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satinsumu · 3 years

Text

first. || suna r.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: MINORS DNI, f!reader, slight slight angst but mostly fluff, language, unprotected sex, fingering, virginity loss, dirty talk, praise, creampie, soft suna is romantic, shy baby’s first time ❤️

summary: it’s hard not to get self-conscious being intimate with suna for the first time, especially when he’s far more experienced than you are—but your boyfriend is sure to remind you that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

a/n: what did i say about loving the first time trope lol. also didn’t proofread bc that’s how we do it here (edit: this was so much longer than i’d intended and i ended up getting so much more attached than i’d intended lmfao i want a suna in my life Right Now)

a tingle travels throughout your body as your bare back touches the soft sheets of suna’s bed, your boyfriend’s hands gently moving from your shoulders down to your knees.

he lifts one of your legs up, slender fingers rubbing small circles against your skin, before bending down to press a small kiss to your inner thigh. his greyish, golden eyes—half-lidded and slowly growing darker with desire—flick up to meet yours with such tender intensity that it takes your breath away.

“are you okay?” he asks quietly at your silence, carefully setting your leg back down against the mattress as he leans over you, one hand planted beside your head.

“yeah,” you reassure him. the reply comes out a bit weaker than you’d intended.

“we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” suna murmurs, lowering himself to give you a small kiss, right at edge of your mouth. his lips are warm. gentle.

“i do, i’m just—” you quickly answer, but look away with slight embarrassment. “just a little nervous, that’s all... don’t know if i’ll be good.”

the second half of your sentence is just barely above a whisper, and suna’s expression softens.

“don’t worry about that,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your forehead, before slowly moving further down your neck and chest. “just want you to be comfortable.”

you feel him stop just above your left breast, the ghost of his breath lingering on your flesh. a sudden, warm sensation washes over you as suna takes your nipple into his mouth and sucks, his hot, wet tongue swirling circles around the bud. you gasp at the feeling and squeeze your eyes shut while his other hand slides down your stomach, hovering just above the thin, silky fabric of your underwear.

suna releases your nipple from his mouth as he pushes himself back up, licking his lips while studying your expression.

“you’re so warm down here,” he says with a small smile. his finger draws a long, slow stripe along your folds, the pressure through your panties just enough to send another tingle traveling all over your body. “can i take these off?”

you nod and grant him permission, shyness burning in your cheeks at how exposed and vulnerable you feel, but also at how careful suna is being. he smooths his palm against your hip bone and drags the garment of clothing down your legs before it comes back up, teasingly squeezing the flesh of your inner thigh.

“good girl,” suna hums, straightening himself to pull his own shirt over his head. the words make your heart pound violently in your chest.

without another word, he takes your other breast in his large hand, groping and kneading the flesh while his opposite hand begins to make work of your sex. he presses two fingers against your folds and slowly rubs circles against the skin as you feel your clit grow more and more sensitive to the pseudo-contact.

you tilt your head back, dipping further into the sheets, while a shaky sigh escapes your lips. a small smile rests on suna’s face at the sight—you seem to be feeling good, and he intends on keeping it that way.

his movements are growing faster now. you can feel your arousal growing wetter, and you know suna can feel it too, with the way his fingertips are coated with your slick. he takes this as a safe indication to finally slip a digit into you—god knows how fucking badly he wishes it were his cock instead—and the little squeak that rolls off your tongue is like music to his ears.

“so tight, baby,” he murmurs, elated at the sight of you clenching around him while trying to keep his composure. how did he get so lucky? “but you’re taking my fingers so well.”

there’s so much going on.

you can feel your boyfriend watching you, but you’re too distracted to think about how your face must look right now. especially when he’s still squeezing your tits, focusing on your pleasure as he continues pumping his finger in and out of your tiny hole. then he adds another, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, surprised that suna’s hands are moving with so much ease and also how good it feels. even more so when his thumb continues to rub at your clit in tandem with his other fingers.

soft, lewd squelching noises can be heard in the quiet of his room as both you and suna realize that this won’t be enough. you need more. your pussy is practically begging for it, even if your mouth isn’t.

“think you’re ready, sweetheart,” suna breathes, willing himself to pull his fingers out of your cunt.

you nod coyly in response, slightly irritated at yourself for feeling uneasy in front of your boyfriend; he’s being so good to you, so patient, but you’ve just never done anything so lewd befo—

your brain short-circuits as you watch suna look you dead in the eye before putting two glistening fingers, still covered in your juices, into his mouth. he slowly pulls out, soft pink lips wrapped around them, tongue lapping shamelessly at whatever he missed on his thumb.

he gives you an alluring smirk, and your hands instinctively fly up to cover your flustered face. your cheeks are burning with both desire and embarrassment, but suna grips your wrist and slowly pulls it away.

“look at me, baby,” he says, his body hovering closely above yours. “nothing to be embarrassed about.”

god, you look so fucking cute, he really doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“can i...?” suna trails off, the hardness in his pants growing more and more difficult to ignore by the second as it presses against your leg.

“p-please, rin,” you whisper. the way your innocent, nervous eyes are asking him to fuck you is honestly enough to make him jizz in his pants.

without another word, suna pushes himself back up, unzipping his pants so that his erect member can finally spring free. he barely has to give it a few impatient strokes—a trait you rarely see in your boyfriend—before it’s fully hard. the sheer size of his cock causes you to gulp, the tiny beads of precum already leaking out from its tip.

suna takes it in his hand, smearing his own arousal over the head before bending over to rub its heaviness over your folds. your clit is already puffy and sensitive from his fingers earlier, and it feels like it’s twitching in pleasure from the contact.

“o-oh,” you gasp, and suna smiles at the sound, his eyes glossing over your body like he simply can’t get enough. he slowly moves his cock downwards, using all his self-restraint to ignore the throbbing, aching desire in it to just fuck your brains out already.

lining it up with your entrance, he murmurs, “i’m gonna put it in.”

“okay,” you exhale, chest heaving in anticipation.

your hands travel up beside your head to grip the pillow as a means to brace yourself, and you finally feel suna slide into you with surprising ease. every inch of his cock drags along your walls in slow motion, and you’ve never been so physically close to him before. there’s a soft ache—barely noticeable—but it’s not painful... and yet, it’s not pleasurable either.

an unprecedented panic creeps its way into your head at the realization.

what if this doesn’t end up feeling good? what if he doesn’t end up feeling good? oh god, what if he doesn’t even finish? surely, you’d be the only girl he’ll have slept with that could fuck up this bad—who knows how many girls have come before you? (literally.) what if—

“what’s wrong?” suna’s gentle voice snaps you out of your thoughts, his tone tinged with a slight worry.

“n-nothing,” you shake your head quickly. ugh, you feel like such... a loser. an idiot, really.

“talk to me, sweetheart,” suna murmurs, towering over you as he’s still balls deep inside your cunt. “does it hurt?”

he wants to pull out in case that’s the problem, but also doesn’t want to make any sudden moves, for fear of hurting you.

“no, i’m okay,” you insist in an attempt to reassure him. “i just, i don’t know, i’m being stupid.”

suna’s expression softens, but before he can say anything, you’re already babbling on again, and you can’t even stop.

“what if you don’t end up feeling good?” you quiver, the question more so directed at yourself than at your boyfriend. “what if you don’t even finish because of how much i suck? i-i don’t want to be the only person you’ve been with who’s bad at sex—”

your heart is racing now and the words are tumbling out of your mouth helplessly. you feel so bad for dumping this on him, and your frustration towards yourself brings small tears to the corners of your eyes—

“baby, listen to me,” suna says quietly but firmly, one hand cupping your cheek and turning your face towards him so that you’re no longer avoiding eye contact. his thumb gently brushes away the dampness at the edge of your lower lashline before he continues,

“first of all, there’s no such thing as being bad at sex—and you’re doing great,” he murmurs, planting a quick kiss to your lips. “you’re the only person i want to do this with, and as long as it’s with you, i’m happy.”

you sniffle a little bit, but your heart soars at his words, the tension in your chest slowly easing.

“second of all, don’t worry about me,” he says gently, his eyes filled with a tender adoration as he gazes at you. “it’s really sweet that you’re thinking of me, but i want you to feel good.”

a warmth blooms in your cheeks.

“and besides, you’re fucking beautiful,” suna continues, leaning down again to press his lips against your bare shoulder. “i could cum just from the sight of you, but i’m trying to hold back because i want you to finish first.”

the bluntness of his words causes you to look away shyly, and suna smiles down at you.

“so,” he begins again, before giving you a small suck on your jaw. “can you let me make you feel good?”

you nod slowly, and bring your arms up to wrap them around his neck.

“sorry,” you manage a small giggle at the feeling of his dick still inside you—you really have terrible timing, that much you’ll admit.

“it’s okay,” suna murmurs, turning his head to kiss your cheek. “i love you, you know that.”

he’s said those words before, but the way he’s uttering them into your ear right now, in the quiet intimacy that only you two share, makes your heart race and your head spin.

“just let me know if you want me to stop,” he says, before finally, gradually pulling himself out.

suna slides his cock back into you with ease, your juices still coating his member. he repeats the motion a few more times, each time just a little bit more fluidly and rapidly than the last, until you’ve fully adjusted to his size. the sensation is still foreign, but no longer uncomfortable.

he finally reaches a pace where he thrusts himself into you for the first time with a low grunt, the rough penetration catching you off guard. a small “mmf!” escapes your mouth as you bite your lip, embarrassed at hearing the sound of your own voice.

“don’t hold those precious noises back, sweetheart,” suna breathes seductively into your skin, his low voice causing you to clench harder around him. “wanna hear how good i make you feel. the louder the better.”

you nod at his encouragement as small beads of sweat form along your temple.

he gives you another sharp thrust, followed by another, and then another, until he’s steadily rocking into you as the bed creaks with every movement. this time, you can’t help the wanton moans of his name that fill the air, each one prompting him to continue.

“a-ah!” you cry at a particularly harsh snap of his hips, your cunt sucking him back in every time he pulls out of you. “r-rin! rin! rin!”

suna’s never been one to have a big head or a large ego, but the way you’re chanting his name like a mantra makes pride swell in his chest. you look so angelic, eyes fluttered shut with every time he fucks into you, nipples moving up and down with your breasts, hair splayed out against his bedsheets, sopping wet pussy clamping around his cock as your very first time. how could he not be in love with you?

“f-feeling good, baby?” he pants, trying to hold it together.

“yes,” you gasp as a small dribble of drool leaks out of the corner of your mouth. but you don’t care. you want him. more of him, more, more, more. “want you so bad.”

suna thinks he’s going to lose his damn mind.

“you like that?” his voice borders on a growl, and his strong arms snake beneath you to pull you into a hug before one of them props his body up against the mattress so he can angle himself into you with even more intensity. lord help him, he wants to cum so fucking bad with how hot you look, your nails digging into his skin as he fucks you into tomorrow.

“n-ngh!” you groan, tossing your head back at the way suna is driving himself in and out of you as his eyes flit down to your heaving chest. “i-i think ‘m c-close...”

that was all suna needed to hear as he laid you back down, flat against the bed as one hand travels urgently down to your heat. he takes two fingers and begins rubbing your folds again, one dipping past them to play with your clit, the stimulation causing you to see stars. suna presses an open mouthed kiss against your lips at the sight of them parting, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue across yours.

he picks up the speed of his thrusts again, his other hand now preoccupied with kneading your breasts and pinching your nipple as you cry out for him, and only him.

“r-rin!” your voice rings in his head, your gasps broken up into needy pants.

“doin’ so good, angel,” he mutters against your lips, still mercilessly slamming his cock into you. “taking my cock so—ngh!—well, wanna keep this pussy all to myself.”

you don’t even have time to process the lewdness of his words before your back is arching, suna’s fingers rubbing your clit at an unbelievable pace as he simultaneously slides himself in and out of you, the slapping sounds amplified by your juices.

“cum for me sweetheart, you can do it,” suna urges, his eyes fixated on your face. “show me just how good i make you feel—”

a sudden wave of bliss floods over you as you feel the tension in your body release, your clit throbbing with pleasure at the sensation. suna’s eyes widen at the way your jaw grows slack, trying not to cum at the mere sight of your fucked out expression while he helps you ride out your orgasm.

“h-hah,” you gasp, still chasing your climax while suna continues thrusting into your cunt, his cock twitching with arousal. after a few seconds, he picks up his own pace, chasing his own high with your body.

“god, you feel so good around me,” he mutters, clenching his teeth at the way your walls continue to suck him in.

“want you to cum inside, r-rin,” you whine into his ear, the syllables broken up by how hard he’s fucking you as your whole being practically bounces around his cock, his balls clapping with wet slapping sounds against your ass. “f-fill m-me up?”

you don’t need to say anything else as suna finally snaps, pushing himself so deep into you with an almost primal urge as cum shoots out of his cock. you can feel the warmth all the way in your belly as you look up at your boyfriend, sweaty and out of breath, panting into your neck before finally pulling himself out of you.

he catches your lips with his as he gives you a long, passionate kiss, before breaking away and giving you a quick peck on both cheeks, then your nose, then your forehead.

“you did so good, baby,” he murmurs, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, that had found its way to stick to your face. an affectionate warmth brings a small smile to your lips as you nuzzle your cheek into suna’s palm, and he feels himself lose his breath at the sight of you.

“be good and stay here, okay?” he mumbles, reluctantly pulling himself off of you. he could stare at you forever. “i’ll go get a towel and clean you up. i love you.”

#fic #suna.fic

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jazz-miester · 2 years

Text

Let's talk about this like adults.

I am. And I'm pissed. More so at myself than you.

Pairing: N/A

Characters: Y/N. Optimus Prime. Others mentioned in passing.

Reader type: gender neutral human

Song: why'd you only call me when you're high- Arctic monkeys.

Warnings: Angst. Manipulation. Mentions of past abuse.

An: This is a vent. And based on actual things this person has said to me and some of its quoted directly. I thought he was a friend and honestly. I'm a fucking idiot for thinking that. People change a lot in 11 years man.

But ya. This is entirely through text. This person and me.

And maybe this is a lot my fault as well. I accepted the damn compliments even after I told him I didn't want a relationship. Maybe I led him on.

Maybe I'm not as alone as I think I am.

It was late at night when the message came. Long after you should have been asleep. A ding! Chimed from your battered phone. It showed a name you haven't seen since you were ten.

:Hi! I know it's been a long time and you've probably have forgotten about me by now. But it's (redacted) From school?

Like a fool you smiled. Curled up a little tighter on the couch with your blanket. Heart pitter pattering with excitement. Old friends meeting! How great was that?

You stayed up for two hours. Talking. Catching up. It was nice. Even as sleep called to you and the sun begins it's rise over the horizon. Truly. It was. Until the next day.

:I had a crush on you. You know that? One of those kiddy, puppy love things.:

God. You just started talking. Was that a weird thing to lead off with? You didn't know.

"Are you alright y/n? Your heart rate has increased. " You glanced up from your phone. Caught Ratchets concerned look. Prime looking from behind him. Digits poised in the air. Normally that meant you were hurting. About to have a week long migraine.

You shook your head. Gave a smile. "It's nothing. Honestly. Just a weird text." Ratchet hummed. You felt more than saw him run another scan.

"Alright then."

June gives you a knowing look.

You type back. Brushed the message off. If you ignored it maybe it wouldn't happen again. And it didn't. At least not for a couple more days anyways.

Coffee. Sweet, dark, coffee. The smell surrounding you as you waited for it to finish brewing. Sitting in the counter impatiently as you scrolled through Pinterest. Trying to find some sort of inspiration on what you should draw next.

Your phone dinged. Buzzed in your hand.

:Wyd?:

You wanted to ignore it. Go on with your day. Have your morning in peace. You didn't want to have the dread bubbling in you. Simmering like a pt on the stove. This was your friend. You should be excited.

Right?

:Not much honestly. Making coffee.:

Speaking of which. You pulled your mug down. Black. Old. Had a few chips in it. You've had it since you were fifteen. You're twenty one now.

You two talk. Nothing abnormal. How's it going. Plans. Things that's happen since you've last talked.

Family.

The. He dropped a bomb. No warning. No reason. Nothing leading up to it outside the fact you were talking about parents.

:Ya. They were pretty abusive to me.:

I. You. What?

Your stomach turned and no longer did you want the blueberry muffin you had been so excited for the day before.

Pain pulls at your temples. The start of a headache as you begin to stress. How in the fresh fuck do you answer that? What in the fraggin pits do you say?

_Im sorry you went through that and had shitty parents_?

_Fuck. Hope you weren't tramatized_

You swallow thickly. Stare at your phone. Your hands shake. You take a breath and answer back.

Feel sorry for him .

Tell him it's ok.

Its fine. You're here.

He's forcing you to listen.

You go to work that day uneasy.

He texts you again later that day. Not a single word is mentioned about your last conversation. No thanks for listening. No sorry for just. Just venting unannounced.

:Can I tell you something?: You glanced up from your phone. Miko smiles at you from her spot on the couch. Curled up with a large chocolate milkshake and her notebook. Doodling away.

You agreed to watch her so Bulkhead could go on patrol.

: Sure. What do you need to tell me.: Your stomach turns. :As long as I don't end up in a documentary we're good lol.: Something funny. Please let it be something funny.

: I think I have a crush on you. Not one of those kiddy ones either. Like a real one. And you make me so happy. I'm glad I'm able to talked to you again.:

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"Y/n?" You glanced up at Optimus. Smile. He tilts his head. Studies you. Then goes back to decoding.

You let out a shaking breath. What to say what to say?

: Honestly man if I wasn't so awkward I'd know what to say lol. But I'm glad I was able to make you happy?:

:🥺 lmao I get that. I've been low-key flirting with you this entire time. And now? I'm gonna open up the flirt gate.:

"Shit." Please don't. God please don't all I want is a friend. Optimus glances up at you again. Despite not wanting to you ignore him. Pretend it didn't happen.

After going back and forward with him you go to Miko. Asking her if she did her homework. Looking for some sort of distraction.

The next conversation was better. For the most part. He wondered why you weren't talking as much. You explained you get migraines. Man went off about how he was always worried about you. "Even when we were little."

The conversation steered. Talked about x box's and games. About Skyrim and Dragon age. About how you were excited to start playing Halo after your sibling got you back I to it.

It was good. This conversation. You liked this one.

You talked like friends.

A couple days later. You're watching YouTube on your phone .

:So I may be getting jumped soon.:

:Gun.:

Your response is immediate. Your stomach whirls. Aches. Dread .

:Because I said it’s not my fault that this guys family in the past were slaves and shit like that. I said that was many years ago. And that my family wasn't slave owners. Like damn.:

Shit shit shit. You spill your coffee. Ice and creamer flowing over your wooden table top. You throw an old towel over the top of it. Cleaning as you typed back.

:If you're really worried you could tell the police?:

:Nah he's to much of a wimp to do anything. And besides. I've had knifes pulled in me before so I'm not worried.:

Not worried? No fucking worried.

You sit down in your chair. Phone landing in a mess of creamer. You lead over. Head between your knees. Try to breathe.

A migraine.

You had a fucking migraine.

He didn't get hurt. Thank fuck. Oh thank fucking God. The next day you were still hurting. Calling in to work and letting them know. Telling June to let the Bots and kids know it may be a few days.

Relief.

The two of you talked about games. Halo. Master Chief.

That's all you wanted with him. A friend. Platonic friendship.

Not.

Not everything else.

Was it you fault?

Did. You shake your head. Go on talking.

:Hey baby girl want to send pixs back and forth😉:

Your stomach turns. Anger flashes through you. All you fucking wanted was to cook dinner.

June and Jack talk in the living room. Miko and Raf go over homework at you kitchen table. Now stained by coffee.

:This better be a joke cus I will through hands.: Your phone clattered on the countertop. You go back to frying chicken and getting tofu ready for June.

He apologizes. Says his account got hacked. Tells you he changed the password.

Did you overreact? You feel bad. He's your friend. Give him the benefit of the doubt.

You joke with him. Tell him you've seen worse out of Tumblrs Bots. Finish up dinner. Tell June and the others goodnight. Send Miko off with the rest of the apple pie.

:If I ever find out some guys asks you for nudes let’s me know. I’ll fight their asses.: You roll yours eyes. Like it would be his problem or place.

:Assuming I wouldn't first?:

He laughs.

:Okay lol. Shit I’m actually kinda embarrassed to ask this. But what if I asked. I'm not asking for any. Just curious.:

You toss your sponge. Suds scatter to the floor. Anger. And something else you can't place. Guilt? Shame?

God you were overreacting again. Right? That had to be it.

:Hard pass. Not my cup of tea.:

:Ok good. That's the answer I wanna hear.:

What the fuck is that supposed too mean?

He thanks you for letting him know. You try to brush it all off. You two send gifs back and forth.

Then he asks.

And you wanted to scream.

: So. Question.What would you do if I accidentally sent you a pic of my you know what. Lol. What would you do. Laugh at it. Because of how small it is. 😂 because I laugh at it.:

:lol. I wouldn't scare you with it.:

And you ignore him.

:Since the weirdness is gone wyd?:

:hey.:

:Are you mad at me?:

A picture.

:Table for one.:

You were talking to Prime. Asking him if he'd be able to help you haul your old truck to the mechanics. Somethings busted in it and you can't figure out what.

Your phone dings.

:I might be getting fired tomorrow.:

You ignore it. Prime arches a brow.

"Should you not answer that? I have heard it is not polite to. What did Miko call it." He looks to the left. Then back. "Ahh. Ghosting. It is not polite to. Ghost. Someone."

You laugh.

"I think this one is unique Prime. I." You look down. Clutch your phone. It dings again.

A picture of a car. The corner of the fender busted. Despite not wanting to. Really. You wanted to make sure he was ok.

You stuck your phone in your back pocket. Turned your full attention on Prime.

"Will you though? I have the hitch for it and everything. If not it's fine. I think Fowler might have a pick up we can use to haul the damn thing." Your heart pitter patters at the look Optimus is giving you.

Intense. Concerned. Optics soft.

"You are stressed." He leans in closer. Helm a hairs breath from where you are standing. He pulls back. "You have been this way since "the weird message." Is something wrong?"

You swallow thickly. You want to tell him everything. Optimus has been your official-unofficial guardian since meeting the Bots.

And Adult you were.

But you were young. Still learning.

"Do. Do you know how to tell if someone truly wants to be your friend. Or if they're just using you to vent. To be a bouncing board for their emotions." You look up at him. You want to cry. "He. He says he likes me but. I just want a friend. Not a relationship."

You look down. Heat flooding your face.

"Y/n. I'd this person truly cares they would take your emotions and feeling into consideration." He bumps you with a finger. "What is wrong? Please. Tell me."

And you did. All the messages. You told him about the calls. Who he used to be to you.

Optimus was holding something back. You could tell. The tires at his legs whirling and spinning like when he was in battle. Vents hissing. Jaw tensed.

"This happened to Elita. Once." You tilt your head.

"Elita? Thats a pretty name." He smiles at this.

"A pretty femme as well." He softens. "She had a friend from her days in the academy. And he contacted her again at some point during the war. Long after me and her had bonded."

Bonded? Like married?

"Elita. Despite everything, and she is a very strong femme in her own right. Determined to do this on my own. But this mech would not take no for an answer. So I delt with it upon her asking." You fold your arms. Lean forward.

"I delt with him." He rumbled out again. "I do not condone violence. You know this. Words before action. Action before aggression. " He leaned close to you again.

"Do not allow this mechling to toy with your emotions. He is attempting to get you to feel sorry for him. To feel guilt for asking about such an intimate thing. Asking that is akin to asking a cybertronian to bare ones spark." Another brush from his finger. A tilt of his helm. "He is far away from here. Cut connections with him y/n. I do not wish to see you come under stress again. Not from a mechling."

You smile. Something lifts from your shoulders. "Thank you Optimus. Truly." You stop. "I hope I can meet this Elita one day. She sounds pretty cool." A soft smile. A far away look.

"I wish you could meet her one day as well. She is important to me. And so are you." He pauses. "Do not hesitate to ask me for help. I will talk with him if you wish me to." You laugh.

"I don't think that will be necessary Prime. But thank you. Truly."

Your heart pounds as you block him late at night. One social media then the next. Tik tok. Messenger.

It was late ok.

Your forgot one. And you hardly used t anyways except for the filters.

So. The next morning you got the message.

:Please. Before you block me here hear me out.:

:no. I made my choice. I would have blocked you here as well if I remembered we were mutuals here.:

More talking.

:Please. Let's talk about this like Adults.:

Pissed. Livid. God you were angry.

:I. Am. I'm more pissed at my self than you. I'm disappointed in myself for it going on this long.:

:I'm disappointed in myself to. I shouldn't have said that. I won't do it again. Promise.:

:You shouldn't have done that in the first place.:

Friends don't do that to friends.

More talking.

:Look. At least wait to block me again until after my surgery.:

You wanted to cry.

:No.: You breath in. Look at your tv screen. Master Chief idling as he waited for you to take control again. :Look. I'm a bitch but I. Nt an asshole. I truly hope that your surgery goes well. Ok. Truly I do. But I'm done. With this. With us.:

: Please. Your my only friend. I don't want to lose you.:

You wanted to throw up.

:no. I made my choice. I'm done.:

:Fine. Love you.:

(Redacted has unfriended you)

:Jesus man. :

And you block him.

Curled up in your couch you stare at the tv screen. Watching the landscape of Halo and Master Chief. You wanted to cry. Scream. Something.

Were you wrong for doing this?

Did you over react?

:Optimus are you busy?:

:I am not. I am merely helping Ratchet watch the children.:

:Can. Can we go an get ice cream?:

A pause. Then the sound of a ground bridge opening and closing. Then tires crunching over gravel.

He was here.

You walk out and he swings his door open.

"Would you like music?" You sniffle. Nod. Then swallow back the tears. You wouldn't cry. Not over this.

Welcome to the jungle sounds through the speakers and you laugh.

And you know what. That was the best God damn ice cream you ever had.

#maccadam #transformers #optimus prime #transformers prime #tfp optimus #vent

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Lá Bealtaine

Pairing: Choso x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, cunnilingus, SMUT, NSFW/18+only, loss of virginity - if you squint, using sex to mask feelings & trauma, mild JJK manga spoilers; but if you’ve seen the anime you’re pretty caught up on this stuff

Word Count: 4732

“Why do you let them––us, stay?”

You lift your head, blinking at his obsidian surveyance. “What am I supposed to do? Say no? Not like I put an advertisement on the door: seeking dangerous men and nefarious spirits, inquire within. I’m not wanting to die, you know? Besides, it’s not all bad.”

“Name one thing that’s not bad about this,” Choso demands, his tone clipped.

Why? Why does he care? You’re not someone he can save. There’s no room for you. You aren’t family.

“Only one thing? Well, that’s easy,” you continue, the steady lull of your voice jerking him out of his musings. “You.”

Notes: hehe, when i said i had Choso brain rot i was not joking. this dude has been on my mind for weeks, ya’ll. WEEKS. special thanks to @libiraki & @kugutsuu for beta editing! if you haven’t checked out their works please stop what you are doing & scuttle yourself over there bc you are missing out.

Lá Bealtaine [l̪ˠaː ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə] 'the bright or yellow day of Beltane' - a time of fire and fertility.

It started with a touch. A simple interaction; but it sticks to the back of his mind and the heat of your hand lingers, a remembrance that he can’t shake.

He’d returned to the dingy bowels of the hideout, boots echoing over the well-worn floor as he made his way to his customary seat; unaware of the blood that oozed from the strip above his nose. Legs and arms are heavy as he slots himself into the chair, his eyes drooping closed as he leans his dark head against the cushions.

Two weeks.

Choso’s younger brothers were killed two weeks ago. Leaving him alone; adrift in his loss, his failure as an elder brother. The remembrance of them stung in the morning and was an ache by afternoon, but in the night’s darkness it burned.

He will have his chance, he reminds himself, furrowing his brow; seeking the faint traces of the other six who need him to press on, and the hollow twinge of the two who need vengeance. The 31st is only fourteen days away; he can wait. He can–

The pressure of the sudden touch makes him jerk; coal-dark eyes snapping open, searching for the source. You’re standing above him, hand outstretched, the pad of your thumb delicately catching the long forgotten drip of blood against his cheek.

“You shouldn’t touch that,” he says, voice gruff in the vacant emptiness of the space; but he doesn’t shift, meeting your frank gaze unblinkingly.

“Oh?” you question, swiping the sullied digit across your pants, tacking the deep crimson into the material of your jeans.

“It’s poison,” Choso clarifies. The spot you’d stroked your thumb down is tingling. Exhaustion, he muses, itching his nails into the thick fabric of his loose pants. He’s imagining it; there’s no other explanation.

“You’re not going with the others?”

What? How can he? They’re dead. Ah, no. He’s not thinking clearly. You don’t mean his brothers; you mean Getō.

“No,” he quips, lifting the back of his hand to his cheek, wanting to quell that spreading warmth that you’ve left him with.

“Then you don’t need this, right?” You gesture to the mess of game pieces and the forgotten board that is scattered across the low table in front of him. He shakes his head and you begin the steady process of tidying up, collecting the mismatched jumble into your arms, folding the rest into the tattered box before you step away.

Choso closes his eyes again, steadying his breaths, finding the pulse of the blood that thrums within him. Nothing is out of place. So why does his cheek feel like it’s on fire? There’s no reason for it. Is he this starved for a connection that he’s latching onto the first interaction he receives?

His onyx eyes follow you as you walk across the matted flooring. You own this space; have struck some kind of deal with Getō and the others, permitting them to come and go, quietly cleaning up their messes, and ducking out of sight when they gather within the confines of the darkness; talking through the plans, the ins and outs of the sealing and the massacre that they hope to spread throughout the underground station of the pre-ordained prefecture.

In the grand scheme of things you’re nothing. Why waste energy focusing on you? It won’t matter in fourteen days.

The clink of the cup on the table rattles him out of his thoughts and Choso peers into the depths of your clear gaze once more. “What is it?” he queries, running a broad hand down his face, hoping the pull will make him forget the persistent warmth that’s radiating from the spot you’d touched.

“You look tired. Drink that and get some rest.”

“Giving orders now?”

“Sure,” you grin, cocking your head at Choso’s curled lips and wrinkled nose. “That’s a good one. Like any of you would ever listen to me.”

What’s this called? Self deprecating humor? Well, whatever it is, Choso doesn’t enjoy the brittle tone your voice has drifted into. It doesn’t suit you and that low annoyance that’s been brewing under his skin is coming closer and closer to the surface. His fingers are on the cup before he can properly sort through his mismatched emotions, but he doesn’t miss the lift of your lips when he gulps the scalding tea down his throat.

Why does he care? You don’t matter. You’re no one to him.

“Easy,” you tut, shaking your head at his sharp gaze. “You’ll burn yourself.”

So? He’d rather feel something burn than linger into the uneasy pull of an ache.

Choso looks for you when he enters, shifting past the others. You’re tucked toward the back, brows creased and head down. It’s a smart move, but the frightened hunch you’ve adopted bothers him more than it used to.

“We have a few minutes,” Getō announces to the gathering, dark eyes bright as they fall on his impassive face. “And Mahito is always late.”

There’s an implication behind it, but Choso opts to ignore that uneasy instinct, already turning. He’s just going to ask you for tea; that’s all. When you spy him, you smile and that spot on his cheek flares, remembering the sweep of your thumb.

“Lucky you caught me,” you tell him, hands busy with the rattling cups. “I was about to go.”

He narrows his eyes, watching the curve of your neck, the stretch of your fingers, and the uneasy twitch of your shoulders. This sort of existence doesn’t suit you. You’re the antithesis of this; normal, kind, unabashedly human. So why do you…

“Why do you let them––us, stay?”

“Name one thing that’s not bad about this,” Choso demands, his tone clipped.

Why? Why does he care? You’re not someone he can save. There’s no room for you. You aren’t family.

“Only one thing? Well, that’s easy,” you continue, the steady lull of your voice jerking him out of his musings. “You.”

Choso shakes his head, openly scowling at your answer. “Me?” he sputters, sucking his teeth and pressing his clenched fists into the long table that you stand behind.

“Yeah,” you confirm, pouring the steaming water over the leaves, wafting the fragrant essence of the tea between his clenched jaw and your ducked head.

“I don’t… that is...I...” Choso begins, but fumbles into silence when he catches sight of your eyes, half hidden behind the sweep of your lashes. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. “You’re strange,” he finishes, huffing a belabored sigh between his pursed lips, but when you laugh he can’t help a faint smile.

It will feel disloyal later, that burst of momentary happiness, but right now he doesn’t mind the distraction; cupping the yunomi between his palms, catching your fingers before they can pull away, enjoying the warmth you transude into his chilled hands.

Nothing holds. Choso knows this better than most. All things, given time, change. It is an inevitability. Something he’s known intrinsically, and clung to, all those years; when the only constant was the beating of his brother’s hearts beside him. But change rarely announces itself, content in its own emergence; the omnipotence of its bite.

Something has shifted.

“You didn’t go again?” You ask one night, sitting beside him, a cooling mug between your fingertips.

“Didn’t see the need,” he tells you, an outstretched legs brushing against yours.

“You’re different… you know that?” A smile hidden within your words.

“So are you.” He likes that, he thinks. He likes it more than he should.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

You bite your lip and he watches the press of your teeth, hoping you’ll split the skin.

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.” You bargain, coyly shaking your head.

“I’m close enough and I don’t like games,” he grumbles, hoping you won’t leave it at that, because while it’s true that he doesn’t like games, he’s enjoying this give and take.

“Please?”

There’s something intoxicating about that gentle sound and he turns, wordlessly following your crooked finger. He towers over your seated form, but you don’t let that imbalance hang, hands tugging against the white of his shirt, urging him to kneel between your spread legs. When he settles, you curl your fingers against his jaw, smoothing that blistering heat over his icy skin until he’s pressing forward, resting his heavy forehead against yours.

You’re so warm, he inwardly gasps, his breaths coming in pants. So warm he fears he might grow addicted to this heady intimacy. “What do you want?” Choso asks, the deep timbre of his voice quaking.

“You.” It’s such a simple answer; how like you.

“I am here,” he replies, half drunk on the feel of your skin.

“Yes, but what if I told you I want more?”

That question casts him into the darkness. He’s unused to this; doesn’t know what to do, what to say; he’s been sealed for so long, too long, and he feels wobbly, lightheaded, but he tries to reach, his fingers grasping at the base of your neck, pulling you toward... toward…

The clatter of the front door startles you both, and he’s on his feet, eyes wild as they look down on your parted lips, and the furrowed confusion of your brow. Your hands are still upturned, waiting for his.

The others step into the space and when he blinks again you’re already gone; your chair vacant, the warmth you’d shared evaporating into the unfeeling cruelty of the chilled air. Shit, Choso curses, grinding his teeth.

Something has shifted; it will be impossible to tear himself away from you now.

It’s only been a day, but he can’t stop staring at you. He doesn’t hide his blatant gaze, obsidian eyes tracking each step, hungrily snapping to yours each time you come near. You do nothing to lessen this itching want that’s raging within him, leaning close, pressing your hand against his shoulder as you gather the discarded cups that are scattered between them, asking him if there’s anything else he needs, your breath hot against his ear.

He’s unsure if he likes this.

But each time you shift away he wants to drag you back.

When they leave, used to his excuses, and his protestations that as long as the mission doesn’t involve Itadori Yuji or Kugisaki Nobara he’s uninterested, he stands; head turning, searching for you.

Ah. There you are.

He’s against you in an instant, stiff hands cupping you, greedy to touch, to hold. You squirm, a laugh bubbling from your lips, swatting his wide palms from the tempting swell of your hips. “What’s gotten into you?” As if you don’t know.

“Tch,” he scolds, “you’ve been toying with me all evening. You said you wanted more yesterday, so show me.”

You breathe out a chuckle, bemused by his enthusiasm and take his hand in yours, leading him down a hallway. He’s never been back here, but he follows, trying to steady the thudding of his heart. Controlling his life’s blood is second nature to him, so why does this feel like it’s a losing battle?

The room you open is dark, but he can make out the shape of a futon, stark against the mats, and his eyelids flutter, too overwhelmed by the realness of this befuddling situation to look. To distract himself, he pulls you against the slope of his chest, splaying his fingers against the sweep of your collarbone. You twist in his loose hold, folding your arms around his powerful neck.

“Do you still want this?”

Choso unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, gulping down a wavering breath. “I already told you,” he begins, his voice gravel, “show me more. Show me what else you want to do with me.”

“Can I kiss you?” you inquire, dipping your head enticingly, catching his wandering attention, urging him nearer. He doesn’t answer, electing to tap his lips against yours, clumsily pressing until the tip of his nose digs into your cheek. It’s easy to feel your heartbeat like this, and he wraps his arms around your lower back, eliminating the meager distance that was trapped between your heaving chests.

You let him steady himself, careful to keep your movements slow, but the squish of his face and the jerk of his hands tugs a bated humph of discomfort from you and he breaks away, elegant brows crumpled as he searches for the source of your discontent.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you amend, smiling at his obvious pout. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Hmm?” Choso questions, stroking a palm up your spine, a smirk quirking the corner of his mouth when you draw in a gasp.

You cup your hands beside his ears, fingers sinking into the dark tangles of his hair as you lure him back to your parted lips. “Open your mouth.”

He does as he’s told and you mold him against you, lapping your tongue over his, earning a shuddering moan and a sharp caress as he coils his hand around your throat. It’s easier this way and Choso steadily follows your lead, mimicking your sucks and teasing bites. Teeth clash when he reaches for more but he eases the sting with a flick of his tongue, and you nibble his lower lip in retaliation, pleased he’s so malleable.

Your fingers fall to the sash that rests above his stomach and he grunts when you pull at it, easing it away with a stable unwinding. His breaths are heavy against your kiss shined lips, but he keeps perfecting his new found techniques, sweeping chapped skin until it’s worn smooth by the wetness of your tongue. His own hands are preoccupied with your neck and the gentle underside of your jaw, fingertips pressing until you can sense the pound of your heart within his grasp.

“What are you trying to do?” you ask between his frantic presses. “It’s like you wanna match my pulse, or something.”

“Worry about yourself,” he grouses, ill-pleased with your answering laugh. “It’s going to take forever if you go that slow.”

You shove your palms against his chest and he stumbles backwards, his booted feet loud against the heavy mats, dark eyes flashing up at yours as his face falls into a deep-seated glower. “What?! What was... why did you…”

His angry retorts melt into nothingness when you fling your shirt over your head, sending the thin fabric fluttering to the ground. The sudden exposure leaves him gaping, unsure of himself once more, but you ease the shock, grasping his limp hand in yours, guiding it over the dip of your stomach, and up the flow of your side.

“Let’s play fair, huh?” you tease, tapping a kiss to his cheek, careful to land it in the same spot your thumb had touched weeks ago. Choso nods, obsidian eyes wide as his fingers trace over your goose-prickled skin. “Alright, well, it’s your turn.”

His gaze snaps back to yours, whisking over your face; as if he’s searching for some kind of answer in the lift of your nose, or the plushness of your lips. Whatever it is, he seems to have found it because he ducks his head to yours, resting his brow against the crown of your temple, hands lifting to his own clothing, making quick work of the intricate knots and folds of the fabric.

The gleam of his skin in the moonlight takes your breath away, and you reach for him as he eases the black off of the white, sliding your warmth over the coldness of his bared pectorals. He’s smooth; skin as soft as freshly cleaved talc, or a scattering of downy feathers, and you keep stroking until he’s shaking under your touch, his exhales unsteady against your face.

“I think I have more blemishes on my fingers and arms than you do on your entire body. You’re so soft,” you tell him, tracing an outspread hand against his muscled abdomen.

“I’m... this is a new manifestation,” he answers, hoping the strangeness of him, of his half human, half cursed being, won’t drive you away.

“Hmm,” you nod, pulling him down for another kiss. “It feels nice.”

He’s slow to undress. Not because he doesn’t want to see more of you, he’s simply distracted, too focused on touching what bits of you are revealed; the arc of your hips, the tipped buds of your breasts, and the line of your legs. But you’re like water; slipping through the gaps of his fingers, leaving him wanting, unsatisfied with his fragile hold.

When the last scrap of clothing is off, he waits, his cheeks flushed and mouth dry. “Now what?”

“Do you want me to touch you first?” you ask, that tantalizing smile lifting your lips.

“No,” he asserts, shaking his dark head. “I want to learn you before that...so show me.”

“You’re very unusual.” Tilting your head as you take his hand, leading him to your futon. “You know that?” you continue, tumbling him over you as you splay across the crisp sheets.

“Says the woman who is letting me between her legs,” Choso smarts, finding your lips in the gathering darkness. “Stop stalling; show me.”

With a pleased sigh, you reach for his hand again, looping your fingers around his as you guide him to the juncture of your thighs. You work one away from the others, gliding it along the ridges of your folds, showing him how you like to be touched. After his initial gawping and mystified rumblings of, ‘so wet,’ and half croaked, ‘fucks,’ he shifts closer, easing onto his haunches as he curiously follows your lessons.

“There,” he hisses, onyx gaze catching your twitching stomach and jerking hips. “Teach me how to do that.”

You work him to that apex, using your other hand to lift the slippery hood of your clit, showing him how to press and tap against the spongy nub. He’s a quick learner, his eyes falling from yours to watch the flutter and quaver of your cunt.

“Move your hand,” he tells you, resting his lips against the hollow of your neck, his tongue lapping over your pulse. When you untwine your fingers from his he waits, lips too busy sucking a bruise into your skin; reaching for that unsteady thump of your heart.

Bump-bump-ba-bump.

Yes. This will do. He’s caught the rhythm; can almost sense the flow of your blood, and see the surge of your clit under his touch.

The next frig of his digit has you gasping out his name, legs unfurling, knees shaking beside his ribs, your head flopping back onto the futon with a dull thump as you arch into his hold. Choso reapplies the pressure, adding the pad of his thumb, leaving it opposite his seeking forefinger, squeezing until you’re clawing your blunt nails down the sheets.

“You look good like this,” he smirks, looming over your heaving figure, licking his wet tongue along the valley of your breasts. “What else can you show me?”

Your fingers’ grip into his hair and you yank him from you, one brow delicately arched as you take in his irascible scowl. “You could put your mouth to better use…”

There’s no need to elaborate, and he’s wedged between your thighs before you can fully blink, ravenous lips slurping kisses and bites into the tender skin; he’s asking another question, but you can’t hear when he’s touching you like that, his fingers doggedly pressing at your clit, jerking more moans from your throat.

“Wh-what?” you ask, breath stolen before it’s past your quivering mouth.

“I said,” Choso pants, lifting his inky head and fixing you with a dazed stare. “I can feel your heartbeat.”

“Does that matter?” you laugh, popping onto your elbows to regard him inquisitively.

“It helps,” he answers cryptically and you jab your toes against his arm.

“Helps with what?”

“You’ll see. Do you care if I experiment?” He lifts his fingers from you, sucking the dripping pads into his mouth as he waits for your answer.

“Knock yourself out,” you gape, biting your lip between your teeth.

His dark eyes glaze before he averts them, an appreciative smile gentling his sharp features. “Good,” he replies, easing one bent leg over his broad shoulder, sparing you a last glance before sealing his lips to your throbbing folds.

It starts slowly; a deep shudder that seems to radiate from your core before pooling against your extremities, making your fingers twitch and your muscles spasm incrementally. But Choso is mindful of the power that he’s found, and he eases you onto his tongue, helping you to relax with steady sucks, avoiding that all important button that is distending above his nose. He can almost hear the rush of your blood, can sense where to press with each swell of your slick folds, and he follows unquestionably; pleased he can lose himself in this, in you.

He taps his thumb against your entrance, eyes opening, searching over the curve of your breasts to see you, to watch what kind of expression you’ll make when he finally breaches this boundary. The sheer heat of you takes him aback, and he groans, his low voice vibrating over your twitching cunt, and you reward his elation with another moan, his name falling from your lips.

What is this?

He’s drowning and all he’s done is taste you. Will he die if this goes further? Or will it burn? Lapping away the remnants of his regret until there’s nothing left of him but splintered bone.

“Choso,” you breathe, fingers latching into his wayward hair. “More, please… it’s not enough.”

He rotates his thumb before easing it out, making room for the wide push of his index finger, tongue lifting to swirl around the pulsing nub of your clit, and teeth grazing until you’re squirming.

“There!” you cry out, bucking into his open mouth. “Oh, god… I... I can’t––”

Something inside you shudders. He can feel it in the comforting thump of your heart and it makes him clutch you to him, his own hips rutting against the edge of the futon as he finds himself awash in the sheer intoxication of you.

Fuck. Is it supposed to feel like this? Like he’s half himself and half you? Or is he simply drunk on the rush of your blood?

Your cunt sucks his finger deeper, gummy walls pulsing in time with your heart as he gulps down your essence, tongue greedily catching it before it has time to drip onto his upturned wrist. It’s good. It tastes so fucking good.

He’s so winded by the sensations that he barely notices you pulling from him, his dark head lolling over the crinkled sheets, an inaudible moan slipping between his clenched teeth. Choso doesn’t resist when you ease him upward, warm fingers tracing up his heaving body as you press him onto his back. Only when you press a kiss to his fevered temple does he find himself, eyes bleary in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, straddling his hips, your hand reaching for his straining cock, palming some of the leaking pre-cum over your fingers as you stroke him. “I can’t wait… I want you… can I? Choso?”

This part will burn, he thinks, helping you to hold yourself steady, eyes slipping closed when he feels the slick heat of you gliding teasingly over his tip. When you sink down, his back arches, and he hopes that the whispering shadows, the lingering remnants of his guilt, will be tossed onto this fire you’re stoking. Your hips still when they reach his base, legs twitching around him, your nails catching against his smooth skin, working nicks into the clean slate.

You’re clutching onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you down, and he opens his shuttered eyes to watch, hoping he can glimpse you past the smoldering of his want. You’re beautiful, he thinks, hand lifting from your hips to fiddle with the necklace that sits around your neck, admiring the glint of metal in the gloom.

He wishes he could see more, that he could wait a little longer, but he wants to put an end to this ache; he wants to burn.

The lift of your knees leaves both of you gasping, and Choso stifles a moan, legs tensing restlessly under the steady push and pull you’re establishing over him. It’s so warm inside you, and he can feel the thrum of your blood again, so he tries to match his to yours, controlling his pulse, right down to the multiplicity of his cells, eager to feel that potent tug of release once more.

“Does it feel good?” you ask, leaning back so he can admire his engorged cock as it plunges in and out of your sodden pussy.

“Do you have to ask?” he grunts, lifting a hand to your breast, tweaking the tender bud of your peaked nipple between the knuckles of his fingers.

When you call out his name again, he snatches you to him, dragging you to his parted lips as he digs his heels into the futon, rutting into you until you’re squelching lewdly around his pistoning cock. The world feels like it’s narrowing; the shadows lessening as he engulfs himself in you, his teeth working bruises into your neck, your shoulder, the tops of your breasts, anywhere he can reach; but it’s not enough.

With a huffed groan he’s gathering you into his arms, robust thighs helping him to flip you onto your back, hands splitting your legs as he drives himself back into your welcoming heat. It’s deeper in this position. He can feel more of your twitches and pulsations as he steadies his arms beside your ears, bracing himself over your prostrate form.

“You want me to touch you again, don’t you?” he asks, voice broken. “Do you want me to touch your clit? Will that make you cum for me? Will it?”

“I-I can do it,” you gasp, easing your fingers between your grinding bodies, knees spreading so he can watch. “Tell me when,” you murmur, head dropping as you arch, slipping him further.

“Now,” he moans, grabbing your jaw, forcing your lips to his as he slams his cock into you, setting himself alight; easing the incessant tug of his guilt until it’s a blunted thrum resting close to his heart.

When you shatter around him, he follows, wholly caught in the ebb and flow of his release; lost in the depths of this unsteady solution.

He stays with you through the night, eyes following the line of your body as you sleep. His hands are cold, he thinks, easing them beside you, but not for much longer.

The 31st is only four days away.

“Did he question you? Ask you for anything?” Getō’s words are lanced with care, his voice honey sweet as he steeples his fingers, peering at you with an avariciousness that makes you shake.

“He didn’t. I doubt it will happen again. I didn’t...I don’t want to...to… hurt––”

“What? Hurt him? He’s a half-breed monster. His feelings don’t come into this. Nor should yours; you have a family to think of, a mother who’s an invalid, a younger brother who can’t be depended upon, a father who’s a drunkard; too far gone to notice, or care, his eldest is missing; hasn’t attended her college classes in weeks... and your sister. Well, she’s still a child... much too young to suffer from your mistakes, don’t you think?”

“You’re the monster,” you grit, hands folded into your lap, nails pressing until blood wells under your fingertips.

“Perhaps,” he smiles. “We’ll be out of your way soon enough. Let me know if you show any signs of impregnation, would you? Any spawn you whelp will be useful; very useful indeed.”

notes: i was gonna name this something else, and i know the dates i am describing don’t match with the sabbat, but Beltane felt like a smoother fit.

211 notes · View notes

siriusmydeer · 3 years

Note

can you do young sirius black x reader fic where him and the reader are dating the reader has really awful parents that make them feel like shit all the time

the promising potters

sirius black x gender neutral!reader

summary: sirius offers you a better position then one you’re already in.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: mentions of child abuse, mentions of self insecurity/doubt, crying, guilt, hurt/comfort, mentions of feeling unworthy/useless, angst but only if you squint, bad parent-kid relationship bonds

a/n: so i combined this with another request bc they’re so similar.

there was a familiar recurrent amount of anticipation weighing like a tipping scale in your subconscious, simply waiting for it to tip too far. it was a circadian never-ending cycle of thoughts, of venomous thinking that had immense potential to swallow you whole if you’d allow it. the recurrent malignant thoughts were never-ending.

as the sorrowful day continued, it felt like an eternal chain of events that would never cease, the recurrent thought pounding in your psyche similar to an alarm without a snooze button. the burden on your mind, the letters upon letters barricading your every thought at the disappointing words scribbled upon the parchment. there was only feeling that was a considerable emotion among the others that were struggling to afloat,

dismay.

how could you be good enough for yourself if you couldn't be enough for the people that brought you into this world that was supposed to love and cherish you? it was quite a familiar question that rapidly came and went in a vicious cycle swishing around your mind almost making your perception an obscuring fog that regarded any other thought.

your bottom had been sprawled upon the carmine stitched duvet, that belonged to sirius, for the past several hours. the small parchment clutched between your trembling digits from recurrent gazing at the wounding letters sculpted into the paper by your parents following their signatures. the letters becoming a jumble of words that you could no longer read due to the tears obscuring your vision.

there's a stutter of words that spill off your tongue in the sense of dejection, a faint cough escaping your lungs through your trachea before you spoke again. “sirius— i just can’t do this anymore.” you spoke desperately, the slight jut of your lip quavered whilst you spoke in sorrow. there was an erratic palpitation soaring through your chest every millisecond at the uneasiness strumming through every minuscule blood cell that your body could possess.

your fingers slightly trembled while you clenched them deeper into the creased parchment from your steady and unwavering grip. “hurts so bad.” your words slightly muffled from the tears that were bound to spill over your waterline. your sentence was almost disorganized from the congestion that had formed in your throat due to the number of tears you had shed then less than ten minutes ago.

he began to soothe you with his tranquil fingers that began to trace bemused shapes down your spine, feeling the balmy touch of his finger pads through your shirt ventured into the beginning of tranquility in his endeavor to comfort you. his chin had been resting on the curvature of your shoulder whilst his nose slightly prodded at your clavicle, seeking to conciliate you further.

how could a parent reject their child? what could that child have done so wrong that suddenly they’re unworthy of a parent's love?

who is deserving of that treatment?, not you, certainly not you.

there was a cycle of questions that remained prominent in your mind that only swirled down for a few moments as you were distracted by sirius’ soothing touch, your subconscious yearning for the answer since you had been a young child pondering why you felt so dejected by them. if you were given the opportunity you could've to plead on your knees for an answer as to why.

your respires were beginning to elevate tremendously as you thought of the answers to your ignored questions. whilst sirius began to notice the heaving movements that trembled in your chest, he placed a soothing palm on the bend of your spine— he was adamantly trying his best to comfort you in a situation he had been incredibly familiar with.

“i know baby, i know,” he spoke with a small quiver in his voice. an empathetic sense beginning to acquire over the planes of his sensorium, feeling the uttermost affliction that had been radiating off of your body now melding into his own.

“i wish things were different.” you sighed. your neck began to crane to the left in an attempt to glimpse at the boy. sirius’ chin remained on the curvature of your shoulder and the movements of his palms never faltering, he peered his eyes at you. the familiar pearl-hued irises covered in a clear glaze of empathy towards your slouched figure that was sat upon his bed.

he nodded as a sign that his attention remained on you, observing the way you brought your hand, with a slight tremor now enabling its way from the exertion of stress your body had to endure, and bringing it to wipe across the streaks engraved its way down your cheeks; letting your hand flop back onto your thigh in exhaustion.

“i’m here, m’love. ‘m here,” he whispered into the pulse point of your neck along with a small kiss, identifying how your jugular began to quiver faintly at his consoling words.

he pondered for a moment in silence. if his next words were worthy to be sputtered out in the despairing aura that remains present in the room since you had trudged in his dormitory. james wouldn’t have the slightest problem, euphemia nor fleamont either.

‘the more the merrier.’ they would say, sirius’ mind depicting their exact voices.

“i feel so useless.” you broke the silence once more, wiping another tear whilst expressing your concerns to the gryffindor. “like there’s nothing else i could do, besides disappointing them,” you spoke without an ounce of dishonesty in your voice.

the murmur of your honest confession was enough to bring tears cascading down his pallid cheeks.

sirius’ hand had paused and his chin had lifted from your shoulder, his brows contorting into a broad emotion of perplexity. bewildered at his sudden actions your eyebrows began to crease at his movements. “listen to me,” he began to speak in nobility, “you’re not a disappointment nor useless, you hear me?” he chastised sternly.

“and i don’t ever want to hear you think like that again.” he proceeded to lay his hand on your dampened cheek feeling the familiar searing burn of embarrassment rise to your face, sliding the pad of his thumb against your skin in a comforting motion. “stay with me, and james, and the potters.” he offered, your eyes shooting rapidly into a widened state at his request.

“i can't, it’s—“ you began to deny his offer with the shake of your head, feeling a barricade of guilt. you hastily cut yourself off while attempting to put together your disfigured thoughts. “s’not worth it, ‘m not worth it. to ruin everything you have going with the potters.”

“you aren't ruining anything, love. ‘m gonna talk with james, you don't have to do with it alone.”

you gaped at him, wide eyes glistened with glaciers of despair and dejection while your lips were adamantly trembling attempting to not let a flow of tears overcome you once more. simply not wanting to disturb the atmosphere that had been built in the potter household since sirius had arrived, as well as having no desire to burden them with the faults that had been weighed upon you. but sirius would have none of that, the potters had adored you since the first christmas you had to spend with them in second year.

there would be zero troubles taking you in, and he was going to make sure of it.

“everything’s gonna is alright, i promise you.”

taglist: @fific7 @wisedreamcatcher @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @msmb @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness @i-love-scott-mccall @artemis1orion @miss-starkov @siriusbarnesslut @inglourious-imagines @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch @90steaology

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

Midnight Stroll

TITLE: MIDNIGHT STROLL

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: mooncat163

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that you struggle with sleep walking, and one night you manage to get to Loki’s room. The next morning he wakes to find you snuggled against his back, and wonders how you ever got past the security spells he’d cast.

RATING: General

NOTES/WARNINGS: just fluffy stuff, sleepwalking

— —

You’ve been up for close to seventy-two hours straight, copying VHS surveillance tapes to digital in an attempt to isolate and identify players suspected of gearing up for a major weapons heist. Any attempts to make you rest before you collapsed were rebuffed: you were determined to complete the process and make positive ID’s as soon as you could.

“Hey.”

The greeting was soft so that you weren’t startled when Steve came up behind you. He glanced over the monitors before looking at you.

“Hey, Cap,” you replied, and turned your head slightly. “I’m almost done, just have about twelve hours left-“

“That's why I’m here,” he said. “You’ve been at it for close to three days, and you need to rest.”

“I’m good,” you protested. “Jarvis has already isolated footage for me, I just have to-“

“Rest,” he said, firmly. “Jarvis, bookmark where she’s at, but she’s not allowed to start again until she’s eaten and slept.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I-“ You turned your chair to face Steve after the computer monitors went blank.

“No.” He urged you out of the chair and then ushered you from the room. “Tony agrees, and none of us want you to become overtired.”

You still wanted to protest, but there wasn’t any point in doing so. Jarvis wouldn’t allow you to access the files until Tony or Steve agreed to it, and there wasn’t a way to subvert the AI. You knew this because you’d tried several times, just to see if you could and to see how badly you could annoy Tony.

You had managed one small victory: you’d renamed some of his music files, so that instead of the heavy metal songs he liked to blare at random, Jarvis would end up playing teen bop songs. Tony didn’t talk to you for a week after that, although you could see by the gleam in his eyes that he was slightly impressed by the feat.

Computers had always been your ‘thing’, and you could set up networks and track down problems in record time. When you worked with the electronics, your mind visualized the connections and routes in schematic form, enabling you to pinpoint the failing areas. When it came to analyzing data, you could do so just as quickly.

Steve led you to the elevator, and the ride up to the Avengers’ level was made in silence, then his hand in the small of your back guided to the dining table, where the rest of the team sat.

“Glad you could join us,” Tony said, grinning when you cut your eyes at him.

You sat down across from Loki and Thor, then helped your plate with food as it was passed to you. You offered them both a tired smile, which Thor returned with a wink. Loki nodded, and although he didn’t smile, his green eyes were lit with amusement. A warmth spread through your veins, making it hard to look away from him, but you finally managed.

If only he wasn’t such eye candy, you thought. Or maybe such a snack...a tall, tall, snack…snack-a-licious…

You smothered a giggle that almost escaped, but then strangled on the sip of water you’d just taken. While you coughed into your napkin, Bucky tried to help by patting your back, but his strength knocked you forward enough where you almost face-planted into your plate.

“Bucky!”

“Sorry.”

You composed yourself while keeping your attention on your food. You weren’t very hungry, even though you’d subsisted only on coffee, protein snacks and candy over the last few days. As you began to eat, it became difficult to keep your eyes open. Now that you were still and quiet, the lack of sleep caught up with you fast. The others watched as your head began to drop lower and lower, until your fork clattered onto the plate as you fell asleep while sitting upright.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” Steve scooped you up and carried you to your apartment, where he put you to bed.

— —

Later that night, Tony was still in the common room when you padded quietly on bare feet into the kitchen. You went to the fridge and stared at its contents for several minutes before taking out a yogurt cup.

He watched as you shuffled to a drawer for a spoon, and he started to ask if you needed help when you struggled to open the yogurt, but you did manage to get the lid off after a couple of minutes.

“Are you alright?” He asked as you consumed the yogurt in four large spoonfuls.

You didn’t respond, just dropped the spoon into the sink, and the empty cup into the garbage, and left. Once back in your apartment, you crawled into bed, pulled up the covers and went back to sleep.

— —

Several hours later, Loki stirred from a deep sleep when something woke him. He listened for any movement in his apartment, but all was quiet. Something wasn’t right, though, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He started to get up, but then realized what had disturbed him: a warmth against his back, along with a bare arm across his waist. To say that he was stunned would be an understatement, since neither should be there.

Loki carefully grasped his bedfellow’s wrist and raised it enough to try to determine who had invaded his space, and he didn’t need three guesses when he recognized the intruder’s bracelet.

Pixel.

He couldn’t help but think of you by the nickname that Tony had burdened you with due to your computer skills. None of that was important, however. What was important was why you were in his bed, and how you had managed to avoid the spells that he cast each night that would alert him to any intruders. It was a habit that he kept, even though it was unlikely that he’d be attacked in his own suite, and he felt a bit uneasy that you hadn’t triggered any of them.

Loki carefully shifted until he faced you, and the movement was enough to turn you on your back. He braced up on one elbow while he looked into your face, and recognized the exhaustion it reflected. He knew that you’d been working hard on the surveillance videos; too hard, it seemed. He frowned at that, and decided to speak to Stark about letting you stay awake for days on end, as it wasn’t necessary since Jarvis could easily help run comparisons.

“Hey, Pixel.”

He brushed hair out of your face before shaking you gently, but you didn’t stir. He tried again, with no success: you were dead to the world. He considered taking you back to your own bed, but an urge for mischief kept him from doing so. He rather wanted to see what your reaction would be come morning. So, he adjusted position slightly so that your head was pillowed on his arm, then he put the other arm across you and pulled you closer.

— —

Early the next morning, well before dawn, you awoke slowly to find that something was very, very wrong.

Your sheets were softer than you recalled, you were curled against someone’s side, with your head on their shoulder, and this someone had their arms around you. Slowly, carefully, you sat up, and the shock when you recognized your bedfellow had you turning toward the edge of the bed.

Loki.

Before you could disengage fully from his embrace, he turned with you, and drew you even closer to his chest, where he held you firmly. You laid still for a couple of minutes, not wanting to disturb him, hoping to escape before he woke. Then you carefully tried moving his arm from across your waist so that you could slide from beneath it.

“What’s the fuss, pet?” Loki asked, sleepily.

“Why are you in my room?”

“Your room?” You felt his smile against your temple.

“My room! And my bed!”

“Are you certain about that?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion while you slowly looked around, then your mouth fell open in astonishment when you realized where you were. Nope, not your room, but his.

“How did I get in here??”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” He asked, while burying his nose in your hair. “How you got in, and got past my security measures.”

“I don’t—wait, security measures? You mean booby traps?” You whispered, aghast.

He almost laughed aloud at that, and would have if your tone hadn’t been so horrified at the notion of triggering one of his spells.

“Don’t worry, Pixel, there isn’t anything that will cause lasting harm,” he chuckled. “So, first order of business: why did you come here?”

“I’m not...oh...cripes…” you rubbed your face with a groan.

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry...I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Oh?”

“I haven’t done it in years, though...I guess being up for close to four days straight triggered it.”

“I see,” Loki mused over that for a moment. “But how did you get past my spells?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t,” you replied. “Are you sure they’re still intact...never mind, forget I asked.”

You’d backtracked on the question when his arm tightened slightly; you could imagine that his expression would remind you that he was a master sorcerer who was at least nine hundred years in age, and that he would know if his spells had failed.

“I should go,” you told him as you tried again to move his arm. “I’m very sorry for invading your space…”

“It’s early yet, why not stay?” He asked. “You’re delightfully warm.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I should.”

You were painfully aware that your gown’s thin straps left your arms and shoulders bare, and the hem only reached to your knees. There was no way that Loki hadn’t noticed it either, just as it hadn’t escaped your notice that his chest was bare. Thankfully, you could tell that he had on pajama bottoms. Thank God for small mercies.

“I was a perfect gentleman last night,” he commented. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, quickly. But do I trust myself?

Loki hummed softly before he ran his hand down your arm and changed your gown into one that covered you from your chin to your feet, and from your shoulders to your wrists. You were quite sure the thing would strangle you, since you were a restless sleeper.

“Geez, did you raid Steve’s grandmother’s closet??”

“Just trying to be helpful,” he replied with a chuckle, before he changed the gown again.

This time it was a green shirt with flowing sleeves, open neckline and a shorter hem which reached your knees. It wasn’t lost on you that he’d put you in his color.

“Better?” He asked.

“Yes, thank you,” you replied. “But I should go....”

He held you more firmly, and drew his legs up behind yours to trap you further. He was reluctant to let you go now that you were in his arms. He’d watched you for months now, slowly warming up since you treated him the same as anyone else, perhaps even better. He wasn’t sure how you’d managed to get under his skin, but he found himself wondering how it would feel to hold you, to kiss you...to have you.

When Loki refused to let you up, your heart began to race at the implications. Was he interested in you? Or just being mischievous because you had accidentally climbed into his bed? Either way, the proximity to his bare skin had you shaking; it wouldn’t take much for you to give in to his request.

“I’d like for you to stay,” he whispered, before he’d turned your face toward him.

When his lips found yours in a gentle kiss, your reticence flew out the window.

Yes, that did it.

#Submitted one shot #God of Mischief #Loki #Others #Lover #submission #mooncat163 #midnight stroll

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

selfie | jjk | 2

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Is this a rom-com, slice-of-life drama with unsolicited social commentary about gender stereotypes, idol music, and the meaningless meaning of the word, “adult”? Yes. But also, Jeon Jungkook shouldn’t be in love with his hyung’s little sister and he is. Shit.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of depression, anxiety, loneliness; fluff, but also frustrating because flirt already, sheesh; loons-to-lovers; non-idol!AU - oppa’s bestfriend!Jungkook x SHINee fangirl!reader

happy lunar new year!! year of the ox - jk’s lucky year <3

–

previous episode.

2. in which the two loons getting somewhere, only for more misunderstandings to happen.

Is this too much?

You stared at the picture and the message. Jeon Jungkook once again. Sending a picture of himself at the gym. It was a while since the last one, so his hair was slightly longer now. Was he growing it out? Oh well, none of your business. You sent your usual reply.

You sighed and went back to your journal, only to have your phone aggressively sing ‘3 PM’ from the Animal Crossing New Leaf OST. Directly asking for a video call this time. You thinned your mouth into a line and closed your journal, sliding it out of frame before accepting the call.

Jungkook’s big brown eye filled up the screen, directly on the camera.

“Why don’t you respond like a normal person?”

“Why don’t you start conversations off like a normal person?” you shot back, placing a hand on your cheek and leaning against it. There was stationery scattered all around you, but your journal was behind the charging stand.

Jungkook withdrew his eyeball, frowning. You could see his entire face now, his long black hair tied up into a silly sprout on top of his head. He was still wearing the dark gray sweatshirt from the photo, but he seemed to be in his apartment. All you could see was the wall.

“What about the pic though? Is it too much?”

“Too much what?” you responded irritably.

He waved his hand, shaking the phone with his movement. “You know… Too, ‘Hey I work out and am attractive, pay attention to me’ much?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even looking at the camera. Or wearing a sleeveless shirt.”

He blinked at you. “Should I?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, those are things not to do. Picture is fine,” you added, shifting some pens away so you could rest your head on your forearms.

“Oh.”

He looked uneasy for a second before the camera jostled around as he scurried to a different part of the room. You puffed your cheeks and closed your eyes, not wanting to get motion sick.

“I’ve been playing Persona 5!” Jungkook said cheerfully, making you open your eyes to see him directing the camera at his television where the Persona music was merrily playing. “Just finished Sakura Futaba’s Palace.” He switched the camera back as you smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

“Nice.”

Jungkook seemed to spy your deflated form on your desk.

“What’s wrong?”

You breathed out. “Nothing.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

You shrugged. “Just thinking.” Your eyes flickered to him, smirking a little. “You wouldn’t know about that, I suspect.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. Other than that, he didn’t react to your remark.

“Thinking about what?” he asked, leaning back into his gray couch. His long hair flared out, sprout blooming against the cushions.

Your eyes shifted to the pens all over your desk. To your tablet, where you had been practicing digital drawing for a little while now. Just little drawings of cute animals, no people yet. To your journal, where you had been writing your diary entry.

“Lonely.”

You said the word without thinking. It was the title of your diary entry. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it was the only thing on your mind right now. Your eyes flickered back to Jungkook, who was watching you carefully. You sighed, feeling the need to explain yourself.

“All my friends are busy with school and their jobs. Oppa is always at work or with his girlfriend. Parents are always working.”

You could feel the distance between you and your high school friends. They were chasing your dreams and you were chasing nothing at all. You weren’t distant from your brother, but you were respectful of how much time he wanted to spend with his girlfriend. She might become his future wife someday, after all. Would you have a future husband one day? You wondered what he would be like.

You shook your head and shrugged. “But I did it to myself by taking a gap year, so it can’t be helped.”

“It’s okay to feel lonely.”

Slowly, your gaze shifted back to Jungkook. He was getting up from the couch, holding the phone up as he walked to what looked like the kitchen.

“I mean, you can’t help what you feel, right?” he said as he set the phone in a cupboard and went to the fridge. “Feeling lonely isn’t some kind of crime, so you don’t need to lock it away or anything.”

Jungkook picked up a take-out container and opened it, stiffing the contents. He seemed to be debating if it was edible or not. How long had that been there? You wanted to ask but then again, you didn’t want to know. Jungkook shrugged and dumped the mysterious contents into a bowl.

“I’ll talk to you whenever you want.”

You scoffed. “Why would you do that?”

Jungkook placed the bowl in the microwave and set the timer. The machine hummed as he turned around.

“To prevent you from feeling lonely.”

A butterfly danced in your chest.

You chuckled. “Why would I want to feel annoyed instead of lonely?”

Jungkook shrugged, taking out some chopsticks. “At least you have someone to be annoyed at instead of being alone?”

Two butterflies danced in your chest.

You huffed and rested your cheek on your forearms.

“Have you been talking to your Confidants?”

“What?”

“In Persona 5.”

“Who?”

You slapped your forehead. “Listen up, you monkey…”

“I’m an ox in the zodiac.”

“I mean your monkey gameplay…”

You began to explain the importance of Confidants in Persona to Jungkook.

That’s how you ended up in video calls with Jeon Jungkook several times a week.

He would usually start the call by sending a selfie, to which you would respond with your usual question mark. He was going to university for graphic design and worked at an electronics store part time. You, on the hand, were doing nothing. Well, not nothing, because you were clumsily learning digital art, but unless you were showering, you were always by your phone. Checking idol social media, especially SHINee. Sometimes your brother and his girlfriend asked you to accompany them to dinner, but you always declined, because being the third wheel was weird.

Also, watching your brother in love was weird.

Bleh.

“They always make out in front of me,” you were telling Jungkook as he asked why you weren’t at dinner earlier with your brother and his friends. Your brother had taken his girlfriend, of course. “It’s weird.”

Jungkook winced. “Yeah, I get what you mean. But I was there.”

“So what?”

Jungkook raised his hands. He was in his bed, rolling around in gray sheets. “Maybe you care?”

“I’d like to be spared watching oppa’s PDA, thanks.”

As usual, you were at your desk. This time your tablet was in front of you. You pushed the pen around, indecisively drawing lines and undoing your last action, twisting your mouth to one side, not really looking at Jungkook. He wasn’t doing anything of note, anyway.

“You don’t like PDA?”

You shrugged. “It’s whatever. I don’t really care.”

“What are you drawing?”

“Nothing good,” you sighed, putting down the tablet pen. The little cat character looked back at you, its expression the same bored and dispassionate face you usually had. You hadn’t really decided on a color for it yet. Maybe gray. That’s how you usually felt, anyway. You knew the collar color was going to be aqua though. A nod to your SHINee obsession.

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

You looked up to Jungkook’s smile. There was a radiance about it. You felt the two butterflies dancing in your ribcage once again, fluttering, fluttering. His two front teeth where just ever so slightly too large for his mouth. It was endearing, like seeing a bunny. You looked back down at the little cat you created. Maybe you would make a bunny for Jungkook.

Pfft.

Why would you do that?

You laughed, confusing Jungkook as you placed your hand over your mouth, eyes squinting as you chortled to yourself, trying to imagine Jungkook as a silly little bunny. Probably one that worked out too much and drank banana milk every day. Probably loved to take selfies too. A cool bunny who wrote sunglasses sometimes and was probably altruistic and interesting.

Not like you.

Your laughter died down, eyes on the cat. You picked a cat to represent you because it was lazy and didn’t do much. Spent all day sleeping and staring outside, but never actually trying. Curious about things, but never committing.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asked, lifting the camera and holding it above him. You saw his long black hair flare out around his head. He was casually handsome, the kind of attractive that didn’t need much to be that way.

That’s weird. Why would you think something like that?

“Your face,” you replied, missing the usual bite you usually had behind your words. “You need a trim.”

He raised his eyebrow, pursing his lips. “You don’t like long hair?”

You pointed at the phone even though he probably couldn’t tell what you were pointing at. “The ends of your hair are splitting. It’s not going to grow well at this rate.”

“Are you a secret barber or something?”

“I’m a human being who cuts her own hair,” you replied impassively, sitting back in your chair.

Jungkook looked surprised. “Really? Since when?”

“Since the last time oppa attempted to cut my hair in high school.” You cringed at the memory.

Jungkook looked apologetic and ready to burst out laughing at the same time. “He tried his best.”

“He did not,” you retorted, remembering the botched bangs and blunt shoulder length cut. It was horrible. You went to the salon afterward and had it trimmed into a short pixie cut, because you would rather be bald than look like an overgrown coconut.

“The pixie cut was cool though.”

“Eh.” You shrugged. “Too hard to cut it by myself. Need some length to hide my mistakes.”

“Your hair always looks nice though. A little messy.”

You touched the top of your head self-consciously. Maybe you should start brushing it before accepting his calls. You didn’t really brush it that often because, well, who was going to see you? You basically only brushed it when you noticed a tangle.

Jungkook was smiling at you. His dark brown eyes seemed sparkly because of the overhead lights in his bedroom. The butterflies in your ribcage circled each other, looping round and round. You made a disgruntled face, reaching up read the current time at the top of your phone.

“Don’t you have class early tomorrow? Go to sleep.”

And then you pressed the end call button.

For some reason, relief and disappointment washed over you. Relief because there was a palpitating anxiousness you felt when you looked too directly into Jungkook’s eyes. Disappointment because maybe you shouldn’t have hung up so abruptly. That was a little rude.

You noticed you had a text. From Jeon Jungkook.

Good night.

Jungkook placed his phone beside him after he sent the text. He thought about sending a selfie too, but maybe that was too much. She had just seen him seconds before, anyway.

Why had she hung up like that?

He smiled as he remembered her laugh. He liked her laugh a lot. She hid it behind her hands and her eyes always squinted when she did so, nearly making them disappear. It looked a little bit like a cat when it was purring in satisfaction. Jungkook wondered what made her laugh like that. It must have been a thought, because he could see her face changing as she observed him. When she stopped laughing, her face was different too, becoming introspective.

She looked pretty today too.

Her hair a little messy, combed through with her fingers. That’s how it looked best, he thought. She had a natural prettiness, the kind that needed no help to be that way. Every action she did seemed cute, from the way she held her pen, to the way she twisted her mouth to one side when she was working on something, to the way she touched the top of her head, lips parting in thought.

If she wanted to be a model, she probably could.

At least, Jungkook wanted to take her picture.

He frowned a little. He’d been consistently sending her selfies before calling her and she always responded with a question mark. Maybe she wasn’t used to taking selfies? Or maybe, and what was more likely, she probably didn’t even care about them.

Jungkook exhaled, flopping to his side. Should he give up? But then he remembered her face right before she looked at the time. It was like she was staring at the screen, at his face. And for a split second, he swore he saw her upper lip upturn a bit, shyness in her gaze, a bit of pink flushing her cheeks. Was it just the lightning or something? His mind playing tricks on him?

“Bleh.”

Jungkook made a weird noise and plopped his face into his pillow.

Jungkook stopped calling you.

You wondered why. You had been kind of rude to him last time. Maybe he was mad at you? Maybe he wanted an apology? But you weren’t really sure what to apologize for. And it was weird to call without a purpose, right? And besides.

You didn’t really need to apologize to Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t even really your friend. He was your older brother’s friend.

You chewed on your lip, staring at the last picture he sent you. He wasn’t your friend. He was… well, what was he trying to do? Why was he talking to you? Maybe he was bored. Maybe he was nosy. You did say you followed his art Instagram, so maybe he was enthralled with the idea of knowing he had a fan or something?

But you weren’t a fan, per se.

Well, a little bit. He was really talented.

But not that much!

Because Jeon Jungkook was kind of annoying. He still hadn’t returned Persona 5 to your brother. Not that your older brother noticed, at all. He never finished Persona 5 and it was mostly your game now, with how many hours you had sunk into it. Jungkook hadn’t even known about Confidants until you told him. Hmph. Didn’t he look up game guides? Well, he should. Confidants were really important to the game. They helped you with useful abilities during boss fights by developing relationships with the other characters.

You stared at the last selfie Jungkook had sent you.

You kind of wished he was looking at the camera.

Maybe you needed a Confidant. You certainly didn’t really know how to develop relationships with anyone, except maybe your older brother. But that was because he was your brother and familial responsibility. Well. Not true. Your brother was really nice to you.

That’s why you folded his underwear for him, even to this day.

Sigh.

Jungkook did like SHINee though.

At least that was one thing in common, right?

next episode: 3. in which only a major event can bring these two loons back together – SHINee is back!

masterpost

#jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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thatonecitykid · 3 years

Text

I bet on Losing

Hey everyone! Sorry this is so sad.. was already crying so might as well make everyone else cry.This takes place after Endgame but during the same time as Far From Home. Listen to "I Bet on Losing Dogs" by Mitski for the full experience. Word Count: 2517. Have fun angels :)

Peter had finally left for his class trip, Pepper and Morgan had gone to spend their summer in Malibu, the remaining avengers were either in space or had completely disappeared from your life. Here you were after five years of your life had evaporated, and after all this time you had to play your fathers role for all the remaining avengers. You hadn't had the opportunity to cry when you first learned about what had happened. You couldn't cry at the funeral, not because you did not want to, but because you felt as if your father wouldn't want to see it. No one wanted to leave you alone, but after months of trying to dig some type of emotion out of you they had assumed that the death and slow disappearance of your makeshift avenger family had unaffected you.

You finally had the opportunity to exist alone. You had also finally mustered up the strength to visit secluded cabin your father had lived in for the last five years of his life. Although you had been given the keys immediately after the funeral, something about visiting the area made you feel uneasy. Not necessarily creeped out but just as if you did not belong, after all it was something your father invested in after you had already blipped away for several months.

You drove up to the cabin alone, slowly unlocking the door as if to not start or whoever may be inside. Before even entering the cabin, it looks clean, you assume that Pepper has had people cleaning constantly to maintain the cabin. It made sense, it was something she's cherished. You stepped into the cabin slowly and began to look around. The walls were lined with framed pictures of Morgan, family pictures of Pepper, your dad, and Morgan, and random posters and vintage albums. Although you were not the one to complain about it, having no evidence of your existence in the main areas of the home caused your heart dropped. As you wandered through the kitchen and the main family room, there is no evidence of Tony's life prior to the blip, just a somewhat normal family of three.

You decide to wander to the basement area, leaving the office and bedroom spaces upstairs for later. There was a large sitting area that you assumed they watched movies in. There was also a playroom painted pink featuring all sorts of gadgets very similar to those you grew up with that Tony had made for you. Towards the back hall of the basement, it was a glass door to your father's workshop area. You open the door gently and made your way in.

Despite looking like somewhat of a mess, you knew that behind the madness there was a method. You could tell that although your dad left in a hurry, things were placed in specific spots very similarly to how he did in every other one of his workshops. You walked towards his swiveling chair, noticing a metal box with a button on the worktable. You press the button and jump back as a life-size hologram of your father appeared in the room. He began

"Hi Pepper. My love, my muse, my boss. If you are listening to this then I did the one thing you have always told me not to do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the worry I've put you through, and I am sorry for taking myself away from you. I was a gift wasn't I. You've already seen another version of this message, but it never hurts to see your face again my darling."

The tears in your eyes begin to form, not because you had not expected to see your father. At this point you had already seen the message he had left after the funeral; It was only really meant for Pepper and Morgan, never addressing you.. At the funeral you refused to enter the cabin but as you watched the message while standing outside, Happy looked over at you with remorse but you kept a straight face again. Who were you to complain at your dead dad's funeral? Yet this message radiated the same energy.

As the second portion of the message began to play tears began to fall faster. It almost feels like an out of body, sure your dad had taken up different kids during your time growing up, but this message made you feel as If you had been completely replaced. Although it felt like a dumb theory there was no evidence as to your existence prior to Morgan.

"Hello my little scientist. How's my favorite person. Daddy is really sorry I can't be there right now. Be a trooper and hug you mom for me real quick. Now you must be surprised because I'm supposed to be the strongest dad in the world but let me tell you kid, sometimes crazy things happen when put on the ironman helmet. My little minion I love you 3000. My love for you is infinite. You have been and will forever be daddy's best friend."

Here you were crying over a child who had also lost her father, filled with jealousy over the fact that you father had chosen her and failed to consider your return but had prepared for Peter's return, still had projects waiting for Harley, and had in fact set up a stable plan for Morgan's future. At this point you were sobbing, what had all felt like a bad nightmare and jumping to conclusions had started to feel way too real. This emotion was even stronger than when you watched footage from your father suit as the snap happened, this emotion felt like a stab in the back.

Maybe he never loved me.

You tried to collect yourself but were still sobbing when the holographic figure of you father disappeared. You might as well finish the house tour before leaving. The upstairs portion of the house featured Tony and Pepper's room, Morgan's room and two other doors. The main bedroom was tidy and organized, with a closet full of clothes that both Pepper and your dad had left. You walked into Morgan's room and did a quick look around, not wanting to invade child space. Returning to the hallway you opened the door to your father's office. Inside there was a rather simple with a desk, a leather chair, and two matching chairs. The plants in the room were growing well, meaning someone still came to water them. There were a few pictures on the wall, including Peter's Stark internship picture, and a random picture you took of the original Avengers after their first New York battle. On the desk there was another metal box similar to that in the workpace. You argued whether or not you wanted to potentially break your heart more before giving in, siting in the leather seat and pressing the button.

A slim beam of light scanned over your face, confirming your identity, and the box began to play. To say you were shocked is an understatement, as your father's hologram appeared across the desk sitting in one of the matching chairs.

"Hello Munchkin. If you've found this box, then I just going to have to accept that I've failed you. You've been gone for five years and regret every moment leading up to when you snapped away. You really did want to come to space with me, and honestly you would have been helpful, but I don't think I could see you Blip away and have the will to continue. That being said because I am already admitting I was wrong, I should not have had your suit take you to the bunker room, where you eventually snapped away alone. I regret that decision y constantly. On another note, I'm sorry I didn't hug you as soon as you got back, I clearly I cannot really hug anyone."

You had finally given up on holding in their tears. You didn't have to be strong in front of your dad. He had always held you when you cried and this time he couldn't. You tried to wrap your arms around yourself, but nothing felt the same.

"I hope you are crying, because if I'm crying alone during this part, I'll be embarrassed, his image continued as it stood up and leaned against the back of the chair. Munch I know you've probably walked around this house and have found no evidence of yourself. You've probably beat yourself up about how much I love Morgan, but think about it. The amount of time I've spent these last 5 years essentially idolizing you would not have been good for her to experience. "

You rose quickly from the chair. Not even one damn picture?

"Now I know you're wondering not even a single picture. Pick up the projector box and follow me ."

You did as the digital version of your father told you and followed it back into the hallway.

"Put the box down and put your hand on the center of the door. "

This activated a scanner which opened up the door to the room. As you walked in you recognized that this was an exact replica of your room back in the Malibu house. You were still a kid when the original house was blown to pieces but somehow everything was exactly as you remembered it. As you walked further into the room you noticed the large screens, placed like picture frames, which played videos and pictures of you and your dad throughout the years.

Your father walked towards the center of the room, bounded by how far the projector was.

"You see kid, me and you have somewhat the same grieving styles. I have a feeling you didn't cry at the funeral. I have a feeling you haven't cried, at least in a way that someone else could have noticed. You take after me in that sense."

The hologram started to sniffle, your dad had actually started crying when recording this. You really wanted to hug him, the reality of his death hurt even more. You had finally allowed yourself to start grieving.

"Look, I know you used to listen to the song about betting on losing dogs when you wanted to cry, but that does not apply to you at all. You may have gotten a more complicated stick of life, but I can tell ya, this does not need to be your villain origin story. From the first day I took you home I could tell you were a fighter, but I need you to feel as if its ok to cry. I've spent hours on this floor in shambles wishing you were here. The small things that Morgan does that remind me of you throw me into sadness pools constantly. You are my motivating force. I really hope you allow yourself to cry about it so that you can continue in life. I don't think I can stand in this room for any longer before I cannot speak at all, so please take the projector back to my office. "

As you lifted the projector you thought about how much this must have hurt your father to record. Maybe he didn't want anyone to encounter this box except for you. As you placed the box on the desk, you sat back into the leather chair as your father's holograph sat across from you.

"On a different note, you are probably wondering why I seemed to set up a game plan for everyone but you. With Morgan I just made sure she had a comfortable, who am I kidding, lavish funding behind her. I can't dictate what a five-year-old should do. For Harley you know that I've always looked out for him, a position in Stark industries honestly should not have surprised you. Peter is what I feel most conflicted about. I'm not setting him up to become the next Ironman, I'm setting him up to become the greatest version of Spiderman he can be. Well, I know the media is probably going to take it and run having known that Spiderman and Ironman we're friends at some point, but I'm really giving you the biggest responsibility. I don't expect you to live in my shadow, I want you to outgrow it. I think you might be surprised to see everything that I left you, besides Stark industries itself. That's a conversation for another day."

"I know I've been speaking for quite a while, but my baby, my baby yes I called you that. I know how much this has all affected you, and I'm sorry, I am completely sorry and do take full fault for it all. But now because we cannot change the past, let's focus on the present. I want you to know that I loved you with my entire being. I'm not sure how to emphasize this enough but I do want you to know you were cared for, you were loved, and you were thought about for every minute. If you don't get to see this message, and I'm already gone, that means this message will never have to play for anyone. Either I found you and I've given you a new message, or I'm rolling in my grave. Either way my darling I cannot emphasize how much I love you. I do hope for the best for. Before I have to go, I want to see you smile. Sure, I can't physically see it right now, but I can imagine it."

As the recording choked out that last sentence, you flashed a weak smile. A face sticky with all the tears that you have been crying.

Now I know you need to get back home, but when you get back to the city, stop by the shawarma place and get something to eat. you gotta eat Darling. Also don't act like you don't like Peter, you two idiots keep pushing each other away in cannot take it. Now I'm gonna say goodbye mini me. Watch over Pepper and Morgan for me, okay? I love you."

You took one final sweep of the house before heading back to your car. You had cried so much that your eyes physical hurt. You almost felt a sense of comfort having finally released some of the pent-up emotion. As you drove towards the city and towards the Shawarma place you almost felt kind of sad, knowing that all of your friends were in a foreign country. Yet you still felt as if your best friend, your Dad was watching over you. And in all reality that felt as if it was the only thing that mattered.

#stark reader #stark!reader #irondad #tony stark x reader #peter parker #peter parker x stark!reader

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x0401x · 3 years

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Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #13

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Ramen Story

The voice of the owner as he said “welcome” turned into a mutter at the end, fading away. I could understand how he felt. With a light, cut-and-sew jacket draped over him, a blond, blue-eyed man had come inside, standing behind another man who quite literally had the air of a student. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to wonder if he was an actor. But we were just a party of two.

“Two people,” I indicated with a peace sign. We were guided to a table seat. There were no other people around. While we were at it, we gave them the meal tickets that we had bought from the vending machine outside. A couple of negi ramen.

“What a surprise. There’s always a long queue for this shop. So that’s how shops are like right after they open in a student district?”

In this shop, currently reserved to our exclusive use, I talked without restraint about all sorts of things – about the layout of the classroom building in my campus, about the hideout-like garden in the university’s premises, about my friends and even about my teachers. The shop’s atmosphere did that to me. The man who could well be the best listener in the world let me talk as much as I wanted, occasionally making an exasperated face.

“Here, sorry for the wait. It’s hot, so be careful.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

“You too, Mr. Foreigner. This is ‘hot’.”

As Richard replied with a “thank you, madam”, the old lady laughed fickly.

Now for the ramen.

Its soup was salt-based, warm steam wafting from it. That being said, it wasn’t as if there was anything special about it. We hadn’t added any ingredients, so it was a simple one. Fermented bamboo shoots, dried seaweed, fish cake and a large helping of green onions.

We silently put our hands together to thank for the meal, taking the chopsticks and parting them with a snap. I took the dwindled noodles, then opened my mouth wide and filled it with them. I tried to make as little noise as possible.

Delicious.

This shop’s ramen was simple, but it was a strong ally for a student’s cold pockets and quick-to-get-hungry stomach. It stayed steadily in your belly, resolutely reminding you for about three hours that you had eaten ramen today. And above all else, the animalistic joy of eating without thinking was more irreplaceable than anything else. Tasty food was great.

By the moment I was done with my very-IQ-lacking monologue of “thank you, o ramen; o ramen, thank you”, there was only a little bit left of the contents of my bowl. Still eating the green onion ramen without a sound, Richard looked at me with upturned eyes from his bended posture. Those blue eyes made me seriously wonder if there weren’t gemstones inserted in them.

“Hey, you got a moment?”

“As you wish. Whatever you please.”

When I prefaced it with, “This is serious talk – super, super serious talk”, he made a face that screamed, “You’re being too long-winded”, so I went straight to the point.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come eat ramen with me.”

I hadn’t imagined that the day would come when I could eat a bowl of ramen for 450 yen at a historical, cozy ramen shop in the student town with this beautiful man who usually only wore suits. I hadn’t at all. Even now, another side of me was still tilting his neck somewhere within my mind, wondering about “how things came to this”.

Ever since around the time I had started working part-time in Ginza, I had no sense of reality. Not even about the fact that I would later be going to Sri Lanka. No, of course, I was fully ready and had a Visa, so I was in a phase where all I had left to do was get on the plane and I was making the oh-so-busy Richard help me out with that, but...

Richard took a sip of the salt-based soup with the china spoon, then glanced at me. “So you were not expecting anything from me, is that it?”

“No way. On the contrary.”

When I said that I just didn’t think he would give me the OK, Richard’s lips curved in the shape of an arc, and after looking for napkins on the table, he realized that there weren’t any, so he took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his mouth.

“I value the accuracy of your palate. It is obvious that, if you have a shop you like, I would want to try eating there.”

“Thank you. And for remembering about it too.”

Soon after I had started working part-time, I was introduced to a stone called chrysoprase. I once laughed my butt off when I learned that the etymology of the fresh green-colored stone included the meaning of “leek” or “green onion”. The topic then changed into ramen, and we, the shopkeeper and part-timer who subtly had not yet thrown off reserve with each other, talked about liking green onion ramen, what kinds of toppings we preferred, and other such things. I had kind of thought that “it’d be nice to go have ramen with this guy someday”. Back then, to me, Richard was someone as far-off as the moon and stars that shone in outer space. Of course, he was still as resplendent as the moon and stars even now, but he didn’t feel as distant.

Once I was done drinking the soup up to it’s last drop, I heaved a small sigh. “That was delicious. Last time eating Japanese ramen and this one for a while, huh.”

“How about putting instant ramen in your suitcase?”

“I ain’t used to making those. I’m the type that goes out to eat ramen rather than making instant ones. But there’s curry roux inside. Weird story, isn’t it? I’m going to a curry culture zone, yet I’m taking curry with me.”

“Analyzing Indian and Sri Lankan curry by Japanese curry standards can cause serious stomach problems. Beware.”

I puffed out my chest, saying that I had properly prepared myself for this because he had already told me about it before, to which the beautiful man gave a little sigh.

“May I also talk about a truly serious topic?”

When I told him that didn’t mind it at all and that I wanted to hear it, Richard looked at my face directly. It made me nervous. What was he going to tell me, I wondered.

“I did not think that you would actually invite me out for ramen.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I honestly did not.”

“Why?”

As I kept on tilting my neck at that sentence, which you wouldn’t think would come from someone like him – who looked like just breathing was enough for him to get invited to eat out –, Richard spoke to me reticently. He told me that people were quick to come towards him, but there were also those who surrounded him from a distance, watching him without trying to shorten the distance between him and themselves. So this kind of thing also happened?

Looking back, I was also from the keep-a-distance group at first. But I sucked at giving up, and whenever something that made me happy happened, I would be overjoyed no matter how many times I remembered about it, so every time I recalled the chrysoprase talk, I would find myself thinking that I should invite him out for ramen. It just so happened that the desire for this “someday” had amplified as the number of times that I thought about it increased, and I had finally voiced it this spring.

The shop was tiny and had a bit of a mysterious scent, but it was truly delicious. It would be closing this spring. I was concerned about what to do if he declined it with an awkward face, but the response I got after speaking up was a “When will it be?” without a moment’s delay.

“Was it okay to have invited you?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, I was just thinking I was glad that I invited you, but...”

The reply was a short-range smile. That slightly tired face with no sense of uneasiness to it was bad for the heart. But I was gonna get used to it. I had to.

“Still, was it really all right? That I was the one you had a meal with for the last time at a shop that you have fond memories of, I mean. Would it not have been better to do so with the friends that you always ate with?” Richard asked.

Hmm. So he was gonna bring that up, huh?

“Well, well, thank you very much for your superb consideration. But I’m glad it was with you.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m glad it was with you. Not anyone else; with you.”

I had learned many lessons even in just four years of university, such as that things were shifting, everything kept changing over and over, the green onion ramen shop would be gone, I would be leaving for Sri Lanka in the near future and there was no telling how my life was going to be from now on. But this jeweler was a man who knew very well how to cherish a memory.

Only to people like that did I entrust the things I didn’t want to forget.

Bidding a courteous farewell to the elderly shopkeeper and old lady employee, we exited the shop. Cars rushed on the Yasukuni Avenue. Kasaba during holidays was so quiet that it felt like a different world. As the wind softly blew, the cherry trees planted along the street shook and their pale pink petals scattered about.

“That was delicious, huh~. You got any plans for later?”

“I am going to help Saul with chores. We are not boorish enough to engage in business talk after just eating ramen.”

I stole a peek at his profile as he started chewing on a mint gum. The beautiful man brushed cherry blossom petals off his golden hair. He offered me one of the white gums, asking if I wanted to eat it.

I probably wouldn’t forget this sight. Even if that ramen shop was gone, even if my address was no longer in Tokyo.

Richard tilted his head a little, as I was still staring at his face even after accepting the gum. “Anything the matter?”

“Aah, sorry. Your beauty was like you’ve come from another world, so I spaced out.”

I then changed the topic, saying I was going to think about what to have for dinner or something. There were still lots of shops that I wanted to visit while I was still in Japan, though they were all set-meal and chain ones. I didn’t think I was able to hide my melancholy, but he’d probably act like he didn’t see anything. I was grateful for that.

In the middle of our walk to the train station, I looked back at the cityscape one last time and wordlessly offered a moment of silence to it.

Thank you for everything; I’m off!

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard ranashinha de vulpian #richard #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation

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captainderyn · 4 years

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The Things We Regret the Most

Summary: Cullen has long got out of the habit of holding regrets. But failing to seperate Tucdela from her role as Inquisitor when she needed him to the most, and almost losing her to the Anchor because of it, still sticks with him all these years later.

(Ferelden; unknown year post 9:44)

Long term regrets were not something that Cullen clung to. He learned long ago, back in Ferelden’s Circle and twice over in Kirkwall, that if he did not learn to forgive himself for some things then he would simply collapse beneath their weight. Regrets needed to be acknowledged, yes. Changes needed to be made in accordance. But then they were allowed to fall away so that new regrets may take their place. It was an ever persisting cycle.

Failing to separate Tucdela from the Inquisitor when it mattered most...that had dug its claws into his shoulders and refused to be shaken, even now.

It crept upon him in the quietest of moments. In bed at night, when Tucdela was pressed against his side and softly snoring into his shoulder, it plagued his waking thoughts.

Even in peaceful times, sitting in front of the hearth, he would look at Tucdela bouncing their daughter in her lap with a bright smile, and a twinge of what she could have avoided had he just opened his eyes would twist deep in his gut. How much suffering she could have been spared if duty had been set aside for a moment.

He hadn’t been able to sleep beside her for weeks without waking in a cold sweat hearing her screams echoing in his ears, or without turning over to check that she was still peacefully slumbering and not covered in her own blood. Running his hands across her skin in simple pleasure had become unthinkable for far too long after the Exalted Council--each new scar his fingers would touch screamed at him that it could have been avoided.

(The Exalted Council; 9:44 Dragon)

The moment Tucdela’s saint-like patience and clear-headed kindness with her advisors faltered, alarm bells should have been sent ringing in Cullen’s head.

The Inquisitor remained unnaturally quiet as he, Leliana, and Josephine bickered back and forth over the details of the Exalted Council, staring hard at the wall. Tucdela had never been one to contribute to strategic talks, she claimed it was out of her wheelhouse and she was much better at listening and learning rather than forcing in a baseless opinion. Yet this silence reigned differently, far less contemplative and far more volatile.

Her eyes narrowed suddenly, her mouth twisting in a hard line.

“Everyone, enough!” she snapped, voice tearing through their argument like barbed claws. Surprised enough by the vitriol in her voice, they all faltered and stared at her. She glared back, green eyes unnaturally bright as though she was running a fever. Her cheeks were flushed red too, Cullen noted with a spike of worry worming its way into his mind. Far redder than her usual flush.

“What’s the point?” Tucdela continued. “All they ever are is angry! We save Orlais, they’re angry. We save Fereldan, and they’re angry. We save the whole fucking world and they’re! still! Angry!” she broke off with a cry, bucking over on herself.

She stumbled, going to a knee and clutching at the edge of the table to keep herself on her feet. Her teeth ground together hard enough that he could see her jaw jumping.

Cullen reached for her, but she batted his hand away with a sharp, “Don’t!”

He hovered, hands half poised to help without making a move to touch her. The last time he had seen her this agitated, if there had ever been such a point, was far from memory.

She took several ragged breaths, the mark pulsing a sickly green. The spike of worry drove painful through his chest again when he saw the green tendrils following the veins up her arm.

As if feeling his gaze, Tucdela tucked her arm close to herself, steadied her breath and stood.

All the acid had drained from her voice. Fear and a deep, deep pain weighed it down instead,

“And now it’s all going to end. It’s all going to fall apart again. So what are we trying to do, exactly?”

Shaking her head she added, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just--this is a lot.” she looked around at them, eyes lingering on Cullen. Although her words addressed them all, it felt as though extra emphasis went to him, “I’m alright. I think I’ll just go rest a bit before the meetings tonight, if that is okay?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Josephine said carefully. “We will send for you if anything urgent calls. You need your strength.”

And then she was gone, slipping through the door and closing it softly behind her with slumped shoulders and a heavy gait.

An uneasy silence fell across the advisors.

“I should go after her.” Cullen said, eyes fixed on the door.

“No,” Leliana said firmly. “She’ll be alright. We need you here--we need a plan.”

Like a fool, Cullen stayed, tearing his eyes away from the door. Claw number one dug its way into his shoulder.

Hours slipped by until he was able to tear himself away from his work for a moment. Tucdela was curled on top of the plush Orlesian duvet when he crept into their shared quarters. A pillow was clutched close to her chest, a trick he knew she had started to smother the ever present figure of the Anchor.

Her eyelids twitched as he tiptoed over, caught in a restless and fitful sleep. He was just here to make sure she was alright, he had told himself. Leliana and Josephine still required his help and he was lucky that his leash had been slackened enough to make it out here. And yet something still drew him to sink onto the edge of the bed and run his hand down her shoulder.

Heat radiated from her even with the cool air coming in through the open window, her cheeks still heavily flushed.

Just as he began to pull away she caught at his hand, eyes cracking open to heavy slits. The Anchor had made them bright, Fade green. Two twin pools of the Breach itself sunken into tired circles.

“Are you alright?” he whispered and she gave a small, sleepy nod.

She ran her fingers over his knuckles, drawing her hand up to tug at his wrist, “Stay here?”

Every part of him said that yes, he’d stay, except for his mouth, which froze on the words. The missive that had been shoved into his hands on his way over burned in his pocket and Leliana’s sharp demand that he only be gone a short while tugged at his mind.

Wrapping his fingers around hers, he pulled her hand from his wrist and pressed a kiss to the digits. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her burning forehead, wincing as he murmured, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay…” she breathed out, burying her face back in the pillow. Before he closed the door on his way out, he looked over his shoulder once more and watched her shoulders shudder. It may just have been a breath, or perhaps a pain response from the Anchor.

Looking back on it, nothing could convince him it hadn’t been a silent sob that he had chosen to miss. He should have laid down next to her, drawn her close, and held her then.

But he didn’t.

They say that with halla, they don’t show their suffering until it becomes near unbearable. Even with the Anchor pulsing worse and worse with the stress of all Thedas on her shoulders, she rarely showed how deeply her pain ran.

Only one other time did Tucdela break down enough to show her cracks.

Laying together in bed, away from prying eyes and preying duties, another surge struck the Anchor. Tucdela curled in on herself with a cry and lay shuddering for several minutes. Green veins pulsed all the way up her arm. When Cullen finally massaged her rigid limbs out of the fetal position, tears were streaking down her cheeks.

He pulled her close, pressed a kiss to the top of her head and continued to run his hand from her shoulder to her hip as another tremor shook her.

The Maker damned mark...they’d considered it so useful without once considering the consequences. How often had they, no, even he, sent her out to close Rifts or fight demons? How many times had his urging brought her one step closer to this moment? It was all what-ifs and past mistakes and yet still a soft, “I’m sorry,” still slipped from his lips.

“Vhenan,” Tucdela rasped, her eyes still closed. “You’re thinking too much again.”

“I won’t let you go.” Another slip of the tongue and Cullen silently cursed himself. What did he mean? He wasn’t going to let her free from his embrace, or he wasn’t going to let the mark kill her?

She took it as the latter, a soft, mirthless laugh escaping her, “I don’t want to die.” she admitted and his heart stopped beating all together. “But it’s not up to you, or me. It’s out of our control.”

A chill spread through him, peppering goosebumps across his skin. He pressed tighter to her.

The quiet resignation made it sound as though she was prepared to die. Not ready, no, no one was ever truly ready to die, but accepting that that was to be her fate.

“We can still find something.” he said adamantly. Only for her to hum in acknowledgement, but not agreement.

“You can’t fight ancient magic.” she said simply, and ended the conversation there.

He’d never know and never asked if she’d had a gut feeling of what was going to happen when she departed with Varric, Dorian, and Bull the next day, or if she’d simply made an unfortunately accurate comment.

But he knew that he should have held her closer that night, kissed her harder that morning, and begged the Maker with more fevor to bring her back safely.

It felt like years from when the party departed after the qunari and when the scout burst through the doors with their first sign of news.

Perhaps not the first sign, Leliana had slipped in moments prior looking a little ill. Cullen had simply written it off as worry, just as the rest of them felt.

“Commander!” the scout addressed him, and Cullen rocked to his feet. The missive from Baraneth Theirin addressing the Inquisitor fell to the side. It wouldn’t be picked up again or read for several days. “The Inquisitor’s party is returning.”

Leliana and Josephine both looked up from their work, sharing a concerned look.

“And,” Josephine prompted, “Were they successful?”

Silence, uncomfortable and stretching until Cullen snapped, “Well? Report!”

The scout sank their teeth into their lip, forcing the words out, “I don’t know, Lady Ambassador, Commander.”

All three advisors burst out with questions at once until the scout scrambled back, cowering against the door.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“What happened?”

“Is the Inquisitor alright? Varric, Dorian? Bull?”

A deadly pause fell after the last question fell from Josephine’s lips. Hearts dropped to the floor, breaths caught at the lack of immediate answer.

“Well, where are they!?” The scout flinched away from Cullen’s voice and perhaps he would have apologized if he hadn’t been caught on the agonized expression the scout wore. The look of someone with bad news to bear that they had no desire to deliver.

Cold dread flowed through him.

“As far as I am aware, the Inquisitor’s party all arrived safely.”

“And the Inquisitor?” his voice shook. He had heard hedged replies, given them himself to agonized families of fallen templars and soldiers alike. This scout couldn’t, wouldn’t, look him in the eyes and tell him that Tucdela had fallen, so close to the end of the line. This was supposed to be when they wrapped things up, stepped away from it all, and finally found their future.

They had promised that to each other, under the eyes of the Maker and the Dalish Pantheon both only days ago.

“Tell me what happened to the Inquisitor!” Cullen demanded, voice breaking. The scout floundered, finally giving him a hopeless look.

“Commander, I don’t know. The Iron Bull carried her back and that’s the most I saw.”

Before his mind fully caught up to his feet, Cullen was pushing past the scout and into the halls. It is without shame that he can admit he ran to the courtyard, pushing past curious staff members until he broke into the crowd.

Nobility were clustered in the courtyard, shrieking and babbling with their kerchiefs over mouths and eyes. Mages and healers were trying to shoulder their way through, shouts lost in the general din.

“Everybody, leave!” Cullen roared, truly the Lion of Ferelden. “This is an Inquisition matter and Inquisition matter alone!”

Whether it was his shout, or Inquisition forces moving in to control the crowd, or even just the understanding that that was not an order to be defied, the crowd began to part.

He shouldered through, breaking through to the spectacle they all stared at. The party that had accompanied Tucdela gathered together off to the side, none the worse for wear it seemed on the outside. Varric stared somewhere in the distance, eyes determinedly unfocused and vacant from the chaos and panic around him. Dorian paced in the small square of room he had, first hovering over his mouth looking one wrong step away from being sick.

Only Bull broke away from them, striding over to Cullen. His hand fell hard on Cullen’s shoulder, keeping him from walking further. While Cullen thought to protest, bile instead of words rose in his throat when he saw that Bull’s armor was slicked with blood. The hand that fell on Cullen’s shoulder was coated with it.

“That’s not--” he gasped out.

“I don’t think you want to be here, Commander.” Bull said gently, but firmly. “You want to wait elsewhere.”

Already shaking his head, Cullen gaped and closed his mouth repeatedly before finding anything to say first. “Where--is that--is she?”

“She went dead--” Bull cleared his throat, reassessing his words, “She went silent on our way back, I don’t know any more than that.”

Cullen’s legs went to jelly and it felt as though Bull’s hand was the only thing keeping him from toppling forward. He stared at the mages and healers clustered not far away, just not realizing that they had to be surrounding her.

A shuddering breath shook his whole frame and Bull tightened his grip on Cullen’s shoulder, “Commander, I highly suggest you go elsewhere and wait for news.”

Wait until they declare it. Was what Bull was really saying. Wait until they clean the battle and death from her and make her presentable for grief.

It was only meant with the well meaning of someone who had seen too much death firsthand, but Cullen wouldn’t budge. The ground may have gone out from under him, but his feet were someone still rooted to this very spot.

The last thing he’d done was press a kiss to her forehead and tell her to be safe. That couldn’t be the last memory he had to hold on to her, was it?

A clamor rose from the healers, a series of shouts and hand waving that broke Cullen partially from his trance.

The wall of bodies broke momentarily, revealing Tucdela half hoisted between two healers onto a stretcher. She lay limp, her head lolling towards Cullen and Bull. Her eyes were open but unseeing, entirely overtaken by a green glow. Blood trailed from her nose and mouth and dripped in a near steady stream from the arm that bore the Anchor.

Cullen’s stomach rolled, the threat of being sick rising over him again. This was it, she was gone...the Anchor had taken her away and--

And he stumbled after the healers, catching one on the shoulder. She whipped around, eyes frenzied. She was one of the Inquisition’s healers and her eyes softened slightly when she saw that it was Cullen.

“Is she…” Cullen couldn’t even get the word out, but the healer understood him well enough.

“She’s breathing, for now.” she said shortly. “But don’t let that get your hopes up, Commander.”

“Can I see her, can I help?” he asked, pleaded really.

The healer was already shaking her head, “It’s best you let us work.” she said. “But if you must you may wait outside.”

Like a lost stray, Cullen trailed behind them until they reached her quarters. The heavy door was slammed in his face and he sank to the ground next to it, leaning against the wall.

He had left Tucdela one two many times to abandon her now. If he was to be here when she passed instead of woke, then that would be his punishment for only seeing the Inquisitor.

Clasping his hands in front of him, Cullen bent his head and prayed to the Maker.

His knuckles turned white as an agonized wail rose from the room next to him. It rose again and again, until Cullen wasn’t so sure the Maker could even hear him. After all, did the Maker hear prayers from the remnants of battlefields, when only the screams of the wounded and dying remained?

---

He was there for her as soon as the healers opened the door to him. He sank to the bed next to her, wrapped his arms as close to around her as he dared, and rested his head against her chest just to hear the beating of her heart. It thrummed its steady beat, moment after moment, waylaying the fear in his own heart that it would cease to beat.

The bandages were rough against his cheek. It felt strange for his left hand to meet her side instead of her arm. Her arm was a small price to pay for her life; that was what the healers had said, what he secretly thought.

Tucdela herself might not think the same. Dread clouded his thoughts for when she would wake up, an archer waking from death’s door to find that one of the tools most necessary to her craft ripped away from her.

But at least she would wake up.

And when she did, Cullen determined, awake once again in the long, fitful night to make sure that she was still breathing and to rhythmically check her bandages just to give himself something to do, taking her for granted was never going to be a mistake he made again.

#dragon age #DAI #dragon age fanfiction #cullen rutherford #inquisitor lavellan #cullen x inquisitor #cullavellan #trespasser spoilers #oc: Tucdela #otp: the lion and the elf

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

Stolen Sunlight (Ch2)

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Fic Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her.

She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

Character focus: Arianna

Notes: Oh my GOSH you guys, thank you SO MUCH for that incredible response to chapter 1!! My writing rarely gets into the double digits as far as notes go, and I'm lucky if I get one comment... You have no idea how happy it made me to wake up this morning to so many notes, including a bunch of super nice comments...I really can't thank you enough. I hope you guys like the second chapter too! ...I know it's pretty different from the first one, haha!

(Fyi, I'm not usually this fast in posting the next chapter of something, I just happened to have the two beginning parts all edited together XD)

Chapter 2: The Cracks in Their Hearts

Arianna’s eyes flare open, her heart firing and misfiring, taking its panic out on her own ribs. And for a second she can still feel the stone beneath her, the shackles around her ankles, can still hear his voice, feel the weight of his gaze.

The world behind his eyes then was so cold then: all hate and no hope. So different from the world she lived in. She didn’t want that world to infect her own view.

She clenches her fingers into the sheets.

It wasn’t a dream. That much she doesn’t have to question; at some point in a twisted history, it was real.

How the scene of the boy who smiled and laughed, helping Cassandra with her chores, making the library gleam for little recompense, and the scene of the boy who created a metal monster as a diversion, wrapped chains around her ankles, and teased death and amber before her eyes, could both exist in the same timeline…How the same boy who created machines and compounds to forge solutions, could turn around and use them to manufacture problems, could be played by the same actor, that the only thing that had changed was time…and, at the very end, the same voice that once laughed, and spoke so happily of alchemy and friendship in these castle halls could scream no and I’ll make you proud from a prison cart…she doesn’t understand. It all seems like some sick joke, played with a trick of the light.

The Queen tosses her legs over the side of the bed, pushing back her hair, careful not to wake Frederic, whose chest is rising and falling to the rhythm of uninterrupted sleep.

This isn’t the first time. That is, it isn’t the first time her mind parroted and parodied her memories as nightmares.

She tiptoes up to the door and slowly turns the knob, glancing back at Frederic to be sure he doesn’t wake, and quietly shuts it behind her.

She needs to walk the halls, clear her mind; if she lays back down to sleep now, her heart won’t be able to stop its war march.

She knows from experience.

The castle halls are quiet, doused in a blue-violet tinge, spilling through the windows. She steps up to one of these panes, sighing to the night sky speckled with stars.

The same stars she and Willow chased the sunrise under. The same stars she kissed Frederic under. The same stars, worlds she and Rapunzel gazed at, charted together, asking each other what was out there.

The same sky he kidnapped her under.

The same sky. The same boy. The same queen. The only difference is time.

Time is a funny thing, isn’t it? Likes to play pranks. Heals things. Makes you forget things too. Bad things, yes, but also good things; makes you forget what you lost…and consequently less grateful for what you have. And sometimes it only makes the bad things worse, when your mind won’t let go of them.

She glances down the hall—the same hall she had met that chipper voice and those eyes so full, so accepting of sunlight.

The same hall he captured her in.

She recognizes too, it’s the same window she was looking through that day, down upon the town square, watching those she loved be attacked by a beast of the alchemist’s making. The same window at which he threw sleep into her face.

He looked so different that night. He wasn’t the cute little boy with the gloves, and the apron, and the stripe in his hair, and the glint in his eye. This was a masked criminal in a large, dark coat, which hid weaponry. No boyish twinkle in that blue this time; now the goggles glowed green, like a demon, no soul or sunlight behind them. His raccoon wasn’t the only one he morphed into a monster that night.

How could a person so easily shut himself off from the bright light inside himself, and turn to such immense darkness? As if the shadows had been asking to play this whole time, and he finally accepted their invitation. That was the question she never could quite wrap her mind around.

How could he treat those he once loved like that?

Is that sweet boy still in there? Is he trapped somewhere inside the darkness, within that prison of blue, crying for mercy?

She couldn’t imagine any circumstances that could drive her to treat those she loved like that, no matter how angry she was, or how much she had lost.

Her heartbeat picks up the pace.

She knows she is safe. Her family is safe. Or at least, she has no reason to believe otherwise. They made it out of that lab, and Varian is just a boy swearing vengeance in the dungeons below her. She knows he cannot come back to haunt her. She knows she is safe.

He’s just a boy.

So why does she still feel so...uneasy? Why does the thought of him in the dungeon feel, not like the end of a story, the end of a nightmare, like justice…but instead like the beginning, like a crime in and of itself? Why does she still feel sick, and cold, and far too old thinking of him?

When Rapunzel was taken from them, so long ago—(though it always felt like yesterday)—sorrow was a constant reminder and companion. A quiet buzz of tragedy in the back of her brain. A crack in her heart, making it so she was never fully whole, never fully satisfied. Today’s melancholy, tinged with tomorrow’s hope, tomorrow’s despair. Now the tragedy, the threat, is over. Nothing is missing from their lives. Their hearts are whole again. And Rapunzel has faced many villains on her own, and defeated them with flying colors—him included.

But Arianna still feels something isn’t right.

Maybe it’s because this has happened before. Because she had spent so much of her life grieving the loss of their daughter, hoping in the deepest corners of her heart she would come running into the castle one day.

Maybe because, when her lost princess did come back there was this new thing in the back of her mind saying Maybe you don’t have her back forever. Maybe she’s not safe. Maybe she’ll be taken from you again. A part of herself she had to willfully soothe each day. …A voice Frederic was unable to quiet within himself.

Is it because Varian gave credence to this voice inside her? Because he took their own personal demons and brought them to life in a lab?

But it wasn’t Rapunzel he took…it was her.

Is that the point? Is it because she herself was the one who was kidnapped, for the sake of her daughter? That he used her to get to, to hurt, to in turn use, Rapunzel, too? Because she hadn’t anticipated that? Because the shock of it brought new ammunition to that voice? That now it was clear her daughter wasn’t the only one who could be taken, that any one of them could be stolen away, and used by the opponent? Was it that act of both of them being used as chess pieces in a grand game, instead of people with souls, who were hurting, that keeps her up at night?

It could very well be. But even so, together they had won against him. Arianna was confident that together—be it the three of them, or Rapunzel and her friends—they could face whatever came their way. She wasn’t afraid of him that night, when she was sitting handcuffed to his laboratory floor. She knew they would win. They always did.

Is it because he was one of her friends, a friend she thought could help Rapunzel face the darkness, a friend who had such light in him? Because he made it so terrifyingly clear that our worst enemies are not faceless monsters in the dark, not really…they are the friends we couldn’t save. His greatest offense was not treason against his kingdom, but against his friend. Is it that thought, that tomorrow’s villains are today’s heroes that sends her heart reeling?

But he is down there, in the dungeon, she repeats to herself, as she walks down the hall. She knows where he is; he cannot surprise attack her at any moment. He was not the first villain they faced, the first traitor, to Corona, nor will he be the last. That prison is filled with people who tried to take their sunlight away, and lost.

But she does not feel sick thinking of anyone else down there.

So why, when he is put behind bars—

Or says a voice in the back of her head, a very soft one she’s been trying not to listen to, maybe it’s because he’s down there.

…Because he’s down there, so close, and if he were to escape it would be so easy for him to strike where it hurt?

—(No, says the voice.)—

Or—(dare she admit it?)—Maybe it’s because he’s down there, when she knows he once was, and still could be, more than this. Because he’s down there, wasting away, repeating threats to empty walls, while she walks safely in her golden palace above, not caring what happened to him, what’s still happening to him, even now…how much pain he’s still in….

How much his mind is surely tormenting him.

(Just like her.)

Two scenes, one boy. But maybe it isn’t the way he turned to the dark…maybe it’s because she knows the dark isn’t all he’s made of.

Corona isn’t a place where villains and criminals are shut up, or beheaded for their crimes. It’s a place where they’re taught to be better.

She hadn’t given all that much time to mull in her head before, but now it gives her pause, sinks into her brain. Perhaps this unease is not entirely for herself, her family. Maybe its not fear…it’s guilt. Maybe some part of it, even if it’s small and cowering, is not for herself, but for him.

They all looked away. Frederic looked away when the rocks were destroying their kingdom. Rapunzel looked away when he came to her for help. They all didn’t go to him; looked away when the storm ended, assumed he was better, for fear of facing the fact that he wasn’t, that the storm had left wreckage behind after all, wreckage they would have to clean up. It was easier to look away.

Maybe this isn’t about the way he treated her…maybe it’s about the way they’re treating him, when she knows he was once a boy who cleaned libraries, fixed problems, helped people. When she knows he is still human…and they left him there to rot in the dark.

They’re still looking away.

What does she know? Maybe they’re right to leave him there. She doesn’t know him well. All she knew were the stories Rapunzel told, and the brief interactions they had. And the stories proved he was dangerous when good, and the interactions proved he was deadly when evil.

—(But…was he ever truly evil?)—

She met him twice, and their second, longer meeting was made of metal, and amber, and moonlight. If he could cross straight into the night without a sunset, then maybe she didn’t know him well enough to say they shouldn’t have looked away.

Still, even though she didn’t know much else, she knew—when she did look at him—the look in his eyes. She was certain that, though his gaze was harsh and unrelenting at those times…there was tragedy behind that ice, frozen in time. She could see the cracks in his heart. Could hear the voices in his head saying Maybe you can’t save your father after all.

A criminal was not all he was. A cell was not all he deserved.

He was just a boy, lost and hurting.

Like she was, once.

She paused, peering around a corner at two guards posted at a door. She knew behind it was the staircase to the dungeon. To …him.

She’s so close…

She could go see him right now. Sleep deprived and unsteady in mind she could march down there.

What would she do if she did? Yell and question him? Lecture him on the merits of a non-criminal life? Demand answers, or expect no answers, just want to see him hurt like he hurt her?

She tempers her breath. The thought fades quickly as it comes.

That is not who she is. That is not who she wants to be, to appear to him as; all fear and anger. If she does, if she wants him to hurt, she is no better than the darkest parts of him.

And it is not what either of them need.

She turns away, deciding the bed is more inviting now that her thoughts have coalesced into resolve, and her bare feet take her swiftly back to her room.

Not tonight. Not now.

She will talk to him again. She needs to, for both their sakes. She’s not going to look away anymore.

Because she knows they are the same.

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mystic-kitten-writer · 5 years

Text

Limerence [M] ︳31

Pairing: Zuko x OC

AU: Adult-Verse

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 9200+

Notes: Greetings! I’m going to be posting a bonus chapter soon! It’s the bonus chapter I promised a bit ago; it’s didn’t fit well with the plot until now. That saying, I have another bonus chapter in the works. I reached 1k votes on Wattpad, which is crazy, and I wanted to create a bonus chapter.

Other than that, thank you for reading and leaving lovely comments. I appreciate the heart-warming support from you all. Take care~!

Masterlist ︳30 [M] ︳ Bonus pt. 2 [M]

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person. The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama.

“He was her warmth / she was his peace”

(English/quo.) By Even Sanders; ‘The Better Man Project.’

~ Ying Yue Jiang ~

Anger? No…maybe frustration?

A small huff flew through my lips, eyes scanning Zuko. He sat on the other side of Appa’s saddle with Aang and Sokka, discussing something. And while I knew the responsible thing would be to listen to what Toph and Suki had to say – I couldn’t.

Curiosity had me in its grip, studying Zuko with such care, I wish I paid this much attention to my everyday life.

It was just that…Zuko was such a puzzle, and it was maddening.

I was observant. Naturally learning the way people spoke, move – and in a matter of seconds, I could figure someone out. But with Zuko – I couldn’t. He was secretive, and that just made my sense of inquisitiveness grow. What’s going through Zuko’s head? What was he feeling?

Just briefly skimming Sokka, I could tell he was focused on whatever they were conversing. The way he crossed his arms, leaning forward with his head titled down – those were all tale-tell signs that he was attentive to the conversation. I even had Aang figured out! When his hands rested on his lap, it meant he was calm, but since his fingers were tightly linked, it meant he was concerned. It was little gestures like those that made me understand everyone’s mood – except Zuko.

His lips were pressed tight, which in theory would mean he was upset, but the way he sat, leaning back with his legs propped…Lounging meant he was at ease but…why are his arms crossed?

“Is Princess still staring at Zuko?”

“You guessed it – come on! You live with the guy, what more do you want?” Suki groused, her hand shoving me jokily. My gaze broke from Zuko, a faint blush covering my cheeks as I bashfully smiled.

“S-sorry. I must have zoned out.” Suki rolled her eyes, giving me a look that proved she knew I was lying, before speaking, “Mhmm…well, what were we talking about again?”

“How Princess figured out Mai was the snitch.”

My mouth opened and closed, uneasy, since, at the mere mention of Mai, the boys rapidly shifted their focus on me. “Toph has a point, we never did ask...” Sokka budded. My arms cradled my body, trying desperately to blend in with Appa’s saddle…or his fur… How about I throw myself over? How far of a drop could it possibly be?

“It’s a long story…” I started.

Toph snorted, “We got time. Spill.”

“We can talk about it when we get to the kingdom, we have much to discuss once we arrive – I prefer we don’t waste our breath.” Zuko asserted, an attempt to bring the whole topic to an end. I let out a breath, our eyes aligning momentarily. He gave me a knowing nod, obliviously sensing my uneasiness and a wave of appreciation engulfed me. He’s too good for me. With that statement, Zuko shifted his gaze towards the horizon.

The mountains and overall landscape looked insignificant being this high, and in some ways – it was humbling. Gosh. I missed riding Appa through the snowy peaks time ago…it was such a stress reliever.

The lack of clouds provided us with a magnificent view of the Fire Nation. The endless mounds of vegetation, small towns scattered about – some greater than others. To think that Zuko ruled over all of this…my heart started pounding just thinking about it. I could barely take care of myself, let alone a damn Nation.

“Fine, but we do have to talk about what we’re going to do with Mai when we land. Are you going to arrest her? Talk to her?” Toph insisted, not letting the topic die off. Suki huffed, pulling on the strings that lined the leather on her gloves, “Toph has a point. She may be a friend, but she’s a threat…”

“Mai is still a friend. We speak as if arresting our friend comes without pains.” Aang protested - the first I’ve heard him speak in a while. His voice was taut, fingers digging into his mustard robes, wrinkling the material. Sokka let a hand drop over Aang’s shoulder, lips pressed.

“But if Mai’s the snitch than she’s as guilty as Azula. Mai could be charged with attempted murder, treason, and the list goes on, Aang.” Sokka insisted and hearing that made my stomach uneasy. Attempted murder-

The headache that I woke up with this morning seemed to be coming back, my hand trailing up my face as I grasped my head. It was pounding, and it didn’t seem to go away completely. Just a constant, dull, stabbing pain – please don’t tell me I’m getting sick…probably just stress.

“We can decide once we land. We don’t know if Mai is aware that we know she’s the snitch. And if that is the case, it would be to our benefit to let her wander free, track her movements. Spying on the spy.” Zuko muttered and hearing his voice once again had my closed eyes fluttering open. The way his voice trailed off towards the end, I could start piecing together the emotions and thoughts running through his head.

“I agree with Zuko; it’s the safest plan. Babe, have you told Ty Lee about what’s going on with Mai?” Sokka asked, and Suki let out another tired sigh. She shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head meekly before meeting his gaze, “No. I need to tell her in person; I know it’ll hurt her, hearing all of this. I can’t let anything distract her, she’s my second, and I need her to be at her sharpest until I come back.”

“So we let Mai be for the time being, and how about Azula? What do we do about her.” Toph grumbled, and this time, no one spoke.

Everyone’s eyes shifted, looking at their hands or feet, anywhere, besides Zuko.

That’s it, how did I not realize before? Something so painfully obvious – why Aang and Sokka didn’t attack Azula that night. Realistically, Aang could’ve handled Azula with ease, but all he did was reflect her attacks, getting himself burnt in the process…it was something that bothered me, but ignored. But now that she mentioned it…

Toph let out a grunt, her feet tapping impatiently against Appa’s saddle, and I held my breath. “Well? What’s your grand plan involving Azula – almighty Fire Lord.” Toph pestered with her arms tightly crossed over her chest. I could see the way Zuko tightened his jaw, his hands clenching.

“We can think about it later Toph…” I babbled without much thought, anything to get Zuko out of the corner she put him in.

Sadness – that was what was running through his mind. It was difficult for me to pinpoint that look because it wasn’t a look Zuko wore often. He was usually exasperated, livid, even irritated, but sorrow; that was new.

To my dismay, Toph didn’t seem all too pleased with my answer, shaking her head. “I get that she may be your future sister-in-law, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s a damn criminal.” I swallowed hard because Toph was right.

Aang and I were looking at Azula and Mai with our hearts – not viewing the situation for what it was. Toph wasn't unreasonable – she was logical.

“What do you propose, Toph?” Zuko shot back, his tone thick.

Toph’s lips curved downwards, tilting her head as if to hear better. The moment I saw her thin lips beginning to move, I could feel my heart thrashing, the relentless hammering in my head emphasizing my anxiety. Toph and Zuko were similar in many ways – and their assertiveness was undeniably one of their commonalities.

It was Aang’s airy voice that cut the growing tension for a moment, and I could allow myself to breathe. “We could capture her, get her the help she needs…help her as much as we can.” A chance to get his sister back. I knew Zuko loved Kiyi with all his heart; he viewed her as a daughter at this point, but I could still feel Zuko’s hesitation revolving Azula.

As much as he was hated Azula, wanted her out of the picture – I saw the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. He cared, whether or not he wanted to admit it. Zuko wasn’t heartless, and while he had everyone else fooled – I wasn’t.

Everyone faced Zuko, waiting for his approval, but he didn’t utter a word. His long digits tapped along his thighs, golden eyes staring longingly into the distance. Silence and Zuko were two words that never went together in one sentence. Toph didn’t wait any longer to hear a response, speaking with clipped speech.

“Mark my words Zuko; I’ll try to capture her, for you, but we both know what should be done. And if given a chance, I’ll do it without hesitation.”

Zuko let out a bitter laugh, before glancing back at Toph, “As Fire Lord, you have my permission – kill her. It’s for the best, for not only my Nation but for the other Nations as well. But as her brother…” He flicked his fingers before letting his hands comb through his hair, “As her brother…I want the best. I want her safe. I want her home.”

No one spoke a word.

Everyone’s eyes shifted back down to the brown saddle we sat upon, letting the words Zuko muttered become one with the brisk air. He leaned back; arms crossed as he stared at the skyline once again. My body moved without thinking – the overwhelming urge to comfort Zuko eating me from the inside out. How I hated seeing him like this – I need to see that perfect smile of his.

Crawling on my hands and knees, it didn’t take long for me to be by Zuko’s side, feeling everyone’s eyes over me.

“Zuko…” I muttered under my breath, jerking Zuko from his thoughts. I was a hair away from him, but he was consumed with his feelings, he didn’t even notice. He was visibly on edge, looking at me with muddled thoughts, “What’s wrong, love?”

I let my body drop, head falling over his lap as I curved into a tiny ball. My hands reached for his, forcing them to fall over my head, “What are-”

“My head, it hurts…can you hold me?”

It was like night and day.

Zuko’s body relaxed, his hands combing through my hair. His shaky hands soon steadied, his warm breath even and no longer deep exhales of frustration. My hands hugged his legs, letting my head snuggle into his waist. The throbbing that resided along my forehead slowly began to ease with his warm touches, a small moan of relief escapes me.

Amidst my need to squeeze myself closer to Zuko, our eyes lined up for a short moment. A lovely look of freedom washed over his face. His lips moved ever so slowly, not a sound escaping him. With or without sound, I could still make out the heartwarming message he whispered to me, ‘Thank you.’

Just as fast as he mouthed the words, a faint smile on his face, he leaned back against the saddle, his fingers combing through my hair. A soft smile painted my face, unable to control the pleasing hum that radiated from my chest. My head hurt – yes, and while getting Zuko to caress my head was amazing, that wasn’t the reason I crawled over here.

Zuko needed comfort, whether or not he wanted to admit it.

Getting Zuko to snuggle me wasn’t for my own selfish needs; it was because I knew better than anyone that what Zuko needed at the moment was a good hug. I may not have Zuko as figured out as I wish, but I did know him. The man I loved was a damn sucker for cuddles, had a weird fascination with my hair, but more importantly – he needed constant reassurance and attention. Things I could, and would, gladly do in a heartbeat.

My eyes fluttered shut, melting under his touches, like a kitten. I knew it was only a matter of time we arrived at the Kingdom, I could vaguely recall seeing the crimson rooftops, but I couldn’t help but let my breathing even out.

Home.

We were almost there, and I found myself beaming at the thought of seeing Kiyi again. Oh, I can already hear her squeals of excitement! Ursa more than likely annoying Zuko with the idea of marriage, while Noren tried to save Zuko from his mother's dreams.

Then Iroh…what would he not say? Probably asking us if we managed to bring any teas for his tea shop…that’s right, he should be leaving back to the Earth Nation in another week or so. I’m going to miss Iroh-

“Hold tight; we’re landing.” Aang chirped, causing me to grumble under my breath. Just when my headache was starting to ease. Zuko’s grip shifted to my arms, staring down at me with concern, “You’re pale, love.”

“I don’t feel good…” I muttered, letting Zuko help me sit up. The moment my back straightened, I could feel a wave of nausea wash over me for a second, shuddering under my breath. I'm totally getting sick.

“Sokka, when did you say Katara is coming?” Suki asked, concern laced in her voice. A hand rested on my thigh; Suki’s to be exact, the leather giving it away. She was crouched down, and even with her makeup, I could see the look of worry on her face.

“Next week, maybe?”

“Aang, could we send Appa to fetch Katara? Yue doesn’t look too hot...”

“I’m fine, just a little bit under the weather.” I dismissed, trying hard to force a lively smile. Zuko kissed his teeth, the grip he had on my back tight, “As soon as we land, you’re going to bed. You’re sick. You probably caught something during that beach walk.” Zuko complained under his breath, and I coloured.

He had a point.

I may…or may not…had convinced Zuko to go on a walk along the beach far past midnight. I couldn’t help it! What a shame would it be to say we went to the beach and hadn’t gotten to see or spend time at the beach? It’s like going to a bakery and walking out with a piece of deli – it just doesn’t make sense.

The chilly air of that night and wet feet, because I was insistent on getting my toes into the water, most likely didn’t help in the matter. “I’ll be fine; I just need a nap-”

“You need a nurse, love. And so be it, I’ll tie you to the bed if it means you’re getting some rest and I SWEAR SOKKA. Wipe that stupid grin off your face!” Zuko snapped, glaring harshly at the only person who could tick off Zuko and somehow not feel his wrath.

Sokka laughed, waving his hands innocently, “I didn’t say or do anything! Trust me, buddy, the last thing I want is to imagine the nasty things you do to my little sister.”

“You need to tell us about those fresh hickies you failed to cover up on your neck, Princess. It seems like someone got some action.” Suki giggled, and in a flash, chaos.

Sokka choked on air, and Zuko shot a dirty look at Suki.

“Holy shit – you’re telling me those screams I heard that morning wasn’t a dream!” Sokka shrieked, and before anything else could be spoken, Aang pulled on Appa’s reins, causing us to nosedive to an open space in the Kingdom.

All we could hear was the vague screams of Sokka cursing in languages yet to be discovered, while Toph and Suki laughed hysterically to themselves. Aang shot us a cheeky grin with a thumbs up, my hands gripping onto Zuko’s shirt for dear life. As much as I loved riding Appa, the feeling of weightlessness as we landed or took off had me shutting my eyes tightly. Between Sokka’s screaming and this icky feeling – my headache was in no way going away anytime soon.

Only when I heard Appa groan loudly, signalling that we had landed did my eyes open. Appa’s feet stomped on the stone walkway, dust flying off into different directions. The guards that stood, waiting for us, had to hold their helmets in place.

“Shit Zuko – when we sort all of this fuckery out I’m giving you and Yue a damn talk!” Sokka snarled towards us, and Zuko grinned, “I don’t think we need a talk – I think I do a pretty good job at making Yue feel good, right, love?”

Sokka and my cheeks were a flaming red – both for different reasons.

Toph choked in a laugh, and before Sokka could explode, the sounds of the guards approaching, and people calling our names, had Zuko and I shifting personas.

Zuko cleared his throat, standing tall as he helped me stand. “Fire Lord Zuko, Imperial Consort Ying Yue, a beautiful vacation we assume?” a guard spoke, hand outstretched towards me. With his guidance, I found myself getting off Appa’s back, and I smiled. “It was splendid; I would love to go back sometime soon.”

The guard smiled at my words, genuinely happy to hear that I had a great time, despite all the chaos that happened. Zuko jumped off Appa, the rest following suit.

I turned on my heel, gazing about at the small crowd around us. We landed directly at the kingdom, meaning we avoided the unnecessary crowds we would have bumped into at the pier. But despite it all, I found my gaze wandering about, watching as everyone politely bowed, addressing me formally.

What a change…

I was used to the informality from the maids and workers at the house, and being back here reminded me of my position. The tall walls, the perfectly tended foliage around us – it felt weird being here, although another part of me was happy. The urge to jump into bed with Zuko, cuddling and falling asleep…

“Excuse me – move aside, you’re in our way.” A voice grumbled through the guards. My brows pinched together hearing the persons’ tone, low and unquestionably rude. I looked over my shoulder, Zuko was busy conversing with soldiers with the others, not noting or in earshot of what I was hearing.

The guards that surrounded us, one by one, moved aside, and the more I observed, the more I learned. Four figures weaved themselves in and out of the disorder around us, pushing the guards without care or respect. How rude of them. Who do they think they are? I found myself stepping forward, eager to see the faces of such inconsiderate people, only to notice the clothing they wore.

Each person wore striking red garments; robes that skimmed the floor and littered with decorations and embellishments. While they were not as extravagant or lavish as the clothing Zuko and I wore on a daily – they were, undeniably, people of high status.

My eyes studied the man leading the bunch, an older gentleman, followed by two others and a woman. The moment their eyes fell upon me, they stilled in their tracks, staring as if I was the living embodiment of garbage itself. As I opened my mouth, ready to introduce myself, I froze, spotting the sparkling emblems that decorated their arms.

“Greetings council – pleasure seeing you here,” I spoke, forcing a smile onto my face as I politely bowed.

“There are twelve councilmen – and out of those twelve, four voted against you. The rest approved, the majority won.” Zuko whispered into my ear. I flipped onto my side, facing him as I listened to the words he muttered into my ear.

Despite the darkness that flooded the room, I could still make out the faint frown on his face. His hand caressed my face, letting his fingers draw my features, “Why did they vote against me? Those four people…” I muttered under my breath.

Unexpectedly, Zuko pinched my nose, a playful smile dancing upon his lips, “Because they don’t realize how utterly adorable my baby is.” Zuko cooed. My heart swelled hearing those words, smushing my face against his chest with glowing cheeks.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together – these four people were unarguably the people who voted against me. The scowls that painted their faces, lips pressed tight, hands balled into fists. It was like four Mai’s – just older and, somehow, grumpier.

“Imperial Consort Ying Yue.” The man, in front, sneered while bowing.

My eyes narrowed. While they did bow, it was by no means a respectable one. I wasn’t fussy on customs, but when someone so obliviously detested me, it was adding salt to a wound. “What may I do for you?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound as sweet as possible. The headache that I tried to ignore wasn’t helping; I think they’re making my head worse.

“Nothing at all – we are here to see Fire Lord Zuko, we have a meeting scheduled.”

I frowned; meeting?

“Fire Lord Zuko never spoke of a meeting for today-” I started, but the man interrupted me, heckling under his breath, “It was unplanned, and hopefully after today, you will no longer have to worry about such matters.”

“What?” I gasped, noticing the hostility in his tone.

“What is going on?” A voice spoke from behind me, the deepness causing me to jump slightly. A heated hand rested on my lower back, feeling Zuko’s touch, as he studied me and the others. The way the four councilmembers bowed lowly at the mere presence of Zuko had me biting my lip. Assholes. It was clear they were trying to disrespect me, and Zuko seemed to notice because he didn’t return the formality.

“We have a meeting planned, Fire Lord Zuko.”

“I didn’t approve of any meeting today.”

“It was a meeting proposed by us, the council.”

“Everyone, or just the four of you?” Zuko interrogated.

I could feel his fingers digging into my back, exasperation lingering with every word Zuko spoke. At this point, the rest of the gang awkwardly stood, off to the side. Suki pointed at the elders, looking at me with a look that screamed ‘what’s going on?’ I shrugged swiftly, looking at Zuko and the elders once again.

The knots in my stomach grew in size; something wasn’t right. The way they addressed me and how they were speaking to Zuko…

“Yes, the four of us. It has been brought to our attention that not everyone is pleased with the idea of the future Fire Nation Queen being a Waterbender.” The man spoke bitterly, and at that moment, I could feel my stomach in my throat. They couldn’t be-

The grip on my back loosened, Zuko moving in front of me with a vengeance.

Zuko’s shoulders squared, his back straight as he looked down at the four individuals in front of us. “Who I decide to be my consort is not up for discussion. Ying Yue Jiang is my partner and the future Fire Nation Queen. Meeting over.” Zuko snarled, stepping dangerously close to the councilmembers.

The silence that flooded the area at which we stood was painful.

Not even the sound of Appa’s heavy breathing could be heard. Aang and Sokka were glaring, cautiously stepping forward as the guards around us watched the scene unfold. The guard's posture changed from a defensive position to an offensive, their hands deliberately hovering in front of them, ready to protect Zuko.

“We are politely asking for you to reconsider your decision-” The man stubbornly pushed, and the vein in Zuko’s neck bulged. This is bad, really bad.

“My stance is firm.”

“Well, if you follow us, we have brought suitable candidates. Individuals who come from royalty with strong bloodlines of Firebenders, and…” The man snorted, chinning to my direction with a glare, “far more pleasing to the eye.”

“You what?” I hissed.

Red.

All I saw was red.

My shoulder brushed passed Zuko, rage pumping in my veins, the headache festering in my mind growing in intensity the more I thought. “You brought other women, to our home?”

The man’s eyes widen, stepping back as I inched forward.

The looks in their eyes proved that they were not expecting my outburst – eyes feverishly flickering between Zuko and I. To think, that with a flick of my wrist I could- I swallowed hard, pushing the dangerous thought away before I finished it.

“Are you not aware of my position, who I am to you?”

While the other individuals wisely stepped back, the evident leader of the bunch didn’t. He puffed out his chest, matching his step towards mine, and in a second, I felt Zuko’s hands falling over my arms, “Yue – leave it to me-” He whispered, and I frowned.

“No. It seems like people are abusing my niceness.” I spoke stridently. The man scoffed, crossing his arms, “There isn’t a single thing about you worth abusing. You have no name, title; you’re nothing.”

“Is that so? How humiliating it’ll be for you to get dismissed by a person who is supposedly nothing.” I taunted, hands on my hips as I stepped forward.

“You don’t have the power of such-”

“But I do. You see, while I do enjoy spending time with my future husbands family, and getting to know the people who serve this kingdom; I also spend my time learning about Fire Nation politics.” I started.

While this imprudent man may be taller than me in stature, he was the one cowering away in an instance. My finger jammed those silky red robes that covered his chest, my nail digging into his clothes.

“Should Fire Lord Zuko fall ill, power temporarily falls onto my hands. And I can say with utmost certainty, the very first thing I’ll do is dispose of your mere existence.” I hissed, leaning carefully to his face, making sure he heard every word that I uttered.

The colour from the man’s face left, standing there with his mouth open, wide enough to catch flies. “Are you threatening me?” The man whispered, and I snickered, “It’s not a threat. Consider it an early notice of termination.”

I could feel Zuko’s hands fall over my shoulders gently, his fingers massaging. Goosebumps rose on my skin, no expecting such a romantic gesture, but he didn’t stop. His chest pushed against my back, his lips brushing my ear before letting out a dangerous purr.

“Now that we have arrived, love, I do feel unwell. Maybe it would be best for me to rest – would you be a sweetheart and take over, Imperial Consort Ying Yue?”

“My pleasure, Fire Lord Zuko.” I tutted, “And - you’re dismissed.”

If it weren’t for the guards, the man would’ve most definitely put up a fight. They held his upper arms, pulling him away from us, and in the process, stripping him of the glistening badge that was mockingly strapped to his arm. “I’ll get rid of you - you, bitch. And I swear, you’ll regret this.” He shouted, fingers pointing at my direction.

I could hear Zuko growl under his breath, ready to unleash his wrath, but I spun on my heel, letting my hands rest on his chest. “It’s not worth it Zuko…” I mumbled, and in a flash, Zuko’s focus shifted to me.

For the first time since the whole ordeal, I breathed.

My hands were shaking, body trembling with rage.

I can’t believe it. They actually sought out other women for Zuko. Am I that bad? Am I that-

“Love - you alright?” Zuko whispered, his hands brushing up my neck and cupping my face. Am I alright…? I nodded meekly, shooting Zuko a weak smile, “Y-yeah. I’m tired…I-I think I should go to bed.” I mumbled, biting my lower lip.

His gaze softened, a frown painting his face, “No, you aren’t. I’m sorry, if I knew they were going to do this I would’ve intervened-”

“D-don’t worry about it Zuko; it’s not your fault. My head is hurting, and you’re right. I need to rest…” I spoke with a muted voice, and Zuko’s grip on my face tightened, “I’ll go with you, make sure you’re tucked in-”

“Zuko.” I huffed, cutting him off. He tensed at my tone, and I didn’t blame him one bit, as I surprised myself. I sound weak - tired. “I’m fine Zuko, you and the gang have so many things to do. I’m not in shape to help out, no matter how much I want to. We know that…”

Zuko’s forehead pressed into mine, his eyes closing as he breathes out.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. But…” I trailed off, earning a curious look from Zuko.

I let out a small laugh under my breath, smiling light-heartedly, “Please kick those women out. It’s going to be impossible for me to sleep, knowing there is a herd of women trying to steal you from me.”

“Don’t be; you know you’re the only one.” Zuko cooed, and I shined against his soft touches. “I know…but for their safety; I advise you move them.” And at those words, Zuko grinned, “Is someone jealous, love?”

“I don’t get jealous; I’m territorial.” I teased, reciting the famous line Zuko muttered to me that one time. And the mischievous statement didn’t go unnoticed. He roughly pulled me forward, planting a chaste kiss on my nose as Zuko chuckled.

“Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you too Zuko, now go. I’ll be fine.” I hummed, pulling away from his sweet embrace. His touches weakened, letting me walk out of his grasp before I turned on my heel. The gang watched on the sidelines, unsure of what to say at this point, so I spoke first, “I’m going to rest, I’m ill, and it’ll probably be for the best…”

Sokka glowered, walking forward as he grasped my arms, “You sure Princess? That man said some pretty rude things…”

“I’ve dealt with worse, Sokka, the world is a cruel place after all.”

“And that’s why you always wear the sweetest smile – because you know,” Sokka muttered under his breath. A statement that would have gone unnoticed if I wasn’t paying as much attention as I was. “Feel better Princess. Love you.” Sokka sighed, pecking my forehead quick before stepping back.

I bid a quick goodnight to the others while walking towards a pair of guards – two individuals who I knew all too well.

“I didn’t think you two would be here.” I laughed, staring at the two young gentlemen. Even with their helmets on, I could see the way their pink lips curved upwards. They had beautiful smiles, their pearly white teeth beaming back at me. “It’s weird seeing you anywhere besides my bedroom doors,” I mentioned, earning light laughs from them.

“It’s nice to have you back, Imperial Consort, we missed you.” They spoke, and I blushed at their encouraging words. I love the staff.

We walked side by side, them pulling open the doors to the Kingdom. The hues of red, the rich scent of firewood and spice, all things I’ve learned to call home – despite the rough welcoming. People who spotted me waved gleefully, bowing before dashing off to whatever task they had.

While I smiled back, waving happily, my mind was elsewhere.

I would never question Zuko’s love for me – it was evident. The way he gazed at me or the sweet love confessions he whispered late at night…he loved me. But- My fingers twirled around each other the further we walked, bottom lip trembling.

I questioned my self worth at times...

All the insecurities I’ve long thought I had in check were suddenly hitting me full force. It was frustrating, continually feeling like I’m not good enough. But maybe I’m not? He said that many people had issues with me and if that’s true…

“Imperial Consort?”

My eyes widen, sniffling and wiping my cherry red nose. I’m crying.

“S-sorry, my head hurts, please, don’t worry about me.” I forced, smiling through my tears as convincingly as I could. But the two men looked at me, stopping their movements. I stilled, viewing them with confusion, “What’s wrong? I said I’m fine. I’m just tired-”

“He’s wrong…” The guards mumbled under their breath, and I puckered. “He said that people had an issue with you being Fire Lord Zuko’s consort, but that isn’t true…” I let out a sigh, waving away their words, “Don’t worry about that, really. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“But it bothers us.” My voice fell silent, surprised to hear them talking as much as they did. No matter how many times I tried to speak to them, they were often quick and short discussion, as if they were afraid to talk. But now…they were speaking freely.

“You know, you’re the first royal ever to greet us? Acknowledge our existence? You know maids and guards by their names, their family stories, and what they enjoy. You make us feel human.” I was speechless. Made them feel human? Was it strange for me to greet the staff? It was common etiquette. To think that people disregarded them.

“You may not score high with the royals, but you do with the people. And Fire Lord Zuko knows that is far more important than a silly hierarchy system.” A quiet pause fell between us, letting their words sink in.

The world was cruel to me.

I lost everything and had people walk all over me. Sokka was right; I smiled as brightly as I did because I knew first-hand how wicked people could be. And if a single smile could brighten someone’s day, I’ll smile all day.

“…you really think that?” I whispered, and they grinned.

“The day we call you Queen will be the greatest honour bestowed upon us.”

~ Fire Lord Zuko ~

Deep breaths Zuko.

One more woman. That’s it. You can do this.

Just politely tell her to leave and-

Her snake-like hands slithered its way up my arm, nails scratching my skin, the abrupt gesture catching me off guard. My skin rose, a chill running up my spine at the vile touch. It felt like poison, skin burning at the unwanted contact. There wasn’t a single ounce of decency in this woman’s behaviour, forcing my arm between her chest, trying desperately to show off her cleavage.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend some time with me?” The lady droned, batting her eyelashes obnoxiously while licking her lips. “I bet I can change your mind if you give me a few minutes. I know how to please a man.” She whirred, trying, but failing miserably, to sound seductive.

“Oh, do you? That’s great; you can start by getting the fuck out of my office.” I snarled, ripping my arm out of her grasp. Her face reddened at my response, stomping forward with her hands on her hips. “Do you know who I am?” She screeched, whipping her hair behind her ear for extra emphasis on her current discontentment.

“Yes, you’re a spoiled royal who is leaving!” I shouted, temper flaring as I gripped her shoulders, shoving her towards the door. Just a few more steps-

“How dare you! You should be honoured. I’m a gift!”

A manic laugh escaped my lips, rolling my eyes at her response, “Sorry, I don’t accept cheap gifts.” My hand hastily ripped the door open. She turned on her heel, mouth wide, ready to hurl another insult. But before she could, I slammed the office door shut; her dreadful voice muffled by the heavy door.

I let my body crash.

Fuck.

Me.

My eyes shut closed, running my hands exasperatingly through my tangled locks. Never, in my whole life, have I ever so desperately wanted to take a bath, and scrub my body to the bone. I could still feel her lingering touch on my skin, and I shivered - I could vomit.

I shoved myself off the door with much effort, the muscles that I so proudly worked on seemed useless at the moment. There was a reason why the gang left me, “Don’t worry Zuko, we’ll figure things out while you deal with the mess here. We got you.”

‘Got me’ my ass.

They didn’t want the pleasure of kicking out desperate women who would jump at the chance of being the future Fire Nation Queen. I knew I should’ve let the guards handle it, but I didn’t. I had to go and try to be a nobleman, be gentle and sensitive, and break the news to them that I am in no need of a ‘new consort.’ Since when do I care and acknowledge such feelings?

I swore, I already knew the answer.

Damnit Yue, before you, I didn’t care a single bit about emotions, and suddenly I’m a damn expert about them. Without thinking twice, I strolled to the corner of my study, seeing the various bottles that lined the glass shelf.

Whisky, where is it?

My fingertips grazed the array of selection; blended, bourbon, rye…

My eyes lit up, scotch.

I snatched the bottle, letting the dark liquid pour into a glass, the strong scent of alcohol flooding my nostrils. The bitter liquid touched my lips, and a groan escaped me – smooth. A faint burn carried down my throat, as I drank, and for the first time today, I felt like I could breathe.

The sun was setting, casting strange shadows along the walls. The room looked like a tropical haze under the setting sun, more than half the day gone in a flash – and the only productive thing that happened was me kicking out a bunch of women from my office. I stole another sip from my cup, walking towards my study.

Stacks of paperwork piled on the wooden desk, and I let out another grunt.

My body dropped onto my cushioned scarlet chair, finding an odd sense of comfort sitting behind this desk, with my pens and inks ready for use. And the moment the feeling of coziness hit me, I chuckled under my breath. Yue is right – I’m a workaholic.

I slid my glass off to the far corner, after stealing one last sip, letting my tired eyes scan the documents that flooded my desk — approval of new policies, revision of Fire Nation citizenship requirements, taxes, civil dispute cases.

“Paperwork. How I missed you.” I grumbled, before re-organizing the documents.

I knew I had to finish some of this work tonight, but the urge to leave to check up on Yue was eating me alive. She looked sick; I could tell just by her eyes. The way she struggled to stay focused, skin pale and cold to touch. But more importantly – she looked hurt.

The fucking rage I’m going to unleash on the council tomorrow. My fingers wrinkled the flimsy document in my hand, annoyance getting the best of me — complete idiots. The papers slipped through my hands, forming another mountain to be tackled tomorrow.

Tossing paper after paper into pointless piles, I couldn’t help but look for that one specific document. I asked Iroh to deliver it…did he forget? I huffed, not seeing the report at all. Maybe I do not see it; it has to be-

“Fire Lord Zuko?” A soft voice spoke, catching my attention.

My head snapped upwards, noticing a maid politely bowing, peeping out of the study door. “Yes?”

The maid glanced over her shoulder before facing me once again. “There are some people who wish to speak to you…” She whispered, and I frowned, “Who?”

“I think it’ll be better if you see them for yourself, Fire Lord Zuko.” I nodded tentatively, standing straight and fixing my appearance. The door shut briefly before creaking open once again. What in the world-

Six figures dashed inside, wearing red gowns, the badges they wore on their arms, reflecting whatever sun was left. My eyes narrowed, they have some fucking nerve-

“And what reason do you have to be in my office, council?” I hissed.

My arms crossed over my chest, staring at the six individuals who humbly bowed in front of me. Their hands laid over their upper body as they greeted, voices merciful. “We mean no disrespect with our presence-” An elderly woman spoke, standing at the front of the small crowd that had gathered in the study.

“You sure? Since it appears, the basic concept of respect is not found within the council anymore. Insulting the Imperial Consort, making us appear as fools.” I shouted. They slowly rose from their deep bows, grimaces painting their faces as they listened to the lecture that was about to rain down upon them.

“Fire Lord Zuko – we had no part in that-” She attempted to reason, and I scoffed. “No part? Then what brings you all here? I’m in no mood to deal with you all - not after that superb performance.”

“This.”

The elder reached into her robe, a brown file in her grasp.

“Where did you get this?” I snarled, eyes furiously scanning the paper. Her arm outstretched towards me, letting the document fall into my hands. Iroh was supposed to drop this off to me-

‘Lifting of traitor status – General Axe.’

“She’s just like him, you know…sympathetic…generous…” She spoke, voice trailing off. They knew – they knew who Yue was all this time. Mihir was right about people recognizing Yue; I should’ve taken his warning seriously.

“Fire Lord Zuko, you need six signatures from the council to lift a traitor status, which you’ll find inside that folder. Eight, signatures, in fact.”

I couldn’t form words, opening the file hastily.

She’s telling the truth.

Eight unique signatures, written with fresh black ink, dated.

It was done, Axe’s traitor status was lifted. A process that should have taken weeks to complete was done in a single day. Should Yue’s father be alive, if we find him, I could protect him. I could bring her father back, with no consequences.

“Why?” I whispered, shutting the document in a single motion, staring at the six individuals who stood in front of me. I had eight signatures, two people are missing- “I knew Axe, personally, just like the destruction your father unleashed.” She started, everyone sighing heavily, remembering the war.

Fire Lord Ozai – a monster. He viewed his soldiers as disposable and people of other Nations as a waste of space. She was one of the few people who worked under his rule and continued working into my term. Who would’ve thought she knew who Axe was? Clearly, Yue’s father was popular amongst the royals.

“I think you’re well aware of who, on this council, still reason with his philosophy.”

She rose a brow at me, and I nodded. “We dismissed one of them today,” I muttered, and she chuckled under her breath, the wrinkles around her eyes becoming prominent. “That feistiness you saw today – that was from her mother’s side.”

“If you knew who Ying Yue was, why didn’t you speak up earlier? You knew from the start that she was a Waterbender-”

“That is untrue, Fire Lord Zuko. Majority of us were unaware of Ying Yue’s history. If it weren’t for two council members and your Uncle, no one wouldn’t have known.” A man spoke up from behind, his hands interlocked together in front of him.

I’m a fucking idiot.

I swore under my breath, turning on my heel as I let my hands slam the desk. Of course, Uncle Iroh would’ve known who Ying Yue’s father was. He served in the military, knew the ins and outs like the back of his hands. Why haven’t I thought of that before? So focused on the mess that was unfolding before my eyes, I missed the obvious.

“Fire Lord Zuko, you may have dismissed one troubled soul, but there are others who are itching to find an excuse to get rid of Ying Yue, and potentially, you.” She spoke, her extremely calm tone carrying throughout the study.

“By signing these papers, you’re trying to prove where your alliances stand, I can assume?” I questioned.

They all looked at each other before nodding slowly. “We can’t go back to those dark ages. Those false followers of yours are trying every means to impeach you. The moment Iroh told us you were submitting a change of status regarding Axe, we knew it was time for us to intervene.” I nodded, tempted to steal another drink at this point. It was one less thing to worry about on my list, and I found my fingers tracing the document – Axe.

“If there is anything more we can do for you Fire Lord Zuko; we will do so without hesitation.”

“Thank you. It is much appreciated, and I respect your loyalty.” I hummed, turning to face the bunch. They all wore sheepish smiles, gazing at each other before stepping back. “We will show ourselves out. Have a pleasant evening, Fire Lord Zuko.” They muttered under their breath before bowing deeply.

One by one, they left, everyone heading into a different direction the moment they stepped outside. As if the impromptu meeting had not happened. The eldest lady of them all, the one who spoke the most gave me a warm smile. Her hand rested along the door frame, looking over her shoulder, brown eyes scanning the document on the desk.

“Are you going to retire early, Fire Lord Zuko? Deliver our Impending Queen the good news regarding her father?” I let a small smile sneak up on my face, “Not yet, I have a few things to settle first before I deliver the news.”

“If the rumours are true, Mihir will find him.”

My eyes widen at her comment, and she let out a sad sigh, “I couldn’t tell you if Axe is indeed alive. If I could, I would. But if there is one person who could find him, it’s Mihir.”

“Did you know her mother too?” I questioned, leaning against my study with crossed arms. She let her wrinkled hands brush some grey hairs behind her ear, strands that escaped her tight bun.

“I did. Kasa Jiang. You know, you would’ve thought she was the Firebender and Axe was the Waterbender.” The lady laughed. Her eyes shinnied brightly, remembering all the fond memories she must have shared with them. But, if she knew them as well as she did…

“Axe, he was an only child, I couldn’t find any relatives besides his parents. But what about Kasa? Did she have any sisters or brothers…” I inquired. The lady nodded, letting a finger rest on her chin as she pondered.

“She did, a younger brother. Poor thing, he was a child when Kasa left the Northern tribe,” My heart pounded hearing her words.

Kasa had a brother.

Yue had an Uncle.

“Kasa loved him dearly, but with the war, and her skills in healing, she had to leave him behind. Axe told me they built another room in their house so Kasa could bring him to the Earth Nation…poor thing most likely doesn’t even know what happened to his sister.”

Did Yue know this – that she had an Uncle, somewhere in the Northern tribe? I frowned, scratching my head. Fuck, if it were anyone else, I would’ve assumed no, but Yue was a family person. Knowing her, she would’ve asked her parents about their family – that was just how she was.

“Fire Lord Zuko…is everything alright?”

Her shaky voice caught me off guard, nodding my head like a madman. “Y-yes. My apologies. I think some rest would do me some good.” I muttered under my breath, and she nodded despite studying me with anxious eyes. “I agree…I’ll let myself out. Have a pleasant evening, Fire Lord Zuko, give my regards to our Impending Queen.”

The doors shut, and I found myself locking the documents into my desk, briskly blowing the candles. The room dimmed, as I rubbed my eyes tiredly, walking out with heavy steps. The sun was almost hidden at this point, the Moon making its presence known. The door shut behind me, bidding my goodnights to the guards as I walked down the hallways.

My mind was buzzing – and not because of the damn whisky. Although the urge to go back and finish the glass was tempting at the moment. Yue has an Uncle, and the thought made me tense. Could their relation explain Yue’s peculiar bending skills?

The way she healed was strange, and it’s evident there was some secret regarding that aspect of her bending, especially since Aang threaten me if I tried to dig any further. Even Yue’s affinity of ice. The way she manipulated water – it was something I have yet to witness.

Beautiful – but chilling.

Nothing about this seemed right. And the more I thought, the more I remembered. Azula’s words were on replay in my mind, haunting my thoughts; the mother’s side is far more interesting…Everything was too coincidental, and something I learned during my reign was that there were no such things as happy accidents.

What are the chances that Azula comes back alongside Yakone? A man who we’ve been aimlessly searching for with a vengeance? Azula wouldn’t work with someone else; unless they had power and something to gain. Yakone had power – but what was she gaining from this? And then there’s Mai-

I groaned to myself, realizing where I was heading to without much thought. I need to speak with Uncle Iroh, what else was that damn tea-loving senior hiding from me? But what about the gang? Another grunt escaped me. Fuck.

My feet stopped moving, ready to turn on my heel. They said they had everything under control – that Suki and Toph will figure out Mai while Aang and Sokka talk with the military officials - fuck it.

All sense of duty and responsibility left the fucking premise, my feet moving with one goal in mind. My eyes spotted the two guards out front, shooting me smiles and bowing, “Evening Fire Lord Zuko.”

“Evening, is Imperial Consort Ying Yue inside?”

“Indeed, she’s resting. The nurses looked after her; nothing more than a cold.” I nodded at their words before pushing the doors open. The addictive smell of flowers and vanilla danced in the air, a stupid smile appearing on my face.

Home sweet home.

There she was – blankets messily wrapped around Yue’s body, teddy bear tucked under her chin. A deep chuckle rumbled from my chest as I stepped closer, taking in the magnificent sight in front of me. “Why am I not surprised?” I mused, taking note of the fact that she stole, yet another, shirt of mine.

My fingers ran along her silky legs, pulling the blankets and covering her. “Even in your sleep, you tempt me,” I mumbled, letting the sheets fall over her waist. She fell asleep on my side of the bed, a first I believe, but I was by no means complaining.

I flicked my fingers, lighting the candles on our nightstands, illuminating the room. And as I lazily rolled up my sleeves, unbuttoning the front of my robe, I found myself staring.

She’s beautiful.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I grasped her hand tightly with mine, thumb rubbing her palm. The feeling of her skin against mine left me breathless at times. But it was more than just that – I could spend hours relishing, admiring, every detail about her down to the last beauty mark.

The feeling of her lips against mine, or the way her hair tangled between my fingers.

The sweet vanilla scent that always lingered on her skin, or the soft giggles that sounded like music.

I rose her hand against my lips, letting a content sigh escape. “I love you…” I mumbled against her skin, planting soft, delicate kisses. Her mere presence had me relaxing, ready to take a bath and sleep. I can worry about everything tomorrow. For now…I want her.

“Zuko?”

My eyes opened, noticing Yue pouting. Her golden eyes fluttered open as she let out a whine. Fuck she’s adorable.

“I-I thought you’ll still be working- what time is it?” She hummed with a sweet smile on her face. Her eyes were no longer hazy, her natural glow shining through. She looks ten times better than this morning. “I let the gang handle it. I wanted to be here, love.” I muttered, letting my lips press against her hand, basking in her touch.

She nodded, watching me intently as I relaxed, “Zuko…can I ask you a question?”

I opened an eye, nodding slowly. Her mouth opened and closed, her cheeks flushing, and I grinned. “What’s got you so flustered, love?” I teased. There was something about seeing Yue squirming, to shy to speak, but unable to contain herself. She bit her lip bashfully, staring up at me with those big innocent eyes of her. “You’re going to laugh.” And at that statement, I did.

“Come on; love. Tell me.” I cooed, planting another kiss on her finger. The pink on her cheeks turned to a red, and with a rushed voice, she blurted.

“Why did you kiss my hand when we first met?”

My eyes widen at her question – something I was most certainly not expecting. I let our hands fall onto the bed, staring at her face. “W-well? I know kissing the hand isn’t a Fire Nation custom, so…” She integrated.

“You want the truth?” I mumbled.

Yue nodded.

“I don’t know, but fuck - it felt right.”

“Did you ever regret it?” She asked, curiosity dripping from every word she spoke. I smirked, leaning forward, letting my breath tickle her lips. “The only thing I regret is kissing you on the hand when it should’ve been your lips.”

Yue purred under her breath, lacing her hands in my hair, “You could make up for it now, by kissing me.”

I chuckled darkly, letting a lone finger trail under her chin, “But here’s the problem, love.” I groaned, tilting her head, just enough for her lips to press against mine, “if I kiss you now, I won’t be able to stop.”

“Who said I wanted you to stop?”

Her lips pressed against mine, and I let myself drown.

If love is madness – fuck sanity.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

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cassiopeiassky · 4 years

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When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 54

Hey look at me go, it hasn’t even been a month since my last update (yes, my bar is that low)! Hey I hope you are all doing alright. These are scary times, remember to do your best to take care of you, I know it isn’t easy. Be as kind as you can to yourself - you deserve it.

So this part is dedicated to @iwillbeinmynest - happy late birthday, my darling Kate! I hope it’s worth the wait <3

This part is also dedicated to the great Stan Lee. The world he created gave me a safe place to escape to when my own world was too dark to survive. I owe him so much, and this chapter is so unworthy but it’s all I’ve got. I can only hope that he’d get a kick out of his cameo.

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 4891

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Feels and emotions. Therapy, mentions of trauma. They’re dealing with the aftermath now, so there are parts that are kinda heavy.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

“Look, I think it’s safe to say that we all know you can take care of yourself. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.” The covers slide down, showing his torso as he sits up to face you. “That said, I’d like to remind you about a certain conversation we had at home about us taking care of each other. I know I didn’t specifically include my team at the time, but they’re your team now, too. They’re your family. You know this. It’s okay to let us take care of you – shit, Sweetheart, you take care of us all the time.”

“Okay, but cooking dinner for everyone isn’t the same thing as a credit card.”

“Doll, you don’t want to eat Stark’s cooking. Please, I beg you, let him reciprocate with American Express. You can’t get food poisoning that way.” The look in his blue eyes would be comical if he didn’t seem quite so serious.

You’re still uneasy about having access to someone else’s money, but you reluctantly concede. They are family – Thanksgiving and Christmas should have already proven that to you, even before they did what they did to save you. Still…pride, independence, and your improved but still deeply embedded insecurities are trying to make their insidious whispers into roars. “It’s weird,” you finally mutter as you fiddle with one of your stuffie’s satin lined ears.

He snorts and nods. “I got a metal arm and Stevie and I both have three digits to our age, Banner goes from mild mannered doctor to a big green rage monster when necessary, Stark flies around the world in glorified soda can, and I haven’t even introduced you to the witch, the god, the floating red guy, and the…I don’t know, whatever the hell Loki is. Trust me, Stark giving you a credit card so you have a little bit of freedom while you’re here is the least weird thing about this situation.”

Well, when he puts it that way…

“Why is it so loud?” Bucky watches as you pace in front of the expansive bedroom window, phone at your ear. The ringing is practically echoing, it’s distracting and –

“Breathe for me, Sweetheart.” Steady hands grip your shoulders, interrupt your restless movement, and kinda sorta help to ground you.

Shit. Your heart is hammering almost as loud as –

“Hello?” Familiar. Hopeful. Safe. You should reply, tell her that it’s you, but you’re too busy hanging on to the sound of her voice. “Hello? Hello?!” Annoyed. Indignant. Already ready to hang up.

Your lips finally allow a smile at the sound. Seriously, your mom has the patience of a 2-year-old on a sugar high. It’s good to know at least this hasn’t changed.

Right then and there, you promise yourself to never again take her phone calls for granted. “Hi, Mom.”

Silence. Then tears, followed by questions, answers, questions, answers. You weren’t sure you’d ever hear her voice again, so she has to occasionally repeat things because you were so focused on the sound of her talking – you had to repeat several times too, and you’re sure for the same reason. Yes, you’re safe. Yes, you’re sure. Yes, the boys are doing well, and they miss you like crazy. Yes, your mom followed the instructions of the team and kept things quiet. No, she wasn’t happy about it. Yes, Wanda and Vision are still there – they are going to help your mom with the transition of your return and letting the rest of the family know what happened. Yes, the boys finally settled into a routine and their sleep schedule is back to somewhat normal. Yes, you were shot in the leg but you’re healing well. Yes, you should be home soon. Yes, you’ll give her the details later. Yes, you really are safe. Really.

Loud giggles and doors slamming break through the stream of conversation and your heart moves back up to your throat. It feels life forever since their voices graced your ears and you can’t wait to see what they have to say. But you’re not ready. What if -

Tears and a smile are in your mom’s voice. “Grandpa and the boys just got back from the coffee shop – he was showing them off to the other old hens again. Do you want to talk to them?”

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod, but that doesn’t do any good. She can’t see you because you’d decided to call rather than use video chat; although much better than it was, your skin is still healing and you don’t have any make up yet to hide the fading bruises.

“Honey?”

“Yeah, Mom. Put them on, please.” Bucky leads you to sit at the edge of the bed before climbing up behind you to rub your shoulders.

“Breathe, Sweetheart.” Bucky’s steady presence is a lifeline. The gentle admonition brings you back – breathe in, breathe out. Almost giggle when you hear your mom swear and fumble with putting the phone on speakerphone; there’s a good possibility the boys have learned some new language.

“MommaMommaMomma!!”

As quietly as you can, you choke down the sob that is steadily working its way out. God you’d missed Jimmy’s voice.

“Hi, baby. I love you so much.” It’s all you can manage just now.

“I love you, Momma! I miss you. Come home now!” in your mind’s eye you can see his dimples, how he’s trying to cradle the phone to his ear because he doesn’t quite get the idea of speakerphone, how he’s probably jumping up and down. His words are clearer than they were when you left…how much has he grown? How much did you miss?

“Have you been having fun with Grandma and Grandpa?”

“Yep! We went with Grandpa. We got donuts! And uncle Jerry was there! He gave us a toy. Come home now, Momma. I want to show you something!”

Every bit of your focus goes to listening to your son, to his words and trying to decipher just how much he’s changed in the weeks you’ve been apart. He clearly had an explosion in his language development and it kills you that you missed it. “I’m working on it, baby. I’ll be home soon.”

“Bucky? Bucky, too?”

That brings a smile to your face – you should have known. “Yes, Bucky, too.”

Your mom breaks in, sounding more than a little concerned. “Are you sure you’re really safe?”

“Yeah, I am. I promise.” You’ll tell her a million times if you need to.

“So then why is he coming home with you? Why do you still need the protection?”

Oh, shit. Right. She doesn’t know. This conversation should probably happen in person. “Um…I’ll explain later. But I promise, everything is fine. Hey, can you put Artie on the phone?”

“Honey, he, um,” in the background you can just barely make out the sound of your dad trying to convince Artie to come out of the bathroom, “he’s –“ an ungodly screech pierces the air, “he’s just –“

“He’s mad. He doesn’t want to talk to me.” Damn. It hurts just as much as you thought it would. “It’s okay, Mom.” It’s not. Not at all. “I’ll try again later.” That’s the truth, at least.

“He just needs a little time. He took it really hard when you had to go. Well, they both did, but Artie especially. I couldn’t convince him that you were trying to come back.” She knows what happened, at least the broad outline of it; there’s no judgement in her voice. “He, uh, he thought –“

Might as well just say it and spare your mom the discomfort. “That I left just like his daddy.”

There’s a long pause before she finally answers. “Yeah.”

What can you even say to that? You certainly don’t blame him – you’d had that very thought yourself.

Jimmy’s earnest little voice breaks in, “Momma, Artie loves you. He’s bein’ a butt right now. But he loves you.” He’s a perceptive little man; it’s good to know that’s still the same. A sob and a chuckle mix ungracefully, but that’s okay. And since when did Jimmy start calling people ‘butts?’

“Thank you, baby. Um, Mom?”

Her sheepish voice comes across just a second later. “Sorry, honey. He probably got that from me.”

A laugh, small but genuine, comes out. “That’s okay. I learned all my best phrases from you, so I guess we’ll just call it the family legacy.” Deep breath in. Out. “Hey, I should get going. I need to get my leg checked out before I meet with the person coordinating my mental health recovery care.”

“I – okay, honey. I love you so much, and I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“I love you, too, Mom. Jimmy?”

“I love you, Momma! I don’t want you to go. Come back. Please?” His cheerful excitement is replaced with an almost palpable desperation, and just like that, your heart breaks all over again.

“Yes, baby, I’m coming home soon. I’ll call you later today, okay?”

“Promise?” He sounds suspicious but hopeful.

“Yes, I promise.”

“Okay.” Jimmy sounds resigned, and you can hear your mom prompting him in the background. “Love you, Momma.”

“I love you, too, Jimmy. So much.”

“Later today? Before bed? You will call?”

“Yes, Jimmy. I promise.”

“Okay bye!”

There’s just a bit of silence before your mom’s voice comes back. “He’s going to be okay, honey. They both will.”

You can only hope. Swallowing hard, you continue, “Hey, can you please put the phone by wherever Artie can hear me?”

“Yes…here you go.”

“Artie? Baby?” There’s no response, but you knew there wouldn’t be. “Artie, I love you so much. I’m so sorry that I had to leave, but I promise I’m coming back. Okay? I love you so, so much. It’s okay that you’re mad. I understand. I will call later today, and if you feel like talking, I’ll be here to listen, okay?” Still no answer. You will never know how you managed to keep the devastation out of your voice. “Okay. It’s okay. I love you, baby.”

Footsteps, and then, “He loves you, too. He does.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “I know, Mom.”

“It’s just going to take some time.”

“I know.” You hope, anyway.

“You’ll call later?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Alright honey, you take care of yourself and get better, okay? We all miss you.”

“I know. I miss you, too. I miss you so much.” You stop to clear the thickness out of your throat, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

It’s too hard to say goodbye, so instead you just end the call and put the phone down. Time to get ready for the rest of the day.

* * *

“Do not hold your breath, dear one. Breathe through the movement,” Galina coaches gently as she guides you through some strength exercises.

You’ve already been at this for 45 minutes, and you still can’t get over the fact that your leg doesn’t hurt like you think it should. There’s a deep, almost bone shaking ache to it now that you’ve been pushing yourself a bit, but it certainly isn’t what you would have expected from a recovering bullet wound.

“Good,” she watches with an eagle eye as you correct your breathing, “very good.”

“This is weird. I’m not complaining, but my brain just seems to not want to accept that my leg is better than it thinks it should be.”

She laughs a little as she taps some notes into her tablet. “I suppose it makes sense that there is a bit of dissonance between your brain and body; most patients with this type of injury would still be recovering in the surgical ward. You are very lucky to have received Dr. Cho’s patch. I have seen injuries like yours that have resulted in a lifelong limp, and that was with good care and a qualified physical therapist.”

It hurts your heart to think of the things she’s seen – legs with a permanent limp seem like the least of the potential horrors. You finish your reps, then rise to stand next to her. “Thank you for taking care of me, Galina. I really do appreciate it.”

Her hand reaches to cup your cheek, “Dear one, it is my pleasure. Thank you for allowing me. It cannot be easy given everything you have been through.”

It baffles you how she can be so concerned about you – she’s lost everyone she loved most, and it makes you wonder how she can keep going, how she can even smile. Throwing any sense of formality to the wayside, you pull Galina into an impromptu hug. It’s easy to see she doesn’t mind. You’re far from the only person in this building that is in the process of healing.

When she pulls away, you’d swear there are tears in her eyes but you don’t get the opportunity to ask before she starts speaking. “Would you like to join me for some coffee? Or do you need some rest before you meet with Dr. Lee?”

“I’d actually love some company – and the caffeine is a bonus. Bucky said he’d probably be at least 2 hours with his therapist, and I’m trying not to sleep during the day so I can get back to a normal sleep schedule.”

“Mmm,” Galina nods drily, “Jetlag is a heartless bitch, yes?”

You burst out laughing at her comment. It feels good. “It is. It really is.”

* * *

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous, Buck. It isn’t like I’ve never seen a therapist before.” The two of you are standing outside the room serving as an office for Dr. Lee, and there’s a heavy dread hanging over you at the prospect of walking through that door. “I mean, for fuck’s sake, I want to be one. What is my problem?”

Bucky rubs your back as he holds you close. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

The deep breath you take fills your lungs with his comforting smell, grounding you. “Mmm,” your voice is muffled from having your face smushed into his shirt, “that’s actually really tempting.” The breath is released in a somewhat defeated sigh, “But I need to do this on my own. I, um, I also don’t want you to have to relive my experience.” You can feel that he’s about to protest, so you quickly continue, “I know you’d go – and I thank you for it – but I don’t know that I can be completely open and honest with my therapist if you were there because I’d want to protect you from hearing it.” Shrugging as you take a step back, you meet his troubled eyes, “I know you know what happened. But that doesn’t mean I want you to hear me say it. And yes,” you cut him off before he can interrupt, “we will talk about it. In time. It’s not that I’m trying to keep anything from you because I’m not. I just –“

“It’s different when you’re talking to a therapist.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, relieved that he understands. “It’s different.”

A hug and a kiss and five minutes later find you sitting across from an older gentleman with thick 70s style glasses. His kindly smile flashes beneath a thick, grey mustache as he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater.

You feel like you need to say something to fill the silence. “Um, thank you for meeting with me, Dr. Lee.”

“Oh,” his smile is meant to put you at ease, and it does, somewhat. “No need to be formal. Please, call me Stan.”

Nodding, you swallow hard.

He begins with explaining how this will work – he’s having this meeting with you in order to pair you with a suitable therapist from his team, who then will fly in later today to begin working with you tomorrow. Stan and his partner will remain onsite with you and Bucky as long as you are in New York, and will then do remote sessions for as long as needed. He’s happy to work with you if for whatever reason your therapist doesn’t work out, although he prefers under normal circumstances not to work with both halves of a couple. This doesn’t faze you – it’s pretty standard practice.

Next are the inventories – of course you score astronomically high on the anxiety inventory and moderately high on the PTSD inventory, but surprisingly low on the depression inventory. By the time you’re finished discussing them and your one month, three month, and six month goals, you’re fairly comfortable with Stan. He’s nice and gives off a sort of wise, grandfatherly type vibe. You can see why Bucky thinks so highly of him.

Then it gets ugly, but you knew it would. In broad strokes you begin telling him of your experience. Every now and then he asks for more details or clarification, but for the most part he just listens and makes occasional notes.

Starting at the beginning brings some happy memories, once you get past the whole watching someone die and then having someone shoot at you part. Yeah, saying goodbye to your mom was hard, but you still had hope that you’d see her again someday. Then there was getting to know Bucky and the team. Did you expect to find a best friend and fall in love with him? Did you expect that this group of extraordinary individuals – people that you found intimidating and at first wrongly assumed you’d have absolutely nothing in common with – would become family? God, no. But you did, and they did. There was fear and uncertainty, but there was also joy, acceptance, and love. At the safehouse, in the most unexpected way, you found healing and a deep peace you’d never known before.

But then you recount falling sick from Metzger’s poison and the indescribable pain of leaving your kids…and Bucky. As you describe Anatoliy and Nikolai Krakken – their threats, their causal cruelty, their laughter – you break into a cold sweat. Nausea comes in waves with mentioning Grigory and Alric Metzger, and you’re almost drowning again in helpless desperation when you remember how they read Bucky’s second set of trigger words and the things they made him do. You mostly stay away from the complicated confusion regarding Bucky’s part in your rescue; at this point you know you love him and that you harbor no resentment – you meant it when you said there was nothing to forgive – so the rest of the feelings that you can’t quite figure out can wait.

You tell Stan of being locked in that godawful room for days on end under endless threats of harm, and the waiting. God, the waiting – waiting to see what they would make Bucky do next, waiting to see if he did it, waiting to see when they would finally follow through with their terrible implications. Then of course there were the little ways they would humiliate you, the dehumanizing way they refused to let anyone use your name, the misery of the formal dinners they forced you to attend…and…and the…the uh…

Mikhail.

Stan keeps telling you that you’re okay, that you’re safe. You know this is true on some level, but you sure as hell can’t feel it without –

“Bucky,” you finally gasp, and Stan acquiesces immediately.

Bucky must have been just down the hall, because his arms are around you within a minute of Stan’s call. It’s strange, you think, that the tighter he squeezes the easier it is for you to breathe.

When the room finally feels like it has enough air for the three of you, you continue, “I’m sorry, Stan. I didn’t expect to be quite this fragile.”

Even though you’re looking down into your lap, you can feel two sets of eyes boring into your skull.

Stan clears his throat. “You said you were going to school? You want to be a therapist?”

You nod first, then answer almost absentmindedly, “Uh huh.”

“Mmm. Would you expect one of your clients to apologize for their emotional reaction while describing their trauma?” As pointed as his question is, Stan’s voice is gentle.

He’s not going to let you not reply, so you give him the obvious answer. “No. Of course not.”

“So do you think it’s reasonable for you to expect yourself to not be, as you put it, fragile?”

“Um…” You can practically feel Bucky daring you to deflect. “No.”

When you finally look up, Stan is nodding. “Right. Cut yourself some slack. Don’t hold yourself to expectations that you wouldn’t expect others to meet.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. “Easier said than done.”

“But not impossible,” he winks. “You and Bucky are remarkably similar in this aspect. With you, you’ve got extremely high expectations for yourself. With him, it’s –“ Stan looks to Bucky, “May I discuss your progress a bit?”

“I already said you could,” Bucky smiles, then takes out his phone when it buzzes. His features twist into something unfamiliar, but only for a second. Turning to you, he apologetically shows you the screen. “Nat’s here.” His voice is tight; he tries to hide it but you know him too well. “She got impatient and wants to take you shopping this afternoon. What would you like me to tell her?”

“If I may,” Stan looks to you both, “I would recommend that you go shopping. Today.” His face is stern as he looks to Bucky. “With Nat. And only Nat.”

Bucky manages to look both nauseous and sheepish as you glance between the two.

His phone buzzes again as you bite your lip. “Um, I’ll go.” You can’t say that you feel great about it; in fact, the idea of being separated from Bucky is mildly terrifying, but that’s kind of Stan’s point.

“Good. Bucky, go ahead and meet Nat while I finish up here. Have lunch together, and when they go shopping, you come here for your next session.”

Bucky nods but looks to you before moving.

“I’ll be okay, Buck.” Surprisingly, this feels like the truth. “Go ahead, I’ll join you when I’m done.”

“Alright.” Bucky hesitantly gets up, but stoops to press a kiss against your forehead. “I’ll see you soon.” He clearly doesn’t want to go, but his respect for you eventually wins.

It’s quiet while he exits, but then Stan allows himself an almost satisfied smile. “You know, Bucky doesn’t give himself enough credit. I’m not sure if it’s the serum – if it also helps strengthen the mind as well as the body – but when he allows himself to be, he’s one of the most mentally and emotionally healthy people I’ve ever met, and I don’t just mean in spite of his trauma. He knows what to do, he knows how to communicate, which is especially important. The problem is, he sometimes gets in his own way. Kind of like you and your unrealistically high expectations for yourself. I think for a long time it was a way to punish himself, almost a self-sabotage. He’d learned to deal with the trauma but not so much the guilt. He felt guilty not only about what he’d done while under HYDRA control, but also for falling victim to the torture in the first place – something he recognized no one else could have survived much less ignored, but he still wouldn’t even consider forgiveness for himself. He felt guilty because he thought he should have been strong enough to withstand it. Normally the guilt and trauma would go hand in hand, and dealing with one would deal with the other, but not in Bucky’s case. He’d managed to separate them and not allowing himself to deal with the guilt was holding him back.” Stan picks up a pen and starts tapping it against his chin, “He always wanted to get better, to be better. He just couldn’t always convince himself that he deserved it. You, though, you were – and are – his motivation to stop punishing himself and let go of the guilt. Seeing and working with him today,” Stan shakes his head, “in spite of his new trauma, the improvement I see in him is incredible. He wants to get better, but more importantly, he’s allowing himself to get better. He’s stepping out of his way.” Stan narrows his eyes at you, “Just like you need to do. And that’s only going to happen if you cut yourself some slack. Perfection is an illusion and it has no place in healing.”

“I know,” you exhale heavily.

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” you admit, “I do.” Your being hard on yourself isn’t exactly a secret, even to you.

“So what would you tell me if our positions were switched?”

You sort of hate the way he’s going about this, but at the same time you have to admit it’s effective. “I’d tell you that all of your reactions are perfectly normal and that your emotions are valid. I’d tell you to remember that progress isn’t linear, and that having a bad day, week, or even month doesn’t mean progress isn’t being made. I’d let you know that being with a therapist is a very specific type of vulnerability, and that it’s okay to feel and express those emotions.”

“And?”

“It’s okay to need help. And other people.”

Stan leans back in his chair, seemingly satisfied. Smug bastard. “Good. Well, I think I’ve got a good grasp on your particular needs, so I’ll have one of my colleagues, Dr. Patrice Cortez, fly in tonight. I think she’ll be a great match for you – we graduated in the same class and have been working together ever since, but she specializes in women’s trauma. I will still be available to you, of course, but as long as you are comfortable with her when you meet her tomorrow, she’ll be your primary therapist.”

“Okay.” Genuinely grateful, you smile. “Thank you very much.” Suddenly exhausted, it takes a monumental effort to begin to rise.

“One more thing.” He waits until you sit back into the couch. “And this is something I’ve addressed with Bucky, but since you’re here I’d like to mention it to you, too.”

“Okay.”

Stan looks up at the ceiling like he’s physically searching for the right words, “Your relationship is nothing short of extraordinary.”

Oh boy, here it comes. You know it’s coming from your mom, but you didn’t quite expect it here. Well, maybe you did. A little. “Are you going to tell me that it’s superficial and based on stressful circumstances, and that it won’t last in the real world?” You’d bristle if you had the energy, but as it is it just comes out flat.

“What? No, God no,” he speaks quickly, “Although that does happen. And I’d say that a majority of bonds that are formed under such stress don’t survive because they’re based on necessity, and once the necessity is gone, so is the bond. I don’t think that’s the case with you and Bucky, though. It’s fairly obvious that you were friends first, and that your relationship is built on that. Unusual circumstances threw you together, but the friendship grew organically, if quickly.”

You relax, just a bit. It’s been on your mind; not that you doubt your feelings – or Bucky’s – but you do know how it looks. And just like the first night the team found out, your relationship with Bucky is something you’re prepared to defend.

“The thing I wanted to mention is the danger of co-dependency.”

Ah. That makes sense.

“You two have been through a lot. A lot. And it’s good and important that you can lean on one another, inspire and encourage each other, and grow together. But it’s also important that you grow on your own. You are two individuals sharing a life. If you can’t thrive separately, then in trying to thrive together you will choke each other out.”

You nod – he’s not wrong.

“Did Bucky mention that he is having a difficult time with the idea of you going shopping with Nat?”

You think for a moment. “No, but I guess I assumed it wouldn’t even happen until tomorrow, so we really haven’t talked about it at all.”

“He is. He’s struggling with the idea of you being without his protection, even though you are certainly more than safe with Nat. Bucky is almost paralyzed with fear that he will lose you. And I can see that the idea bothers you as well.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Even though everyone seems to agree that the threat is over, it’s still scary.”

“It is. It absolutely is. But is it healthy for either of you to live in that fear?”

Exhaling deeply, you answer honestly. “No. It isn’t.”

“Right. Although it is certainly understandable, it isn’t healthy. Now, I’m not suggesting that you two separate. Quite the contrary, actually. It’s just something to be cognizant of, something to keep in mind as you start the healing process. Push your boundaries early and often, and I think you’ll surprise yourself. You are both incredibly resilient people.”

“I, um, I do worry that I’ll get too needy, if I’m not already. And then sometimes I worry that I’ll push him away.”

“And he worries that he’ll suffocate you with his desire to see you safe. It’s why he asked me today to make sure I have a session planned with him when you go out, although I think he also expected it would be tomorrow.”

Another deep exhale.

“The therapy program we’re putting together for you two is pretty intense. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re both on the right track. Just make sure you allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling – but be careful of focusing too much on the bad because your anxiety can and will manipulate your perceptions. Remember that it’s okay to feel contradicting emotions, and trust yourself. Rest in each other and support each other, but don’t depend on each other for healing. That’s something you need to do on your own. Perhaps together in parallel fashion, but still individually.”

“Hearing this is oddly comforting,” you admit.

“Based on what I’ve seen, I think it’s because it’s stuff you already know. I also suspect that it was perhaps how you two operated before you were taken, but after what you went through you just need to feel like you have permission to put it back into practice.”

Why does everything make so much sense when Stan says it? “You know, I think you’re right. I – I don’t think I’ve ever worked with a therapist like you, either through school or personally. You’re very effective.”

He smiles broadly, “Well, being on the team serving the Avengers is fairly unconventional, and sometimes we have to modify programs in unusual ways to fit our clients’ unique needs. Which is what any good practitioner should do, really.” He shrugs, “But rest assured that our methods are grounded in evidence-based practice, and that my entire team is held to the strictest standards regarding ethics and client outcomes.” Stan leans forward, eyes sparkling, “And we have very good outcomes. It’s going to take some work, but you, my dear, are going to be just fine. And so is Bucky.”

You find yourself nodding. You believe him.

@hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @shifutheshihtzu @passiononfire @learisa @widowvinter @kaaatniss @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @denialanderror @k-nighttt @givemethatgold @manders2487 @afangirlrambles @polkadottedpillowcase @bluebrrn @saysay125 @aikibriarrose @saharzek @mmauricee @imhereforbvcky @whenallsaidanddone @supernatural508 @scarlettsoldier @natalie-nightcourt @im-beautifully-sewn @lovemarvelousfics @feistytravel @tbetz0341 @nearly-whitches @jamie-leah @shliic @dessinemoiunehistoire @lucywinchester2000 @solarbarnes @a-proper-chicken @movingonto-betterthings @seekingkairos @part-time-patronus @natashasnight @fairislesheets @beccaanne814 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @scottish-pepper

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine #my work #when everything's made to be broken (i just want you to know who i am)#part 54 #wemtbb

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crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years

Text

The Haunted

A Horror Septics Story

(A fun thing for Halloween. Well, fun for the writer and readers, not so much fun for the character going through it. Enjoy >:) )

—————

There was a face in the mirror.

It almost looked like him. Almost. There were too many eyes. Too much blood. And it juddered and shivered, breaking into pieces like a video with bad connection. But it was real. No, it couldn’t be. As he stared at what should have been his reflection, this was all he could think. “You’re not real,” he whispered. “You’re not real.”

The face seemed to smile. His eyes remained locked with it.

It lunged forward, broken hand reaching through the class. He cried out and jumped backwards, covering his head. After a moment of tense anticipation, he lowered his arms and looked at the mirror. It was just him.

He exhaled slowly, and left the bathroom, hands shaking as he pushed the door open. He headed back towards the room he’d just left. There was a table in there, a table that wasn’t usually there but that he’d dragged in for today. On top of the table was a half-carved pumpkin and a few knives. In front of this setup was a camera on a tripod. He walked over to stand behind the table and smiled for the camera. “Sorry about that, that was just—actually let’s edit that out. Okay. Back to this. What you’re gonna want to do...”

* * * * * * * * *

His phone was vibrating violently; the sound of it clattering against his nightstand was enough to wake him up. Blearily, he blinked up at the ceiling, then turned his attention to the phone. It had stopped vibrating. He picked it up and saw a couple missed calls, as well as a text message from a friend asking him to call. So he dialed the number. “Hey what’s up?”

“Hey ŝĺňŦèŸ, were you planning on uploading a different video today?” his friend asked.

“Huh? What d’you mean?”

“I mean, I went to post the edited version of Pony Island, and there was already a video up.”

He sat up straight. “What? What was it?”

“Uh, it was something like ‘pumpkin carving unedited.’”

He threw aside his blankets and rushed to the computer, dropping his phone and not bothering to pick it up. Booting up the computer and going over to his channel, he saw a video with that exact title...except something was a little weird with the letters. The title read “pu̵m̶p̵k̀in c̸arv̕ing̛ u͡ne͟d́i͢ted.” Dread pooled in his stomach. He wasn’t going to upload that. He’d been planning to, but it hadn’t...worked out. The footage never even left the camera.

Uneasy, he clicked it. The video was over an hour long, and he watched it all. It really was unedited. Nothing was cut out. He watched with a sinking stomach as the version of him onscreen trailed off in the middle of a sentence, staring at the knife for a full minute. The part with the bleeding eye was included, when it just started leaking blood for no apparent reason. And all those morbid jokes, pretending the pumpkin was a person he was stabbing, and grinning hysterically right after that...it was all there. Up until the moment he said “I can’t do this” and turned the camera off. The reactions in the comments seemed...mixed. He read through them, his heart frozen. Some wondered if this was a joke, some thought he was doing it for attention, some wanted to know if he was okay. They were all confused.

Quickly, he stood up and ran over to grab his phone. He turned on the camera and started recording a video. “Hey guys. So you, uh, probably noticed the weird footage that got uploaded today. I just want to say...that wasn’t me. I actually have no idea where it came from.” He stammered through a short explanation, finishing it off by saying he’ll be taking a month-or-two-long break from recording anything, for his own mental health. Then he quickly uploaded that.

He glanced towards his computer monitor, which was still turned on. As he looked, the screen suddenly dissolved into static, distorted noise coming through the speakers. There was a face in the white noise.

An hour later, he was out on the street, smashing his computer and all his recording equipment with a baseball bat he’d found in his closet.

* * * * * * * * *

Despite his hopes, he had to conclude that it was real. Something was there, something was watching him. It sent him strange texts every so often, the words a bunch of scrambled symbols with the occasional threat. He kept the phone, though. To keep in contact with his friends and family.

He got rid of the TV, though. It kept switching on, making those same distorted sounds. One day in a panic, he opened the window and threw it out, watching it shatter on the ground below.

People kept asking how he was. Despite his best attempts to resist, he couldn’t help but check social media every so often. Some of his viewers thought this was a game, a fun horror-based thing to celebrate the end of the spooky season. Some of them were genuinely concerned.

Friends and family called and texted him. Some asked if he wanted to “see someone.” He considered it, he really did. Maybe he was just losing it. Waking up in the middle of the night, staring at eyes in the ceiling? That certainly seemed as though it was in his head. But he knew it was real. Because nobody could have uploaded that footage.

He got another text one day. Ŗæ¬YouareÈñħ»źmineÓŶğÙ´ÛIwillěġİťämakeĨÅęţyouþÚÆómyéªŕîĳöÀ×í¸ĪºÎtoyðŦłĈForeverů¿ŭŪŉĺĂķ=)

He threw his phone on the floor until its screen shattered and its case was broken. Then he dropped the remains down the nearest sewer grate.

* * * * * * * * *

He saw the face in his nightmares. Usually they just involved those eyes, those strange green eyes, all staring at him. He’d dream he was trapped in a box, all of them staring at him as it filled up with a red liquid that tasted metallic. Or he’d dream he was running down a street, the eyes watching him from looming buildings, his feet getting stuck as something that screeched with static grew closer and closer. The nightmares with the face were the worst. Because then it could touch him. And he’d wake up, unable to move, panting heavily as those eyes stared at him from his bedroom walls.

The lights would flicker, and more often than not they would turn off completely. His landline kept ringing. At first he’d pick up the calls, hoping to hear familiar voices. But all it turned out to be was distorted, laughing static.

He couldn’t stay here. It knew he was here.

It was a lovely spring day when he packed a suitcase and a duffel bag and headed to the nearest bus stop out of town.

* * * * * * * * *

There was a face in the crowd.

He was sitting on the train platform, waiting for the next one to come. People passed by, rushing quickly about their business and not paying him a second glance. Busy, busy, busy. But out of the sea of faces, one was staring at him.

His breathing sped up. He couldn’t look away. He was frozen, watching the figure in the crowd. People walked around it, not even looking in its direction. Nobody saw the twitching, bleeding, shuddering figure except for him. It wasn’t moving. But when he blinked, it got closer. What was once too distant to make out clearly slowly approached until he could see the green scleras of its many eyes.

“Go away!” He shot to his feet, knocking over his suitcase. “Leave me alone already!” People around him stared. He didn’t blame them. If he saw a man screaming at nothing in a train station, he would stare too. “What will it take?! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Luckily the train came before it got too close. But he stared at the station until it passed into the distance.

* * * * * * * * *

“I’m sorry young man, but t’ere’s nothin’ I can do to help you.”

It was raining outside, and he was glad the old woman had opened the door to let him inside. He sat curled up in one of the chairs in the living room, listening to her. “There—there h-has to be some way,” he stuttered. “You don’t know...anything?”

“T’is isn’ a creature I’ve seen before,” she said. “And I’ve seen plenty in my time. The best ye can do is to continue t’is path you’re on.”

Running forever? Switching from country to country at random? Always looking over his shoulder for those eyes or that face to be behind him? He shuddered. “What about the one in the forest? There’s supposed to be something there, right?”

“You didn’ see in on your way through?”

“Um...I saw it from a distance, but it didn’t get close.”

The old woman shook her head. “T’hear it didn’ approach you...when ye were all alone and most vulnerable...it doesn’ want anyt’ing t’do with you.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “You may stay here for as long as you like.”

He nodded slowly, and stared out the window. Waiting for it to appear.

* * * * * * * * *

The hotel room wasn’t one of the better ones he’d stayed in in his life. If he had to guess, it was probably a two star. But it had a bed and a shower, and that was all that mattered.

The clerk greeted him with a half-hearted wave and a monotone voice: “Bienvenue à l'historique Hôtel de la Soie. Comment puis-je vous aider?”

He stared at him blankly. “Uh...I need a room. Um...une neht—une nuit?”

The clerk scoffed a bit under his breath. He jabbed a finger at a sign hanging on the wall with the prices for a stay. An unusual thing to have in a hotel, but it worked out. He handed a stack of ten-euro notes over to the clerk, who took only a brief moment to count all of it before handing him a key in return. He nodded, and headed upstairs.

Later that night, he lay down on the bed, on top of the blankets. There was a single window into the room. Though he was on the third floor, he kept staring at it, waiting for a face to appear. He didn’t know what time it was when he finally drifted, having unplugged the digital clock and shoved it in the closet. But fall asleep he did.

Only to jolt awake barely two hours later, hearing the slightest sound of static coming from the old television speakers. He sat up straight, staring at it. The screen flipped on, showing rows of colored bars.

Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten. He grabbed his duffel bag and ran out the door, not bothering to check out. He’d never be coming back here anyway.

* * * * * * * * *

“Please! I know you can help me! I know it!” He grabbed the back of the red hoodie, clinging to the fabric.

Hands grabbed his wrists and yanked him away. The creature looked very annoyed to be bothered, but in its featureless face, he could’ve sworn he saw fear as well. “I can’t,” it hissed. “Leave me alone.”

“I know you can,” he repeated bleakly. “I-I know you...you’re much older, right? I’m sure you can—can—”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you’re wrong,” it said bluntly. “Usually you would be right. Not in this case.”

He stared at it, letting a few tears slip from his eyes. “Please...”

It dropped his wrists and walked away. He didn’t bother to follow it, sinking to his knees, watching as the creature approached someone and started chatting away. They both ignored him. A desolate feeling overcame his heart. Not even things like this could help him...

“Hey signore! Stai bene?” A teenager nearby asked him.

He looked at her. The teen was with her friends, a group of kids, all hanging out together, unaware of...everything. Then he stood up and walked away silently.

* * * * * * * * *

He was a mess. He knew it before, but staring at his reflection in the shop window across the street really drove it home. Dirty, travel-worn clothes. Wild, greasy hair and an unkempt beard. He’d lost the suitcase long ago, and decided to trade the duffel bag for an easier-to-carry backpack he’d stolen two weeks ago...or was it a month ago? It was hard to keep track, days blurring into each other.

Running his hand through his hair, it occurred to him that he’d been trying to grow facial hair for years, and it took circumstances like this to make it actually fill out. The thought was so absurd that he couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

A woman and a little girl were walking down the sidewalk nearby, presumably a mother and daughter out for a stroll. The girl pointed at him, but her mother pulled her closer, and muttered, “To niegrzeczne wskazywać. Nie gap się na niego.” He had no idea what it meant, but noticed how they crossed the street soon after.

Well, whatever. That was the least of his worries.

He sat down, leaning back against the wall of the building behind him. A yawn escaped, and he closed his eyes. Even though it was the middle of the day, he was asleep within minutes.

When he awoke, it was close to sunset, and more people were milling about the pavement. He sat up straight, searching the area. Something had woken him up.

He glanced over his shoulder, and saw it watching him, its hand extended and only a few inches away from him.

With a scream, he threw himself backwards, scrambling to his feet. “Go away!” He shouted. “Fuck off!”

Its eyes smiled, leaking blood. “×ýńŃÙĸComečŌĆĺĤÓhereĿ¾ŚĀMineŬħĩ”

He broke out into a dead run, shoving past annoyed pedestrians who yelled at him as he passed. He didn’t care. They couldn’t help him.

* * * * * * * * *

Exhaustion dragged at his feet, making him stumble. He kept his eyes open, glancing over his shoulder. It had been a day since he last saw it. Was that long enough? He collapsed on the side of the road, landing in a bush. Its tiny branches scraped at his skin, but he didn’t feel them.

He woke up with static ringing in his ears. Pushing to his hands and knees, he looked behind him, and saw it.

A sob ripped free of his throat. He was running before he was even fully upright. Its laughter echoed behind him.

Judging by how much the sun had moved, it had only been about three hours since he fell asleep. How was it so fast? It never followed him when he ran, it just...appeared. Watching him. Waiting.

* * * * * * * * *

He’d stolen an egg timer from a small store he’d run across. The woman manning the cash register had run after him, shouting “Állj meg! Tolvaj!” but he was too fast. Still, the effort of running for so long tired him out, and he staggered and fell. Staying right where he was on the sidewalk, he set the timer for forty-five minutes, then lowered his head and fell asleep.

When the timer went off, ringing shrilly in his ear, he grabbed it and sat up, looking around.

It was right there. Standing over him.

He couldn’t find the energy to scream, instead making a hoarse, strangled cry as he climbed to his feet and took off. Forty-five minutes was too long. When he next fell down, two hours later just outside of the town, he set it for forty.

* * * * * * * * *

Halfway to the next town, he had to reduce the time to thirty minutes. He’d fallen asleep sometime in the night, when the moon was high overhead. And when he woke up to the sound of the timer ringing, he rolled over and stared into green eyes.

He shrieked and ran, adrenaline giving him a boost. It was so close, so close, and it still didn’t pursue. Was this a game for it? Was it playing with him? It must have been.

* * * * * * * * *

Fifteen minutes. He’d run for about forty minutes, then he couldn’t take it anymore, and had to fall asleep for fifteen minutes. People wandering through the town gave him strange looks, but he was long past the point of caring.

When he woke up this time, he felt something on his arm. He looked down and saw a hand, twitching, bleeding, staring. He shoved it away and tried to run. It kept laughing at him. He wasn’t nearly as fast as he used to be.

* * * * * * * * *

Five minutes. Run for fifteen, then sleep for five. Run for ten, then sleep for three. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, knowing something was watching him with an electric gaze.

Something tugged on the back of his jacket, and he jolted awake. He’d slept right through the timer. It was pulling him—! Struggling, he managed to pull away and stumble down the street. It wasn’t laughing anymore.

* * * * * * * * *

It grabbed his arm next time. He swung a wild punch and pulled backwards, setting off down the street. Static hissed. He didn’t know how long it was before he fell down. But soon he was lying on the sidewalk, staring at the yellow-lit windows of the city buildings. Next thing he knew, his eyes were opening to it grabbing his leg. A kick, and he was staggering down the street again.

* * * * * * * * *

His eyes flew open. It had grabbed his other arm. Gasping, tears leaking, he wriggled out of his jacket and ran. He made it down three city blocks before he absolutely couldn’t go any further. His legs refused to move, and he crumpled. Asleep before he hit the ground.

* * * * * * * * *

He woke up choking, his shirt collar tight around his neck. Gasping, pulling at the fabric, it took him a moment to realize he was being dragged across the ground, rough asphalt catching on his clothes. A cry escaped his throat, only to be strangled as the fabric was pulled tighter. He kicked wildly, hands grabbing at the shirt collar to try and loosen it. “Let me go!” He shouted hoarsely. His fingers scrabbled at the ground, trying to get a hold.

Static laced with laughter. As if the very idea was ridiculous.

He hadn’t really been expecting that to work, anyway. Reaching back with one hand, he tried to pry its fingers away, but kept slipping. So instead he tried to wriggle out of his shirt like he did with his jacket earlier. But it was wise to this trick now. It grabbed both his wrists, its grasp wiry but strong. And cold. Not cold like ice, cold like a cadaver. He shuddered to feel it, and tried all the harder to twist free.

There wasn’t anyone nearby. He doubted if anyone would answer, or if they could even see him, but he had to try. “Help!” He screamed. “Help! Someone, please! Help! Please!”

No response.

It dragged him to the edge of the city, indifferent to his screams and pleas. His skin was scraped, but if he could just get free, it would be worth it. If he could just run. He needed to run. He needed to—!

The air seemed to shiver, the world breaking into colors and shapes. He froze, the image hypnotizing and terrifying. It felt as though he suddenly jerked awake while falling asleep. When things righted themselves, the city was gone. Instead he was in the middle of nowhere. Twisted ground littered with broken electronics: monitors, CPUs, televisions, radios, and so many wires and cables. Static was so thick in the air, he could taste it. The sky above was black. No, deeper than black, it was a void. And there were...things crawling over the piles of scrapped technology. They stared at him. It stared at him.

No longer exhausted, he climbed to his feet and started to run once more. And it started to laugh. Laughed like it was the most hilarious joke, the kind of joke you’d hear a million times and never get tired of.

He brushed past a pile and suddenly tripped. Wires wrapped around his legs, climbed up his body to his neck. He tasted copper deep in his throat.

And then it left. He was alone. But a voice lingered in the air.

“şøëĬÕÆßĺóŸŖYouareÓĆð¬ÞmineŀĽĶ¤ĵ¿nowįýâźÉÇĖïŉéąAndďļćÐŏÒĎŧYouwillŰæŒĞĢŃmakeÑıàĂĀŷťªŕawonderŤÊŠ÷ĕŋfulİåŅž«©¶ăšplayőĤ¦Ŵthing·ÏāĔ®öÀĈ°ŗè”

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticeye au #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #antisepticeye #horror tw #brigid writes fanfiction #horrorseptics

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