#its the desire to express a truth outside of your reach. to tentatively try to identify; to speak; and only managing so much. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 24 - If You Want Me...

Masterlist; Chapter 23

Summary: Tension reaches its boiling point when you overhear an unfortunate conversation. With unexpected allies, you attempt to break the impasse once and for all.

Warnings: ANGST (still but... well you’ll see ;)); at few points R! is being a little dramatic which can be triggering if you’ve been dealing with intrusive thoughts (nothing too bad though); swearing.

Author’s Notes: Finally! It’s been a wild ride... and god am I happy i’ve managed. This part took a lot of effort but I quite like what I came up with... even if sometimes it gets too angsty. Can’t wait for what’s coming next, however... :)))) Hope you enjoy and all feedback is always appreciated! <3

The shooting range on the icebreaker was a strange place. It occupied a large proportion of the deck floor in the accommodation part of the ship, next to the turnstile and sparring grounds. With darkness swallowing every corner that was not lit up by the blinking fluorescents, it was a perfect place to hide. Soon it became your go-to solace when things got difficult, and the only other idea you could come up with involved going outside without the oxygen mask attached. You did not want to go that far. Yet. Target practice became your favourite occupation. It was simple and did not involve talking to people that could give you worrying looks or comment on the dark circles underneath your eyes. Sleep was no longer a thing, with you catching three-hour-long naps at best, in between never-ending worrying and staring at the ceiling, reminiscing the past. The constant headaches were something you soldiered through, accepting them as a part of reality. The worst part of that new life was the fact that you and Neil stopped talking to each other altogether. Not even empty pleasantries could get through the stone-cold awkwardness and tension capable of killing you before the heartache would. After a day of near-misses and horrifying mistakes that culminated with you accidentally spilling boiling water all over the sweater when Neil entered the galley, you both mastered the art of hiding. You only saw him once afterwards, sitting at the table in the corner of the canteen. That was almost two days ago, and you were thankful.

Once you went through the assigned daily rounds, you moved onto the task of cleaning the guns and rifles. Polishing the metal cases and arranging the bullets was as close to therapy as it could get. With the repetitive action occupying your brain, there was no time to get emotional over things you could not change. Only at the shooting range, you did not feel so utterly hopeless. So terribly unloved. A sudden noise by the airlock made you look up. Conveniently the air in the range was sealed so that you need not to worry about oxygen masks during the target practice. It also meant you got approximately five seconds warning to check the identity of the intruder. This time you were surprised.

“Hi, Y/N. Thought I’d find you here” TP’s dark gaze slid over you cautiously.

Taking off the mask, he joined you at the makeshift table, looking at the arsenal you have spread over the surface. You eyed him with curiosity. That was unexpected. So far, he has never interacted with you outside of the meetings. And every time he did, you could not stop thinking about how much he knew. Who did he see when he looked at you?

“Afternoon” shaking off the reverie, you offered him a tight smile, “Is it afternoon?” glancing at the watch, you grimaced, “Oh,”

The last time you checked, it was 3 pm. The blue numbers on your wrist were mercilessly ticking away. 8:30 pm. How the fuck. TP caught your silent crisis as he asked:

“How long have you been down here?” looking up, you encountered a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

Interesting.

“Umm, five hours?” it felt like the best estimate.

It was probably longer. But he need not know that.

“Jesus,” wincing, he directed his taxing gaze back onto you, “When was the last time you had food?” tone strictly business.

The truth was that you did not remember. With everything falling apart and losing meaning, food became an afterthought. Half the time you would realise you only had one meal around 1 am, forcing you to tiptoe to the kitchen and grab something from the cupboard. A hungry stomach was nothing compared to all the other issues. It could be ignored.

“Breakfast. I’m not hungry though,” brushing off the concern you chose defiance, “Is this an interrogation?” you arched one eyebrow and cocked the gun you have wiped clean.

TP snorted at your comedic timing.

“No, I come here in peace” he raised his hands in defeat and added, “To see if you’re… alright” the hesitation made you scoff.

“You know that I’m not. Because things are generally far from alright,” letting annoyance slip into the sentence, you let go of the tools and met his gaze with coldness.

The deepening frown was concerning. You were being unfair. After all, it was not him who has caused all this pain. Remorse nipped at your heart as you sighed heavily.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,” he accepted your apologetic smile with a nod, giving the courage to continue, “And I’m also sorry that you all have to witness that mess in the meetings. I’d rather it stayed between him and me... but he seems to disagree” you shrugged.

Sometimes you did wonder why Neil seemed so intent on making your arguments a public spectacle. Whether that was a part of the intricate plan to make you look like an idiot or a result of his emotions boiling over. Not that it mattered. Everyone on the team knew what the deal was anyway. A poor, naïve you, desperately in love with someone who could not care less. Nothing out of the ordinary. Judging by TP’s passing frown, for him too the topic was rather uncomfortable. He took a long moment to respond, looking for answers in the rows of bullets you have arranged on the table.

“Not going to lie, it’s awkward, but at least I know what’s going on, and I can offer to listen” he met your gaze with newly found determination.

Okay… Confiding in TP was quite low on the list of things you expected to have the opportunity of doing. But then so was having to convince Neil not to get himself killed for the sake of the operation. Anything goes.

“Aren’t you taking a side?” that suspicious voice in your head was difficult to get rid of, “Agreeing with him that I’m stupid, emotional, and overall a burden?” you recited the memorized litany of epithets with a stone-cold expression.

The words have lost their meanings after you have put them apart in the quiet of your mind. Now they were just sounds, incapable of inflicting pain. It was the least that could be done.

“He went too far with that” TP winced, his eyes expressing traces of disapproval, “I might not know you well, but you’re none of these things,” a sympathetic smile softening the tone.

An open hand. An olive branch. Why not? Taking a deep breath, you got ready to open up before the most unexpecting of allies.

“In a way, he was right though…” you looked down, trying to find the needed strength, “I am stupid because I have allowed myself to care too much for him” there it is, “And now I’m paying for it” when you met his eyes again, you found nothing but thoughtfulness.

It was something you thought about often as well. The fact that Neil was right, you did care, and that it was perhaps the reason for your demise. But who could blame you for falling for the bastard looking like the devil? And equally charming too.

“Maybe it’s a little too forward, but-” TP’s tentative tone made you grin.

In moments like this, you acutely remembered that he was still a rookie. Not used to the half-truths and strange tenets you accepted as your credo. His innocence was adorable even.

“In this profession, a it’s sometimes nice to say the truth. Shoot away” you waved your hand dismissively, anticipating the question.

There is a first time for everything.

“Fair point” he mirrored your smile before asking, “Do you love him?”

Plain and simple. Ignoring the panic, you took a moment to ponder the answer. It was… obvious. You told Neil as much twice before, and no amount of pretending and lies could ever undo it. The words were his. Just as you were. Unfortunately.

“I’d want to say no, that I got over it, but… Yes, I do,” you offered the answer with a helpless frown, “Think any idiot can see it” noticing a hint of embarrassment briefly you patted TP’s shoulder, “No matter how much he hurts me, I always find myself wishing things could be… like they once were”

Whatever that meant. In truth, you wanted more. You wanted to wake up next to him every morning. You wanted affirmations of love every day as you tasted his coffee-stained lips. You wanted to lie in his embrace, feeling desired and loved. But most of all, you wanted to be able to lace up your fingers with his, following the instincts that became your second nature. To card your fingers through his silky golden strands and to give him everything he would desire. You wanted to be his. He was supposed to be yours. Or was the universe wrong?

Thoughts of that kind could be lethal. Shaking yourself awake, you met TP’s eyes. Apart from the lack of surprise at your admission, you noticed something strange. A passing realization. As though he has heard something similar before but was afraid to speak up. Once again, you found yourself wondering what Neil told him. What did he mean by ‘things you and I should explain to each other’? For a moment, you wanted to jump head in and ask. But what good would knowing the truth be when you could not act on it? As though aware of your increasing dilemma, the man spoke up again.

“I’m sorry for Oslo” your eyes widened at the reminder.

“Why?” blurting out the question, you eyed him cautiously.

The deepening discomfort radiating off him confirmed your assumptions. That was it. He knew what nearly happened that night. And he was flustered about his role in it. That was not the conversation you ever expected to have.

“I can’t help but think that maybe if I hadn’t… interrupted you, it would’ve-” he stumbled over the sentence somewhat endearingly.

Perhaps it was the lack of care that made you say the next words. Or maybe just the fact that nothing mattered anymore, and so who could judge you for the purest form of honesty.

“Doubt it,” interrupting him with a sour smile, you added, “Maybe it’s good you knocked then… Least he doesn’t have absolutely everything” noticing the alarm painted on TP’s face, you blushed.

Yep, too far. Still true, however.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t have to know that much” you brushed off the sudden awkwardness with a sincere apology.

“I can pretend I’ve never heard it” it was his turn to give a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

You could feel the strange companionship forming. Sure you did not mind. Relaxing back in the chair, you spoke up:

“Thanks,” as TP also visibly reclined, you brought up the thought that was not letting go of your mind, “I don’t know how much he has told you about… this,” gesturing vaguely, you bit your lip.

Somehow you knew that he would not betray Neil by sharing with you everything that has been said. But even crumbs would do…

“Quite a bit,” you watched him closely, intrigued by the hesitation, “Enough for me to know that you’re someone I can trust and that he had reasons to be acting that happy in Tallinn before the action” oh.

That painful pang in your heart was heart to ignore. You winced, feeling the steady gaze fixed on your face. The analysis was mutual. Neil, happy, back in Tallinn. Because of you. You have lost too much.

“What do you mean?” treading carefully, you asked the safest of questions.

A small smile on his face showed you just how obvious you were. Lovesick idiot.

“Hours he has spent texting someone, phone calls he would pick up instantly and then come back grinning like a madman” TP offered you examples with a glimmer in his eyes “It only clicked when we were inverting, and I asked him about you” the blush on your cheeks deepened under his taxing gaze “Suddenly all of that made sense if you were in Estonia with us” he shrugged, finishing the thought.

Oh my god. While you experienced it all firsthand during those chaotic yet hopeful days in the safehouse when everything seemed to have infinite potential, hearing about it from someone else’s perspective felt strange. Almost like a slap in the face. Because it only confirmed what you knew – he once loved you. Once.

“Well, it seems like he has changed his mind…” you muttered, feeling the resentment settle in.

You wondered whether one day it would stop hurting. If you could ever get over this and find someone else. That darkest part of your brain knew the answer well enough. Nothing could come close. And nothing ever would.

“Or he’s just an idiot” the cheeriness felt forced.

But judging by the way TP was staring at you, you could tell it was his attempt at dispersing the sudden melancholy. It was strange to see him worried about you of all people. Perhaps your shit attempts at diverting everyone’s attention from your declining mentality were failing. And that was a reason to be concerned.

“That too,” plastering on an unconvincing smile, you stifled a yawn.

That caught his attention.

“You should get some rest” upon further thought, he added, “And food,”

The intensity of his look was stifling. You hated being the centre of attention. Especially in moments like this when you felt vulnerable, an object of pity and unease. Stupid, weak, and useless. The sabotaging voice came out in full force, making you want nothing but to curl up in bed and disappear. Not yet, however.

“Yes, sir” you raised your hand in mock salute.

Your face fell when instead of a laugh, you got a frown in response. Oopsie.

“I’m serious” TP seemed to consider something quickly before placing his hand on your forearm, “I’m… I’ve been a little worried about you” he met your eyes with a clear purpose.

Shit. That is exactly what you wanted to avoid. Being seen as pathetic and a burden. Internally, you cursed yourself for not being strong enough. For letting anyone see the cracks. You would not let them see you shatter into pieces.

“I’m doing fine,” mustering the happiest of grins, you tried to mask the urgency.

Please buy the bullshit.

“Are you?” he didn’t. Before your brain could fully arrive at the panic station, his inquisitive expression softened. You held his gaze for a beat, hoping to convey everything. Hoping to convince him to let the conversation go. It worked for TP gave a final taxing look before backing off. You exhaled slowly, relaxing a little. Maybe the worst was over…

“Before we go… there’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about…” TP changed the subject, looking down at the table “The lock. You want to go with him”

It was not exactly a question, yet you knew he expected an answer. That one you could easily give him. It was obvious, even if you have never said it out loud. Up till now.

“Yes... Maybe it is an impulsive and stupid thing to do, but I can’t let him do it alone. I can’t let him get killed” the word felt foreign in your mouth.

As though ‘Neil’ and ‘death’ were two irrelevant concepts that did not fit together even in theory. They could not. You would not allow it. And you were willing to accept the worst of risks to make sure it would not happen. Hell, you would even fight against fate and time to assure that.

“I’d rather avoid that too” TP’s quiet comment made you look up, “He deserves so much more than…” there was something startling in his gaze.

As though he has stopped himself before saying too much. Much more than what? And why was he looking at you like that? Like you were missing something tragic, and his heart was breaking for your loss. You felt like going insane. TP cleared his throat awkwardly, resuming the conversation, not at all fluently:

“I don’t buy the whole ‘what’s happened, happened’. What does that even mean?” the irritation shining through his strange tone was distracting.

“Don’t ask me,” you shrugged, “I like to think there’s a different solution to this. One that doesn’t involve Neil sacrificing himself. And I need to be there with him because if it comes to it… I’d take that bullet for him” you did not know where the honesty came from.

Or why you would admit something that fundamental to TP. His response was just as anticipated – a gasp and widened eyes. Nibbling on your lower lip, you broke the eye contact and chose to stare at the forgotten gun lying on the table. It was the truth, so why did admitting it feel so… radical?

“Are you sure?” when he found his voice again, it was hoarse.

“It’s that kind of love,” you replied, still unable to meet his gaze.

You never expected to reveal yourself like that to TP. Wheeler? Maybe. Even Kat seemed like a probable option, but not the boss himself. And especially not at this stage of his story. Yet he was there, willing to listen, and that was enough. You would deal with the consequences later, in your mind that would undoubtedly rebel against such a display of fragility.

“I don’t want it to sound patronizing… but you’re still young. There might be someone else for you along the line if Neil-” his voice broke through your reverie as you interrupted him with a start.

“I know” finally, you raised your head again, showing the sincerity of expression, “But something tells me it’s him or nothing. Call it fate or insanity” biting back a dry chuckle, you felt a single tear form in the corner of your eye.

That was something you have spent most of the time thinking about. At the start, you desperately wanted to believe that you would get over this. That it was just another disappointment, and like before, eventually you would forget about those blue eyes and maniacal grin. But your heart knew better, constantly reminding you that it was not that simple. That Neil was not someone you just forget. Because how could you?

“Reality?” TP’s eyes were filled with thoughtfulness.

“Perhaps,” you cracked a smile, feeling heaviness in your heart lift by an inch.

Always something. Another yawn ended the delicate moment seconds later, making you scowl in annoyance. What was the point of tiredness when you could not even rest properly? TP laughed at your pained expression and got up:

“Now, you into the kitchen. And try to get some sleep” he offered you a hand which you took and stood up.

“I’ll try” a lie, “Thank you… for checking in and listening” sheepishly, you tried to find any words of gratitude.

“I owed you that after those hours in Oslo, filled with plans, coffees, and awful songs you’d sing to entertain us” the knowing smirk suggested that he did remember what you hoped would be forever forgotten.

MTV in Norwegian. Your knackered brain deciding that singing along to ‘Like a Virgin’ and ABBA was what had to be done to make everyone smile. Mistakes have been made.

“Don’t remind me,” TP laughed as you smacked him on the shoulder.

*** You did not sleep after you bid goodbye to TP. That night too was spent tossing and turning in bed, thinking about how everything could have crumbled so quickly. It has only been weeks since Tallinn. In fact, looking from the linear point of view, it has not even happened yet. The normal you have been enjoying the confusion of those days before Oslo when everything was difficult yet hopeful. Too good to be true, at times. Well, now you knew that those moments never lasted too long.

The next morning you quickly grabbed breakfast and sneaked into the sparring area, hoping to catch a few minutes with the punching bag before the troops would take over space. However, that day it was not meant to be.

You heard the voices as soon as you opened the airlock and entered the large room. It was divided into a few sections, each devoted to a different training exercise. To your advantage, each was also separated with a thin plastic screen. Cautiously, you approached the nearest divider, trying to determine whether your mind was not playing any tricks. After one second, you knew. TP and Neil were having a rather heated conversation on the other side of the screen. A sparring ground was the place you least expected to encounter them. And yet… You wanted to turn away and leave before more damage could be done, but the moment you heard the boss’s voice, you froze on the spot:

“Why are you so hard on her?” TP’s question rung out clear in the highly domed room “The only crime she has committed was falling in love with you. I don’t think that’s worth all that pain you’re inflicting”

There was no doubt as to who he meant. Your heart sank. Oh my god. On one hand, it was encouraging to know someone was fighting for your side and pointing out the unnecessary torture Neil was so keen on. But the fact that they were discussing the nature of your feelings was terrifying. Listening on felt wrong, yet you could not move away.

“It would be better for her if she hadn’t” Neil’s cold tone made your blood turn to ice.

There was something frightening in how distant he sounded. As though he was nothing like the man you fell in love with, only a cold impostor that borrowed his face and voice. He was right.

“Why? You told me that you love-” TP’s voice rose, incredulity tinging every single word.

Neil told him his feelings. You expected that, and it still felt like a punch. You leaned on the wall for support.

“It doesn’t matter what I said” the biting edge to Neil’s voice was new, “Or how I feel. The sooner she gets over it, the better for all of us” he threw it without caution, as though he was done with your bullshit.

With the fact that you were stupid enough to love him. He did not want your love. Never did. The crushing weight on your chest would not give way.

“You’re cruel” TP was surprised, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

“That’s mercy” Neil was begging for the conversation to be over, “Cruelty would be letting her entertain the idea that we can...” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Christ. All those nights spent wishing for answers, and when they came you wanted to forget you ever heard it. It was foolish to believe anything could ever happen between you.

“But why? Neil, you are in love with her” TP raised his voice yet again, utterly done with whatever the blonde bastard was doing.

You could not care less. Nothing mattered anymore. But you did not expect the very next punch. Or the pain you would feel.

“I’m not” clear-cut rejection; nothing to interpret “I don’t love her. There’s no need to look at me like I’m a monster”

Enough. You heard enough. The pain was as bad as ever as you walked away. Your mind set on one simple thing - tea. Yes, that would solve it.

*** Going to the galley felt as though you were stuck within a dream you could not shake off. Half-aware of your surroundings, you nearly walked into Dominic, whose survival instincts kept him off your path. Muttering apologies, you undid the zip lock and sauntered into the kitchen without a care in the world. With a start, you noticed Kat sat at the table. She gave you a welcoming half-smile as she sipped the tea from the metal cup. Your autopilot stuttered, overwhelmed by the company. Blocking off any attempts at thinking, you followed the muscle memory. Setting the kettle on. Putting teabag into the mug. Earl Grey because it reminded you of those morning kisses in London. No. Wrong memory. You shook your head, waiting for the water to boil. The fridge was too loud, the buzz making thoughts appear. Sighing, you leaned on the counter. Your eyes were burning, the sensation increasing with every single blink. It was alright. So why did it feel like the world was ending?

The kettle switched off. Without sparing a single thought to the reality, you poured the water in, watching with fascination as the teabag floated up. Kat’s spoon let out a clink as she placed it on the edge of the plate. You jumped up, startled. That was enough to break through your carefully woven barrier. The thoughts came rushing in. Neil didn’t love you. Your chest tightened as the next breath came out strained. The air was gone. Your hands shook as you tried to take out the teabag. Fuck. Everything was over. A single gasp was all you could manage before you shattered. The tears fell down your cheeks in a steady stream, blurring everything with tragedy. Choked sobs shook your frame as you desperately tried to hold on. To sanity. To reality. Anything to make the pain go away. But it would not disappear, only getting stronger. As though through the glass, you could hear someone say your name. Voice tinted with worry and urgency. But you did not care. The sobs turned into a howl as you slid down to the floor. The sounds coming from your throat sounded foreign and harsh, tearing at your vocal cords mercilessly. Oh my god. That was the break you always feared. There was no end to tears falling down your cheeks onto the floor and beneath your shirt. Slowly breathing became almost impossible, forcing out those pathetic half sniffles that only made everything worse. You wanted to do something. Anything. To make it stop. To forget. To lose the ability to feel things. Your fingers clawed at nothingness, barely losing against the desire to make all that internal pain physical. By any means necessary. Because then at least you could blame it on something concrete. And not just heartbreak. A word you despised because it sounded weak. Stupid. Easily avoidable for everyone but not you. A lost cause. A failure.

“Hey…” warm fingers gently touched your shoulder.

You raised your head. The pounding headache and lack of oxygen, making everything seem twice as difficult. Kat’s blue eyes bore into yours with concern. You have made quite the show. Self-preservation told you to get up and leave, save yourself some shame. But you would not even know where to go. Or what to do. You did not trust yourself to make reasonable choices.

“Are you alright?” Kat’s voice brought you back to the present moment.

An anchor. Maybe this could work… She was still eyeing you closely, unsure about how to act but wanting to be helpful.

“Mmmm no,” you sent her a broken smile, grateful for the handkerchief she handed, “But it’s okay. Sorry about this. I didn’t mean to-” you gestured vaguely, knowing she would catch on.

Tears were still flowing steady, threatening with dehydration should this continue. But at least the wailing subsided to quiet sobs interrupting your sentence every few words.

“Don’t apologise, we all break sometimes,” Kat squeezed your shoulder, joining you on the floor, “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was tempting. Even if terrifying. But you felt like maybe she could be the listener you needed. Someone objective enough, without any ties to Neil or you. Someone safe to confide in that would keep your secrets in safekeeping. But…

“What if someone comes in?” grasping the most idiotic of excuses, you glanced at the airlock with apprehension.

You could just about imagine what would have happened should Neil walk in during your conversation. Your heart would not take it.

“We’ll just tell them to leave,” Kat’s cheeky tone made you turn to her, “I think they’re all a little afraid of me for some reason,” she added, with a small smirk.

She crossed her long legs and sat next to you with both your backs supported by the cupboard doors.

“As they should be,” you replied, feeling strangely at ease, considering everything.

That spark in her eyes was worth the stress over being too forward for someone you barely knew.

“So…” she nudged you with her shoulder as further encouragement.

There was no more escaping it. You took a deep breath, urging your heart to stay strong. Words started spilling out without sense or order.

“Is just... the world is potentially ending in a few days, and here I am crying over the fact that someone doesn’t love me” your throat contracted upon the word as though it was forbidden “I should’ve known better. He never could want someone like me because why would he” more tears as you realised the ultimate truth “I’m not extraordinary. It all feels so stupid, pathetic. But I can’t get over it because I still love him. And I don’t know how to stop” you finished the rant on a sob that forced you to cover your face with your hands.

There it was. Out in the open. You wondered how you could have ever been naïve enough to think your feelings could be reciprocated. For him, it was just a crush. Amplified by the troubles you had to face and the recent difficulties. Nothing more. You were conveniently there when he needed someone to lean on. But if it came to it, he would never choose you.

“It’s about Neil, isn’t it?” something in her voice made you meet her gaze.

You were that obvious, huh? A panicked thought convinced you that everyone on the bloody ship knew about your weakness for the blonde bastard. Yes, even that mess sergeant that always gave you a sorry smile when you approached the counter at mealtimes. Before you could spiral down another wretched rabbit hole, you asked the most innocent of questions:

“How do you know?”

There was no point in trying to convince Kat she got it wrong. She seemed to consider something for a moment before she looked at you with newly found resilience:

“Let me tell you a story,”

You quirked your eyebrow, confused and intrigued. Might as well… Nodding at her silent question, you rested your head against the cupboard. Dried tears tinged your chapped lips with salt.

“When we were in Oslo, staying in a hotel for two nights, TP went out, and Neil stayed with me” she set up the scene with a neutral tone, “We talked a lot about everything really. He asked me about Andrei...” you glanced at Kat, noticing a passing grimace, “Normally I would shut off, but there was that calm curiosity about him, and I didn’t mind saying too much” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

You knew the feeling well, always telling Neil too much because he was such an excellent listener. Confiding even the darkest of secrets and thoughts never felt like anything significant when he reacted with that same confidence and acceptance. That was one of the reasons why the fall was unavoidable.

“Neil has that sort of effect on people,” you returned her smile, shrugging slightly.

Kat patted your hand gently, noting the look on your face. The infatuation and yearning you could not get rid of whenever you did as much as spare a thought towards him.

“I can tell... the point is that he mentioned you, as well” your eyes widened as she paused, “His friend, as he referred to you but not without stumbling over the word a little” she grinned upon your struck expression, “He told me about your role in this. That you’re an asset, excellent sharpshooter, brave as hell and equally reckless at times” my god

You blushed, feeling Kat’s taxing gaze. Friend? Suppose that’s one way of introducing you to people. It was fascinating to know that even after the mess of Tallinn, Neil valued your contributions to the mission. That he would mention you to anyone. Favourably, at that.

“Sounds about right,” frowning, you pondered the implications of her words, “So you knew who I was that morning on the bridge?” the sudden realisation felt refreshing.

That explained her looks directed at you and Neil back then. The visible consternation about the matter of your relationship.

“Yes, it clicked pretty quickly” upon your perplexed gaze, she picked up the story, “I could tell that there was more underneath all the praise. There was that longing in his eyes and a spark that lit up only for you,” Kat added, smiling as you gasped, “I asked whether love was allowed in your line of business” there was boldness in her eyes that made your heart clench. Something important was coming, “He said yes, but it’s dangerous and best avoided. Only that’s not always possible. Sometimes it gets you, and before you realise you can’t breathe another word without missing that one essential person. Your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore, and nothing can be done” oh my god.

You stared at the floor as her words sunk in. It felt surreal, as though you have wandered into a dream. A good one. But dreams could only last so long… Shaking off the haze, you glanced at the woman sat next to you. She was observing you with an enigmatic smirk gracing her features.

“He said that?” your voice came out raspy.

Just a clarification. In case you have misunderstood. But Kat was not surprised.

“Yes,” she nodded, that same sympathetic expression on her face, “Considering what I’ve seen with you and him... there’s only one person he could’ve meant” your heart dropped, as though unused to the idea “I understood it that morning on the bridge when despite the awkwardness, he was willing to defy everyone else for your sake”

Your mind wandered back. Neil’s constant presence by your side, his hand touching the small of your back and then staying there for longer than necessary. His support and trust placed in your hands without hesitation. Right now, even something that insignificant felt unattainable. But it did happen. Could it be that he meant you? Unable to withstand the whirlwind of emotions, you stood up. Pacing in the tiny room, a protest came up, spilling out of your mouth:

“But I just heard him tell TP that he doesn’t love me” you swallowed hard as the reminder of the reality hit.

It was one thing to know it. Another to put it into words once again. You felt like screaming, demanding answers from the main culprit of this whole mess. But it was too dangerous. Another heartbreak could be lethal in its consequences.

“Sometimes we lie to ourselves to save the pain” the quiet certainty of Kat’s voice kept you grounded.

It felt risky to believe that he was pushing you away out of fear. But what if… No. You met her inquisitive gaze, hoping to convey the confusion and desperation. She must have understood for she added:

“He’s still coming to check up on me every evening, and the last two days he’s been a little… strange” the meaningful pause felt like bait.

One that you did not hesitate to take.

“How do you mean?” stopping mindless trotting, you sat down on the stool.

“Quiet, wistful, as though something was troubling him, threatening to spill out if he wasn’t too careful” a long taxing look; it sounded familiar, “Trust me, I don’t mean to give you false hope, I just thought you should know that before deciding on any further action” Kat got up and approached you.

Placing a hand on your shoulder, she squeezed it. You felt immensely grateful. Even if a little speechless… Because all of that was a lot to take in. You desperately needed a long afternoon spent in bed, staring at the ceiling and processing the eventful morning. Was it still morning?

“It means a lot, I’m not sure how I could repay you” finding the words again, you gave her a helpless smile.

“Just try to be happy. And don’t give up on things that seem too good to be true. Sometimes those are most worth keeping around” the depth of melancholy in her eyes was startling, “What will you do now?” the tentative tone assured you of the intent behind the question.

It was Kat’s way of saying: don’t do anything stupid. You could not promise that to anyone. The wounds were too fresh; emotions barely kept under control. Anything could happen. But you did not want to alarm her.

“I’m not sure. Think, probably” an unconvincing nonchalance had to do, as unprecedented honesty took voice “But I’m beginning to realise that if I won’t be able to… have him… I’ll just let him be. He deserves the best more than anybody else” you finished the thought and met her eyes.

A passing shock you found there was intriguing. As though your words reminded her of something, and she needed an additional moment to recover. God knows what sort of secrets everybody held on this god-forsaken ship… If the weight of the past and the unsaid could sink boats, it would have been long over. For everyone.

*** You thanked the gods (and Ives) for letting the topic of the lock wait out a little longer. Instead, the next morning’s meeting concerned the splinter unit, the who, and the how. As a result for once, no voice has been raised throughout the two hours spent on the bridge. Nothing much has been decided, but you did not mind. The burden of the last few days rested on your shoulders, preventing sleep or any form of relaxation. The word ‘tired’ did not even begin to describe it. But duties had to be put ahead of any personal issues and so you took part in the confab as usual. Seeing Neil after everything felt like a stab straight in the heart. His silence and the complete lack of acknowledgment of your existence were the added twist of the hilt.

The moment the meeting was over, you bolted out of the door in desperate need of fresh air. It was bound to rain later as the entire deck was covered in strange puddles that formed out of nothing. Perks of inversion and all that. Lost in thoughts concerning the locks, blonde bastards, and the torture of love as a concept and a feeling, you forgot about the golden rule of inverted rainfalls in the making – caution upon stepping on the wet surfaces. Turning around the corner, your foot slipped. Fuck. All you could do was flail your hands helplessly while praying that the fall will not be painful and that it will not detach the oxygen tank. Suffocation was not the death of your choice.

Suddenly the fall was interrupted with a strong grip on your waist. Hands pulling you upright, back to standing. The hold felt familiar. And forbidden. Turning to face the saviour, you were struck by the sight of the blue eyes that haunted your every waking hour. Every dream too. He was close, with hands wrapped around your waist securely. Somehow this felt worse than the fall. You half expected Neil to let go any second now, step away and yell at you for being clumsy. Or maybe just for existing. But he was still there. One of his hands slipped down onto your hip. Speechless, you kept on gazing into his eyes, trying to understand what was going on. All you could see was increasing the confusion. Desire. The boundless depths were drawing you in. Neil pulled you closer. Something in his face made you believe that if it was not for the oxygen masks, he would have kissed you. His gaze roamed across your features, intense, relentless, as though he could never have enough of you. It felt like being stripped bare, left exposed and vulnerable. Despite trying, you were unable to put up a guard, showing him all that he was not supposed to know instead. Everything you tried to hide and deny, bury deep inside so it could be forgotten. Well not anymore… Whatever Neil saw in your eyes woke him up. You noticed a passing frown, replaced with increasing shock. And then horror. What the hell. Before you could even process what happened, he let go and took a hasty step back. He looked sick, pale with fear and panic. Then, just as you tried to find any relevant words, Neil spoke:

“Be more careful next time,” cold and curt as though nothing happened.

He walked off briskly, disappearing into the darkness of the training grounds. What the fuck? A single drop flew up from the deck, splashing onto your chin. The rain has begun. You felt strange. Suddenly mourning the fact that you have been saved from suffocation. It would have been simpler. Less painful. Less terrifying.

*** No matter the hours passing by, or the thousands of different grounding techniques you have attempted, nothing was helping. Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, you wanted a multitude of things. To get blackout drunk in the hope of forgetting this morning ever happened. (You checked the galley, utterly disappointed to have found nothing with the necessary voltage). You wanted to talk to someone, briefly considering visiting Kat further down the corridor. But that would have meant being even more vulnerable. And a burden. So nope. At one point, you once again considered marching outside without the mask, letting the inverted lung membranes and fucked up rain do the rest. But you did not want to end the life itself. That was not all that bad. You liked your job, the various people you have met along the way. It was only that the current predicament was… unbearable. There had to be a different option.

Then mindless pacing replaced the stillness of lying down. Window, door, and back again. To be repeated for at least an hour. Your thoughts swirling around everything that has been said. Everything that happened. Kat’s story. The look in Neil’s eyes. What if… what if? The unknowns kept multiplying in your head, driving you insane with the extent of what you did not understand. You always hated those moments of suspense. Unsure whether to give up, let go and try to move on, or to keep trying, hoping. Your heart could never process them well without breaking and shattering into millions of pieces. Fuck.

There was one way out of it. One that you tried to push to the back of your head for the few past hours because it was too terrifying. But you were slowly running out of alternatives. One look out of the window told you that you had spent at least six hours like this. It would not do. It was either him or nothing. But you could not survive the insufferable without knowing which one it was. Taking a deep breath, you stopped in the middle of the cabin. This is it. You knew what had to be done. You put on the sweater as though in a trance, making sure to repeat silly affirmations in the quiet of your mind. It had to be alright. If it wasn’t, there were always the seals left…

The walk down the short corridor felt like ascending the steps to the guillotine. Only whatever might happen could be worse than beheading. Your hand shook as you rapped on the door to Neil’s cabin. The sound felt like the worst mistake you ever made. It was too late to turn back. After a very long moment, you heard shuffling inside. When the door opened, you were shocked by a few observations all at once. Neil’s eyes were reddened, hair in absolute disarray. When he realised that you were the intruder, his hands automatically went to smooth the strands in some way. Making even more mess in the process. In any different situation, you would have found that endearing. But your heart was too heavy. You eyed him instantaneously, gaze slipping over the fitting black thermal shirt and the joggers with narrowed cuffs. Not helpful. As you glanced back at his face, you noticed the intensifying confusion. That was the chance to speak…

“Can I come in?” a tentative start to make him more likely to agree.

The shock in his blue eyes slowly changed into careful curiosity. Neil gave you a once-over before opening the door wider and stepping back.

“Of course. Friends are allowed to visit each other” a hint of impatience as though he already had enough.

But that was not the most infuriating bit…

“Friends?” you crossed the threshold and met his eyes with the face of stone, “Sure, that’s one way of looking at what we are” the lack of reaction was inspiring, “Or were” you took a look around his room.

Equally small cabin, littered with a few personal objects. His was phone abandoned on the bedside table, a change of clothes on the floor. A naïve idiot would have taken a moment to consider the fact that maybe he was not as well as you thought. But you were past that, desperate to get answers. A reaction. An end to this madness. With resolve ever-increasing, you sat down on the edge of Neil’s bed, ready for the battle ahead. Meeting his perplexed gaze, you let the penny drop:

“I wonder with how many friends have you been kissing on the bed for two hours” a flash of recognition and then a frown.

As expected. But it still hurt.

That moment from the afternoon before the morning plane to Tallinn was one you often replayed in those desperate hours when nothing seemed to help. You were lying in bed in your room back in London, enjoying each other’s company, exchanging kisses like compliments every few minutes. Sometimes Neil would let his hands become more daring in their caress, causing goosebumps all over your skin. Bringing out sighs and making your heart overflow with love and hope that you finally found what you have been looking for. You felt wanted. You talked a lot about the future, sharing different ridiculous plans for how it could play out. Neil promised to visit your prospective farm with the sheep and dogs. Back then, judging by the look in his eyes, you dared dream that perhaps he would want to be a part of those days still to come. Now, looking at the blonde man awkwardly perching on the chair in front of you, nothing made sense. He stayed for the night then, allowing you to hug him close until the morning. You woke up first, watching him for a few minutes. The steady rise and fall of his chest. Relaxed face with hair sticking up. Calm and content. The warmth spreading from your heart inspired you to press a kiss to his lips as a means of wake up. The sight of Neil sleepy-eyed, peering up at you with a fond smile gracing his features was worth much. Maybe even the current tortures…

Facing him now, you could see the frown deepen.

“Painful memory?” you countered, watching him closely for any hints.

A mask was put on well. But there were flashes of something there. A potential… A possibility of getting burned too.

“In a way,” Neil grimaced, avoiding your piercing gaze.

He was uncomfortable, mindlessly picking on the skin around his nails and tapping his foot. That was the signal to keep on pushing. Until he would be forced to be honest.

“That’s a shame. It’s one of my favourite ones” as he looked up, you offered a deadpan smile, “Just like Oslo,” a shrug complemented with a quick scan of his body, “Though I’m not sure about that… ending,” feigning thoughtfulness you ended the harsh scrutiny.

The point was to back him up against the wall without making him throw you out. That tiny voice at the back of your head told you that he would have done that already if you were not in any way important. That voice was too confident.

“What is your point?” Neil bit back, betraying the level of annoyance you have brought with the innocent reminder.

You knew there was no more skirting around the issue. Now or never.

“Why did you do that earlier? Why did you hold me like...” you trailed off, unable to put into words what it felt like.

Like what? Like a lover. Like someone you actually cared about and not just an irritation. Like someone you could want in your life. But you could never say that to him.

“I was being a gentleman” Neil glanced at you with painfully fake indifference, “Women tend to appreciate that,” a shrug that could not fool you.

Women. The spark of jealousy burned bright. Because what if you were just another distraction. Nothing special. But then the things he said to Kat suggested otherwise. You held onto that thought and squared your shoulders. The game was on.

“...Right,” a sceptical glance in his direction before you continued, “Was that look gentlemanly too? Because last time I checked, gentlemen didn’t tend to look at women as though they wanted to…” trailing off, you awaited the response.

That would mean he took the bait. And the case was not yet lost.

“What?” the lazy tone made you meet Neil’s gaze.

He looked… off. As though before you knocked, he was not exactly fine. It was that nervousness and unkempt appearance that betrayed him. On its own accord, your heart gave out a painful thump, anticipating the fact that Neil too might have been hurting. But why? Ignoring the distraction, you found the needed words and dropped them carelessly.

“Devour them” you held his gaze confidently.

The verb felt right. As though Neil was not trusting his instincts, he looked down, breaking the contact. Putting up further guards. Bingo. He scoffed, throwing in cruelty to the mix:

“And here I was thinking you’re over… this” a vague hand gesture to show what this meant.

You. And him. That something that both was there and was not. Or rather, he wanted it to cease to exist. Only it was not that easy.

“I never said that” putting on the necessary emphasis, you kept on staring at him until he looked up.

Mouth open for another quip. That same steel-blue eyes and clenched jaw. Whatever you have been doing was working. Slowly aggravating him to the point of discomfort. You had to keep the upper hand. Neil seemed to consider something, restlessly fiddling with a pen he picked up from the bedside table. After a beat, he spoke up:

“Why are you here?” weariness in his eyes as he gave out a long exhale.

Easy question… right?

“Because I want answers” it could not be any simpler.

He flinched, letting you see the extent of panic hidden underneath the annoyance and casualness.

“What makes you think I’ve got them?” an arched eyebrow adding the mocking intonation.

The meter of space between you felt like an ocean. He was close enough for you to brush away the strand that has fallen into his eye if you only leaned in. And yet so far that you felt alone, alienated by the cold scrutiny. You had to keep going, tearing at the carefully build up armour hiding him away from you.

“Because you always have words. An abundance of them” you waited till he looked at you again before pressing on “Be it things you probably wish I have forgotten that you have once whispered between kisses” a pause, noticing the boundless unease in the blue eyes “Or all those lovely adjectives you have given me the last couple of days” using the moment of hesitation, you added, “But maybe you were right, and I am stupid, emotional-”

You could give him the whole litany. Your legacy. Exactly how much you were worth in Neil’s eyes. Unless it was a lie…? Before you could begin, Neil raised his hand, interrupting sharply:

“Okay, I get your point” no pride in that frown, almost as though he regretted it, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that” the apology took you by surprise.

As did the sudden change in his face. Neil held your gaze with unusual sheepishness. As if even the act of looking at you was dangerous. Tearing the skin from his lower lip, he was the epitome of insecurity. There was no time to falter.

“Everything?” you prodded, mindful of the poker face you had to maintain.

You could not lose him now. Neil hesitated for a short moment before responding:

“Yes,” another second of eye contact, and he got up, impatiently touching the doorknob “If this is all you wanted, then I’d rather be alone-”

No. You leaped up, reaching out before he could finish the sentence. As your hand landed on his forearm, his eyes snapped to you in shock. He was not expecting you to breach the touch barrier. But there was no other choice. With heart hammering in your chest, you felt your throat tighten. Please not now…

“No,” emotions exposed in the tiny voice crack, “Neil, I’m tired of this, of you not making any fucking sense and expecting me to accept it” pleading, you let your fingers wrap around his wrist.

That had to do. Judging by the terror in his eyes, it was already too much. You could feel your resolve waning. Terrified of the consequences if this backfired. Of what you would have to do if he rejected you once and for good. Of the pain you would have to face then. But you had to be brave. He swallowed hard. You wondered what caused the goosebumps on his skin.

“If this is about earlier, then you’re blowing it out of proportion. Be more reasonable” there was a raw edge to his voice that was new.

You were close now. Enough to force Neil to stare at the ground to avoid looking at you. You noticed those dark circles under his eyes. And the tension spilling out in waves. He was scared of you. And that was a horrifying discovery. Your eyes were burning as you begged your heart to hold on. You had to survive this.

“It’s not just that” betraying the nerves, you took a greedy inhale, “It’s what you told Kat in Oslo. It’s how you look at me” following potentially disastrous instincts, you tipped his chin to meet his eye, “It’s all those sudden switches when you seem so cold and calculating and yet so separated from the real you” running out of breath, you could only stare at Neil.

The widened eyes and parted lips told you exactly how shocked he was. You did feel bad for bringing Kat into it. The argument was too strong to let it go. And it worked if his silent panic was anything to go by. He was desperately searching for words, unable to tear his eyes away from yours as though what you said was a binding charm.

“Why do you think you know the real me?” finally, Neil settled upon the question.

One last attempt at making you forgo this madness. Only there was nothing convincing in his delivery. Eyes hazed, showing you fear and uncertainty. A blood droplet on the lower lip where he tore through the skin. Ignoring the most innate of desires to wipe it off, you cupped his cheek. Neil gasped, frozen in the spot. Could it be working? Sliding your hand down, you interlocked your fingers with his. Everything felt surreal. As if you were not a part of the scene. But you had to persist. To finish what you started.

“Because you once told me that you’ve never lied to me. That I’m very important. Your everything, even” your voice broke again on the last sentence as you tightened your hold over Neil’s hand, “And I understand that you could have changed your mind, but…” you hesitated, feeling him shudder.

Oh my god. Your heart broke for the umpteenth time as the fact dawned on you. Neil was shivering slightly as though he was cold. But there was no draft. Nothing to cause it apart from your presence, words, and the physical touch. A choked sob built up in your throat.

“…why are you trembling when all I’m doing is holding your hand? Am I that revolting?” the questions were interrupted by a sniff you could not hold back any longer; there was time for honesty, “The last few days have been awful, making me want to stupid things just to feel something different than heartbreak. I’m not saying that to get your pity, but if I got it all so wrong then tell me now. Because I’m not sure I can survive much longer like this” after finishing the speech, the tears trailed down your cheeks uninvited.

It was all there for him. Nothing to add. Your heart was beating fast, blood pounding in your ears. For a second, you felt suspended in time, unable to do anything but stare at Neil, who seemed utterly speechless. And then his face fell. Eyes fell shut as he let out a heart-shattering whimper. Tears started falling down his face as you tried to brush them away. You have not seen him that broken since the aftermath of TP’s death. He tugged his hand out of your hold to cover his face, turning away. Christ… The searing pain was back, this time making your heart bleed for Neil. You did not know what to do, powerless and paralyzed with a multitude of thoughts and feelings. After a minute which felt like an eternity, Neil faced you again with red-rimmed eyes and tragedy in his gaze. That was the needed wake-up. Stepping back into action, you placed your hand on his chest. Just over the beating heart. A gentle encouragement.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that it’s over because I still…” the breathless words tinged with panic and struggle as he fought for every gust of air, “I can’t keep on…” another sob, shaking his whole body “You’re…” a sharp intake followed by instant defeat.

Immeasurable anguish in Neil’s eyes was another reason to find the strength you did not know you had. Maybe it was worth it.

“What? I’m here with you and willing to listen. To do anything but please just make me understand” holding back more tears, you made sure he saw the determination painted on your face.

Slowly you were coming to terms with the reality. You would do anything for him. Anything he asked.

“I don’t know how to…” Neil trailed off, looking for answers all over the floor and ceiling, “I’m tired of having to pretend when you’re all I…” a moment of hesitation as his eyes widened.

He did not intend to say that much. You’re all I… what? Before you could find ways of pressing on, he turned away again and sat down on the bed. A frown etched deep into his forehead. Eyebrows furrowed. Eyes glistening with unshed tears. This was bad. Awkwardly, you shifted from one foot to another. Words were escaping you both.

“Then don’t. I won’t bite” your useless quip was received with an ill-disguised dry chuckle, “Call it naïve, but I don’t think it’s anything we can’t fix if we…” shit.

You knew what was there on the tip of your tongue. It was too early. Fuck knows if he even… But he had to. There was no other force in the universe that could cause this much pain.

“If what?” Neil caught your mistake with strange emotion in his eyes.

As though he wanted you to spell it out. You could not give in. Some words had the potential to destroy, and it was too fragile. A freshly opened wound you still had to mend somehow.

“Don’t make me say it again” a whisper to make him understand your actions.

After a beat, Neil nodded. He seemed exhausted, slouching and staring at the floor unseeingly. That feeling of helplessness threatened to come back with force as you were running out of ideas to make it work. To get him back somehow. Then his voice broke the tense silence:

“Christ…” a long exhale before he looked at you again, “I don’t even know where to begin, but…” resignation passed through his face.

You felt a strange spark of hope flicker in the depths of your heart. It did not look like rejection. It did not look like anything you have ever experienced, and yet it made so much sense. Because after everything you have been through, there was no way this could be easy. Kindling that building fire, you cautiously took a step forward, maintaining the eye contact:

“Yes?” the most neutral of tones, holding the emotions at bay.

Everything not to scare him off. You made it so close. You could give up now. A hint of a sad smile upon Neil’s lips was encouraging…

“Come closer. I want to…” he reached out a hand you gladly took, letting him pull you nearer.

It did not matter what he wanted. Only that you could give it to him. Anything. Everything. Upon the sudden surge of courage, you covered the remaining inches of space and straddled his lap in one smooth movement. Another gasp as Neil glanced at you with obvious amazement. Then, as though he worried that even this was too much, he looked down at where his hands tentatively settled on your hips. This position was familiar. And yet, you felt different, unable to make sense of the myriad of emotions and thoughts occupying your mind. All that mattered was Neil. His hesitant but intimate hold. The hair falling into his eyes. Shallow breaths escaping through the parted lips.

“It’s alright, look at me,” gently you lifted his chin so that you could meet his gaze.

Blue eyes full of longing. For you. Exhaling sharply, you knew well enough what to do. You wound your hands around his waist, drawing him into a tight embrace. That too felt natural. After a second, Neil relaxed, melting into your hug as if that was exactly what was missing. At that moment, with head resting in the crook of his neck, at last feeling as though there was a point in all this, your eyes welled up. No matter the suffering, this had to be it. Your everything. Neil breathed you in, warm puffs of air causing shivers all over your body. There was no point in pretending.

“Please come back to me,” you whispered against his skin, letting tears trail onto his shirt.

Neil tightened his hold, hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer. All it took was a kiss he pressed onto the exposed skin of your collarbone to make you tremble.

“I never left,” the hesitancy told you he did not believe it either.

“You did. But maybe… I’ll do anything to have you back” the urgency in your voice causing Neil to lean back.

He wiped the stray tears from your cheeks, taking an additional moment to caress your neck with tenderness. You could only lean into his touch, feeling as though whatever might happen has already been decided. There was no way you could let this go. Neil seemed to consider something quickly before he spoke:

“All those words… they fail me when I’m trying to explain what I was doing” his voice was raspy with the weight of emotions, “Or why. Because I’m scared of making it come true. It’s as if once I say it… it might…” he paused, searching for words in your eyes.

“Become real?” you offered, running your fingers through his unruly hair.

You were right. It was all an act. The elation was restrained by worry and love. It didn’t matter.

“Yeah…” Neil swallowed hard, “And then there’s all this mess in my head… The thoughts that just won’t shut up. I’m so fucking tired of… of-” the familiarity of his words causing another flash of pain within your heart “I can’t ask you to-” he cut himself off as though the idea was unspeakable.

You caught a sight of something darker within his gaze. They always said that actions speak louder than words…

“Neil, I said I’ll do anything. I mean it. What do you need?” you met his panicked eyes with resilience.

It took him a longer minute to stop staring at you. To wake up. And then, as simple as it can be:

“You. I need you,” touching his forehead to yours his breath ghosted your lips, “But after everything I did, I wouldn’t expect you to want me… like that” the depth of remorse was heart-breaking.

You already knew what the answer would be. Nothing else mattered. Regrets, worries, and fears had to be abandoned for the sake of this.

“The trouble with the heart is that it doesn’t care what you’ve done. Only that this is you,” smiling lightly, you cupped his cheek, “Just… kiss me. Like you mean it. Like you could love me. And then we’ll see if we can make it work,” unsure where the words came from, you faltered.

But before any vicious doubts could step in, Neil closed the gap. His lips slowly glided over yours, reminding you what it felt like. It did not take much persuading for you to open your mouth, deepening the kiss. It felt like coming home after a long time away. Like that first step over the threshold when one is unsure what they will find. Only to realise that everything is in the right place. That they should have never left. You tangled your fingers in his hair, bringing him even closer. He groaned upon the sensation, teeth grazing over your bottom lip. A sigh escaped your throat as Neil’s hands ventured underneath the sweater. For the first time in a while, everything made sense. You tugged at his shirt just for the sake of it as a means of showing him how wrong he was. You wanted him more than before if that was possible. The kiss consuming you both with its intensity and force. Your tongues participating in their dance, brushing against each other, increasing the intimacy of the moment. It finally felt right. Slow, unhurried, but desperate. Unforgettable.

You did not even know when it ended. One moment you were willing to give up breath if only to make it last longer. The next Neil had you pinned to the bed, breathless and shocked. When you met his gaze, the depth of expression told you what it meant. Finally.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil x reader #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

118 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 3 years

Text

Someone Else Pt. 2

Hello friends! No official request for this one but a few people did say they’d like to see part two and it kind of just . . . happened ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Here’s a link to part one if you missed it!

Warnings: Language, infidelity, minor sexual content, threats/violence against the reader, so much angst oh fuck, but a happy ending so i guess it cancels out?

General Hux stares deeply at his own reflection, searching intently for any hint of this deception. His eyes travel up from the bottom of the mirror, catching the shine of his boots as they pass upwards, scanning his uniform, which—as far as he can tell—is immaculate, without a spot or wrinkle. He checks his face next (blank, impassive) before his eyes roam over his stark red hair—combed back, neat. Not a strand out of place. And yet he can’t escape the feeling deep down in his bones, the one that leaches into his consciousness every time he’s with you and she’s still lurking the back of his mind: everybody knows.

Hux rolls his eyes and gives up on the hopeless view in the mirror, sliding it back into its hiding place before turning to face you. He needs another set of eyes if he wants to know the truth. “How do I look?”

His heart stutters again when he meets your gaze—stuttering like it did when your palms brushed over his chest, your nails raking thin red lines into his already flushed skin—and thinking about it is fire in his lungs. You’re still looking disheveled: half-dressed, hair wild, and swiveling back and forth in his chair behind his desk, your feet propped up on the surface—a move that would bother him if it were anyone else but you. A smile crawls slowly across your face, your expression blissful as you respond, “you look very handsome.”

Gods, he’s blushing again. It had taken minutes for the color to drain from his face the first time, but a soft look and compliment from your parted lips and brings it all back, alerting anyone who would look at him to his red-hot shame.

And when you see it, your smile turns sad.

You drop your feet from off his desk, straightening your own uniform with a little less care than Hux had, your steps tentative as you cross the distance between his desk and where he stands by the door—only a few feet, but it feels like miles when you stop just out of his reach, wrapping your arms around yourself, holding tight . . . like he wants to hold you, again. Hux balls his hands into fists, forcing them to remain at his sides, fighting the urge to brush his fingers over the edge of your lips, trace the delicate skin of your jaw. Peel the uniform from your shoulders and snuff out all of his unease with velvet kisses. Hux silences those desires. After everything he’s put you through, he hardly deserves to breathe the same air.

You examine him with sharp eyes, willfully ignoring his inner turmoil that he’s sure you notice to focus on the matter at hand. Your inspection yields good results; you meet his eyes again with the slightest frown.

“You look the same as before,” you say, corners of your mouth pulling down further, brows furrowing, “no one will be able to tell.” Hux lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a mixture of shame and relief filling the empty space in his lungs.

Had he always been such a coward? Hux had never thought of himself as one to give into such base wants, but so far he’s been totally unsuccessful in his attempts to resist you, to bide his time until he’s dealt with the root of the problem. No, he keeps coming back, each time the last time, fucking you in cramped closets and over his desk while she’s warming his bed. Losing himself in the iridescent high of your body and ignoring the sharp pangs of your love that he leaves unopened in your waiting hands.

Silence hangs, the air full of unsaid things and your lips part—words balanced on the tip of your tongue that would pierce like knives and Hux can’t hear them because it will hurt you to say them, and he’s already caused you so much pain.

“I have to go,” he says, cutting you off before you get the chance, “Bristol will be back soon.” Her name is out of his mouth before he can think to stop it, and your face falls, a grimace crossing your features that you can’t remove quickly enough. There are tears pricking the corners of your eyes, he thinks, but he’s not close enough to know for sure. He doesn’t step any closer.

“Alright.” You swallow hard, suck in a deep breath through your nose so that he won’t see you break, but the smile you plaster on your face chips at the corners, and it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ll be here.”

The air in the room is stifling, filled with your deafening sadness, all the feelings you try to keep from him because you know it hurts him to see you like this and you care about him so damn much. You care too much. He doesn’t deserve you.

“This,” he whispers, like if he’s quiet enough he won’t have to hear himself say it either, “can’t happen again.” It’s not the first time he’s said these words to you, but it breaks you just the same. If it goes on for much longer, he’ll never have the chance to put you back together.

“I understand.” You turn towards the back wall, unwilling to let him see you cry—for his sake or yours, though, he’s not sure.

Hux leaves without saying goodbye.

No one gives him a second glance when he steps out of his office doors and into the commotion of the bridge; his worries were unfounded, just as the rational part of him knew they would be. Still, the guilt only grows as he moves through the halls of the Finalizer, on his way to greet his wife.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. After the wedding, after that night in his office when you had kissed him for the first time and everything felt right, he had made plans—how to rid himself of Bristol and Pryde, plans to keep you at his side, love you the way you deserved to be loved. Plans that had crumbled like dust between his fingers the second he stepped foot off the transport to the Alfospar system.

He couldn’t explain it at that time, the way his resolve shriveled like paper in water when he first saw that gleaming city, the towers and spires of the royal home so different from the sleek, black halls of the Finalizer, towers and spires that Bristol had walked her entire life. Now he knows what caused it: the fear that gripped his heart. Not just fear. Inadequacy. He had looked to his new wife, saw the haughty determination in her features as she surveyed the grand palace with a look of utmost boredom, and he hated her. But he hated himself even more knowing that she was capable in ways he could never dream. She was born to rule. He had done everything imaginable to earn that kind power, and still he came short.

The two weeks in the palace passed in a color-leeched blur. Hux attended meetings. He met Bristol’s family. They consummated the marriage. And he never stopped thinking about you.

When he returned to the ship, he made new plans, plans to remove his heart with surgical precision, plans that would leave him empty and miserable for the rest of his life but would save you from him.

Those plans had crumbled, too, the moment you whispered in the darkness of your quarters, “I missed you, did you miss me?” and he had been too selfish to lie. That was the first time he had fallen into your arms, let you drown out his pain without any concern for your own.

His father had been right all along. Hux is spineless. Everyone else managed to see it. He wonders how he had you fooled for so long.

______________________________

You’re having trouble adjusting to the quiet. It’s a feat of engineering, really—a true testament to his genius—that the general’s office manages to be quieter than a grave despite the teeming world of the bridge that lives just outside it. It had been the quiet that had first made his office such an appealing location for these meetings. That, and no one would question your presence here.

You had been careful from the beginning—given no indication of the affair, raised no suspicion, and had been ready to smother any rumor that might have spread. There was never a need for that kind of action; you covered your tracks. But sitting here in this demonic silence, you want to ruin it all. Turn every touch and kiss and loving look into a song, a battle cry. A death sentence. You want everyone to know what you’ve done. Maybe then you’d feel something.

Your cheeks are sticky with long-dried tears, and you try to brush them off with a sleeve, a brittle laugh escaping your lips thinking back to the day of the wedding. At the time, you had believed your heart to be broken. What a fool you used to be. How little you had known about how it feels to set your heart gently into someone else’s waiting hands and then watch them shatter it.

You stand from the chair abruptly, cutting off the image before it takes root in your mind. There’s no time for self-pity when you have work to do.

You grab your data pad from where you left it on his desk, turning the screen face you. Your heart jumps a little in your chest when you see the messages light up the screen, but you’re left feeling sour. None of them are from him.

He did that sometimes, after he left you—occasionally sent an apology, told you that he hadn’t really meant what he’d said. Sometimes he wanted to see you again, already, and you’d go searching for whatever conference room or closet he had commandeered, the warmth pooling between your legs erasing any of the harsh feelings from the moments before.

But no message this time. Maybe he had meant it. Maybe he didn’t want you like he thought you did. Maybe he never had.

You’re sure, now, that the uncertainty will eat you alive, burst from your chest like some grotesque thing and feast on every part of you, rip and tear and bite until it’s sated and you’re left in pieces. You wish it would. Death is better than waiting.

There’s a gentle beep from your data pad, and you look down again, distracted momentarily from your spiraling. It’s an urgent alert, from one of the admirals. They need your help interpreting some notes the general gave them on a recent project proposal.

You stop just before the doorway, taking in three deep breaths, letting the cool air wash away the fire of your thoughts. There would be time later to ruin yourself over this mess, when sleep evaded you in the late hours of the night cycle. For now, duty calls.

You move through the bridge with ease, reading the messages you had missed. Your eyes scan them with practiced precision, sorting them by urgency and responding to the ones you can take care of quickly as you journey deeper into the ship. It doesn’t take long for you to get lost in the process, the dark tiles passing underneath your feet unnoticed as you lose yourself in your work.

The sound of footsteps in the otherwise empty hallway pulls you out of your trance, and you look up briefly, more out of a passing curiosity rather than any real interest. Your heart grows cold when you catch her eyes, and the feeling spreads like ice over a body of water.

“Hello, your highness,” you try to keep any tension out of your voice as you address Bristol with a small bow, skirting around her in the hallway in your best attempt to avoid her sustained notice. Her eyes narrow when they focus on you, and the cold feeling shatters, the dread climbing up your legs like the water level rising in a sinking vessel.

“You,” there’s venom in her voice, a kind of hatred you never thought you’d inspire in anyone and you feel every barb of it when she latches on to you, gripping your upper arm with such strength that you can feel the indentations of her nails through the fabric of your uniform.

The wall of the hallway meets your spine as you step back, your attempted escape only leaving you trapped, chest heaving as she stares you down like a predator. It’s clear in every aspect of her being that she’s ravenous.

“Well?” she snaps, and you flinch, the durasteel biting your shoulder blades as you try to gain as much distance as you can from her, straining every muscle in your body for any kind of relief, but she won’t let you take it, pressing you into the wall. “Where is he?”

“I’m not sure where the general is right now, your highness,” you speak slowly, trying to gauge the direction of her anger, “I was under the impression that he’d gone to find you.”

The moments pass in deathly silence, and the waiting stretches each second into a lifetime, but there’s nothing comprehensible in her expression. She’s wild, animalistic, the same fierceness you’ve seen in her as a leader now morphed into something frenzied and feral. It’s only a moment before it's lost, replaced with something extinguished and icy. Her grip on your arm tightens.

“I know you’ve been fucking my husband.”

You plunge into whatever depths she’s created for you, the shock of it short-wiring your brain and all you can do is gape at her, your mind refusing to form a single thought, let alone any string of words that might convince her to believe a lie. It’s too late anyway; your expression tells her everything she needs to know.

“How dare you? Embarrassing me like this? I could end your life right here, and he’d have your replacement in his office tomorrow morning.” Each threat brings her closer until you can only see her in fragments—the corner of her mouth as she spits these vile words, the flash of fire in the depths of her eyes. Your heart rate spikes, a rush of adrenaline flooding your veins but your thoughts are still unfocused, without form or direction. Would she really kill you here, now? The look on her face tells you that she might.

You struggle uselessly against her grip, but she’s got you pinned—one hand on your shoulder and a knee at your hip. Your body goes still when you feel the whisper of metal at your throat. You didn’t know she had a blade.

“Gods, you’re just as pathetic as he is,” she laughs, quick and sharp, and the weapon quivers—you feel the gentle sting as it parts the first layers of your skin. The sting brightens as she pushes the blade further, leaning in close to whisper her parting words, “maybe you deserve each other.”

A flurry of movement clouds your vision, and the pressure lifts; in the periphery of your thoughts you can hear the blade clatter to the ground. Your knees threaten to buckle as you lean more heavily against the wall, trying to find the source of your salvation.

The general is there, but as unlike himself as you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a storm, towering over her, shaking with rage. Like a force of nature—it’s the kind of anger you’ve never seen in him before.

Time stops. Understanding crashes into you. It's like you've been blindfolded, without even knowing it, and the covering has given way to an astonishing brightness when you first comprehend what this action means. The realization staggers you.

"You don't-" he can hardly get the words out as he seethes at Bristol, speaking through clenched teeth, "don't ever-"

Bristol quivers, aghast, and it seems that she, too, is seeing her husband with new eyes.

The hallway is filled with loud, echoey beats of a heart, and you're not sure who it belongs to. It strikes you, this sudden fear that someone might be watching these events unfold, that it might be their heart making these sounds, alerting you to their presence. You search the corridor, whipping your head from side to side but there are no prying eyes, no silent watchers, and your heart settles minutely.

You turn back to the general, wondering how he'll react to the news, but his eyes are only on you.

Bristol pulls herself from Hux's grasp and the tension reshapes itself as her mood shifts again, haughty as ever.

"So," she looks between you and the general, and as much as she'd like to hide it, her anger is not gone, "you've chosen the little whore. Interesting."

Hux ignores her statement, still watching you.

"I won't stand for this," Bristol goes shrill now, attempting to pull his attention but his eyes are locked in place and you burn under his gaze. He wants something from you, a confirmation, you realize. He wants to know that you're alright.

You nod—still hesitant, not entirely sure that this is what he's asking for—and only then does he look away, turning back to Bristol with a stare so cold you feel the chill.

“The next breath you use to threaten anyone on this ship will be your last,” Hux speaks with an authority you’ve never heard him use around Bristol and she flinches, like she’s been slapped, “and you will stay away from my . . . assistant.”

His eyes flash to yours again, full of unsaid things—a kind of apology for this lapse in language, but you understand perfectly. There are no words to describe what he means to you, either.

Bristol laughs, one short barking sound, and you know she means to demoralize him, but Hux stands firm, unaffected. “You think you can scare me with empty threats? I’m sorry to say that I’m unimpressed. If only your father were here to see this-”

“But my father isn’t here,” Hux interrupts her, “he’s dead. Because I ordered it. And you should know,” he steps closer to her, his voice a deadly whisper, and she shrinks, “my threats are never empty.”

Bristol quivers slightly, unable to hide her fear and you don’t blame her. She gives up on threatening the general and looks to you instead, her eyes flashing with one last weak attempt to intimidate you before she stalks off, leaving the corridor empty.

You search for something—anything—to say, your mouth gaping open as the general turns to look at you, but there’s nothing, your mind blank and empty of any feelings small enough to be condensed into a few words.

There’s no need to shrink your feelings; before you can say anything, Hux has bridged the distance between you, pulling you into his arms with more force than you thought possible. It’s both suffocating and liberating—your lungs struggling for their next breath but your mind is euphoric when you can feel the press of him against you.

He has a hand around your waist, one cupped against the back of your head, and you can feel his whispered apologies as they brush against your hairline, followed by the slow drag of his lips. A low thrill crawls over your skin. How long had it been since he said he’d never touch you again? You’d live through that pain a thousand times if it meant you could experience this.

“Are you alright?” he pulls away slightly, just enough that he can look at you, the pad of his gloved thumb wiping away the thin streak of blood left by Bristol’s blade. His touch ghosts along the injury, but you still feel the sting, unable to hide the way you wince in response.

His thumb stills as soon as he catches the flicker of pain, and there’s deep fountains of regret pooling in his eyes, a sadness so complete you can’t fathom it.

“I’m- I’ll never be able to say,” he swallows, pulls in a shuddering breath, and you feel his hands threaten to part from you but you only hold him tighter, anchoring him to you, “how sorry I am for the way I’ve treated you.”

The anguish spills over, and he’s crying in your arms a second time, quick tremors shaking his shoulders. You can’t collect the tears fast enough, brushing them away with shaking hands, silencing his fears with soft whispers.

“I love you,” he says through hiccuped speech, “and I always have. And, if you’ll have me-” you silence his doubts with a searing kiss. For you, there has never been—never could be—anyone else.

#armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux oneshot #general hux fanfic #general hux angst #armitage hux oneshot #armitage hux fanfiction #armitage hux angst #my writing #tw infidelity

119 notes · View notes

myownworstenemyyy · 4 years

Text

Crystal Clear - Part 2

a Javier Peña x Reader series

Word count: 2.3k (gif by @notsogreatgifs)

Warnings: alcohol ; situation involving someone cheating on their partner ; ANGST

A/N: surprise! i decided to make a mini-series out of this story (a continuation of this ask) because i just can't stop myself 😂 and I'm procrastinating writing for my other series sooo this is from Javi’s POV so enjoy the angst y’all! 💕💜 (masterlist in bio)

AO3 | fic inspired by the song Crystal Clear by Hayley Williams

I jump in with the rush in my head only to find the water was concrete

She’s engaged, Javi repeats in his head for the hundredth time since he discovered the ring on your finger. Downing his third glass of whiskey, all he can think about is the look on your face after you kissed him earlier that day.

The kiss starts out slow, almost tentative as your lips connect for the first time - is this really the first time we’ve kissed? Fuck, I’ve wasted so much time, Javi thinks when you thread your fingers through his hair. It only takes a second before he’s gripping your hips and tugging you even closer to his chest, a gasp falling from your lips when he swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips.

As soon as you open for him, he loses his fucking mind - every desire he’s kept locked away takes form in the desperate way his mouth devours yours. But the passion isn’t one-sided, because every time your lips break apart, your hands flex along his scalp, closing the small gap between you once more.

Your mouths move hungrily against each other, like the two of you have been wandering through a desert for weeks, slowly dying of an agonizing thirst until finally discovering the source of life within one another. And that’s the only way Javier can describe how he’s truly felt about you all this time - like he’s been suffocating and you’re the air he’s been gasping for, for his entire life.

All the yearning and sorrow he’s suffered from years without acting on his feelings for you leave him in a state of depravity that no other woman he’s ever been with could cure. And no matter how hard he tried - how much liquor he drank or how many women he fucked - he could never force you out of his mind.

Or out of his heart.

Suddenly, you pull back from the kiss, pushing against his shoulders to keep him at a distance. He grips onto your arm - not unlike the way you had held onto his arm just before admitting you couldn’t deny feeling something for him.

Your eyes grow impossibly wide as the two of you stare at one another, chests heaving and breaths mingling in the little space that’s between you. He licks his lips, still tasting you on his skin and it takes everything in him not to pull you into his arms again.

“I-” you swallow hard, your expression growing more worrisome, almost to the point of looking like you’re about to be sick. Your eyes fall to where your left hand rests on his shoulder as you croak out, “We shouldn’t have done that.”

With a look of concern, Javier raises his hand to tuck back stray pieces of hair that have fallen out of your ponytail, but once his finger grazes your cheek, you flinch away, taking a step back from him.

And he’ll never admit out loud just how deeply that small gesture pierced his heart.

You wrap your arms around yourself, not meeting his eyes as you shake your head lightly, “I shouldn’t have done that - I-I’m sorry, I can’t.” Keeping your eyes cast downward, your shoulder brushes his as you head back in the direction of your house, but he catches your elbow just before you’re out of reach.

“Can I...see you again, bonita? Just to talk, I promise,” he pleads, hoping you’ll see the sincerity - along with the fear of losing you - in his eyes.

You hesitate, looking around as if to make sure none of the neighbors are watching your intimate exchange with a man who isn’t your betrothed. When your eyes land on his again, they soften though they remain laced with uncertainty, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Javi.” The regretful way his name falls from your lips makes his stomach drop but your next words give him some semblance of hope.

“I just...need some time to think, OK?” you offer him a small, reassuring smile as you bring a hand to his cheek. The gesture feels so natural and warm, yet foreign all at the same time, and all he can manage is a nod in response, his voice failing him.

He doesn’t miss the sad glint in your eye either as you turn and walk away from him for the second time that day.

Signaling the bartender, Javier asks for another whiskey as he reaches into his jacket for his pack of cigarettes. He releases a heavy sigh as his drink is placed in front of him, if there was ever a reason to get fucking plastered, reuniting with the love of your life when she’s already engaged to another man would be right at the top of the fucking list.

The moment he felt that ring on your finger, his heart clenched painfully in his chest, because he knew - he knew he was too late and he only had himself to blame. All those years ago when he left for Columbia, he thought he was doing the right thing - that you’d be better off without him.

When he’d learned you had feelings for him as well - because if he’s being honest with himself, he’s been in love with you since you were just kids - he was shocked, to say the least. He never once even humored the idea of having something more with you, beyond the close friendship the two of you have shared for decades.

But the way you looked at him that night, your eyes glistening with unshed tears as you bared your soul to him, there was no way he could tell you he’d already been assigned to Columbia and was set to leave the very next day. It crushed him to hug you so close that night, knowing he was a coward for saying nothing - about how he felt the same about you, and about how he’d be gone for what was sure to be years, as the hunt for Escobar would be no easy task.

So he’d kissed you on the cheek and promised that the two of you would talk everything out the next day, though it was a complete lie. And the hopeful look you gave him - one full of love and tenderness - it pulled the air right from his lungs. But he forced himself to walk away before he changed his mind and confessed the truth to you right then and there, telling himself you deserved better than a coward like him.

You deserved the world, but he could never be the one to give it to you.

“Something got you down, partner?” the bartender asks, a slight Southern twang in his voice. Javi resists the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s use of the word partner as he takes a drag of his cigarette before responding, “Just...lady troubles.” He’s surprised he divulged even that little bit of information, but it’s most likely due to the alcohol now weakening his inhibitions.

The bartender - who’s not much younger than Javier - offers a knowing smirk, “Ah, yup, that’ll do it.” He chuckles to himself and Javi glares at him, though the other man doesn’t seem to notice as he wipes down the counter, grinning to himself, “Glad I don’t gotta deal with that anymore.”

Javi raises an eyebrow, only slightly intrigued by the meaning behind his words as he takes a swig of his drink. The other man runs a hand through his light brown hair before continuing, “Been with my lady for years now and we’ve never had any problems - well, none that I’m aware of, at least,” he chuckles again and though the guy seems genuinely nice, something about him rubs Javi the wrong way. He’s just not sure what.

But he doesn’t have to wait long to find out as the door to the bar opens behind him, calling the bartender’s attention as he exclaims, “Well, speak of the devil - here’s my pretty lady now.”

Javier downs the rest of his drink, deciding to head out before he gets stuck in an hour-long conversation with this guy and his pretty lady. He hears light footsteps approaching on his right and just as he sets his glass back down, he hears a familiar soft voice and freezes.

“Hi, honey. I brought you some food,” you grin as you place a large paper bag on the bar top and lean over the counter to plant a light kiss on the bartender’s - no, your fiancé’s lips. “Aw, thanks, baby - you’re too good to me. But, were your ears ringin’? ‘Cause I was just talkin’ about you with my new friend here, uh - sorry, man, what’s your name?”

You turn with a bright smile on your face, but it quickly falls once you meet Javier’s eyes - your warm expression being replaced with one of sheer panic. Javi can only imagine what’s going through your mind right now, but he’s almost certain it’s something along the lines of “Oh, shit.”

“Javier, nice to meet you…” putting on his best poker face, he extends his hand out to you, assuming you want him to play dumb so your fiancé doesn’t suspect Javier had his tongue down your throat just hours before.

As if this situation wasn’t fucked enough already.

You clear your throat a little too harshly as you extend your hand out to him, saying, “Y/N, it’s...nice to meet you, too,” and when your skin comes into contact with his, it sends a shock up his arm and straight to his heart.

While Javier’s world is tilting on its axis, the bartender sifts through the bag you brought - seemingly unaware of the shift in the air. “Baby, did you bring your momma’s hot sauce?” he looks at you expectantly, though your eyes are still fixed on Javier.

“Uh - oh, n-no. Shit, I forgot, sorry,” you turn and offer an apologetic smile that appears strained, at least to Javier’s eyes. Este pendejo doesn’t have a clue, does he?

“You feelin’ okay? You look a little pale, darlin’,” the bartender - what the fuck is his name - asks with a look of concern, and Javi almost feels bad for the guy. Or at least he would if he wasn’t currently engaged to the love of Javi’s life.

“Yeah, I’m just...tired. I was outside most of the day, trying to fix the garden,” your voice evens out as you speak and Javier can’t help but admire your talent for masking the anxiety that must be coursing through your veins. She’s almost as good a liar as I am.

The other guy is about to respond when someone catches his attention on the far side of the room, “Gimme a minute. Don’t go anywhere, baby, and I’ll fix you another drink when I get back - OK, partner?,” he winks before sauntering off in the direction of where he was called from.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Javier laughs, the alcohol in his system making the whole situation seem much less serious than it is, “Really, bonita? Him? Since when have you been into gringos?” His words come out harsher than he intends as he glares at you and you glare right back at him with a fire crackling in your eyes.

“Since a couple of years after a certain tontito left the country and never even tried to contact me again,” your words land like a blow to the stomach and Javi visibly winces before you continue, “and he’s actually a really kind person - he doesn’t deserve this.” You sigh as you plop down on a bar stool, making sure to keep one empty between you and Javier.

“And what exactly is...this? I’d love to know,” he rests his elbow on the counter, leaning his head onto his hand as he angles his body toward you. “I mean, we didn’t exactly go over all the details after you had your tongue in my mouth,” you gasp at his lewd comment, but he remains unfazed as he continues, “por favor, dime qué somos tu y yo, bonita.” His words are starting to slur and his vision’s a little fuzzy but he can still make out the blush on your cheeks.

“Keep it down, will you?” you whisper harshly as you lean closer to him, planting a hand on the empty stool between you. “This,” you gesture between the two of you, “is nothing, OK? I can’t - I won’t put Jackson though that,” you lean back, your expression stern, yet weary.

So the pendejo’s name is Jackson then. Typical southern name to match his southern accent.

“Through what?” Javi asks and he knows he’s being an asshole, but that’s easier than admitting that his heart is shattering with each minute he spends looking at your beautiful face, knowing that you belong to someone else.

“I’m not doing this with you, Javi. We’re - we’re not even friends anymore, so let’s just leave it alone and...go our separate ways,” you nod as if trying to convince yourself this is the best option for everyone, but your eyes say different. Even in his intoxicated state, he can see the confusion and stress that plagues your features. At that moment, he’d give anything to hold you in his arms and kiss away all your sorrows.

“Bonita-” he starts but is stopped short by the bartend- Jackson rejoining the two of you, “Oh, “bonita” - that means pretty, right?” He grins between the two of you as if he didn’t just intrude on one of the most painful conversations of Javier’s life.

And the way he said “bonita” is the last straw for Javier. Clenching his jaw, he slips off his stool with surprising ease and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, his cigarette long forgotten in the ashtray on the bar.

He mumbles, “Yeah, it means pretty-” he looks at you with a level of intensity that makes your heart race, “or beautiful.”

Dropping a few bills on the wooden surface, he nods his thanks to Jackson while clenching his fist at his side and turns to you once more, a wistful look in his eyes, “Nos vemos...bonita.”

And he walks out of the bar, his soul in tatters.

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

Translations:

pendejo - dumbass

gringos - white men

tontito - idiot

por favor, dime qué somos tu y yo - please, tell me what we are.

nos vemos - see you

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

aaaahhhhh what’d y’all think?? i hope you don’t mind I'm taking a tiny break from Mariposa - i got stuck so i decided to just do another series lmao fuck

thanks for reading! 💜

tag list:

@spacegayofficial @themandjalorian @hiscyarika @mandoispunk @madadlorian @pedrolorians @forever-rogue @longitud-de-onda @certifiedskywalker @dindjarindiaries @no-droids-allowed @aerynwrites @buckyodinson @lannister-slings-and-arrows @gooddaykate @fanfiction-trashpile @arrowswithwifi @letaliabane @thinemineours @ham4arrow @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @thisainttheway @bluemoon-glen @katialvi @bestintheparsec @24kgolden @livasaurasrex @c-ly-g @triggerhappyflyboyy @fangirl-and-stuff @mrsparknuts @and-i-swear-we-are-infinte @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @kimljn @kristalhi @fatbottomedcurls @auty-ren @mabelleen @rzrcrst @pascalisthepunkest @blushingwueen @lovingtheway @beskars @mandoandyodito @roxypeanut @rosamedina92 @sinnamon-bun @ct-arc-5555 @keeper0fthestars @poe-pascal @spacemacandcheese @destucky45 @marvelwars @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @frietiemeloen @waywardodysseys @thick-dick-daddy-mando @haildoodles-writing @walkerchick007 @miraelles

#crystal clear #catch me back on my bullshit with another series while i still got another series going lmao #cc series #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #narcos #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #my ff #my writing #my posts #fic series #fic rec

287 notes · View notes

downwiththeficness · 3 years

Text

A Need So Great Chapter 12

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~4,000

Warnings: Smut

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter @autumnleaves1991-blog @jedi-mando @buckysalefty

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Eva woke desperately needing to pee. She was laying on her back, hands on either side of her head. Horacio’s arm was thrown over her waist, his body angled towards her. She looked over at him, his face completely relaxed, breaths slow and even. A beautiful man laying in repose.

Very carefully, she extricated herself from him, padding to the bathroom. Afterwards, as she was washing her hands, Eva flinched at her reflection in the mirror. Bruises had formed over her hips, on her thighs, around her wrists. He’d sucked hickeys over her stomach and breasts. When she turned, her back was similarly marked. At her neck was a clear bite, just over the scent gland behind her ear.

She ran two fingers over it, the skin sensitive and warm. Eva wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing at the time, knew the consequences of this actions. She stared at it, feeling flushed.

Hands on the counter, Eva debated her options. She could try to hide it, but experience taught her that Horacio was nothing if not observant. She could sneak out, but she’d run the risk of implying she was unhappy with the bonding mark on her neck. The truth was quite the opposite. She tamped down the excitedly happy feeling, trying not to get ahead of herself.

Turning off the lights, Eva gingerly opened the door and crawled back into the bed, hauling the comforter with her from where it had been kicked off in the night. Horacio grumbled as she slid in next to him, hands already pulling her into his chest, a sleepy kiss touching her brow. Eva smiled and snuggled down, falling back asleep.

When she woke again, she was alone. The bed was still warm, but he wasn’t there. Groggy, she scooted to standing and dug through her overnight bag, pulling on a t shirt and shorts. With a yawn, she headed to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and stopped herself from pulling her hair up. Probably best that she leave it down for the moment.

Rubbing at her eyes, she stepped out into the hall and towards the living room, searching. He was sitting on the couch, head in his hands. He’d donned a pair of sweatpants, and even from a distance she could see that she’d scratched him across the arms, parallel red lines running from his tricep down around to the bend of his elbow.

A kind of tentative self consciousness settled over her. She’d been worried about the way her body looked, she hadn’t stopped to consider what she’d done to him.

As if sensing her, his head lifted and he fixed her with a hard gaze. Eva bit her lip, unsure in her approach.

“How did you sleep?” she tried, remaining in the doorway.

His eyes softened, “Good. Really good.”

Lifting a hand, he reached out to her. Relieved, Eva shuffled towards him, taking it. He pulled her to sit next to him. Eva went willingly, settling in and pulling her knees beneath her. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Eva could feel the tension in him.

“We need to talk about this,” he said finally.

Eva looked up at him, “About what?”

“This,” he touched the side of her neck, just below where he’d marked her.

She inhaled sharply, her eyes falling to half mast as the sensation lanced through her body. It would be like that until he finished the bond, every caress met with an urgent push of desire.

“What about it?”

Scoffing, he dropped his hand, eyes rolling, “This is serious, Eva.”

She knew this, “I know.”

God, but it was serious. She knew it. And yet, she couldn’t drudge up the ire she should definitely be feeling for what had happened. She didn’t want to.

“Then treat it seriously.”

Eva wasn’t quite prepared for the anger that traveled throughout his tone. Insecurities that she had worked to overcome reared up and it took a moment for her to realize that he was waiting for her to say something.

Looking at her hands, she said, “I don’t know how you want me to react.”

Sighing, he stood, pacing away from her a few steps, hands running through his hair, “I want you to react honestly.”

No, you don’t, Eva thought. He wanted her to be angry, to cry, to feel badly about it. He wanted her to feel like he felt. It hurt, that conclusion. She felt pressure in her chest as she tried not to cry. This was not going well. No. Fuck that. She wasn’t going to be cowed by her own insecurities in this. She could tell the truth.

“I’m fine,” read: ecstatic, “About it.”

He repeated the word ‘fine’, hands on his hips. She couldn’t quite decipher his expression, it was so closed off. Months had passed since she had felt this kind of distance between them—like he had been when they were first circling around each other.”

“Eva, you should be pressing charges. I initiated a bond without your permission.”

She shrugged, “I wasn’t saying no.”

“You weren’t saying yes,” he countered, growing agitated, “We didn’t talk about it first.”

Again, she shrugged, “I’m not angry about it.”

“Well, I am,” he bit out, jaw tight.

She looked away, the slow, fervent hope that she’d tried so hard to keep at bay dissipating like fog in sunlight. Eyes closed, Eva leaned back on old defense strategies, wiping her slate clean and shutting away the situation in front of her.

“No,” he muttered, hustling towards her and kneeling down, hands on her knees, “No, don’t do that. I didn’t mean it.”

Eva’s mouth thinned, “You did.”

“Not that way,” he clarified, his chest pressing against her shins.

The way he was looking at her, that beseeching expression, the way his hands dropped and circled her ankles. Eva didn’t know how to deal with knowing he was angry and seeing him looking at her so intently.

“Then, how did you mean it?”

His lips parted, and she could see how difficult it was for him to find the words, his brows drawing together.

“I took away your choice.”

Eva blinked, “You didn’t.”

With a little laugh and condescension in his tone, he replied, “I was in rut, Eva. You couldn’t have stopped me.”

Her mouth curled, “You don’t know that.”

Licking his lips, he dropped his chin, eyes narrow, “In all the years I’ve been on the job, I’ve never—never—had sex on duty. Not once. And not only did I break that record, I did it in my office with other officers in the building.”

Eva chuckled, running her fingers over his cheek, “Most of them were gone. It was extremely unlikely that we would get caught.”

His eyes closed, he took a breath, then fixed her with a level glare, “That is not the point.”

She turned her hand over in question, “Explain it to me.”

“I lost control,” he answered, his voice cracking. His hands rose to her knees tightening and releasing as he said it, as if to emphasize his words.

Eva gave him a soft, understanding look, “That’s normal for a rut.”

Horacio shook his head, “Not for me.”

She gave him a disbelieving look, “Really?”

He frowned, “You think I haven’t had a rut before? You think I haven’t had one with an omega? I have, and I have never…” he paused, the words hanging between them. Then, he visibly switched gears, “When I saw you standing at my desk, that was it. It was over. I don’t know what I would have done if you told me no.”

She smiled a little, joking, “I’m not that kind of tease.”

Shaking his head, he continued, “I don’t know what I would have done if you said no and meant it.”

And there it was. They’d gone full fucking circle. Their first real conversation outside of the prying ears of others echoing all the way to this exact moment. Except now, she could see that he wasn’t afraid of scaring her. He was afraid of scaring himself. This was a man with one foot in the darkness, who was constantly on guard against dropping both feet in. She could work with that.

“I didn’t say no, and I’m not saying no, now. If things… go pear shaped, we both still have a choice.”

She watched him process what she was saying. Although, he’d started the bonding process through the bite that scored the skin over her scent gland, they could still make the decision to stop it. Eva would have to go through one more heat by herself. It would be painful, far more painful than the one she’d just experienced, because her body knew at its very core that there was an alpha she could go to. But, she would do it, if he asked.

Horacio went very still, his expression stormy, mouth thin in displeasure. She bit back the urge to keep talking, unsure. And then he was moving, lifting up off the floor, pushing her into the back of the couch. His hand wrapped around the base of her throat, the meat of his palm resting on her collarbone. He wasn’t squeezing, but his grip brooked no argument. She was not to move.

“If you think I’m going to let you go through a heat without me, especially now, you are mistaken.”

He already had, but he didn’t know that—she may never tell him.

Eva floundered, “I...I mean—I can’t ask you to...”

He growled, hauling her up to stand on the couch. She wobbled, looking down at him, her hands on his shoulders for balance.

“The second,” he enunciated slow, “The second I sense you’re in heat, I will be on you. God help us if it starts in the embassy. We’ll be lucky if I don’t knot you in the fucking supply closet.”

Eva gasped, scandalized. Although everyone was taught the basics of pair bonding, it still wasn’t talked about so plainly. The image of them lying on the cold tiled floor, helplessly grabbing at each other, him grinding up into her to slot that thick ridge of flesh into her body—she was pretty sure she was blushing all over.

Horacio smiled, full dimpled, his hands sliding up her legs to palm her ass, “If I could have done it last night, I would have.” He pressed his nose to her sternum, “For a moment, I thought I might. You were so hot and wet and smelled so good. Fuck, I’ve never been that hard.”

His arms tightened as he took her weight, carrying her from the living room towards the bedroom. Eva moaned as she felt his erection pressed against her center. He laid her down in the middle of the bed, pulling off her t shirt and shorts, throwing them over the side. There was no way to hide the marks now, the bruises shadowing over her skin in the morning light. Eva watched him look at her body, his expression unreadable.

“Do you hurt?” he asked, eyes catching hers.

Eva did hurt. She was sore in all the right places, little twinges that reminded her constantly of their night together.

“A little,” she answered, her voice low.

He nodded silently, fingers tracing over a particularly deep hickey on her breast. Then, he moved down to her belly, where there was bruising the fit the shape of his hand. He mapped it, fitting his hands over the marks, brows together. Eva squirmed a little, thinking that she should be used to this kind of scrutiny from him by now. The frank assessment and cataloging of her injuries felt like a new experience every time. Anxiously, she awaited whatever judgment he might make.

Crawling up to lay beside her, Horacio nosed along her collarbone, whispering, “Let me make it up to you.”

Eva rolled to her side, facing him. She placed her hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently, “You don’t have to apologize.”

He shook his head, a curl falling over his brow, “I want to. Will you let me?”

Unable to deny him such a sweet thing, Eva nodded, leaning over to kiss him lightly. He sighed into it, hand falling naturally to her waist as he gathered her to him. More little kisses followed, a bare taste of what she knew he was capable of. Eva felt her body go lax, her limbs resting wherever he moved them, her eyes half closed.

Very carefully, he tilted her head back, his mouth tracing a long line from her shoulder to the place where he’d bitten her. She knew it was tender and raw, likely a little swollen—her heartbeat pulsing beneath the skin. Here, he placed the softest kiss of all, barely brushing his lips over it. Eva’s fingers curled into her palm as she trembled.

“I would do it again,” he breathed, a little prayer against her skin, “I would.”

She knew how much that confession cost him, knew it without him having to say a word. Eva’s eyes closed, a strange feeling welling up. It was something more than affection, more than want or need. It sent a weird kind of pain into her chest that was only soothed by pulling him into a hug, her face pressed against his chest.

“Lay back.”

Eva let him roll her to her back, watching his hand as it smoothed a path down the middle of her chest, settling on the soft roundness of her belly. He kissed her brow, letting his forehead press to her temple as he, too, followed the course his hand was taking.

Slowly, gingerly, he swept over her hips and down her thighs, opening them with just a little pressure. He thumbed the bony outcrop of her hip, sliding one finger down the crease where her thigh met it. Eva bit her lip, trying to keep her breathing even.

The backs of his fingers roved upwards, circling her breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Eva felt her breath leave her in a soft gasp, the feeling oozing from her nipple down to her core. Warmth spread across her skin, goosebumps not far behind.

Leaning down, he sucked the nipple he wasn’t playing with into his mouth, teeth scraping. Eva arched up in offering, a soft little cry escaping her lips. She held him there, one hand in his hair, the other digging into his shoulder—not that she needed to. He seemed perfectly happy to stay right where he was, moving from breast to breast, tongue gliding over her skin.

It wasn’t long before she was squeezing her legs together, the ache in her body rising past her want to keep still and open for him. Horacio lifted up, admiring the way her skin glistened from his kisses. Eyes dark, he tapped the leg nearest to him, a wordless command.

Eva let her hips relax and her knees open wide. He smiled at her, pleased, the pads of his fingers roaming up her inner thigh until they rested against her.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts.”

Not a question. His voice had dropped down an octave, the directive clear and concise. Eva would not be able to deny him, not in this, either. Using ever increasing pressure, he spread her slick up and down. Meticulously, he separated each lip, gathering the wetness and ensuring there was a nice, easy coating. Eva’s limbs flinched each time he circled upwards to round her clit, not quite touching the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Slipping down, he circled her opening, much as he had done the previous evening. A slow, even pace, Horacio took his time with it. Pleasure surged every time he put a little bit more pressure on it, not quite breaching.

Eva whined, tilting her hips as she tried to get him to go just a little bit further. It would do no good, she knew that. He was going to do what he was going do, at the pace he wanted to do it. It was a stark contrast to the previous night, where his body had taken over completely, an animal loosed on her. Now, he’d regained control and it appeared that he was determined to keep it.

She bit her lip, fighting the urge to grab at his wrist, to hold him steady and drive down onto his fingers. This was as much for him as it was for her, and though she wasn’t nearly as patient, she could try. That didn’t mean that she was perfectly abiding by his unsaid plan. Eva rolled with every stroke, moaning and writhing as the pleasure built.

Horacio was definitely not unaffected. His erection dug into her side, though she could tell he was making an effort to keep from grinding it against her. Eva had tried to touch him a few times, but he pushed her hands away, his focus entirely on her.

When finally, finally, he eased a finger into her, Eva keened as if he’d worked his cock into her, the muscles of her body clenching down. He paused, thumb swiping ever so softly against her clit, his eyes on her face. He watched her breathe, her eyes squinting at the pain laced pleasure he was giving her.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He’d asked the same question the night before, only this time he wasn’t smirking. Looking concerned, he waited for her answer, hand perfectly still inside her.

“No,” Eva replied, swallowing around a dry throat.

After another beat, he huffed out a breath through his nose, his wrist turning as he eased the digit in and out of her, curling it slightly to catch on her g spot every time he pulled out. Eva felt her eyes roll back as he pushed another finger into her, stroking along her walls.

His name coming out in four sharp syllables, Eva grabbed at the pillow beneath her head. She was exhausted and sore and she still wanted to come. Digging her feet into the mattress, Eva met his measured thrusts, a little ‘unh, unh, unh’ eeking out with every one.

Breaths stuttering, her body flexed, bowing up as she came. He cooed at her, his free hand pushing the hair from her face as he kissed everywhere he could reach. Eva had a hard time catching her breath, her body shivering despite the heat of him laying next to her.

“Alright?” he asked, looking her over.

Blinking, she smiled at him, lifting up to kiss him soundly on the mouth, “I’m good.”

Glancing down, she realized that he was still hard, tenting the material of his sweatpants. When she went to stroke him, he caught her hand, bringing it up to his lips to give it a soft kiss of censure.

“That was for you,” he explained, shifting to his back and pulling her over to lay against his chest.

They laid like that for an hour or so, until her stomach growled. He laughed and swatted her thigh lightly, telling her to get dressed and that he was taking her to lunch. Not far from his house, there was a little cafe, the smell of food wafting out into the street. Eva was surprised when he set her down into a chair next to him rather than across from him, as he usually did. She was even more surprised when he held her hand on the table.

He caught her questioning gaze, “Its impossible to hide, now. Anyone would be able to tell the second they got into a room with us.”

That...was not untrue. He’d started the mating process, and their bodies would continue to adjust and change to that process the longer it went on. Even after the bite healed, she’d carry his scent just as much as he would carry hers.

“I...have to broach the subject of safety, Eva,” he started, “I’d like to put an officer on you, at least when I’m not there.”

Eva rolled her eyes, “Is that necessary?”

He bobbed his head, “It is. I do have a bounty on my head, and they aren’t above using people I care about to…”

His words trailed off, but Eva knew what he was getting at. She could be used as bait, to get him to act, to scare him, to get him to do what they wanted. Sighing, she nodded, not willing to fight with him about it, knowing that she wouldn’t win, anyways.

They were almost through with their meal when Eva spotted her, a tall, willowy blonde walking in heels too tall a stroll through this kind of neighborhood. Her fork clattered to her plate, startling the man next to her. He followed her line of sight, squinting.

Eva could not be lucky enough that she wouldn’t be seen, and her heart nearly surged out of her chest as the object of her ire saw her, scowled, and changed course. She stood, circling around the table to meet her.

“Hello, Myra,” she greeted, not quite keeping her voice even.

Myra had aged a little in the fifteen years since she’d last seen her, though her plastic surgeon was doing a remarkable job at keeping her looking young. She tugged off her sunglasses and regarded Eva balefully.

“Evangeline. Funny meeting you here.”

Yes, funny meeting you on a road scarcely visited by tourists, in another county, in another fucking hemisphere.

“Life is funny sometimes,” Eva responded, a rasp in her voice.

Myra glanced behind Eva, and she could see the woman assessing Horacio, her upper lip curling.

“I see you’ve found yourself someone to clean up after you.”

She would not rise to the bait. She’d done that enough when she was fourteen. Eva was an adult and would act like one.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business. Not anymore.”

Myra glared, jaw ticking, “It is my business. It will always be my business. You killed my boy. And, here you are, eating lunch on a sunny afternoon while he rots.”

Eva took several deep breaths, trying to keep herself calm, “I moved on, Myra. You should, too.”

Pointing a finger at her, Myra growled, “It should have been you.”

A glint caught Eva’s eye and she glanced down to find that Myra was wearing her fucking wedding ring and engagement band on her first finger, the stones shining. The audacity of wearing the symbol of everything that had hurt her for seven long years broke something inside. She bared her teeth.

“No,” she spit, “You knew what he was. You raised him to be a disgusting, abusive prick. You watched him beat me after that dinner party and you did nothing! There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t fucking rejoice that I killed your psychopath of a son.”

The slap, when it came, was expected. Eva’s head whipped to the side and she heard the scratch of the chair as Horacio stood. Quickly, she held a hand up, silently begging him to stand down. She watched Myra watch him, her mouth smirking.

“Like mother, like son,” she said, taking a step away and wiping at her mouth. She wasn’t bleeding, but the skin was smarting.

Myra drew back, gripping her handbag.

Sneering, Eva simply said, “Go back to whatever you were doing. You’re not wanted, here.”

Myra’s scowl deepened for a moment, and then she was smiling the smile she used when she was dealing with a particularly distasteful dinner guest.

“Until next time.”

Eva watched her march down the street until she turned a corner, her blonde hair swinging behind her. She didn’t look back, and Eva didn’t know how she would react if she had. Her teeth hurt from clenching her jaw so hard.

Hands touched her shoulders in question. Eva reached up and covered them, sniffing back the tears.

“I want to go home.”

He was already moving, “I’ll get the check.”

#narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #A Need So Great

46 notes · View notes

novantinuum · 4 years

Text

Contact (ch. 1/4)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (TW: depiction of vomiting, this first chapter is pretty whump-esque)

Words: 3.0K~

Summary: The first (and with any luck, only) time it happens, he’s almost 16.

So this fic is Steven and Amethyst centric, set during the 2 year time skip. It’s also kinda in conversation with An Indirect Kiss, and explores the idea of what could happen to a hybrid with a cracked gem. Do note the warnings above. The first chapter is the only one that’s especially whumpy. It will be exactly 4 parts.

AO3 link can be found in the reblogs! Support there or here (via reblogs) is very much appreciated! <3

____

Chapter 1: The Mission

The first (and with any luck, only) time it happens, he’s almost 16.

His birthday’s only half a week out. Exciting as always, or at least it would be in other circumstances. Unfortunately, the Diamonds are breathing down his neck for him to celebrate his sweet sixteen (not that they understand what that is) on Homeworld. Even unfortunatelier, (is that a word?? He has a gut feeling Connie would tell him no, but oh well), the last time he saw Blue Diamond face-to-face, she mentioned wanting to personally throw a huge planet-wide ball in his honor.

And yeah, maybe he’s a little selfish for spurning their desire to spend more time with him, but truth be told, the center of attention is the last place he wants to be right now. He’s already spent so much time in their company over the past year, being carted around from planet to planet, formerly introduced in front of thousands of Gems on those outer colony worlds, tirelessly working to spread the news of the empire’s dissolution day in and day out. He’s tired. He misses his friends. He craves the privacy of his home, where he’s not constantly flanked by the volunteer guard when he so much as moves to fetch a midnight snack. More than anything, he needs familiarity. He wants to celebrate his birthday on Earth— like he always has— guilt-free.

Which is why it sucks that Blue didn’t take his gentle turn-down well.

“Seriously, and then she made you cry again?!” Amethyst spits out, kicking a rock as they tromp through the dense woods. “I thought you said she was getting better with that!”

“She is,” he says, and ducks to clear a low branch. “This is the first time she’s done it in like, five months. Growth isn’t always linear, y’know? And I get it, I do. They just wanna spend time with me, wanna learn more about all the human stuff that makes me who I am. That’s fine! I just...”

Steven sighs softly and pauses to lean against a sturdy tree trunk, puffy moss coating its entire diameter. The blistering summer heat coaxes droplets of sweat from his brow, which roll across cheekbones and towards his jaw. (And in the wake of this, he can’t help but be reminded of that bizarrely foreign feeling, of crying tears that aren’t his own, without consent, without resolve...)

“Wish it didn’t happen right before your birthday?” she tentatively completes, tone softer.

He shrugs, expression guarded.

Her lips purse as she regards him, and she goes silent. For a split second he wonders if maybe she heard something stalking around nearby— perhaps one of the straggling corrupted Gems they‘re trying to track down today? But no, more than likely, she’s probably lost in thought. That’s not uncommon for her, outside the heat of the moment. Even though she has the reputation of being the most impulsive of the four of them, there’s a clear deliberateness about her nature that often goes unstated. Her actions and words may be blunt, but when it really matters she does stack a lot of intent behind them.

Heh. She’s the mature one, alright.

“What did you tell her? Specifically?” she asks after a brief pause, peering at him with a careful eye.

He squints, grasping to remember the fine details of what he said. “Just... that I normally spend my birthday with all of you here on Earth, and after all the nonstop planet touring kinda, maybe wanted to take some time alone?”

Amethyst nods, giving a sharp bark of laughter at this.

“Hah! Then don’t worry about it, m’dude! Sounds to me like you stood your ground and spoke your mind. Don’t be guilty about that for even a second.”

“But- it’s not like her wanting me to spend time with them is wrong, so by turning her down, wasn’t I being kinda ru—“

His rapidly spiraling thoughts are cut off at the root by a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Okay, listen,” she says in that unmistakable ‘Serious Amethyst’ voice of hers, which of course means that she’s— well... that she‘s absolutely 100% being serious. “One thing ya’ gotta learn is that some people are just super tiring to deal with 24/7. It’s not wrong to set boundaries with them. All this junk? With Blue D? Far as I’m concerned, you handled it perfectly! And if she wants to cry about it, then that’s her problem.” Smiling, she reaches over to playfully muss his hair. “I’m super proud of you, ‘kay?”

He responds with a weak grin. Inwardly he still has his doubts, but he knows all too well that trying to argue against her when she’s in ‘Serious Amethyst’ mode is like standing on the shore trying to single handedly hold back the tides of the sea. Even a powerful terraforming Gem like Lapis would eventually be worn down by the ocean’s ceaseless tenacity. It’s best, then, to keep one’s objection silent.

So he’ll just stew in guilt quietly, no problem. Absolutely no problem here, no siree!

Before he can let that stew churn in the pot any longer however, a tree crashes to the forest floor with a colossal rumble nearby. A cluster of unsettled birds shoot into the sky from the boughs. Ground shaking under the unrest, the two of them dart to cling upon anything they can— bark covered trunks, each other— for balance. Thankfully it’s over in a few seconds, the local ecosystem quickly rebounding to its usual chittering atmosphere. But there’s now a lingering unease hanging like a curtain over this forest, a physical aura of dread, and despite his best efforts it’s one he can’t manage to ignore. He lets out a still breath. The back of his neck prickles. Geeze, just how big is this corrupted Gem they’re after?

Instinctively, he summons his shield, brings it in front of his torso. Pearl’s training echoing like a catchy earworm in his mind, he steps one foot back to widen his stance. Truth be told, with all of his political service on Homeworld it’s been a while (easily half a year!) since he’s actually used his shield in active combat— but he’s sure muscle memory will carry him through. It’s fine. He’ll be fine. It’s gotta be like riding a bicycle, right?

“You see something?” she whispers, lowering on her haunches. Her fingers twitch with anticipation at her side.

His brow furrows tight, eyes skittering through the visible tree line. “Not yet, but...”

Then, in a resolute answer to the question of the hairs raised at the nape of his neck, a skinny blur of steely blue and moss green suddenly swipes down from the branches at breakneck speed. He jerks his shield over his head in a flash.

Clang. Perfect timing.

(The force of the collision against reinforced hard light sends vibrations up his arms.)

Meanwhile, Amethyst yelps, only barely ducking from the spiked tail in time. She somersaults forward and immediately summons her whip as she regains her footing. In one fluid motion she snaps it at the rapidly moving blur. He grins at the sight.

Contact!

The corrupted Gem— her body long and willowy, able to skitter between limbs and leaves with zero effort whatsoever— screeches at the assault. All four of her beady eyes hone in on the pair of them.

They square up for battle, standing back to back.

“Here we go,” Amethyst says, flicking her wrist to switch the weapon’s tri-ended tip into its spiked counterpart. “Keep me covered. Whatever you do, don’t take your eyes off the trees.”

With a mighty yell, she moves to attack again. However, the creature anticipates it this time... and dodges.

Once. Twice. Thrice...

Every single lash she tries to land fares the same, with the Gem perfectly zig-zagging out of range at the last second. Even when Steven hurls his shield in coordination with her offensive strikes. Even when the quartz brings out a second whip to the party. It’s like trying to desperately keep hold of a wet bar of soap. The very moment you think you have it secure in your grasp, it slips away once more. Weird... he swears that thing is predicting their every move. What kind of Gem is she? A sapphire, maybe? Surely there had to have been a few other sapphires on Earth at the time of corruption. They’re a rare sort, but it’s certainly not impossible. Not at all.

They’ll know when they poof her, of course. No sense fixating on it in the heat of battle.

In the corner of his eye he catches that barbed tail swing from above, vying to surprise them from their blind spot, and summons his bubble around them. Its surface ripples upon impact, but holds strong. His fellow battle partner follows the creature’s erratic movements rapturously as she recovers.

“Tell me when,” he huffs for breath, watching the Gem circle around them and slash at the surrounding trees in a vain attempt at intimidation.

“Drop on three,” she says. “Your call.”

“Okay...”

Steven steels his nerves, inhaling deep, and focusing on the reliable hum of hard light running from his core outwards. Just relax. It’s all training. All stuff you’ve done a million times before. You’ve got this.

Working off the emerging rhythm of the creature’s strikes, he begins his count.

“One—“

Amethyst’s fists clench tighter.

“Two...”

The creature’s tail slams against the bubble and rebounds once again.

“Three!” he shouts, and throws his arms out, popping the bubble in a startling explosion of glittering pink.

The Gem howls. She’s thrown against a cluster of trees by the force of his magic’s kickback. Amethyst throws all of her energy into her spin-dash, and surges towards her with all the strength of a typhoon.

He summons two shields in turn, working light on his feet as he hurls them full force one after the other, desperately hoping to poof this poor creature as quickly and painlessly as he can manage. She’s strong, though. Incredibly strong— which gives more credence to his theory of this Gem being aristocratic in origin. Before Era 3, Homeworld used to endow the most ‘important’ Gems with greater durability. If she were a corrupted quartz or ruby, both easily poofed Gems, they’d have finished the fight by now.

“Hey!” Amethyst calls as she continues on the offensive, finally looping the Gem’s torso. “All this?” She gives a mighty battle cry, and swings her slender, scaly body over her head. Screeching, the corruption crashes headfirst into the dirt a good twenty feet away. “Is starting to get way too annoying. Ya’ wanna let Smoky take this one?”

Steven gives a playful laugh, averting his normally watchful gaze from the creature for a split second to face her. “You bet I do!”

And that’s when what should have been an incredibly straightforward mission goes very, very wrong.

All because he forgot to be careful. For one tiny, should’ve-been-insignificant moment.

He’s reaching out for a high five, fingers splayed outwards. His gem glows, the two of them so intrinsically in sync by now that he’s already anticipating their fusion.

But his hand never finds its match.

Instead, the end of the corrupted Gem’s mace-like tail swings back around and slams into his gut with the force of a freight train, knocking the wind clear out of him.

Contact.

Following momentum, his body spins a good hundred feet away from Amethyst before she can ever try to catch him with her whip... and he crashes headfirst into a startlingly solid tree trunk. He falls to the forest floor like nothing more than an abandoned rag doll.

“Steven!!” she shrieks from afar.

Ears ringing. Head pounding. Heart throbbing. Veins pumped full of static.

(Inhale.)

H-he- surely he‘s not—!

(Just inhale!)

Black feathers the edges of his vision, looming like a reaper. It’s wrong. It’s real, but it’s all so distant, so wrong. Stubbornly, he gasps for breath. Refusing to let himself go unconscious. Not here, not now. But it’s so tempting, gosh is it tempting. His whole body feels numb and battered, his whole body feels...

There’s a twisting in his gut. His eyes shoot wide.

Oh...

The sensation (again, wrong, sickly and wrong) rises in his throat faster than he can identify it by name, and it’s then that he’s thrown back into sobering reality. Arms quivering to hold up his weight, he pushes his upper body up off the dirt just before he retches. Once, twice, three times- all on quick succession. Ugh. So much for breakfast. His muscles ache as he desperately attempts to recover, attempts to shift his view away from the appalling sight of his own vomit. Everything is woozy, blurred, spinning around him. His- oh stars, his head is suddenly as heavy as lead...! Where’s Amethyst?? Why do his arms and legs feel all tingly and faint? Why can he only barely lift himself up? He gives a keening cry as a pulsing throb of static shoots in staccato bolts like lightning from his very core, his center, h-his— he can’t think, he can’t think, he can’t—

Breathing ragged, he collapses onto his side and rides through the spasms, his every muscle jerking against his command. His cheek sags against the ground once the fit reaches its end.

He lays there in a daze for a good long while, letting his vision grow unfocused and blurred in his exhaustion. From his creased brow, sweat drips in the sweltering August heat, staining the soil below. Conflict rages on in the distant background— Amethyst running solo?— yet he can’t keep track of the action by sound alone. It’s... too much sensory input. More than he can handle, by a long shot. Every bit of his universe now is faint and weak and pain pain pain pain pain, but he manages to shift his arm just enough to slip his hand under his shirt, blindly grasping for his gem... working off a terrible, horrifying hunch.

Shaking fingers find their way to warm crystal, tracing the outer edges, and then—

He traces a deep gouge, running diagonal clear across the center facet.

Cracked.

And with that realization, any remnant of calm he had left flies straight out the window. Another spike of static rips through his body (fuzzy images of Amethyst, 100% hard light body glitching out and unable to hold its shape, pervade his mind) as he makes rapid shallow gasps for air and seizes, trying in vain not to think too hard about what’s physically happening to him.

(I’m cracked I’m cracked I’m cracked I’m—)

“Steven!” Amethyst shouts, diving to his side in an instant. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m so sorry, it wasn’t safe, an’ I knew I had to bubble her before I- ‘fore I could—“

His wide eyed fear silences her even faster than his words. “H- Amethyst,” he rasps, voice hoarse. He blinks as tears begin to slip from between his lashes.

Near indistinguishable blurs of purple and black are his only metric for her movement now. He’s rolled onto his back. A hand moves under his head, stabilizing it.

“Whoa, dude, you’re like, pale as milk! What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?? Can’t you heal it?”

He somehow manages to push coherent words through his warbling cries. “I, I- I dunno, I’m c- cracked, I’m—“

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re WHAT?”

Giving no thought to courtesy in light of the situation, she yanks his shirt up to see for herself.

He hears her inhale as her fingers delicately brush against the gouge marring the center facet of his gem. It’s sharp, sympathetic. The kind of reaction only a Gem who’s lived this horror could offer him. Ever so slight, her hand recoils upon the no-doubt triggering sight. He— stars, he doesn’t wanna... doesn’t want to have to make her remember that, remember that awful time she herself got cracked, but here he is, so clumsy, s-so useless, an—

His chest trembles with every pitiful, bubbling gasp as he succumbs to the terror of the situation and begins to openly sob. Hot, fat tears pour in rivulets down his cheeks, but he knows instinctively there‘s no magic within them. Not today. Not when h-he’s... when he’s like this.

What’s even gonna happen to him now? How’s he gonna— Deep breath. This time, he feels it coming. Every muscle in his body contracts on automatic as that awful, awful static tears through his nerves like an arc of electric current.

It hurts it hurts it hurts ithurtshurtshurtshurtshurtshurts—

Amethyst does her best to lightly hold him as he seizes, cradling his head to ensure no more damage is done. When he stills this time the fight’s practically draining from his body. The boughs of the trees above him pirouette like dancers. Oh stars, everything’s... so... woozy...

“Aw, geeze,” she mutters, and reaches to her gem to pull out an object, thin and rectangular, too blurry in his view for him to make out with much detail. “I, uh... listen. I’m gonna call up Pearl, and we’re gonna fix you up, okay?? We’re gonna take you to the fountain, an’ then...” Her words (reassurance, but for who?) grow thick as her glance flicks downward at his stomach again. “An’ then you’re gonna be fine...”

“B-b-but... I don’t think— I can’t walk,” he blubbers.

“Then I’ll carry you.”

“Am- hnng- Amethyst—“

“Shh-shh, don’t talk, bud. Save your energy.”

“I- I’m so scared,” he blurts.

And it’s so true. Because everything is becoming so blurry and indistinguishable, and the more his body seizes the more fractured he feels, and he’s so close to closing his eyes and drifting off now, he’s sure he is, he’s gotta be—

“Steven,” she says, voice firm yet soft. “Steven, common’, look at me.”

Serious Amethyst. He recognizes the tone. No arguing now.

So slowly but surely— knowing there’s no sense in fighting back oceans when he can barely stay afloat amidst the shallows of this river— his weary, tear stained eyes meet with hers. They’re blown wide with fear, with genuine concern, but between the swirls of black and indigo blue stirs a deeper courage: the unwavering gaze of someone who will have his back to the end of the line.

Amethyst clasps her palm against his shoulder, solid and reassuring.

“Whatever it takes, I promise you... I’m gonna get you there.”

#su #steven universe #amethyst #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

155 notes · View notes

grim-faux · 3 years

Text

4 - Committed to Survival

Rather fix the camera in its hoister now, I’d wait until I wasn’t around the water. The path out of this place felt long and oppressive, the sharp smell of mildew at this point drilling a painful ache in my head. I shut the mesh door behind me and trudged up the stairs to the first landing, where a tolerable light source awaited.

MKULTRA program, CIA document no. 190691, p. 1, excerpt To: File Subject: Hypnotic Experimentation and Research, Febuary 10, 1954 On Wednesday, 10 Febuary, 1954, hypnotic experimentation and research work was continued in Building 13 of the Mount Massive Preserve in Colorado using the following subjects.

1. A posthypnotic of the night before (pointed finger, you will sleep) was enacted. Misses Jackson and Pierce immediately progressed to a deep hypnotic state with no further suggestion. Miss Pierce was then instructed (having previously expressed a fear of firearms in any fashion) that she would use every method at her disposal to awaken miss Jackson (now in a deep hypnotic sleep), and failing this, she would pick up a nearby pistol and fire it at Miss Jackson. She was instructed that her rage would be so great that she would not hesitate to “kill” Jackson for failing to awaken.

2. Miss Pierce carried out these suggestions to the letter including firing the (unloaded pneumatic pistol) gun at Jackson and then proceeding to fall into a deep sleep. After proper suggestions were made, both were awakened and expressed complete amnesia for the entire sequence. Miss Pierce was again handed the gun, which she refused (in an awakened state) to pick up or accept from the operator. She expressed absolute denial that the foregoing sequence had happened.” In the least my little souvenir was interesting. Hypnoses to cure fears, or force a person to perform a desired function. I read files on this but the fancy didn’t strike me, people liked to read those sorts of articles but I wasn’t prime on reporting them. I left the file on the landing and made the ground floor. I exhaled a breath of relief to see my surroundings unchanged, whether good or bad. At least the big fucker had left most of the building intact. I made my uneventful trek back to the Security room, I didn’t like the idea of a gaping hole behind me at this point, but I wasn’t about to prop that heavy metal door up with that little rolling chair. Call me lazy, I just wanted to get the doors open and put a fuck lot of distance between here, and the remnants of my healthy psyche. I wasn’t going to be normal after this, alright? The terminal looked like it would still function, some of the monitors seemed to be spazing out from the abrupt shut down. The main root, system controls, was up and ready to go. I managed to type in the first half of Security before someone crashed into me from behind, I didn’t even hear them enter. I tried to push back and throw them off but they had braced a knee into the back of my leg, the edge of the terminal bit into my bruised thigh. I already knew who it was even before he braced his arms over my chest, pain rippled up my side as he wrenched my head up. Something metal flashed across my vision. A needle! It was jammed into the base of my neck, my vision flashed as whatever the hypodermic was filled with drowned my senses. He released me and I collapsed against the desk, my forehead started to tingle and I immediately worried over what was in that needle. I leaned against my arms struggling to drag my failing strength back, but it was impossible. The blue chair rolled over the clean portion of the floor as he nudged it aside, and moved close beside me. I turned my head to watch his movement, his foul black robe swelled along my peripheral vision. Getting hard to focus. Felt like my legs were turning into jello. “I’m sorry, my son, I didn’t want to have to do this to you.” He revealed the needle and grasped my hand. “But you can’t leave, not yet.” I jerked my hand away from his clammy grasp and brushed him off. I tried to turn, push him away. I want nothing to do with you. Nothing! Just let me Leave! Without the support of the desk my legs gave out. The Priest caught me under the arms and lowered me to my knees. My shoulder pressed into the side of the metal desk as I stared up into his face. He was bald, with wild eyes that frightened me. “There is so much yet for you to witness.” Oh god. “Will you see it? Can you?” With one arm latched to my side, he used the other hand to turn my head towards a gray video feed. My thoughts were muddled, it was a room. Camera looking down in a room, with a desk, wall with windows. Bright windows. Everything in that room was bright. A symbol. Rings on the floor. Sharp ovals. People in the room. Holding guns. Looked like MHS cops. The guy I watched die. I tried to get out…. “Our lord the Walrider, tearing His truth into the unbelievers.” They were dying. My eyes drooped but I fought to keep focus, what was killing them? Dragging them off, throttling them, blood everywhere. This place was turning red, full of blood. Blood up to my knees, I was running from my shadow. What did they see? What was killing them? What did he put into me? “The only way out of this place is the truth.” My head rolled back to him. The drugs made me weak and heavy, and I couldn’t care less for what he was saying. The lights dimmed and I sank to my side. His last words rang through my mind. “Accept the gospel and all doors will open before you.” The dark. There was safety in the dark. There was comfort in the dark. The dark was the unknown. The dark was all encompassing. The dark was unmovable. Unless there was light. That terrible light. I awoke once, enveloped in white, everything was bright and painful to bear. By my side was a dark shape, the Priest. I blinked and he was outside the door, it looked like he was speaking to a man with ants crawling on his face. Maybe it was a dream. The road was very long, and it was already night. It didn’t matter what time visiting hours ended, I planned to snoop around the grounds anyway and pick up whatever looked incriminating. But I had to film something concrete, or my contacts would just scoff. When I arrived, the patients were wandering the front lawn in white shrouds. Something without form was tearing through them, tossing their bodies like broken toys against the walls, muscle and lungs were tangled in the barbed wire. Amidst them was Chris Walker, the other patients had bowed before him. It didn’t look like he cared. His face was splint back in a cruel grin, but his eyes were milky and dead. Once I had gotten away from the Asylum, I collapsed in the woods. Everything hurt, my body was broken. Death wasn’t the punishment anymore. I didn’t have to worry about paying the bills, a boyfriend, my next job - nothing mattered. The fight was over. I curled up in the wet leaves and sank into a deep sleep, the dead of winter closed in, but not even the cold could reach me. There was just the indiscriminate black that awaited at the end of it all. A soft groan escaped me as I roused, clearing the short rest from my stiff lungs. I opened my eyes to view murky shapes, odd lines in the white walls. The damn light was too bright, I turned my head and felt the dull pain in my neck reminding me of the previous events. Everything felt muggy and pointless to my mind, but at least I was alone. It felt like I had slept on the world’s hardest substance, the material crinkled nastily as I shifted. Smelt like a retirement homes bad day, but at this point I didn’t give a damn. Same scenario if you were drunk off your ass, you didn’t give a damn where you passed out. I put a hand to my collar and brought it back. No blood. Probably bruised like hell, but otherwise fine. My brain was still working out the crap that guy injected me with, should probably be the least of my worries. For a while I lay on that stiff cot, staring at the walls until they came into focus. Crosses and words scrawled everywhere. Some of it in blood. I took it this was His cell. I didn’t feel ready to resume my personal vendetta for freedom, but options were a luxury I feared I was now banned from. Time was my worst enemy, and my chances of walking out alive dwindled the longer I wavered. Either way, I didn’t want to be here when He returned. Slowly I sat up, making mental note of the injuries that had set into my body. I coughed a bit of blood onto my sleeve, but that didn’t alarm me. But I would check in to the hospital first chance I had. A real hospital. Very considerate of the Priest to leave the camera, but he had reinforced his desires into me that I was to be his Apostle. I flipped the visor open and raised it to the walls. “The priest, FATHER MARTIN brought me here to show me something. Thinks I’m going to be a witness for whatever batshit crazy he’s trying to sell me. This DR. WERNICKE is at the center of whatever went wrong here. But he died more than ten years ago. ‘Rest in Peace,’ says the blood on the wall.“ Fuck the story, when I get out of here I was going to write a New York Times best seller. “How I Survived the Worst Tip in my Career.” By Miles Upshur. In your face, Oprah. The door had no visible lock or latch mechanism. How did I get out? Maybe if I pushed. That didn’t seem to work, but as I peered out of the small window a face shot into the lens of my camera startling me. A click echoed, and the figure darted off. Though the door was now wide open, I waited. I had no idea what was out there, let alone where the hell I was NOW. I hadn’t seen much before he unlocked the cell. But the question I needed answered immediately, where was I in this god awful place? Far from the safest exit, of course! Tentatively, I crept forward, but what was I going to do if someone decided to come in next? I wasn’t hiding in here. This was better than Disney land. I think every ghost hunter in the world would donate a kidney, just to spend a night in this place. It was the main ward of the asylum, its heart, where all the crazies hung out. Below, I saw a few of the frequents. One man patrolling, smashing his skull into blood stained concrete with bone cracking force. I winced with each impact. “Back! Get back!” To my right a man lunged at a segregation gate rattling at the bars, shrieking his lungs out. “Get the fuck away from me! Rrah! Huh…don’t look at me. Don’t you dare….” I whirled away from him, relying fully on the doors capacity to withstand his violence, even if fate did not favor me this hour. I walked along the bland and gray wall, glancing down to the people on the lower floor. Had they been this messed up before Murkoff got ahold of them? They were using dream therapy to alter their higher cognitive functions of the mind, didn’t look like these people had that treatment. Even if they had, I still wouldn’t be able to distinguish them from your typical lunatic. I shuddered to think if Murkoff had been trying to cure their mental deficiency in order to use them for further experimentation later on. The smell. Like all the filthy alley ways and slums in every city in the world. I could hardly breathe without gaging, filth was everywhere. It was a miracle these people weren’t dead from contamination. Or maybe it was some sort of curse. This was no sort of life for a human. The window parallel to my face burst open and a hand shot out, grabbing for my head as I ducked. I smashed against the rail and stared up as the arm continued to grope blindly for nothing, then withdrew. The shock wore off quickly and I stood up to gaze on the face that met mine. Skin had been cut and moved, tacked down in cruel areas. It looked like his right eyelid had been removed, the eye now a shriveled sack in the socket. Despite his earlier ‘attack,’ I think I felt sorry for him. I was still glad his door was locked. The next door was open, but I could change that. “Said he shouldn’t hurt you,” a voiced hummed from within. Inside, opposite to a blood splashed corner, stood a man pawing at his face. He too had been mutualized by some form of surgery, one eye stitched shut and his face scarred by malpractice. “Is what he said.” I glanced around, then turned back to him and raised the camera. “Father Martin?” “Our Father,” he corrected. “Told him not to hurt you. But when the cat’s away….Hmmmm….Mmmmm.” Everything in me screamed, slam that door now. But I didn’t. Quietly, I backed away and left him as he was. If he was a danger, he was the least of my concerns. Shutting the door might agitate him, and there were people on the floor below that seemed to not have noticed my presence yet. I slipped around the pillar of the next corner and walked towards the metal door on this side of the level. “Who’s this?” I stopped in my tracks and stared at the speaker, cloaked by shadow. That was all they were cloaked by. “Maybe…Farther Martin’s man.” “Maybe.” The first seemed excited by my presence. My hair stood on end and I knew without a doubt, I should not be near them. The thick metal gate stood between us and presumably was locked, but I couldn’t make that gamble. Even without the NV I could distinguish their lack of apparel, their shapes were tall and sinewy, and they appeared to be identical twins. Splattered with blood. “He looks nervous.” “I would like to kill him.” I hid behind the pillar a little more. “As would I…” His voice made the task sound tedious. I really didn’t want to be here at this particular moment. “The preacher asked us not to.” “It would be impolite.” “Not here.” They paused. “We give him a running start?” “There’s an idea.” “And when we kill him, we kill him slow.” “Such patience.” I was done. I was gone. I was staggering down the steps searching for a way out of this mad house. “I want his tongue. And liver.” “They are yours.” Was there a way out? Not from down here, the only route I could see had the camera shy freak and my new fan club. They were giving me a running start. What the FUCK did that mean?! “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Said the man staring at a pillar. I decided from this point on, for the safety of my psyche and my body parts I did NOT need to speak with ANYONE. They could talk to me, I was not going to converse back. Someone darted from the group into an open door, and slammed it. One less to worry over. Two men still roamed, there was a third sitting in a wheelchair. I didn’t trust anyone in a wheelchair anymore. The two rooms on either side of the stairs had nothing to offer, no tools or messages, or items of interest. I had a fear of standing in the doorways, unless someone opened the door from the outside I could be locked in. The man staring at his pillar, he had been the one to let me out in the first place. I didn’t want to ask if there was a way out of this area. The Priest had brought me here, how the hell did he get out? Unless, he was still here…. “Don’t trust them.” I jerked away from the man in the wheelchair, I had given him his distance though it was doubtful he could do much. His mutilation went beyond the laws of humanity, scars and broken flesh healed over. I raised my camera and knelt down, but I refused to get too close. “They’ll tell you it’s science but it’s not. They were…waiting for us. In this place. Billy understood. They’ve always been here.” I wanted to ask him about Billy. About the experiments and the Walrider, and what he meant by ‘they.’ But I was frightened by what he might say. If he said any more. Uttering this information had seemed to exhaust him, and his head wilted to his shoulder. Briefly, I wondered if he had fallen asleep or had he finally escaped this place. I shivered and stood. A way out that involved my body and I escaping together, and in one piece. That seemed like a naive dream. I didn’t bother with the door behind him, or the one after that. Though, as I passed by a face appeared in the glass. I stared, and ‘he’ stared back. My mind was attempting to fathom how someone without a mouth could survive, unless there was a tube in his nose, but even his nostrils were compromised. It looked like there was an opening in his throat, reminiscent to smokers that suffered cancer and had their larynx removed. This place was god awful. I had to keep reminding myself that, the more I looked around, the more I felt. Even for a clutch of crazy people, murderers, whatever. I think the worst ones were the men and women that consciously decided they were going to mangle the part of them that wasn’t broken beyond function. Then, crack their minds open and figure out to what extent they could fuck their thoughts up even more. I was between feeling terrible and feeling like bitter justice was served. Everything was a whirling mess of gray with globs of black. One room I entered on the far side had a patient curled up on his cot, trembling. I knelt down to film him through the nightvision feed, taking in the details of his misshapen face. Many of the patients I had encountered thus far had scars or wounds of unknown origin, from experiments Murkoff was performing on them. It was briefly mentioned in Chris Walker’s file, many of his injuries were self-inflicted, but the report indicated not all. Were the patient’s the one mutilating their bodies, prior to Murkoff’s fall? Not all of them shared these injuries, some appeared almost normal or unharmed. It must have been a part of the process Murkoff was putting them through. But what sort of process I couldn’t begin to imagine. Some of the scars appeared almost like chemical burns in theory. What sort of monster would give an order to maim humans? “Too many voices. They followed me back.” He stumbled into me as I swayed to get out of his way. “No more sleep.” He grabbed my collar and forced me aside, and then continued on toward a bloody spot on the wall without pause. Wack. Smack! Crack! Clack! “They’re in my blood and they want to get out. Can feel….” I continued to back away until I was a safe distance, concealed in shadows. My back pressed against the cold wall and I slid down to sit. “We angered Him with our science. He only wanted faith.” The voice sounded very close, but when I turned my camera to find him, he was a few feet away curled up tightly in a corner. I sat there for what felt like a long time observing the habits of these people, lost in madness. Eventually the man whom stared at pillar did move, at first leaning on his subject matter, then slipping down until he was on his side facing the cold concrete structure. I turned my attention back to the man in wheelchair, but he had not yet moved since he spoke. I wondered if he did indeed die. It made no difference to me, not at this time, but I did feel a unique chill in my veins at the thought. How many people have I watched die today? “Voices in my head follow me back!” When the head banger made his third round, I decided it was time to find a way out. Without a word of farewell to the squatter, I crossed to the other side of the wall to doors that had not been examined. I was beginning to despair, surrendering resolve to the idea of returning to the upper level, to the twins. It was very likely they would open the door only to murder me. There was no place for me to run, or hide. Especially with the two of them, they’d corner me with little effort if I tried. My heart thudded against the stress, and that persistent pain in my chest. I needed a doctor. A door I opened finally offered some promise, the back of the room was shattered revealing a crack into an open work space. A shred of concern did remain in me to enter a room in which I could not open from the inside, but I didn’t give a damn at this point. I squeezed through the gap and pulled up the nightvision, it sounded like someone was struggling. I wasn’t confident in facing the source, if I had someplace to run I might felt more assured. Truth was safety was an illusion in Mount Massive, my only hope for survival was my capacity to elude danger. There wasn’t much to see in the work hall, pipes for water, pipes for gas, I couldn’t tell which from the static green NV feed. The noises were muffled but grew louder as I moved through the work space. I didn’t like the sound of them. Overhead the cement had been torn out, where the debris was removed to remained a mystery but it was a direction to take. I climbed onto a crate and made sure it was sturdy before leaping up to an overhead ledge. For a span I was completely blind in the dark, the camera strap I stuck in my mouth rather the case so I could reach it quicker. Once I had pulled myself onto the floor I knelt and took it up, looking immediately into the visor. A face covered in ants stared back. I gave a sharp yelp and toppled sideways, catching the jagged edge with my elbows before I fell through, my legs swung beneath me and I struggled not to drop the camera in my hand. Groaning, I pulled myself back up and crawled away before checking once more. “Agh! God damnit! What the fuck is the matter with you?” One of the patients had plastered himself against a wall and was fixing his shirt. He wasn’t wearing pants. On the floor across from him was a bloodied and decapitated body, nude, in a…suggestive position. “You weren’t invited to this, you god damned sicko.” Just….This place needed to go to hell. Some of the people here did deserve what they got. “What, you like to watch?” He pointed directly at me and reaffirmed his diagnosis. “It’s sick. You’re sick.” And thus my pledge, not to speak to any of these people, was solidified. You couldn’t stage better propaganda. “Fuck this place. Seriously, just fuck this place. Dying keeps moving lower on the list of the worst things that could happen to me here.” I jogged down the hall, an otherwise good mood literally—No, no. I needed to forget. Positive thoughts, healthy thoughts. I was terribly fucking lost, had no map, two naked men were admitted into my fan club, and dying was no longer top of the list of shitty ways to ruin this day. Or night. I had no fucking idea. “Hey! Hey!” I stopped in an intersecting hall when someone called for me, and rattled a gate. He was on the other side, which made me happy. “You… Oh. I….” By the time I had my camera zoomed in he had already spun about and was running away. The small event had me smirking despite everything, who did he think I was? A friend? Lord give me strength, I was just mistaken for a loony. And I thought it was funny.

#outlast #outlast novelized #miles upshure #outlast fanfiction

1 note · View note

tetrakys · 5 years

Text

Falling - part 6 (Finale)

Lance/Guardienne route following the events of episode 26.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

The first time I’d been on a boat with Lance I had no idea he was even there, hiding below deck for the whole duration of the trip to the Jade coast.

The second time he’d kidnapped me, knife at my throat, just to be able to escape HQ and get to Memoria.

Both times I hadn’t been a willing participant in that forced partnership.

This time though… it was completely my choice.

I rested my arms on the railing of the boat, looking at the lights in the distance, getting further away the longer we sailed.

Had I really left the guard for good? It sounded almost crazy to me. Those were my friends, people that I loved, and I was abandoning them to join their sworn enemy.

They were planning to sacrifice me though… the thought should’ve put things into perspective, truth was that part of me understood them, desperate times called for desperate measures.

But I wanted to live and, more importantly, I wanted my friends to live.

Friends… the word didn’t sound right in my mind.

Valkyon was a friend, no doubt about that, but I had to admit we’d always walked a thin line between friendship and something more. When we’d been possessed by the spirits of Yeu and Tihn and kissed, I’d seriously wondered about my feelings for him.

But then… there was Leiftan. He was the person I went to when I needed to talk, he was always there for me, so sweet and understanding, I fell head over heels for him. As much as he’d lied and hurt me there was no way I would let anyone kill him.

Time heels all wounds they say, and maybe it was true, but I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to feel again a love so pure and unconditional.

And then there was him.

I turned around to look at the third element of my equation.

Lance was at the wheel, guiding the boat with mastery. I looked at the rigid posture of his body in the dark armour, his severe gaze pointed towards the horizon while he took us away from HQ as quickly as possible. He hadn’t said a word to me since our escape, and in that moment I would’ve done anything to get into that head of his.

But the fact was… I’d been there. I’d seen his thoughts and as messy and complicated as they were one thing was clear: he felt something for me. What? I had no idea, but it was deep.

Also, it didn’t escape me the fact that the spell that was supposed to let me access the mind of whoever I desired the most had showed me his.

Yeah, friendship indeed.

Whatever we had was raw, messy, deep and… inevitable. I was done fighting this, I was done pretending.

So I stayed there, leaning against the railing, looking at him while he took us away. He didn’t look in my direction one single time, as if he were trying to avoid my gaze.

I would’ve been embarrassed if roles were reversed and he’d been the one accessing my memories and most intimate thoughts, but Lance didn’t do embarrassment. He wasn’t that kind of man. There was something else.

Sooner than I thought we stopped and I realised we were still in El… we’d simply circumnavigated the peninsula where HQ was built.

“Jump” he suddenly said, the first words he’d spoken to me in hours were an order… typical.

“What do you mean ‘jump’?” I asked crossing my arms, I wasn’t going to move one inch. “Aren’t we a little to close to the guard, here?”

“It means,” he replied tiredly, as if grasping for patience, “that the boat is damaged and we can’t go any further than this, we’re going to spend the night in the cave.”

“The cave?” I asked confused. “You mean the Immersed Cave? The one that is, you know, immersed?”

“Hence why I said jump, we need to swim to get there.”

“If you think that I’m going to…”

The words died in my mouth as soon as, with an annoyed grunt, he grabbed me by the waist and dropped me off the boat in the freezing night water.

The asshole!

I kicked my feet to raise to surface and find him already swimming towards the cave.

“Move your pretty ass, little aengel, we don’t have the whole night” he said from above his shoulder.

Cursing him in my mind, I followed him to the dark entrance in front of us.

I had been right, the cave was indeed submerged, but only partially. After a ten-minute swim we reached the shore or what was its dark, rocky version under the cave.

“It’s too dark,” I said once we reached the ground and I managed to feel my way to a mostly dry area.

“Well, why don’t you take care of it, instead of whining?” he replied, charming as ever. “You’re an aengel, light is kinda your thing.”

He was… actually right. Damn, I hated it. I concentrated on that spark I’d been feeling inside me since the moment my powers had awaken and pushed it to surface. Two seconds later I was covered in a pure, white light.

“Nice, he commented unimpressed from some point in front of me, “but I don’t think you want to spend the night as a human torch.”

“I don’t know what to do, it’s not like I had someone teaching me these past few weeks.” Well, I had one in theory, the only other aengel who could help me navigate my new powers, but he’d been locked in the prison and I’d been too angry to ask him for anything.

“You need to project the power towards the outside,” he replied, strangely patient. “I know your instincts tell you to keep it close, that it’s part of you, but exactly because it’s in you, you won’t lose it. Try it, picture it in your head and do it.”

I did it as he suggested, I closed my eyes and imagined a ball of light hovering us, strong and warm.

After a minute I opened them again and saw a decent sized ball of low intensity hovering our heads, a little too high than what I’d planned, still… it was a start.

The dim light was enough to give an idea of the area. I could tell the cave was huge, most of it was immersed but there were little areas, here and there, like the one we were on that were over the level of water.

I was sitting against one side of the rocky wall, Lance was sitting against the opposite one, but the place was so small that if I stretched out my legs I could easily touch his.

Without a word he started removing his armour.

“W-what are you doing?” I asked suddenly nervous.

He looked at me raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to spend the whole night wearing drenched clothes, and since you’re not able to produce anything warmer that that pitiful ball over there, I guess we need to undress.”

“W-wait… let me try again.”

I tried several times, I didn’t manage to produce anything warmer than a couple of matches. I was tired, after our escape from HQ we hadn’t stopped one moment, also I’d never learned any of that, what I did was purely by instinct. I needed a full night sleep, a good meal and a teacher.

With a sardonic smirk he resumed undressing and, trying with all my strength to keep my cool, I started doing the same.

“I bet this is the moment where you wished you’d escaped with the fire dragon, not the ice one.”

I looked at him unimpressed.

“There are many aspects that make me prefer the fire dragon.”

That shut him up. But what was I doing? I’d decided I wasn’t going to antagonise him anymore. That I was going to stay true to my feelings.

“But, right now, I’m exactly with whom I want to be.”

He looked at me seemingly annoyed, but I could tell he was surprised, I was starting to learn all his fake expression and telltale signs.

“And why would that be? You spend five minutes in my head and think you understand me now? Girl, you’re so out of your depths.”

“Am I?” We were both done to our underwear, without removing my gaze from his I lowered my bra straps, all his attention focusing on my movements.

“You’ve spent so much time alone in this angry Ashkore persona of yours that you don’t even have the guts to admit what you really feel and what you really want.”

I removed everything that was still on and stood there completely naked in front of him.

I thought he would come out with another snarky remark, another excuse of some kind but, taking one step, he grabbed me by the hips and with one swift movement I found myself with my back on the ground and him on top of me.

“You know…” he said with a heated look, “I’m done playing nice.”

“W-what? That was you… being nice?”

“Extremely nice, yes.”

“All the times you’ve manhandled me and snapped at me… you were being nice?” I asked sceptical.

“Foreplay,” he replied with his trademark smirk, while his hands moved to my waist and started raising up and up towards my chest.

“Even when you tried to kill me, more than once I might add?”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” he paused and, looking into my eyes, the most earnest and sincere I’d ever seen him, “You said it yourself… I can’t. I just can’t.”

My breath caught in my throat at his shaky words.

“Believe me, I tried,” he continued. “You know, you saw it. Killing you would’ve been the best way to ensure the success of all my plans, but it’s been a while since I realised that the end of the world is not worth the end of you.”

I raised my hand to cup his face, for the first time I’d known him, the ice in his eyes seemed to melt a little as he looked into mine. “If you can’t beat them, join them?” I said smiling, “I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He almost seemed relieved, but something else was there, something he was not telling me. But Lance was a complicated man, I couldn’t expect him to completely open up to me in one night after he had locked himself away for so many years. I raised my head and put my lips on his.

I kissed him slowly, tentatively, and when I was confident he wasn’t going reject me, I tangled my fingers into his hair and pushed him towards me, his weight pressing me into the rocky pavement of the cave.

He must have felt my discomfort because, with one movement, he grabbed me by the waist and changed our position, so that now I was sitting on top of him, straddling him.

This was so completely out of character for him, putting himself in a position of vulnerability, giving me power to do whatever I wanted to him.

I rested my hands on his abs and drew the lines of his muscles with my fingertips, in the dim light I’d created I could barely see his marks and scars, but I touched them all, with my hands, then with my lips and finally with my tongue.

I could feel him getting harder against my belly, and I was so ready for him. Without another moment of hesitation, I reached in his boxer briefs and took him in my hand.

He was huge and perfect, I couldn’t wait to feel him inside me. I looked into his blue, deep eyes and, where I usually could find only cold anger, now I saw heat, desire and something else. He stared into mine, and I was sure he could see the same. I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted him in that moment. Without breaking our gazes apart, I lowered myself onto him.

Gosh… I was so full. As wet as I was, I had to take a second to adjust to his size inside me. Then, he rested his hands on my hips, and helped me guiding my movements.

That night, many things happened in that cave.

Our movements, in perfect synchrony, bringing us to the peak of pleasure.

His lips on my neck, my shoulders, my chest… sending shivers down my spine and goosebumps on my skin.

My hands in his hair, on his arms, grabbing for dear life as our movements got more and more frantic.

It was sex, it was passion, it was desperate and raw, but it was also deep and meaningful, and while none of us wanted to label it out of fear and leftover arrogance, I knew exactly what it was.

It was love.

————

Hours later, we were hiding in the middle of El’s forest, waiting for the right moment to sneak inside HQ undisturbed.

That morning, at dawn, once we were both resting trying to catch our breath, he told me that if we wanted to stop the Guard for good, we had to get to the Crystal and perform a ritual, one that would froze it in its current state and prevent any new sacrifice.

We had argued a little about what consequences this would’ve had on Eldarya, I didn’t want to sacrifice anyone but also wasn’t on board with his plan of destroying the world. Once he’d assured me that the ritual would nether worsen nor improve the land’s current situation (that was getting pretty bad by the minute anyway), I accepted.

His men were going to attack HQ from one side, granting us the perfect diversion to sneak into the Crystal room.

Indeed it went easier than expected. Among the commotion, no one noticed us. I knew he had plenty of experience getting in and out of HQ as he wished, so it wasn’t really a surprise.

He’d even been able to remove Miiko’s seals and put stronger ones once we were in.

The Crystal looked even worse now than when I’d seen him last only a few days ago. I felt slightly guilty for what we were about to do, but I knew that we currently had no other options.

I helped Lance set everything up, I didn’t know how this ritual worked and we hadn’t had time to properly discuss this morning.

“Take this,” he said passing me what looked like a water bottle with a small pouch.

“What do I have to do with this?”

“You’re going to need it later, you’ll see,” he replied almost cryptically. He looked very busy though, so I didn’t ask for extra information.

At some point I saw something I wasn’t expecting.

“Ugh… is that… a piece of bone?” I asked a little disgusted.

He didn’t reply and just took out other objects.

“Wait… I know what these are…”

Dragon Tears, Dragon Scales, Dragon Heart… I’d studied so much about the subject that I sure confident I was right.

“You… this is not a ritual… you’re opening a portal!”

Laying one last object on the improvised altar he had created, he burned a parchment that probably contained words I would never find out, and a big ominous-looking black hole opened at my back.

“I’m sorry little aengel, this was the first and last time I lied to you,” he said with his smirk that didn’t look at all like his usual one, he tried, but he looked sad and almost dejected.

“Lance! What are you doing?” I asked frantic, grabbing his arm.

“This world is doomed, there’s nothing you can do to save it, unless you want to sacrifice yourself in the process, and I won’t allow it. Go back to your world, your life is there, with the humans.”

He paused, then cupped my face and added, almost pleadingly.

“Live. Please.”

I wanted to protest, wanted to make him understand that it wasn’t his choice to make, that I wasn’t going to save myself and leave them all in trouble. I could see he had enough ingredients for one trip, he wasn’t going to come with me, and I knew he would never leave his brother to die here alone.

But before I could say anything, he kissed me. He kissed me with all he’d got, like he hadn’t done the previous night when we’d spent hours in each other’s arms, when he was still trying to put some distance between us, and now I knew the reason why. He’d been planning this for a while, all those times he’d sneaked into HQ stealing stuff, he was preparing for this.

Save me and damn the world at the same time.

We kissed with fervour and passion, there was everything in that kiss, anger, desire, hurt, longing and devotion.

When he finally broke his lips away from mine, I heard him whisper.

“I love you, Erika.”

Grabbing me by the arms, he pushed me into the portal.

The last thing I saw of Eldarya were his eyes, his beautiful, striking, icy eyes.

“Lance!” I cried out.

Then darkness, darkness and nothing else.

And I kept falling.

———

Epilogue

“This is your only option,” I said after what felt hours of pointless discussion, but it couldn’t have been that long, there wasn’t enough time, the world was about to end.

Miiko looked at me with hatred in her eyes, the whole guard did, they wanted to kill me, maybe, probably, but they knew deep down I was right and there was nothing else that could be done.

“If we do this,” she said, “it’d be like a second Blue Sacrifice.”

“Similar, but not the same,” I replied annoyed by their stupidity. “No genocide this time, no senseless selective suicide, the price this time will be paid by everyone.”

I looked into their eyes, “this is going to take away from you everything you took away from her.”

“Erika… Erika!” I felt someone call my name and woke up to find Candy shaking my shoulder.

“Geez… you slept the whole hour, luckily Miss Paltry didn’t see you, otherwise you’d have been in trouble.”

Ah, right… the personal development class.

It always took me a few moments to remember where I was when I had one of these dreams, which looked more real than reality itself, because I was back in Eldarya, looking at the world with his eyes, experiencing his thoughts.

But, alas, those were only dreams, Eldarya had been destroyed and everyone was dead.

When I woke up, a few months ago, in the forest on Earth close to the mushroom circle where this story had begun, I was desperate. I’d tried so hard to go back to my world and, now that I was there, I wanted to go back to Eldarya.

I couldn’t accept the fact that I was the only one who’d survived.

I couldn’t accept my friends were all dead.

I couldn’t accept he was dead.

A part of me hated him for what he’d done, for taking the choice away from me.

Another loved him even more.

This was definitely the case when I realised that the water bottle he’d given me contained Lethe water, and a formula that reversed engineered the memory potion that had took everything away from me.

I was back into my world, back to my family, back to my life.

But I wasn’t the same person who’d stepped foot in that mushroom circle.

I tried to move on with my life, I really did. I went back to school for my last year of college, made new friends, went out, but everything felt off, as if I was living half a life.

And that spark… it was still there. I still felt it in me, but didn’t have the guts to call it to surface, as if it’d be too painful to access that part of me that I was supposed to forget.

But how could I? I kept having those strange dreams and, as absurd as it sounded, I kept seeing people from Eldarya everywhere I went.

Once I was sure I’d seen Kero in the library, there was a boy who looked exactly like him minus the horn. I even ran to him and hugged him, the poor guy was so distressed he fled the library.

Another time I thought Karuto was serving me at the cafeteria, he was wearing a protective mask though so I wasn’t completely positive. When I asked the man his name, he just mumbled something annoyed and left.

And these were only two examples, one time I thought I saw Miiko in the crowd of a concert, and another time, at the gym, there was a guy who looked incredibly like a human version of Jamon.

I was becoming completely crazy. I even thought about going to therapy, but what could I say? I’m back from a magic parallel world and I can’t readjust to life on Earth?

Yeah, sure.

Candy and I left the class idly chatting about thesis ad plans for the weekend. She was nice, I’d met her at the first personal development class I’d attended, but we didn’t have any other classes together, she was in the History of Art program. Still, we’d become good friends in the past few months.

“Ugh…” she said pointing towards a wall. “You know I love art, but this is too much.”

There was a huge mural freshly painted in the corridor. It wasn’t the first time this month, apparently there was someone sneaking into Anteros at night, painting these things on the wall, I could tell they were trying to denounce something, but the message wasn’t quite clear to me, strangely familiar but unclear. Still, the university had tried anything to capture this guy, but they’d never made any progress.

Candy left to meet her friends Rosa and Alexy, she asked me if I wanted to join but I wasn’t in the mood this time, I went to the library and spent a few hours trying to study.

I must have fallen asleep again on my books, because when I woke up, it was the middle of the night and the library was deserted.

I grabbed my stuff and quickly made my way towards the dorms. Before I could get into the building though, a strange noise caught my attention.

I turned the corner to find an unexpected sight. A guy, a tall guy dressed in black with a bandanna on his face and a hood covering his head, was painting a huge mural at the back of the dorms building.

It was… familiar. The painting was abstract, but its colours… I could see they were blue and white… and it reminded me so much about Eldarya and the Crystal… I had to look at it closer.

When I stepped towards it, the guy turned around and grabbed me by the arm, pushing me to the wall.

“Who the hell are you, and what do you want?” his hostile voice said.

But that voice… sounded too familiar. I looked up into his eyes, the only thing visible of his face and I almost felt like crying. Icy blue eyes… looking at me with a cold, aggressive stare I knew only too well.

“Lance…” I whispered.

Those eyes rounded in shock. “How do you know my n…”

And then I understood.

Those dreams hadn’t been dreams at all, they were his memories, somehow I was still connected to him.

He’d found a way to save everyone, Eldarya was gone but everyone was here on Earth, and the sacrifice for that were their… memories, their memories of each other and their life.

This is going to take away from you everything you took away from her.

Before I could say anything else, we heard a guard coming our way and Lance ran, disappearing from my sight.

I ran too, towards the dorms, my mind and heart in turmoil, but it felt like I was finally breathing again.

Maybe this was what the Oracle had meant, saving Eldarya had nothing to do with the place but everything to do with its people, I was the only one with her memories intact, maybe my purpose was to awake them all and help them find themselves again. Help the faeries live in the world they’d originally escaped.

Prove that faeries and humans could coexist.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but I could do it. I could save them all.

I could save him.

I smiled, finally relieved, he was here, with me, in my world.

And I was going to get him back.

THE END.

——–

Thanks to the anons who inspired this story with their prompts, you’re amazing! ;)

#eldarya #lance #ashkore #writeblr #my writing #falling

70 notes · View notes

nocturne-inuyasha-ff · 4 years

Text

Nocturne - Midnight Fantasies, Morning Revelations

Nocturne - Chapter Four: Midnight Fantasies, Morning Revelations

Rated - M (for suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, and coarse language)

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha.

Kagome could feel a soft pressure on the inside of her leg, but it was not enough to pull her from her entirely out from the land of dreams. She did not want to leave those dreams, warm and carefree, to face the harshness of reality just yet. The pressure rose higher in a slow, almost tentative movement. The feeling trailed back down, teasing her skin as the flesh pulled into taunt gooseflesh. Then the touch trailed back up, slower now, rising higher and higher. When finally, the touch reached the apex of her thighs, a heavy weight lowered itself onto her legs.

Eyelids fluttering, still blurry with sleep, Kagome looked to find a silver glow between her legs. The covers had been thrown back, allowing the heat to dissipate into the cold of the room. Any remaining heat she had left in her body flooded all down to her lower half.

Before any more thought could be strung together, or words uttered, a soft touch caressed her most intimate area. She sucked in a breath, languishing in the sudden feeling of pleasure. Her legs fell open shamelessly at the beckoning and Kagome mindlessly moaned, perhaps a name; she wasn't sure.

The pressure was warm and wet as it touched her, gliding over her sensitive folds. Her fingers wrapped around the silver strands positioned between her legs. The sensation that mounted in her core caused her to flush, her body now reinvigorated. Euphoric intensity began to build within her. The urgency of her need began to overwhelm her already foggy state. Kagome's eyes were slits, and through her sleepful haze, she was brought closer and closer to consciousness.

Golden eyes and a crescent moon flashed briefly through her vision before she squeezed her own eyes shut as the climax engulfed her, sending her over the edge in waves. A breathy cry escaped her lips, and she gripped, white-knuckled, onto the strands of silver. Her eyes flew open, and she bolted upright, her need for something more overcoming her.

Kagome panted softly and looked around the dimly lit room. Looking between her legs, there was...nothing. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her covers. She loosed her grip and scanned the room again. There was nothing out of place, and she was alone in the small abode.

'Did I just dream that?' she wondered sheepishly.

To have such an intense and realistic dream made her feel a little shameful — what a lustful woman she was becoming. A blush crept over her face once she realized who she had dreamed. Raising a hand to her mouth in a thoughtful gesture, she waved away the notion.

'No, I musn't drudge those memories up,' she scolded herself.

The room was cold, the embers of the hearth which heated the house pitifully low. Kagome shivered and rose to bring the fire back to life. Once she'd completed that task, wakefulness had settled too much upon her for sleep to come back quickly. Oddly enough, her dream had not satiated her hunger, leaving her desirous for more. She pushed the thought away, shoving it down deep. She prepared an herbal tea and sipped the steaming concoction, thinking the dream over and over. It made her middle clench in an exciting sensation.

'How can I be thinking about this?!' she demanded of herself.

Setting her cup down forcefully, she rose up and walked over to the door. Her hand rose and settled on the wall as if touching something on the other side. Now she was being silly. It would seem that living on the edge of a village and being alone led to ridiculous tendencies: dreams, notions, and the like.

The herbal tea began to take its intended effect, and Kagome made her way back to her futon to sleep before the sun started its zenith. There were only a couple of hours left of darkness and village life started early. She longed to be well-rested when tending to the needs of others so she settled in to sleep, all the while praying no more dreams would come her way.

When the sun rose, Kagome woke to the sound of birdsong outside. She found it irksome that even 500 years in the past, she had to wake early. Back when she was still a child she had naively thought that people in the past slept in because they lacked alarm clocks. Now she knew the truth. Nature had a gripping way of reminding one that life would not wait. Whether it be the call of the birds outside, the pressing need to relieve oneself after a night of sleep, or the steady reminder that food had to be made - from scratch no less - and food cost money which had to be earned through hard work. In a sense, sleep was a commodity that many could not afford.

She set to her morning chores, which consisted of putting the bedding away, setting up the hearth and cleaning up any old cinders, drying herbs, and fetching water from the local water supply. She usually tried to gather water before the sun rose, but since winter had set in, she waited until the sun rose high enough to provide some level of warmth.

Today, it was hidden behind a cover of grey clouds, and Kagome sighed as she set out with her carrying pole to the river. Usually, Inuyasha would fetch the water for their home since he could carry more and return quickly, but while he was gone, Kagome had to shoulder all of the household chores, quite literally. On her return trek, she paused when she heard her name called aloud.

"Kagome!"

Kagome set her load down carefully and turned around. She knew from the voice that Sango was coming her way. The woman waved heartily once she saw that Kagome had heard her and Kagome waved back. The former taijiya jogged over and hugged her friend.

"Kagome, it's been days since I've seen you!" Sango exclaimed.

"I suppose it has!" Kagome considered. She'd not given thought to the absence of her friend these past few days; her mind preoccupied. "I'm sorry, I've been a bit distracted and busier than I'd intended."

Sango gave Kagome an assessing glance, looking her up and down with a peculiar look on her face.

"Well," she began, "I figured something was up since you missed dinner last night."

The realization hit her like a hammer, "Oh my! I'm so sorry, Sango! I completely forgot about it. Please forgive me."

Sango waved her off. "It's fine. The girls missed you, but the boys couldn't be bothered. Katsu is going through this stage where he finds all girls disgusting, and little Hiro does whatever his elder brother does, so…" she trailed off.

"Well, I am sure I can make it up to them tonight?" Kagome suggested. "I don't have anything special planned."

Sango smiled broadly, "Not unless the men return, that is."

Kagome forced a laugh. "Right," she said with a small, forced smile that seemed to belie her true feelings.

Sango sighed and put a friendly hand on Kagome's shoulder.

"Listen, the real reason I've come is to check up on you. I saw young Rin yesterday evening, and she told me that you took a tumble."

Kagome looked off to her side. She didn't want her friends to worry about her. There was so much else to worry about, and she didn't need them burdening themselves fearing for her wellbeing.

"Oh, that. Yes, I think I was overworked and dehydrated."

"Dehydrated?" Sango questioned.

"Um, when you don't have enough water," Kagome supplied.

Sometimes what seemed simple common sense was unknown to the people of the Fuedal Era. Kagome had a hard time recalling what was considered modern medicine and what was not. Something that every school-age child knew of - germs - were still undiscovered and unknown in this day and age. Kagome thought it common sense to wash her hands, boil rags, or keep medical utensils clean, whereas the people of the era did not share her concern.

Sango nodded, "That makes sense, I suppose."

She looked to her left and her right to make sure no one was listening. The village had ears in every direction and larger mouths. Word would travel fast if one were not careful. Kagome noticed that Sango seemed to brighten when she assured herself that no one was around.

"So, tell me, Kagome. What ails you? Truly?"

Kagome felt a little taken aback at her direct question. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Sango gave her a sheepish look. "You cannot fool me. I've been with child enough to know your symptoms are not from 'de-hi-dray-tion,'" she attempted the unfamiliar word.

A shocked expression crossed Kagome's features, and Sango felt a little dubious. "You can't mean to tell me you didn't know? You? The miko who knows all of the gloriousness of healing from your future world?"

When Kagome still did not respond, instead, standing almost listless in front of her, Sango began to feel concern.

"Kagome! Perhaps you are truly not well. Come," she said and grabbed up the carrying pole. "Let's get you back to your home and discuss."

Sango guided her friend back to her dwelling. Once inside, Sango sat the water down and approached Kagome who seemed to be internally at war with herself.

"Let's sit," she said and guided Kagome to the floor. "You are even paler than usual," Sango said softly.

Kagome was, indeed, at war on the inside. She felt surges of happiness and shock and tinges of fear.

"I…" she began. "I did know, I think. I just hadn't admitted it to myself."

"Well, you've been childless for so long I was beginning to think that Inuyasha was impotent!" Sango exclaimed.

"Haha," Kagome let out a nervous laugh. "I suppose not. Otherwise, how could I be...pregnant?" she nearly choked on the word.

Sango turned serious. "You do not look as excited as I would have expected. Are you sure you are alright?"

"I'm fine," was her response and not a convincing one.

Sango wore a skeptical look and assessed her friend again, trying to see if her gaze could crack Kagome open.

"Right, well, I am excited for you, and I am certain that Inuyasha will be ecstatic once he learns the news."

Kagome's eyes snapped wide. She hadn't considered Inuyasha. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts, not allowing herself to see the truth and what that may imply, that it had caught her off guard.

"Are you afraid of his reaction?" Sango asked, inferring from her friend's actions. "I, too, was nervous to tell Miroku that I was with child. Even though I knew it was what he had wanted, I still felt trepidation."

She gave Kagome a reassuring hug. "Once I told him, he surprised me with his tender reaction, and I could not have felt more love for the man."

Sango sat back and smiled, thinking about it. "And here I am...four children later."

"I know it's silly. I've wanted this for so long. I'm just afraid that it won't be what he wants," Kagome said.

"He would be a fool to assume that coupling would never result in children. Even more a fool to pass up the chance to create a family with you," Sango told her. "In fact, if he acts anything more than over the moon with happiness, you tell me, and I will knock him out," she said levelly.

A burst of real laughter erupted from Kagome. Sango had a way of putting things into perspective. Kagome only wished that she could tell her friend her genuine fear, but the past events would be misconstrued into something else entirely, and Kagome had not yet determined how to deal with this perturbing turn of events.

She mentally shook herself back to reality, "Thank you, Sango. I appreciate all that you've done."

"You know I would do practically anything for you. Just as you've done for me. I love you as a sister, and I'm so excited for you," Sango said tenderly, pulling Kagome into another embrace.

The woman was much too pleased with Kagome's condition, likely so she would have another person with which to commiserate. The other village women seemed a little vapid for Sango's tastes. She preferred to hold a meaningful conversation, one that included battling techniques or demon-slaying, which the local women did not consider appropriate conversation topics for women.

"I consider you a sister, too, Sango. Thank you again. I'm glad to have you through this...process," she said gesturing to her middle. "But, um, do you think that Kaede and Rin know?"

Sango gave her a knowing smile. "Of course Kaede suspects, and Rin...well she is a chatterbox and probably the most gossip-mongering person I know, but she is not blind. Neither is she disloyal to her friends. You've nothing to worry over until you are ready to share the news yourself. Though, I cannot imagine who more you could tell outside of the men."

Just thinking that Rin knew made Kagome's heart sink into the pit of her stomach. Rin was loyal and would not tell anyone. Well, there was someone she would trust enough to understand, and that was the last person that Kagome wanted to know about her condition.

"Can I share something with you?" Kagome asked. She must have looked quite pitiful once Sango's expression turned from joyous to concerned.

"Of course," she said.

"I-I assumed that Inuyasha and I could not have children," she divulged.

"What would make you think that? Just because you had not been with child yet, does not mean you are not capable. Sometimes it takes a while for a pair to be fully compatible," Sango tried to assure her.

'Compatible,' Kagome thought. What a word to use. "Well, there's that, and sometimes, hybrids cannot reproduce."

Sango's lip curled up in confusion, her brow knit together. "What?"

"You know that Inuyasha is half human and half yokai, right?"

"Yes, I am familiar with his lineage," Sango told her. "What does that have to do with it?"

"But have you ever seen a quarter yokai?" Kagome asked. "A diminutive version of a hanyou?"

"Kagome, are you afraid that Inuyasha will not want a child with you because it would be some sort of abomination?"

"No, that's not it. It's just that usually hybrids are sterile. Meaning they cannot have children." she explained.

Sango still looked confused. "I don't follow, but I do know that you are overthinking into this."

"You're right; I'm just overthinking this. I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Don't apologize. I was also very overcome with crazy thoughts. I even would have the most pleasantly, strange dreams! The things that pregnancy do to you may shock you, but I promise I will be here as well as the others."

Kagome smiled and sighed. Momentarily, she felt at ease. She thanked Sango profusely and entertained her for another hour before she had to return to her family.

"I will see you this evening for dinner," she said. "I need to get back before the young ones overwhelm Rin. I left them with her to come out here alone. I didn't think you'd want to have your tidy home trampled just yet," she winked.

Kagome dreaded the return of Inuyasha like none other. Her guilt racked her profoundly, and it often would make her sick. She honestly could not tell if she was experiencing morning sickness or if it was her mind eating at her. So, she was pregnant. She felt like she should be on one of those ridiculous American reality TV shows where the woman does not know who the father was and they parade around on stage asserting who they thought was the father, only for a DNA test to return shocking results. The only difference here was that there were no DNA tests.

She weighed her options frequently. She might have carried Inuyasha's child, and she hoped for that scenario since it would be the easiest to handle. On the other hand, she had done some studying on hybrids while she was sealed in the future. It was difficult to explain, and the science behind it made her head fuzzy, but the result is that two different species may only be compatible for one generation.

Yokai were something different, if not another species, she'd determined. This was much all too complicated to think about for any length of time. Kagome settled her mind on the fact that if she and Inuyasha could have a child together, it would have happened already. The timing between her night with Sesshomaru and her resulting pregnancy was just too perfect.

Anytime she thought about it at length, Kagome always ended up with the same conclusion, and it frightened her. If this were the daiyokai's child...what would the implications be? What would Inuyasha think? What would he do? She shook her head. She knew precisely what Inuyasha would do. He would turn into an uncontrollable rage-beast and attempt to kill his half-brother for impregnating 'his woman.'

However, if she did not tell Inuyasha, maybe he would assume this was his child. He knew nothing of the midnight tryst she and his brother had shared and had no notion of future genetics. Perhaps that was her best option. But could she live with the guilt? The constant fear eating away at her that Inuyasha would wise up and find out somehow? What if he could tell the child was not his own?

She shuddered at the thought and another heinous imagining popped into her mind. What if Sesshomaru knew? What would he do given his stance towards hanyos? Would he kill the child or her with it before the world was tainted with the knowledge that he had sired a mutt?

Kagome's head hurt with the swirl of 'what ifs.' She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears still found their way out to run down her face. It seemed that no matter what she did, she was doomed. She would lose everything, and no one would know or care that she was not to blame. But she felt at fault. She could have stopped the night from happening. She felt the call and the spell that had been wrapped around her. It would not have been difficult to break the spell, but she let curiosity get the best of her, and the lust that she felt when she realized who had been called to her side made her forget about any attempt at breaking it.

A creak in the floorboard announced the presence of a visitor to Kagome's abode. She opened her eyes to see Inuyasha in the doorway. Fear chained her to the floor, and guilt weighed her down. Inuyasha's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of her crying on the floor.

He quickly rushed to her side and knelt beside her, "Kagome?" he questioned gently. "What's wrong?"

She smiled and wiped her traitorous tears from her face. "Inuyasha!" she exclaimed. "You're home."

"I thought you'd be happy to see me," he said, nearly pouting. "Sango squealed and jumped into Miroku's arms."

"It-It's not that," she sniffled.

"Then, why are you crying? What's happened?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

Kagome steeled herself and tried her best to look happy. "I'm...pregnant," she told him.

His face dropped into a blank expression for a split second as he processed the information. "What?" he said.

Kagome gave him a playful shove, trying to bring levity to the moment. "I said...I. Am. Pregnant."

"With my child?" he asked, his features starting to brighten.

Kagome knew that his question was a knee-jerk reaction from someone who had led a tumultuous life and still could not comprehend that anyone would live with him, let alone love him and give him a family. It caught her off guard, and she nearly admitted her doubt aloud.

"Why would you ask that, idiot?!" she asked offensively. She had half a mind to 'Sit' him then and there, but refrained.

"This is amazing news! We're finally going to have a pup of our own, and I can rub it in Miroku's nose!"

"I tell you I'm pregnant and all you can think about is defending your masculinity to the lecher monk? Doesn't it mean anything else to you?" she asked, a little appalled at his reaction.

He scooped her up into a big hug and nuzzled her neck. "Of course it does. It means everything to me," he said gently.

Kagome bit back the tears that threatened to spill out. Her mind was made up. She wouldn't tell him, nor could she.

Almost a month had passed, and spring had begun to tease its arrival. The cold had broken into something more bearable, but it still chilled all those who ventured out into it. Kagome had shared the 'official' news with her friends, and it was well-received by everyone, much to Kagome's internal chagrin. No one knew the truth. In reality, Kagome bore it all relatively well given the circumstances. She just had this foreboding feeling that something would happen, and soon.

Her ultimate fear was that someone would look at her and know her horrible secret. Most days, she would only feel the twinge of guilt once or twice a day, and she would need to take steadying breaths to clear her mind. Others were much more difficult. Kagome had a perfect excuse, though. She could use pregnancy ailments as a reason for her moments - or days - of strange behavior.

This day was one of the worst so far. Today, Kagome did not want to rise out of bed and face the day. The night before had been trying for her. Inuyasha had doted upon her, completing her chores, bringing her meals wherever she happened to be working, and being generally affectionate. He had not said an offensive word to her since she'd told him of her condition and that did nothing to settle her shame.

'How could she deceive him?' She would often wonder. Inuyasha had finished the night cuddling against her abdomen - which had begun to swell - and spoke to her unborn child. Had her circumstances been different, the moment would have been perfect.

Inuyasha had risen early this morning and completed her usual morning tasks only to return to find her bedridden.

He dashed to her side in concern, "Oi, Kagome? Are you okay? Why are you still in bed?" He paused. "Is it the baby?"

Kagome's internal anguish manifested itself into a sob.

"No, I do not feel well today... Hormones," she casually explained away.

The word was foreign to Inuyasha, and he just nodded and kissed her forehead.

"I have to go. There is fighting up north that is threatening to spill southward to the village," Inuyasha told her.

She rose up onto an elbow to give him her attention; her anguish was momentarily forgotten. He must have seen Miroku while out and about.

"Why?" she asked. Her question was not inquiring why he was leaving but rather why there was fighting.

"Stupid people making stupid decisions. Humans fighting for power, the usual," he told her. "There've already been some people sent here asking for help. Some shogun is levying villages for men to support him in a campaign or something. I don't know the specifics, just that those idiots are going around killing people. If you want details, ask Miroku. I'm just going along to send a message of my own." A sinister grin crossed his face, and that mischievous look nearly made Kagome smile.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Fuck with us, and I will come and fuck with you," he said darkly.

She nearly laughed. "Right, you go and dispatch the baddies. But how long will you be gone? This doesn't sound like the usual deal."

Inuyasha rolled up onto a shoulder and began to run his hand over Kagome's abdomen. "I don't know, Kagome. A week or two, maybe. Not long. I just gotta run through these people and I'll be back here."

"I see," she said. "I'm not going anywhere." She rose up and began putting her things away.

Inuyasha hopped up and began to follow her around the room, helping her to put things away. Kagome smiled, amused at his new penchant for assisting her. "What will I do once you're gone?" she asked jokingly.

"Well, I figured maybe you'd like it if Shippo were here?" he asked, shrugging.

Kagome stopped and turned on her heel, "What?"

Shippo had been away at Kitsune school, studying for his examinations. Kagome only saw him sparingly this past year since he was nearing the completion of his intermediate training. In fact, he'd not been back to the village since before she'd announced she was with child.

"Yeah, he came back this morning. I told him to wait outside while I told you about the trip. He wanted to surprise you, so act surprised or something."

"Since when does Shippo listen to you?" Kagome asked.

"Since I knocked him upside the head and told him that I'd always be able to clobber his ass no matter what type of training he thinks he has," Inuyasha answered. He crossed his arms and looked a little smug.

Without any prompting, the kitsune entered the house and dashed over to pull Kagome into a bear hug, spinning her around. "Oh!" Kagome exclaimed.

Inuyasha, arms still crossed, yelled, "Oi! Watch the goods runt!"

Shippo put Kagome down carefully. He'd grown to stand nearly her height, which astonished Kagome. He'd been so small for the longest time that Kagome hadn't thought he'd get much larger. How wrong she'd been. "Oh, Shippo! It's been too long this time!"

The kitsune's deeper voice surprised her. "It's only been a few months. I had to really study for that last exam," he told her. "But look!" he pointed out, turning around for her to see his backside. Three tails wagged in unison at her. "I got another one!" he said happily. "Now I have as many as papa did."

"Wow, look at that! You'll have an entire set in no time!" she said. She put her hands on her hips and admired his new tail.

"You know it!" he grinned. "Soooo," he began and looked down at her middle. Kagome gave him a confused look. Why was he looking at her like that? She wondered. "When are you planning on telling me about the bun in the oven? You finally let Inuyasha knock you up, huh?"

Inuyasha scowled and knocked Shippo on top of the head with a fist. "Fuck off…"

Kagome's eyes widened in surprise, "Wha...uh...I guess you know then. How did you know?"

Rubbing his head, Shippo ducked away from Inuyasha's swinging fist and ran behind Kagome.

"Yeah, hide behind a woman, you coward," Inuyasha growled.

Shippo grabbed Kagome's shoulders from behind and peeked over, laughing. "It's not difficult. I can sense it. I learned it in school. Something Inuyasha would know nothing about," he cajoled.

Inuyasha's eyes narrowed, and he cracked his knuckles maliciously. "Keep yapping, but just remember runt...you can't cower behind her forever."

"Chill out, Inuyasha, I'm just messing with you." Shippo plopped down on the floor next to the hearth and began to look through a pot of food, looking for anything edible and blatantly ignoring Inuyasha's empty threats.

With a growl and roll of his eyes, Inuyasha turned to exit the house. Kagome pulled an outer robe over her garments and stepped out behind him.

"Are you leaving right now?" Kagome asked hesitantly. Inuyasha had not gone far. He leaned against the exterior of the house, his arms still crossed.

"Yeah. Miroku's getting some things, and he'll meet me here," he answered.

"Be safe…" she said absently, her thoughts beginning to drift away.

"Keh, I ain't worried. And you shouldn't either, woman. Those humans can't do nothin to me," he assured her.

"Okay," she replied. She crossed her arms and looked towards the horizon where the village lie. Miroku would likely become visible in a moment or so. His proclivity for arriving punctually was one of his more endearing qualities.

Kagome brought a hand to her chin and crossed her other arm underneath. "Do you think that this skirmish is affecting the western lands?" she asked.

Inuyasha looked over at her, "Sesshomaru's land? I don't know. Why should I care?"

She shrugged, not meeting his gaze. "Curiosity, I guess. I'm thinking about Rin and how much she cares for him."

"Keh," Inuyasha scoffed. "I'm sure that asshole is doing just fine. I can't say much for the guy, but if anyone tries to fuck with him, they won't live to regret it."

Kagome pointed at a figure broaching the horizon; Miroku right on queue. The monk had a large pack strapped to his back and followed by Sango and their four children. The family exchanged their goodbyes at Kagome's house, and Miroku assured a speedy return. Sango bore a worried expression as her husband departed and pulled her children close while they waved him farewell. Inuyasha only lingered for a moment, pulling Kagome into a tender embrace and then walked off with Miroku into the distance.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Sango asked.

Kagome gave her friend a reassuring gaze. "With Miroku as the brains and Inuyasha the brawn, there's nothing that can stop that pair," she joked.

Sango sighed, "As long as he uses his big head and not his little one to think with…"

Kagome blushed and gestured to the children who now attacked Shippo in a heap of flying limbs.

Sango waved her off, "It's fine. They can't hear me."

Kagome chuckled and watched the children all pull at Shippo's tails and his clothes while he cried out, hamming it up. For once, she did not feel the fear or guilt and started to think that she could have this...family...with Inuyasha.

Sango called off her tiny warriors from their foe, and Shippo begged for mercy on his knees. "Oh please mighty taijiya-monk children, do not smite your dear old friend Shippo!"

The children all laughed and whined that they wanted to stay and slay the fox, but Sango ordered them off the Kitsune with a commanding voice. Once the children had been thoroughly cowed into submission and stood ready to leave, Sango turned to wish her friend goodbye. She hugged Kagome, giving her a wink.

"Someday, very soon, this will be all yours," she said, nodding her head towards the children who had begun to fight amongst themselves.

Kagome smiled and waved as the family made their way back to the village and their domicile. Shippo waved, too, holding Kagome by the shoulder companionably. Once he was sure they were gone, he leaned his head towards her.

"So, when are you planning on telling me what's really going on?" Shippo inquired.

#Chapter Four #Inuyasha #Returns #Shippo #Sango #Wet Dream #Desires #Longing

12 notes · View notes

seashellwriter · 6 years

Text

Come Closer

Holy crud, I didn’t mean for this to be so long but I guess that’s what happened ^^’ Hope you enjoy! Happy Egotober? lol

Summary: You find a monster in the night, wearing a charming disguise.

Trigger Warnings: Gore

The moon hovers brightly, like a halo, over smog ridden streets, casting a silvery light through the inky black of night. Your fingers are frozen and brittle from the nip in the air, a chilled breeze having you pull your thin coat closer to your trembling form. Though, despite the cold of fall, you find the walk back home after working the grave yard shift quite peaceful. Your town, normally bustling with life in the sunny afternoon, is empty, devoid of merchants, page boys, the chattering and gossip.

It’s just you, trudging back to your humble abode, your shoes going clack, clack, clack against the pavement of the road, filling the silence.

Normally, this quiet that surrounds you like an ocean is comforting, but tonight... It’s different. It’s... eerie somehow... Shadows that you never noticed before skittering over sidewalks from street lamps, paranoia creeping along your spine, having you glance over your shoulder once or twice. It’s different tonight... But... Why?

You’ve walked along these streets all your life... You’ve never-

A scream cuts through the air like a knife, piercing your chest with fear as your legs halt to a stop. It ends abruptly, dying on the unknown woman’s tongue, and leaving you behind to be consumed by the quiet once again. You’re standing there in shock for several moments before you’re snapping to your senses, quickly seeking out the source of the horrifying sound. You’re stumbling upon an alleyway, foreboding and shrouded in darkness, accompanied by a stinging ring that dances through your ears.

You’re sure it came from here.

Your gut tightens in warning, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you hesitantly poke your head out. You’re squinting through the gloom as you swallow down a lump in your throat, every shred of willpower you have keeping your feet planted firmly in place.

Barely, you make out two figures, a woman pressed against the hard, brick wall, ensnared by a man dressed in a suit of black. His mouth is at her neck, rows of sharp, pearly teeth glinting dangerously over delicate skin before stabbing through. Rivets of blood immediately bubble up as he tilts his head back, ripping flesh and muscle, a chunk being torn cleanly away. Red sprays out from the crook of her neck, staining his pristine, white dress shirt, dripping onto the concrete below. She doesn’t scream, eyes empty and staring into the far wall as if she’s befallen by a spell, her shoulders loose and relaxed as she lets him devour her alive.

You’re frozen, your face a sickly white as you watch on with bulging eyes, mouth hung agape as your trembling fingers cling onto the corner you hide behind. That’s when his eyes slowly move to you, as if he knew you were there the whole time, cold and emotionless as they bore into your quaking form. You’re stumbling backwards as his face turns fully to you, his chin and lips caked in blood red, appearing as the monster he truly is.

You’re running, wind blasting through your hair as your heart hammers against your ribcage. There’s nothing but that ringing, immersing you with its deafening pitch, following after you like the plague. It’s dying out, abandoning you in silence, save for the shallow breaths you take and the clack, clack, clack of your shoes against pavement. No scream escapes you, your voice silenced by the sickening butterflies in your stomach and the pressure of doom squeezing against your heart.

Your trip home is a blur, your hands slamming open the front door before you’re bolting up every window and entrance you have. You lock yourself in your bedroom, crawling under the safe haven of your bed, kitchen knife in hand.

You’re kept awake by phantoms threatening to claw at your insides, feral eyes that desire your flesh, the unnaturally pale face of the man, the woman with a dead smile.

You don’t get a wink of sleep that night.

…

Diana Perkins, that was her name.

Violently murdered, her head almost completely decapitated from her corpse.

She wasn’t the first, the constable had said.

But little did he know.

She wouldn’t be the last.

You quit the nightshift.

…

Your good friend that runs a merchant stand falls ill with a fever, typical from the cold weather as of late. He begs you to take over until he gets better, voice rough and scratchy as he grips onto the blue of your shirt desperately, telling you hoarsely that he’ll even pay you well. And, honestly, how can you say no? He’s been with you for a good long-time and... you really need the money.

You want to escape this nightmare of a place...

That man... You’re sure he remembers your face...

You don’t want to end up like her.

...

Red, mangled flesh, glittering fangs-

You’re screaming out in the night, sitting upright on your bed before lashing out your knife from under your pillow. You’re clumsily crawling under, almost tripping over your tangled sheets, tears blurring your vision as you sob helplessly.

You don’t want to die like that.

…

You’ve begun to realize after a few passing days that managing the stand isn’t so bad, selling fruits and vegetables to wandering folk with ease. As an added bonus, you find yourself becoming less and less skittish with the outside world, the early morning and afternoon sun adding to your comfort. Soon, traders are closing up shop, crowds thinning out at around the time of dinner, when the chill begins to bite in the air, leaving you one of the last to finish up. You’re swaying your hips, a tune playing on your lips as you count your earnings for the day. Your back is to the stand when a shadow creeps upon your form, blotching out the orange rays of light from the sunset.

Another last-minute customer you suppose.

You’re spinning on your heel, whipping on a friendly smile.

“Hello! Would- W... w....” Your smile drops from your face, twisting into an expression of gut-wrenching horror. Your eyes widen a fraction as your heart picks up pace, coins slipping from your hands, pinging against the ground.

“What a lovely surprise.”

It’s... It’s him... standing before you now, his towering form keeping close to the tent of shade provided by your stand. He simply smiles at your shuddering gasp, one that’s thin and dangerous, lips peeling back to reveal dull, flat teeth.

Human... Normal...

You know it’s just an illusion to trick you- You know the truth- You saw him rip poor Diana to pieces-

“I thought I’d never get the chance to see you again,” He breathes out softly, voice deep and velvety, beckoning you closer, calling you in like a siren’s song.

That’s the last thing you want to do however, you want to bolt, scream, escape- But... You don’t. Mostly, because of his eyes, endless and dark, captivating you to stay. And... Strangely enough, you do, following the tilt of his head with your own, wanting to maintain eye contact.

A part of you, strong and reasonable, asks what the hell you’re doing- You have to get out of here while you still can! But... Your eye lids are growing heavy, body growing almost weak. All you want to do is sleep. To stay here with him.

Something’s wrong.

“Oh, I’m so glad I found you. I can give you so much... I can release you from this pain, this fear, that memory that haunts you in the depths of the night,” His promises are sickeningly sweet, just like his tone, which only jumbles one thought after the other, confusing you immensely.

This is the monster you witnessed in the alleyway, this is the monster that forever haunts your nightmares... Right? It... It was him... Wasn’t it? It had to be...?

You’re doubting yourself more and more the longer you stare into those black voids, getting lost in them, in their emptiness and hollowness, finding yourself falling into them.

No, something is wrong!

It’s overtaking you, like a body of water, muffling your senses, the outside world beginning to dull and grey, his being the only clear figure now, the only thing that makes sense.

Why were you so afraid again?

He’s reaching out to you, an icy hand resting firmly on your shoulder, and you find yourself melting into his touch, “Let me help you. I know you want it.”

You... You want his help?

You’re in a fog, your grip on the world slipping and slipping... You can’t think, a haze overtaking your mind every time you try to... But... Why would you want to in the first place?

Yes, you want his help.

“You need my help.”

Yes, that’s all you want, that’s all you need, his help. You’re finding everything so confusing, you need his help, you’re in pain without it, in a burning agony. You find yourself slowly nodding your head along to his melodic words.

His grin is almost serpentine now.

“Good, now, just come to me, my dear.”

You’re rounding the stand, shuffling over like a zombie, entranced by his order and how it repeatedly echoes in your head. There’s a little voice however, perhaps your last shred of consciousness, crying out, pleading for you to stay away. But, he’s there, in front of you again, pale fingers beckoning you forth, smile and eyes welcoming you in.

“Come closer, and let me in.”

The voice, your common sense, is snuffed out like a candle flame, a peace you’ve never known before wrapping around you like a warm blanket, setting your soul at ease. You gladly take your final steps towards him. He’s enveloping you, caging you in with his arms. You don’t see his wolfish grin, you don’t see how his teeth grow and sharpen. All you experience is the warmth of his breath against you neck, and the empty, black and white of the sky.

#egotober #darkiplier #Darkiplier x reader #gore #my writing

25 notes · View notes

kondo-hijikata · 6 years

Text

Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata, Shinsengumi! Verse Rating: M Summary: Kondo sets off for Hiroshima to attempt avoiding war, but the Hijikata he returns to is not the Hijikata he left only three weeks prior. Something drastic changed. And that’s when Kondo realizes he needs to as well. [AO3]

Part 1 | Part 2

.*Changing of the Guard*. Part 3

“…Toshi.” Like a chant murmured to a deity, the name rolled off his tongue, reverent and sincere. “I came back.”

And it felt good, so good, to have the starving space between Kondo’s arms filled once more…damn good to feel Hijikata’s spine pressed unto his chest. He basked in the privilege of reveling in this closeness, despite the impending difficult conversation that would wreck it all in a fraction of a second.

Because for as competent and practical as the vice commander was, he was as equally affected and moody; temperamental was likely the kindest descriptor, but even that (ironically) would be considered offensive enough to rouse ire and denial. And though Hijikata’s emotionalism often threw a wrench into the prospect of long-standing harmony, it was just one part of an entire package—one Kondo wanted complete with all the pieces, beautiful and unsightly alike.

So, he’d embraced him—unexpectedly. To that impulsive gesture, Hijikata’s hands at last rose, his palms pressing upon the forearms crossed over him and giving them an almost tentative pat, before his fingertips curled in.

Though the bearings remained difficult to navigate and the ice dangerously thin, it was a promising initial reaction; at the very least, there’d been no outright shut down, and though the ultimate hope had been a verbal response, the physical one was acceptable enough for the meantime. Whatever the case, it seemed the best chance of success would arise from Kondo starting with his own strife and easing into the actual subject of his concern.

He therefore tacked on, “Empty-handed,” to his previous statement after the fact, while drawing Hijikata even closer and nuzzling dark locks.

“You expected otherwise.” While Hijikata’s response erred on snappish, he made no effort to disengage himself from the clutches which had ensnared him. “I said it all from the beginning in one word. Choshu.”

“I remember. And you know why I had to try, regardless of that.”

The huff which followed indicated the opposite. That Hijikata hadn’t offered outright contest was indicative of his desire to not venture into uncomfortable waters—a silent but resilient demand to step off if Kondo was even considering such an avenue. Reading that warning loud and clear, he settled to start by dipping his toes into the deep end, instead of taking a full-on plunge.

“Ne…Toshi…” A pause. “The last weeks have been so hard.”

“Of course.” Hijikata hadn’t precisely sounded frustrated, but the air about his response thrummed with apathy and displeasure. “Do you also recall me being against you going in the first place, for exactly that reason?” The coldness contrasted Kondo’s warmth, played right into all the classic telltale signs of attempting to conceal inward distress by appearing outwardly impassive. As always, Hijikata was a master of pivot—but Kondo was rather skilled in the art himself, and matched his turn with flawless synchronization.

In truth, if the occasion were different, Kondo would have respected Hijikata’s boundaries and penchant for reticence without question; however, after the gravity of what had transpired in his absence, he wasn’t about to leave matters of mending to either chance or time. No, on this particular instance, the stakes were too high. He would be sure they braved through the burdens and emerged no worse for wear—together. It was the responsibility he both wanted and readily accepted, from choosing and miraculously being chosen by the ever-elusive Hijikata Toshizo.

For that, Kondo pressed on, inching further and further toward the edge of what he knew was a very dangerous precipice. “…It’s been hard on all of us, I mean.” A beat, when he felt Hijikata’s lungs still, and recognized that this was the tipping point. “Toshi, I’m sorry. I never intended to—”

He’d been right. At last, it was the one push that went too far, and the tension mounted with full force before Kondo could finish what he’d begun to say.

“We knew the situation.” The interjection sliced right into the forefront, petulant and stiff—almost formal. “What matters is that you’re alive. You fought, you tried, you came back. End of story.”

“Aa…” Kondo slowly began. “I did promise you I would.”

“So, as long as that’s the case, we can just keep going forward.” A breath to indicate finality fell from Hijikata then and the harshness about him began to ease; it seemed he believed control over the dialog was now entirely in his grasp, and in turn could be limited to Kondo’s experience while avoiding his own. “Forget about what happened in Hiroshima, Kat-chan. That wasn’t on you and we’re moving onto greater things.”

Hijikata’s belief was wrong, however.

“I could say the same to you.”

Another sarcastic huff followed. “Interesting claim, since I wasn’t the one needlessly putting my life on the line.”

“No?” Kondo gazed toward the tatami in the distance, bracing himself within the last remnants of peace. His lashes fell and he brushed the strong line of his jaw against Hijikata, inhaling deeply before dropping the match that would detonate into an inferno. Falling, falling, falling… “Just your reputation, then.”

And the universe erupted into flames.

Hijikata’s spine went rigid. His chest temporarily suspended with the bating of his breath.

“Toshi.” Kondo’s voice went low and gravelly, calm.

The hands which had clasped to him fell like weights. “Don’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Ignoring the scoff, Kondo stressed, “Listen to me. Kawai wasn’t your fault.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Kondo felt an outward shove against his arms as Hijikata attempted to disentangle himself, but remained firm with his hold. “Gen-san told me how you, how everyone, tried so hard. And I know—” While the tiny struggle of push and pull wore on, the words continued to fall forth from his lips, careless like an inebriate spilling sake. Whatever it took, he needed to be heard, needed to excise the blame and soothe the lasting injury. “—I know that last time when I came back from Edo, things were—It was all different back then, Toshi, so—I just want you to know that I know it’s—”

Hijikata’s face snapped to the side. “What do you know?!” The tug of war, of holding and wanting to break free, grinded to an immediate halt and neither made a further move in or against his own favor. That question cut deep, had Kondo’s chest tightening and stole the sentiment right from his tongue. “You don’t know anything at all!” Hijikata promptly shut his eyes and he turned away again. “I don’t need you, or anyone, to justify my actions when I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

Still taken aback from the intensity of the barrage, Kondo’s brow furrowed, and certainly for lack of better wording, he stammered, “…I know.”

A stiff shake of Hijikata’s head complemented the increased abrasion in his tone. “I’m doing what’s necessary.”

Taking a moment to gather himself, Kondo realized something by the heaviness in that response; the divulgence of feelings he thought he’d have to coax had been imminent all along with minimal provocation, for the impossible amount of tension which Hijikata kept bottled up over weeks had been a single breath away from rupturing this whole time. And while Kondo was willing to catch all of it—to catch him—such awareness had him backpedaling, his tone markedly growing softer to not exacerbate the situation. “Toshi, I know. And I completely support—”

However, even as he went slack in attempt to ease some of the rapidly augmenting pressure, Hijikata only became more rigid and defensive. Impenetrable and not open to debate, he hadn’t even allowed Kondo to finish as he continued his own tirade. “What’s necessary for the Shinsengumi, for everyone.”

“Of course, Toshi. I never said—”

And that marked the point of no return, when whatever veneer of possession Kondo thought he had over this exchange met its conclusive demise. Past experience advised him to lay off until Hijikata unwound from his current state, but he’d continued his futile attempts until the limit was reached. Now, the scales tipped completely, the world skewed, and the next thing Kondo realized was that he’d trapped himself in a room with an unleashed tiger.

And worse yet, that tiger was wounded.

Snarling, Hijikata violently thrust his elbows out with enough strength to emancipate himself from Kondo’s grasp and staggered forward, the volume of his words increasing as his shoulders began to rise and fall. “Even if that means enforcing seppuku. Even if the man who committed it was innocent, even if we all knew he was covering for someone else.”

Whirling on the soles of his socked feet, Hijikata turned back to Kondo. Their vision had adjusted to the dark, the pale blue light from outside faint but present enough to allow them to clearly make out each other’s expressions. And Hijikata’s eyes, they were rife with a formidable cocktail: of anger, of mortification…of other things he very likely must have preferred to keep to himself.

Still, with a half-hearted shrug, his hands barely lifted near his hips. “Even if it’s over fifty ryo.”

Kondo was almost breathless. “It’s not a small sum.”

Once again, the rebuttal went entirely ignored.

“Even if it was for something we tactically needed anyway. Even if Kawai waited day in and day out, asking hour on the hour: Has the courier arrived? Has the courier not yet come?” Standing still again, Hijikata quickly licked his lips and cocked his face before righting it. “Even when our own people came to me, begging and making demands to pardon him…expecting me to do only what our absent commander could.”

Kondo shook his head, and though there was plenty he wanted to say, he finally relented and let Hijikata keep going without further counter.

“So Kawai goes through with it. Because he has to. Because those are our rules. And his seppuku is botched because Tani missed. Actually missed.” A hand cut through the air. “Struck him right in the back, Kat-chan. You should’ve heard the mewl.”

“Toshi,” Kondo breathed, slowly approaching him. His hands began to lift, to reach toward the shoulders still laboriously undulating; however, before seeking purchase, they paused as he considered if contact was welcome now. How quickly he’d gone from inciting such a self-assured campaign of good intention to these humble defensive measures of defeat. “Tosh—”

“You say Gen-san explained things to you, but did he actually tell you the worst of it?” Hijikata neither leaned in nor recoiled at Kondo’s advance. He did, however, raise his brows, nodding in rapid succession as his demeanor began to disintegrate further. “I don’t even mean how the courier finally arrived less than two hours after, no. I’m talking how Kawai’s father sent more than what was owed with a loving letter to his now-dead son. Did you hear that part, Kat-chan? How the letter explained that he was on business and that’s why there was a delay? How he wrote how proud he was of him for being responsible and bringing honor to their family, how he hoped we—” His voice began to crack and his gaze pulled off to the side.

Hijikata drew a sharp inhale, clearly premature in forcing himself onward and yet he kept right at it. “We, his great and loyal friends, would continue...heh.” His eyes closed, then squeezed, and his palms raised to cover them. Fingers were half-clenched in the air and the last words fell raw. “...taking care of him.” A breathy laugh followed—coerced, strained, gruff.

At last, Kondo’s touch fell upon Hijikata, large warm palms pressing to the cool skin of his elevated biceps and waiting for consent. Hijikata’s arms fell and the fierceness within his gaze pierced straight through to Kondo’s soul, sizing him up and sending a cascade of ripples along its celestial fabric. And then, it was as if his rationality had suddenly caught up to his emotions—that he realized where he was, and what he’d just divulged and in what way. “Was that the point of all this?!” Exasperation shaded his tone as he lashed out, his pupils shrinking. “This was really what you wanted?”

Hijikata hadn’t meant that, and Kondo knew it…knew he was just working through his own feelings and retreating into his own deep-rooted defense mechanisms. Anyone would do so when backed into a corner. Still, even a frivolous insinuation that Kondo would ever actually want to see Hijikata break or suffer in any way caused heaviness to radiate from the center of his chest and filter outward. His breath caught with the ache of his heart, and all he could do was offer a vehement denial.

Kondo set his mouth in a line and adamantly shook his head. He focused on the absolute exhaustion before him—the mental and physical tolls, the hurt in those dark eyes—before slowly, imprudently reaching to Hijikata and trailing the back of his fingers down his cheek with a feather-light touch.

What began as a flinch eased into a waning of the anger and desperation radiating from Hijikata through the tenderness of Kondo’s caress; despite that, he remained unmoving and cautious, as if he were looking for ulterior motives even when he knew none existed. A wounded tiger, indeed. But Kondo was aware, from spending over a decade with this man, what he wanted most of all right now. It was just a matter of finding out if he’d allow it.

Upon reaching the soft edge of Hijikata’s jaw, his digits fell gently to the nearest shoulder, latching on before starting to coax him forward. Kondo fully expected another outburst, another scathing rant which he believed was more than deserved at this point; however, to his surprise, the action was permitted.

He didn’t wait for a change of mind. Kondo’s hand slipped to Hijikata’s back and hauled him forth to eliminate the space separating them—so strongly and so close that he felt the lips which had just injured him press against his shoulder upon the impact. From there, Kondo wrapped his arms around the smaller frame and held tight with an overwhelming possession, as Hijikata slowly melted into him and hands lifted in kind to take to his haori.

This was the place Kondo had wanted them to get to upon initiating that first embrace…but not like this, or at the expense of discomfort or coercion. He’d wanted Hijikata to talk to him, so he could listen and support; certain that he could at least do that, his movements had started with a particular degree of confidence. Now, however, Kondo remained silent and stared into nothingness across the room.

He was no longer convinced that any of the comfort he was capable of providing would be enough to assuage and heal these kinds of wounds. Because it was just as Hijikata had said: Kondo hadn’t known the full extent—and therefore couldn’t possibly, genuinely, share in the immeasurable pain of consequence. He hadn’t needed to stand helplessly by while an unthinkable situation and its many moving pieces unfurled to leave gashes and scars in its wake.

He couldn’t even effectively pick up the damn pieces in the aftermath without making things worse. So he resolved to let his arms do the talking, let his body provide the consolation his lips could never. While the quietude hung heavy and the guilt weighed in deep, Kondo cupped the base of Hijikata’s neck and once more leaned his cheek against neatly styled hair.

They stayed this way for a meaningless amount of time, until Kondo finally felt the grasp on his attire loosen, and the fabric subsequently giving way with the slack.

As he righted himself, Hijikata’s gaze lifted to meet Kondo’s, showing much softer eyes to match his voice. “That’s what you didn’t know, Kat-chan.” He inhaled briefly and gave a tiny shrug. “Or, it’s what I didn’t want you to.”

“Why.”

A gentle half-sigh feathered across his sensitive skin. “For all the good this is doing you, or either of us.”

Kondo swallowed, feeling his expression contort as he searched the distant dark edge of the room again. “No.” Finally, he sought Hijikata’s eyes again, the words coming forth barely above a whisper. “Why are you always protecting me like this?”

“How can you ask that? That’s my job.” Hijikata’s chin fell with a strong nod rife with purpose. “It’s my sworn duty and honor as your vice commander.”

Pulling his mouth taut, Kondo’s lashes fell for a moment and he thought to make an argument but let it go.

“Kat-chan, let’s get one thing straight. I can’t do what you do.” There was a slight shake of Hijikata’s head. “I couldn’t pardon Kawai. It wasn’t my role.”

“But—”

“And I accept that. Along with the responsibility of enforcing our code, no matter the cost.”

“Even when it’s your hands always getting dirty,” Kondo said, instead of asked.

“No matter the cost,” Hijikata reiterated. He swallowed afterward and peered toward the shoji for a beat. “In the long run, nothing like that matters. As long as we keep going forward.” There was another deliberate nod before his eyes found Kondo’s again. “As long as you’re still commander.”

They stared at each other for several moments, and Kondo became of aware of how openly he was wearing his own emotions in that moment.

“Kat-chan…” Hijikata’s voice was nearly breathless. “Don’t you get it by now? Don’t worry about me. All you need to do is keep leading as you are and let me take care of everything else.”

What could he say to that? Nothing at all. It was proof that Hijikata had already come to terms with Kawai’s fate. Of course, it hurt. Naturally, it wasn’t easy. But he’d already justified it and what he needed most now was time to let his feelings settle, especially when surrounded by their own men who also were also in mourning. The best Kondo could do was offer his embrace as he was doing now, a trifle in comparison.

However, there was just one further question that gnawed at him and his brow furrowed further. “Toshi…” Kondo paused to lick his lips, his gaze falling as he considered his words. When his eyes lifted again, they were accompanied with a slight squint. “…What makes you think I would have pardoned Kawai?”

Hijikata huffed out of his nose. “What makes you think you wouldn’t have?”

Once again, Kondo found himself speechless.

#uss enterplaid #toshisami #shinsengumi!#t2 #konhiji #katchan loves haiqueue man #writing on plaid paper #long post #this part was extremely taxing to write #complex and emotional vice commander is complex and emotional

12 notes · View notes

ladydracarysao3 · 7 years

Photo

In Love, Serenity

Chapter Thirty Seven: The Dread Wolf and His Dread Heart

What is that trickster up to, anyway?

Excerpt

He conjures a reflection of her before him. He watches the way she tilts her head as he speaks. Watches as her lower lip is drawn into her mouth while she thinks. He stares at those lips for a little too long, feeling his throat call out in thirst before regaining control of himself and wiping the reflection away. His friend is wrong. She has not clouded his vision. It is not an attraction to the girl that has brought his sights onto her. If anything, she simply reminds him of himself. The man he was so long ago. The man who lead a rebellion. Hot blooded and cocky, always ready to fight.

He peers into a quiet stream beside his feet, the mirror of that younger self staring back him. The version of himself he’s presented in order to reach her and gain her trust. He sees her imagine again, approaching him in that stream’s reflection. She stares at him with all the raw power and determination he knows she embodies.

With a single finger, she redirects his reflection’s jaw toward her and arches upward to place a soft kiss on his lips. Then, both images turn their gaze, looking back at him. Staring into him with the strength of a united front. The protectors of the People.

The Dread Wolf and his Dread Heart…

[Read Chapter 37 on AO3] or [Start from the Beginning]

-Fen’Harel-

“You put so much faith into yet another human?”

Flemeth laughs the rich, graveled laugh Fen’Harel has come to expect from his old friend since he woke from his long slumber. He watches as the wrinkles on her human form’s skin compress, forming a roadmap of centuries he’d missed.

“Oh, my dear wolf,” she says as her laughter calms. “Sanctimonious, are we? What of your little half breed?”

He frowns. “She is more Elvhen than the entirety of the Dalish.”

She laughs again. If it was not for the fact that the sound is directed at him, he would almost enjoy it. “The girl has spunk, I’ll give you that. But I will say this, your attraction has clouded your vision.”

His frown deepens and he feels his eyes glow, sending his annoyance to pierce through her. It is a reaction that he knows, however, has no effect. “She will serve a purpose,” he says curtly.

“Mmm,” she hums and stares off into the Fade in the direction of the ever-present Black City. “Yes. As will he.” They stand silently for a moment before she turns her gaze back to him. “And the Inquisitor?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Let us hope that works out better for you this time.”

“The girl can succeed where the Inquisitor fails.” She is his strongest contingency plan. If Izzalea fails -- if he fails -- he needs her to infiltrate anything in their way to get the orb, and then help him lead his forces into a better future.

Flemeth sighs, head tipping downward with a subtle shake from side to side. “You should not have given your orb to Corypheus.”

Fen’Harel’s heart pings as the sadness and regret of a millennium pulls at him. “I was too weak to unlock it after my slumber...”

Flemeth’s gauntleted hand reaches for him as she pulls their foreheads together. “You can succeed, Dread Wolf.”

Fen’Harel closes his eyes and sighs with all the gravity of the world on his shoulders. He feels a wisp of air against his skin as his friend disappears from the Fade. And with a flick of his fingers, he steps through the Fade’s rocky facade where they had met, and enters the moonglade where he often calls upon the girl.

The Dread Wolf and his Dread Heart…

A premonition? A desire? Perhaps someday…a reality? Fen’Harel scowls at the water’s message, whatever its meaning, and walks from the bank back into the tall grasses of the glade. No matter what he has grown to feel for her, it is more than that. He’s watched her for months. Her passion is undeniable. Like moth to flame he was drawn to her. As her learned of her story, he saw more and more evidence of their kindred spirits and her value to his cause.

His plan had been to convert her slowly. Gain her trust. But with the events after Adamant, he had to seize his opportunity to show her that this world she hated so purely, could be brought to justice and returned to it’s rightful state. In her dreams, he witnessed a land of flame, a woman no longer able to forgive. So he showed her again, reminded her of what came before, and fed the fire in her heart. He needs her angry. Vengeful. Tenacious.

Night after night he stokes her flame. Visiting her with the truth of the world. Presenting her with the days of Arlathan and the glory of the Elvhen people. Reinforces her trust in spirits and how she was always meant to be with them, rather than separated. She has always cared for the downtrodden and sought death for their oppressors. There are no more downtrodden than the elves.

“The People... they need us,” he had said to her, and she nodded.

“I understand,” she said.

Fen’Harel’s mind filter’s back to the one challenge in Abner’s recruitment. Hawke. Her weakness. The man had almost ruined that first night with his attempts to push through to her dreams. His attempts to demolish the walls Fen’Harel had built around her while he brought forth her darkest memories, her provocation for change.

He has since attempted to reach her again, but Fen’Harel guards her dreams ever the more carefully. Hawke is more dumb luck than true magical talent, so his attempts have been met with easy failure.

If Abner were to know for sure that Hawke survived, if she were lose the one thing that had tipped the scales in Fen’Harel’s favor, she could be lost forever. And now, he has laid himself bare to her. It is a risk he cannot take.

She must stay angry.

Fen’Harel feels the pull of the waking world. He hears the distant sounds of camp bustling around him rather than the soft whispers of the grasses in the glade.

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes to the bright light of the morning sun filtering through a breach in the canvas of his tent. He sits up, stretching the muscles of his older, seasoned body as he does.

Rubbing the top of his head, he exhales a weighted sound through his nose. The long thick locks of hair, gone and replaced with nothing, for now he is no longer Fen’Harel. No longer the rebel leader, the promise for the People.

Now he is Solas.

The sotic mage who knows nothing more than what he has witnessed in the Fade.

Solas reaches for the wolf jaw he wears around his neck. The one adornment he allows himself in this strange world of humans and short lives and ignorance. The one piece of himself that he keeps close. A reminder of what this is all for.

He wraps his feet and steps out of his tent. The smell of campfires and primitive stews fill the air along with the sounds of clanging metal and dreary morning voices. He walks through the camp as it is torn down for the day’s journey. Off to find some silence on the outskirts so that he may stretch and bend his old muscles -- a practice he has perfected to keep him limber, no matter how many centuries pass by.

As he walks toward the edge of camp, he sees the girl outside of the cage the Inquisition has kept her in for days. Sitting on a crate, a lazy guard barely watching her on either side, a blonde healer checks on Abner’s wounds. A crooked smile on her face, he can tell she is flirting with the healer. A small bud of pride flourishes, she has taken his advice to appear as if she is calming from the rage that festers within her. Slowly, day after day, she gives the Inquisition a little more proof that she is no danger.

He watches as she returns to the jail cart with no contest. Something she says even makes one of the guards laugh, and Solas turns from his intended course to seek out the Inquisitor.

Finding the woman overseeing some early morning sparring next to her commander, Solas clears his throat beside her to gain her attention.

Izzalea turns and smiles at him, a faint trace of sweat glistening on her forehead. Her red hair is pulled back, showing beads of her perspiration clinging to her neck. “Good morning, Solas.” She nods respectfully, her noble upbringing always present in her mannerisms, no matter how dirty, bloody, or worn her appearance. “Anything interesting in the Fade last night?”

He allows the softest lift to his expression. “Nothing of note, Inquisitor.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t be so formal with me all of the time. We’ve been through it together, haven’t we? Can’t you just call me Izzy?”

“I suppose you are correct. I will try.” She winks at him and turns her attention back to the sparing men in front of her. “I was hoping I could discuss a matter with you, if you are able to spare a moment,” he says, urging back her attention.

Izzalea’s brows pinch and she turns fully toward him. “Of course. What is it, Solas?”

“It’s a matter of your agent. Abner.”

Cullen’s groan from the other side of Izzalea causes her to roll her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He has a headache. What about Abner?”

“It is my understanding, through observations and the little I know of the woman, that she poses no real threat to you. If I may ask, what are your plans for her?”

She sighs and shifts her weight to one side, crossing her arms. “I really hate having her in there…”

“It’s for the best,” Cullens gruff voice is heard from behind her.

“I have no intention of keeping her locked up,” Izzalea adds firmly, speaking more to the commander than to Solas.

“I remember the days of being young and angry. There was a time or two when I let my passion get the better of me. The challenge of a great fighter is to find the balance between passion and talent. I believe she can obtain that balance and be a large asset to you as your strongest agent.”

Izzalea chews on his words a moment. Pursing her lips she looks in the direction of the jail cart. “I agree with you, Solas.”

“Maker preserve me,” Cullen groans as he moves to show his face beside Izzalea. “Can we at least wait until we are back at Skyhold to discuss this? It is hard enough ensuring your safety during this march without allowing an individual who threatened your life to walk freely through it.”

“Relax, I will be leaving the march soon enough anyway. I need to investigate that...that...Shrine of Dumat, or whatever.”

“Ever the more reason to keep her where she is,” Cullen insists. Solas can feel his irritation for the man’s intrusion bubble in the back of his throat, but he keeps his demeanor flat.

“If you are wrong,” Cullen continues, looking between the two of them. “And if she were to slip out to come after you…” He sighs and pinches his forehead. “At the very least, allow Leliana to assess the woman before you let her free?”

“Fine,” Izzalea says. “Solas, will that work for you?”

“If that is what you think is best.”

“It is,” Cullen grunts, and Solas uses all of his years of experience to control the temper that begs to be unleashed.

“Well, then. Who am I to argue with the Commander of the Inquisition?” Solas directs his vision to Izzalea and nods his head. “Thank you for your time, Inquisitor. If you will excuse me.”

He leaves before either of them can say another word, resuming his walk through camp to find that quiet space beyond. He needs his solitude now, more than before. His mind already searching for what he could do, how he could manipulate this... bring his plan back on course.

He walks far from the noise of the army, contemplating what needs to take place in order for the Inquisition to officially trust their agent again.

...Bring his agent back into their fold.

#In Love Serenity #My Fic #Solas #fen'harel #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic

27 notes · View notes

lafiametta · 7 years

Text

A little gift for @gentlesleaze, who seemed to like the idea of Benvolio in armor as much as I did… :)

Rough alarum bells rang out in violent echo through Verona’s streets – yet they were barely heard over the city-wide panic that seemed to grip its citizens by their very throats. Shopkeepers boarded their windows and barred their doors, looking to find some way to protect their goods from pillage and destruction. From open doorways mothers cried out for their children and then quickly pulled them inside to safety. Able-bodied men had been told to find a weapon – although some carried little more than kitchen cleavers and pitchforks – and, once assembled into small companies, to make their way to the city gates to meet the danger that now threatened them all.

An army, led by the duke of Milan, was on its way – and it was growing ever closer as the day progressed. The host numbered eight thousand men, so the rumors said, alongside two thousand German mercenaries well-known for their savagery.

A citizen militia, however set they might be on defending their homes and their families, could do little against such highly-trained soldiers, so the prince had called upon the aristocratic houses, asking that each send forward their best men-at-arms to ride out against the enemy. And so Rosaline had spent the morning hours – like all the women of her house – in a whirl of activity, helping to ready the men for battle and the palazzo for the possibility of protracted siege. She had worked tirelessly, running from one task to the next with little rest, not wanting to let her mind lay idle, not wanting to contemplate what horrors might be unleashed were her Capulet kinsmen defeated and her city taken by the enemy.

The men had at last assembled in the courtyard, fully girded for war, led by her uncle, who sat sternly atop a hulking gray destrier. The women had donned ribbons of Capulet blue in their hair as a measure of support, and even with tears threatening in their eyes, they waved their handkerchiefs as the men departed in a cloud of hoof beats. Only once the dust had settled did it occur to Rosaline that she was tied not to one house, but to two. It was from a sense of duty – and only duty, she told herself – that decided she must go and bid farewell to one last man before he departed for the field of combat.

She did not bother to take a servant – it would have been too much trouble, and besides, she resembled one well enough, a fact that allowed her greater ease of movement through the streets. But the mood outside was riotous, a barely-controlled chaos that seemed ready to erupt at any moment, and so she avoided the crowds, skirting close to buildings and drawing the hood of her cape up over her head as she hastened towards her destination.

As she walked, the streets became less and less familiar – she had few dealings on this side of the river, the heart of Montague power – but she guided herself by landmarks, her eyes continually keeping watch on the tall granite bell tower that guarded over the abbey church of San Sebastiano. His palazzo, she knew, was just there, tucked nearby. It was not as handsome or as grand as her own home, she noted as she approached it from the street, but it bore the trappings of wealth nevertheless.

People were still coming and going from beneath the arched portico, and she hurried inside, hoping that she hadn’t come too late.

Within the house, few took notice of her – she was dressed plainly, after all – and she found herself moving aside to make way for a group of knobby-kneed squires bearing armloads of pikes and brightly-polished poleaxes. She had half a mind to stop one of them and ask where she might find their young master, until she glanced past them, gazing into the wide courtyard beyond.

Near the center of the courtyard, just next to a burbling fountain, a young man was quietly adjusting the leather straps of his horse’s bridle, wrapped deep in thought. Warm sunlight gleamed brilliantly against the burnished steel of his armor, curling over the fluted breastplate and the round pauldrons that encased his shoulders. His arms and legs were similarly covered, and a final plate circled protectively around his neck, ending just below his trimmed hairline. He had set aside his slim rapier, exchanging it for a heavy broadsword that hung from the belt around his waist. Looking at him, Rosaline felt her heart quicken with a sudden jolt. She did not understand how, but her Montague betrothed had been utterly transformed. In her mind, she had associated him with all the callow excesses of youth: irresponsibility, recklessness, a desire to live only for his own pleasure. In front of her, though, with his marble-cut profile and hair turned red and fiery in the rays of the sun, was a man, one arrayed to practice the lethal arts of war. Were it not for the somber, melancholy strain in his eyes, he might resemble Mars himself.

His task complete, he gave the animal an affectionate rub along the length of its muzzle, and moved to place the reins up towards the front of the saddle. With a turn of his head, though, his gaze found hers, his expression at once overcome by surprise and confusion.

Her feet compelled her forward, powered by an urge she did not fully understand, until she was but an arm’s length away from where he stood.

“My lady… Rosaline…” he said softly, his brows furrowing inward. “Why have you come? Why have you not stayed at your uncle’s?”

The words came slowly, trapped as they were between her head and her heart. “I have come to see you, before you ride out. To offer you a farewell,” she at last replied. “It is only fitting. For we are betrothed, are we not?”

He said nothing to her question, but dismissed it with a sigh and a shake of his head. “The streets are dangerous and the Milanese army almost to our gates. You ought not to have concerned yourself with me.”

She wanted to argue back, to tell him that she would concern herself with what and whom she pleased, to remind him that they were yet unmarried and for now, at least, his will would not prove a master over her own. But she bit back her tongue, knowing that she could not start a quarrel, not now. For she had not come all this way just to let him depart with only foul words having passed between them.

That he might never come back at all was a possibility she had not fully contemplated until this moment.

A curly-haired squire clad in dark red livery approached, carrying a round metal object polished to a high sheen, which he held out for his master to take.

“Your helmet, my lord,” he said.

Her betrothed grasped it tentatively, his gaze following the squire as the young man turned and disappeared back into the shadows of the house, and then finally falling upon the steel helmet in his hands. From his silence, his unfocused gaze, and the pale pensiveness that had begun to cloud his features, Rosaline could tell that he was thinking of the battle to come, perhaps wondering if he would live to see the end of it. She could not say why it pained her so to see him disheartened, for he was nothing to her – and she to him, no doubt – the two of them bound to each other solely by royal decree. Still, some small voice within her urged her to speak, to offer him the balm of what few comforting and encouraging words she had to give.

“In more chivalrous times, they say, a knight would go into combat wearing the colors of his lady, to furnish him with strength and to help him remember what he was fighting for.” She reached up and pulled the blue ribbon loose from her hair, holding it towards him. “Will you wear them for me?”

If he seemed surprised by her words, he said nothing, but raised his arm in acquiescence, allowing her to tie the ribbon around the top of the metal plate that encased his elbow. Once she had finished, she looked up at him once more, noting – with some small pleasure – that his mood had brightened. A ghost of a smile curled along the corner of his mouth, and there was something in his eyes as well, a trace of that brash, sardonic humor she had come to know well since their betrothal.

“Look not so pained, my lady,” he said in gentle mockery. “Perhaps I shall fall in battle, and then you will be free. And as we are not married yet, I’m certain your mourning period would be brief. You should be able to cast aside your black veil by Michelmas at the very least.”

She shook her head, feeling a smile begin to play upon her lips as well.

“If you could try not to die, for my sake at least, I would well be pleased,” she replied, realizing at that moment that she spoke the truth. She was certain – that is, fairly certain – that she had no desire to marry him, but she did not wish to see him taken from this earth. “For black does not flatter me,” she added, “and I would fain not have to wear it for so long a time as that.”

“Now there you are wrong,” he murmured, “as any color would suit, for such a face as yours.”

His compliment was unexpected, as was the warm flutter that stirred within her chest. She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile – and then, out of some unknown impulse, she leaned over and gave him a small kiss upon the cheek.

His eyes turned wide with surprise, his mouth open to speak, when suddenly a great clamor of shouting was heard throughout the courtyard.

“To arms, Montagues! To arms!”

The rallying cry had been sounded, armored men on horseback now thundering through the courtyard, and Rosaline knew that the moment had come to say goodbye. It seemed far too brief a time to her, though, too brief to voice the thoughts that came unbidden to her mind, too brief to do anything but look back at him, her breath turning raw and unsteady as she met his gaze.

His eyes were like two fierce stars, blazing with determination, but she had little time to wonder why, for without warning he grasped her by the waist and pulled her to him, pressing his mouth firmly against hers. Her palm was flat along the smooth metal of his breastplate, and she might have pushed away, struggled somehow to release herself from his hold. Yet she did not. Instead, she surrendered, her body melting against his as their lips met in passionate desperation.

And then just as quickly, he released her, and after having found his mount and hoisting himself up into the saddle, he circled closer and met her gaze one last time.

“If you would be so kind, lady, as to keep me in your prayers?” he asked. She nodded breathlessly, still feeling the warmth of his lips on hers, and with a spur of his horse he galloped from the courtyard to join his kinsmen, the dark blue ribbon on his arm fluttering against the bright gleam of steel.

[my Still Star-Crossed ficlets are on AO3 – read them here]

#still star crossed #rosaline x benvolio #rosvolio #rosaline capulet #benvolio montague #ficlet #fanfiction

155 notes · View notes

elfnerdherder · 7 years

Text

Magnum Opus: Chapter 24

You can reach Chapter 24 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 24:

He slept, but he did not sleep. It came in blurred images, shifts between dreams and muted realities so that they blended to an unrecognizable nightmare.

“Where am I…?”

“I found you outside, you collapsed. You’re running a fever, Will. What’s happened?”

Hands passed over arms, legs, wrists, feeling, touching, caressing. Blood spattered across a concrete floor, and Charlie cried in agonizing horror, begging to let it end, begging to let it…

“Stop lying, j-just stop lying to me, please!” Begging. Hands grasping, gripping, kneading against threads that hold and do not break, arms that ensnare and do not let him get away. A blue light flashes, flashes. With each flash he is farther gone, and he cries, teeth gritted against the ache that builds just at his temples, screaming for release, clawing for the small bit of relief, just one more dose of pain medicine, just one more to keep it away…

The feeling of falling, falling, falling, though there is no ground to fall to, no place where he will land. An eternity of darkness gives chase, suffocates him until every last drop of breath is gone.

“You’re in a safe place. You’re safe. When you close your eyes, you will feel calmness, serenity. No harm can come to you here.”

Nicholas Boyle does not lunge, does not fight. He is terrified –why? Reaching for him but he’s dead, he’s gaping open in the air, and the kisses taste like triumph, a bitter, ugly victory.

“You’re going into shock. I can help with that.”

No, no, no, no, no…

Jared Freeman speaks through him, and he sees it is not his skin anymore, but a patchwork quilt of all those he’s tainted, ruined. He’s running, sprinting, but someone stops, reaches palm to palm in holy palmer’s kiss. It’s not enough –it’s a lie. He lifts the gun and shoots, and it’ll be over soon, it’ll be over soon.

“I killed him, I feel like I killed him, oh my god –what am I? What am I?”

The cold, the snow, the headlights. He’s drowning on air, but he sees everyone is breathing fine. The ravenstag impales him, and it takes the hit of the car, harming him but ultimately saving his life in the process. He goes flying, and as he lays in the dark, dark forest, he passes hands over his wounds, thinking that if this is how he’s going to go, at least no one had to see him fall.

“Will?” Abigail asked, and Will opened his eyes. He was in Abigail’s bed at the institute, the short distance between them shared by the quiet whisper of his name. He stared at her face, features sharp in the muted light, and he reached up, brushing away a stray hair. She allowed the touch, although her gaze narrowed when he shivered.

“I don’t know how I got here,” he confessed, and he pressed his head to the pillow to ease the pounding in his skull.

“You came in through the same window I sneak out of,” she replied. He thought that it would be appropriate to sit up, to put distance between them and what Abigail was capable of, but every inch of him ached, and breathing was too difficult. He lay on top of the covers with her underneath, her hands placed under her head as a prop. It was alright to lay still for a little while; it was alright.

“Did you sneak out after last time?” he asked when he could speak again.

“Only once,” said Abigail. Her eyes traced his face, and she inhaled sharply, finding something awful there.

“To see Hannibal?”

“It’s not always to see Hannibal. Sometimes to just sit in the park you and I sat at, once. Before everything fell apart.” Will knew the park. He nodded, and he was there between Alana and Abigail, staring at the vast expanse of a world that got along far better than he could. Things were better then. Tentatively grasping, but at least he had a hold. Something tainted the park, though, something with nothing but a black abyss for eyes and antlers stained with blood. The memory was no good, and he shook his head rapidly, whining low in his throat.

“I feel like I’m drowning, Abigail,” he said quietly. “And I’m losing what little grasp I had over myself.”

“Do you think you’re my dad?” The question was presented with wide eyes. She froze, and he thought of the first time Hannibal had cornered him, how he’d frozen as well –no one liked to talk about the prey that froze. No one liked to talk about the prey that knew no matter what they did, they were trapped. It was to acknowledge that sometimes, fighting or fleeing didn’t work, the same way that freezing didn’t work. Sometimes, one was trapped before they ever even began.

“I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t understand what I’m capable of…I’m bleeding into the skins of people I’ve never even met.”

“Not a skin that hates me, though?” she asked.

“Not even close,” Will promised. Abigail nodded, and the tension left her shoulders. They were two secrets compressed on a small twin bed in a psychiatric institute, and for the moment, the world was holding its breath.

“Hannibal said you’re having a hard time,” she informed him when he didn’t say anything else. He swallowed heavily and nodded.

“I am,” he agreed. Hannibal, Hannibal; there was something about Hannibal.

“You look like you have a fever,”

“I do.”

“Why did you come here, then?” She blinked slowly, languidly at him. Will laughed, a hiss of air between his clenched teeth.

“You’re the only thing that I have left,” he said. “Isn’t that sad?”

“A little,” she said, and they shared a smile, one of savagery and horror alike, like they could somehow make it better if they suffered together. That was the truth for survivors, though, and that’s what they were. Will just wanted to know when he could finally stop living like it, when he would finally stop seeing the monster in the mirror.

“I think maybe I should check into a hospital,” he said, and she nodded.

“You look like you should check into a hospital.”

“I won’t stay the night, don’t worry. I don’t want you to get into trouble. They’ll think I’m taking advantage of you.” Abigail snickered at that, her eyes rolling dramatically.

“Hannibal told me that the two of you were lovers,” Abigail revealed, and even she seemed shocked by her words. Her hands moved to cover her mouth, like she could somehow reel them back in, and Will was horrified to discover the emotion underlying his reaction wasn’t disgust or discomfort, but a steady pulse of pleasure. Was that the thing about Hannibal? They were lovers? Hannibal said they were exclusive? God, he couldn’t even remember something as important as that anymore.

“Is that what he said?”

“Is it true?” she pressed. He shook his head, mouth gaping to try and find the words.

“I don’t know what we are. I don’t feel like I know anything anymore, at least; not enough to answer with conviction.”

“But you long for him,” Abigail said, and it appeared that whatever expression was on Will’s face, it was enough for her. “You want to be with him right now.”

“I do,” Will said quietly. “But I’m afraid.”

“What are you so scared of?” she asked. “What does Will Graham have to fear above all else?”

“What if I’m not enough? What if in the end…I destroy myself?” Abigail reached out, and she pressed her palm to his heartbeat, staring at it intently. She glanced up at Will, and she smiled gently.

“You survived me,” she said, and that was all that Will needed to hear. He grabbed his coat, and he snuck through the window, ignoring the biting chill of the late night, as it protested his presence. Short, curt puffs of air billowed from his lips, and he climbed into his truck, firing it up. He blinked, and frantic, trembling hands shook as it steered him towards freedom, towards safety. He blinked again, and he was driving with a steady grip, heading towards a house he’d driven to for many times before. When he reached it, he put it in park and strode towards the door, knocking on it with short, heavy bursts, his fingers tapping and drumming against his pant leg erratically.

When Hannibal opened the door, expression guarded, Will did not hesitate. He threw his arms around his neck and kissed him, all of his fear, his rage, and his confusion melting away, leaving nothing but the taste of his lips and the heat that radiated off of him in intoxicating waves. Hannibal was surprised for only a moment. When he realized who it was, he dropped something with a clatter and grasped at the door, yanking it closed against the cold as he hungrily moved his lips against Will’s. There was a fumbling of hands, of teeth that crashed against one another as they pressed too close. There were no words; words were long since burned away, nothing but a primal, dark need to devour, to consume.

Will pressed him against the wall in the hallway and dragged his tongue over Hannibal’s lips, hands roving over his chest, his shoulders, and along his neck. He tangled his fingers in his hair, and he dragged his teeth along his lips, needing. Wanting. Hannibal groaned, a low rumble in the back of his throat, and he pushed back, slamming Will against the opposite wall as his body slid along his, thigh pressed taut between his legs. Will was trapped from knee to chest, unable to do anything but let out a low, agonized groan as Hannibal undid the snaps to his coat, yanking it off of him and throwing it to the ground, his breath smooth and even despite the way his heart thundered against him as he rubbed his thigh against his growing desire.

Will wasn’t quite sure how they managed to get from the hallway to the bedroom; everything was a blur of clothes, of teeth on pleading skin, of pauses between fumbling footsteps as they stopped to steal another taste. Will found himself on his back on Hannibal’s bed, Hannibal sliding along his body sensually, slowly. His hips pressed to Will’s, acknowledging his arousal with a teasing pressure, and his gasp was swallowed up as Hannibal pressed a lazy, deep kiss to his lips. Will was drunk off of it, and as Hannibal paused, poised above him, he opened his eyes and stared, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Hannibal asked, his voice gravel. He let go of Will’s side to reach up and slide his fingers over his cheek.

“I haven’t been this much in control of myself for a long time,” he replied, and he grabbed Hannibal by the back of his head, pulling him down for another spine-tingling kiss that left him reeling, stars behind his eyelids as Hannibal showed him just how much he wanted to consume him.

He woke late; laziness was a drug that’d soaked into his skin and left him sunk into the pillows and blankets piled about him with languid bliss. Sunlight spilled across the bottom of the bed, and Will opened heavy-lidded eyes to study the slant of it, a sleepy groan passing his lips. He rubbed his head and considered sitting up, but the effort was too much. His thumb brushed along his bottom lip, and he could still taste Hannibal’s skin. At the thought of it, he smiled ever-so-slightly and arched his back, rolling over to press his face to the pillow.

Just at the edge of the bed, Charlie Yorkman watched without eyes.

When he found it in himself to get up, he debated taking a shower, but he tossed that idea aside. For the first time in a quite some time, he felt that his skin was his own, and he could still feel every inch of it that’d been touched. He didn’t want to ruin it. He nudged his feet into his jeans that were discarded by the bedroom door, then found his shirt in the hallway about halfway down. Part of him wondered where Hannibal was, and if he minded the mess of clothes strewn about –he decided it wasn’t important. He followed the scent of cooking meat, and he found Hannibal poised over the stove in the kitchen, making breakfast.

“Good morning,” he said, ducking his head. He couldn’t quite meet his gaze, somehow sheepish now that he was wearing yesterday’s clothes. Hannibal looked up, studying from head to toe before he smiled.

“Good morning, Will,” he said lightly. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” Will walked closer and paused, keeping the island between them. “I’m…sorry for bursting in like that.”

“On the contrary, I found it rather pleasant,” Hannibal said, adding a pinch of salt over whatever was in the pan. “When you surprise me in the future, it should be more along those lines rather than lost time and disappearances that result in my almost calling Agent Crawford.”

“What?”

“Do you remember your visit to my home just two days ago?” Hannibal looked back down to his work, elegant fingers dancing over the minced and chopped herbs and onions.

“…No.” Will’s neck grew hot, and he gripped the counter top.

“You collapsed in my front yard Tuesday afternoon, and by the time I found you, you’d been unconscious for some time. I was able to regulate your temperature and lower the fever, but you became erratic upon waking. You left despite my protests, and I didn’t hear from you Wednesday or Thursday.”

“…What’s today?” Will asked hollowly.

“Friday morning.”

“…Oh,” he said, and that’s all that he could say. His fingers pawed at his phone and opened it, but there were no messages or missed calls from his father or Jack. He looked at the text messages, but the last one was from Beverly on Tuesday, confirming homework. He shut the phone with a snap and set it on the counter, nodding.

“I lost time,” he informed Hannibal. Hannibal nodded gravely.

“You lost time.” He stirred a few things around in the skillet and frowned down at it, like it could solve his problem. Will sat down on one of the stools, and his fingers dug into the cushion of it, like it could rip it in two with will alone. His rear twinged with a pleasant sort of ache, distracting.

“I remember waking up at a crime scene…I thought I’d killed them.”

“Is that what you last remember?” Hannibal asked.

“That’s why I came here,” Will said slowly. “I don’t remember going to the crime scene, I don’t remember…” He stopped. Started again. “Someone murdered Charlie.”

Saying it made it real. He leaned across the island and buried his face in his hands, fingertips pressed roughly to his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to fall. His eyelids burned, coals against his retinas, and he shuddered.

S-stop lying –please stop lying to me!

You’ve had a seizure…

“That was the crime scene he took you to?” Hannibal asked. He stopped cooking and walked around the counter, grabbing Will’s shoulders gently. “You don’t remember going?”

“I’d have said no; I don’t remember ever saying yes,” Will whispered. He allowed himself to be turned, and he lifted his head to look up at Hannibal, teeth gritted together tightly.

“My condolences, Will.” Hannibal said, squeezing his shoulders tightly. “I know he meant something to you.”

“When I came to… I felt like I’m the one that killed him,” he confessed, and he reached up to grab Hannibal’s hand tightly. “Anyone that gets too close to me becomes endangered. What if that’s what I’m doing when I lose time? I don’t know the Will that’s Will when I lose time. I feel like I’m drowning on air, like I’m forcing myself under, and I…I can’t fathom what it is I do when I can’t remember. What if I’m-”

“The one that’s killing them?” Hannibal suggested. It stopped Will cold, and as he stared at Hannibal, a calm, light glow from the window outlined him. It was ethereal, peaceful. Will swallowed heavily and looked down, blinking rapidly.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that I should see a medical doctor.”

“Are your headaches worse?” Hannibal asked, lifting a hand to his head. He felt his temperature, then released him, moving to oven as it pinged.

“Yes.” Hannibal hmm’d under his breath at that, and he turned as he removed something from the oven, the smell of freshly baked potato filling the air. It contrasted the somehow bleak, tepid air that draped around Will oppressively.

“If they could bring some insight to your position, it’s for the best. What happens if it is not neurological though, but mental?”

“What do you mean?” Will asked, looking up.

“What are you going to do if they run the tests on your brain and it’s not a neurological illness, but a mental illness?” He set the pan down on oven mitts on the counter, leaning in to inhale the scent.

“…Probably try and find someone that can treat that,” he said reluctantly.

“You don’t trust me to?”

“Is it really ethical to? If we…” His voice trailed off, and he coughed to dispel the pressure in his chest. He looked down and traced over his wrist, almost able to see the kiss marks Hannibal had left behind there. From over his shoulder, Charlie peered down to see, too.

“That is a fair statement,” Hannibal said. “Although, as I said before, I’m not your psychiatrist. I’m your friend.”

He served a salmon quiche, Will to his right at the elegant dining room table. When Will would look up from his food, he’d find Hannibal watching him, a small, delicate smile on his lips. It made him self-conscious in a heady, dizzying way, and he looked back to his food, taking another bite. His left hand rested on the table, and halfway through the meal, Hannibal reached over and lightly caressed it, encasing Will’s hand in his own to hold. Will looked at it, then to his face, and he swallowed his food with difficulty. He made no move to remove his hand.

“I must correct my earlier statement,” Hannibal said lightly, like they were discussing the weather. “We are far more than just friends, Will.”

“…Oh,” Will managed. He swallowed his food and nodded, a short laugh bursting from him. “That’s a relief.”

“And I do offer my sincerest condolences. Would you like to talk about what happened at the crime scene, when you saw your friend?” That stopped his smile cold. He grimaced, and the blood pooled between them, hands without arms that lay in the loss of life, forgotten.

You take them fishing?

I take them fishing.

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” he said hollowly, taking another bite of food. It turned to ash in his mouth, dry and rotten. “I think that’s…something I’d actually just like to forget entirely. One of the few things I’d trade if I got a better memory instead.”

“Is that why you came here? You needed help replacing it with something else?” Though faint, a sliver of apprehension slid through his question. Will shook his head.

“I wanted something real. Something…tangible. When I closed my eyes to think about what I wanted most in the world, all that I could see was you.”

“I’m happy to oblige,” Hannibal said, and Will heard the smile in his voice.

“You’re going to get eaten,” Jared said from across the table. He glared at Will, and it was the most tangible he’d been in a long, long time. Will forced himself to swallow his food, and he stared at the image, frozen. God, he needed to see a doctor.

Hannibal saw Will to the door after breakfast, when they’d collected all of his things from the hallway to the bedroom. At the slight tear near one of the buttons on his shirt, Will laughed, then Hannibal laughed, and they stood in the hallway, arms full of clothing they’d been in such a hurry to remove that they’d ripped them to pieces. When he got into his truck, he headed towards home and decided that everything was going to be alright.

It had to be.

Such ideals, while optimistic and hopeful, are ultimately, tragically wrong. When Will pulled up to the house to the image of five SUV’s and a couple of police cars, he realized with a sinking, dark sensation that no matter how hard he grasped, he’d always lose his footing and fall.

Jack Crawford waited for him as he turned off the car and climbed out. The police lights lazily flashed although no siren sounded, and he winced at the blue that spun about and occasionally hit him with its beam. It wasn’t an invasive light; it was muted. It still stung him though, pricked at something in the back of his head he couldn’t reach, couldn’t quite touch.

“Good morning, Will,” Jack said, and it wasn’t anywhere close to the same tone Hannibal had used when he greeted him earlier. Will frowned at the cars, then back to Jack, confused. His fight or flight instinct was flaring up, telling him that he had to run, and he had to run far.

He froze.

“Is something wrong?” he asked shakily.

“You know, there really is,” Jack laughed, and he slung an arm around Will’s shoulder, pulling him in tight. “Tuesday, I had you take a look at the crime scene of a man by the name of Charlie Yorkman. You had a fit of some sort, and I removed you from the crime scene. Interesting enough, not once in that entire encounter do I recall you ever mentioning that that very man you faced down in that warehouse was actually one that you lived with up until that point when he disappeared.”

Will’s blood turned to ice. Bits and pieces came back to him, of Charlie’s face, of his missing eyes, his missing hands. Breakfast churned in his stomach, and he had to fight to keep it down, his eyes darting from the cop cars to the agents that scoured the entire property with purpose. He’d thought to tell him, thought to inform him of his dark, twisted luck, that kept piling bodies up around him until he was going to drown in them, but he’d blacked out before he could, time lost and never regained. Now, it seemed, it was too late. What little time he had wasn’t even his own.

“I didn’t…”

“So then I show up here, and I find a dog that isn’t registered to you keeping guard. We ran the chip information, and that dog belongs to the deceased Cassie Boyle.” That was news to Will. He almost doubled over, sucker-punched, but Jack hauled him along, unwilling to let him drop. His grip was iron, a dark suspicion rippling off of him.

“If it was the one, I’d chock it up to a nasty coincidence from a kid who’s seen a lot in a little bit of time,” Jack continued. He shoved Will forward until he stumbled and fell against a cop car, and his expression darkened. “But two in one day is probable cause, and we’re searching this place.”

“I didn’t…do anything,” Will stammered, and Jack held up his hand.

“If you haven’t, then we’re not going to find anything. But for now, you probably don’t want to say a word,” he advised, and he motioned to two cops to keep an eye on Will. Jack walked away, towards the barn, and Will pressed his palms to his face, sweat beading at his temples. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening,

“This isn’t real,” he told himself, but he was grounded enough in the moment that he knew it was a lie without even having to consider it. Lazily, the blue lights flashed and blinded him with each pulse, unheeding of the way that his breath came short with it, the way his palms grew clammy and cold.

You’re in a safe place. Safe. Comforted. Safe.

“C-can you turn off the lights,” he asked one of the cops, but they didn’t answer. He rubbed his eyes, the light piercing him, swaying against him as it knocked him back into the waves, reeling, spinning. Needles, sharp and vicious pricked along his veins from his feet up, and the longer that Will stood there, the worse it became, red-hot in the way that it spread like a rash, burning, burning, and when he whined in pain, a cop turned towards him.

He’s going to devour you.

“What’s he doing,” one of them murmured, but Will couldn’t hear it, not the way that heard Charlie’s screams as he begged for mercy, for the pain to end. He blinked, and he licked the blood from his knife, the taste of iron and pennies hot on his tongue. It was the sweetest of flavors, the essence of another. Across from him, Garrett Jacob Hobbs smiled, his mouth black and gaping.

Would you like see what someone else’s blood tastes like?

Will fell to his knees and grasped his head, the blue light flashing, flashing. Heat poured from him, and across his arm he saw his skin blister and burst. He was cold, he was hot, and he clawed at his arm to get the needles out; he didn’t need the needles in his skin, he didn’t want the needles in his skin. Shivers racked his body, and as someone came running, the last thing he saw was the ravenstag watching him between the police cars before it all went black.

#LiaS scribble #writing #magnum opus #someone help will graham #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram #will graham x hannibal #hannibal's psycho is showing #and Will is too sick to see it

5 notes · View notes

amymel86 · 7 years

Text

With Me? - Jon x Sansa One Shot - 15 Days of Valentines Challenge

@jonxsansafanfiction 15 Days of Valentines Challenge - Prompt: Stuck Together

NSFW - wee bit smutty 😁

Irritation pumped through Jon’s veins as he brought blow upon blow down on his poor sparring partner. The boy was not without skill but none that matched Jon’s. Not for the first time - or last - Jon missed and longed for his brother cousin, its cousin now, Robb.

The boy yielded all too soon and Jon let out a frustrated grunt when there were no other forthcoming partners willing to take on the King of The North. He threw the blunted blade down into the dust and strode away with what looked like purpose, when in truth his mind was occupied whilst he allowed his feet to take him wherever they wished.

In the end, his feet seemed to twin their agenda with his thoughts and he found himself outside Sansa’s chambers. Jon raised his hand to knock but lowered it just as quickly. He was not ready to tell her the outcome of that meeting five days ago with Ser Davos and some choice Lords. He feared her reaction and lamented his broken promise.

Your hand shall never be forced into marriage again Sansa, you will never be used as an object for political gain, I promise.

She was his sister then, his sister who although she smiled sweetly at him, had not believed his proclamation. He had meant it, his promise, and now so much has changed - a sister had transformed to a cousin and a promise had crumbled to dust.

And so now Jon is to ask her to give up her newly found freedom again and to become his wife, his Queen, in order to tether him more closely to the North and assuage those who are troubled over his newly discovered parentage. Forced into marriage for political gain.

Fuck them, he wants to say, fuck them and fuck the damned crown they have placed atop my head! I was never good enough as Ned Stark’s bastard and now it seems I’m even less worthy as the son of a Prince. They would force me to betray my promise to the only person who matters.

Jon’s procrastination at divulging the marriage plan to Sansa has been largely aided by the distinct lack of her presence these last few days. The Lady of Winterfell has been considerably distracted by a small group of refugee wildling orphans. Wanting to ingratiate herself with the Free Folk, Sansa had offered for the group of five children to be housed within the castle and placed in her care. She had not minded one bit for Sansa had always had a way with youngsters - even if these children were considerably wilder and rougher in their play than she was used to.

Jon’s stomach growled, he was not sure if it was from hunger or anticipation of his eventual meeting with his cousin. He hoped some bread might soak up some of the unease currently festering in the pit of his gut and so made his way to the kitchens.

He had not done this since returning to Winterfell - enter the kitchens and help himself to food and refreshment. As King, nearly every need he had is met without him having to even raise a brow in request. It was nice, in a way, he realised as he leant back against the large oak meat chopping block while he chewed on his bread.

It reminded him of being a boy, a bastard boy, who would sneak into these very kitchens to pilfer some candied plums or other such delights. Jon remembers snatching some of Sansa’s favoured lemon cakes for her on more than one occasion. The kitchens always seemed to be a busy bustling place back then, meaning he had had to time it right or risk being caught.

That was a different time, he thought as he looked around the empty kitchen.

Deciding that he really must find and talk to Sansa, he makes quick work of his snack and is left with the dry crust. Old Nan always used to scold them for leaving any bit of food, especially the crusts when they were young, forcing them to finish with the aid of some sweet jam.

It was that happy memory that Jon began opening cupboards, looking for some preserves to help him finish his snack.

The pantry, he remembered when he’d had no luck and promptly yanked open the door to the small, cool storeroom.

“Jon”! Sansa yelped as she blinked at the sudden influx of additional light.

What in the Seven Hells?

“Sansa”? He said, his voice thick with query. She grabbed him by the jerkin and pulled him inside the small pantry with her before closing the door on them. “What-”?

Sansa silenced him with a finger to her lips, she seemed to be listening out for something, only speaking when she was happy with what she heard.

“We’re playing hide and seek” she whispered “I think the children suspect me to be in the stables” Sansa grinned.

“Ah, I see” Jon whispered back before gulping, his previous anxieties about what he had to ask her flooding back to him.

“I found some cherry cake” Sansa whispered as she reached past him to the shelf behind Jon, her close proximity causing a quickening of his pulse. “It’s your favourite isn’t it Jon? Or It used to be”? She asked as she offered a chunk of cake up to his mouth. Jon hesitated before taking it, accidentally wrapping his lips around her fingers in the process. He watched as she licked the crumbs from them afterwards.

“You remember that”? Jon asked

In the dim light he swore he could make out a faint blush on her cheeks “yes, I remember… you loved cherry cake and candied plums and hated it whenever our pudding was served with custard” she smiled. Jon nodded, a faint smile ghosting his lips.

“What’s wrong? You have been especially introvert these past few days” Sansa asked in a quiet voice as she placed a concerned hand on his arm.

“Sansa, you’ve been so busy with the children, how on earth have you managed to notice anything of concern”? Jon smiled.

Sansa gripped his arm a little tighter under her hand “I’m always concerned for you Jon….you’re all I have left”. Sansa held his gaze with such unwavering affection that her eyes seemed to glitter with it in the dim light of the small space they were confined to.

Jon huffed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Aye, you’re right Sansa…. there is something troubling me….”

“Tell me Jon”

He hesitated, weighing out his words in his head.

“Sansa” Jon paused “I have to break a promise I made to you-”

“You’re not leaving are you”? She interrupted with fear in her voice.

“What? No… no I’m not leaving” Jon took a deep breath “I need to ask you to marry again Sansa”.

Sansa visibly stiffened.

“I need to ask” Jon continued “I need to ask you to marry me…. to placate the Lords who are troubled by my parentage”. Jon watched her for her reaction.

She sucked in a breath and held it.

“I’m so sorry Sansa, I know it’s not what you want… if I had any other choice then I would see to it that you would never need to marry again…I meant it when I said I never wanted to force you to-”

“You’d make a good husband Jon”. Sansa said quietly, eyes downcast, cutting off his ramble.

“I’d try to be” he said after a pause.

“You would be” Sansa said more firmly, lifting her eyes to meet his, emphasising the belief in her words “I…I think I’d like it… being your wife” she smiled a watery smile.

“Are you sure Sansa?…..I…it would not be a marriage in name only, the North would need heirs” Jon felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he gulped and tried to read her expression in the dim light of the pantry.

“I’ve always wanted children Jon” Sansa replied, staring at her own hands that were nervously busying themselves with each other.

“But with me Sansa”? Jon pushed, his voice coming out hoarse. Sansa’s eyes found his, she smiled and leant into him. Jon held his breath, feeling her breasts graze his chest as she pressed her soft lips on his.

“Yes Jon” she whispered, her breath ghosting across his lips and her eyes flitting between his.

It was a strange feeling, being wanted and accepted for this. For something this big and important, even the elation at being crowned King couldn’t compare.

Jon tentatively moved to meet his lips with hers once more, his hands finding her small waist.

He soon found himself begging entry to her mouth by kissing her with more fervour and swiping his tongue across her bottom lip. Sansa granted him access and began tangling her fingers in his hair. Jon held her tight against himself and groaned loudly from the back of his throat.

Sansa pulled back suddenly from the noise and looked up at him. Jon began to back away, about to apologise when she started to giggle.

“I’ve never seen you like this” she said with laughter in her eyes.

“Like what”?

“I don’t know……lustful” Sansa mused with a smile. “I find I quite like you in this state” she said, taking in the desire in his eyes.

Jon studied her for a small while “and what about you Sansa?….could you be…..‘lustful’… with me”? He asked with his heart in his mouth.

“Yes” she whispered, coyly staring down at her own hands as they twiddled with her skirt.

Finally Sansa looked up at Jon through her lashes, whatever expression she found on his face making her breath catch in her throat. Jon pushed closer, backing Sansa up against the wall.

“I will never hurt you Sansa” he breathed.

“I know that”.

“Can I kiss you again”? He asked, his breath slightly ragged.

“Yes” Sansa breathed.

He started gently - gently touching his lips to hers, gently cupping her cheek, gently pressing his body into Sansa’s but all his gentleness soon became more passionate, more fevered. He groaned again and this time the noise was met with a mewl instead of giggles.

He knew he was pushing his luck - truly he did - when he found himself palming her breast over her bodice and pushing his thigh between her legs, all while tasting the skin of her neck.

But then Sansa began rocking her pelvis against him, rubbing herself on his thigh - he pushed into her with more force, hoping to increase the friction for her.

“More Jon, I want more” she whispered.

He pulled at her skirts, rucking them up to her waist so that he could slip his burnt hand between her thighs.

“Is this alright”? He breathed into her hair, his face buried in the wonderful coolness and scent of lavender. He felt her nod.

Jon stroked her through her smallclothes before pushing them aside, exploring her cunny and groaning when he felt how slick she was.

“Fuck Sansa” he murmured into her shoulder “you’re so wet” he felt her nod “you’re perfect” he confirmed, peppering her skin with kisses.

“Hardly” she responded.

“You are Sansa - I don’t deserve you, but Gods, let me try”.

“Love me Jon” Sansa sighed “make love to me….please”. He tried to go slowly with her but found it near impossible as he was holding her up against the stone wall, both of her legs hitched around his waist as he enjoyed her with enthusiasm. He soon felt his release nearing

“Sansa I’m going to spill” he grunted out through gritted teeth as he began to slow his pace and lower her legs, instinct telling him to spend anywhere but inside her.

“No Jon, please” she pleaded once she realised what he was doing “give me a babe” Sansa whispered in his ear.

Jon groaned at her request and buried his face in her hair once more before picking up the pace of his thrusts, pounding into her against the wall as if the world would end if he didn’t.

“Yes, oh yes Jon!…oh gods!…please…Oh uunghh”

“I’ve never done that before” he huffed into her hair after they had both peaked and were trying to catch their breath. Sansa turned her head to look at him with her brows furrowed in question, breath still coming out in pants from their efforts. Jon smiled once he realised how his statement sounded. “No…I mean, I’ve never spilt my…..I’ve never finished inside a woman” he cleared his throat.

Sansa smiled up at him, her hands thread around the back of his neck with her fingers drawing nonsensical patterns on the skin they found there. “I’ve never peaked with a man before” she said coyly.

He bent to give her sloppy lazy kisses that she hummed pleasantly into. “You’re so beautiful when you reach your peak Sansa, I’d like to watch you come again….can….may I visit your chambers tonight my Lady”?

“Yes, husband” Sansa replied with a grin.

5 YEARS LATER

“Sansa what are you-”

“Sssshhhh! Or they’ll find me”! Sansa hissed as she dragged Jon into the pantry where she had been hiding.

“Are you playing hide and seek again”? Jon whispered with a grin as his hands slid over his wife’s hips, remembering the last time they were cooped up in the same space.

“No” Sansa shook her head.

“But then why…”? Jon asked with knitted brows.

“They won’t leave me alone for one minute Jon!….and I just didn’t want to share this time”! She whispered as she shoved a piece of lemon cake into her mouth.

“Are you….are you hiding from your own children so that you don’t have to share your cake with them my Queen”? Jon asked, trying to stifle his laughter.

“Sshhh! They’ll hear you”! She mumbled around another bite. Jon tried to quieten his chuckle. “I love them dearly, but I need a little treat for myself every now and again Jon”.

“Aye…. aye you do” Jon replied, laughter fading like a mist. “And what about a treat for your husband my lady”? Jon whispered into her ear as he backed her against the wall. “Do you remember the last time we were in here”?

“Yes” Sansa mewled, catching on to her husband’s intentions quickly. “We made little Lyanna that day if I’m not mistaken” she hummed as Jon began kissing her collarbone.

He seized her lips passionately, she tasted of the lemon treats she had been secretly enjoying. His hands seemed to roam anywhere and everywhere that they could like they were commiting her body to memory. Sansa moaned under Jon’s attentions, hitching a leg over his hip and rubbing herself against him as her own hands found their way to his hair. She shuddered when he nipped under her jaw - he’d come to learn what would make her do that and practiced it often.

“Another babe Jon, give me another babe” she moaned as she rocked against him.

“Another mouth to share your lovely lemon cakes with my Lady? Are you sure”? He teased.

“Perhaps this one would prefer cherry cake like it’s father unlike the other three” she smiled.

“Mama! Papa!….found you”! Little Lyanna squealed as she opened the pantry door, her brothers toddling along behind her.

Jon beamed at his brood before ducking his lips to his wife’s ear to whisper quick promises of increasing its size and then entangling himself from her.

“Papa” Lyanna said in an inquisitive tone “why do you have cake in your hair”?

#jonxsansaff #jonxsansaff valentines #jonsa #jonsa fan fiction #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfic #jon x sansa #gotfic #jonsaff #with me

49 notes · View notes