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chokemeanakin · 3 years

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Give Me Love

Chapter Four

Wc: 2.3k

MASTERLIST

You had a lot to lose. A lot. Everything, really.

The issue with the fact that he already supposedly liked you, is that now you had the potential to screw it all up. To make him not like you anymore. One wrong move, one wrong word, and you could lose it all.

The thought had you sweating as you sent your last patient off, tying off his gauze wrapping and slipping a bottle of painkillers into his hand. He thanked you and left, and you blinked back tears, almost wishing he’d stay.

I can’t take this stress.

All day, you’d thrust yourself into your work. The clock ticked over your head, counting down the seconds until Anakin would meet you in this room, and then you’d sneak off to go to dinner. Together. Just you and him. Alone.

Completely at his mercy.

Wrapping sprained ankles and giving IV’s took your mind off of it for the majority of the day, but now it was 7:59, and Anakin had promised he’d be here right on time. Your stomach tossed and turned, hands shaking, impromptu jitters wracking your body. The nausea was slowly creeping its way back up as you put away your materials, washing your hands, winding them in your grasp as you paced the floor.

Knock knock

A stream of silent curses flew through your head. You startled at the noise, heart pounding wildly, but your legs forced you to the door anyway. It looked like someone else’s hand that turned the knob, opening it to reveal the long-awaited Jedi.

He was breath-taking, as usual. Even more so now that you knew what his true thoughts on you were. He held a special fondness for you, the same you held for him, and it was too good to be true. How could this absolute beauty even think to spare a second glance in your direction?

“You’re amazing for doing this,” Anakin grinned, slipping past you into the room. “Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do if I had to sit through that Opera show right now. Dex’s is on me, if I didn’t make that clear yesterday.”

He was already heading toward the back door, not nervous at all. What must that be like? You wondered, To be able to function so smooth and confident, unbothered in the same room as the person you so desperately adore?

To your surprise, a speeder was waiting outside the Jedi temple. A quite expensive one, at that. Your eyes widened as he held the door to the passenger’s seat open, sweeping with his other arm in a gesture to get in.

“Where’d you get this?” you asked, glad you now had a conversation starter. Anakin closed the door for you, a mischievous smirk curling onto his lips as he got into the driver’s side.

“I’m borrowing it from a friend.”

You had a sneaking suspicion that was a lie.

The banter came easily after that, surprisingly so on your part. Each time he made you laugh, your nerves dissipated a little bit more. The cool air whipping past your skin and tangling into your hair was like a balm for your nerves, soothing your feverish temperature and calming your mind for just a few minutes. When you arrived at Dex’s, you almost felt… normal.

Anakin cut the engine as you unbuckled, the neon lights bathing him in red and purple. His eyes sparkled like stars, taking in the lively night streets of Coruscant before him. Everything he did, everywhere he went-- you were beginning to think he was just permanently gorgeous.

You managed to sit on your nerves the whole night. They bit at you from the back of your mind, but you shoved them away, swallowed them down, beat them back with a stick. If things went bad, you bartered with yourself, you could just avoid Anakin for the rest of your life. You didn’t have to see him ever again if you didn’t want to. But… that’s not the way things were going. Things were going well. Better than well.

It surprised you just how much of a gentleman Anakin was. He was certainly good at wooing-- he held the door open for you into the restaurant, and then pulled the chair out for you. Apparently he knew Dex on a friendly-basis, so when the owner of the restaurant came over to greet him personally, Anakin introduced you as his friend.

The words had you soaring.

Admittedly, you were still having trouble looking him in the face. The hour was late and Dex had dimmed the lights. Even so, he was enchantingly beautiful, sitting across from you, tracing his thumb along the lip of a mug. His eyes had a habit of bearing into you, and you wondered if he knew how intense he could be sometimes.

You focused on the way his thumb found the rim of his glass, stroking it ever so slowly, back and forth, back and forth. It hypnotized you into a state of serenity as you tried to ignore the burn of his eyes on your face.

“I make you nervous.”

As if to prove him wrong, you lifted your gaze to meet his. Bad idea. His beauty never failed to land a blow to your chest, robbing you of air and the ability to formulate competent sentences.

“Not… in a bad way.” There was no use lying.

“In what way, then?”

This was not good. His voice was lowering, that seductive purr coming out even though you were sure he didn’t even realize. He was genuinely curious, but the deep rumble of his voice was yanking the nerves back up one by one, forcing you to feel the full brunt of their anger.

“You’re just… you’re intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” he looked like he might laugh, and you tried not to focus on how the arch of his eyebrow made you tingle.

“Very.”

“How so?”

He was back to quizzical, and you were back to feeling like you were going to vomit. Your vision went white, head dunked underwater, when something touched your hand. You realized it was his own. The thumb that you had been watching was now across your knuckles, stroking them gently like it had done to the lip of his mug. You inhaled a trembling breath, distracted by the burning path it seared into your live-wire skin.

Was that supposed to be soothing? Because it had the exact opposite effect.

“I’m sure you know the answer to that,” you turned the question back on him. Really, you had no idea how to answer without admitting the depth of your feelings for him. Or without going into extensive detail on just how ravishing you found him.

The tender caress of his thumb on your skin was flooding your body with pleasurable feelings. You never wanted him to stop. This moment, as he was touching you willingly for the first time, you truly felt on top of the world. Your whole being flooded with warm molasses, cheeks flushed as you drowned in the feeling. Later, you would worry about how dangerous it was that he had such a strong effect on you. For now, you were going to milk every last second that his skin was on yours.

“I’m not sure I do,” his smooth voice brought you back to reality. Suddenly, his thumb stopped and you internally panicked. When he didn’t pull away, you breathed out a sigh of relief. “Y/n, I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” the words felt phony leaving your lips. “Not-- not in a bad way…”

“What does that mean?”

Did you really have to spell it out for him? Was he really going to make you say it?

His words were serious now though, hard. You wanted that twinkle in his eye back, the playful smile. Even more so-- the stroke of his thumb.

“It means,” you shifted your eyes wildly, desperately clinging to any semblance of thought that you could piece together into an explanation, “that I think you’re really… cool. And I don’t want to make a fool of myself around you.”

Ironic, that sentence was. You hoped he couldn’t see your flaming cheeks in the low light of the restaurant.

“You think I’m cool?” At least he was smiling now. It was gentle, teasing, and the sight of it sent sparks of adoration up your spine. Maker, you wanted him…

“Yes,” you bowed your head, overcome with emotion. You couldn’t let him see how soft your eyes had gotten. “I think you’re amazing.”

His heart liquified at your hushed confession. It was like pulling a tooth, getting you to open up to him like this-- but now that he had you where he wanted, he was going to milk it for all it was worth.

“If I’m so amazing, how come you always avoid me?”

“I don’t avoid you.”

He cocked his head, testing.

“Okay. Fine. Whenever I see you… my heart beats all funny. I can’t think straight. And I get hot.”

He’s laughing now, but inside his heart is doing the same as yours. It thuds with hope, fear, and a suffocating reverence for the person across from it. Your eyes narrow at him, annoyed at how easily you let him get the upper hand.

“I don’t like it.”

His laughing stopped, but the smile stayed plastered on his face. Even the thumb on your knuckles resumed, quelling that swirling tempest in your gut.

“No?”

“No. It makes me feel weak. Disoriented. I feel like I have no control over myself when I’m around you.”

Which is exactly the reason you’re spewing these words out now. Was this some kind of Jedi Mind trick? How could you be telling this to him?

“You like me.”

Your eyes snapped up to his face at the same time you pulled your hand back. Your world began to crash down around you-- he knew. Of course he could tell that you had a stupid little crush. You basically just layed it all out on the table for him. All he had to do was piece it together.

You braced yourself for the inevitable worst. This was the part where he was going to tell you how wrong it was, how you had to forget your feelings for him, how you could never see each other again. If this was the last time you would be able to be with Anakin, you wanted to savor every moment. You allowed yourself to look at him-- really look at him.

It was shameless, the way your eyes lingered over his face. For once, you didn’t care how he watched you drink in every detail, the rings of your eyes flickering over every feature-- the delicate curl of his bangs over his forehead, the arch of his dark, shapely brows, the curl of his full, blushing lips, the enchanting peak of his chiselled cheekbones. He was stunning, and as always, it was like looking directly into the sun. Except this time, you let yourself burn.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he played off of your earlier words. Those devilish lips pulled up teasingly, voice low and purring. “I think you’ll be happy to know, I’m quite fond of you myself.”

Blood rushed through your ears, your heart stuttering in your chest. Was he--? Was he serious? Were you hearing his words correctly? Could he actually--?

He was waiting for you to say something. You swallowed thickly, your saliva feeling like a cotton ball in your throat, face and limbs numb with disbelief.

“Oh.”

Is that really all you could manage? You were beating yourself up inside, butterflies waging full-scale armageddon in your tummy. What were you supposed to say? Great, now let’s fuck?

Oh, Maker. That thought was not good for your nerves.

“Relax,” Anakin’s brows furrowed, sensing how anxious you’d suddenly become. You were vibrating slightly in your seat, sweat beginning to form on your skin. “You don’t have to be so nervous around me.”

You thought those words might have helped if you didn’t suddenly have thoughts of you and him… being intimate… barraging your mind. That was a whole other shelf of issues that you didn’t even want to breach tonight.

Internalizing his words, you forced yourself to suck in a burning breath of air. It whistled slightly as it went down, head pulsing at the lack of airflow. You managed to clear the hazey panic from your mind, but your heart still beat as if you were being chased. You really were hopeless.

“Okay,” you managed to breath. Your hands fisted the material of the scrubs on your thighs as you voice your next thoughts. “So… what now?”

“Now…” his eyes flicked away from your face for a moment, finally allowing you to breathe. His throat bobbed slightly as he thought, as if he was nervous too. “Now we do whatever you want.”

“Me?”

“Y/n,” warmth trickled down your spine at the way he whispered your name, leaning in closer to you so no one else could hear. When before you struggled to look at him, now you couldn’t look away. “I’m a Jedi. It’s against the code for me to have these attachments. But… I trust you. And I’d like to… be with you. In whatever way that might please you.”

“But why are you letting me choose?”

“Because if I had to, we’d be all in. I haven’t felt this way about anyone since… since…” his eyes clouded over, and he shook his head. “Nevermind that. I just… I know we barely know each other. But I feel… pulled to you. Just like you said, it makes me feel warm. And good. And I want more of it, all of it…”

His hand lifted off the table as if he meant to touch your cheek, but he caught himself halfway. Eyes darted around the restaurant, realizing where he was again as he lowered his hand.

“I want you. Completely.”

You were definitely sweating now.

The words didn’t even go through that familiar circuit of debate in your mind. They seemed to think themselves into fruition, then speak themselves into the air.

“Then…” your head swam. Stomach quivered. Heart pulsed. “You can have me.”

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#give me love #Anakin x fem reader #Anakin fic

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ofclaires · 3 years

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IV. CLAIRE WALSH

PAST SELF PARAS: april 2020 / september 2020 / march 2021.

hi, before the read more i just wanted to say THANK YOU. getting to play claire has been absolutely a treat, a challenge, and genuinely, a huge part of my life for the past year and a half or so. it occurred to me when writing this and looking back at other things i’ve written for claire that i didn’t just feel like i was writing this for myself or for claire ; but i was writing it for you guys, too ! that has been one of the most special things about gallagher for me is the writing community that i feel like we built, taking such a huge investment in our characters and everyone else’s writing. i feel like i’m writing with and for some of my best friends. i also feel like i’ve grown so much ( ok, i actually don’t just feel like it, i can look back at those three paras and SEE how my writing has improved. ) i am so blessed to have gotten to write claire with all of you and to share her story, i feel like she has been so fucking beloved & it’s given her so much life. i am so proud of her and it’s really bittersweet that i’m finally saying goodbye to her as well. so, thank you all so, so much, gallagher has been a writing experience like no other for me & i love you all !

trigger warnings : domestic violence & abuse, death

PART ONE: CHILDHOOD.

The trailer that Claire spent the back half of her childhood in never felt like home. Maybe because trailers are made to be temporary, or the fact that if she accepted that this was where she belonged, she’d have to give up hope.

It’s normal Maggie Walsh to be out late, Claire’s usually cleaned up the kitchen and tucked herself into bed by the time her mother comes in the door – but she’s not sleeping. She’s always had trouble with that, brain bouncing around from one thought to the next until eventually she hears the creak of the door.

Her mom’s home.

She hears the usual stumbling, the clatter of dishes falling from where she’d neatly placed them on the drying rack. Maggie’s drunk, Claire’s sure of that. Ten years old and she knows what it means to be so drunk that you can hardly see straight, that the words you say under the influence are a different reflection from the person that you really are. She inhales deeply and crawls out from under the covers to check on her. Ten years old and she knows the steps: Help her take her makeup off, make sure she sleeps on her side, glass of water on the bedside table, trash can on the floor. Maggie is only twenty-six years old herself now, not done with her childhood by the time that Claire was born, not ready to be a mother. Claire’s had to figure it out most of it herself.

“Mom?” Claire knocks on the door lightly, plastic cup full of water already in hand.

“Don’t – don’t come in!” Maggie sputters, and Claire’s confused. She defies her request and opens the bedroom door the rest of the way. When she sees her mom, she drops the cup on the floor, small hands curling into fists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I told you not to come in here, Claire,” Maggie repeats, but Claire has always been on to disregard commands. She learns at a young age that authority only means older than you or some assigned title, not that they know best.

“Who did that? Why?” She repeats her questions. Despite being mature for her age, it’s hard for Claire to wrap her head around the black eye obscuring Maggie’s face, and the swelling on her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie sighs, dejected as she flops down on the bed. Even in her state, she knows that there’s not much use telling Claire to back off or go away once she’s decided that she’s not going to. Her little girl is a spitfire, strangely enough reminds Maggie a lot of her own mom, like living with a miniature version of her. Maybe that’s why Claire wins most arguments. “Come here.”

Claire walks closer to the bed, kicking the cup aside on her way for no reason other than to kick something. She crawls into bed next to her mom and looks up at her, waiting for more of an explanation or literally anything but silence.

“I don’t know why I keep looking for a happy ending. I leave you home alone, I come home like this...not helping either of us,” Maggie presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It’s so soft and Claire is so little, she can’t help but look at the spilled cup on the floor with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she adds, voice choked up and words a little slurred. Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes when she closes them, hugging her daughter closer, “I’ve blamed you for my fucked up life for so long...that’s not fair.”

Now, Claire is only ten, but those are the kind of words that you remember forever. Still, she smiles. “It doesn’t have to stay fucked up. It can get better,” a childish spark of optimism in her heart that hasn’t yet been put out. It makes Maggie smile back though, kissing her daughter on the top of her head yet again.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall asleep curled up beside each other. Claire sleeps soundly, thinking that it’s possible. Things really could get better, and for a while, it seems like there really is a sort of shift. Maggie starts cooking, cleaning again, and she doesn’t even stay out so late. That’s when she meets Martin.

He seems better than the rest. Until he isn’t.

But Claire does her job as her mother’s protector, just as she’s been doing all of her life, and it’s that event that jumpstarts the rest of everything that happens next.

PART TWO: GRADUATION.

Claire’s come to the formal conclusion that graduation ceremonies are a waste of time. There’s all this build up, everyone’s so excited, and then you have to sit around and wait for your name to be called so you can spend two seconds walking across a stage while everyone claps. She would have skipped it entirely if her mother hadn’t already come up, and if she knew that people were going to insist. The small talk afterward is even more agonizing than the ceremony itself. It is sort of painful saying goodbye to everyone, and it occurs to Claire that there’s more people that she’s going to miss than she ever expected.

“Callum and his mother are here,” Maggie points out.

“And?” Claire rolls her eyes. Seeing Callum again to begin with had brought up a lot of old feelings, and generally, even though they’d resolved things, she tries to avoid him whenever possible.

“Well, it’s probably weird if we don’t say hello, at least, right? I’m going to say hello,” Maggie interjects, “he’s such a sweet boy.”

Claire’s eyebrows rise on her forehead as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go ahead then,” she sighs, “I’ll wait right here.”

“Claire,” Maggie draws out her name with a withering stare, but Maggie has never been able to establish that sort of authority with Claire that would prompt any inclination of obedience, so Claire just shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. She’s not going to budge. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Claire’s done her best to put the chapter of their life that includes Martin out of her mind when rekindling things with her mother, and she certainly doesn’t want to stand around making small talk with his other ex-wife, trying not to look at Callum with his matching jawline, trying not to remember everything she hates. It all comes back in a flash. The horrible cracking sound that her mother’s head had made when it connected with the wall, the blood on the marble floor. They say you don’t remember trauma properly, that your memory doesn’t work quite right, but she will never forget the way her fist connected with Martin’s face : like a puzzle piece, like it BELONGED there, and she’d done it over and over again until she heard sirens.

And yet, Claire can’t deny that it’s a part of her life that got her here, where she is today. She thinks life is shitty and random, and that not everything has to happen ‘for a reason.’ Still, she’ll catch Kass’s eye across the room and see her smiling so brightly that it seems impossible not to believe in something. Claire can’t help herself anyway – she smiles back. No one has ever been able to produce Claire’s smile in its truest form the way Kass has, unashamed of being so happy to look at someone. She once thought the idea of looking at a person and seeing your whole future was ridiculous, that you’d have to be stupid to put that much of yourself into someone, but it isn’t like that at all. All of it was unintentional, like by the time she realized it, Kass was already everything. And she feels so safe with that thought that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Am I interrupting something?” A figure steps in front of her, cutting off her line of sight. She’s not really fond of being snuck up on, so she opens her mouth to say something snarky when she’s met with the gaze of Lisanna Harlin, one of last year’s mentors. Her daughter, Elisa, is there, but she’s not graduating, so Claire’s confused by Lisanna’s presence.

“No, Ms. Harlin,” Claire says, though there’s a spark of indignation in her words that practically goes hand in hand whenever an adult commands authority.

“Lisanna is fine,” she says with a light laugh, like she’s amused Claire’s greeted her this way.

“Can I...help you with something?” Claire asks, mostly curious about how long this interaction has gone on. While she’s friendly with Elisa, she was Kass’s roommate last year, they’re not exceedingly close, so she’s not sure what else Lisanna would have to say to her other than maybe a polite hello.

It’s more than a polite hello. Lisanna Harlin works for Lexon Corp in Durham, North Carolina, a private military company that provides armed guards, bodyguards, and guns for hire. They’re the sort of place that would be looking for the best of the best in combat, and they have a bit of a reputation for hiring Gallagher girls. Claire had given up on the job search months ago since the video went out, in fact, she’s had a job lined up for graduation already : at a boxing gym in D.C., where the scene isn’t too bad. It was suited to her, but not exactly the sort of thing that her Gallagher education had prepared her for. Lexon Corp? Everything her rigorous love of January boot camps were tailored to. And they want to interview her.

A month later, Claire’s sitting on the cusp of a completely fresh start. It wasn’t easy to backtrack on the plans that she and Kass had made together, knowing how much was changing for the both of them, it had been nice to have the stable idea of an apartment together on the horizon. Now, she’s a four hour drive away, and she goes home to her one-bedroom studio in Durham after rigorous training throughout the day. But she’s grateful for the chance to work her way back into the field, and she can remember what Lisanna said to her when they gave her the offer.

“We’re aware that with your history that we’re taking a chance on you, Claire,” Lisanna said. “But we think the reasons that made other agencies look past you are exactly what makes you an asset. You care about your jobs, the people that you’re involved in, and you’d have a partner’s back until the bitter end. You listen to your intuition, trust your gut...and above all else, you have follow-through. I’m excited to be able to offer this position. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Claire swears that she won’t.

PART THREE: KIPTYN.

Kiptyn isn’t supposed to be in the left hall closet.

In fact, he’s not supposed to be awake at all. But who can sleep the night before their birthday anyway? Sure, he’ll be thirteen, and that’s probably old enough to have gotten over the magic of it all, but...he’d still been lying awake with excitement, the anticipation keeping his eyes open for hours on end. Well, that and the video game he’d been playing under the covers, but he’d obviously only been playing it because he couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Then he started thinking about the left hall closet and the conversation that they had at dinner the other night. In Kiptyn’s defense, Dahvia – his younger sister – had totally started it and he was an innocent bystander. After all, Kiptyn’s old enough to know that they don’t bring up Claire to mom, because it just puts her in a mood and then you can forget about doing anything else for the rest of the evening. But Dahvia’s ten, practically a baby, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Hey, mom? What sort of accident did Claire die in? Nina asked me at recess and I didn’t know,” Dahvia pipes up, before she’s even properly sat down. Kip visibly cringes. He’s older, wiser, knows this won’t go well. Still, he dares to look at his mom’s face and he notes the faraway look in her eye, like she seems to experience a bunch of things at once. Kip notices how even though her eyes are glassy, she doesn’t cry. Though sometimes, their mom will just cry randomly, like two weeks ago when he asked for help with his Spanish homework and she couldn’t even help him finish the first worksheet.

“It was a car accident,” she says stiffly, “eat your dinner.”

Kiptyn kicks his sister under the table and flashes her a look that says : Great. Look what you did, ruined dinner. Dahvia sticks her tongue out at him.

So, he knows that he’s not supposed to be in the left hall closet because he could ruin many more dinners, but he’s here anyway. He’s been thinking about it ever since they sat in silence for the rest of that half hour, and he’s come to the conclusion – his mother was lying. Because all sorts of things make their mother cry, like a bowl of mac and cheese or Spanish class, or motorcycles, and she won’t let Kiptyn take boxing lessons though his friend Robert is and he thought it sounded really cool, but she doesn’t have any problem with cars or driving, and also, she’s never told them a single thing about Claire except that. They aren’t allowed to know anything about her, especially not anything true, so Kiptyn is pretty sure that’s a lie. There’s just something just weird about it.

So, in the middle of the night before his thirteenth birthday, he looks up a video on how you pick locks and then he figures it out on the door of the left hall closet. He’s there for at least forty-five minutes, practically ready to give it all up when he hears the clicking sound, and then it opens. His first thought is : Woah. This is a load of junk.

And he’s right. There’s boxes upon boxes of paperwork, old clothes. Some things start to click, like when he finds a pair of worn boxing gloves with Claire’s initials embroidered on them. His favorite thing that he finds is the fattest scrapbook he’s ever seen – his mom always makes them, there’s one for every year of his life. Dahvia’s too, they love looking at them. The cover of this one, though, says Italy 2021. It’s all pictures of his mom and Claire, probably in their early twenties. Kiptyn mostly notices his mother’s smile, how he’s only seen her look like that a couple times in his life and yet it looks so EASY here, like she wears it all the time. It’s so strange to him. He sets the scrapbook down and crawls toward the back of the closet. His eyes land on two leather folders with gold embroidery, and he opens up the first one. In big letters at the top : GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

It’s a diploma.

This certifies that Kassandra Sutton has satisfactorily completed the…

“What are you doing?”

Kiptyn yells out like a child, not having heard anyone creeping up on him. He claps his hand over his mouth as if to shush himself. “The door was open! I don’t know how, but I just...noticed it was open and wanted to make sure that...no one was stealing your stuff!” he grins sheepishly, hoping that he can ride on the high of his birthday week to get him out of this one.

“It was just...open?” his mother looks down at him with raised eyebrows before brandishing a twisted paper clip between two fingers. The one that had formerly been stuck in the door. His guilty expression widens, he can’t help it.

“Okay, I might know how it opened,” Kiptyn admits. He hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that he’s ALREADY in trouble, he might as well just come out with it and pray to the birthday gods. He holds up the diploma with her name on it : “What’s Gallagher Academy?”

Kass’s sigh is heavy and deep, accompanied by the amount of exhaustion that comes with raising two curious kids by herself. After Claire died, she moved her family to London to be closer to their aunt and away from everything that reminded her of Claire. She never told her children why. From hiding that world from them, the world that took so many people from her : her father, her ex-girlfriend, and the love of her life. She swore that she would never lose her children to it, too. But Kiptyn looks up at her with wide eyes, desperate to know about his mother and his past, and Kass also knows what it’s like to have part of yourself missing due to family secrets that are being kept from you. He is practically a teenager now. So, she relents.

Kass doesn’t go into all of the details, of course. Just that Gallagher Academy was a school for spies, and that’s where it all started. Kiptyn already knew that his moms met in college, so it’s the spy part that’s most interesting to him. She talks about Claire with a light in her eyes he’s unfamiliar with, how she was one of the best fighters in their year, that she grew up with such a talent in the ring that she probably could’ve gone pro if her life had gone in a different direction. She talks about how they had to part ways after graduation, because Claire got a job in North Carolina and she got a job in Washington, DC, but they made it work, and both got very accustomed to the four hour drive – though it was sometimes closer to three for Claire, because she always drove too fast, even on this big, black motorcycle which Kass swears that she hated. She tells Kiptyn about how they got married, the way she’d almost moved to England for a dream job and that long distance threatened to drive them apart again – until Claire chased her down in the airport with a ring and proposal.

She also talks about how Claire really died : the abridged version. It was an overseas mission where they’d been cornered, and Claire risked her life to save the rest of their team. There were no other casualties, and the information they were able to bring back helped stop the terrorist organization they’d been chasing to end them for good. Kass tells the abridged version for her son, gives Claire a hero’s death. In some ways, it was. She doesn’t mention the ways that Claire was consumed by the case, it was an organization hellbent on killing spies and it likely reminded her of the brotherhood. Kass had been worried about the case the whole time, because it felt like Claire was taking it too personally. In the end, she may have been right : because Claire had let it take her life in order to close it. She also doesn’t mention that such a sacrificial death means that her wife died fighting alone, swinging her fists until her very last breath. But still, she was all alone.

She had no choice but to take her kids as far away from that life as possible.

Kiptyn tries, but he doesn’t really remember Claire. He’d only been three years old when she passed away, and before then, she’d been so consumed by her last case that she was barely present. Still, he thinks she sounds badass.

He falls asleep on his mother’s shoulder that night, looking through the scrapbook of pictures from their trip to Italy in 2021. He’s animated for the first part, pointing out buildings and asking questions, wonders if Claire was sweating in all that leather, but he slowly starts to drift off. He wakes up on the couch the next morning, no trace of the book or any of the other papers he’d hauled out of the closet the night before. He looks at the closet and there’s an extra padlock. Figures.

It comes up in little ways, like a private joke that he has with his mother, like she’ll say something and flash him a secretive smile. He likes that, and he understands that this is a big secret that he has to keep. It doesn’t come up again until his fourteenth birthday the next year, the summer before high school. It’s a strange letter in a manila envelope, sealed with some expensive red wax, his name written in fancy calligraphy. The most attention-grabbing part, however, is not Kiptyn Sutton-Walsh in big cursive letters. It’s the return address :

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

learn her skills, honor her sword. keep her secrets.

#*#self para

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imaginethathaikyuu · 4 years

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kenma angst part 2 (for lack of a better title)

ok. this is the scenario that ive by far gotten the most requests for. at least 40 different requests for this by now. and after finally writing a good scenario after 2 failed attempts, here it is. ur welcome.

i feel like i have to mention that this was very inspired by the song 12 feet deep by the front bottoms in a very specific way (that ull probably notice if u know/listen to the song) so yeah give it a listen, its a good one

and of course this is a part two, so please read part one first! gender neutral reader

Kenma was sinking.

It was nearing 4 am. He was laying in his bed, the place he’d quickly determined to be the only good place left in the entire world.

He was drowning.

He couldn’t stop staring at his phone. At your text messages. At your number.

As if it was a spur of the moment decision and not something he’d been mulling over for hours, he pressed call. Put the phone on speaker. Wiped the last shred of tears from his face.

“Hello?”

But his eyes were filling up again.

“Kenma?”

He was sinking and sinking deeper and deeper and you were the one holding him under.

“What do you want?”

“To hear your voice,” he choked out, gasping for air that refused to fill his lungs.

That’s probably the most honest he’d been with you in weeks. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a good excuse anymore, waking you up at 4 am just to hear your voice.

But it’d been a week since he last heard you. He thought you’d be able to pull him out of the sinkhole he’d left himself in.

He was probably better off not calling at all, though.

“Okay. I’m hanging up now.”

And then you did.

Kenma had rarely felt this angry at himself. And he’d never felt so pitiful.

He knew he shouldn’t bother you. That if he wanted to fix things, he had to stop being so damn childish, irresponsible, lazy. He couldn’t just call you like he used to and expect you to laugh it off. He couldn’t pretend that everything was normal.

He also knew that it wasn’t likely he’d get you back. Even if he explained himself and begged you to understand, words could only do so much.

Everything seemed to change for Kenma in the last week, more than he was comfortable with. And he wanted to change it back to the way things used to be. He wanted to make you happy again, to see you in his clothes again, to sleep in your bed again. Most of all, he just wanted to have you again.

While his life has been nothing short of unpredictable, there was one thing Kenma could still rely on.

“Get up, Kenma!”

And that’s Kuroo showing up at his dorm and beating down his door at 5:3o every morning.

Coincidentally, that was the one thing he wanted to change.

Kuroo had no regard for Kenma’s neighbors, something the boy learned when this routine began a few weeks ago. Morning practice now started at 6 instead of 8 - he had Kuroo to blame for that, as he basically made the new schedule.

“I’m up,” Kenma said to him after answering the door, making sure not to mention that he hadn’t even been to sleep.

Kuroo pushed him aside and invited himself in. “Practice in 30.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

He stumbled to his dresser and put on his tracksuit, struggling to stand on his own two feet. He was completely exhausted thanks to getting no sleep - after calling you, there was no way he was able to rest.

“C’mon, let’s go, we’re jogging to the gym.”

Kuroo grabbed Kenma by the shoulder and pulled him out of his dorm without waiting for his response. Kenma didn’t really jog, he just walked kind of quickly while Kuroo did all the running.

“You found my hoodie yet?”

Kenma took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Dude! Can I have it back already? I swear I’m never letting you steal my clothes again.”

His fast walking slowed down. Kuroo started jogging backwards so he could face Kenma, feeling concerned about the silence. This didn’t feel like Kenma’s usual quietness.

“I don’t have it,” he replied simply, hoping to leave it at that.

“Well it’s in your dorm, right? Just bring it to -”

“No,” Kenma interrupted, “It’s not in my dorm. I don’t have it.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Where is it then? You just want to keep it, don’t you?”

Of course Kuroo wouldn’t let him get away without actually explaining himself.

“Y/N has it.”

“Oh.” Kuroo cleared his throat in that awkward way a dad would, then he turned back around and Kenma thought that was it.

Of course it wasn’t. “Sounds like a good excuse to go talk to - ”

“No.”

“We’re going to Y/N’s dorm after practice -”

“No.”

“I’m getting my hoodie back, and you’re getting Y/N back.”

To that, Kenma didn’t say no.

You were visibly taken aback when you opened your door to see your ex boyfriend and his best friend staring back at you.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Kuroo said, his voice booming through the hall.

“Hi?”

Kuroo elbowed Kenma in his side, offering a, “go on,” of encouragement.

“Uh…”

He couldn’t look up at you. Just hearing your voice in person was enough to make his heart skip a beat. If he looked at you, he’d probably break down crying and then beg you to take him back.

He didn’t know why it was so easy for Kuroo to convince him to do this.

“Remember that hoodie…?”

You scoffed before disappearing into your dorm for just a moment, reappearing to shove the sweatshirt into Kenma’s chest.

“Actually, that’s mine,” Kuroo said, taking it from him. “Sorry for the inconvenience. But my mom got me this hoodie. And then Kenma stole it.”

“I just forgot it was yours,” Kenma said quietly, trying his best to defend himself.

But it did help you realize why Kenma asked to have it back. You felt kind of silly now knowing that it wasn’t even his.

Kuroo, ignoring Kema, gave him a strong pat on the back and said, “Is there anything else you want to say to Y/N?”

Kenma hated this. He hated when Kuroo treated him like a kid. He hated knowing that you were standing right in front of him but he couldn’t hold your hand or play with your hair or even look up at you. He hated that he allowed himself to lose his best friend.

“I’m sorry,” he said, even though he felt himself slipping, sinking, drowning, just like he had last night. “I’m really, really sorry, for… for making you think that I don’t want you and for keeping things from you and for being late to lunch and for calling you last night -”

He took a deep breath, one that did nothing to calm him down but forced him to stop rambling to you, which he’s already embarrassed about.

But he’s here, so he should probably be honest while he can. And he should probably look at you while he still has the chance.

“I really miss you,” he said. His tears were clouding his vision but he still saw you. You were wearing an old shirt he bought for you in high school and a necklace he’d never seen before and your hair was a mess in his favorite way. You had obviously just woken up - what he wouldn’t give to have woken up next to you this morning could be counted on one hand.

Kuroo’s loud voice seemed to assault his ears when he said, “I’ll leave you guys to it. You know where to find me, alright?”

Kenma knew what that meant. What he meant to say is, ‘I’ll be there for you when you get your heart broken.’

Kuroo left while cradling his hoodie, and Kenma decided he probably should have just told him to wait outside for him. He didn’t have very high hopes for the rest of this conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes and looking back down to the ground. “I shouldn’t have done -”

“I miss you too.”

You said it so quietly that he almost missed it, but his heart did backflips when you said it.

“But I don’t miss how you’ve been acting.”

And then it sank again.

“I know,” he replied. “It’s just… volleyball and class have both been a lot, and…”

He didn’t really have an excuse. What he said was true, volleyball has been a lot. The new schedule was getting the best of him, the extra practice wasn’t treating him well. And he was really struggling to stay afloat in his academics.

He didn’t know if he could be better. He knew that right now, he could make promises he’d probably break and sweet talk his way into getting temporary forgiveness for his own sake. And if he did that, he’d probably hurt you again.

But if he didn’t at least try to be better for you, he would regret it forever. There was no excuse to just let you go. He was going to try for you, for himself, for the years you two have been together. He couldn’t let that time go to waste.

He wasn’t going to make excuses or empty promises.

“I want to try,” he started, standing up straight and doing his best to face you. “I want to try to be better for you, I…”

“Kenma…”

“I know,” he said, feeling an extra spark of courage though he had no clue where it was coming from. “I know I don’t deserve it and that this is probably a waste of time but - but I love you and I have to try, please let me try.”

“...Okay, Kenma.”

“Okay?”

For the first time in a week he could finally breathe. He could take a breath without feeling weighed down. The pressure on his chest finally lifted.

“I want to try, too,” you said, albeit sadly. “I miss you. So much.”

And then you couldn’t help stepping out of the doorway and falling against Kenma’s chest, and he happily pulled you closer to him. It was only then that he realized he was still standing out in the hall, but you were in his arms again and he didn’t care if anyone saw.

“I’ll get better at managing my time…” he mumbled to you. “I will.”

Your response was a nod, and Kenma managed a small smile.

But his exhaustion was setting in. As much as he wanted to stand there forever, he was about to fall over.

“Y/N?” he whispered. “Can we…”

You were sure he was going to finish that sentence with something disappointing, something that would ruin the moment. Maybe even something uncharacteristically lewd.

“...take a nap?”

But you were relieved to see Kenma was actually acting like himself. With a soft laugh you said, “Yeah, we can.” And when he got into your room and fell into your bed, he pulled you as close as you could be before melting into your sheets.

Your bed was definitely the best place in the world, and he wasn’t going to lose it - or you - again. Sleeping next to you felt too good to go without.

#Kenma Kozume #kenma kozume x reader #kenma x reader #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #angst #fluff #scenario

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fragmentedink-archived · 3 years

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Hell to Pay: Part Fifty- Three

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI, XLVII, XLVIII, XLIX, XLX, LI, LII

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

Lev put his hands on his hips. Cameron and Ash had done most of the heavy lifting, and Mami and Cameron had gotten the food ready, so Lev really hadn’t done much, but it’d turned out nice, and in the end that was all Lev could ask for, really. They had indeed gone with an ocean theme, to match the nursery, and since despite Lev’s efforts to help in some way or another, Cameron had been in charge of everything and took little input, it was all rather tasteful.

Lev fussed with the placement of the snacks, even though he knew Cameron was going to come along behind him and fix it again. He felt useless, especially with Ash reminding him to not push himself.

As expected, Cameron appeared, smacking Lev’s hand away. “Knock it off,” Cameron reprimanded. “The others should be arriving soon.”

“Is Biela coming?” Lev asked. They’d sent an invite; it’d’ve been rude to not. To Lev’s knowledge, she hadn’t responded.

“Likely not. She’ll probably send Caius in her stead.”

“Mm.” Lev had liked Caius, the one time he’d met him. He was pretty. And seemed kind. Friendly, at the very least.

Cameron lifted a brow, and grabbed Lev’s hand when Lev reached to adjust a platter of pastries. “If you don’t leave it alone, I’ll make you go baby sit Nik.”

Lev opened his mouth to argue, but Nik himself had appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. “What’s the party for?” the pregnant omega mumbled.

“You,” Lev grumbled, making his way over to Nik. At least he was allowed to fuss over Nik, and he did so with a tiny spark of pleasure, pressing a kiss to Nik’s cheek and brushing his green and black hair from his eyes. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet. It was gonna be a surprise.”

Nik frowned sleepily at Lev. “I had to pee,” Nik complained bitterly.

“We’ve been planning for a week,” Lev informed him, before brushing his cheek lightly. “Oh well. Now I don’t have to figure out a way to get you dressed.”

“Planning what for a week?” Nik muttered. “My birthday isn't until next week.” He pulled a face. “And I can’t even get drunk.”

“Your baby shower,” Lev said, guiltily tucking away Nik’s birthday to worry about later.

“My what?”

Lev sighed, and started herding Nik out the door. He could practically feel Cameron rolling his eyes at him. “Your baby shower. Did you think I would let you get away without one?”

Nik shrugged. “I didn’t even think about it.”

With another sigh, Lev slid his arm around Nik’s waist. “I wasn’t going to not give you one. We invited your brothers. Both of them. You deserve it.”

Nik made a face at him.

“Come on. Let's get dressed,” Lev said, bonking his shoulder with Nik’s.

---

Nik let Lev lead him back to the bedroom to get clothes. He hadn't really thought much about clothes lately and had been wearing sweats for the most part.

He thumbed through a few pairs of jeans and frowned. "None of these are going to fit, are they?"

"...Cameron went shopping."

Nik squinted and looked through his jeans once more. He pulled a pair out and stretched. "When did he do this?" Nik frowned at the alien jeans with their stretchy fabric in horror before shrugging it off and grabbing a loose black shirt to go with it.

Lev had no answer other than his own shrug and took it at face value. The idea of Cameron in a maternity store was too hilarious a thought to stay irritable at it.

Nik worked at getting himself slowly dressed. Without any coffee in his system, he was fighting the urge to just go back to bed. Though luckily enough for him, he wasn't showing nearly as much as what he had seen on the internet with people pregnant the same length as he.

"Seems like a pretty big party for like seven people." Nik said. He rubbed his eyes, pulling the last bit of sleepiness away. "Unless you decided to invite his royal prickliness too."

"Well I assume Bay is coming. Celeste too; they'll bring the babies," Lev said. "We also invited Biela too- though we don't think she'll come."

"I should hope not. I might do something hormonal like poison her sparkly punch, or something."

"Nikolas."

"Hm?" Nik started for the doorway, expecting Lev to follow him back to where he was sure the festivities would eventually begin.

By the time they got there, Bay and Nate had already arrived with Lucas sitting contently on Bay's hip chewing on a teething toy. And their boy scout was promptly hovering behind them.

"Silas," Nik said. "Didn't think you'd be here. Unless you're here because of Lev, of course."

Silas' only response was to flip him off, though it was short lived by Nate smacking him upside the head hard enough Nik heard Silas' neck pop. Nate gave Silas a dirty warning look.

Nik snorted. "Need to learn new tricks."

"Hi Silas," Lev said, from Nik’s side.

Silas gave a disgruntled, "Hey Lev."

Nate looked pleased at Silas' newfound self restraint. "The party looks great, Nik."

"I know, I did great," he said, lying through his teeth. Nik smooshed Levs face away when Lev pinched his hip. "My taste: impeccable."

Nate rose a singular groomed brow. "Oh I'm sure." He looked to Lev. "It looks great, Lev."

Already Lev had glued himself back to Nik’s side. He looked a little put out as he said honestly, “Most of the praise should go to Cameron and Ash and Mami. I wasn’t allowed to do much.”

"Well next time don't die," Ash said, appearing back in the doorway. "That way you'll actually be able to do some of the heavy lifting."

Nik frowned deeply at him, especially once Lev froze next to him and looked uncomfortable.

Ash looked perfectly unfazed.

Mami appeared a heartbeat later, to which Nate instantly perked up somehow even more. Though her eyes were trained on the well behaved six month old in Bay's arms.

The tiny woman nearly flew across the room to get to him, only for Bay to stare her down and refuse to relinquish the baby. "No."

Nate instantly jumped in. "He's still, ah, getting used to letting people hold Lucas," he said, quickly. "I can get Eden for you, if you like?"

Nik's hand flew over his mouth at the mirrored glare coming from both Mami and Bay. She sized Bay up, clearly deciding if it's worth it or not to challenge both her king and the omega that carried the partly legless bundle of joy. Bay's eyes narrowed. "I said no."

She huffed and tore her attention back to Nate who gave her a warm hug, though she was absolutely miniscule compared to Nate's height of six-two. When she pulled back, Nate went to disappear, presumably to find the little terror most likely taking a nap.

When he came back, Nate not only had Eden crawling all over him, he also had Adrien and his wife in tow. Neither of them had particularly warm or friendly looks on their faces, though that was usually par for the course for Adrien and Dyaana.

"Hello," Lev offered.

Dyaana eyed Lev, and gave him a slight smile whereas Adrien looked halfway in pain and just nodded once before coming to give Nik a hug.

Lev wisely removed himself from Niks waist before he got crushed by pure muscle. When Adrien pulled apart, Nik said, "didn't think you'd step foot in Demon Territory."

"The things you do for family," Adrien deadpanned.

Nik only grinned.

"Hey where's your clone?"

"Babysitter," Adrien said. "I'd rather not risk my two year old getting eaten by your boyfriend."

"Hey, Cameron doesn't eat infants. If he had, he would have eaten Eden," Nik said. "She's far more appealing as a meal than Mathias."

Adrien's only response to that was to roll his eyes. At that Lev decided to usher Nik to an armchair. "I am not an invalid, Lev," he said, plopping down anyways.

Lev perched on the armrest and kissed the top of Nik's hair. "I know dear."

When Adrien snorted, Nik threw him a poisonous glare. "Oh shut up."

Eden was still screeching happily in Mami's arms, getting all the attention she wanted, even though she was trying to latch her tiny teeth in Mami's shoulder. Mami easily avoided it by giving her a toy worthy of her teeth.

It was another twenty minutes before Celeste arrived. The last time he saw the witch she was about to pop. But judging by the fussy newborn in her arms, that was no longer the case. She came over to offer Nik a hug, and to show off her tiny pale baby. "We named him Dakota," she informed them.

Lev instantly cooed over him. "He’s so cute," Lev said. "Can I hold him?"

Ash found his way over to butt his nose in like he usually did. He squinted at Lev, but Celeste was already moving to hand him over. "Of course. Watch his head?"

"I know," he assured.

"Wait," Nik said, "Do you know that Ash is staying here…?"

"Yes she does," Ash said, "And she also is staying here. They both are."

Nik's brows shot up. "Is Cameron aware of this?"

Ash lifted a shoulder. "I told him."

"You 'told' him," Nik echoed.

"Dunno what you expected. I have a wife and a kid that I need to be with and I have a stubborn friend who refuses to listen to me. I told you I'm making myself everyone's problem."

Celeste looked pained. But Lev seemed perfectly blissed out; he hadn't even looked up from the fussy baby in his arms. "I don't think I'll mind having them here." He looked up at Celeste. "You've always been nice."

She gave him a tired smile. "I certainly try." She cut Ash a look. "Some people make it difficult sometimes."

Ash folded his arms. "If they don't want me to be difficult, maybe they should try to listen to me for once."

Celeste rolled her eyes but looked back to Nik. "I'm very happy for all of you. I'll help however I can."

Lev’s focus was already trained back on Dakota. Nik squirmed a little. "Thanks, I guess."

She just squeezed his hand.

---

Cyrus lit the last candle and shook out the match. He looked over at Darius as he settled on the bed. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad of an idea is this?” he asked drily.

Darius thought on that for a moment. “Probably a seven point two.”

After giving a small sigh, Cyrus laid back on the bed. “Better than I ten, I suppose.”

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer lying on his bed. He wasn’t even in his own house anymore. The walls around him were all earthy tones, the green accents only catching his eye briefly before he settled on Asmi themself.

The god was tall, their dark skin a deeper brown than his own, and bright blue eyes that pinned him in place. After a moment where he froze -afraid, if he was willing to admit it - he dipped his head respectfully. When he looked at them again, he noted that they were still seated in their chair, face thin and tight, bags under their eyes, though they kept their chin high.

“Am I right in assuming that Darius explained what’s going on?” Cyrus ventured.

"You poisoned me once and now you want me to give you the tools to be able to do so again?"

Cyrus forced himself to keep his gaze steady. “If I do it right, it shouldn’t this time.”

"Shouldn't have happened the first time," they said flatly. "Necromancy defies balance and you weakened me for an angel who didn't bother communing with me in the first place. You didn't bother communing with me in the first place. And now that you need my help, you finally deign to bother?"

Cyrus inclined his head ever so slightly. “Ignorance is not an excuse, but it’s the only explanation I personally have.” He folded his hands carefully on his knee. “I made a promise. I don’t break them.” Asmi gave him the time he needed to gather his words. “I am sorry. For everything. I’ve never-” He paused again, frustrated by how hard it was to piece together the words. “It’s not an excuse, that I was never taught how to commune with you. Darius had to teach me, and you’re not even his god. But I want to do right by Darius. If nothing else, he’s been kind to me, and kind to everyone. I promised Cameron I would try. This is me trying. I want to make a deal that will work, not flub the spell again.”

They seemed to think on it; to weigh his words carefully. "What kind of deal?" They finally said.

“Same as the one that brought Levant back.” Cyrus considered his words and then amended, “A similar one, at least. Some sort of exchange.”

"And what's stopping you?"

Cyrus shook his head. “I don't want to risk getting the exchange wrong. That’s what released the dark magic into the earth in the first place. The spell unravelled, and I won’t let that happen again. But I won’t sacrifice Cameron Luain for this spell. It makes both this one and the one that brought Levant back completely pointless.”

Asmi nodded slowly and leaned back in their chair, blue eyes narrowed in thought. "Pick your sacrifice one last time and I will cover the remaining sacrifice to your spell. I warn you, the price will be heavy and I am not so easy to forgive the disruption you have caused me. Make sure this is worth it before you once again defy me."

Cyrus nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he said softly. When Asmi didn’t reply, Cyrus added, “If it’s not arrogant of me to ask... I’d like to talk to you again.” He cocked his head ever so slightly. “I know nothing of you, as my god or as a god in general. I’d like to fill in the gaps my education has.”

"It's not arrogant," they said. "It's what's expected of you. So yes, you may. There's plenty you need to get caught up on."

Cyrus limited himself to a small smile. “Then I look forward to speaking to you in the future,” he said politely. “Thank you, again.”

Rather than reply, they gave a tired flick of their wrist.

Cyrus blinked his eyes open to see his own ceiling. Sorin was sprawled against his side, purring as he kneaded his claws gently in Cyrus’ arm. Cyrus rolled his head until he could find Darius. “I think I got permission. I need to call Cameron.”

---

The party had been well underway when Cameron stepped out of the room. He slipped into his office several hallways down before his phone started to buzz. He didn't let it finish its first ring before answering. "Are you ready, then?"

“Sort of.” Cyrus hesitated. “I spoke with Asmi. They’ve promised as long as someone is sacrificed, they’ll take care of the rest, rather than risk the spell failing. I just don’t have anyone to sacrifice, to my knowledge.”

"Well lucky for you," Cameron said, "I currently have a spineless traitor rotting in my basement. Will that appease your morals?"

“A traitor?” Cyrus pressed mildly.

"A person who betrays a friend, country or a principle," Cameron replied, matching his tone. "A traitor."

“How did he betray you?”

"Well now, that's my business, now isn't it?"

There was a long pause, and then, “Did they kill anyone?”

"He's my employee."

The sigh the witch gave was audible through the phone even if Cameron hadn’t been a demon. “Fine. I’ve got a few things to pull together but I’m mostly ready, whenever you are.”

Cameron promptly hung up his phone and smoothed out his suit. He gave himself five heartbeats to settle before joining the festivities.

Caius had finally arrived, with many gifts in tow, despite it being demonic custom to not celebrate an infant until after its birth. Adapting to Nik’s angelic ancestry, he imagined. Cameron hadn't bothered saying as much when Lev suggested a baby-shower. If that was what the angel thought Nik needed, then he would provide.

Nik instantly eyed him from where he was, brows rose in question, but Cameron went to turn his focus to the Crown Prince currently placing the gifts along the table. "You seem to be in a rather generous mood, my prince," Cameron observed.

Caius flashed him a dazzling smile. "Why you make it sound like I'm not always in a giving mood, my loyal subject."

"I imagined a massacre would dampen your rather optimistic spirits."

Grief flickered in Caius' blue eyes. "All the more reason to celebrate a new life."

"Hm."

"I brought you all gifts," Caius said, with an echo of cheerfulness. "Including one for him."

"Much thanks." Cameron looked Nik's way to see him talking animatedly with Ash and Lev and Nate. He seemed to have been brought to a better mood with the sole focus on him. "It's always an honor to receive the eye of the crown."

Caius snorted at Cameron’s ingrained court-speak, but said nothing of it. Merely squeezed his shoulder before disappearing back into the party to give gifts to their respective recipients.

---

Admittedly, after so many months of solitude or just Cameron and Nik for company, the party was a little overwhelming. He drew comfort from the fact that Nik was right there, and Cameron lingered on the edges of the party being Cameron.

The fact that Caius was very friendly helped, though. Lev barely knew the man, but he was pretty and his smile seemed both genuine and calm. He laughed easily and didn’t seem bothered by the amount of angels in the room with him, despite being the Crown Prince of demonic territory.

At some point during the festivities, Caius pulled Lev aside, though. Lev glanced back at Nik, but let Caius with only a flustered, “Okay.”

“I got you something,” Caius said, flashing him another smile that definitely made Lev flush a little.

“Nik’s the one who’s pregnant,” Lev blurted. He flushed deeper, and then said quickly, “I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just Nik’s day, I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“I got everyone a present,” Caius said easily, unbothered.

Lev blinked down at the box, confusion at why it looked very much like a ring box catching him off guard. The brief glance up at the prince told him he was very amused, and Lev had to wonder if he was a telepath like Biela. When he opened it, though, a locket was nestled inside.

“Oh,” Lev said, picking it up gently. He thumbed it open to find a picture of Cameron, Nik, and Eden each in its own little section. “Oh.”

“Were you expecting an engagement ring?” Caius asked.

“Oh,” Lev spluttered. “No, not expected, I-” He gestured helplessly at the box, flushed deeply. “I love it, really.” He ran his finger over the picture of Nik, knowing his face was softening as he did so. “It’s perfect.”

Caius said, “Well I’m glad. You’re not an easy person to pinpoint.”

“I don’t want much,” Lev said honestly.

Caius shrugged. “Just the important things.”

Lev let his attention track through the room, hitting on Cameron, Nik, and Eden one by one. “Exactly,” he said softly. He switched his gaze back to Caius, offering him a smile. “Thank you. Truly. I love it.”

Caius winked at him, but before he said anything else, Nik made his way over. He gave Lev a pointed look. “What’s going on over here?” Nik asked. “You look like you’re about to ask his hand in marriage, Levant.”

“No,” Lev promised, tucking into Nik’s side pointedly. “I was just thanking him. He got me a gift. See?” He showed it to Nik with enthusiasm.

Nik kissed his cheek. “It’s very pretty. Where’s my attention?”

A laugh bubbled up in his throat. “You’ve got a whole party. I wasn’t gone long.” He shot Caius an apologetic look.

"Well let me make it up to you," Caius said to Nik. "As you're doing all the heavy lifting, you deserve a gift of your own, yes?"

Nik arched a brow. "I'm literally doing nothing other than being a rotisserie oven."

“Nikolas,” Lev hissed, poking him gently. “Be polite.”

Nik raised his brows but Caius only laughed. "Even still. Not easy. I understand you like music?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Caius' smile widened. "Great! I actually worked with a few different craftsmen and musicians to have something built for you. Excuse me."

When Caius disappeared back to the piles of gifts he had brought, Nik turned back to Lev. "Very pretty isn't he?"

Lev could feel heat rising in his cheeks yet again. “Yes,” Lev said primly. “There’s no need to tease"

"I have never teased you a day in your life," Nik said. "Merely stating an observation."

“You tease me daily,” Lev informed him, but he still smiled at Nik, reaching up to brush Nik’s hair from his eyes. “Every single day, Nikolas. Every day.”

“Are you calling a pregnant omega a liar?”

“Maybe so,” Lev hummed. He kissed the corner of Nik’s mouth. “Maybe so.”

Caius came back with an elegant cedar guitar. The gleaming guitar’s finish was clearly done to bring out the natural colors of the wood. Nik’s eyes trailed over the body of the guitar and rested on the careful mosaic beadwork around the hollow. “That design work is specific to Tullum,” Nik said, vaguely accusatory; though mostly amused. “Are you trying to buy me off?”

Caius seemed unbothered. “Not particularly. Just trying to gift you something you would actually enjoy. I find personal gifts are more memorable.”

“Sure,” Nik said, but he was still moving closer to run his fingers along that delicate beadwork.

“Thank you,” Lev said, since Nik didn’t seem inclined to.

Caius merely winked at him.

Lev blushed, since Nik seemed too interested in his new guitar to be embarrassed. He certainly was interested enough to take it from Caius and strum a few bars. Lev elbowed Nik gently. Nik ignored him, but Caius seemed pleased anyway.

Caius dipped himself into a mini bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s Cameron’s turn.”

---

Cameron led the prince back towards his office where they could be alone without prying party guests could interfere. He took the gift meant for Darius and sat it carefully on the desk, and turned back to Caius. “I received a call from the witch who will be performing the spell,” Cameron said. “I figured you would want to be informed.”

Caius slipped his hands smoothly into his pockets. “I would.” Caius cocked his head, eyeing Cameron very carefully. “You have certainly come a long way from the bastard whore I met you as.” There wasn’t any disrespect in his words, merely a statement of observation. “Now a lord in your own right, with your own family.”

“I am merely filling in a role that needed filling,” Cameron said. “Though I am grateful nonetheless.”

“Hm.”

“The resurrection,” Cameron said, pointedly, drawing attention from whatever point Caius was clearly trying to make. “Should be happening within the week.”

Caius gave him a look, but let the insolence slide. “So you have someone lined up to be slaughtered for a sacrifice?”

“Slaughtered is a large word for a demon with a weak spine, your grace.”

Caius lifted a groomed brow. “Is that so?”

“The witch’s morals interfered with choosing a warm body, and luckily enough, I happened to have a traitor rotting in my basement.”

Caius snorted. “Traitor? From the rather loud screaming, I did imagine someone was being tortured in this house.” He tapped his temple. “I’d like to see this traitor.”

With little choice to that matter, Cameron led the prince through the house, down to the basement where Sage was still chained up. Cameron had been keeping him well fed and in peak condition outside of his routine torturing. Sage rolled his head towards them, tiredly, but there was a bit of surprise - and a new found fear- flickering in his eyes when he saw Caius next to him.

Caius eyed him slowly, circling the chair bolted into the floor. The impeccable clothes tailored to Caius’ frame were a stark contrast to the sharp bleakness of the room, though Cameron knew the weight of power a good suit held, and how to weaponize it.

When Caius stopped in front of the chair, he had a small smile gracing his face. “I could hear your thoughts from upstairs,” he said. “Clearly you wanted my attention.”

Sage sucked in a haggard breath, trying to not look at Cameron. “Just make him kill me,” he rasped. “I’ve been here for months-”

“My sister was tortured by angels for months on end,” Caius said, unfazed. “She was whipped and beaten and carved up and she hadn’t broken. She hadn’t begged for death, or whatever pathetic attempt at mercy this is. In fact, the difference is,” he said, “this was rather well deserved. Your treasonous actions against your lord led to the events of millions of children dying, so, if you were to die, it’s going to be for something that is definitely not for your benefit.” Caius leaned forward, just enough to keep the blood from touching him. “Don’t worry, your suffering will soon end.”

Caius leaned back and turned to Cameron. “Do what you need. So long as another innocent isn’t taken from these lands, I couldn’t care less.”

Cameron’s mouth twitched, but he just inclined his head.

---

The day had been tense and heavy for Darius. Between getting everything in line with Asmi and Cyrus, and also not returning to the Manor, knowing Destris was lurking the halls, Darius had decided to spend his time that night playing a small game of fetch with Sorin in his demonic form.

A small ball of paper used a rather small amount of energy, so it was easy to keep up. Around three in the morning, they had been playing the quiet game going for the last few hours after Cyrus retired to bed. Sorin had been kind enough to keep him company while his mate slept without him.

It was then that the front door opened silently. Sorin flicked his ears at Cameron, who promptly ignored him and started his way back through the house. Darius rose to his feet and followed him back, veering around him to get to Cyrus before he did to give the witch a heads up.

He touched Cyrus’ shoulder, in effort to wake him. He blinked sleepily at Darius, eyes flashing gold from the amount of swollen magic Cyrus had building inside him. “I’m assuming Cameron is here?” The amount of pure tired that was in Cyrus’ voice didn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated by Darius.

Cameron walked into the room not even a heartbeat later. “Have I come at a bad time?” He sounded very unsympathetic.

Darius flashed Cyrus an apologetic wince.

All Cyrus said was, “No,” while rising to a sitting position. “Are you here to speak to Darius?”

If he hadn’t been watching Cameron’s every move the last five hundred years, he would have missed the way Cameron’s jaw set. “Yes.”

Cyrus gave the smallest of sighs, but stood up. “I have my supplies in my study.”

Unsurprisingly, Cameron merely turned around and most likely started towards the study. Darius simply waited patiently for Cyrus to get ready.

Cyrus rubbed at his face, stifling a yawn with his wrist as he followed Cameron. His movements were slow and heavy, but he only made his way into the study and began lighting candles while Sorin followed, tail swishing over the ground like a fluffy ginger ribbon.

Cameron stood stiffly out of the way, slender hands in his pockets while he waited, unblinkingly in pure silence. Darius did not need his magic to know that Cameron getting here was like pulling teeth.

Darius could only imagine the weight in his chest he’d be feeling at the idea of Cameron avoiding him to the point he has to force himself to be here- to speak to him.

There was relief in Cyrus’ voice as he began the incantation for Darius to manifest to Cameron. When Cameron’s pale eyes slid to him, unreadable as ever, Darius curled a lock of hair behind his ear, if only to relieve some of his own tension. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Cameron’s lips thinned.

Darius gave him the time to be able to put together the words he needed to patiently. Finally, Cameron fixed his jaw once more and said, “I am assuming you still want to be resurrected?”

“Do you still want me to be resurrected?”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed. “The Prince has gifted me papers of your reinstatement as a citizen of Razya the moment you are alive. As if you had never been dead in the first place.”

A citizen of Razya? Darius hadn’t even been considered a citizen when he was alive. Bastards hold no citizenship, no rights, no protection. He hadn’t even had a home before he had been abducted when he was a child. Merely living on the streets. A pretty child with no home was easy prey.

“That was very kind of the prince.”

“Mm.”

“Is that all you wished to tell me?” Darius asked, after a heavy silence.

“I imagine you’re aware that Nik is pregnant.”

When Darius nodded, Cameron said, “I mated him, a few weeks ago when his father tried to stake a claim on him. I used the Old Laws.”

Darius smiled. “That was kind of you,” he observed. “I’m sure Nik adores you very much. He and his child will be safe with you.” When Cameron rose a brow, Darius tried to not snort. “I will do my best to not upset the dichotomy of the house, Cameron. I have a rather pleasant personality.”

“I can see nothing going wrong with that,” Sorin said from the doorway.

Darius flicked Sorin a look. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are referring to, Sorin. I seem to get along rather fine with you.”

Sorin smiled, eyes crinkling. “True enough.”

Darius returned his attention back to Cameron, who was giving Sorin his own irritable look. Though the moment Cameron caught Darius’ eye, his expression returned to neutrality.

“I’m sure you will,” Cameron said, as if Sorin hadn’t spoken a word. “However Nik’s shrunken frontal lobe suggests he will not behave accordingly. So when he eventually does decide to overreact, I suggest you be prepared for it. He’s emotional on a good day and as he is pregnant, he’s even more so.”

“Thank you for the precaution.”

“I thought it would be beneficial.”

Cameron’s pale eyes lingered on him momentarily, flickering in the candle light, before he turned back to Cyrus who was kneeling on the ground near the candles. His eyes seemed rather unfocused. “When can we get this over with?” Cameron asked him. When Cyrus didn’t answer, Cameron moved his attention to Sorin in the doorway. “Focus your witch.”

Cameron rolled his eyes when Sorin hissed at him, but moved to crouch near Cyrus. Cyrus blinked at him, and then fixed his gaze on Cameron. “Pardon?”

“When can we get this over with?” Cameron said, irritably.

He always did detest repeating himself.

“Within the next few days,” Cyrus replied. “I’ve got everything ready. I just need to set it up.”

Cameron pulled out his phone, clearly flicking through his schedule. “I’ll give you the next two days to set up and then I will be here at seven sharp the third day. Be ready by then.”

Cameron slipped his phone into his pocket and disappeared through the door without a glace his way.

Darius bit back his sigh. “I do hope that is alright.”

Cyrus shrugged. “Not that I have much of a choice. But I’ll be fine. Once the spell is done, I’m going to take the longest nap, however.”

“And it will be the most well deserved longest nap,” Darius said, solemnly.

With a tired smile, Cyrus began extinguishing the candles, one by one, coating the room with nighttime once more.

Tagging: @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @lil-miss-red @halstudies @littleyellowdinosaur @caelisis @idreamonpaper

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #wip boost #original writing #hell to pay #ch: cameron #ch: darius #ch: nik

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words-for-holland · 4 years

Text

Happier (9) | T.H

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Y/N & Tom seem to be in the process of rebuilding their relationship. Natalie is up to no good. How much more can Y/N & Tom take?

Masterlist

A/N: Ive been reading all your responses lately and I appreciate them so much! Im so glad you’re all still on this crazy dramatic ride! Thank you so much for reading and supporting!

Spontaneity

There are certain moments in your life where things go according to plan, and others when they dont...but those are the best kinds. The moments that happen because it feels right and everything just falls into place. After all, everything happens for a reason.

It had been three weeks since Tom and Y/N had their heart to heart, promising to find Unknown together along with Harrison and Harry. While there were no threats taking place, one could never be too careful. The more they waited, the more vulnerable they became, letting down their guard ever so slightly.

Everyone kept a close eye on Natalie, but she convinced them enough to think she was on their side and the PR had nothing to do with Unknown. Show the boys one made up threat message from Unknown and you gained most of their trust. Tom had asked Natalie to stop the PR for the sake of mending his broken relationship with Y/N. She told him that her and her publicist agreed to put it on hold...but kept no promise of stopping it forever.

Natalie’s mother was getting furious, not happy with how her daughter handled the situation. “I told you to keep Y/N away, you insolent girl. You are ruining everything and your chance with Tom.”, she spat through the phone.

Natalie listened to her mother’s rant, rolling her eyes. “Relax mother.” She says sourily. “This is just the beginning. Y/N wont know what hit her and after this...She’s going to wish she never came back to London.” She hangs up the phone smirking as she goes through fan accounts that continued to spark the PR flame.

Meanwhile as the three weeks passed Tom & Y/N had slowly rebuilt their relationship. Occasional glances and banters left their tongue, subtle compliments were thrown out, and it almost seemed as if things would be back just the way they were. Even more so, one day in the kitchen. Y/N was making dinner the for the group as she took the time to cut the asparagus and broccoli. Tom passed by her, as he saw her lose herself in the soft music playing in the background, singing to herself all while still being focused on the food.

He leaned against the doorway and continued to observe her, admiring how cute she looked with her hair up and how sweet her voice sounded with the music. It almost made him think why she didn’t pursue a career in music instead of business. “Wow.” Tom muttered under his breath.

His voice must have been too loud, since Y/N looked up startled, but all the more happy to see the man she once loved..and still does deep down. “Oh..I didn’t see you there.” She giggles. “Don’t worry I’ll stop singing in the kitchen. I know how you guys are when I get into it.”

Tom quickly shook his head as he came closer to her, smiling back. “No. You don’t have to. I think your voice sounds lovely. I mean the kitchen’s got great acoustics.” He laughs nervously. Tom can’t remember the last time he felt so nervous with her, but in the good type of nervous. The type of feeling, one gets when they’re in front of their crush and all the butterlies in their stomach start fluttering. “You just sound and look so beautiful.” He admits, sheepishly.

“Thomas Stanley Holland are you trying to flirt with me?” She asks amused at his attempt pointing the knife at him from a safe distance.

“Am not.” He dramatically answers. “I can’t compliment a friend, who happens to be really beautiful.” Y/N shies away hiding her face, by looking down at the cutting board. “I mean it. I really do think you’re beautiful, even if you dont think like that.”

“Well..I’m definitely no model or Natalie, since the people say you both are London’s to die for couple.” She says bitterly.

Tom rolls his eyes as he takes her hand. “Hey..I told you we stopped it for now and Natalie agreed. You know, I get that we all have our suspicions of her after everything, but she said and proved she was a victim herself. Plus Unknown’s been quiet for the past three weeks.” Y/N scoffs at his defense for Natalie as she heads to the stove with Tom following right behind her. He taps on her should as she reluctantly turns to look at him. “I am only ever going to have feelings for you.” Tom confesses. In this moment their faces are inches apart, eyes are slowing moving down to their lips and back up to their eyes, breaths slowing, and just when it seemed like everything would fall into place, both quickly turn away clearing their throats

Y/N calms her heartbeat as she stirs the pasta while Tom helps stir the sauce. The room was quiet only the sound of bubbling from the pots filling the room. It only took five seconds before they both turned back to each other quickly connecting their lips. The fever and the passion increasing rapidly with every touch and pull. The warmth coming from their breaths and the tingling feeling everytime their lips touched. It was like coming back from an addicition you had quit for so long but craved every single time. They couldn’t stop no matter how wrong this was right now, but it felt so right so spontaneous, so in the moment.

Tom quickly signaled her to jump and did as she told, wrapping her legs around his toned torso, cupping her hands under his jaw. He pushed her back against the kitchen wall, as he slow let on of his hands linger under her shirt. It may have been months apart, but both knew exactly what the other needed and how to handle it. Almost as if it were instinctive. They were in complete bliss, forgetting the world around them. Until, the pasta water started overflowing on the stove.

Y/N opened her eyes and quickly pushed Tom away. “Shit. The food.” She yells out, jumping from Tom’s embrace. Both of them tried to calm their heart rate and Tom stood their watching Y/N, smiling at what had just happened. For once he had his girl back, and everything felt normal. Y/N looks at him, giggling. “What?” She asks.

“Nothing.” He replies, grinning like a little boy. “I’ve waited to do that for so long.”

Y/N blushes at his statement, as she sets up the table with the food. “Come on. It’s time to eat.”

Life seemed surreal after her encounter with Tom. Y/N told herself that it was a one time thing until they found Unknown. She didnt want to put anyone at risk especially both her’s and Tom’s heart. But everytime she told herself, the more she got lost in Tom. Every stolen moment, stolen kisses, stolen touch...he always had a way of making her forget. So while she vowed to herself that it would stop, her heart simply couldn’t. Tom was right, there was no PR, no text messages, no insane fan account rumor. Natalie hadn’t even bothered either of them, always focused on her own thing, and truthfully seemed a lot nicer when she came forth about being a victim of Unknown. The questions came to Y/N’s mind. Why should she have to live in fear? Why not just live in the moment?

It was a slow night. Harrison had spent the weekend at his mother’s while Harry did the same. Tom and Y/N were the only ones that roamed aroundthe house. While Natalie spent her time contemplating everything. Her initial plan to crush Y/N when she least expected was approaching ever so quickly after all the time it took to set up. Within that time, she had gotten to know Y/N and Tom even more so a part from the hatred and the jealousy. For a second...just a second, she considered not to follow through. But her mother’s words and the thought of losing her chances with Tom overtook her the moment she saw the two fall in love all over again. Her suspicions only became worse when she recirved a text from her mother.

Unknown

Just remember, your acting career and your dreams depend on Tom. If you want Tom to choose you, you better get rid of the girl stealing your chances.

Filled with worry, Natalie quickly grabbed her things and made her way out the door.

Meanwhile, Tom and Y/N continued to spend time in each others arms everywhere they went in the house. They settled on the couch, Tom’s stong hands wrapping around her torso as Y/N curled herself into Tom. “I wish we could stay like this forever.” She whispers to him.

Tom hums at the idea, smiling wide. “Me too.” He brings her soft lips to his, letting them linger for a couple seconds more. “Do you really enjoy staying in the guest room?” Tom asks.

Y/N looks up at him, with curious eyes. “I mean yeah it’s okay. Why?”

Tom takes a deep breath before asking, “Well...I was uh wondering, if you didn’t like it as much there, you could..maybe stay with me...again.” He suggested muttering the last word. Tom smiled nervously, as he observes Y/N’s emotions. She was calm like the sea before a storm.

Y/N smiles at his offer, but shakes her head. “Mmm..it’s okay. Im fine where I am, but thank you for the generous offer.” She responds, placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah...I guess I should have seen that coming.” Tom admits, his face showing signs of disappointment.

Y/N pouts her lips, and lifts her small hand to move a piece of his hair. “Hey..believe me. I want to but nows the not the time..at least not yet. One day, I promise.” She whispers leaving a chaste kiss on his lips. “C’mon we got another day tomorrow. I’m gonna head into my room for a bit.”

“I’ll come up later just wanna make a call to Harrison.” Tom replies. Y/N looks at him and smiles as she nods and heads back up to her room.

As the night came to an end, Y/N took the time to unwind with a book in hand when her phone went off. Her face dropped when she saw the messages.

Pictures of Natalie out and about wearing Tom’s clothes and jewlery, smiling into the sun and enjoying her day out with friends. Gossips left and right from fans and media, talking about how adorable it was that Natalie was the type of girlfriend to steal her boyfriends clothes because it looks cuter on her. Y/N knew deep down it wasn’t true but the words and pictures taunted her. Slowly and surely, she started to get mad, furious that Natalie would start the flame again out of nowhere when she promised Tom they would stopped. Another message popped up for Y/N, and it was from someone she so willingly prayed it wouldnt be who she thought.

Unknown

Doesn’t she look cute in his clothes. Probably better than you ever could. BTW..where is lover boy? 😉

Y/N throws her phone against the wall, pissed more than ever. She should have known this was going to happen. Y/N contemplated the message, she wondered what the text meant. After all Unknown seeemed to know more about everyone here better than they knew themselves. Y/N slowly went downstairs only to hear whispering coming from the kitchen. She couldn’t make out the exact words but she could identify the voice. It was Tom and Natalie? She took a peak at the kitchen where the two stood facing each other. Y/N couldn’t make out Tom’s face but she could see Natalie’s very clearly. “Kiss me.” Natalie whispers, as she quickly places her lips on Tom’s cradling his neck, but Tom didn’t stop. The moment his eyes opened up to see Y/N’s he pushed Natalie off with all his might.

Y/N standing there in shock and sadness. Her eyes tearing up, her breaths shortening. She shakes her head, as she replays the disturbing image in her mind. “Y/N... it’s not what it looks like.” Tom quickly defends, trying to reach for Y/N as she steps back. Natalie observing the two, a slight smirk forming across her face. “I swear it was for the PR and movie.” He yells out, trying to chase her.

Y/N whips back as she faces Tom, the angriest she has ever been with him. “Who are you putting a show for in this house? Me? Because I sure as hell didn’t fucking like it one bit. I should have known better.” She spits out, heading up the stairs with Tom following.

“Y/N..please. It didn’t mean anything. I swear. I was put in a compromising position. Please listen to me.” Tom pleads. The door to her room is shut locked, but he stays there waiting and knocking at the door. “Y/N. Don’t do this. Dont walk away. Please just let me explain. You know what we have is special and the moment at the kitchen and everything this past month...”

“Was ruined and a complete and utter mistake. Leave me alone and I swear Tom you even try to get near me I will make sure you never see the light of day. I should have fucking stayed back.” Y/N yells out, sobbing against the door. It was a nightmare, and this time she couldn’t get out. She sat there now realizing, her heart had broken completely for the second time.

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl @ifilosemyselfagain @hevjadams @averyfosterthoughts @fangirl-with-a-mission @drishtisikarwar @eridanuswave @ifntelyinspirit @trumpettay @astridcommings @parkershoco @racewife2004 @sleepybesson @greatpizzascissorstaco @andievgs @joyleenl @holland-bowen @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @viwihere @marvelobsessedteenager @panicattheeverywherekid @oswinO5 @jillanaholland

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader

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iwrestlenow · 3 years

Text

Many More To Die - Chapter 2

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 2)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Names are powerful things--and after ten years, Logan's has acquired quite a bit. The restoration of his power is something he has to fight viciously to keep secret...But he's not the only necromancer who's in hiding. Above his head, Roman is being introduced to the people of the Kingdom's as his father's successor--but someone in the shadows is coming for the royal house of Sanders, of which Roman is part.And Logan will not stand for someone laying figurative hands on anyone that belongs to him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. In this particular chapter, CW for angst--I’ll post what kind at the end if you want to avoid spoilers, but I’m warning because for me? It’s a triggery subject. Be safe, you’re all so sweet and ILU.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1025, A.A.

“Berry?”

Logan was yanked from a sound sleep by the utterance of his name—not the sound, but the feeling of it. Crawling around inside his skull like ants, static electricity shocking his neural pathways and the core of his essence. It was red strings and his first meal after that one stretch in the dungeon's blackout cells after he punched the guard that dislocated his shoulder.

Logan Berry. Logan Berry. The gift from his guardian angel was two years old at this point...and Logan was starting to wonder if it was more than just a small reminder of his personhood, to keep the harsh world around him from breaking his spirit.

Sitting up, Logan rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses where they sat on the floor beside his pallet. When they had finally given them back to him two weeks after his arrival, the right lens had been all but shattered. The guard who had returned them—the same one who injured him—smiled far too wide for Logan's liking, inciting the attack that had gotten him punished.

“I am awake.” he announced softly, sliding his glasses on and rising from his pallet to approach the bars of his cell. Squinting in the low torchlight, he searched...

A point of bright yellow sunlight, slit down the middle by a reptilian pupil gleamed in the shadows before the body it was attached to came into view. Swiftly, it was joined by another eye, very much human and dark as chocolate. A sweep of hair as black as Logan's own fell across his forehead, and the torchlight gleamed across the burnished surface of the scales that covered half of the young drake's face and neck.

“Of course.” the drake shot back dryly, not quite managing to hide the sibilant accent inherent to his species. “That's why you were snoring.”

“What do you want, Janus?”

The eighteen year old Janus narrowed his mismatched eyes at Logan—but quickly gave up on trying to look intimidating. He hardly needed it, being not only older, but the son of the captain of the guard.

“A favor.” he admitted, sparking enough of Logan's interest to banish the last of the cobwebs lingering in his head. Janus didn't like being indebted to anyone—and, to that end, usually came to Logan for favors, as Logan was always perfectly willing to trade his assistance for some commodity, be it books, food, or the repair of his glasses.

“What is the favor?” Logan asked.

Janus said nothing for a long moment, staring into Logan's face...no, not his face. Squinting, he realized Janus was quite deliberately avoiding direct eye contact by focusing on a point just above Logan's eyes, somewhere around his forehead.

“Janus?...”

Shutting his eyes, Janus ducked his head.

“I...need a name.”

“A...what?”

“A name, all right? Like the one you picked for yourself.”

Logan was startled by that request—he told no one about the boy who came to him, claimed he made up his own surname to replace the Name that was stripped away. Some of the guards disliked it, stirring fresh retellings of the legends of the Lazari: necromancers with the power not merely to raise the dead, but craft true, living souls from sheer force of will.

He even heard some new ones about the Animata: a theoretical balance to the Necromata, magic practitioners that could manipulate life the way necromancers manipulated death. From the stories Logan overheard while pretending to sleep with guards outside his cell, the Animata had been wiped out by the rise of the Animator, the First of the Necromata, leading to his rise and attempted enslavement of the Kingdoms. With the Animata gone and unable to keep the balance in check, the king had been forced to slay the Animator and had outlawed necromancy soon after.

All stories, of course...but over the last two years, as his name wormed through his brain the way the power of the prison mages had, it sometimes made him wonder. After all, mythology and legend served two functions in human history: explaining natural phenomenon that were not yet understood, or hyperbolic retellings of one or many actual events.

So the prison guards talked, wondered if Logan had designs on restoring his own Name through the adoption of a new one—but Janus, for all his trust issues and ilicit dealings, was an intelligent boy with a good head on his shoulders. He wasn't one for fanciful stories—only those that he could tell in the name of manipulating others.

Perhaps that was why he felt some measure of shame or embarrassment for asking Logan this favor? There was clearly some...unidentified emotion behind the request, and Logan wasn't particularly good at coping with emotional issues. He highly suspected that, when he still had a Name, he had been essentially the same.

“...I want to be allowed to keep books in my cell.” He hadn't meant to say anything indicating agreement—but the words fell out of his mouth without any conscious permission.

Janus's head snapped up sharply. This time, he met Logan's gaze with an intensity that was decidedly threatening.

“That's all?” he asked, squinting after a long moment. “No...commentary?”

Logan shrugged. “You know I do not care for sentiment. Your obvious flirtation with it, in this situation, does not interest me so much as what I can gain from the moment of weakness on your part.”

“Are you sure you're only fourteen? You sound way too much like my grandpa sometimes.”

Logan rolled his eyes, declining to rise to the bait. Instead, he gave the matter what he felt was a comically superficial amount of consideration.

“Hart.” he finally decided.

Janus raised an eyebrow at him, mismatched eyes losing focus for a moment before he nodded to himself.

“That...works surprisingly well.” he mumbled, seemingly more to himself than anything. Refocusing on Logan, Janus straightened and once again resumed his attempts at exuding as commanding a presence as he could manage.

“You'll get your books.” Janus assured him. “I always pay my debts.”

“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”

“Oh...go back to bed.”

“Gladly.”

********** 1033, A.A.

“Ladies, lords, non-binary royalty, and all of my valued subjects!”

By the gods, I'm going to throw up.

Roman stood behind the curtain on the balcony, his heart in his throat. Every part of him was screaming to run, to hide, to sink into the floor and vanish through sheer force of his desire to not be there—to push Remus out to take his place when the king made his proclamation. Already, he could feel the weight of his impending responsibilities threatening to crush him, the world narrowing and the walls closing in...

He couldn't do this. He wasn't ready. He wasn't smart like Remus or as patient as his father, he wasn't commanding enough—he couldn't be king.

But he would be. One day.

Peering through the curtain, he saw his father turn...and though the pride in his face only made the terror worse, at the same time...

He could do this. He had to.

Smiling, King Thomas Sanders IV extended a hand towards him in silent encouragement. It was the same hand he offered to those subjects that knelt before him at court to have their grievances heard, the same hand he offered to both Roman and Remus as children when they felt shy or had fallen down while playing...

...or leading him back into the house when he was out to hunt a Lazari...

“I give you your future king—Prince Roman Sanders!”

A hand fell to his shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“Give 'em hell, Ro Bro!” Remus hissed gleefully in his ear.

It was strange, but some of the weight lifted itself off of Roman's shoulders, with his brother's hand there instead as he stepped out onto the balcony and into the sunlight.

For a moment, it was...magical. The ghost of Remus's fingers pressed into his shoulder, his father's hand curling warm around his nape—the people of the Kingdoms below, smiling and cheering in a symphony that filled his lungs as readily as it filled his ears, turning his heart into pure starlight.

For a moment, basking in his father's pride, his brother's confidence, and his people's love—he didn't just feel like he could do this, he knew that he could.

For a moment—that was all he got before his heart stopped beating.

It happened suddenly, but somehow it felt as natural as breathing. The tension of that missing engine powering the body and soul, the inability to draw breath. It was the peace of sleep, the flow of one step into the next while walking down an evenly paved road—he knew something was wrong, and yet he could not escape the manner in which it felt so normal.

Standing there, dying in front of the very kingdom he was meant to serve with no rhyme or reason for it.

Let it go...it felt so right, it felt proper.

As his vision began to dim, and the hand he'd raised to wave to the crowd started to fall by his side, he felt the urge to fight sliding out of him, eyes already slipping shut...

Easy as existing. Getting dark, time to sleep.

Until he heard a sigh next to him that was chilling.

The king.

Death no longer felt so inevitable, nor did it feel right. It was wrong, but...it was inside him, twisting and warping to form words that echoed inside his head. Something was slipping into the void left behind by the absence of a heartbeat, speaking to him in the Reaper's voice...

The necromancer.

**********

Logan was only aware of it in passing—however, Logan wasn't supposed to be capable of even that, and had to take such painstaking care to make sure that no trace of his magic could be felt anywhere. He had to keep the fact that he had power hidden, had to beat back every trace of it.

So he was aware of his magic, far more than he was aware of the distant stars that were the lives of every creature within the palace and beyond.

And the feel of his power waking, straining towards death? That hit him hard, made him focus on that awareness of what was happening.

“Lo? You okay?”

Logan spun in his seat and stood, stalking up to the bars of his cell. It was little more than a voice in another house, reaching him barely through thin walls and great distances...but it was growing closer, crossing that distance, too close too close too close...

“Logan? You're scaring me.”

Patton was at his side, watching him with wide, fearful eyes.

“Someone is killing the king.” Logan breathed.

“What? How can you possibly know that?” Patton hissed.

Logan opened his mouth...and nothing came.

Until that voice, hollow and honeyed, was suddenly in his house and in his veins and in his...in his.

For the first time, Logan understood why the Necromata were so feared—why he was locked below ground, why he had no Name of his own and why it was so desperately important to make sure no necromancer could ever practice their art.

The moment he sensed that foreign power encroaching on something that belonged to Logan alone, everything was chilling instinct and cold, calculating fury. The power swept up and took over, took action to reclaim what was being stolen.

The king was dying, but so was the Green Man.

Logan's last rational thought before an eerie blue light swallowed up his eyes and the power wiped his mind clean was that, if the Green Man was close enough to the king, he might actually be able to save them both.

********** The necromancer in the dungeons. Roman could feel it, he was certain of it...it felt cold and airy, thick morning fog swirling through his marrow yet rendering his mind strangely clear. It was familiar, not all that different from the way it felt when they touched in Roman's dreams.

The necromancer was there. He was...helping Roman.

You have to get to the king.

He didn't know, even after all these years didn't realize who Roman was, and that was the way it ought to be, and yet...he was warning Roman, he was--

The wrongness of it filled his chest in the space of a blink, filled his lungs, forced breath into his body. The fight squeezed every muscle, including his heart, in a steady rhythm that started his blood moving again. Roman tried to clutch at his chest, but he couldn't.

He felt cold all over, but his body was working, warring with some outside force, struggling to stay alive.

His body was no longer his to control, he realized with a rush of fear. The necromancer...chill fog, thick and light and clear, in his head and his veins and his heart...

Roman's body was turning, his head swiveling around, obeying an order he did not give.

The necromancer was animating him now, manipulating his every move—and all Roman could do was stand there and let it happen--

Go.

...Father!

This time, when he tried to move, his body obeyed him, his will and that of the necromancer uniting as one.

He rushed forward, reaching out...

In just enough time to catch the king as he fell, a corpse gone cold by the time the both of them reached the ground. ((CW: parental death--but this IS a necromancer AU. Just keep that in mind. XD))

#cw: angst #cw: death #sanders sides #ts logan #ts roman #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #ts morality #logince #necromancer au #thomas sanders #ts fanfic #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again #no betas we die like men

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream II

Paring: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 097

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool; Summary: His response is to tilt his head to the side and gaze down at her, eyes tracing the length of her legs and the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. He lingers on her cleavage and this time, when he meets her eyes, she feels it, the sensation like she’s been put on simmer, like he’s warming her slowly, easing her into her own combustion, sparking like the lyrics to this song, and then you, came to save the day and I must say, you may have done some more. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

It's Cool

My escape from everything

Please say you'll be my nothing

And I will give you everything

Man, you are really something else

On Friday nights, Iris spends time alone. She lives in a relatively small apartment near Central City U’s campus where she makes peanuts as a teaching assistant while she completes her journalism master’s. Her weeks are long and arduous, what with attending her own classes and all but teaching the ones she assists. Her evenings are often spent eating turkey sandwiches with one hand and completing assignments with the other. And when those are done, she logs into her blog, What a Life You’ve Lived, and types up the stories people send to her. That part doesn’t make her tired; no, she likes being able to tell others’ stories, likes that they trust a woman they’ve never seen to tell their lives in a way that they might not ever see.

But it’s still why, on Friday nights, she pours herself an overfull glass of wine, fills a pipe bowl with some of the marijuana she gets from the dispensary by Linda’s place, and orders Thai food while she watches something from her Netflix or Hulu queue or sometimes she listens to music. She’s already showered, wearing a pair of green silk shorts and a matching tank top, pretty cream piping along the top of the tank and the hem of the shorts—she doesn't always dress like this when she’s home alone; she just likes the feeling of the silk on her skin when she’s high—and her hair is already wrapped and tied with her scarf when the doorbell rings. She frowns at the door because she’s only just ordered her pad Thai noodles and those spring rolls she likes, and there’s no way the delivery is there yet because she always sets the order for when she’s sufficiently intoxicated.

She figures that it could be her brother Wally or even Linda because they’ve both been known to drop by without calling. A touch annoyed, she goes to the door and swings it open, ready to go off for interrupting what they know is her self-care night. But then she’s stopped short, the music still playing in the background—you caught me at an awful time; see i just lost my smile—because it’s him.

Iris’s liquor-soaked memories don’t do him much justice because there he is, live and solid. He is tall, even taller than she’d thought as she stands in her bare feet. He’s lean, the dark jeans hanging off his hips and his plain gray shirt showing off the corded muscles in his arms. There’s a tattoo sleeve on his right forearm, a complicated bouquet of flowers that doesn't take away from the masculine energy he exudes standing at her door, his hands stuffed in his pockets. She can tell now that his hair is brown and a little bit messy, as if he constantly runs his hands through it. She does a quick scan of the rest of him: dark moles dotting the skin of his throat, thin pink mouth, the hint of a 5 o’clock shadow covering the cut of his jaw. It’s still his eyes, though, that gets her. It’s not only the color of them—somehow blue with hints of moss and gold or maybe they’re like moss with hints of gold and gray—but it’s the way he’s looking at her too. Like they're always searching, and that is what you helped me find; hadn't seen it in a while, looking for what she won't reveal.

She knows that her night set only just covers the swell of her ass and dips down in her cleavage. She knows that she’s scrubbed head to toe in her rosewater body butter. But he, he looks at her like he knows it too. Like he sees all of the tawny brown skin she’s not showing, like he’s seeing something, something more than the wide set of her full mouth and the whiskey chocolate of her eyes.

“Hey,” he speaks, and there’s nothing particularly memorable about his voice, but the tone of it is low, and it sends an involuntary shiver through her.

“I know this is weird,” he continues, “and you can definitely tell me to leave. But I didn’t have your number or even your name, and I’ve been thinking about you all week and…” He tapers off, and Iris lets her eyes travel up the length of him once more.

“Wanna come in?”

She doesn’t know what possesses her to ask—okay, maybe that bit about thinking of her all week helped—but when he nods, a smile easing on his face, her heart starts doing that seizing thing again.

She steps aside to let him in.

He sees the shoes she’d worn to work sitting by the door so he toes off his own sneakers beside them and Iris has to stop herself from acknowledging what they look like next to hers. Instead, she watches as he takes a look around. She’s proud of what she’s been able to do with a consignment shop and limited funds. The focal point is an overstuffed sofa in a light gray and its matching armchair; a multicolored rug with bold hints of sage and orange lies under the dark circular coffee table which is the same color as the bookshelf against her wall, the six shelves teeming with books, as well as the TV stand. She’s got some early artwork by a few Black local artists on her wall, a couple of her favorite quotes printed and framed next to them.

The room feels smaller with him in it. While Iris is no nun, it’s been months since a man other than her brother or dad has been in her home and it feels...strange. The air seems denser somehow, heavy—heavy with the cloud of tension that hovers around them, heavy with the knowledge that the print of this man is still one that she can feel in her body when she falls asleep at night.

She notes that his eyes track the grinder and pipe in plain view on her coffee table and when she faces him again, his eyebrow is lifted.

“Do you partake?” she wonders.

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Will you tonight?”

His response is to tilt his head to the side and gaze down at her, eyes tracing the length of her legs and the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. He lingers on her cleavage and this time, when he meets her eyes, she feels it, the sensation like she’s been put on simmer, like he’s warming her slowly, easing her into her own combustion, sparking like the lyrics to this song, and then you, came to save the day and I must say, you may have done some more.

He licks his lips. “Yes.”

He tells her his name is Bartholomew Allen.

First, she goes into the kitchen to grab another of the long-stemmed wine glass that the professor she works for had given her as a housewarming gift. Then she eases down onto the sofa before she spreads her arm in an invitation for him to sit too. She pours from the bottle of wine and hands him the glass; he takes it from her, fingers grazing hers where they’re cupped around the bowl.

“My name is Bartholomew Allen,” he says, sort of abruptly.

She blinks over at him, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Your parents named you Bartholomew?”

“It’s a family name,” he adds, and though there’s no hint of embarrassment in his voice when he says it, Iris sees the way his cheeks flush red.

It makes her smile. All she has are the hazy images of him in her head: the way he’d boldly walked up to ask her to dance, how the kisses he’d pressed into her skin had been sure and all-encompassing. There had been no blush to his cheeks that first night when he’d been whispering into her ear; though Iris does recall how the rest of him had turned this same lovely shade of red, like a tinge of wine under his skin, when she had grabbed his ass to push him deeper into her.

In any case, Iris hadn’t thought of him like this, blushing at something as simple as his name and this dichotomy endears him to her.

“But you can call me Barry,” he says after taking a sip of his wine, almost like an afterthought.

“Well, Barry,” she says, “I’m Iris West.”

He looks at her over the rim of his glass. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Iris.”

It’s atypical of her, she knows, inviting this man back into her house like this. Her police captain father would warn her that this is the way that women die. Wally would tsk at her with only slight disapproval, more specifically concerned with the fact that she hadn’t bothered to learn his name before she’d let him climb into her bed. It isn’t a habit of hers, one-night stands (or two nights, she supposes, after tonight) with pale-skinned men from clubs she rarely frequents. But that day, last Saturday, she had gotten an email from the professor of her Feature Writing course with harsh feedback on one of her assignments, and Wally, only in his junior year of undergrad, had canceled their dinner, and she hadn’t updated her blog in what felt like weeks and…

And she’s been in such a space of discontent lately, with the rigid monotony of her days, the school and work and school and work, and she has spent more time than she realizes alone. Her best (and really, her only) friend is in the stages of a building relationship and her dad is too. She’s got people, she does, but they seem so tangential these days. So on Saturday, she’d put on a dress that had shown too much of her brown skin and shoes that had given her more legs than most men know what to do with. And she’d walked down along the aptly named Bar Street, past the uh, I won't love a ho, after we fuck she can't get near me, only bitch I give a conversation to is Siri and the so when are you gonna tell her, that we did that too? until she’d come to the door of something sultrier calling out to her, as seductive and enticing as a siren, and she had answered.

Then, somewhere between her third tequila and her ninth or tenth song, hope that's cool; ‘cause i'm really not trying to, impose but I suppose that, i'm supposed to be here, with you, Barry had come to dance with her, with the long line of his body following her rhythm and the pleasing smell of the lemongrass on his clothes and—for the first time in longer than she cares to admit—Iris had begun to feel.

It explains why she let him come home with her a week ago. It explains why he’s in her apartment now.

“Iris?” She hears Barry call her name, and by the look on his face, she knows it isn’t the first time he’s tried to get her attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Sorry about that. I space out sometimes.” She points towards her table. “Shall we?”

He looks at her a little unsure, as if he wants to say more, but he eventually just nods in agreement. “Sure.”

She leans forward and grabs the grinder. The first time she smoked weed, she’d been a freshman in college. As cliche as it sounds, she’d had a roommate from Colorado who’d brought a stash with her and had offered a hit to Iris once at a house party. She’d liked it immediately, had liked how her brain had cleared, as if someone had wiped away all the writing on a chalkboard, erasing the mounting pressure of being the first university college kid in her family, of being the example for her brother who was ten times smarter and twice as reckless; had liked how much lighter her body had felt, as if she was floating, lying upon a cloud or somewhere even lighter, even higher.

She’s not a heavy smoker, the practice delegated to her Friday night routine and only in the couple years since it’s become legal recreationally in Central City. Still, she can’t help but feel a little nervous right now as Barry watches her pull the small canister towards her and open it. She makes quick work of pinching out a couple nuggets of the blue city diesel she prefers and grinding it up before packing the bowl of the pipe. It’s a pretty thing, made of glass in a dark green with blue and orange swirls. There is the flick of the lighter, and Iris brings the pipe to her lips and inhales.

She can all but feel the smoke flowing through her body, unbending her spine and relaxing her legs, curling in her lungs and moving to her head, making the thoughts there—the stress of classes, the constant sting of loneliness, and even the simmering tension she feels with Barry next to her—start to scatter until they’re no longer noticeable.

She passes the pipe over to Barry, who takes it from her gingerly, the tips of his long fingers brushing her again. She shivers, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, instead leaning back onto the couch, her legs crossed in the seat, as she watches him. He flicks the lighter a couple of times before it lights, and then he fires at the weed and takes a hit. His skin shades the faintest hint of pink and then he pulls the pipe away from his mouth and coughs, a deep cough that waters his eyes.

“You okay?” she questions. He nods as he passes it back. They do this, back and forth, until Barry breathes the smoke in easier and Iris falls even deeper into the couch. That’s when the doorbell rings.

“It’s the food,” she says and Barry is on his feet before she can even make sense of it. “Wait, I have money,” she tries, standing, because this is a mom-and-pop sort of pace and they still do their own delivery instead of going through the more expensive, albeit convenient, routes.

By the time Iris has grabbed her wallet from her purse, Barry is grabbing food and saying “Thanks, man” to Tony, the tall bearded college student who normally delivers it to her.

“Oh what’s up, Iris?” he says to her when she peeks around Barry’s shoulder.

“Hi, Tony. Do I owe you the same?”

“Oh, your boy already got it.” He smiles, a dimple winking at her in his bronze skin. “Y’all have a good night,” he adds and then he winks at her for real before disappearing back downstairs. She backs up to let Barry in the door.

“Barry, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I’m crashing your night and I’m smoking your weed. It’s the least I can do.”

Iris hums, looking up at him. He’s sort of pretty, she thinks absently, with his eyes like gems and his pink mouth, his expression soft and earnest.

“Come on.”

Iris always orders way too much food, usually with the intent to eat off the leftovers for a couple of meals. It’s a spread, with walnut shrimp, a green/ginger salad, pad thai, Bangkok chicken, and several Thai spring rolls, so it's definitely enough to share. She inhales several forkfuls of noodles while Barry attacks the Bangkok chicken. They eat in relative silence, the music still playing in the background, with eyes are sad, i smile, i think you'll find, you need me just like i need you, yeah; but it's cool, we ain't gotta be nothing, it's true, i'd actually prefer it, yeah; it's on you, it's on you, it's on you.

It’s when they’re done eating, when Iris has placed the containers in the refrigerator and they’re both snuggled deeper into the couch, wine glasses close by, that their night really begins. Iris has packed another bowl and takes another hit. And with a lungful of smoke, she asks,

“What sort of music do you like to listen to when you smoke?”

“I don’t think that I smoke enough to know.”

She hands him the bowl and grabs the remote to the smart tv, pulling up the playlist she’d made for nights like this. It gets longer every couple of days, songs that catch her fancy, songs with beats that sing as much as the artists, songs that seep in like the weed does, running through her like the blood in her vein does. The song plays—and i'm not even gonna front, at first i was just tryna fuck, but you have got me so in love, so deep in love, so please be love—and Iris closes her eyes, savoring the mellow sound of the music.

She takes pulls from her wine glass as Barry smokes and then the actions reverse. They take turns, back and forth, until Iris feels her lids drop, sees the slight haze that covers everything in her sight. Barry is sitting at the other end of the chair, but Iris swears that she can feel him, feel the solid heat of him, feel the touch of him like prickles on her skin. When she gazes over at him, positioning herself so that her back is against the arm of the chair and her painted toes just miss Barry’s thighs, she finds that he’s looking at her again.

“What?” she asks.

He shakes his head, indicating nothing, and the movement is slow, stilted. But then he asks,

“How do you feel, about my showing up here?”

She shrugs. “Surprised,” she tells him. “That you wanted to come; that you remembered where I lived.”

Barry chuckles, a low, gentle sound. “I only remembered because of the wreath, the sunflowers.”

She doesn’t add this, though a surprise, is not one she dislikes. She likes his company, even if she can’t name why.

“Barry,” she calls, to grab his attention again, and the way he tilts his head in acknowledgment makes her think more intently on the words of this song—and I'm not even gonna lie, i wouldn't mind if we just lie, together 'til the end of time, if that is fine with you, it's fine with me—and she shakes her head at the thought.

“Hmm?” he hums, eyes never wavering.

“What made you come here tonight?”

She’s sufficiently high now. She’d been careful not to overstuff herself with food and both the wine and diesel have done their job. She feels both languid and like she’s soaring, all at once. The music helps and she’s waiting in anticipation as she waits for his answer.

It’s slow coming, his answer. Before he responds, he touches gingerly at her bare ankles, fingers skimming along the bones of one and then the other. His fingers are warm and Iris feels the light callouses there, shocked at the sensation of the roughened skin on hers, how the touch sends sparks up the lines of her legs. He brings one of her feet up on his lap, and it seems so small in his hands. He presses his thumb into her instep, glides it down to the heel, and back up. Iris lets out a moan, the sound inaudible over the music—definitely love, definitive love—but the tiny uplift of the corner of his mouth suggests he’d heard it, and he grabs her other foot and repeats the action. Then he says,

“I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory.”

He trails his fingers up her left calf, still kneading her right foot. “I kept thinking of you,” he tells her, “about the taste of your mouth and the grip of your slick, and I had to know if I was only drunk and making it up.”

It’s the sensations that make her respond the way she does. It’s the easy purr of keyboards she hears behind Jhene’s dulcet voice; it’s his touch, how it seems to reverberate through her entire body; it the smell of him, of the room: the fainting smell of the smoke and the rosewater butter on her own skin and what she imagines it’ll smell like mixed with the scent of him that she remembers, the notes citrusy and bright.

“Me too,” she tells him. “I woke up on Sunday and I could still feel you. You were gone and much of you was a memory, but the feel of you was still there and…”

(and I wanted you to still be here, wanted to make a lasting memory, a real one, that would keep me warm when school and wavering friendships couldn’t)

But she doesn’t say any of that. Barry has all but mentioned he’s come over to sleep with her again and she can admit that the thought does have immense appeal, even if it’s not the only thing she thinks she wants from him.

She leans up and moves her ankle out of his grasp; he raises an eyebrow at the loss of contact, but then she widens her legs and reaches for him, grabbing at his shirt to pull him on top of her. He comes willingly, hovering above her, holding himself up with one arm on the top of the couch. All Iris can think about is the weight of him on top of her, how guarded it makes her feel, how secure.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice quiet against the strain of the music from the television set, though she’d been the one to pull him in. He presses his body down, and her legs part automatically, craving him there again. She can tell that he’s high, in the red of his eyes and in the slow ways he’s talking, weighing every word before he lets it out.

“Yes,” she responds, just as quietly.

This seems like a moment here, one Iris can’t make sense of, not knowing what he’s here for. But he’s looking at her like she’s something, like he sees her, and it’s, it’s electrifying.

So when he leans down and kisses her, she leans up and gives it back, letting his mouth work her over. Barry is a good kisser. He starts out easy, slow, just his mouth moving against hers. His lips are soft and he tastes like wine and, somehow, the sex she knows they’re about to have, and the thought makes her close her eyes as she gives herself over to him. He licks at the seam of her lips, bites down her bottom one, and then licks at her again, demanding entry. She opens for him, eyes fluttering closed as he takes full control of her mouth. He sucks on her tongue, and then her lip again, and then he’s back to working her over with his mouth, the kiss wet and sloppy, increasingly erotic.

He is hard between her warm thighs, the solid long length of him, and she has to touch him. She rubs her hands down his back, over his cotton t-shirt, and then up under, along his spine. He shivers on top of her but doesn’t stop kissing her. She keeps one hand running up and down his back, loving the feel of him beneath her palm, and she fingers along his torso with the other, light touches that make his belly clench, that make his hips flex into her. He hums into her mouth, a sound more like a low growl, and it vibrates through her body, moving until it pulses between her legs. She moans in response, and it is that that breaks the kiss. Barry pulls back to look at her, and she likes that he looks a little bit wrecked. He stares down at her, drinking her in, and she knows what he must see: her thighs parted, with the hem of her silk shorts riding high; one strap of her top hanging off her shoulder, her breasts heaving as she tries to catch her breath; her full lips puffy and likely red from his bites; her eyes wide and blown, the dark of her pupils slowly overtaking the brown of her irises. Even her scarf has half-fallen off, and she should care that her hair will be unmanageable tomorrow. But when Barry tilts his head with a question, she lets him take it off and toss it onto her coffee table, and then he leans up, eyes never straying from hers.

“Barry?” she calls but pauses at the look in his eyes.

He fingers at the bottom of her top. “Take it off,” he tells her.

She responds to the slight command in his tone, clenching her stomach muscles as she leans up just enough to pull her tank over her head. He’s kneeling between her legs now, looking down at her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples puckered under his gaze. He hasn’t even touched her yet, and she’s ready. It doesn’t make sense, how responsive she is to him, but she is, even when he’s just there staring.

“Barry?” she calls again, and she thrusts her hips, infinitesimally. It makes him look away from where he’s trying to memorize the weight of her breasts, the smooth tawny brown color of them, the darker areolas, and even darker nipples.

“What are you doing?” she asks, when he doesn’t respond to her.

“Looking at you,” is his too calm answer.

She nods, but huffs out a little breath in annoyance. “Okay, but can you…” fuck me, is the obvious response, but it doesn’t come out as that; instead, it’s another thrust of her hips, her constantly swelling sex rubbing his hard thigh. Barry licks his lips and looks down at her.

“Can I what, Iris?”

“You know,” she says, and squeezes him with her thighs.

“Hmmm,” Barry murmurs. “I don’t know that I do.”

This time, she catches his gaze, noting the glassy look of his eyes, the color grayer in this light. Iris wants to moan at the sight of him.

“Don’t play with me, Barry,” she grumbles, hoping that if she imbues a touch of menace to her words, he’d go ahead and put her out of her misery.

“No?” He lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to play with you, Iris?”

She can’t answer, because then he’s reaching down and parting her thighs wider, enough that Barry can slide the wide leg of one side of her shorts over and expose her pussy to him. She clenches when the air hits her, and then again when Barry slides the tip of his middle finger down the middle of her slit.

She moans, her breath catching at the end of it when she looks down to watch his pale digit disappear inside of her. He dips in and out and in again, and Iris can’t stop watching it. She’s already wet, and his finger is glistening.

“You sure you don’t want me to play with you, Iris?” he asks her, dipping his finger all the way to the knuckle. He brings it back out, and then begins to rub her own wet over her lips. Down the side of her vulva, up the other side. Parting her lips with just that one finger. Sliding in again to gather more of her slick and start his trek over again.

Beneath him, Iris is...a mess. The one finger isn’t enough; she’s too wet for it and she keeps closing around nothing. But her breathing is only growing more labored and she can't. stop. watching. It should be embarrassing; her shorts are soaked through and Barry is still fully clothed, but she can’t be. The look of his long, rough-tipped fingers playing in the pink of her pussy so wholly arousing that she literally thinks that she can come like this.

“No, I,” she tells him, panting. She licks her lips, tries again. “This is…”

“This is what, Iris?” he asks, his cadence still heavy, and honestly, how the fuck does him just saying her name get her off like this. “Use your words, baby.”

“Fuck,” Iris moans.

Barry has the gall to smile. “That’s one.”

“Fuck you,” she moans again.

“Yeah?” Barry questions and he leans down, pulling his dirty little finger out of her and wrapping that same wet hand—wait, how is his whole hand wet—around her waist. He hovers over her, lips just a breath away from hers. “You ready for me to fuck you now?”

She huffs out a surprised laugh. “God, you’re a little bit of a dick.”

“And you’re ready for it now, aren’t you?”

She gives up on trying to be coy. “Yes,” she nods.

Barry has to stand to get out of his clothes, and Iris tries not to whimper at the loss. He pulls his shirt over his head, and Iris sees that his sleeve of flowers extends to his shoulders. He pulls his pants and boxers down, slipping out of his socks too, grabbing his wallet to pull a condom out before tossing it back down on top of his clothes. She watches as he rips open the wrapper and pulls the latex out, pinching its tip and sliding the condom down his length. He’s long and swollen, thicker, maybe, than she remembers, and she finds herself enamored as she watches him touch himself, fingers caressing the thick head and down his shaft.

“Take those off,” he tells her and she didn’t even realize she still has her shorts on. She peels them off, tossing them to the side, and then Barry is between her legs again. He grips her thighs and spreads them, one knee digging into the sofa close to her chest, the other planted high up on his hip.

He rubs himself along her once, making sure she’s still ready for him, and with a hand gripping her waist, he slides into her. She can feel herself opening for him, stretching to make room for him. He pulls out, just to the tip, and then he pushes back in, deeper, harder, and Iris gasps out a long “oohhh.” He rocks up into her, long strokes, slow strokes, like he’s got all the time in the world. She hears herself, she hears them, the wet sound of her pussy taking him in.

“Listen to you,” Barry whispers as he reaches down and thumbs at her clit. “You’re so wet, baby. God,” he groans. “Do you always get like this?” He fucks into her harder, still maddeningly slow, but fuck if it doesn’t make her swell a little more, gush a little more. “Or is it us? Is it me that gets you like this? Dripping out of that pretty little pussy like this?”

“Fuck, Barry, shit.”

He leans down again, until his chest is brushing her. The action plants him deeper, and he fucks into her, steady, persistent. He’s so close that Iris doesn’t know what to do with herself. He’s holding on to her waist, pinning her down on the sofa, and his pelvis brushes her clit with every downward stroke.

“Bar-Barryyyyyy.” Iris throws her head back, eyes clenched tight as she comes with a low, drawn-out moan, her hips bucking frantically as she squeezes wetly around Barry.

He pulls out of her and starts to move the sofa cushions from the back of the chair. It gives them more room and Barry sits down until he’s half laid out, back against the arm of the chair and legs spread on either side of her, one bracing on the floor.

“Lay on your stomach,” he tells her, “and then push your legs under mine.”

She does as he says, still a little sluggish from her unexpected orgasm. This move puts her ass in the air, and Barry grabs at her hips to bring her back to him. She looks back as he’s lining himself up with her again, and then he’s bringing her down on him, opening her up for him again. They both moan at the contact this time, Iris still sensitive from moments before. But he seems even harder now, even deeper when Iris leans forward to grab onto the other end of the couch. He guides her for a stroke, two, three, until she catches onto his rhythm, and begins to fuck herself back on him. He’s so deep she figures she could feel him hitting the bottom of his stomach if she focused hard enough. She bounces on him, keeping up his slow pace, and he gives her a hard squeeze around the waist for her efforts.

“That’s it, Iris,” he murmurs. “Ride me slow just like that.”

She’s always liked dirty talk; there’s something fully stimulating about a man making it known that he’s enjoying being with you. But this, this is different, and Iris can barely stand how much she’s turned on by him talking to her like this.

“You feel so good, Barry,” she tells him.

“Yeah?” He juts up into her, faltering a rhythm, making her fall even deeper into the sofa, making him fall even deeper into her. “Tell me what it feels like.”

She licks her lips, swallows. She’s never…

“It’s just me and you,” he says, sensing her hesitation. He stills her hips and straightens his torso, bringing her up as much as she can. He turns her head so that he can see her eyes. He moves away the hair that’s fallen into her face and gives her a quick peck on the mouth. “It’s just us, okay?”

She nods, and moves back into the comfortable position, back to grinding down on his dick, squeezing around his dick.

“Shit, Iris, that’s it.”

“You feel good,” she tells him again, firmly. “You’re so thick, so hard, I can’t even…” She falls forward again, and Barry gives her one hard slap down her ass cheek. “Barry!”

He soothes the sting with the palm of his hand, rubbing in small circles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so wet in my life,” she confesses, softly, truthfully. And that must have been what Barry was waiting for. He takes over, holding her hips in a death grip and he pounds into her. The slap-slap of his skin on hers is loud, the squelch of her wet, profane. She can feel her belly tighten again, the tell-tale sign that her orgasm is imminent. Barry’s is too, she can tell. His movements are more erratic, slow and then fast and then slow again until reaches out and presses a thumb to her puckered hole peeking back at him. That’s the end for them both. Iris screams out, her back arching deeply, just as Barry stills and empties into the condom, his dick throbbing against her walls as he does. She falls face forward into the sofa, still sitting on Barry, trying to catch her breath. It’s only then that she notices the music still playing from the television—infinite love, yeah; i've been wrong before, but this time I am for sure; it's you; something you did made me feel it deep in my core—and she asks for Alexa to turn the television off.

That throws the room into stark silence, except for the sound of their heavy breathing. She doesn’t know how long they lie there, but Iris thinks she could be almost asleep when Barry shifts up and out of her. She knows that she’s likely gonna have to deep clean the sofa tomorrow.

“Iris,” Barry calls moments later, and she turns her head to the side to see him standing beside her, his soft sex sitting on his thigh. He must have thrown the condom away already.

“Hmmm.”

He chuckles. “Come on, baby, let’s get you cleaned up and we can go to sleep.”

She nods slowly, and sits up, letting him take her hand to lead her into the bathroom. She tries, though she can’t say how much she succeeds, at telling herself that this, that this is nothing.

And it's cool

Think that we're up to something

But it's on you, it's on you, it's on you

It's on you, it's on you, it's on you

It's on you, 'cause I'm cool with nothing, yeah

'Cause even nothing is something

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summahsunlight · 4 years

Text

Reader Request, #35 and #37 with Poe

Title: One Last KIss

Rating: T

Word Count: 1785

Pairings: Poe x Pilot!Reader

Summary: From 50 Angsty Questions Prompt list (here), #35 “Can I have one last kiss?” and #37 “Is this how you thought your life would be?”

Warnings: Heavy angst, implied major character death

Request from anon: “35 & 37 with Poe?” Thanks for the request! This one was much longer than I had originally anticipated, but there were so many parts to this that I wanted to include. Hope you like it! Remember, comments, likes, asks, or reblogs about this work are always appreciated. Happy reading friends!❤️

Everything had happened so fast.

Poe had been joking and flirting with you over the comms while you made your final sweep on this recon mission, and then out of nowhere, you were ambushed. Bounty hunters looking to make payday. Both you and Poe managed to take care of them, but not before Poe’s fighter was badly damaged.

You were forced to watch it go down. The stars spun in front of you as you sent a panicky distress call to the Resistance. Commander Dameron was hit, you needed medical assistance--because there was no way Poe had not survived the crash. That was just what he did--survived.

Landing your own fighter close to the crash, it had barely touched the terrain when you opened the hatched and jumped out of the cockpit. You tossed your flight helmet as you ran for the wreckage of Poe’s x-wing, heart beating so fast you were sure it was going to beat right out of your chest. “Poe!”

BB-8 responded with frantic screeches. You climbed up onto the smoking wreckage and helped the little droid out of the socket. It took you a few seconds to find the emergency hatch release, but once you did, you yanked on it hard.

Nothing prepared you for the sight before you.

Poe’s blast shield was cracked, blood spattered on it. His orange flight suit. was covered in blood. Carefully, you wedged yourself into his cockpit and heard him groan in pain. Relief washed through you--he was alive. “If I’d known crashing my ship would have gotten you in my lap... I would have done it sooner.”

“Don’t joke,” you snapped at him, gently removing his helmet to inspect his head injury. “This is a serious situation, Poe. You’re hurt, badly.”

“How...how bad?” Poe asked, his eyes locking with yours. When you refused to answer, he asked again, “How bad is it, princess?”

Damn that nickname, damn him for using it in that exact moment. Tears instantly sprang to your eyes as your hands pressed down on the chest wound that was bleeding profusely. “You’re... you’re gonna be fine,” you lied to him, even as his blood stained your fingers and flight suit.

Poe gazed at you sympathetically. “I’ve been around long enough, survived enough crashes--I know it’s not good. You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N. I know...”

You cut him off before he could finish that sentence. “It’s bad, yes! But you’re going to be fine, Poe!” Please, you have to fine! I need you! BB-8 moaned nearby and you choked over your next words. “If you die, whose gonna look after BeeBee?”

“Just figured you would. He likes you.”

“Yes, well, I like him too but he isn’t going to need me. He’ll have you!”

“Is this how you thought your life would be?”

“Not even close; although I knew at some point you’d be bleeding all over me.”

He smiled, wistfully at you. Poe’s eyes were beginning to glaze over, you could see the tint of his pink lips starting to turn blue and you desperately pressed down harder on the wound. Where is that rescue transport! It had felt like hours since Poe had crashed, in reality it was probably only minutes. You had never felt time move so slow before.

It felt like there were walls pressing around you, watching the life slowly leave Poe’s body, watching the spark fade from his beautiful brown eyes--you should have told him, the morning after Snap and Karé’s wedding, the morning after Poe had kissed you at the party--you should have told him you loved him.

Now, he was lying underneath your hands, dying and there was no stopping it.

“Can I have one last kiss?” Poe whispered, drawing your attention to his ashen face. “Please.”

“Stop talking like this, you’re going to be fine, Poe,” you cried, tears streaming down your dirty cheeks. “Help is coming, okay?”

“Princess...

“No! I won’t let you die!”

Your words though couldn’t stop it; Poe’s eyes slipped shut just as you heard BB-8 squeal that the transport was here, it had arrived. They’re too late, you thought, falling against Poe’s chest and burying your face against his neck. “Poe! Please! Don’t leave me... don’t go where I can’t follow! Please.”

He said nothing. You sobbed as the world around you shattered. Hands were pulling you away from Poe’s body and someone was leading you towards the rescue transport while the others worked on getting Poe out of the x-wing.

At least there would be a burial, at least you could contact his father and let him know that he could bury his son on Yavin IV, next to his mother. That’s where Poe would want to be buried, you decided. He loved Shara. She was why he became a pilot.

It was only fitting that Poe’s final resting place was with her.

-----

After arriving back on base and watching as Poe was taken away, Jessika helped you get out of your blood soaked flight suit, into the shower, and then when you were done showering, she helped you get back into clean clothes. From there, she took you by the hand to the mess, where she insisted you needed to at least have some water.

You numbly went along, not bother to talk or look at anyone. Poe was gone. He was gone and it was your fault. You hadn’t done enough to save him. It made you wish you had died as well. Something bumped into your leg and you realized it was BB-8. You vividly remembered Poe saying that he thought you would be the one to step up and take care of his beloved droid.

Fresh tears assaulted you and you felt Jessika’s arm snake around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her. She was muttering words of comfort, letting you know that it wasn’t your fault, you’d done everything you could... Poe wouldn’t want everyone to be so upset...

...that last part was probably true. Poe would be the kind of guy that would want his friends to tell funny, embarrassing stories about him, to remember him fondly, not how he’d looked in the final moments of his life. “He asked me to kiss him.”

“What?” Jessika quipped, not sure she had heard right.

“On the planet, he asked me to kiss him one last time,” you said.

“When, when did you kiss him the first time?”

“Snap and Karé’s wedding. We were so drunk. I didn’t think he remembered.”

Jessika continued to hug you. “Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You let your tears continue to fall. “I never told him how I felt.”

She leaned her head against yours, and cried with you. “He knew; he might not have come out and said it to us, but the way he talked about you, he knew--he knew how you felt about him--he felt the same way about you.”

This hurt even more knowing that you had missed your chance to be together, even if it was only meant to be for a short period of time. Suddenly, you were glad that Jessika was only making you drink some water because you didn’t think you could stomach any food as she led you into the mess hall.

Black Squadron was sure to take care of you. They were grieving themselves, but they knew it was worse for you having been there in Poe’s final moments, knowing how you loved him. You were grateful for their companionship. Each one of them offered to walk you back to your quarters after you had some water and something to eat because Karé insisted--you declined. You had BB-8 to keep you company, you didn’t need anyone else at that moment.

So, with BB-8 rolling sadly alongside you, you headed back to your room. You already had a charging station for him--when Poe was away on missions that BB-8 couldn’t go on with him, the little droid would spend the evening in your room. It was no wonder Poe thought you would be the one to care for his droid.

Not his droid anymore; your droid.

You flopped down onto your bunk as BB-8 went to the charging station and plugged in for the night. Twenty-four hours ago your life had been so much different. There hadn’t been this pain inside of you gnawing away. Poe, I miss you.

The knock on your door started you. Jumping off the bunk you rushed to answer it. “General Organa! Ma’am...can I...do you need me for something?”

Leia smiled at you and shook her head. “No, Captain.Well, actually, yes, I do need you for something. There’s a patient down in the medical bay that keeps asking for you. Can you come down to see them?”

Confused, you nodded and agreed to go with her. You couldn’t possibly think of any patients that would be asking for you; your friends had all been fine at dinner--with the exception of feeling the large void left behind by Poe--but there was nothing in the medical bay that could help with that.

It turned out, however, there was.

Poe.

Leia placed her hand on your shoulder as you looked at him, eyes wide. “He was barely clinging to life when you arrived back on base. Medics didn’t think he was going to make it--he’s stubborn. When he woke up he kept asking if you were okay. We told him you were fine. He needed to see you.”

Swallowing your tears, you stepped inside Poe’s room. He was asleep for now, hooked up to every monitor imaginable--but he was breathing, on his own. He was alive. He hadn’t left you at all. Frozen in place for a few moments you stood there, then turned slightly to find Leia, but she was gone. When you glanced back in Poe’s direction, his eyes were open, looking at you.

Relief shown on his face, the color still not quite back in his cheeks yet. “You’re alright,” he sighed. “They told me I was the only one hurt but I...guess I needed to see it to believe it.”

“I thought...I thought you were dead,” you cried, quietly. “We all did.”

“For a while there, I thought I was dead too,” he deadpanned.

“Don’t joke, this is a serious situation, Poe,” you repeated, “You were hurt, badly.”

“Yeah, I know. Hey,” Poe said, smiling at you softly, his voice weak, “you never gave me that kiss.”

You didn’t hesitate this time; this time you moved across the room, sitting on his bed, and took his face between your hands and kissed him.

#my writing #poe dameron #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe x reader #poe x you #150 followers celebration #reader request

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kumeko · 3 years

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A/N: For Suga, who wanted a Renobowl! I’m sorry this took so long, but I hope I added enough characters/potential romance routes to more than make up for it!

…

i. Cloud

It was a ridiculously stupid. Reno stood in the unfinished basement of the cruddy bar, Seven Minutes in Heaven or something. A table stood in the center of the room, multiple painstakingly handmade maps sprawled over it. The walls were covered with blinking lights and cameras that were more stylistic than functional.

This was the great AVALANCHE’s headquarters. This was where the renegade group of morons thwarted Shinra and somehow survived to tell the tale. This was where all of their slipshod improvised plans were made.

“This is a shitshow,” Reno muttered, leaning against the wall. How the fuck had they even once lost to these guys? It had to be luck or something equally silly. There was no fucking way it was anything else.

Even worse? He was joining this merry band of idiots.

Maybe he had hit his head back in the church.

“You can leave anytime you want to,” Barret growled, glaring at him over the map. The guy overprotective of everything, whether it was his daughter, the bar, or the people he worked with. It was entirely unlike Shinra’s hands-off management team. Reno almost missed the single-worded orders and lingering silence.

“Nah, I’m good.” Reno smirked, his lips curling back as he bared his sharp teeth. It had cowed the other, lesser members of the team, but Barret didn’t so much as flinch.

“You try anything funny, and you won’t have a choice,” he warned, before going back to his ‘plan’.

Reno snorted. Like he hadn’t already gotten that warning from AVALANCHE’s rabid dog. He could still feel the bar digging into his back from when Cloud had pushed him against it, his grip tight on his collar. Despite his constant claims of just being a mercenary for hire, there had been a rough concern in his voice as he’d growled If you betray us to Shinra…

Cloud’s sword was sharp, his hands strong, and it didn’t take much to imagine just what he’d do if Reno turned traitor.

Not that he’d planned to; he’d had enough being Shinra’s lapdog. Yet, even now he could feel Cloud’s hot breath on his face, his heart racing at the possibilities. If he had reached up to grab Cloud’s collar too, if he had closed the gap between them, what would have happened? How rough would it be?

Rude had always warned him he was self-destructive, and well, he wasn’t wrong. Across the dark room, Cloud regarded him with Mako-bright eyes and Reno could only lick his lips in anticipation.

ii. Tifa

“Oh great, another one to haul out. Why can’t they leave before they pass out?”

Blearily, Reno looked up from his empty glass. At the bottom was a drop or two of gin, and he pressed his lips against the rim as he tried to force them down.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Remembering the voice, he looked up. Standing across the bar, a pretty brunette eyed him wryly as she pried his glass away from him. His hand instantly clenched, but it was too late, she’d slipped it out too fast. There was something about her build, about the muscles on her arm and the smooth way that she didn’t so much as walk as flowed across the floor that reminded him about something. It was like a fighter’s. Or a dancer’s. Both were common enough in this town.

“Youree hot,” he slurred, trying to reach over and take it back. He smirked at her; it worked about half the time, if he was lucky.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t lucky today. She sighed, rolling her eyes as she set the cup down behind her. Walking around the bar, she wrapped an arm around his waist and hoisted him up. Immediately, he corrected his previous guess. She was definitely a fighter. That strength was no dancer’s, all muscle and little finesse. He was certain she could toss him over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

“You should take me home,” he leered. No one could claim he knew when to quit.

She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes, clearly used to this sort of talk. Opening the door, she hauled him outdoors. As usual, the slums smelled like coal dust and shit, but her whiskey scent cut through it. He was half drunk on it. “You smell good.”

The bartender rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, where should I drop you off?”

“My place then?” You couldn’t claim Reno knew when to quit.

For his efforts, he was promptly deposited on the hard ground. Swiping her hands against each other as though to wipe off her germs, she firmly replied, “I’m sure you can make it back on your own.”

Reno chuckled, getting up on wobbly feet. “Tomorrow then?”

At her responding glare, he laughed the entire walk back.

iii. Barret

Reno couldn’t tell you why he’d decided to suddenly help AVALANCHE. It certainly wasn’t one of those good reasons, like pity or kindness. It certainly wasn’t self-preservation either—if he wanted to live, he should have stuck with Shinra. The man owned almost all of the city and had more than enough connections everywhere else to make life uncomfortable.

Then again, Reno had never claimed to be exceptionally smart. He’d always choked against every restraint put on him, always struggled underneath his former boss’s heel.

(He remembered Tseng’s cold voice as he accepted the sector drop, and maybe that twinge of guilt had been more than just a twinge.)

Either way, here he was lying on the roof of the building, the helicopter in pieces around him. Rude probably survived the crash, he survived everything, the dumb fuck, but he definitely wouldn’t be happy to see Reno after the stunt he pulled. Shinra had more than enough men to protect him, the ass.

This was a stupid idea. Which was probably why he didn’t even think when he crashed their helicopter on the pad instead of fighting Barret and his band of merry idiots. What a stupid idea. They’d only live for maybe a few minutes more.

He coughed and winced. That was a broken rib. Two, if he were unlucky, and Reno was always unlucky. He’d been born under a cursed star, after all.

“You friggin’ moron.” Reno barely had time to open his eyes before he saw a thick, black arm wrap around his waist, picking him up with an unexpected gentleness despite the rough voice. “What were you doing?”

“Saving your asses,” he croaked, laughing. Big mistake, his ribs definitely didn’t like that. Spitting blood on the ground, he smirked. “What’re you doing?”

Barret snorted, running down the stairs in a desperate attempt to escape. Escape what? Reno frowned, his head aching as he tried to remember. There had been a bomb—the building was set to explode and he’d warned them.

“We’re not gonna make it,” he mumbled. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Tifa and Cloud racing ahead, clearing the way.

“We’re going to friggin’ try.” Barret tightened his grip as he bounded down the stairs even faster now, taking them three steps at a time. “Can’t believe you did that.”

“And you’re carryin’ me.” Something about this struck him funny. He wasn’t sure if it was the concussion or if it had always been funny, but it was. He tried not to laugh. His ribs ached nonetheless.

“Tifa insisted.” Barret ground out, looking a little put out. “You saved us, sure, but it’s probably ploy.”

“I feel like a ploy,” Reno agreed. That made sense. He was certain that made sense.

“Yeah, you do.” Barret tried not to jostle him as he turned down another flight of stairs. The whole building was endless. No wonder Reno had taken the helicopter up. “But I guess she’s got a point. No one’s going to kill themselves just to get in.”

“I’m in?” Reno wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Queasy, though that might have been the concussion.

“I’m not letting you near us, but you get to live.” Barret glanced at him, the hardened face of a leader. “You’ve earned that much.”

“Have I?” he questioned, but his head jostled and he fell into the welcoming darkness.

iv. Sephiroth

There were many things Reno expected during his time with the Turks, but sitting in a helicopter across from SOLDIER’s greatest warrior hadn’t been high on the list. Considering the kind of wild card he was, he’d expected the brass to keep them as far apart as possible.

Maybe the higher ups liked flirting with danger too. The chopper’s blades were loud and it was hard to think, let alone talk. Reno glanced at the door, taking in the snowy mountains below. “Why’d anyone want to go to a nowhere like this?”

Sephiroth didn’t say anything, only coolly regarded him with bright, mako-infused eyes. Something sparked underneath his peaceful expression, some sort of violent storm that was just waiting to explode. Reno didn’t want to be anywhere near when it happened.

He also wanted to stand right in the middle of it all.

Rude had always called him a contradictory bitch.

“I can see them sending me over to this boring backwater town as a punishment, but you?” he raised a brow, egging him on. “Thought you’d be too big to come here.”

His silver hair almost hid his face as he leaned against the other door and silently took in their destination. Quietly, he replied, “You can stay on the helicopter when we arrive. You aren’t needed.”

“Huh?” Reno snorted, resisting the urge to yank on his long hair and force him to look at him. If there was one thing that grated on his nerves, it was being ignored. “What, you want to hog all the glory?”

“There’s two SOLDIERS.” His gold-flecked eyes met his, and Reno was certain now that he saw some spark of untameable emotion behind his glass exterior. “A Turk is useless.”

“I’ll show you useless.” He smiled wolfishly, all teeth. Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed, just a smidge, and he personally made it his goal to see just how long it’d take for the big man to lose control.

v. Aerith

“Oh, you poor dears,” Aerith murmured as she knelt in the single patch of sunlight in the slums. Reno had once wondered just what the odds were that it shone through the hole in her church, that it hit the only place flowers grew, and then remembered he’d hated numbers. “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Hands in his pockets, Reno slowly made his way down the aisle to her, his footsteps echoing in the vast room. People might have come here once upon a time, but it was abandoned now, forgotten by all but a lone flower-girl. He glanced at the torn-up flowers at her feet, the over-turned dirt, and snorted. “This happens every time. You should just let them die.”

“Never.” She immediately rejected his suggestion just as she’d done the last nth number of times this had happened. “You could help, you know, instead of standing there.”

He shrugged. “They don’t pay me enough to watch you and help you.”

“You don’t have to watch, you can just help,” she replied sweetly, her innocent smile not quite masking her sharp eyes. The girl was a match waiting to light up. “I won’t tell.”

“Sure, and Shinra won’t have my head when he finds out.” Reno rolled his eyes. They had this conversation once a week. The company goons would come and get her (they also didn’t pay him enough to help them), she’d beat them up and flee, they’d make a mess of her garden, and she’d fix it up.

And then rinse and repeat.

It was boring. If he had to get stuck in this small-time slum with this small-time girl, then at least he should be properly entertained. “Why do you even care about those things?”

“They’re pretty,” she replied earnestly, her fingers digging in the dirt and righting a plant. “They’re resilient. And…”

“And?” Reno raised a brow.

“I like them.” She grinned as she lied. He was pretty sure that the reason his boss wanted her was in her last, silent response. “Do I really need another reason?”

“For this much work? Yeah.” Reno shrugged.

Aerith chuckled, tucking a lock behind her ear. “If you say so. But if you change your mind…”

“Not happening.” Reno snorted, sitting in a pew a couple of rows down. Crossing his arms on the bench in front of him, he rested his chin and watched as she went back to work.

He was starting to sit closer each time.

He didn’t want to think about what that meant.

vi. Tseng

“We’re balancing the scales,” Tseng ordered, his voice carefully neutral. It was always careful with this guy. The bastard liked to pretend he didn’t have feelings, that he was above all that. That the cold that came naturally to Shinra was also his own.

Reno knew better. He made the same lies, only he didn’t buy into them. “Yeah…not.”

“Do you really believe that?” Unfortunately, Rude bought Tseng’s act wholesale. A tragic flaw of his. As soft as he was, he needed some point to this, some reason for it all. There wasn’t. There never would be. And he’d never accept that. His hand clenched as he stared at Tseng.

Reno knew Tseng’s response before he even opened his mouth. Whatever the man might feel, he wouldn’t change his mind. “Does it matter?” Tseng raised a brow. Thatching his fingers, he regarded them coolly. His eyes lingered on Reno’s, as though he knew what would come next.

Maybe he did. They did the same song and dance every time this happened. “What questions? We do the thing.” Reno shrugged, sitting up now. He ran a hand through his hair. “Just like always.”

Rude looked at him sadly and sighed. “I’ll get ready.”

Disheartened, he left the conference room, glancing back at Tseng one last time like a kicked puppy. If tactics like that could work, they wouldn’t be in this business in the first place. Reno snorted. As the heavy door slowly closed shut with a soft thud, he finally turned to Tseng. “You’re a fucking liar.”

As usual, Tseng didn’t even bother to look up from his computer. His fingers ran quickly over the keys, tapping in an unknown code. Maybe if he did it enough, he could become one with the machine. “I didn’t lie.”

Reno laughed, slipping off the couch and stalked toward the desk. Tseng still didn’t look up and he growled.

Nothing got to him more than being ignored. “Every time you open that mouth,” he grabbed Tseng’s jaw, “You lie.”

He didn’t so much as flinch. His eyes were dark. “I’ve never lied.”

“Even that’s a lie,” Reno muttered.

Tseng turned off his monitor. “Don’t make a mess on my desk this time.”

“No promises.” It was all the warning Reno gave before he tugged Tseng closer and crashed his lips on his. There was nothing smooth or gentle about what they did—about the way Reno cleared the desk with a crash or Tseng pulled at his jacket, almost tearing it. This wasn’t a relationship, wasn’t anything more than just pent up emotions needing a release.

And if that release was something physical, almost always bruising, then all the better. Hell, if he left enough marks on Tseng’s perfectly clear skin, then perhaps he could pretend he’d actually protested what they’d done.

That he’d tried and quelled the ghosts that refused to leave him alone.

vii. Rude

“What if we flew away?” Rude asked, glancing at Reno as they flew the helicopter to Shinra’s building. There was a strange lit in his voice, one that took Reno several seconds to recognize as hope.

“Back to headquarters?” he asked, playing dumb. Maybe it’d be enough for Rude to back away like he always did, take the coward’s way out.

“No,” Rude shook his head. For once, he was being obstinate. “I mean…away.”

It was his fault. He’d never been one for pillow talk, and that was the reason that Rude insisted on ambushing him everywhere else with these types of conversations. Hell, they were half-way to destroying AVALANCHE, and the man wanted to talk about escaping Shinra. Reno snorted, shutting it down immediately. “Like that’s fucking happening.”

“But if it could?” Rude asked again, oddly insistent. His hands curled on the throttle as he eased the helicopter up. With his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, it was hard to tell what he was thinking.

“Fine.” Sittng back in his seat, he rolled his eyes. “Let’s say Shinra doesn’t kill us or hunt us down. Where would we go?”

“One of those small towns on the outskirts?” Rude suggested, though he sounded like he’d thought this out for months. Maybe he had. Maybe if Reno had just pretended to listen and slept through it all when they were in bed, he wouldn’t have to deal with that now. “There’s dozens of those.”

“There’s a reason they’re small.” Reno scoffed, wrinkling his nose to the idea. He could barely handle them for a mission, let alone living in one. “What would we even do?”

Rude shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Farm?”

Reno snorted. “Can you imagine? Or maybe you could, but me? Do I look like a farmer?” He gestured at his body. Even on his best days, he knew exactly how scrawny he was. In all honesty, he’d always been a city boy; even the slums here were more interesting than some backwater town.

“There’s other things to do.” Rude flicked a switch and pressed a button. “It’s a small town, not the middle of nowhere.”

“Might as well be.” Reno watched as they got closer and closer to the tower. Any minute now, they’d have to jump out. Getting up, he glanced at Rude. “You good now?”

Something about him deflated as he nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

Reno bit back a groan. This is why he shouldn’t have even encouraged him. What a pain the ass. Looking out the window, he grumbled, “We can talk about this tonight, fine?”

He could almost hear Rude smile. There was that annoying, hopeful sound again as he replied, “Yeah.”

#ff7 #reno #sephiroth #aerith gainsborough #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #tseng of the turks #barret wallace #rude #fanfic

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cypris-thalsian · 3 years

Text

The Gift: Part V

[ Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, written with @thalsianiii ]

Cypris held her sleeve over her nose as Percival ushered her past the remnants of the corpse once it was well done and sorted. After Percival's shouting and banging on the door there didn't seem to be any movement within the small hut for what seemed like a prolonged amount of time.

Once it had registered that the voice was a familiar one, the sounds of a staff clacked along the inner floors. A slat slid open lower down, revealing a crystalline pair of blue eyes gazing out. Lairn leered at the pair, seemingly looking them over to be sure they were clean, "Did you step in it?" She question came matter of fact having an idea they were why the thudding had stopped.

"No, we didn't. Please.. we're clean, came from the roof tops. He touched one of the sick... but he's been burned." Cypris tried to explain.

The pair were answered with another skeptical once over before the slat closed and the door creaked open, "Quick now. You're both late." She muttered and would slam the door closed once they were through.

Percival gently ushered Cypris through the door first before following in. The thud of the door behind him gave him a moment of peace. At least in the presence of a healer, there was some sense of safety.

"What do you mean we're late?" he asked, waving his hand across his face to cause his mask to vanish from existence.

"Bah, it doesn't matter. We need your help, Lairn. Please..."

"She always says that..." Cypris muttered and pursed her lips at a touch of laughter finding her features.

Lairn slid a bar across the door before turning to the pair, "No, I don't." She leaned towards Percival, "I'd hoped to speak more with you after my visit last. You're as bad as she is. And just maybe I heard tell of your coming on the wind."

The elder dwarf started for the fire place where she'd been warming and steeping a bit of tea. On the table was a singular mug, one might have assumed had been meant for her. When it was poured, she slid it towards Cypris. "Drink it. Don't give me any trouble over it after you've been out with that lot." Her cane was shoved in a pointing motion to the door.

Cypris eyed Percival before looking to the tea. Her lips had parted to argue, but even her come backs for the old dwarf fell short. She simply sipped at the tea and moved to claim a seat at the table.

Pleased that the woman had listened for a change, turned her attention on Percival, "You want a mug too or would you prefer a stouter variety?"

"I'll make it up to you assuming we survive this," Percival responded as Lairn gave him a mild scolding.

Unlike Cypris, he never thought to give Lairn any lip. So far she had always been hospitable and wise. Crotchety, but wise.

While the two women got more comfortable, Percival seemed to linger nearer the door. He hated undead. Not for fear or some deep seeded remorse for the dead that killed his family and friends in Dalaran decades ago. He just found them terribly distasteful.

"Would you like to talk to her about what's been going on?" he asked as he looked towards Cypris while she drank her tea.

"Or shall I?"

The first initial sips were long and deep, Cypris had assumed it was likely some sort of concoction to ward off whatever it was the pair had strolled through to get to the dwarf. When the mug was nearly empty she slipped it back to the table. A huff of a laugh was breathed out watching the two.

"I um.." She blinked a few times at Percival. "I've been tired the last several weeks, but it's gotten worse. I'm struggling with fire. I got sick on the way in. thats all I know for certain. He..." Cy gestured towards Percival, "Says, there's um..."

Lips pursed and she gave a cant of her head stumbling over what to her felt like a simple word that just couldn't find the tip of her tongue. After a moment she shook her head and motioned for Percival to finish the story. Not before tossing in with her skeptical, "I'm fine." The words came slightly slurred in her attempt at denial.

Lairn listened to the two and their back and forth. She knew the warlock was worried, though it didn't appear to translate to her own features. "I'll get you a scotch. You like scotch."

The dwarven woman motioned for Percival to continue on with the story as she made her way to a cabinet where she collected a glass, filling it with a bit of her choice scotch.

"You're not fine and you know it," he scolded.

His attention turned to Lairn as she moved around the small home. He continued on with the story where Cypris left off.

"She's been tired, her fire doesn't spark on command, and getting sick. A while back during Brewfest that Loa of hers, or yours, played some trickery on us with visions and mind games. I can only assume the vile serpent is playing more tricks on her now. Watching us." he hypothesized.

"Last night we were just about to... well there was a presence. It was silent and neutral but I could feel it almost as strongly as I can feel Cypris. Like it was riding along our soulbind. With all that the serpent had said, I can only imagine it's him playing some game."

He took a deep breath and let it out in the form of a lengthy sigh.

"Brigitte something says hi," he finished.

Lairn lilted a brow, she'd not heard him scold Cypris often. Truth of the matter she'd have likely scolded her had he not. Turning towards Percival, she listened to each bit of the explanation. on through the mention of the Loa. Even Lairn's thoughts regarded it momentarily as a thought. She had her own ideas given the limited readings of runes and the like.

"I don't think you're wrong. But I don't think you're right either." Lairn squared before him. A bemused smile perked at the mention of Brigitte and spilled into a tuft of laughter.

The elder dwarf reached out to offer the scotch only to pull it back and motion towards Cypris. "You can have this after you catch her and move her to the bedroom. You remember where, yes? Last time she needed stitched up? Don't worry too much it's just the tea..."

On the edges of their vision, unless Percival kept his gaze on the fire-starter, her gaze had slowly started to droop. Eyelids heavy that she slowly gave to what it was that was pulling her under. Cypris' form swaying slowly threatening to slip from the chair.

Percival was quick to catch Cypris once Lairn gave him warning to do so. Were it anyone else, he might have taken a drugging tea as an offense. Especially after the last time someone tampered with their drink.

But this was Lairn, and she had always been good to them. Not to mention, she didn't try to fool the warlock with something similar.

"Of course," he agreed as he moved to Cypris' side before she could fall from the chair. One hand under her back and the other hooking under her knees, he scooped the smaller woman up in his arms and moved to take her to the bedroom.

Upon returning, he gave Lairn a subtle nod. "Didn't think we'd have to resort to drugged up tea to get her to sleep soundly. But it looks like she's out cold for now. So what's going on?"

The scotch was outstretched when he returned. "It's difficult to be sure. Souls are uneasy these days. They have been for a while. There were a few awol Alliance soldiers in the tavern a week or so ago. Talking about... the Ardent Crusade looking for recruits in Stormwind. I lingered a bit trying to hear more."

She shook her head, "One died and the other ran. Next thing we know the sickness began to spread. We got a ship in port not long after, half the crew had been claimed to it. I looked over one of them, looks near identical if not more persistent as what we faced in the North."

Sorting out a few supplies from the counter, "Unless you mean with Cypris. In which case, I'll need to look her over. But I'm guessing she's right in that she's fine. But you're concerns are valid given the history... I'll want your opinion to second any of it."

Percival took the scotch with thanks and downed near half the glass. His nerves were shot. The last two days had been more than he had bargained for.

"I wasn't on Azeroth the last time the Undead returned. But I heard the stories. Same with the Third War. The scourge was isolated to Lordaeron, Silvermoon, and Dalaran back then. I was in the south before it ever got bad. But this... this is everywhere."

He took another swig of the drink and made himself comfortable in the chair Cypris had sat in moments earlier.

"How can she be fine? She's clearly sick, and now there's a plague going around. Are you sure she couldn't be infected? Or some disgrunted Loa? The one we met seemed poor in manners and disposition."

"Points to your baby king wanting to keep it quiet. They could have sent missives or stopped the travel. There's been no word of that about." Lairn shrugged.

"I'm not sure. There's only ever one way to be sure. There's educated guesses. If she were infected, she'd be running a fever, sweating. Her body burns all that out. Part of the curse or blessing as I understand it."

Collecting what she'd gathered she started down the small hall towards the bedroom and motioned Percival to follow. "Tell me what it was the Loa said? If Brigitte let you go... not easy for her to do given her death was at the hand of men. Tell me more of this presence you sensed. Cypris said that was not something she knew of?"

"He's not my king," Percival murmured.

"Well she's clearly some kind of sick. She lost her breakfast a few yards outside your front door, after all."

His frustration was obvious. Quelling his temper was difficult when it came to her well being. Even so, he kept it in check enough to hear Lairn out.

"It's been a while since the fest. But it was a series of tests at which point they said we'd be given a gift. Then nothing for the couple months afterwards. Cypris and I have been together for a while, but I know she's not as adept at sharing a magic bond as I am. Demons and all that. But it was there, I know it in my core. Like a presence just... watching. There was no malice or generosity. Just... there. It didn't seem to care what we did one way or another. But it was there."

Lairn listened, setting the supplies down on a table next to the bed. Gentle fingers prodded over bones and muscles along the firestarter. Her gaze held to the woman's features looking for any signs of aches. As she went she removed any weapons she might have found along the way. As she got towards Cypris' abdomen, Lairn's gaze gained a surprised and slightly troubled look that quickly faded.

Pulling a modest metal cone from the supplies, the elder shaman listened to Cypris' breathing and other internal sounds that might suggest something else. All the while Cypris slept sound. "Come sit next to her, Percival."

Lairn shifted from the bed to make certain he had enough space to do as she asked. "I want you to keep in mind what it is you have told me, just now. About a gift and the events that followed. Then I want you to focus on that prickle of a presence, tell me if you can better pinpoint it. Physically if you can manage. If not I will help you."

Percival did as instructed and sat down beside his sleeping wife while Lairn went about her physician testing.

"Alright," he agreed with a hint of skepticism. He reached to hold onto Cypris's hand while she slept and closed his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus. Despite his panicked concern for his wife and his frustration at being so helpless to help, he managed to find that hint of a third, lingering presence.

"I can feel it. Like a pit in my stomach. Or her stomach... our stomach?" he rambled off.

His eyes opened and he looked over at Lairn.

"I don't get it. If not a creeping loa spy. What else could it be?"

The metal cone was offered forward, the smaller side having a place to listen. Lairn gestured for Cypris' chest. "Listen here, and then over that space you sense that spy..." She quirked a small grin.

"Tell me what you hear? Then your thoughts on what it may be." If he did as she asked, he'd find the expected steady heartbeat at Cy's chest, while at her belly, a faint thudding that was similar only more rapid just above the sound of the steadier pulse.

The fact that Larin was smiling was off putting. But he indulged her. He listened to Cypris's heart beat at first, it seemed strong and steady. He then followed the old dwarfs instruction and listened to her stomach as well. It was there, faint, but there.

It took him a few minutes to put the pieces together. He was a brilliant summoner, tactician, and scholar, and yet he had struggled with putting these pieces together until now.

"Wait..." he paused, looking to Lairn and her small grin with a look of confusion and doubt, as if his own hypothesis was far too wild to be true.

"You don't mean... you don't think she could be? I mean we've been together for years and... and never once used... No... Really? No way." he rambled, as if the implication was too wild to be true.

The Elder dwarf watched as the wheels finally began to move in the right direction. She let off a bemused chuckle. "She shouldn't be. You're right. She had a great deal of damage after she had Ava. And when they blackmailed her for her life. The blade caused further damage..."

"The loa have met your trials with a gift. The pair of you have impressed them enough they wish your line to continue. It certainly does prove to be quite the spy. I'm assuming the reason you sense the child's soul so young is because of your bond. It is both your blood and her blood that formed the soul binding, yes?"

Percival was quiet for a while, even after Lairn had stopped speaking and posed her question. He never even consider the possibility of children. Not since the fiasco with his ex fiancé years and years ago.

Finally he shook his head to break from his trance.

"Y-yes we did. Blood and souls and magic runes..." he answered.

"So that was the Loa's 'gift' then? I'm... I'm going to be a father? You're sure?" he asked, a sharp crack in his voice and his eyes glistened with what could almost be considered a tear; the sentiment made his stomach turn in knots. Deep down he still couldn't fathom it. In a world that had knocked him down time and time again, it seemed impossible to be given a gift like this.

Reaching a hand forward, Lairn gave the man a duel pat to his shoulder. Nodding to answer his question. "I would say yes, that is a fair assumption. That they promise a gift and your wife, who in my best medical opinion was made sterile by a former enemy, now is with child. Her body has been healed despite her appearing sick. Life is... it takes a great sacrifice to build. You of all people should know that, that's how it is in all things."

"It will be a long road, but given it all goes well, yes, you'll have a son or daughter before the middle of next year. And you're the one who found it, so you can't deny the fact that it's yours." She laughed. How many men had been dragged in and griped through visits how a child due wasn't theirs.

Lairn narrowed her gaze on the warlock, "Need more of that scotch? You doing alright there?"

Percival remained a touch dumbfounded for a few moments longer. But finally, he could let himself accept the truth and it pulled the largest of smiles across his features.

"I think one more glass is in order," he said with a light laugh.

He rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to force the tears of joy to vanish through sheer will power before he'd let them fall.

"I can't believe it. I can, but I can't." he babbled on, his gaze looking over to Cypris as she slept with that dumb smile still painted on his face.

"I wonder how she'll take the news."

Lairn ventured out of the room though she continued to listen to his rambling through processing the information. When she returned she came with a scotch freshly poured along with the bottle should he wish more.

"You can keep that. To listen when you wish to, for the heart beat." She gestured to the tool she'd used to guide his listening. "You're welcome to rest with her for a bit. She may have looked like hell coming in, but you sounded it."

A grin held a moment longer, finding it rather amusing the amount of worry she'd watch wash away from his features from the moment he'd stepped in the door to the realization that Cypris was indeed well. "We can sort out anything else when you've had time to process all this. She'll either be overly excited, but my money would be on scared. You're not him, you're not about to take the child and run, but that past, that emotional memory is likely to be revived. Something to consider. I do hope I'm wrong. That you'll both get all the joys the experience will offer."

Before taking her leave, Lairn paused at the door, "Call out if you need anything, Dove. Otherwise, dinner will be sorted in a few hours."

"Thank you, Lairn. For everything," Percival quietly whispered as she handed him the drink and bottle before taking her leave.

He considered what she said about Cypris's past. While he wanted to believe it would be a smooth conversation, he knew his wife well enough to know that might not be the case. It would require tact and delicacy. Something best not to do with undead clawing at the door, perhaps.

Either way, he was excited and wasn't going to worry about that conversation right now. It would be okay in the end. He knew that.

His hand moved to rest on her stomach. Suddenly he felt just a bit guilty that he thought she had just gotten a bit of a belly from too much food at a festival.

"And thank you, Cypris," he whispered to his sleeping wife, "once again, you continue to find a new way to make me the happiest man alive."

#PerCy #Plot #Arc #Story #The Gift

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astralkoo · 5 years

Text

Beautifully Misfit 3

SERIES: Hybrid BTS

‣ Genre: fluff, smutt, hybrid au

‣ Word Count: 7.18k

‣ Pairing(s): skunk!Jimin x reader, puppy!Taehyung x reader, bunny!Jungkook x reader

‣ Warning(s): strong language, little kids being douchebags, angst, wetting bc Tae’s an excitable lil baby ;(, Jungkookie’s speech is still developing, Jimin being a nearsighted angel

‣ to be aware of: sub!jimin, switch!taehyung, switch!jungkook, dom!reader, some kinky ass future happenings, BDSM themes, some heavy angst, and triggering themes.

Summary: you never really saw yourself as a hybrid person. that is, until your best friend introduces you to his hybrid, and you suddenly find yourself craving the companionship. you only intended to bring home one. somewhere between the lines you ended up with three beautifully misfit hybrids who craved nothing but your love.

part. i, ii, iii, iv (coming soon)

A/N; sooo someone mentioned a tag list on my last post and I’ll be starting one! let me know if you’d like to be added! thanks for reading!! and yes. taehyung has his mullet. deal with it.

You were nervous.

But the good kind of nervous.

Standing outside of Taehyung’s door with Hoseok, you felt your heart thudding in your chest.

“Tae…” Hoseok’s knuckles connected gently with the large white door, “I have someone here that would like to meet you.”

There was a quiet shuffling, and then the door was being pulled open. You swear to fuck your heart did a triple backflip at the sight of him. How had you not noticed how beautiful he was before?

He had this beautiful honey skin, free of any blemishes or flaws aside from a faint scar near the round curve of his chin and two adorable freckles, one on the tip of his nose and the other hidden beneath his dark bottom lashes. His cheeks were full and tinted by a faint pink color, matching that of his pouty lips. His eyes were these dark pools of melted chocolate, sparking faintly as he peered through his thick eyelashes. His dark slightly wavy hair was just long enough to form a slight mullet.

Now, on any other person literally in the entire universe you would probably have been repulsed. But on the boy standing in front of you—… oOooOh. It was honestly kind of unfair. The adorable set of dark ears peeking out of his locks and the fluffy tail flicking behind him only added to his precious appearance.

“Hobi!” The hybrid cheered excitedly, launching himself at your guide and wrapping him up in what looked to be a smothering hug. You’d never seen someone so excited to see someone they’d been talking to not ten minutes earlier.

Hoseok only laughed, patting the canine’s back.

“What’re ya doin’ here? I thought I was on punishment? Am I not in trouble any more? That’d be real great because I don’t quite like bein’ in trouble— who’s this?” The hyperactive hybrid’s attention was suddenly directed towards you.

“This is y/n, she asked to meet you.”

You offered a soft smile and a rather coy wave.

Taehyung’s eyes widened in what appeared to be utter disbelief, blinking slowly. “M–me? You wanted to meet me?”

“Of course I did, I saw you and you were just too adorable to resist,” you teased, giving him a lopsided smile.

Flirting was kind of a defense mechanism for you. That and cursing. And drinking. And pretending that you live in a on a secluded island in the middle of nowhere where no one can talk to you, annoy you, or distract you from doing absolutely nothing. But that last one’s just a distant fantasy.

His face blossomed a deep crimson, his ears flopping and his tail tucking between his thighs. He quickly slapped his hands over his rosy cheeks, whimpering, “oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” over and again to himself as he desperately fanned his face.

“D–did I say something wrong?” You murmured to Hoseok worriedly.

He only chuckled and shook his head. “No, don’t worry, Tae just isn’t used to being complimented by such pretty girls, isn’t that right, Tae?” The canine let out a sound of agreement, nodding quickly.

“You’re very pretty,” he blurted loudly, staring at you with massive shining eyes.

You laughed softly, feeling your own face between to jump up a few degrees at his bluntness. “Well, thank you, Taehyung.”

“You can call me Tae if you want! All my friends call me Tae,” his booming voice quickly quieted towards the end of his statement as a shy smile touched upon his lips. How much fucking cuter can he get, Jesus H. Christ have mercy, you silently fawned, biting at the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lunging at him and wrapping him up in the kind of hug that would protect him from all the evil in the world and never letting go.

“Alright, Tae. My name’s y/n,” you grinned, holding yourself from spitting out the cheesy pick up line that dangled on the tip of your tongue.

“Tae do you mind if we come in?” Hoseok chimed up, gesturing towards his room.

Taehyung quickly shook his head and to your surprise grabbed your hand and eagerly began tugging you into his room.

It was small, but the cozy kind of small. There wasn’t much else beside a bed, bedside table, and a few toys scattered around. What caught your eye most were the many colorful stuffed animals piled up on his bed. It was child like and innocent, and you felt the maternal instinct in you begin to stir impatiently.

“I–it’s a little messy, I’m sorry,” he apologized, ears lowering.

“It’s fine, really! My room is ten times worse than this,” You admitted with a soft chuckle.

That much was true. Just because you had your own house didn’t mean that you were anywhere near responsible enough to keep it clean. In fact, the only time it’s actually tidy is when your aunt comes over and reprimands you for living in a pigsty and— being the clean freak that she is— cleans up the place. While yelling at you, of course.

Taehyung giggles, tail flicking behind him. “Really?”

“Really. I’ve got clothes all over the place, not to mention all of the toys,” you spoke in an exaggerated voice. That last bit about the toys might’ve been a tiny white lie. They were all still boxed up, neatly packed together in the closet of what had previously been your storage room, but would now act as a bedroom for your new hybrid.

His entire body seemed to straighten out, ears raising to their full height while his tails wagging rapidly sped up.

“Toys?” He repeated, eyes getting all wide and shiny. There was a bit of a whine to his voice, his lips beginning to tremble in excitement. You hummed, nodding slowly as a grin touched your features. “Lots of ’em?”

“Too many to count,” you chimed.

This time, the whine that reverberated in his throat was loud and desperate. His tail thumped against the outside of his thighs with each heavy swing.

“What kinds?” He pressed, practically squirming in place.

“All kinds! Sticks, stuffed animals, balls, squeaky toys—”

“Squeaky toys!” He shrieked, quite literally leaping a foot into the air. At this point, his tail was whirling around faster than helicopter blades, and his body was physically vibrating with the raw excitement coursing through his veins.

“Tae, calm down before you—” Hoseok began to warn, stepping forward quickly, eyes wide and worried. But his warning was too little too late. All at once, Taehyung froze, a pathetic whimper leaving his suddenly pouting lips as his cheeks were doused in bright shades of pink and his eyes brimmed with glistening tears.

It took a lowered glance at the slowly darkening crotch of his pants to realize what you had just witness occur.

You blinked, surprised. “Oh shit.”

Within seconds, Taehyung had broken into sobs, collapsing into a crouching position, hands tucked between his thighs in an attempt to hide his little accident from your shocked gaze.

“Tae,” Hoseok sighed, lowering himself at the wailing hybrid’s side, soothing stroking his back, “it’s okay, it was just an accident.”

But his consoling words fell on deaf ears as the puppy howled hopelessly, “s–she ha–hates me n–now! She–she’s dis–disgusted by m–m–me!” Upon hearing his words, you hurriedly shook yourself out of your state of shock and rushed to his side. Dropping to your knees, you began to quickly shake your head.

“No! No, I don’t hate you at all, Tae. I promise, I’m not upset with you in the least!”

“B–but I’m disgusting!” He insisted, words unsteady and strained between gasping cries.

“You’re not disgusting at all, please don’t think that. It’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have gotten you so riled up,” you cooed, hands instinctively going to cup his warm cheeks, thumbing away salty tears from his drenched skin. He whimpered, nuzzling his face into your palms and inhaling deeply. Noticing he wasn’t going to reply, you continued, “one little accident isn’t going to change the way I look at you okay? You don’t have to feel embarrassed or ashamed, I’ll never judge you.”

He was silent for a moment, his big teary eyes shimmering with hope as he stared up at you.

“P–promise?”

Oh shit, there goes your heart again doing those fuckin’ gymnastics tricks.

His voice was so meek and uncertain, yet singed with sanguine.

You could see it now.

How broken he was. The truth shone in his eyes like a god damn lighthouse.

The distrust in his mind, yet the longing to believe your words in his heart. He knew he’d be making himself vulnerable once again if he trusted you. And once he opened up his heart to you, there was no going back. You could chew him up and spit him into the gutter and he’d still come crawling back to you.

He needed you to prove to him that you weren’t going to break his heart like all the others. That you wouldn’t throw him to the curb and abandon him like those in his past. It made you angry to think that someone could be so heartless as to desert this tender hearted boy when he had put his faith into them. How could anyone have toyed with his innocent heart?

You were suddenly filled with determination. The determination to mend his broken heart. To prove to him that you weren’t like his past owners. You would never abandon him. Never bring harm to him.

In a bold gesture, you leaned forward and pressing a feathery kiss to his forehead. He whined softly, eyes fluttering at the unexpected but very welcome show of affection.

“I promise.”

“D–does this mean…” he swallowed anxiously, “you’re… adopting me?”

You paused for dramatic effect.

“Bold of you to assume there’s even the slightest chance that I wouldn’t.”

You could he was about to launch himself at you from the massive boxy grin that ripped itself across his features and how his legs shifted beneath him, but Hoseok was quick to subdue the excitable pup with a gentle shoulder hold. “Woah, lets not get over excited again, Tae. Why don’t you go get washed up and changed, alright?” Taehyung blushed, having realizing his near mistake.

“Okay! I’ll be right back! Don’t go anywhere!” He cried out over his shoulder and he scrambled into what you assumed to be a connected bathroom, not able to calm the smile that had his round cheeks aching. You also couldn’t rid your lips of a smile as you watched him go. It was only then that you felt the thundering of your euphoric heart, and the rush of adrenaline in your veins ease up.

“Holy shit,” you whipped around to face Hoseok, “I’m adopting a hybrid.”

Hoseok snickered at your astonished expression, nodding in confirmation. “Indeed you are. You like him?”

“Like him? Are you crazy? I love him, he’s so fucking cute it’s not even funny. Not to mention a total sweetheart. He’s perfect.” You retorted, hands swinging around for emphasis.

“I’m glad you think so,” he laughed, standing up, “come on, I’ve got some paperwork you’ll need to fill out.”

“But he said to wait,” you blinked up at him as he offered you a hand, which you took and rose to your feet. You didn’t want to leave Taehyung already. But Hoseok shook his head with a soft smile.

“Don’t worry. He’ll catch up as soon as he’s done. I don’t doubt he’s already committed your scent to memory.”

You laughed in surprise, “wonderful.”

He guided you out of Taehyung’s room, and you followed despite your initial hesitation. The sooner you finished the paperwork, the sooner you’d be able to bring him home with you. And good god did you want to take him home with you as soon as humanly possible.

“There are probably a few things you should know about Taehyung,” he cleared his throat, glancing over at you as you made your way down the hallway. You gave him your full attention, nodding for him to continue. “First of all, accidents like that aren’t too uncommon for him. He has a tendency to have accidents when he gets too excited or scared, just as a forewarning. That doesn’t… affect your decision… does it?”

“Of course not! Everyone has their little quirks,” you reassured with a dismissive wave. He let out a breath of relief before continuing.

“Secondly, I might’ve mentioned earlier that he’s been in and out of homes since he was little. Nine to be exact.” Your eyes widened. He’s been in nine homes? And not a one of them stuck? “None of them could handle him properly. And several were abusive.”

“No.” You breathed in horror, feeling a knot for in the pit of your stomach. But Hoseok only nodded solemnly. “I would have never guessed with how upbeat he is.”

“I was surprised, too. But the truth is in his scars. I think he has tried to block that part of his life out instead of facing it. But sometimes, it can all come back to him in an instant. He’s had several panic attacks while in our care, and a few while in homes. He once bit the man who adopted him during one of his fits, bad enough that he had to get stitches.” He explained carefully.

“Does he have specific triggers?”

“I know of a few. Cigarettes, fire, chains, certain words and names can get him sometimes as well. There should be more information in his file.”

You gnawed at the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t that you were second guessing this adoption, not in the least. But you were scared. How could you not be? What if you accidentally triggered a panic attack? What if he hurt himself? What if he hurt you? What if—

“What can I do?” You asked, “if he has a panic attack, what can I do?”

“Help him to breathe properly, that’s most important. He would most likely start hyperventilating and you’ll have to guide him. Reassure him that you’re there. His stuffed animals calm him down pretty quick, too. Just don’t smother him, don’t try to hug him or grab him in any way because he will lash out. Doing that would just make him feel cornered.” You nodded, taking in the information as thoroughly as you could, muttering to yourself to make notes of everything he just said.

“Hopefully, if you’re careful and understanding and good to him, you won’t have to worry about one occurring. He’ll be okay. It’s scary, but I can tell you’ll be able to handle it.”

You cocked a brow. “How can you tell?”

He smiled lightly to himself, simply shrugging with a knowing glint in his eyes. You narrowed your own eyes at him, but just as you were about to question him further, something like a brick wall slammed into you.

“What the fuck—!” you cursed loudly as the air was knocked from your lungs, sending you stumbling backwards. But whatever had rammed into your chest swiftly maneuvered itself behind you, preventing you from falling flat on your ass.

“Jeon Jungkook! Get back here this instant you mutant bunny!” A furious Latina came storming into the hall, soaked from head to toe, with what looked to be soap suds in her dark wavy hair. Her tan face was flushed with an angry crimson, lips pulled into a snarl that had even you cowering under her glare. You felt a harsh tug at the back of your shirt then sent you stumbling into something large, firm, and warm.

There was the unmistakable sound of growling and snorting by your ear. Okay. What the fuck is happening.

“Ms. Navarro, what happened?” Hoseok gasped at her disheveled state.

“That rabbit happened!” She sneered, pointing an accusing finger in your direction. Raising your brows, you pointed a finger first at your own chest (receiving a deadpan look from the woman) before throwing a thumb over your shoulder at whatever was making low grunting noises in your ear.

“What’d he do this time?” Hoseok sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“I was trying to get him to take his stupid bath because he’s beginning to stink up the place and he threw me into the tub, fully dressed!” She hissed, before beginning to spew out livid profanities in a Spanish.

“Jungkook,” Hoseok groaned, shooting a disapproving look in the rabbit’s direction, “why would you do that to Ms. Navarro? She was only trying to help you.”

“Bath bad. Don’t want it.” He hissed, the grip he had on the back of you shirt tightening, effectively drawing you even closer to him.

Shit, was it bad that this is the most intimate you’ve been with a guy in a hot minute? You almost snorted out loud at the thought, but stifled it in fear of being reprimanded by the short, yet admittedly terrifying woman standing before you.

“No, bath good for stinky bunnies like you,” She retorted sharply, hands curling into tight fists as the rabbit hybrid stuck his tongue out tauntingly before ducking down behind you. “Why you little—” Hoseok was quick to jump in as she began to storm over to where you stood, effectively scaring the piss out of you.

“Ms. Navarro, why don’t you let me deal with Jungkook, okay? You know how he can get. You can go dry off and get into some new clothes, is that alright?” His voice was like the calm in a hurricane, and the fury seemed to melt from her features within seconds.

She gave a short nod of agreement, shooting one last look of disdain in Jungkook’s direction before turning and stomping off, muttering something about giving him a right whooping with her chancla. When she vanished from sight, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in, body deflating.

Placing your palm flat against your chest and feeling the thunderous beating of your heart, you turned to Hoseok with wide eyes. “Well wasn’t she just a ball of sunshine and rainbows.”

He let out a laugh. “That was Ms. Navarro. She’s like the mother figure around here, always keeping everyone in their place. She can be very sweet, believe it or not.”

“Yeah, I don’t,” you grinned playfully. You heard a soft chuckle from behind you, and it was only then that you recalled that there was a bunny hybrid latched onto the back of your shirt. Swiveling your head around, you cocked a curious brow in his direction.

You don’t know exactly what you were expecting him to look like, but it sure as hell wasn’t a large, muscular boy with a face that bore an incredible resemblance to his animalistic half and two proud, brown ears sprouting from his messy dark locks of hair.

“God damn,” you muttered to yourself. His ears twitched in recognition of your words, head tilting adorably in confusion. “Jungkook the mutant bunny, I presume?”

He nodded, staring into your soul with big black sparkling eyes.

“Not much of a talker, huh?”

He nodded, blinking slowly.

“Ah, Jungkookie don’t be rude. Introduce yourself,” Hoseok spoke up, giving the hybrid a look stare.

The bunny stood up straight all of a sudden, hand shooting out in front of him as a look of determination graced his features. “Name Jeon Kookie, twenty year old, rex bunny. Nice meet.”

You stared at him blankly, pondering if it would be possible to fit him in your pocket and bring him home with you right then and there.

Jesus fuck he was adorable.

When you realized he was still waiting for you to shaking his hand, you quickly snapped yourself out of your daze.

“Pleasure to meet you, Kookie. My name’s Y/n,” you smiled up at him, gently sliding your hand into his. It was warm but rough, knuckles covered in scabs and bruises. “Jeez, how’d you get these, huh?”

“Jungkookie can be a little clumsy at times, can’t you, bud?” Hoseok chuckled with a fond shake of his head.

“Kookie plays rough.” The bunny hummed honestly, tapping the back of his hand.

You snorted, “yeah, I can see that— whaaat are you doing.”

The hybrid had unexpectedly leaned forward as you were speaking, getting incredibly close to your face. Close enough that the tip of his nose nearly brushed against yours. Speaking of his nose– it was twitching in a ridiculously bunny–like manner, lips puckering in concentration as his brows furrowed.

“Smells nice. Kookie like.”

“Jungkook, what have I told you about sniffing strangers.” Hoseok scolded him like mother scolded her child for snagging a piece of candy from a convenience store without paying.

The large bunny turned to Hoseok with a faint pout on his lips. “Might not like.”

“That’s right, so you have to ask first.”

Jungkook stared at you unblinkingly, ears twitching forward, “can Kookie sniff?”

Your eyes flashed over the Hoseok, and he must’ve easily picked up on the uncertainty in your eyes. “Smelling helps him determine if you are a potential friend, and assures him that you aren’t a threat. It’s more of a comfort thing for Jungkook, he feels more at ease around people once he knows their scent,” he explained softly, while the bunny awaited your response.

“Uh— I, um… sure, I suppose?” You managed through your confusion, clearing your throat as your voice cracked.

Despite having given him your permission to sniff you— you still yelped in surprise as he buried his nose in the crook of you neck, inhaling deeply. A deep groan vibrated on your skin, making your entire body go rigid, eyes all but popping out of their sockets. Scratch what you said earlier. This was by far the most intimate encounter you’ve had with a man in the past few months– er, years, but who’s counting?

A loud gasp snapped your mind right out of the gutter, your wide eyes easily spotting where it had come from. Taehyung stood at the end of the hall, absolute horror shining in his eyes at the scene laid out before him.

“No! Shoo, bunny! Mine, she’s my owner,” Taehyung shrieked, waving his arms around while rushing to your side and frantically trying to shoo the rabbit off.

The bunny blinked at the puppy hybrid before a cheeky smile graced his features and he turned to you, possessively wrapping his arms around your neck and tugging you into his large body.

“Kookie’s.”

“No! Bad bunny, she already said she’s adopting me, you can’t have her,” Taehyung whined loudly, glaring hard at the larger hybrid.

“Kookie’s.”

“Oh my god.” Your words were strained as the bunny squeezed you hard enough to have your ribcage constricting. Any tighter and he’d pop something out of place.

“Y/n! Tell him! You’re taking me home, not him, you said so!” Taehyung insisted, trying to reach you, only to be bumped to the side as Jungkook maneuvered his body to block the other hybrid.

“Kookie’s now.”

A forlorn howl erupted from Taehyung’s throat, his head tossing back as his knees crumpled beneath him.

You desperately looked towards Hoseok for help, having absolutely no clue what to do in the current situation. Your first time in a hybrid shelter and you’ve managed to break an innocent puppy’s heart and nearly get crushed to death by a gigantic rabbit hybrid.

“Jungkook, Taehyung, that’s enough! You are obviously overwhelming her, please show some consideration,” Hoseok voice boomed in the hallway as he scolded the two hybrids, “Jungkook, let go of her immediately. Taehyung, get off the floor.”

The bunny slowly let his arms drop, taking a sheepish step away from you. Taehyung bit his lip in embarrassment as he pushed himself up, shuffling on his feet. You were surprised at how easily they complied to Hoseok’s demand, especially having seen how Jungkook acting around Ms. Navarro. They must really respect him. Or were mildly terrified of him. Either or seemed fathomable.

“Thank you. Now please go to the common area for a little while and allow y/n to make a decision without you two hounding her and making it more stressful than it already is.”

Taehyung let out a weak protesting whine, only to slump in defeat at the pointed look he received from Hoseok. As both disappeared down the hall, you turned to look at Hoseok, distraught and confused. “What in the actual fucking hell just happened?”

He sheepishly scratched the back of his neck, “well… you see… it would seem that Jungkook has also taking a liking to you.”

“So?”

“So… he wants you to adopt him as well.”

Holy mother of shitness.

Two hybrids? Wanted you to adopt them? You? Why? You’re probably— scratch that, definitely the least qualified person in this entire building to be owning two hybrids. So how the fuck did this happen?

“What do I do?” You asked, desperation seeping into your words.

“Well, you can either choose one…” you had a presentiment of the or that was about to come from his mouth, “or…,” there it is, “you could adopt both.”

“B–both?” You sputtered, damn near choking on air at the suggestion. You owning two hybrids? You owning two hybrids… a puppy and a bunny… they would definitely make the house feel a lot less lonely, that’s for sure. And wasn’t that why you wanted a hybrid in the first place? To rid yourself of the empty, cold feeling of isolation? “Shit, am I crazy for considering it?”

He shrugged, with a quiet chuckle, “only a little. They’re both great hybrids. Both with their… quirks.”

“What’s Jungkook’s deal?” You found yourself curious to learn more about the odd hybrid.

“Jungkook has been here for a two years, just about. His original owners adopted him as a toddler and neglected to teach him basic language skills that young hybrids usually receive from the online courses. He was initially dropped off here because they hadn’t expected him to get so big. It is unusual for a bunny hybrid to reach his height and weight. And he just hasn’t been adopted since. When people are looking for rabbit hybrids, the majority are looking for something small and cute and cuddly. He’s just… not what they’d expect.”

You frowned. “Why are people so shitty.”

“I ask myself that everyday! Working here comes with its perks, but it also makes you realize just how messed up some people are.”

You unfortunately didn’t doubt that for a moment.

Getting one hybrid was a big enough change in and of itself, but two? Could you handle it? Probably not. Would you end up losing your mind before the age of thirty? Most likely. Were you crazy enough to do it anyway?

Yes. Yes you were.

“Alright. I’ve made my decision,” you clapped your hands together loudly, grinning up at Hoseok.

“Already?” He blinked in surprise at how quickly you were able to make up your mind.

“Yup!”

“Who?”

“Both.”

“B–both?” He sputtered in disbelief that you’d actually listened to him, expression mirroring the one you had work earlier. Snickering softly, you nodded. “Do you think you’ll be able to handle it? Taking on two hybrids is a big responsibility. Especially hybrids like Jungkook and Taehyung.”

“Are you trying to dissuade me, Jung Hoseok?”

“No! No, not at all! I just don’t want you to take both home, then realize that you’re not able to handle both of them and end up bringing one or both of them back—” Hoseok let out a yelp of surprise as you took an abrupt step towards him, staring him dead in the eyes.

“I would never do that to either of them. I’m mature enough to know what I can and cannot handle. And if I knew I wouldn’t be able to love those boys the way they deserve to be love then I wouldn’t even be considering taking them in. I’m not some ignorant kid looking for a play thing to enjoy them throw away when I get bored. Like you said earlier… I’m looking for a family. And something about those boys tells me that they’re the perfect fit.”

“Ding, Ding, Ding! Right answer.” He grinned, patting you on the shoulder before smoothly stepping around you and trotting down the hall, “now let’s go adopt you some hybrids.”

You scoffed in amused disbelief upon realizing that that entire little conversation was a set up. “Clever, Jung Hoseok. Real clever,” you chuckled, trailing behind him. He guided you back to the front desk, grabbing all of the paperwork that needed to be filled out in order for the hybrids to legally become yours. The entire way, you couldn’t shake the smile so big that it was making your cheeks ache.

This was crazy, absolutely crazy. Adopting two of the cutest hybrids you’d ever seen in your life in one day… you were definitely questioning your own sanity. But Namjoon said that he’d always be there to help when you needed it. It wasn’t like you were going into this alone, which you were more than just grateful for.

You wondered about every possible thing that came to mind as you filled out the paperwork, page by page, reading over every line with scrutinizing eyes. Most of it was just legal stuff, who would be their vet and such. You’d already gone over most of it with Namjoon in the nights prior to actually coming here so it wasn’t difficult to recall.

Somewhere between the lines you heard a commotion. A group of three teenaged boys (couldn’t be more than thirteen years old) had walked into the shelter, laughing loudly and shoving one another. But their rowdiness quieted as they caught both your and Hoseok’s suspecting gazes, smiling innocently and waving. You got a bad vibe from them, but you tried to focus on finishing the paperwork as Hoseok (begrudgingly) asked what he could help them with.

After another ten some minutes, you reached the last page, brows raising as you read over the last line.

Hybrid’s signature of approval, it read. A faint smile touched your lips.

Hoseok, who’d returned from showing the group to where the hybrids were, must’ve seen the look on your face because he tapped the desk, drawing your attention back to him. “Ready?” You jumped out of your seat, nodding rapidly. He smiled happily at your enthusiasm, nodding towards the door, “let’s go get ‘em.”

By the time you reached the familiar door, your body was buzzing with excitement. All the hybrids had to do was write their signature of approval and they’d be yours.

But unfortunately, they weren’t the first people to catch your attention when the door swung open. In fact, it was the same group of boys as earlier, huddled together in a corner, jeering at a cowering hybrid who was weakly begging them to stop.

“Yah! Get away from him immediately.”

Oooh, Hoseok was maaaad.

The kind of mad where every vein in his neck and forehead was bulging and his face was slowly shifting into fifty shades of red. He stormed over to the group, who now seemed frozen in place at being caught in the act, you following close at his heel. He gathered them up by the backs of their shirts, sharply admonishing them.

“How dare you come in here, into their home, and harass them. How dare you think it’s the least bit acceptable to treat anyone with such disrespect. What will your mothers think about this?” He snarled, glaring eyes jumping from one boy to the next, committing their faces to memory.

“Please don’t call my mom!” One cried out as he dragged them away.

As Hoseok guided the boys out of the room, your eyes flickered back towards the boy. He was crouched against the wall, head tucked into his knees, arms hugging himself with whatever strength remained in his small form. Every few seconds, his body would quiver with what you guessed to be silent sobs. The sight was enough to have your heart shattering into a trillion tiny shards.

Before your mind could ration with your body, your feet were carrying you over to where he sat.

Quietly, you fell to your knees in front of him. He didn’t lift his head, but you knew that he was aware of your presence from the way his small black ears twitched forward, angling themselves attentively in your direction.

“Hello,” you uttered softly, as not to scare him. He was obviously already shaken and deeply upset by what had just occurred and you had no intention of worsening that feeling. When he failed to reply, you continued in that same gentle voice, “are you alright?”

The hybrid scoffed into his arms in disbelief.

You smiled weakly, “stupid question?” He only hummed. “I’m sorry… I’m not great at the whole consoling thing. Kids like that are inconsiderate assholes. Whatever they did or said— don’t believe it, they only want a reaction.”

“But it’s true,” The sharpness of his words caught you off guard, muffled but rigid with hurt and anger, “everything they said was true.”

“What’d they say, hun?” You coaxed carefully, tempted to reach out and touch his hand but knowing that may be crossing a line. He shook his head, burying his face further into the fabric of his sleeves. Sighing, you scooted closer to him, “It’s alright, you can tell me.”

His ears fluttered, as he rolled his neck just enough that he could peek up at you from the corner of his eye, squinting in attempt to get a clear view of your face. There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke again.

“They said… that nobody will ever want to adopt me… because I’m just a disgusting smelly animal… and—“ his voice croaked, “and they made fun of my tail.”

Instinctively you tried to glance behind him. But it seemed he’d tucked his tail safely out of sight of prying eyes as the only parts you could make out were soft looking tufts of black.

“Do you mind if I see your tail?”

He went rigid at the request, still feeling the painful aftershocks of insecurity stinging at his heart. He didn’t want to be judged. He didn’t want anyone else to think of him as a disgusting animal, something to be ashamed of. His body language easily portrayed this uncertainty.

But he took the chance nonetheless. Nestling his head down again to prevent himself from seeing your reaction, he rocked forward, his tail smoothly uncurling. The telltale snowy white stripes, split cleanly down the middle by a thick stream of black instantly gave away exactly what species the boy was. Silence followed, and it had him wanting to start balling all over again. But little did he know you weren’t gawking in disgust like so many others had, rather admiring.

“If my opinion counts for anything,” your voice, the soft genuineness of it surprised him, “I think your tail is very pretty. You should be proud of it.”

He didn’t say anything. And you guessed that was the end of your conversation. Saddened, you were about to stand when a small, nearly inaudible mumble came from hybrid.

“What was that?”

He took a deep breath, and lifted his head. You had to suck in a deep breath and hold it to keep yourself from squealing out loud at just how lovely he was. The sweetest brown eyes, wide and glossy and heavily lidded, a pair of the most beautiful lips you’d ever laid eyes on, along with the most squish-able cheeks imaginable; he was utterly breathtaking.

“You really… think it’s pretty?”

A smile touched your lips. “I think it’s beautiful. I think you are beautiful.”

A warm, pink blush illuminated his cheeks. “I’m not beautiful,” he quickly shook his head, but his ears were peeled forward, searching for more praise.

“You’re right, you’re not beautiful,” his face fell, tail dropping, “because beautiful isn’t a strong enough to describe you. You’re gorgeous, stunning, magnificent, ethereal!” He laughed loudly –a bubbly sound that was ridiculously contagious–, pressing his face into the palms of his hands once again. Only this time it wasn’t in shame or humiliation.

“That’s ridiculous…” he giggled.

“It’s the truth!” You insisted, once again tossing your hands around for emphasis. You giggled together, the smile alighting his features one of the prettiest you’d ever seen, and you quickly realized you’d do just about anything to see him smiling like that again.

Ah, shit. Here we go again.

“My name’s Y/n,” you introduced yourself for the fourth time that day, biting back a wide smile as his cheeks tinted pink.

“Jimin…” dear god even his name was pretty.

“Jimin,” you asked softly, “how would you feel about possibly—”

A low whine cut your question short. Taehyung and Jungkook scrambled up to you, the puppy latching onto your arm while the bunny pushed his nose against your cheek, sniffing and nuzzling affectionately.

“I missed you, y/n!” Taehyung whimpered, looking up at you with big shining eyes and a delicate pout. Jungkook hummed in agreement, not bothering to remove his nose from your skin.

“I just saw you,” you giggled, reaching up and gently ruffling his hair. He sighed, pushing into your pets and allowing his eyes to flutter.

“I know, but I still missed you.”

“Choose?” Jungkook impatiently interjected.

“Yes, I did choose.” You nodded, feeling Taehyung tense up at your side, his grip of your tightening tenfold. Jungkook’s ears perked, eyes going wide as he stared at you expectantly. “I chose both of you.”

“B–both of us?” Taehyung reiterated quietly, “you’re taking both of us home with you?”

“Is… is that alright?”

You suddenly began to feel worried. You’d forgotten to ask them how they would feel living with one another. What if they didn’t want to be one of two hybrids, what if they wanted to be your one and only?

But all concerns were thrown out the window as Taehyung tackled you to the floor with a hug, yipping ecstatically while lathering your face in slobbery licks. You bellowed out laughs as the needy bunny hybrid quickly squirmed his way into the embrace, making soft grinding sounds with his teeth. “Kookie come, too?”

“Kookie come, too,” you confirmed, unable to control the grin that conquered your lips.

The bunny made a noise that prominently resembled that of a cat’s purr, eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled contently. You had almost lost yourself in the comfort and warmth the two large bodies of the hybrids were providing you with when you remembered the third sitting not a few feet away. You immediately sat back up, gently nudging the puppy and bunny away from you.

Jimin remained in the same spot, only now he looked deeply disheartened, tail and ears drooping, eyes downcast, lips twisted into a soft frown.

There was absolutely no way in hell that you could leave him here.

What was one more hybrid, huh? How much damage could the adorable little guy really do?

And at this point— fuck it.

“Jimin, would you like to come home with me— with us?”

He seemed taken off guard by the question, blinking rapidly before his face when hard. “I don’t need your pity.” He spat, quickly facing away from you. But you’d already seen the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“It’s not pity. I want you to be part of my family, Jimin.”

“It’ll be fun, Jiminie!” Taehyung suddenly exclaimed, scrambling over to the skunk hybrid with wide eyes and a wagging tail, “we can play all the time! And– and cuddle! And y/n is real nice; really really nice! We’ll have a home Jiminie! Like we’ve always wanted.”

You guessed the two must be friends from the affection way the hyper puppy nuzzled against the smaller boy affectionately and he didn’t flinch away. “Home…” Jimin murmured softly, with a hint of a smile, “that doesn’t sound so bad, I guess.”

At that very moment, Hoseok came bounding back into the room, immediately making a beeline to where you sat with the hybrids, “Jimin, are you alright? I can’t believe the audacity of kids now a days! Don’t worry, I made sure that they’ll never step foot in this facility again— did I… miss something?”

“I was just asking Jimin if he would like to come home with Jungkook, Taehyung, and I,” you explained with a brief side glance in the skunk hybrid’s direction. He was gnawing at his thick bottom lip, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. Hoseok looked at you with wide eyes, as if silently asking ‘anotha one?’ to which you smartly replied with, “go big or go home!”

“In that case, it’s up to Jiminie,” he squatted down beside Jungkook, ruffling the bunny’s hair and smiling softly, “would you like to be adopted by her?”

“Could you–” he cleared his throat as a humming red filtered into his cheeks, “come a little closer? I can’t see very well… and I–I’d like to see your face.”

You cooed softly, heart fluttering at his bashful confession before complying, leaning closer to him. He mirrored you, straining his neck and rapidly blinking his chocolate eyes. Your faces were inches away when suddenly his eyes popped open wide, his entire face becoming a throbbing crimson and he quickly ducked back into himself, curling his tail around his legs.

Shit, were you that hideous that you scared him back into the fetal position?

“A–are you good?” You coughed uncertainly. He nodded rapidly, still hiding his face.

“She’s real pretty right? Like an angel!” Taehyung gleefully squealed, nudging the flustered skunk. Your mouth open and shut quickly, on the verge of objecting when Jimin squeaked weakly, murmuring a shy agreement.

“V–very pretty…”

Queue your blushing cheeks and inability to take a compliment. “Okay, enough of that!” You shot a lighthearted glare in a grinning Taehyung’s direction.

“Jimin come?” Jungkook spoke up, blinking at you with an adorable tilt of his head. Your gaze shifted back to Jimin hopefully. He paused, glancing between the four of you before slowly nodding his head.

“I… I want you to adopt me.”

Taehyung let out a squeal of excitement, launching himself at Jimin as you smiled widely. Jungkook once again weaseled himself into the embrace, large body effectively shielding Jimin’s tiny form from view.

You felt a gentle hand come down on your shoulder, looking over to see an amused Hoseok holding out a slip of paper. It had his number on it and a funny looking winking face. “Good luck with that bunch. Text me if you ever need any help, one hybrid can be handful enough, but three?” He whistled, and you swatted him away with a playful glare. Giggling, he backed off, sending one last fond glance at the cuddling hybrids. “You’ve got this. I believe in you.”

Yeah... you were in for a wild ride.

Tags:

@kimsamueldeservesbetter @xxqueenwxtchxx

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hazzabeeforlou · 4 years

Text

On the eve of HS2, I felt I needed to reflect and write a diary entry of sorts, an ode to where I was and where I am now, a musing on how HS1 ushered in a whole new world for me. This is long and more personal than anything I’ve previously shared, but in honor of vulnerability and maybe helping someone else who’s struggling... here it is.

The most exposure 2015 me had to pop music was occasionally listening to ‘hits’ radio. My old art teacher in high school had blasted the classics of the 60s and 70s daily, so I knew those, albeit not the names, but the music, the style, the melodic tropes and such. 2015 me didn’t have much time for pop music. I was getting a fancy degree in classical music from one of the best conservatories in the world, and I’d made it there after four years with a highly abusive teacher in undergrad who gave me horrible anxiety; by the end, whenever she would walk into a room, I would get chills and start shaking. She delighted in lying to me, in calling me out in front of my peers. Worse, I was arguably her highest-achieving student. The day I got into Juilliard she took me for “tea” to celebrate, where she proceeded to spend the whole time telling me how she had made this happen, how her connections got me to NY, how I should be grateful.

Entering the world of NYC and Juilliard I was an awestruck, anxious mess. Everything moved too fast, the school was overwhelming, my studio mates were famous already, some of them having won world-famous competitions and been on the cover of magazines. I was in the elite place, a place my working class roots had never prepared me for. My dad was a millwright. He went to work every day in steel-toed boots and overalls and often returned so filthy mom wouldn’t let him wash his clothes in the household washing machine. But I was nothing if not adaptable, and grateful, and charming, and I did my best. I worked hard. But my health kept deteriorating.

All through undergrad I’d been feeling progressively worse. I had horrible acne that I presumed was caused by stress, as I’d never suffered with it in high school. I was already an introvert, but body insecurity led me to hardly ever socialize. I would spent hours getting ready for things, never willing to show my bare face. But that wasn’t the worst; I’d developed what I now understand was an eating disorder, because no matter how much I exercised or dieted, I kept gaining weight, or rather, I lost all my baby fat but remained the same scale number. I kept telling my mother I was fat. I didn’t tell her that I hated the wind, that I hated running, because it made my stomach protrude and the whole world could see the extra pounds I carried. I never made an appointment with an OBGYN because I didn’t date much less have sex, and my mother had told me, well you don’t ever need to be seen until you do. I came to NYC well versed in wearing baggy sweaters and scarfs that hid my form. And for two years, as my breathing got worse and worse, as my energy levels dropped, as my skin hurt and itched, I pushed forwards. I remember practicing one day and my eyes going black. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe.

It was getting into an international competition that saved me. I got the news in early May of 2016; I jumped around my room and I started coughing, and the next day a hernia appeared above my belly button. I was only slightly worried, but I went to see the Juilliard doctor. She asked if I’d gained weight, she said even a couple pounds could do it. I was, as always, ashamed, red faced, embarrassed as she prodded around on my torso.

She said I’d need surgery. So I scheduled it in NYC for two days after my graduation. I played my recital, but with a binder around my abdomen. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t remember my memorized music. I nearly passed out. I stumbled on the sidewalk afterwards.

When I woke from the surgery I was in blinding pain, teeth chattering uncontrollably, in shock. I couldn't open my eyes, and every breath felt like knives slicing into my chest. I heard the nurses say, “We’ve given you three IVs of Percocet, do you want us to give you a forth?” I said no, thinking, ‘what if I die from an overdose?’ After two hours my mother came in search of me. It was supposed to be a day surgery. She demanded morphine. They sent me home on it, but two days later I’d thrown up twice and was back in the ER. A CT showed I had an ovarian cyst. The doctor said to me, “It’s 28 inches. It’s the size of a dinner plate.” I didn’t understand. They rushed me back for another surgery, and asked me to sign a paper saying I wouldn’t hold them responsible if I ended up paralyzed. I signed it. I joked with the nurses before they put me under. I was shaking with pain. I thought, if this is the end, I’ve had a good life. I’ll be with my doggy, my baby puppy. I’ve graduated from my dream school. I’ve gotten into an elite international competition. I’ll go out at the top of my game. It’s okay.

But then I woke up. Over the next year, I would wish countless times that I hadn’t. I could barely walk. I couldn’t lift things like a fork, or my computer. I couldn’t shower or cough or even shit. I couldn’t practice or sit upright for more than fifteen minutes. Pain became a constant. I started to wake up with night sweats, my forehead creased in subconscious pain. I would jump at every loud noise, my heart lurching like a ruined engine, and I couldn’t remember names of flowers. I fell into a massive depression over the next few months, made worse by the 2016 election; because of my infirmity I had moved back home with my Trump-voting parents. The bravest thing I did that fall was ‘come out’ as a liberal on Facebook. My parents pretended not to notice when I stayed up late that cold November night, huddled with a blanket on the couch, crying my eyes out.

The Christmas 2016 season is a blur. I know I half lived in memories, half in grief, but all in self-pitying misery. I remember reading a passing article about Jay, not knowing who it was, and I remember adding a lost mother to the list of things I cried about. How could the world be so cruel, so unfair? My days were filled with PT and sleep, immobility and exhaustion, and questions, questions like if I can’t do what I love, what I’ve spent years training for, what’s the point? What does it mean to be an artist when you can’t do your art? What is left of me that matters? Is the future only more pain? It would have been better to have died. It would have been better to have died.

Up until this point I had been unlucky in love. I could never find men attractive, though many friends pressured me to try, which of course had led to not good things. I’d been confronted a couple times about maybe being gay, but I’d shot this down immediately, my face bright red, my heart pounding. No, that’s not it, I’m just picky. Two girls in grad school had flirted with me; I’d accidentally gone on a date with one. I’d felt deeply, gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable about her. But how could I ever unpack all of that when just coming out as a liberal had given me anxiety for days...

The new year came and I had nothing to look forward to. I could see no happy future. I wasn’t really in my right mind. I would escape as best I could, perhaps in masochistic ways; I’d watch SNL for humorous liberal comfort, and Colbert to feel some spark of angry solidarity. And that’s how I stumbled on Harry. He got me with his puns, because I love those. For the first time in months, I was giggling about something, this charming boy with curls and dimples who had replaced the scream-speech of James Cordon. For once I didn’t turn the tv off after Colbert.

I began listening to Harry’s songs. As I had no reference for contemporary pop music, his old school rock album was familiar to me in a comforting way. I knew these sounds, these tropes, and yet they didn’t feel stale to me, they spoke to something I was feeling in the present. Because the album, in essence, was about pain, wasn’t it? Pain and escaping it. The lies we tell to survive, the dreams we cling to for hope, the drugs we use to forget. I’d never bought a pop album before, Harry was my first, and I listened to it for hours every day.

HS1 seeped into my blood, but I’d been on a hopeless, aimless track for so long that the railway tie hadn’t yet switched. One warm, sunny spring day I wrote a note, filled a bag with rocks, and walked to the old bike trail, out past the freeway, into the marshes and pools of abandoned swampy wasteland. FTDT played in my head on a loop as I walked, as my brain hummed with the equation of worth. Was it worth it to stay alive?

Yes. I threw the rocks. I threw them as far as my fragile arms would allow, and they splashed into the murky water. And I turned around and called my mom to come get me. Harry had made something that was beautiful, that was touching, that was real. And if he could... then maybe I could too. Maybe I didn’t have to be just what I’d been before. Maybe I could try creating other things; maybe I could make art that, like Harry’s music, made other people feel less alone.

There was something magical about that album. Not freedom, per se, but the promise of it, a glimpse of truth that kept me hanging on.

I began writing poems again, songs. I got into an orchestra program, I healed month by month, I started carrying crystals, I found this crazy fandom and, little by little, grew to understand that my yearning upon looking at baby larry videos was really a cry of sameness that I had never before understood. After the Pulse shooting, during my horrible homebound year, I’d watched Lin-Manuel Miranda give his love is love is love speech, and I’d burst into tears. And I’d not known why. Now I began to realize. I remember the first tentative anon I sent to Phoenix @alienfuckeronmain asking if maybe I was... bi? I remember anxiously awaiting her answer, as if I needed an invitation to join the community, to be valid, to have this not just be a crazy swelling of hope in my chest. She replied while I was wandering through a corn maze in the frigidness of October. The next day I walked into rehearsal and I felt free, free of the way boys looked at me, free of being FOR them, and I’d never felt so... alive. Coincidentally I met my ex girlfriend that day too.

Through Harry I found this fandom, and Louis. Louis, who has spoken to me on levels I cannot even express, whose class and political and emotional intelligence have challenged me to stand up for things I never thought I could. For me these last few years have felt like a journey WITH Harry. As he started waving them, I started wearing rainbows, just subtly. A knit scarf, a postcard, a bag. I started writing fic, the most healing thing I’ve ever done. I learned to create art away from the singular thing I’d been trained to dump my all into, and I learned that I have so much more to offer, even if chronic pain will follow me in some way or another for the rest of my life.

I’m so thankful to Harry for taking me on this adventure with him; I don’t know if I’d have ever taken that first step by myself. It was like he held my hand through it all, like this fandom held my hand through it all. Like by being himself, Harry helped me be brave enough to evolve too.

Through the catalyst of Harry’s art I’ve experienced more happiness than I’d have ever imagined. I cannot wait to go on this next journey, a second album, and reflect on just how far we’ve both come.

#mine #personal #tw suicide #tw disordered eating

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honeysuckleharrison · 5 years

Text

Run For Your Life - Part IV

pairing- George Harrison x Reader

warnings- So much fluff

year- 1964

Word count- 1.7k

Summary- You're falling hard for George. There's just a few problems. John Lennon is your protective older brother, and their band, The Beatles are leaving for their first tour in America.

Disclaimer/ AN- So hi, this is the first fic I've published. This is FICTION. So the timeline may not match up with reality. For example, Julians not in it. So ignore that, and just enjoy the story for what it's worth. Anyways, I'm so excited to release my first fic. If you guys have any questions, or comments or anything, please comment or as, don't be afraid to talk to me. Huge shutout to @iimplicitt she helped me edit, and such. Thanks so much girl!

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You go straight to the studio after breakfast with John. John, and the other boys were caught up in the music, making sure everything was perfect. But George's attention was on you. You would look at John to make sure he wasn't watching, then you would look George and let all your feelings out, blushing, and giggling. He did the same back. It did result in you making awkward eye contact with John a few times. You prayed that he didn't notice how flustered you were. It didn't last the whole time though, Geroge got caught up in a melody he was working on. You didn't mind. Watching him working and concentrating on something was so precious. The way he smiled when he finally got it right was so charming.

After they were done recording, John was too busy, fighting with Paul, again, so you went to George.

"Hi love" he said in the same quiet manner that most of you conversations had to be in.

"Hi, I really enjoyed watching you play" you said, complimenting him, "You're really good" you made your voice even quieter, "and you look really cute when you're focusing." You watched his expression changed from casual to a redder more flustered look.

"Y/n!" he whispered little louder, "not here. Strawberry Fields, in an hour ok?"

"Ok, Geo" you agreed, "I'll see you then"

"I can't wait, flower" he said smirking at you. He called you flower. That was by far the most charming thing anyone has ever said to you. Despite his dark appearance, and sarcastic tone, he can be so sweet. He was so hard to understand but you felt like you were starting to get to know his personality.

The hour passed fast. You took your time getting ready, putting on a red lipstick to show him something different. You slipped out the door when John wasn't looking, and headed out.

When you reached Strawberry Fields, you were amazed. The backyard was closed in by a tall black fence. In the cracks of the fence grew huge vines, and a variety of flora. The building was abandoned, and unkempt. Nature had claimed the building as its own. Humankind can spend so long building something up from the ground, putting all their best resources and knowledge forward. But as soon as they stop maintaining their creation, the natural world claims it as their own.

You slipped through a space in the fence. You had known it was there, and so did every kid who grew up in Liverpool. This was everyone's safe place. Despite the dark, gothic architecture, and the rubble that surrounded it, it was a safe place. As you stepped in, you saw George sitting on a picnic blanket in the middle of the overgrown lawn. Inside the dark fence, the grass was shades of bright green and yellow. He smiled at the sight of you and stood up. His hair moved in the wind, and his happy eyes were looking into yours. He opened his arms for you, and you ran into them. You were once again in one of George's hugs. They were your favorite thing. His skinny frame was so nice to fall into.

"I brought you Strawberries and wine, Love." George said through a smile.

"How fitting" you joke, "Can we eat hun."

"Of course flower, take a seat."

You and George sat next to each other cross legged on the blanket. He sparked a conversation about the recording session from earlier. He asked if you liked what they were working on. You answered honestly and explained that you were so proud of them. It was crazy to see your own brother rising to fame.

It didn't take long before George poured you a glass of wine, and started feeding you strawberries. He was being so sweet to you, but the sweetness soon melted into something more. George laid you down on the blanket and started kissing you. You didn't realize your dark red lipstick would soon cover his face and neck. You were both so caught up in each others touch that you didn't notice the sun beginning to set, or the crimson color that littered George's face.

George brought his hands up right below your neck and wrapped them around you. He was choking you without actually hurting you. His hands felt so good on your bare skin, and you let out a moan. He pulled his face off of yours.

"You good love" George asked, panting.

"Yes, I'm amazing." You said, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that you were being pinned down by George's sizable hands, and slim frame. Your body was limp and you were totally defenseless under George. And you loved it.

You looked at George's face. He was still panting and his face was red. His face was also covered in your lipstick. He looked ridiculous, you couldn't help but giggle. He laughed back. You looked down and noticed the bulge in his pants. You looked back up at his face and said "But are you good?" George laughed.

"Yeah I'm better than ever." he answered. "Why, is there something wrong?" he asked looking around himself, and brushing off his shoulders.

"No," you giggled, "Your face is just covered in lipstick." He quickly started wiping his mouth with his hand. He had no luck in trying to get the crimson off his lips, it had stained.

"I don't think it's gonna come off Geo." you said. "And it looks like you got a little excited." You pointed down and his gaze followed. As soon as he noticed what you were referring too, he gave you a toothy smile, and his cheeks somehow became even redder. Geo let out a small laugh, and seemed a little embarrassed. He rolled off of you and laid next to your warm body. He let out a big sigh, before looking at you. You looked at each other for a while. Your eyes traced all the lipstick you had left on his face, and you noticed how messy his hair had gotten. You leaned in and kissed each other sweetly. His mouth tasted of strawberries, and his eyes closed so gently.

Pulling away, he looked into your eyes and said "Your beautiful, truly." He reached a hand up and stroked your cheek. You grabbed his wrist in response and rubbed his smooth skin with your thumb.

You rolled over and looked at the sky. The sky was becoming darker, but you had time before John would start to worry.

"Please," George said, "tell me about yourself some more."

"Well, I dunno," you said, trying to decide what to say, "I just finished my first year of university." You turned back towards George, and looking into his sweet eyes.

"What are you studying again?" he asked.

"English. I'm hoping to become a writer." you answered.

"Why do you like writing" he wondered.

"Well, I suppose it's because I like being in A world where everything happens for a reason. When you write, every single sentence has a purpose, a reason. It's nice to think all the pain, all the hard times you've been through were for a reason." you said, gesticulating your words. You really did like to write, it let you escape your world, and become part of your character's world.

"Who's to say that everything doesn't happen for a reason in real life too?" George asked.

"I don't know, I've just never believed that they do. I've never really been spiritual like that before, y'know? I just think were just here, living, not for any reason." you explained.

"I think things do happen for a reason. To me, the universe isn't all an accident, y'know? I guess I just think more 'spiritually' than other people. Maybe people get resurrected. Who's to say? It's just a nice way to think, and there's no reason not to think like that."

"You're right, thank you for enlightening me" you joked

George giggled, then proceeded, "Think about it, things do happen for a reason, the earth is billions of years old, yet we managed to exist in this form at the same time."

"You flatter me, Harrison."

"Maybe that's my purpose."

"You're too good to me" you said.

He leaned in and kissed you softer than ever. You could feel every crease on his lips. It was such a loving embrace that you felt strong feelings for him in that moment. Not love. Love would come later. After you spend more time with him. But nonetheless, this feeling was strong, and had really made you fall for him.

As the night went on, you and George continued your deep conversation. He was so smart. He had obviously spent a lot of time thinking about life, and its purpose. Overall, he seemed relaxed about it all. George thought that life wasn't very serious. He believed that we're all here to have a good time. He didn't think much of tragedies. They were sad, of course, but pain is simply a part of life

Some of his ideas were nieve, but so were yours. You were young; it was only natural.

The day started ending. The sky became a darker shade of blue, and shades of pink and orange littered the heavens.

"I should be going now, i don't want John to worry." you explained

"You sure you have to leave, Love" George whimpered, "I'd love to see you again, maybe tonight?"

"I don't want to leave you either, Harrison, but it's getting late. Maybe I will stop by again tonight." you said, turning to him and winking.

"Yes please." he begged.

You both stood up, and wiped the grass off your clothes. George picked up the basket he had brought with him. You both reached down to grab two corners of the blanket, and folded it together.

" Should I walk you home, y/n?" he asked.

"I don't think that's a good idea, what if John sees your face covered in lipstick?" you answered.

"Ah, I forgot about that," George admitted.

Before you parted ways, You leaned into each other for one last embrace. As George stepped away you called him back.

"Wait" you cried.

"Yes, Love?" George said, turning around to face you again.

"So, are we.. ya'know," you hesitated, "Dating now?"

"If you want to, Flower." he answered lovingly, "I'd be honored to date such a pretty girl."

As the words left his lips you walked back to him and held him tight. You kissed George softly before speaking.

"Then we're dating." you said softly. You broke away from each other, and squeezed through the fence.

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

AN- If you wanna be added to my taglist for this fic PLEASE tell me. If you liked it let me know, and if you didn't, tell me why. This part makes me blush so hard. I loved writing it. I hope you enjoyed it. Do you have any predictions yet? Cause let me tell you it gets crazy.

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jaehyukiewrites · 5 years

Text

i love you.

2k words | fluff, w/ a dash of angst & soft smut

↳ reader + bestfriend!yuta

↳ ↳ ��“i don’t want to but i love you.” - billie

it's not true, tell me i’ve been lied to

yuta and your relationship has been complicated, at least for him. you two have been friends for years and he was the only person who knew everything about you. your family, your wants in life, your fears...everything. he knew the pain that resided deep inside you. he knew how some nights were harder than others. he knew how much pain your ex had caused you. and when you would cry on the phone to him, he couldn’t help but feel this weird mixture of jealousy and anger. he hated that he did that to you. all yuta ever wanted to do was make you smile, laugh and give you all the pure things in life and seeing you so hurt over someone who could care less really hit a nerve. And when you called him tonight, in tears again he couldn’t take it anymore. he needed to tell you how he felt, even If you didn’t feel the same…you just needed to hear it from him.

“im coming to pick you up.”

“yuta-”

“bring a jacket and I’ll be there in 5.”

crying isn't like you, what the hell did I do?

you sat on the stairs that led up to your apartment building. where was he going to take you? you pulled out your phone turning it on, the blue light shinning onto your face.

battery 15%, 12:15pm

you sighed, stuffing your phone into your jacket pocket. there weren’t many cars on the road and the only people that could be heard were from the bar a few blocks down. you twiddled with your thumbs, until you saw yutas car down the road. you got up and stood at the curb waiting for him to pull up. once he did, you pulled open the door, getting in. you turned to face him, his eyes puffy and red.

“yuta? were you crying?” you voice filled with concern.

“no. don’t worry about it.” he said coldly, making you feel small. he put the car in drive and pulled out of the street.

“what the hell did I do?” you asked yourself. you were so concerned with your heartache and pain that you never once asked yuta how he felt. you sighed and slumped down into your seat.

it felt like you were driving around mindlessly for hours. every time you would ask him where you two were going, he would just smile at you and say

“it’s a surprise.”

god, sometimes he was such a tease.

you lifted your head to see out the window; what you saw, took your breath away. the buildings were alive with lights, as if someone had taken a handful of glitter and thrown it as far as they could. It was too dark to make out individual buildings, but the lights were enough. amazed by the view you called out

“yuta are you seeing this?”

he turned to see you, staring out the window aimlessly. an affectionate smile spread across his face, the way the wind blew your hair, and he couldn’t see your face, but he just knew you had stars in your eyes.

“yeah, it’s beautiful”

maybe won't you take it back? say you were tryna make me laugh

yuta stopped the car at the top of a hill, you turn to him with a curious look. he stares out of the window, trying to prepare his words.

“why’d you take me up here?”

he sighed loudly, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

“yuta?”

“remember when we came up here in high school?”

“I don’t think so.”

“after homecoming? my girlfriend at the time threw her drink at me for dancing with you?”

you giggled quietly

“oh yeah. she was wild.”

“but she was hot.”

you two looked at each other and laughed, laughed so hard to the point where you couldn’t breathe. yuta tossed his head back, bouncing off the car seat. his smile was so big as he looked at you. the way the single lamp post lit up only one side of your face but not the other. the way your laughed filled the air. he felt so much for you, and in the most intense way.

once you stopped your giggle fit you turned in your seat to face him, looking down at your hands.

‘hey, im sorry for making everything about me lately.”

“y/n- “

“no listen. all ive talked about is me, and how im upset but I never thought to ask you how you are.”

he only responds by reaching for your hand with his, the action was common between you two. yet, each time it makes your heart skip a beat. you looked up at him, and he looked at you.

you didn’t mean to say "I love you"

“y/n…I love you.”

when he looked at you it was as if every ounce of your breath was taken from your lungs, floating into the air like smoke.

“what do you mean?”

“y/n, I’ve loved you for a long time.”

your breathing became heavy, at a lost for words. your best friend of years, the boy that you went to prom with when your date didn’t show, the boy that had listened to all your heartbreak and tears…loved you. it didn’t make sense to you, there were so many other people who would throw themselves at yuta if he just asked, but he loved you. you didn’t feel worthy.

the smile that you gave me even when you felt like dying

“I…um…”

he traced his thumb along your hand, even though he felt like he was going to vomit he simply smiled at you. you looked at him, tears welling in the corner of your eyes. you were so overwhelmed, you didn’t know what to say…or what to do.

“don’t worry about it. take your time.” he reassured, letting go of your hand he started the car back up and drove you home in silence that night.

i love you and I don't want to

you walked into your bedroom and threw yourself on the bed, a loud scream muffled into your sheets. you didn’t know how he had gotten into your head. and you hate the fact that he can mess up with your mind just so easily. to be honest, you’re afraid of love after your ex. you’re afraid of the feeling that someone keeps stocking in your heart, making you wonder all night whether he had feelings for you too.

you know, that kind of pain. pains are caused by being rejected when you decide to give all your heart to someone doesn’t need it. pains are caused by opening your heart so easily and casually. and you knew deep down that you loved yuta. every time he would talk about another girl it felt like there was a lump in your throat…you knew there was always something more than a friendship, but you never admitted it.

up all night on another red-eye

and there you were, lying in bed, tears flowing down your face. you felt awful for how you reacted, and you couldn’t imagine how he felt. all you wanted to do was pick up the phone and call him. you just wanted to not to remember his shinny smile, his beauty when he laughed. then the memories with you two hold spills out of your mind again.

maybe we should just try to tell ourselves a good lie

even days later, you daydreamed about him, with you standing next to him, and him going on about something called ‘our beautiful love’.

whenever you wake up from the nightmare named ‘daydreaming’, you feel guilty instantly. here you were, accepting the fact that this could go somewhere but you haven’t texted yuta for days.

during work you sneaked into the break room and pulled your phone out of your work locker. you dialed yutas phone number.

it rang…and rang…and rang and you thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“y/n? hi.” he said breathlessly, and you smiled wildly.

“why are you out of breath?”

“im at the gym with jaehyun. um, not to push you off the phone but aren’t you at work?”

you giggled into the phone

“um, yeah I am but I needed to tell you something.”

you could basically hear the big smile across his face.

“oh? and what is it?”

“meet me at the hilltop at 5?”

“alright, see you then.”

we fall apart as it gets dark i'm in your arms in Central Park

you sat on the hood of your car as you waited for yuta. your brain was running a mile a minute. what do you even say?

“hey buddy im sorry I left you hanging there when you were vulnerable.”

no, does anyone even know what to say in a situation like this?

your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a car pulling up behind you, but you didn’t look.

the car door closed, and footsteps shuffled towards you, until you felt the weight of the car shift.

you both stared at the sunset for a few minutes, until you built enough courage.

“I love you too yuta.”

there's nothing you could do or say I can’t escape the way I love you

you traced his lip lightly with the tip of your finger. it pouts slightly, and you have such an urge to bite it, to kiss it, to wrap you guys up in a quilt and listen to your breathing, watching the blanket rise and fall. his lip feels slightly chapped under your light touches, but you couldn’t give a damn. You gazed so intently at each dip of that lip, but you don't want to look up. because if you look up, I may find myself at the mercy of questioning eyes, pleading, begging to know what I was doing. his lips brush yours as he leaned closer. Not innocently, like a tease but hot, fiery, passionate and demanding. you wanted to pull away before you lost yourself, but you can’t seem to…in this moment, you can no longer think straight.

“y/n” he whispers slowly.

you smile, your heart fluttering at his voice as you clasped your hands on either side of his face. never has my name ever felt so wonderful, and you think…you leaned in all the way this time.

there's nothing you could do or say I can’t escape the way I love you

even when you two made it back to your apartment you still were curious.

“why do you like me?” you whispered, tracing shapes on yuta’s arm.

“How could I not?” he replied, cupping your cheek so your beautiful eyes met his own.

he dropped his hand from your face and interlocked it with yours. you kissed each other tentatively, passionately and then, tenderly. he pulled your thick sweater up, over your head and you felt little sparks of static dancing over your skin. it’s a magical feeling and causes you to shiver in complete pleasure and ecstasy. his lips press against yours with so much affection as his warm hands roam all over your naked body, setting your skin on fire. “you’re so beautiful.” he whispers in your ear, feeling the his hot breath. “shut up and kiss me.” you whisper back. his lips gently brush yours and you smell his cologne as our naked bodies press together. he slowly massages your breast as you two kiss, causing you to arch your back and moan softly into his mouth. you roll your head to the side, your chest rising and falling under him. he smiles into the kiss as your fingers tug at his short hair and the other scratches at his back. “I love you.” you whispered as your eyes made contact.

I can’t escape the way, I love you

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