, Swan, pleased to meet you.”

She gives him a small smile, because she somewhat doubts that but doesn’t think it a good idea to anger him any more than she apparently already has, and nods in return. “Likewise. And… thank you.”

As he breathes out a chuckle, he says, “if I had to guess, I’d say that statement is rare to leave your lips, darling.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Well, you’re right. You and your crew saved my life.” He nods in acknowledgement of her thanks. “Hey, who changed me anyway?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Ah, do you not recall? You were quite fiery indeed, swatting my hand away. I assure you, I neither saw nor touched anything. But I couldn’t leave you in those cold, soaked… clothes,” he says, giving her a suspicious look as he takes in her outfit, apparently foreign to him and to this land. “You were close to catching your death from the cold, but you absolutely refused to let me take off… everything.” With a blush, she breathes out an irritated laugh, unsure of how to react to the fact that this man has apparently seen much more of her than she would have hoped. “I must admit, while the entire ensemble is quite unfamiliar to me, I was particularly perplexed by whatever tiny bit of fabric was covering up your—”

“Okay,” she cuts him off, putting the plate down on the mattress, noting his eyes trailing far too low. “We don’t need to talk about my… tiny fabric.”

With a chuckle, he sits back in his chair once more and nods in agreement. “Very well, lass. Now it’s your turn to answer another question for me.”

“Fine.”

“What the bloody hell were you doing in the middle of the ocean? We’re a good two or three day’s ride from shore.”

She inhales deeply, unsure of what she should tell this stranger. He’s right, of course. He could have left her to die in the water, could have let her succumb to the hypothermia she was likely suffering from. But he didn’t. Instead, he helped her. He himself removed her soaked clothing rather than pawning her off on his potentially touch-starved crew, affirming to her that he hadn’t violated her in any way despite her precarious position. He fed and watered her. He made sure she was warm and comfortable and safe. And, if she’s in the Enchanted Forest, or just outside of it, she can assume he knows something of the magic that brought her here.

“I fell through a… portal,” she finally admits timidly.

His eyes narrow in suspicion and he leans forward again, eyes making intense contact with her own. “A portal?” he clarifies.

“Yes.”

“How did you come across this portal?”

She shrugs. “A magic hat, I guess.” She wonders if he thinks she’s mad based on the manic look in his eyes. “And I need to get back.”

“Aye, I would imagine you do.” He sits back once more, still eyeing her with trepidation. “Tell me, then, from what land were you dragged through this portal?”

“No, I get to ask a question now,” she says boldly, almost childishly, despite the fact that he has only just scolded her for her attitude towards him.

Narrowing his eyes, he concedes and waves his hand before himself. “Very well.”

“What’s your name?”

His confidence seems to waiver as he considers her inquiry, cocking his head to the side and eyeing her up and down before he comes to a decision. “Killian,” he says hesitantly. Then “Killian Jones,” with more grandeur. It isn’t lost on her that he chooses not to include his title, his claim to power. “Now, your turn. From whence did you fall, Emma Swan?”

“Um,” she starts, unsure of how to answer since she was never given any sort of guidebook to the names of all the magical realms. Thinking back to what her parents had called it, she answers, “I guess you would know it as the Land Without Magic.”

He stands suddenly, forcefully moving his chair back and stepping towards her in haste so that she backs away from him on the bed. Once he’s close enough to lean over her, she gulps, letting the small blade slip down her sleeve so she can hold the handle tightly. “Did you say the Land Without Magic?” he asks forcefully, his face inches from her own.

“Yes,” she whispers back. “That’s where I live; I need to get back there.”

His eyes stare into hers with such intensity that it makes her skin crawl. After a moment, he schools his features and backs away slightly. “Well,” he says as he rights his blouse. “Then I offer my ship and my services.”

She drops her jaw, stunned, and utters, “what?”

He nods, making his way back to his desk and taking a seat once again. “I need to get there as well. It would likely be more efficient if we worked together.”

With her eyes narrowing, she stands, tucking the handle of the short dagger back up under her sleeve, and walks around the table so that she’s standing closer to him, looking out the window. He remains still, apparently not fazed by her movements. “Why would you need to get to the Land Without Magic?”

She can’t see his face, standing behind him now with their backs to each other, but she can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

She spins, facing him as a thought pops into her mind. This man is a pirate sailing through her parents’ kingdom. Though she knows little about this place, and about pirates in general, she does know that a pirate and a king do not get along. The curse swept up everyone in this realm, and his desire to get to the place where Misthaven’s royalty now reside can’t be a coincidence.

With these thoughts in mind, she lets the blade slip out of her sleeve and grabs him by the hair, holding the dagger up to his neck as he struggles in surprise. “I don’t believe you. What’s in it for you?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he stutters.

“Do you know who I am? Tell me why you really want to get to my home.”

He gasps against the sharp metal, trying to pull away, and answers, “to exact vengeance on the man who took my hand.”

She glances down and notes the hook once more, something she’s been trying to ignore because the idea that this man is Captain Hook is too hard to swallow. She lets him go, dropping the blade from his flesh and backing away. Letting out a breath, he relaxes back in his chair again. “Just who are you, Swan?” he asks playfully, practically waggling his brows as he rubs his neck. Apparently, he finds it more important to flirt with her than to worry about the fact that she just threatened his life.

Yeah, she shouldn’t have let that one slip. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Perhaps I would.”

She rolls her eyes. “Listen, I need to get home to my son,” she says honestly. “I don’t have any more time to waste; the longer I’m gone, the worse things could get for him.”

He smirks. “You have a son?” he asks, sweeping his gaze pointedly along her body. She shoves away from him and pulls her jacket tight to her torso. “No need to fret, love, we’ll get you home.”

“I’m not fretting,” she snaps, though she continues to hug her arms around herself.

Noting her evident discomfort, he continues on casually as if to assure her that what she seeks is possible. “I have arranged transport with someone, but her company is a bit… well, it makes me uneasy,” he says with an awkward smile. “She also doesn’t exactly know where this land is, what with the lack of magic and all, so having you as a guide may prove useful in her eyes. Plus, if you and I team up, we can overthrow her, should the need arise.”

With a scoff, she says, “great, I can’t wait to work with someone I should plan to overthrow.”

“Worry not, love. She’s naught but fervidly motivated. You see, she needs to get to her child as well, a daughter.”

“Really?” That peaks her interest and she moves around the table to sit in a chair facing him. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Cora,” he answers casually. Pursing her lips, Emma tries to recall if she knows anyone in town with that name, but she thinks not. Although, she didn’t have long to learn everyone’s un-cursed personas, so it’s entirely possible that this woman’s daughter, Cora, is someone she already knows.

“And who is this man you’re trying to… exact revenge on?” she asks, repeating his dramatic words.

“He’s known well as the Dark One, but also as Rumplestiltskin.”

“The Dark One?”

“Aye, I take it you know of him?”

“I do, but how could you possibly kill him? Isn’t he supposed to have, like, the most powerful magic ever?”

He chuckles. “Very eloquent, darling. And yes, he is, which is why I must travel to the Land Without Magic. So I can best him fair and square.”

She should tell him, right? She should be honest about the fact that the Land Without Magic does, in fact, have magic now that the curse has broken. About the fact that, if he’s putting all of his eggs in this metaphorical basket, he’s doomed to lose.

She almost feels bad for this man. She knows he’s likely violent and dishonorable, but he’s right in that he’s been nothing but caring and helpful to her. A part of her almost trusts his kind, menacing eyes. And now, he’s offered her help getting home. He may be her only chance to get back to Henry; to keep him safe from Regina.

So she stays silent, nodding in agreement, assuring him that his plan to kill the Dark One using only his skills in swordsmanship is foolproof.

Guilt settles in instantly, churning her stomach in response to his obvious excitement at the prospect of having a chance to exact his revenge.

But she needs to get home.

~~~~

#find strength in pain #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #my writing #cs ff #cs au #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #season 2 #drowing tw #I guess

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blackicephantom · 3 years

Text

I have absolutely no idea what the heck I did here. This took on a live of its own.

. -. -. -. -. -.

Just a Guardian Yaksha - Xiao x Aether

- kind of sequel to just a nightmare -

It’s been a few days since his horrible nightmare and Aether feels exhausted. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees this strange creature that looks like his sister. He feels every stab and cut, as if they’re freshly afflicted. Every night when he lies down he feels cold. He tosses and turns and when he finally falls asleep he wakes up mere hours later, haunted by the memories of this damned dream.

To tell the truth, he’s so damn tired.

Every commission he takes on takes longer than the last. Every task feels like it takes too much of the energy he doesn’t even have. And the blonde knows that he’s close to his breaking point. His friends are worried too, even if not all tell him. He sees it in their eyes, the way they look him up and down, trying to see what’s wrong with him. But other than Xiao and himself, no one gets even close to the problem.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Another night, another failed attempt at sleep.

Paimon was sleeping peacefully beside him and, if Aether was anyone else, he would be jealous. How he longed for that sweet sweet darkness, without any unwanted visitors. With a sigh he sat up and looked around. Outside, the moon hung high in the sky and a slight breeze ruffled the curtain. The moons light reminded the traveler of his friend, of his savior. The one that came to him as he desperately called for help.

Silently he stood up and left the room. Something pulled him up the rest of the stairs and onto the silent balcony. It was quiet up here but not uncomfortably so. Lulled in by the peaceful atmosphere he sat down by the railing and looked up to the stars. Even from down here they reminded him of his travels with his sister and of his home. They were good memories, happy memories. Tears gathered in his eyes and moved, so his head could lean against the cold metal. Against his own conscience, he fell asleep. Right there, on the floor.

And that’s exactly where the lone Yaksha found him. But he knew immediately that his sleep was anything but restful. So the Adeptus came to a decision. Wordlessly, he approached the sleeping male and sat down beside him, then he carefully tipped him over, so that his head rested on his shoulder. The night was rather warm, so he forwent a blanket and hoped that his presence would finally ease his sleep and maybe even gift him pleasant dreams.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Aether woke up slowly and well rested. And, while the waking up part was surprising, his `pillow´ was even more so.

Xiao's shoulder was warm and solid under his cheek and so, so soothing somehow.

But the next words he heard let his embarrassment flare like a signal fire.

"I hope you slept well." Aether looked up with a healthy portion of caution and had to hold his breath. From this close the Yaksha's golden eyes seemed to burn even brighter. His handsome face seemed sharper and even more attractive. Next thing he noticed was the little tilt of the others lips and his own staring. Aether could feel how his cheeks filled with blood and he blushed bright red. With a stumble he leaped away as if burnt, only to end up face down on the floor. 'This can't get any worse.' were the blonde's thoughts. Just moments later he was proved wrong. Just in that moment Paimon floated through the door and Xiao silently laughed. And Aether? Aether wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next time something like this happened was on a commission.

It took a lot of begging and even more almond tofu to get the Yaksha to come along, but Aether did it in the end.

They were only supposed to gather a few rare materials and everyone knows: the rarer the marital, the more dangerous the area it rests in. That's the reason the blonde wanted Xiao to come with him. 'I feel safer with you by my side.' is what he told him. And yes, it's a really cheap trick but it works.

Now, in the late evening, the otherworlder was beyond tired. His muscles arched and his bones were way too heavy for his lean body. Paimon was, unsurprisingly, already dead to the world and probably dreaming about all the food she could stuff in her mouth. And Aether wanted to do the same thing. But he still couldn't close his eyes without seeing that damn thing stabbing him. Yet his eyelids slowly slid closed. But he struggled to keep them open. He doesn't want to see, doesn't want to remember! Closed and open, closed and open. Always in waves but the period they stayed closed grew longer and longer every time. Until the moment when he just couldn't keep them open anymore.

Leaning back against a tree, head tilting to the side, the last thing he heard was "Just sleep already. I'll be here."

These words shouldn't change anything, yet Aether finally gave in and trusted this warm and familiar voice to keep watch over him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next time was late at night, when Aether awoke from another nightmare. A nightmare where his sister's eyes were cold and she abandoned him. Without any regard to his own feelings. And it hurt, hurt so bad that he couldn't handle it.

This time his small navigator was not beside him, she was with Zhongli and Childe. Both males told him that he needed some time to himself and that it was really no problem. But the blonde saw how Tartaglia cried over his precious mora, right behind the others backs.

Now here he was.

Alone, sweaty and fucking terrified.

An ugly sob ripped itself out of his throat and he curled in on himself. 'This is so stupid.' Tears over tears rolled down his cheeks and Aether wanted to slap himself. What do his tears help? Nothing. And yet he can't stop crying like a small and scared child. A small breeze caressed his wet cheeks and he looked up. There, on his windowsill sat Xiao. The Adeptus looked outside and said nothing but Aether still felt better. So he observed the Yaksha, looked at his teal hair and his face profile. And lulled by this picture alone his eyes dropped. Then there was another playful wind, gentle and soft as it ruffled his loose hair and dried his blushing skin. And accompanying this was a barely audible humming, deep and soothing. Aether felt at peace and let sleep claim him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Then the traveler noticed a pattern to this occurrences.

Whenever he laid his heavy head down to rest, the still lingering fright of nightmares always at the back of his mind, Xiao would always be there. No matter the daytime of the place. Just a short nap? Xiao would causally lean against the wall. So much work that exhaustion took him out? The Adeptus would get him a blanket and stay right beside him. The rare occasion of deep sleep and often following nightmares? His sweet, sweet Yaksha is right there to wake him up and get him out, only to embrace him afterward and help him fall asleep again.

Aether remembers what the other male told him once, about being a dream eater. Maybe he could sense the different types of dreams? `Hmmmmmm. Maybe I should ask him sometime about it.´ This thought made him blush slightly but he was really curious about it.

And it wasn’t like he could control whether he had a nightmare or not, so he had to trust Lady Luck.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s been weeks since that one fateful encounter with that strange demon and yet the blonde still couldn’t sleep peacefully. What Aether didn’t know thou was that the demon’s threat is about to come true.

The night was clear and calm and Aether was bone deep tired. He dragged his feet and couldn’t even walk straight anymore. Paimon threw him many worried glances but he didn’t really care. He just….. wanted to sleep. But something was strange, felt off somehow. Something told the otherworldler that this wasn’t quite right. He went straight for the bed in the room, without changing or even just pulling off his boots and gloves. `This isn’t right.´

It felt as if he was being pulled, closer and closer to the dreamscape, the place he wanted to avoid most of the time. “Come traveler.” A voice, sweet as honey and as dangerous as the most potent of poisons. His mind started to race but he couldn’t stop his body from laying down on the mattress, nor stop his eyes from closing.

First it was like swimming deep in the ocean only to get washed ashore with a mighty wave.

Next he noticed his numb limbs and this time some very real chains keeping him in place and he started to internally panic. `This can’t be happening! Please, please, please. Not again!´ A cruel laughter brought him out of his slowly spiraling thoughts and a shadowed figure slowly walked towards him. Then the shadows shifted, transforming into something different. First the delicate hands, then the white dress, the blonde hair and the flowers. Until before him stood this bizarre image of his sister once again. And this time he couldn’t help but cry. “Did you miss me brother?” The voice was almost like Lumine’s, but `her´smile was too sharp with way too many teeth. Soft fingers pet his cheek and he wanted to turn away, but suddenly sharp claws stopped him.

The demon bent closer and softly spoke right into his ear. “I told you I would be back. And look, here I am.” Once it pulled away again darkness started to gather and Aether shook from head to toe. This was so much worse than last time. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but wait and see and feel……

Many different scenarios flew around his head, so many different ways this cursed being could hurt him, or even kill him. Right along those was also a question. Why wasn’t his power of purification working on this thing? As if reading his thoughts the demon chuckled. “I’m like a dream traveler. I can’t be purified.”

Just as it closed in on him again a shattering rang through the otherwise silent space, followed by bright, golden light and slowly falling feathers. The creature shrieked and tried to escape into the surrounding darkness but before it could take even a single step sharp talons took hold of it and pinned it to the ground.

Aether was mesmerized.

Beautiful golden wings were spread wide and threateningly, while a sharp beak repeatingly snapped at its face. Then he noticed the familiar color of the birds, no wait, of the eagle's eyes just before it spoke. “I’ve warned you, demon! And yet you DARE to show your face again before me?!” Those amber eyes, this deep voice…… `Xiao…..?´

Even captured, the demon refused to give up and spit curse after curse at the majestic bird.

“Damn golden Beast! You’re not supposed to interfere this time! How did you even get here?!” With one mighty beat of his gorgeous wings, Xiao lifted himself up, only to descend again, this time pinning the demon's arms with his talons.

“You know who I am. And you know that the traveler is under my protection. Yet here you are, hiding in the shadows of the dreams you don’t belong in.” Winds started to rush around, cutting his chains and giving him fresh air to breathe. But even freed, Aether couldn’t look away. This…. This is exactly what he always imagined Xiao’s other form to look like.

In the next moment a small tornado built itself around the Yaksha and his prey, preventing him from seeing inside the storm. Only the echoing sounds gave him an idea of what was happening….. The screams were unmistakable after all, just like the moving shadow he caught glimpses of. And then it was over.

The torture, the storm and most importantly: the nightmare.

The imagined sky brightened and the winds cleared up too but not before stroking his hair again. Turning around in a circle he stopped short and just looked again. He just couldn't get enough. But when he finally realized that he was staring at the truly magnificent beast, he blushed and looked away. Only to hear a small chuckle. "It's way too late to be shy now, Aether. You've been staring almost the whole time now." Embarrassing wasn't even close to how the blonde felt now.

Before the otherworlder could fall into some kind of humiliation, golden wings enveloped his still slightly shaking body and a feathered head rested lightly against his own. Relieved, Aether slowly relaxed and snuggled into the golden softness. He was safe now. Safe in the arms, ah pardon, the wings of the last Guardian Yaksha Aether slept and later woke up peacefully and well rested.

Xiao was truly amazing and way more than just a Guardian Yaksha. More than just an Adeptus.

#Genshin impact #Xiao x Aether #Fanfic #Golden beast #Nightmares

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faulty-writes · 4 years

Text

Warning: Self esteem issues, Negative thoughts.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: BirthdayBoy!Tenya Iida x Reader

[ Hello, it’s your favorite writer here with some Tenya Iida comfort! I wrote this because of a little drama tiff I had with a roleplay server. I will never understand why some people get so angry with honesty. But, when life gives you lemons...write a fic. Anyways. I hope you enjoy, I love Tenya Iida and I couldn’t believe I forgot his birthday. So this is my contribution to his birthday as well as a comfort fic! Happy late birthday, Tenya! Love you. At some point, I must write another Tensei fic. ]

[ When Tenya said he was going to visit his family for his birthday, you got a little upset considering you had, with Izuku’s help, planned a special birthday surprise for him. But, as of late, you had been second-guessing your relationship with Tenya. More specifically if you deserved him or not, these thoughts seemed to hit you hard on Tenya’s birthday and much like your friends, you tried to push him away. But Tenya, will not have it. ]

Tenya didn’t think much of birthdays, especially his. He didn’t favor the idea of getting presents, for he believed it was better to be happy with what you already had. However, he wasn’t ungrateful by any means, no. He loved being able to spend a celebratory day with his friends and family. In fact, he had just gotten back from the Iida Estate. His family insisted he spend the day with them, though Tenya was rather upset about it seeing as he would have rather spent his birthday with not only his friends but you.

For you were the light of his life, his muse, the one he could not live without. He was pleasantly surprised upon arriving at the student dorm and was greeted with decorations and the friendly cheers of Class A. With your help, Izuku had planned a surprise party and while Tenya was rather grateful for the cake and small pile of presents, he couldn’t help but wonder where you were. “Y/n?” Uraraka repeated and Tenya nodded, “Yes!” he said, enthusiastically chopping his hand through the air.

“I would very much like to see them! For they are always in my thoughts and I quite missed them, even though I was happy to see my family. Y/n is the one I desire to spend time with the most.” he shared and a soft swoon of “Aw’s” filled the room, a few of the girls thought his small proclamation of love was adorable. While some of the boys merely gagged or laughed at his words, something that Tenya didn’t appreciate. However, he remained quiet and focused his attention on Uraraka and Izuku, his two dearest friends who sat with him on the couch.

Izuku looked at Uraraka a moment before turning back to Tenya, “Iida-kun, I’m not sure what happened. But Y/n’s been cooped up in their room since school ended.” he shared, earning a concerned yet surprised expression from Tenya. “Did something happen?” he questioned, though he resisted the urge to activate his quirk and run to you. Uraraka shrugged, “All I know is they left in a hurry, I didn’t even get a chance to talk to them when class ended. They were already out the door.” she explained with a hand to her chest.

Tenya pressed his lips together and his heart seemed to sink in his chest, the feeling of worry beginning to make his stomach twist. In one fluent movement, he rose from the couch. His sudden action caused his friends to gasp, but he quickly raised his hand as if to silence them. “Rest assured, I am alright. I simply feel the need to check on Y/n.” he said, “Perhaps I could see what is wrong,” Uraraka glanced to the side before grabbing Tenya’s arm.

“Wait, Iida, if you’re going I have something that might help,” she said, pulling a cheerful grin before she bounced off to the kitchen. Tenya looked at her strangely before his gaze shifted to Izuku who shrugged. “Hm.” Tenya placed his hands on his hips, almost impatiently waiting for Uraraka to return. However, he didn’t expect to be handed a plate with two pieces of birthday cake. “There!” she declared as she clasped her hands together, her cheeks rosy red. “This will break the ice for sure, no one can say no to sweet treats!” Tenya looked at the cake with a raised eyebrow as Uraraka giggled.

“Well, I...I do suppose that is quite a valid point…” he said before taking a deep breath, “Thank you for the birthday party Midoriya-kun, it was well organized. Please inform everyone that I am most thankful for their presents as well, perhaps I’ll open them later.” he gave a nod before he started down the hall, he knew where your dorm room was by heart. Though in such a small living space, it only made logical sense he knew where your room was. Still, he found himself feeling nervous. The way Uraraka and Izuku made it sound, it was almost as though you were upset about something.

Too ashamed to show your face for the moment or was it that he had upset you? He knew that you wanted to spend his special day together, yet he had informed you that he had other plans. That is spending the free portion of his birthday after school with his family, perhaps he should have made an effort to invite you. After all, he wasn’t ashamed of his relationship with you. Quite the opposite, he loved spending time with you, he loved talking about you. The fact you brought a new meaning to his otherwise dull life was beyond any word of praise.

He tightened his grip on the plate as he stood in front of your door, part of him hoped Uraraka was correct when she stated the sweets would help ease tension. Hesitantly Tenya reached out, folding his hand into a fist before knocking three times. The sound echoed through the hall and Tenya brought his hand to rest at his side. “Y/n? It’s Tenya, will you please open the door? I brought you something I do hope you’ll enjoy!” he called, but got no response. He lowered his eyebrows, “Strange.” you never shut him out, even though he understood at times there were things you wanted to keep to yourself.

He would never push or force anything out of you, but your lack of an answer only caused him more worry. He swallowed and knocked once more, “Y/n, please...my love, open the door so I can see your face.” Tenya’s voice was soft, though there was a hint of anxiety hidden within it. Something the normally calm and collected boy didn’t show. Yet, he continued to get no response. He stared at the door a moment before reaching for the handle, surprised to find it was unlocked. He carefully opened it, however, it gave a loud creak and Tenya was worried he might have startled you because of it.

In actuality, you were laying on your bed with the blanket draped over you. The lights were off, casting the room in a dark shadow which made it tricky for Tenya to navigate. But regardless, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He could faintly see your outline, which honestly just looked like a lump on the bed. “Y/n?” he whispered as he carefully walked over, one hand held out in case he bumped into anything while the other continued to hold onto that plate for dear life. He hated messes and it would be a shame if cake stained the floor.

Once he got close, he carefully placed the plate onto your nightstand and slowly reached his hand out to you. “Y/n…” he repeated as he gently touched your back, but you seemed to shy away from his touch. “Mm…” Tenya grew cross, almost tempted to rip that blanket off. But he knew that would be too hasty, surely not the action of a proper boyfriend. So instead, he took a breath and proceeded to sit on the bed. It dipped and the springs created an eerie sound, adjusting to the added weight.

“Are you well? I’ve returned from visiting my family and I…” he lifted his hand, wanting to touch you again. “I’m afraid I must apologize, for I...I did not have much of a choice in the matter. I would have much rather spent my birthday celebration with you.” honestly, you weren’t upset you couldn’t spend the day with Tenya. Well, maybe a little. You did want to make his birthday special, you had planned the surprise party with Izuku but when Tenya gave you the news he’d be spending the better half of his day with his family.

It hurt, you knew it wasn’t Tenya’s fault. He came from a very rich and heroic family, with standards you couldn’t possibly understand. He seemed downright proud and prideful of his family, the way he spoke about the Iida’s accomplishments throughout the generations was...incredible to say the least. Maybe that’s what was truly upsetting you, the fact that compared to Tenya...you were really nothing. You didn’t come from a rich family, much like Uraraka your family seemed to struggle financially. Your quirk wasn’t as impressive as the other students and you seemed to be lacking in your academic studies.

In other words, you were poor with no heroic lineage whatsoever, and despite being with Tenya. One of the most intelligent students in the class, your grades were slipping. Even Mineta had managed to rise in the ranks above you. It was pathetic. Maybe the best birthday gift you could give Tenya was space, it was a defeating feeling. Something that had been plaguing your mind the whole day and by the end, you wanted to hide away. Maybe it wasn’t right, keeping all this to yourself. You should be open and honest with Tenya and your friends, you knew they cared about you.

But, what if they laughed? Would they think your problems were silly? You knew Tenya took such things very seriously, he wouldn’t rest when he knew someone he cared about was in pain. He’d do whatever it took as a future Pro Hero to make sure everyone, especially those he cared for, were safe and that they had a reason to smile again. Still, you couldn’t help but tighten your hands around the blanket. Knuckles turning white and slightly trembling. “W-Why?” you finally spoke from underneath the covers, taking Tenya by surprise. His eyes slightly wide and he leaned back, confused.

“Why?” he repeated, was the answer not obvious? Perhaps he wasn’t clear, with that in mind. He leaned over, estimating where your head and more specifically your ear was. He gently draped his arm around you and pressed his lips against your ear, though he would have preferred direct contact. The blanket was the only thing separating you from him. He took a deep breath, your scent lingered on the bed covers which he found settled his nerves.

“My love...you are the chaos to my order, the sun to my moon, the one whom I have adored and admired for far too long. The one I cherish with all my heart and want with every fiber of my being. I would gladly reschedule any date or day to spend it with you. Do you not realize that? You mean a great deal to me, for without you. I am afraid I would be lost, forever asking why I must suffer in this life alone. For you are the one that fills my heart and gives me a greater sense of purpose.” he said before proceeding to lean against you, something that caused you to give a soft grunt.

Tenya wasn’t heavy, but his added weight certainly didn’t help you. Still, Tenya nestled his head against yours and you could feel those muscular arms close around you. “I love you and as such, I want to spend every waking moment making you the happiest person on Earth.” the words were whispered softly and you clenched your jaw, eyes squeezing shut. Why did Tenya have to say such meaningful words? In a way it made you angry, it was almost as if he were praising you when you weren't worthy of such a thing.

A deep growl came from your throat, something that caused Tenya to lift his head. “Hm?” he looked at you before your arm shot toward him and your hand pressed against his chest. It had come unexpected and caused him to cry out. His own arms came out, swirling in circles as he proceeded to fall off the bed. A loud thud sounded as he hit the floor and part of the blanket draped over his legs as you finally sat up on the bed. Tenya’s eyes widened and a fearful look spread across his face as he took note of your appearance, how your eyes were puffy and red.

Had you been crying? He frowned, perhaps he made a bigger mistake than he thought. “Y/n...what happened-” another growl sounded and your arms came up, hands curled into tight fists that shook. “Shut up!” you snapped, making Tenya jump from his position on the floor. His frown deepened, “I…I apologize did I-” his sentence came to a halt as a pillow collided with his face, he didn’t quite appreciate that. But he remained quiet as he readjusted his glasses. Feeling a little annoyed at your antics, “Was that truly an appropriate way to communicate what’s troubling you?” he questioned and you sigh before dropping your head, hands coming to hide your face.

Tenya blinked before slowly sitting on his knees, “Y/n…” he said and part of you couldn’t stand it, the gentle way he always spoke your name. “J-Just stop it Tenya…” you said, your voice weak and soft. It made Tenya’s heart sink and he carefully crawled to the edge of the bed, placing his hands on the mattress. “I...I’m afraid I do not understand-” his words came to another abrupt stop when you lowered your hands and slammed them against the bed, though the cushioning softened the blow. You felt your eyes tear up once more, but they stung from the previous amount of crying you had done.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at Tenya, though part of you almost felt amused. How many other boys could you get on their knees before you? But Tenya did it because he cared, he wasn’t going to run away. That much you knew, so why did it make you feel guilty? Did you have Tenya under your spell so badly he would continue to push and break the walls you had built? You took a deep breath, wiping your nose before speaking, “Why do you...always put me on a pedestal, why do you always act like I’m some great prize, Tenya?!” you snapped, feeling a few tears begin to slide down your cheeks.

Tenya’s lips parted, a clear look of concerned confusion in his eyes. “I...I do not think you a great prize for you are not an object of personal gain or a trophy I wish to show off, you are...someone I love, very dearly. Someone I find to be beautiful and courageous and wonderful in their efforts.” he explained, his tone turning into that of a more serious nature. He thought his positive words would make you at ease, but they seemed to have the opposite effect as more tears came. He frowned and reached up, having the desire to wipe them away.

But you smacked his hand away, though it didn’t physically hurt him. He felt his heart sink, rejection from a stranger was one thing. But from the one you loved? It stung more than Tenya wanted to admit, he was utterly defenseless against you. He took every word and action to heart, yet that wouldn’t stop him from continuing in his own efforts to figure out what was wrong. It appeared as though you were having doubts about his love for you and he wondered if he had done anything to cause it. Surely he didn’t speak rudely to you or hurt your feelings, so what brought such a reaction about?

“Tenya…I...I am not beautiful or wonderful in any shape or form. I don’t have an impressive flashy quirk, my grades are low and you...you’re this incredible person with heroic lineage and so intelligent and-” you gasped when Tenya pushed off the floor, wrapping his arms around you tightly. Your face was pressed against one of his biceps and though it was comforting. Your hands remained by your sides, but you could feel Tenya press his face into the crook of your neck. His lips tickling your skin as he spoke, “Is this why you are upset? Did my absence bring this on?” he questioned, then again.

You had been acting a tad distant lately, even during training. Those silent cheers you two created between each other were gone. Perhaps he should have seen it sooner, were you feeling insecure? His arms tightened around you, he’d have to fix that. “Forgive me, I believe I may already know the answer,” he said before pulling away, he gently cupped your face. Though you looked away, stray tears still came and your cheeks were dusted red. It was funny, on top of everything else, you felt embarrassed.

You should have known Tenya would jump to conclusions, which at times were correct. “Will you look at me, please?” you could hear the hurt tone in his voice, but even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him...not yet. It was stupid, feeling this way because you were so vulnerable to someone. You knew Tenya wouldn’t hurt you and maybe it was silly to think so low of yourself, but you couldn’t help it. Negative thoughts often consumed one’s mind, despite the positive ones trying to fight back. You heard Tenya sigh and his thumbs slid across your cheeks to collect those tear droplets. “I see…” he whispered before his eyes narrowed, “Look at me!” he demanded, something that caught you off guard and caused you to jump.

Though with Tenya’s hands still holding your face, there was very little movement to be had. Your eyes though holding some fear, finally shifted to Tenya and you watched as his features softened. “Please, my love. Listen well, you know I would not lie to you nor anyone. I find honesty to be the best application in conversations and meanings of the heart.” he explained before leaning close, a soft gasp escaped when you felt his warm lips press against your forehead. He pulled back before reaching down to take hold of your hands.

In his gentle embrace, he stroked his thumbs over your knuckles before bringing each hand to his lips. A soft kiss was pressed to the back of each hand before he cradled them to his chest, right above his heart. “That being said, I’m afraid I must voice my rather strict opinion on your thought process and outlook you hold of yourself,” he said, once more sporting a serious look and it somehow made you shrink. When Tenya was serious about something, he made sure you damn well knew it. “I do not care where you come from, your financial status, your grades, or anything else that may persuade others from loving you,” he said, his fingers tightening around your hands.

“My heart, though I did not know it...chose you for a reason. For I see beyond just petty words and appearances, I know you, Y/n. Inside and out, I find nothing but a shining beauty, a wonderfully bright soul, one truly worthy of becoming a hero. That is what I find most appealing about one’s character, the strength and kindness of their heart, and the true colors of their soul.” you shook your head, no...that wasn’t true. Tenya frowned, “Do not shake your head,” he softly demanded and proceeded to rest his forehead against yours.

“Please.” he added quietly, “Grades do not determine one’s placement in life, you were born to be a hero. Meant to help others, to do anything you must to protect them. While UA is indeed a heroic school, a classroom cannot necessarily teach one how to be a decent human being and you are far beyond that. You are and always shall be, the most incredible, beautifully spoken, intelligent human being I have ever met, and no force or quirk on this Earth will change my mind.” he said, though you began trembling and your fingers tightened around his hands.

Such a thing didn’t go unnoticed by Tenya and he leaned back, his eyes scanning you. “My love...you don’t have to tremble, are you cold?” he questioned, he could be clueless at times. Often trying to find the most logical answer, a struggled chuckle left your lips. "N-No," you said quietly before leaning forward, resting your head against his shoulder. “Hm...well, if I may continue,” he said before gently releasing your hands but you only fisted them into his shirt. Tenya's fingers grazed your cheeks before cupping them, he then guided your head up and off his shoulder.

Your tears had ceased, though your eyes still appeared irritated. “I suppose you may call me selfish for this, but I do not wish to lose you for you are the most precious person in my life, even my brother Tensei does not compare to how much I care for you. So, please do not think so negatively of yourself. Though I can confidently argue you down, I do not wish for you to be sad. I do not wish to be without you, especially not on my birthday.” he said, giving a soft smile.

“Tenya I…” you wanted to apologize, despite being relieved he hadn’t laughed at you for what you had said. “I-I’m sorry...maybe I was...I’m so stupid…” you wanted to bury your face into his chest, hide away from the world again. Yet, you didn’t want to break away from his touch, “I believe I said I would not allow you to think so negatively of yourself. You are not stupid, you are beautiful and intelligent. If I may be so daring as to state breathtaking as well.” you swallowed, feeling how your heart twisted in your chest. But, his next words caught you by surprise.

“I would like to celebrate the hours that remain of my birthday here with you, I want to hold you close and whisper positive affirmations into your ear and I will not rest until you believe you are truly loved, wanted and that I desire no one else.” your heart skipped a beat, the lengths this man would go were almost incredible. You opened your mouth to speak, but Tenya spoke first, “May I tell you what I wish for my birthday? I do understand the superstition of wishes ceasing to come true if spoken out loud, but I am afraid I do not believe in such things.” he said and you chuckled softly, yeah...Tenya was more logical and down to reality.

Still, you nodded as you were a little curious to what your boyfriend could possibly wish for. Tenya smiled once again and closed the distance between himself and you, pressing his lips against yours for a brief moment. He pulled back, hands still caressing your cheeks. “My only wish and desire for my birthday is to see you smile.” his words came out soft and it was something you cherished. Still, just as he wished. A smile began to tug at your lips before you jumped and wrapped your arms around him. Yet again, catching him off guard as he fell back.

Luckily this time, he was caught by the mattress and landed softly. Though he looked slightly bewildered, he loosely wrapped his arms around you. “It’s a deal,” you said before folding your arms against his chest, looking him in the eye. “You know what my wish is?” you questioned as you reached up to remove his glasses, even though Tenya was rather protective over his eyewear. He allowed you to remove them, you thought Tenya was handsome with or without his glasses, but without them. His eyes stood out and you found them to be beautiful, almost hypnotizing.

You loved staring into them, even if it embarrassed Tenya. “I um...I do not believe I know what your wish is,” he replied and you chuckled. You reached over, allowing your fingers to caress his cheek. You slipped his glasses back on, though he naturally reached up to adjust them as you suddenly leaned up. Turning your head to see the plate with the two pieces of cake sitting on your nightstand. Your mind suddenly thought of something a little mischievous and you reached over, grabbing the plate carefully.

You took note there were no napkins or forks, which made your little mischievous idea all the better. “I want to see you eat this cake with me,” you said as Tenya sat up and you proceeded to shove the plate toward him. However, he held his hands up. Such an action was a clear indication of Tenya’s need to avoid making a mess, “N-No thank you! I…” he stopped when he noticed the lack of napkins and forks, had he been that careless?

“I do not believe we have the correct plasticware to eat it with,” he began as he rose from the bed, “I’ll go to the kitchen and-” he stumbled back when you pulled his arm, “Tenya…” you said, keeping hold of his arm as you stood up. “It’s your birthday and your birthday is not complete without cake.” you insisted as you once more held the plate up and Tenya turned his head as if the dessert offended him.

“B-But it will make a mess and we do not have any napkins and-” you quickly silenced him with your hand, covering his mouth so the rest of his words became muffled. “Tenya...it won’t kill you and we can always wash our hands after, please...for me?” you said as you removed your hand and reached over to grab a piece of cake carelessly and Tenya shivered as he watched the icing smear your fingers. “I want to do something with you to celebrate your birthday…” you said and Tenya sighed.

“F-Fine, I suppose such a thing is only fair. I did state I wish to spend the remainder of my birthday with you and celebrating with cake is well...I suppose traditional.” he said as he hesitantly picked up the remaining piece of cake, however, he held it like it were glass and away from his body. It was almost funny to witness, but you happily took a bite of yours before stepping close to Tenya. You stood on your tippy-toes to kiss his cheek, which had him stumbling back. “Y-You have icing on your lips!” he snapped, but you only shook your head. “Happy birthday, Tenya,” you said with a playful wink before taking another bite of cake.

#tenya iida #tenya x reader #iida x reader

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whereisstevethestove · 3 years

Text

Sight Chapter Two

Link to Chapter One here

AO3

Summary: In which we meet the Wicca, the Phantom, the Sighted, and the Boyfriend.

There is a wicca who has lived in the forest for far longer than any creature. They watch over the forest and they wait, wait for someone to come asking for help. There is a wicca that took a boy’s face in his hands and cursed him with Sight, at the cost of his vision.

This wicca has a simple name and October is not one to remember them.

…

Logan is carrying Virgil through the forest, steps heavy as he holds his unconscious friends close, Roman and Remus helping guide him in their own way. The two of them alone are loud enough to help the teen navigate to where he knows the wicca still lives.

Remus stops abruptly, chittering and Logan almost trips over him.

“My apologies Remus. Is the wicca there?” Footsteps.

“Well, I am now. What are you doing here darlin?”

Logan stiffens. The wicca’s voice is sugar sweet but there’s an undertone that makes him want to step back, leave Virgil and run, because it’s not safe, the wicca isn’t safe.

“My friend needs help.”

“Oh, you’re that blind kid. I forgot about you.” The wicca muses and Logan flinches as the steps start again, until he can feel the wicca’s breath crossing his face.

“Phantom touched, strange. He should be dead.”

“I know.” Logan’s breath hitched with an aborted sob. “I don’t want him to die.”

There’s a hand caressing his forehead and Logan’s mind feels like it’s splintering, fragmented memories belonging to the wicca making him dizzy.

“Huh. You love him.” The voice is softer now. Logan nods.

“Very well, come on, give me him and the sprites will guide you.” The wicca moves his hand from Logan’s head and they carefully transfer to holding Virgil.

Remus is almost immediately wrapped around Logan’s neck, Roman slithering up to settle across his hips and they begin to all walk again, blindly following, trusting that the wicca will figure something out.

…

October looks down at the body in his arms as they near the home. This...Virgil is smaller, looks like he’s not from the country and his fingers are greying, and October is almost worried that if he can’t revive the child, he’ll fade and become a Haunt.

They get to the door and October waves their hand to open it, the sighted child and his familiars close behind as the five of them make it to the brewing table and October gently places Virgil down.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Six months?” Logan’s voice is shaky and October spares a glance to see that the sighted child is crying without bothering to wipe at his tears. “He survived a Kelpie as a child and I saw it when he touched me. He gets me.”

October sighed. “Fickle mortals. God, why did I decide to help?” He turned back to Virgil and didn’t see the tightening of Logan’s jaw. October pressed a finger to Virgil’s pinky and the limb dissolved.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

“What?” Logan demanded and the sprites began to nervously trill.

“Get the fire sprite to wrap around his core, the poison one around his hand where I point, okay?” October looked to Logan. “He needs warmth and we might have to use the poison to counteract the phantom touch.”

Logan nodded and he gestured in the wrong direction, but the sprites got the memo, unraveling and going to follow the wicca’s instructions.

“I’m going to give you a stool to sit on.” October waved a hand and the stool scooted across the room, gently bumping into Logan’s side. “Now keep quiet.”

Logan, bless his soul, didn’t respond. October reached for his pestle and then grabbed a quartz rock, dropping it in with a few Eurydice petals.

“So, sighted child, I assume that life has been fine, considering you’ve found a few familiars for you and your friend.”

Logan, to his credit, shrugged. October grabbed a hollyhock root and started to slice it before dumping it in the pestle.

“I need one of your hairs and some spit.”

Logan grimaced, but he pulled out a chunk of his hair and held it out, which October took and put in. He then waited for the pestle to be placed under his chin before spitting. October grinned when the mixture flashed a royal blue. He added a generous amount of beeswax, some of Virgil’s rapidly greying hair and added it, using a swab to get a minuscule amount of spit.

The mixture flashed violet, then grey, before settling on a beautiful gold color, now a paste that could easily mimic chapstick. October spread a liberal amount over Virgil’s lips, then on his arms where the grey was creeping up.

They turned to Logan.

“So, how far would you go to save your ‘friend’? Would you do anything?”

“If it was within my power, then yes.” Logan said.

October smiled. “Excellent!! You get to kiss him!” The look on Logan’s face was priceless and October cackled as he slid the pestle to Logan, so that it was touching the teen’s hands.

“Rub that on your lips and give him a smooch. It’ll probably fix it. True love and soulmates or whatever you want to call it.”

Logan dipped his hand into the pestle and drew out a bit of the paste, smearing it on his lips carefully, before standing and shuffling forward, hands guiding him. He felt the sprites, up Virgil’s neck until he was gently cupping his friend’s face. Logan took a breath and…

October wouldn’t say that it was magic, but the gentleness that Logan used when he kissed Virgil definitely seemed to be that way, even as the phantom touch receded, color returning to Virgil’s lips as he breathed in deeply. The grey half of his hair did not return to color, nor did the missing finger, but October called that a win.

“Wicca?” Logan sounded fragile and October looked at him.

“It’s October child.”

“I’m pretty sure that it’s February.” Logan shot him a glare- three feet in the wrong direction. “Did it work?”

“I know it’s Feb-- fuck it, yeah, he’ll wake in a few minutes, I’m going to transfer him to my bed, you’re both welcome to sleep there for the night, it’s a pretty big bed, I’m going to crash on the couch.” October brushed a hand to Logan’s and forced enough memories through so the sighted would be able to navigate to the nondescript bedroom in the back of the home. He then scooped up the still sleeping Virgil, sprites and all before making his way to the back and dumping Virgil on the bed.

“He needs to be constantly warm, as to not trigger any residue phantom soul. Phantoms feed off of the lonely and unloved- hence why the kiss cleared the majority.” October turned to Logan. “Cuddle him or something. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you wicca.” Logan murmured and October found himself holding an armful of sighted. “Thank you.”

“Sure, whatever. Oh, my boyfriend might be by in the morning, he’ll make sure that you and Virgil will get an actual breakfast.”

Logan let go and crawled into the bed, arms going up to wrap around Virgil, the sprites tangling themselves into the pile. All four were out within seconds and October smiled softly before shutting the door to leave them to rest.

…

Virgil woke up to see Logan's glassy eyes were open, gaze not quite staring at him, but he had a nice smile on his face.

“Hey Lo.” He croaked out and Logan closed his eyes before squeezing him softly.

“Idiot. Running off and getting phantom touched.”

“Sorry.” Virgil murmured as a cooing reached his ears. His chest heated up and he looked down to see that Roman was heating up slowly, his acid green eyes half lidded. “Hey Ro.”

The sprite coo’d again and Virgil grinned.

“They were very helpful in finding you.” Logan smiled. “And the wicca of course, we’re resting in their house.”

“Ah. That explains why this bed smells like sage and teakwood.” Virgil sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “I’m hungry.”

“The wicca’s boyfriend said he’d make us something.”

“Cool.” Virgil’s head lolled a bit and he had to force himself to stay awake. “Cool, cool.”

“You can go back to sleep Vee.” Logan whispered. “I’ll keep us safe.”

Virgil didn’t have time to respond before grey was clawing at the edge of his vision and sleep called him back, warm and safe.

…

Remy wouldn’t call himself October’s boyfriend, but hey, after three centuries of exclusively dating him, he had to guess that fine, they were dating.

Which is why he found it odd that the wicca was up early. October was a lot of things, but an early riser was not one of them.

“Babes? Please don’t tell me you pulled an all nighter.” Remy plopped a grocery bag on the kitchen counter as October rolled his eyes.

“Nah, the sighted child came around last night with a phantom touched. He’s fine now, oh, they’re soulmates btw, but they spent last night in my bed, and you know how lumpy the couch is. I didn’t get much sleep.”

Remy shook his head. “You never fail to surprise me.” He pulled out a pan and bacon, slapping it on before throwing October a look. “Can you light the stove?”

“What you can’t?”

“Please?” Remy begged and after a moment, the stove lit up. “Thank you!!”

The bacon was happily frying when he heard a sound, and as Remy looked up, he saw a limping phantom touched, the sighted one next to him, both leaning on each other, familiars winding around them like cats.

Oh, Remy really wanted to adopt these two- look at them, they were so cute with each other and the phantom touched carefully pulled out a stool, guiding the sighted one’s hand to it before finding a seat himself.

Remy pulled the bacon off and added the next slices.

“Hey boys. Sleep well?”

The sighted one shrugged. “It was adequate. I can’t speak for Virgil though.”

Ah, so the phantom touched one was Virgil. Remy nodded and filled up two water glasses from the pitcher in the fridge before sliding it to the pair. “I’m Remy. I’m sure that October told you about me Sighted, but Virgil, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Who’s October?”

“The wicca.” Remy said cheerfully. “I picked it for him after they told me about how obsessed they were with pumpkin spice.”

The Sighted snorted and Virgil let out a snicker as well.

“Our conversation makes more sense from last night.” The Sighted mused as he reached and delicately picked up his water.

“What happened Lo?” Virgil asked. “I really only remember this morning before the sun was up.”

“We kissed. Well, I kissed you, and it was only to seal the spell, so I’m sorry for not asking your consent.”

“Eh, it’s…” Virgil stopped talking.

Remy looked back to see that the teen was staring at his hand in horror.

“Logan, where’s my pinky?”

Logan looked confused. “I was unaware that you were missing a finger. Is anything else wrong?”

Virgil pulled out his phone before Remy could stop him and he dropped it once he saw his hair.

“I.. Logan--”

Virgil collapsed and Logan lunged towards the sound, but Remy was throwing out a hand and freezing the teen’s body with a minor spell.

“Sighted, don’t touch him. He’s been phantom touched and the residue shows up with strong emotions. Let me and October deal with this.”

He turned off the stove the same time that October was entering the room and the both of them carefully moved Virgil back to the brew table, where they could see that Virgil’s veins were turning grey, heart pounding loud enough that it could be heard in the quiet of the room.

“Remy, go free Logan.” October murmured as he began to mash up another concoction. “Virgil will wake in a panic, and he needs a familiar face.”

…

Pain, pain, pain

Hunger

Feed me

LONELY.

Virgil could feel the other mind in his and the more he pushed against it, the worse it hurt, the louder it got….

Patton.

My name’s Patton.

“NO!” Virgil pushed against it and he felt an ink cold sweep over him.

YES.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #sight chapter two

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