#now I’m crying from both laughter AND feelings of utter failure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

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//missing pieces. miya atsumu//

Warnings: mild swearing. Feelings of hopelessness. infidelity

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: imnotcryingimnotcryingimnotcrying.

{Read Part II - "Broken Pieces" HERE}

You heard them before they even entered the door. The loud shouts and the howls of laughter. If you sat up enough on the couch, the MSBY training jackets were visible through the front window. Hinata’s orange hair bounced wildly as he jumped excitedly with his older Jackals. It was the fifth time this week that the boys had come over after practice.

It was the fifth time this week that the boys had disrupted your much needed study time. A senior in college, a list of midterms too long to comprehend, and more mental breakdowns than you cared to account for, the hours that your boyfriend was at practice and you could relax and study in the comfort of your shared home was pure bliss.

The door swung open, giving you a full account of just how loud they were being. Atsumu was doubled over in fits of giggles, tugging his sneakers off, Hinata and Bokuto shouting bits and pieces of the same story only a few steps behind.

“Y/N? You here?” Atsumu calls out as he is finally able to calm himself down enough to speak normally again.

“Living room, ‘mu!”

In a matter of seconds, he’s bounding into the room, leaning over your shoulder. “I’m home.” You don’t even have to look at him to know that he has the widest grin on his face, just like he always does when he gets back from practice. No matter how long or how grueling his day, Atsumu never fails to greet you with the biggest smile.

“I see that. How was practice?”

“Good! My hands are kinda sore though,” he whines, opening and closing his hands in front of you as if to show you the pain he was enduring.

“Well, you’re new to this pro stuff still, Atsumu. Your body will get used to it soon.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs a little, resting his chin on the top of your head. “The guys are here.”

“Trust me, I, and the entire neighborhood, know. Let me just finish this question real quick and I’ll let you guys have the living room.”

“Aw, come on! You don’t want to hang out with us?”

“I need to study or else I would love to.”

He hums in affirmation. “You’re going to do so well. I’ll make sure we keep it down so you can focus, okay?” There’s a soft kiss placed on your head as you pack up your laptop and notes so you can go study in the bedroom.

“Thank you, ‘mu,” you say, standing on your toes to give his lips a short peck as you pass.

But that was then.

And this was now.

“Are you serious?! You can’t lock me out of my room, Y/N!”

“Our room, Atsumu, and too bad. I did!”

His fist pounds on the door, the intensity of each knock sending vibrations throughout the room. “Y/N, this is ridiculous! Open the door!”

“I’m trying to work. This report has to be done for tomorrow. Please, ‘mu.”

“Don’t ‘mu’ me when you’re literally locking me out the bedroom!”

You roll your eyes, leaning over to twist the lock and tug the door open. Your boyfriend tumbles into the room as his support is swung away from him. He doesn’t even look at you. He just goes straight to the closet, throwing clothes onto the bed. “Where are you going?” You ask, looking up from your laptop briefly as he throws a pair of jeans a little too far, hitting you in the leg.

“Does it matter?” He starts peeling off the lounge clothes that he had been wearing most of the day, opting for a slightly more put together outfit for his night out.

You just shrugged. “I guess not.” Yes.

“Then don’t worry about it.” Atsumu tugs his jeans up and takes a look at himself in the mirror. He ruffles his hand through his hair in a poor attempt to give it some extra volume. You watch him make a few dumb facial expressions at himself. Satisfied, he pulls his hat over his head. With wallet and phone in hand, he finally turns to look at you. “Okay. I’ll see you later,” he states plainly, walking past you and out the bedroom door.

“Do you have your keys?” The only answer you receive is an annoyed jingle of his keyring from the other room.

The thud of front door closing is the sole sign that he had left. There were no final shouts of “Bye, princess! I love you!” “I love you more, ‘mu!” “I love you most!” Those days have long since past. They had been replaced with eerie silences and quick exits from both parties. Life in the current household was far from what it had been a year ago. There were no soft shared kisses just because. No gentle teases as the evening news played in the background. No long cuddle sessions on the couch because both of you were too lazy to get up to go to bed. There was no smacking his hands out of the mixing bowl while you tried to make dinner.

Atsumu wasn’t home long enough for those things anymore. He’d come running in from practice, quickly shower and change out of his sweaty clothes. And as fast as he came, he would be gone, maybe shouting “I’m going out with the guys!” but usually, he would just leave, the slam of the door echoing through the house.

You kept telling yourself that this would pass. He was just excited to finally be achieving his dreams. Of course he would want to hang out with his new teammates and friends. There was a level of trust there that he needed to build with them as their setter and if crowding around Hinata’s television, playing video games was how they bonded, then so be it. Who were you to tell his team how they should and shouldn’t spend their time? But this had been going on for months.

Months of no hellos and no good mornings. Months of Atsumu coming home late, the faint smell of alcohol on his breath as he tucked into bed an arm’s length away from you. He returned affection with the minimum amount of effort, maybe a short apology as he broke away from a kiss, explaining that the guys were waiting for him. It felt like a wedge had been shoved between the two of you, the rest of the Black Jackals jamming you further and further away from him.

Part of you kept hoping that you would wake up, secured in his arms, a gruff “Good morning” whispered in your ear only followed by a soft whine as you tried to get out of his grasp, causing him to just pull you tighter into his chest. You kept hoping that whatever switch flipped in his head to cause this would flip back and the Atsumu that you fell in love with would come back to you, but it never happened. He just kept straying away, not even bothering to look back at how far he had drifted.

You had hoped today would be different. It wasn’t every day that the two of you accomplished four years of putting up with each other’s bullshit. But, when his alarm sounded and he just got up like nothing was different, that slight bubble of hope that was buried in your chest popped. Maybe- maybe he just wanted to focus before practice. Yeah, that’s all this was. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten, right? Atsumu could be a jerk, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole. He wouldn’t have forgotten your anniversary.

“What’s this for?” he had asked as he took the neatly wrapped package from you as he sat down at the table, his bowl of cereal nearly empty.

So, he did forget.

“I’ll open it later. I’m going to try to get a run in before practice.” You didn’t even have the chance to wish him a happy anniversary before he got up to put his bowl in the sink, headed out of the room to slip on his sneakers for his jog.

So, now, as you sat in your shared bed, it felt like the unopened package was staring intently into your soul, mocking you for your failing relationship. Four years of laughter, excitement, and love seemed to mean nothing to him and you couldn’t figure out what you did to make him choose volleyball. It was his dream and you understood that. You would never keep him from being the man he always dreamed of being.

It tore you apart inside, this feeling of absolute failure. It had been bugging you for a while now, but this- that stupid box sitting on his side of the bed, was your breaking point. You didn’t understand what you did. Why was he pushing you away? Did you not support him enough? Did he think that you didn’t care for him? As the questions weighed heavily on your mind, you felt that all-too-familiar sting of salty tears forming in your eyes.

You shook your head, silently begging for the tears to just go away. I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. He wasn’t upset, so you shouldn’t be either, right? But, you were. You were devastated that no matter how hard you tried to put everything back together, the pieces just kept slipping out from between your fingertips and just as soon as everything felt like it was all coming back together, Atsumu would be holding the final pieces to puzzle, refusing to snap them into their place. In his hands, he held the most important pieces. Those gorgeous center parts that brought the entire picture into focus, showing off the breath-taking beauty of it. But, as of now, it was just the background, the few random bits and bobs, scattered around the scene, each beautiful in their own way, but meaning nothing without the center point of the image.

The worst part? You didn’t know when the pieces of your relationship went scattering all over the place, leaving you to scramble, picking everything up on your own while Atsumu was at practice or hanging out with the guys. You just know that it’s felt like ages since everything was put together in perfect harmony.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to pull your hair from your head so you could feel something, anything, other than this complete and utter worthlessness and despair that had been swelling within your chest, waiting to be let out.

The hot tears rushed down your face in torrents, but apart from your gentle sniffs, there was silence. There were no sounds of pitiful weeping. It was an art that you had learned to perfect after many nights where these feelings washed over you, not wanting to wake Atsumu, not wanting him to stare at you with blank eyes and tell you to, “Stop crying and go to bed.”

But, right now- right now, you didn’t care. You wanted to hear his voice in your ear, shushing you, reassuring you that everything was fine, just like it used to. The line rings, rings, rings -

“You’ve reached Miya Atsumu. Sorry that I missed your call, but if you leave me a message, I’ll get back to you!”

The beep that signals you to leave your message is what urges you to just hang up. You toss your phone to the side, hoping that, just maybe, he’ll notice your missed call and give you a call back or even just a text message would be good enough for you.

But, there never was. There was no soft ting at the sound of an incoming message. You never heard the ringtone that had been set to Atsumu’s contact, signifying that he had called you. You waited hours, your eyes being dry for a long while at this point, leaving just the shell of a broken person in your place. Your gaze never left that stupid box. You were entranced, staring at the black and gold paper, watching it sheen as it would catch the light slipping in from the window.

Not even the sound of the swinging open could pull you out of your emotionless gaze. Miya Atsumu just stared into your face, eyes red and puffy, streaks in your make-up where the tears removed your foundation. Somewhere deep within his chest, there was a soft pang of sadness. There was nothing that he hated more than seeing you so distraught that you completely shut down. Yet, he said nothing. He simply pulled a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his drawer, pulling his clothes off his body to change into something that he could sleep in. His shirt came off and your gaze became fixated on his toned chest.

But, even your empty eyes knew the bright red lines of scratches and the harsh purple bruises of a hickey when you saw them.

“‘Mu?”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya #msby black jackals #atsumu x reader #angst #imagine #x reader #part 1

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mrvdocks · 4 years

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Plus One

Things get real. Can you totally hide your feelings for Steve any longer?

smut warning

(chapter four) @mochminnie @wolfish-willow

You’re in the bathroom trying not to freak out or let it show just how much your mind was reeling from earlier. It couldn’t be happening, right? There’s no way you were falling for Steve Harrington.

No, no way. He was so different from you.

But opposites attract right?

You grimaced, thinking back to the way his eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. The way he too seemed unsure of going for it.

This would change your entire dynamic. Were you even ready to open up to someone else?

Steve knew you, sure, but just the things at surface level. Things you wanted him to know. You were afraid to even tell him about everything else back home, thinking maybe he would freak at the first sight of a parent gushing over how perfect he seemed.

If there’s anything a person never is, it’s perfect.

In many ways, Steve just didn’t seem like an ideal candidate. He never put his things away, snores too loudly, had the romantic personality of a ninth-grader, was obsessed with his hair way more than you were, and he looked for superficial things.

He knew it too deep down, it was better to ignore the flaws for the love we think we deserved instead of feeling contrite when the ugly truth was out there.

That’s where you differed. You needed honesty, it was the only way to live.

Knock.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve’s voice echoed from behind the door.

You squeezed your eyes shut. He just had to be here right now, didn’t he?

You think of something gross enough to keep him on the other side.

“I think the food’s not agreeing with me right now.”

“Oh okay, do you need anything?” Damn it, leave!

“No! I mean - no. It’s alright. I’ll be right out.”

You count down from ten, trying to ease your anxious nerves. You take deep breaths and exhale once you get to the primary numbers. At one, you stand straight and march out of the bathroom as if nothing happened. Steve sits on the edge of the bed in his dress shirt now, his blazer discarded onto the chair next to him.

He’s watching the tv blankly, a rerun of a show you both had seen back home fills out the room. You grab your night clothes and return to the bathroom, changing as fast as you can to slide into bed and call it a night. When you return, Steve’s still where he was before, only now fidgeting with the cuff links on his wrist.

You should be paid for how much you’re able to get out of him.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to cry or something.”

“My dad’s getting married.”

It takes you by surprise. Steve’s never talked about his dad before, not even to Robin.

“Oh,” You say simply. “Like renewing his vows or something?”

He shakes his head.

“My mom moved away a while ago. My dad, he uh…..met this woman half his age after her. She’s got kids from another marriage.” He flicks the cuff link.

“Before I moved to New York with Robin, I would just see and hear them all the time at home. He was nicer to them, do things with them that I had to beg him to do with me when I was a kid.”

You sit next to him, bringing your hand to rest atop his own.

“The night before I left, I just told him off. I told him it wasn’t fair that he got to start over with another family just because he messed ours up. He called me before we got here saying he wanted me to be his best man.”

He falls silent, his lip quivers but he purses his lips into a straight line to keep himself from letting it out. You can’t say much that will help him, but you understand his disdain and avoidance of weddings thus far.

“What’d you tell him?”

He shrugs. “I told him I’d think about it. He expects an answer when we go home.”

“Well, at least he’s happy.” You sigh.

“Yeah, for now. And then it’s onto the next one.”

You don’t want to do it, but since you’re just letting the skeletons out of the closet, you might as well.

“You know my parents are still together?” you start. “My mom’s always been this, overbearing cross that my dad carries around. She yells at him all the time but I think he’s checked out already. They didn’t want to divorce because they thought it would damn them or mess me up. But I think it did anyway.”

Steve’s entranced by you, you were opening up.

“They’ve stuck it out since they had me. And it’s just sad now. I think about them sometimes, just sitting in that house, eating their dinner and sleeping together, not saying a word to each other.”

Steve opens his mouth like he’s about to apologize for even bringing the parent topic up.

“Sure your parents split up, but at least they’re not miserable. I can tell you from experience you would’ve liked that a lot less.” You conclude, removing your hand from his and leaving to go to bed.

It’s been a weird night.

Steve stops you though, his fingers snaking onto your wrist. You turn back, thinking he’s going to talk more about his family or dive deeper into some other trauma. Imagine your surprise when he stands and bends to your level to pull you into his arms, bringing you in tight and firm. You’re taken aback, arms flying up but eventually settling on his broad back. Your fingers clutch his shirt in fistfuls, taking in the smell of him.

“Hey, Steve?”

He hums.

“I’m totally reading your boner right now.”

“And the moment’s over.” He says, pulling away. You almost frown at the loss of his body pressing against yours.

“I’m kidding!” You huff, pushing him back onto the bed.

You settle in after he changes, pulling the covers up to your chest and putting your arms above them in thought. Steve sees you staring at the ceiling.

“Have you gone catatonic on me?”

“No, it’s just….this is the most I’ve gotten out of you in two years.”

“You’ve known me for two years.” He crawls in, getting comfortable.

“Yeah but, you know, are these really things you’ve told Robin before?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“She never asked.”

Truthfully, it wasn’t that. While Robin felt comfortable revealing the truth about herself that Fourth of July, Steve had learned to keep things to himself. It’s how he was raised. But you and Robin changed that, especially with the way you tended to overshare things sometimes.

You turn onto your side, facing him. He’s thinking about something, and he looks so magnificent doing it. The way his hair rests on his forehead, the way his fingers curl around the blanket...

Oh no. Is this how it starts? Admiring him? Craving his touch like earlier? Wanting his attention fully on you and not all these other women? It was so juvenile, feeling like this was your first love again. The strong feeling hitting you just like the waves did earlier.

It was no secret you were touch starved, but there was something in the way his touch relaxed you. It made you think sometimes. Whatever this feeling was, it was different from what you felt with Danny. You jumped the shark with him, you didn’t really know him.

But with Steve, you were starting to. He was bare bones with you.

“Goodnight.” He whispers, turning the bedside lamp off.

“Goodnight.”

“Are you telling me you don’t know how to ride a bike?” You ask Steve, watching him shift uncomfortably and unevenly on the beach cruiser.

It was your last day being in Virginia, and you didn’t want to sit in the hotel and gorge on food until you passed out. That’s what home was reserved for.

Joyce had spoken of how lovely the horses and horseback riding was here, but that was closed so you settled for the next best thing. Riding bikes at the beach.

“No I - I do know, I’m just saying this is a hard seat.”

He’s been adamant about this for five minutes now. Every now and then a girl will pass by and he’ll try to sit, only to fall on his side. You’ve taken so many snapshots of this, each time bellowing with ridiculous laughter.

“When we go home I’m developing this and hanging it on the fridge.”

“Erase this footage!” He gestures to the camera, losing balance again.

“Make me, Harrington!” You can’t help but shoot back.

Passersby found it funny the way you two were bickering. Even more so when you lent over to show Steve how to keep his arms and legs on the bike, him reassuring you he knew where everything went.

“I can do it.”

“Okay, let’s see then.” You cross your arms and stand aside waiting.

He mutters to himself and puts both his feet on the pedals, not falling to either side this time. He grips the handlebars and pedals forward, passing you with an excitement lighting up his face that a child would have when they were first learning.

He can’t manage the turn and falters, sticking a foot and hand out to cushion his fall. You catch up to him, ready to help but he lays down onto the grass and accepts his failure.

“Come on, you’ll get the hang of it. You just need more practice.”

You hold out your hand, waiting for him to take it.

“I know this keeps you healthy, but at what cost?” He grabs on, using you to balance him when he gets to his feet again. He’s too tall and heavy for you, prompting you to waver slightly and hold onto him.

You pull away when you realize your hands rested on his chest, his other arm holding onto your lower back. He scratches the back of his head nervously uttering an apology.

Feeling the blush creep to your cheeks, you return to your ride, mounting and waiting for him to do the same.

“Try to catch up.” You smirk, racing off down the hill and squealing.

“What are you, Evel Knievel?!” He yells after you, wobbling and gritting his teeth as he follows after you.

You have the upper hand on him the entire time, often hiding behind shops and emerging from behind him when he thinks he’s faster. You ride until the sun sets, enjoying the breeze and the little bit of sun before stopping at an ice cream shop. Steve thinks he’s something of an ice cream connoisseur when you look at flavors. You two end up fighting on flavors before settling on two different ones and eating outside in a garden the shop owner called a hidden gem.

“No way, cookies ‘n cream is the best one.” He remarks, finishing off the cone.

“Mint chocolate is actually superior and I won’t hear another word about it.” You took your time, enjoying the sensation your mouth was on.

He shakes his head. “It’s basically gum! It’s disgusting!”

“But it tastes so good!” You take another bite teeth first and moan in delight.

He groans in disgust but nonetheless is amused when you try to get him to eat a bit of it. He avoids your hand, moving his head out of the way every time it’s shoved in his face. You wait, plotting.

“You have some on your lip.” You say, pointing toward his top lip. He licks at it, tasting nothing.

“There’s noth -”

He’s muffled by a mouthful mint chocolate. You can’t help it when the corners of your lips lift into a smug smirk.

“Funny, huh?” He says, wiping it off with his hand.

He takes the rest of the cone and dips his fingertips in it, turning his attention to painting your cheeks and lips with as much as he can. You recoil and gasp as the cold sensation, trying to get it off but he keeps attacking.

“Okay! Okay! Truce!” You wave a figurative white flag. He stops, proud of his work, and tops it off by rustling your hair.

“I’m so gonna get you,” You promise, wiping at your cheeks and going to get him with the residue when you turn to face him and find your faces are closer than ever.

You fall silent, the trouble maker in you declining to come back for an encore.

“What, no smartass remark this time?” He teases.

As cliche as it might sound, you’re lost in his smugness. His smile falters, his brows furrowing as he realizes what he’s doing, the gap between your faces closing. You close your eyes first, testing the waters and pressing your lips against his softly. He pauses for a moment, suddenly aware of the gravity of what you were doing, bringing his hand up for your cheek to rest on. His eyes flutter shut soon after, diving into your lips and tasting the mixture of sweets.

He kisses you feverishly and desperately, sighing as he relaxes into you. Your fingers tug at his hair and the back collar of his shirt. He leads you down onto the grass, flowers decorate your head in a red halo. He settles in between your legs and holds himself up by his forearms, his fingers entangling themselves in your hair as he cocks his head to the side to get more of you.

It’s been a while but both of you are antsy and eager. You kick off your shoes and immediately make quick work of his belted pants. He catches your drift and helps you with your skirt, pulling the long pleated material up to snag both ends of your panties.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.” He whispers.

“No, it’s okay, just - here,” You grunt as you try to help him from where you’re laying, lifting your hips up to let the fabric slide off. The cool air of the night makes you shiver.

Steve peppers you with kisses as you reach for the belt and unbuckle it. Hearing it come undone makes you even more aroused.

“Hold on.” He says in a breathy voice, reaching between your bodies and lining himself in. You tease him by wrapping a leg around his torso and pushing him in slowly with the heel of your foot against his butt.

The feeling overwhelms him, letting out a sharp exhale. He glances back to your smug face and glares at you momentarily.

You move in sync, your hand grasping onto his broad shoulders and the other on his bicep to keep the pace. He grunts into your shoulder, lost in the lust. His hand comes to rest under your head to support it while also gripping it with each thrust he bucked into you.

Each thrust was different, pleasurable, and enticing. It fulfilled the need for him you had that night at the beach. You catch yourself smiling, knowing none of the bridesmaids or guests he tried flirting with got this far. Not even Sissy.

He hits a spot in you that rouses you out of your thoughts and leaves you mewling wantonly. You know he won’t last, not at the rate his thrusts are going. He’s crying out, bucking against you in fervor, gripping your hair harder, and groaning louder into your neck. You made him this way.

Ever since the first wedding, seeing you out of your element made him reconsider some things. Sure if he’d gotten a girlfriend out of this, it would be good for him. But something about you made him feel the way he thought he felt for Nancy.

He felt seventeen all over again, giddy and in love and a little horny. He just didn’t know if you felt the same. But after the beach incident and the way you took the lead first, all doubts went away.

Thinking about you, he slides his thumb into his mouth and lubricates it, snaking it down to the neglected pearl in between your legs. Your eyes shut in ecstasy at the added sensation, your back arching into him. You feel your legs shake and your feet writhe against his ass trying to amplify the feeling. His heavy breaths, needy kisses, and raunchy whispers in your ear are absolute heaven to you.

You come before him, muffling your lewd moans into his shoulder and milking him for everything he’s got. He comes with a final sloppy thrust and collapses onto you, knocking the wind out of you and leaving you catching your breath.

He pants, breath hot and heavy against your collarbone. Your legs unwrap from their previous position, now shaky and limp.

Once you two catch your breath after about a minute or two, Steve lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours. You both chuckle, finally acknowledging the broken tension.

Steve kisses you again, this time without fear or doubt. Just pure adoration.

You don’t really feel yourself fall asleep, neither does he. But you’re definitely mortified in the morning when you hear voices that wake you up with a start.

“Cooter’s out.” The old gardener points out.

The statement wakes you up, and when you realize you just flashed your privates you stand up quickly and shake Steve awake. He groans, but opens his eyes, his smile dropping once he notices the man in front of you two.

“Cooter’s out.” The old man repeats.

You pull the skirt all the way down and grab your shoes quickly while Steve tucks himself back in and apologizes profusely. You grab his hand and race out of the garden, red as a tomato and grab the bikes to go back to the hotel.

The car ride to the airport is quiet. You thank yourself for bringing something to read to avoid mentioning the embarrassing aftermath. Steve didn’t bring anything to distract him like you did, but he glances at you every so often. When your eyes meet, you both turn away quickly. But the smile on both your faces betrays you both.

Steve doesn’t even bother flirting with the flight attendant this time, his eyes are completely on you. It feels odd. You can’t even find a smart-ass thing to say, it’s like you’re short-circuiting. You didn’t know what he was thinking, but if the constant staring and easy smiles and looks of adoration he gave you were any indications, he was whipped.

You sigh in relief as you plop onto the couch, letting all your things fall after Steve gets in. He takes the initiative to break the ice when he collapses onto your chest.

You’re winded again. “Whoa, someone ate too much shrimp at the wedding.”

Steve suppresses a chuckle, taking you in. You had some type of glow he’d never noticed before.

“So…” He begins.

“So…”

“About last night,” he starts but you cut him off.

“We don’t need to talk about it, you know if you don’t want to.”

“I do.” He murmurs into your chest. He hugs your body, his head resting on your chest the same way Mickey would do it.

Damn it, you actually liked this.

“Great sex.” You blurt, shutting your eyes in disbelief at how awkward he suddenly made you.

His dimples peeked out as he felt himself chuckling. “Yeah, great sex.”

“I’m sorry,” you jittered. “I’m never usually like this.”

“Oh, I know. But it’s okay. I had fun.”

You haven’t felt this excited for something to potentially happen since you met Danny. But even now you were hopeful.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want me to go with you to your dad’s wedding?”

He must’ve remembered he had to answer that best man question because he’s unmoving.

How bad can it be? He thinks. Now that I have you.

“Yes please.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #joe keery x reader

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havenoffandoms · 3 years

Note

Congratulations on 800 followers!! Could I request prompt 59. with Jaskier x Priscilla, please? Thanks so much!!

Thank you nonnie, and you certainly can! This is soooo soft with a hint of angst. I hope you enjoy it!

You can request a prompt here. You can also request the same prompt twice for a different pairing. I will add all of my answered prompts to a masterlist once I’ve written a few.

Dandelion x Priscilla - “The thought of losing you scares me” (prompt 59)

Master Dandelion. Priscilla - she’s badly hurt.

When Dandelion learned that Priscilla was attacked, it was like the foundations of his entire existence shook and threatened to crumble. At first it felt like the ground was yanked from underneath his feet and it had taken all of Dandelion’s self-control not to drop to his knees and scream in utter despair. After the initial shock subsided, worry gripped Dandelion’s stomach in its cold iron grip, twisting and pulling until he felt physically sick. As he followed Geralt to the Vilemerius Hospital, it was all Dandelion could do not to throw up his lunch into a bush. On their way up the stairs leading to the room Priscilla was being kept in, Dandelion tried to rationalise the situation. It could simply not be Priscilla lying in that hospital bed. There was a mistake. It wasn’t her, not his Priscilla, not his Callonetta, his beautiful nightingale.

When Dandelion saw her lying in that bed, her face bruised and her breathing shallow, small pained moans pushing past her lips. Worry gave way to despair. Who would do this to this beautiful woman? Priscilla could never have done anything to earn herself such a beating. She was kind, wore her heart on her sleeve, and most importantly she would never hurt a fly. Never!

Her condition is critical but stable.

Despair then gave way to anger as Dandelion turned to face Geralt.

“Find the bastard who did this. Find him and kill him.”

“Didn’t need any convincing,” Geralt assured him.

Even though that incident happened nearly a year ago and Priscilla was well on the mend, Dandelion still woke up in the middle of night sweating and crying, his hand coming up to clutch at his chest as if the gesture alone would steady his racing heart. His eyes would then dart to Priscilla’s side of the bed - a bed they’d been sharing for many months now - just to make sure she was there, that she was safe.

Today, as he stands on the balcony of The Chameleon, Dandelion lets the chilly night breeze cool his sweat-flushed skin. After waking up from yet another nightmare, he decides to leave bed so he wouldn’t disturb a still sleeping Priscilla. Dandelion’s eyes scan the streets below, his keen ears occasionally picking up the sound of drunken chatter or chanting from the patrons leaving The Chameleon. Wednesdays are Dandelion’s day off, where he left the managing duties of his tavern to his very capable and reliable staff. He needs the time off and he needs this time to be close to Priscilla. On Wednesdays, they spend their time working on her singing. They have to take it slow - Priscilla’s vocal chords are still very fragile, but she is nothing if not determined to make them work.

Dandelion helps because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his Callonetta, his beautiful nightingale. Dandelion is patient with her, he never pushes her further than she’s comfortable going but he often has to gently remind her not to put too much pressure on herself. Priscilla worries she will never be able to sing again. Dandelion is just grateful that she’s there, that she lives, that she breathes. The sound of her soft snoring, the sound of her croaked laughter, the way her voice breaks when she’s tired - all of these sounds were results of the trauma she experience, but they still sounded like music to Dandelion’s ears, the most beautiful kind there is, because Priscilla is there. She’s there, with him, alive and well.

Dandelion doesn’t care if she’ll never sing again. Hell, he’ll give up his own singing career and focus solely on his poetry and his cabaret if it’ll make Priscilla feel like less of a failure. She is his life’s achievement, his most treasured jewel. His life wouldn’t make sense without Priscilla in it.

A soft hand pulls Dandelion out of his reverie, causing him to flinch at the unexpected touch. A whispered apology floats between them. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Priscilla has joined him. The smell of her perfume - lily of the valley and hyacinth, his favourite - washes over him in calming waves.

“Priscilla, my love,” he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his warm body, “what are you doing out of bed? You’ll catch your death out here.”

“The bed’s cold without you in it,” she gives as explanation, her voice slightly husky from misuse and heavy with sleep. Dandelion places a soft kiss to her head. “Come back to bed, darling.”

“In a minute, my sweet,” Dandelion promises, “I just need the fresh air.”

“Another nightmare.” Priscilla guesses right, of course. She knows how tormented Dandelion still is over what happened to her. How he blames himself, how he wishes he could’ve been the one to avenge her and not Geralt. But Dandelion, sadly, is no warrior. He has other qualities to make up for that, but what good was his poetry and his singing voice when the woman he loves is in danger?

“Yes.”

There’s no point lying to her. She would see right through him, anyway.

“Why do you torture yourself so, Dandelion? You know I don’t blame you for what happened.”

“Perhaps not, but I blame myself. I should’ve... I should not have let you leave the cabaret alone.” Dandelion turns to face Priscilla, his eyes shimmering with everything he can’t bring himself to say because of the tightness in his throat. Priscilla’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, her engagement ring catching the light of a street lantern. She agreed to become his wife several weeks ago and yet Dandelion still feels like he doesn’t deserve her.

“As if you could stop me from doing anything of the sort. I am a modern woman, Dandelion, I can do what I want,” Priscilla challenges, a mischievous light twinkling in her eyes, “my love, please I’m begging you. Don’t linger in the past. Look with me towards the future instead. Oh, and what a bright future lies ahead of us.”

“How can I forget the past,” Dandelion asks, a hint of desperation lacing his tone, “when it reminds me of what I almost lost. Your future husband, my sweet, is the biggest coward of all. I can’t forget what happened to you, I can’t forget how scared I was when I thought that… that you might not… Priscilla, the thought of losing you scares me.”

“I know, Dandelion,” she brushes her thumb across his cheek, catching a wayward tear in the process, “but you keep telling me that you want to get this behind us. How are we supposed to do this if you won’t stop blaming yourself for what happened to me?”

“Priscilla - “

“Hush, I won’t hear it,” she gently chastises, a long elegant finger coming to cover his lips. A small smile tugs at the corner of Priscilla’s lips as she stands on her tiptoes and places the chastest of kisses on Dandelion’s lips. “I won’t hear it, alright? Come back to bed, dear fiancé, or do you want your future wife to freeze before her wedding?”

“We certainly don’t want that to happen,” Dandelion agrees, his chest warming as he gazes in Priscilla’s eyes. He thinks that drowning in these blue orbs would not be the worst way to go. Dandelion follows Priscilla back to bed and wraps her in his arms, pulling her close and nuzzling her neck. He places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her fair skin, occasionally nibbling the spots he knows drive her crazy. There is no heat to his ministrations, not tonight. Tonight, he simply needs to feel her close.

“I love you, my Callonetta.”

“I love you too, Dandelion. Now try to get some sleep. We have a busy day in the morning.”

Priscilla pressed close to him and the feeling of her breath hitting his hairy chest are both reassuring sensations. His hand resting between her shoulder blades faintly picks up on her heart beating softly in a regular rhythm. Comforted by the fact that the light of his life was not going anywhere anytime soon, Dandelion succumbs to a dreamless slumber.

#dandelion x priscilla #jaskier x priscilla #priscilla #callonetta #the witcher 3 #dandelion #fluff #havenwrites

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neoniverse · 4 years

Text

heal me. | chapter iv

disclaimer: this series is a work of fiction. any businesses, events or incidents are products of my wide imagination. all of the character’s personality does not reflect and has nothing to do in real life.

warnings: smut, angst, usage of strong language, mild violence, mentions of death, alcohol & drugs, degradation, cheating issues and lots of flashbacks

pairings: jung jaehyun x reader

a/n: read at your own risk. unedited.

song association: blinding lights - the weeknd

« CHAPTER III

“I loved you once

and now I must spend

my whole life explaining why.”

"Stop staring at me."

Jaehyun glances at you after noticing that you have been staring for the whole five minutes of him working over something. You watched his veiny hands flip each page of the paper he was holding before jotting down his signature with black ink.

He stopped for a moment and looked at you with his thin gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

"Baby, I'm telling you. Don't provoke me."

"What? Did I do something wrong?" then purposely nudged the pencil holder near him. "Oh, right. Maybe I did."

You immediately kneeled down to pick the pencils up, arching your back more; enough for him to see your ass. Just as you were about to stand up, he suddenly lifted up your body and placed you on top of the desk.

"Jaehyun, what the he—" he shut you up with his index finger pressed to your lips and eyed you down with menacing look.

"Bend over," he orders. "Raise that skirt."

You do exactly what he said and faced the large space of his office while biting your lips as nervousness and excitement build upon your body. The trepidatious heat you're feeling is imparable; knowing that someone might widely open that door and see you both in that very sexual and unusual scene.

He slowly trailed up his cold fingers from the back of your knees to the exposed cheeks of your ass. With no words said, his hand harshly landed to your skin.

"I already told you to stop, didn't I? Why defy me?" he leans closer to your ear. "Use that pretty mouth of yours and answer me."

You shook your head sideways and pursued your lips to remain silent. The raging heat of your body weakened your knees as Jaehyun continued leaning closer. You felt his bulge growing behind you.

"My very own naughty dirty girl. You really, really like seeking attention, aren't you? Just because you know I am capable of doing this?"

"Jae, please."

"Why defy me, baby?"

"I did— I didn't!"

"Mhm, sure. I really don't care."

He pulled your black laced panties down and pushed the hem of the beige skirt to your waist. He even did your hair into a ponytail to pull. "Safe word?"

"Red, sir."

"Alright. Count my thrusts and if you get one wrong, I will absolutely sure you’re limping on your way out, whore."

He pulled you closer to him and positioned his member right to your area. He didn't wait for you to speak as he already get a hold of your waist and hair then pushed his fully erected member inside your wet pussy.

"Oh—holy fuck."

"What did I say? Count."

"O-one."

The whole room was filled with gradually speeding sounds of two bodies skin colliding. His hips harshly slamming against your ass made you release loud whimpers. The unholy grating and roughness of his movements by senselessly fucking you behind diminished your grasp to the table.

"Ah, shit, yes."

"Yeah? Like that?" he whispers to your ear then licked your jawline. "Such a big slut, are we? Your tight and wet pussy take my fucking cock so well."

You were on the peak of climax when you woke up to sense sound of a loud clap in front of your face. Everyone was looking at you, especially Johnny who gave you a what-is-happening-to-you look.

"Earth to Y/N. It's supposed to be a fun and special night yet you're spacing out?" Johnny utters before handing a bottle of cold beer. I massaged my temples as this is the fifth time of zoning out and thinking of things that I left buried in the past.

“Happy birthday, Y/N!"

It has been exactly five days ever since I moved out from the project for Neocity Incorporation. I didn’t want to settle in that decision but what are the odds anyway? He wanted me out of his sight just like how he wanted me before; to love and heal him.

You celebrated your not-so-fun birthday in your condominium unit with Johnny, Rosé, and Seolhee. Taeyong was also supposed to be there but he said he’s not available for he’s busy about something important. But he didn't just left you in the air like that for he dropped by earlier to give his very special and extravagant gift to you.

“Come on, just at least have fun,” Rosé spoke while munching on her fried chicken. “And the food tastes so damn good!”

“Rosie, that’s because you’re already finishing the box all by yourself.” Seolhee replies. Rosé gave her a deadly glare before taking another bite to the drumstick she's holding.

I trickled off the rivulet of cold beer on my throat before going out to the balcony to breathe in fresh air. As soon as the sliding door opened, cold breeze of wind embraced my body; making me cross my arms over my chest. I walked towards the metal handrail and placed my arms above it. Then wandered my eyes to the marvelous view. The skycrapers, busy highways of Seoul, and the gradient dark blue to black color sky of shining stars lured my despondent soul in.

I started tearing up as my heart felt a striding thump. "Oh, god. Why am I crying," I let out a small chuckle and wiped the tears that fell down my cheeks and from escaping my eyes.

"You're such a crybaby, just so you know."

The taunting dominant voice from my back halted me from moving. As I turn around, I saw him there, standing before me with a bottle of beer on his right hand. My breath hitched when his chocolate eyes meet mine, especially when that playful smirk is plastered on his lips.

"What are you doing here?" I shot back, giving emphasis to 'you'.

He walked towards my place and stood beside me as if he doesn't feel any tension between us. I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "You told me to stay away, now you're here to mess things up."

"I don't think I should even explain myself, Y/N."

What?

I let out a sarcastic scoff. "Wow, Mr. Jung. Did I step on your ego?" Jaehyun just looked at me as if trying to read me and my feelings. "I just wanted to say sorry, okay? I was intoxicated by alcohol that night."

"You feel sorry for being what, an asshole?” I ask, only to see his smile fade. “Where do you put alcohol, anyway? Down your annoying ass?"

That's for you, fucking jerk.

He chugged down the beer and slumped himself on the floor, his back leaning on the glass pane. I hate him. I really hate his guts. He’s arrogant, who act like my fucking boss, and act like he knows shit.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jaehyun spoke. Sadness poisons his voice. “I mean it. Truly.”

I remained my eyes down at him, his chocolate like eyes gleam but sad. Is it bad if I feel remorseful? Even for once? I open my mouth to answer him, but nothing comes out. My anger and hate for him is tempered by coldness. I turn around to leave him alone but a warm embrace halted and encaged my body in.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too low to hear. Something jostles my arms. “For what I did. I’m sorry. I know it’s not that easy to forgive but atleast let me prove myself to you—again.” His voice almost breaks.

With all my might and can, I detached his grip to mine. You are only apologetic whenever you feel like to do so.

“If you're sorry, you should’ve leave me alone,” I stare at him. “What does it feel like to be pushed away? You— you always confuse me.”

The thing with love is, no matter how hard you try to save and fix it, no matter how the two of you sacrifice, it always, in the end, becomes too much. Jaehyun and you was like two shadows playing with fire. No one was capable of winning, no one was capable of losing.

I went back inside and locked myself to my room. My heart fell into a pit of sneer razors, thin and sharp. I fear of being alone more than anything else before. But it was always better to be by oneself.

In the past few days, I’ve kept myself busy with the new project given by the boss. My exhaustion is bone-deep and my heart is another wound entirely, still bleeding from taking all pain and failure.

“Engineer? You have a visitor at the office.”

My brows immediately furrowed to the worker but I just gave him a nod. He then walked away afterwards. I wasn't expecting any visitor for today but maybe it's a surprise?

Right after I swung the door open, Jaehyun in his office attire and my co-worker, Jun, was talking about something. Jaehyun stood up when he saw me enter the room. I gave Jun a notice to go out for a meantime but instead, he gave me a wink and goodluck sign before leaving.

"I just came by to invite you," Jaehyun started. "It's just a party and I assure you I will bring you home after."

In short, a party and his date.

"And that is for what?" I answered. "I'm one of your least concerns, Mr. Jung. I don't think I should comply to that."

He licked his lower lip. "I don't have any one to go with me. So Y/N, please, just this one night?"

You don't know what force pulled you to hell just so you can agree and join him to the said party. You just found yourself wearing a black plunging neckline dress that you saw on your closet earlier. And partnered up with beige heels. A sexy clothing like this wasn't in your thoughts at all, but you wanted to grab Jaehyun's limelight at the party.

"You look so gorgeous tonight."

And that was his cue before sliding his hand to your waist while you both are making your way to the red carpeted hallway.

"Thanks, I guess?" You answered. Jaehyun gave you a sincere smile that revealed his two sets of deep dimples.

When the two of you entered the ballroom, you both were welcomed by media and the other guests that overwhelmed your whole being. Laughter and chattering resonated inside the palatial ballroom and the glimmering theme laced the party, having some resemblance to a renaissance painting.

“Mr. Jung! Good to see you here!”

An old man in black suit approached and shook hands with him. He looked at you surprisingly. “Oh, the great Miss Y/N! How could I forget?”

You replied to him with a smile and polite bow before grabbing a champagne flute from a waiter. Jaehyun ended his talk with the man and proceeded walking with you to the reserved table.

Many people was intrigued to as why you and him, were together in the event; especially the media who even interviewed you two regarding it. I’m just his date for tonight. That was your answer. By the whole time moving, you just got bored and more bored for social gatherings wasn’t really your thing.

“Come with me, I’ll show you something.”

Jaehyun handed you his hand before pulling you to run away from the ballroom. You giggled when you almost tripped on your feet while running to your way out.

“If this isn’t something good, swear to heaven’s saints and angels, I will fucking kick your balls!” You playfully taunt him.

He drove to the airport as soon as the car left the basement parking. The butterflies inside your stomach fluttered when both of you walked towards a private jet at the airport ramp. Your heart raced when you got inside and saw Mark standing at the cockpit.

“Where are we going?” You ask, but instead, he just shot his brow up at you.

The whole flight lasted for 12 hours and you still have zero idea to where Jaehyun is bringing you. Butterflies that flutter inside your stomach grew wild with anticipation when the plane landed safely—sending notice that you have arrived at your destination.

"Good evening. This is Captain Lee, your Pilot for the night. We have safely landed in Rome-Fiumicino Airport. Yo, Jaehyun Jung, use protection later!"

Mark vulgarly announced to the whole craft, making your cheeks flush. Jaehyun just laughed it off as if it's not awkward for him.

"You brought me to Rome freaking Italy?" You exasperated said, eyes widen, to the person beside you. "I already told you before, I will make myself up."

"I hope you know that I am sorry for everything, Y/N."

The soft knocks on your hotel room door woke your senses up. You rubbed your eyes before grabbing the silk robe you bought at a nearby boutique last night before you and Jaehyun check-in at a obviously luxurious hotel.

It's already 9 AM.

You opened the door and saw Jaehyun standing there, wearing a simple white shirt, tucked in his washed blue jeans. He eyed you up and down before greeting.

"Hi."

"Hey."

Silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

"You ready? We're going to our first tourist spot."

When we arrived at the Colosseum— which was my ever since wish, my jaw dropped as to see the beauty. Jaehyun, who is standing beside me kept looking at the old building.

"What's the use of your film camera if you won't open it?" I mocking asked before snatching it from him. "Go there, I'll take a picture of you."

He hesitated first before following your demand. You took two shots of him, standing in front of the beautifully created structure. You were doing boomerangs for your Instagram story when Jaehyun pulled you.

"Mi scusi, puoi farci una foto?" He politely asked to a passerby and gave her his phone. The old lady smiled and took it.

Jaehyun suddenly wrapped his arm on your shoulders, making your heart jump for a second. The woman counted before clicking the shutter of his phone camera.

"You, two, look nice together! Good couple!" She created a heart shaped sign then left us alone. Jaehyun beside you just laughed while you were standing there, dumbfounded.

He took your wrist and pulled you so the both of you started walking again. You also posted an IG story of Jaehyun's back that left a bombarding dm's from Rosé, Seolhee, Johnny, and Mark.

@parkrosies: please bring home some food!

@l_seolhee: NOW I KNOW WHY YOU'RE ABSENT

@seo.johnny: Use protection! ;)

@mark.lee: Have fun, Y/N! I hope you guys will go home with a baby.

Mark's message made you laugh then you closed your phone. The trip in Colosseum ended by eating at a near restaurant that was again, high-end and fancy. Jaehyun insisted walking to a park before going back to the hotel.

"Did you enjoy?" He asked while sipping on his iced americano.

You nodded slowly. "Hmm, I really did."

"We're just here for three days so we should go to a lot more places tomorrow." Your poor heart fell on your stomach as to his word.

"Three days will be enough, then," Jaehyun glanced at you. "I hope it's enough for us."

When the both of you arrived in front of each other's hotel doors, he gave you a small smile and mouthed, 'tomorrow' before going inside his room.

The next day, you woke up late because you slept late for contemplating over things. Jaehyun brought you to the center and major tourist attraction, St. Peter's Basilica. Then to the Pantheon and to a museum. Until the day after next, last day. It was Trevi Fountain; one of the places you wanted to travel to before.

"So this is the end?"

Jaehyun stared deep into your eyes as if enthralling. You nodded slowly when you felt a small pang in your heart. "Jaehyun."

He cocked his head to the side. "Yeah?"

"I'm forgiving you," l stated with a genuine smile on my lips. "And I also mean it. No lies."

"Wait, shit, for real?" He was suddenly jubilant.

The immaculate twinkle in his eyes made your heart even more flutter. He bit his lower lip when he felt his heart pounding in ebullience. Maybe three days were enough to understand and love something good about him.

"Thank you, Y/N. Tha—"

You gave him a smack on the lips before running back to your hotel room. Jaehyun was left there, in his room, still in shocked position. As soon as you closed the door, you leaned back to it and placed your hand to the chest.

You knew what it was.

With your heart into pieces, you try to heal it alone. Not knowing it was him the whole time.

You fell, again.

#nct #nct 127 #nct au #nct fanfic #nct angst #nct smut #jeong jaehyun #nct jaehyun #jaehyun au #jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun au #nct x reader #jaehyun x reader #nct scenarios #nct imagines #jaehyun imagines #nct jaehyun au

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moonstruckbucky · 4 years

Text

Crown of Thorns (3/?)

Summary: Arranged to be married to the great King Steven, the Reader comes to discover he is not all as she was told. He’s cold and callous and indifferent to their union. Is she really so doomed to live the rest of her life in a loveless marriage?

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, King!Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter

Warnings for Chapter: A little lighter, but not by much.

Notes: I’m sorry for the lateness of this. I’m balancing my now hectic work week and some negative headspace. Enjoy this next installment! x

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Beneath your gown, your knees quake. King Steven is even more handsome up close, practically carved from marble. He’s perfect - except for his eyes. His eyes, which stare you down, their icy blue depths void and emotionless. His jaw is tight as he appraises you, sweeping up and down your body. You feel both hot and cold under the weight of it, stomach torn between fluttering nerves and rolling nausea.

Remembering yourself, you curtsy low, managing not to stumble. When you straighten, it takes him a solid thirty seconds for him to bow at the waist. It’s a stiff movement, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you as he returns to his full height. You wish you could see what he’s thinking. Does he approve of you? Do you disgust him? He’s so carefully closed off you don’t know one way or another.

Around you, it’s silent in the hall. The noblemen and women watch on with interest, curiosity piqued that their King may have found his Queen. Your father watches on, a smile on his face that slowly fades as the two of you appraise one another. Suddenly, you’re not so sure about this at all.

You begin to feel awkward, standing before King Steven as he continues his silent appraisal, and you have to look away. Down at your hands as you fist them in your skirts, at your father who’s now looking worriedly between you.

Then the king moves, extends his arm for you to take to lead you back up the dais. You hope the utter relief doesn’t show on your face as you gently rest your hand atop his. It’s warm, but the bones and tendons are stiff, twitching, as if he’s trying to keep from balling it into a fist. He guides you slowly to your chair, now beside his so that the two of you might converse over dinner.

But you don’t.

It’s silent between you and King Steven seems to be doing all he can to avoid both looking at you and addressing you. He seems to focus somewhere off to the back of the room mostly, eyes flitting around his guests. Taking a drink from your wine, you rack your mind for a conversation starter.

“You have very beautiful horses in your country,” you begin, hope dwindling as Steven remains silent. His jaw is noticeably clenched, muscle jumping as he busies himself with food and drink. Inside your chest, your heart sinks. You try again, “Do you enjoy riding?”

Steven sighs quietly, catching the eye of someone across the room. Pursing his lips against the burn of his mead, he finally regards you. Ice-blue eyes blank, they sweep over your expression, which is quickly growing hopeful at his attention.

“Yes, I enjoy riding.” His answer is short, stiff, but you feel some relief anyways. He hasn’t relaxed, but he’s speaking to you, so you’ll take it. “Do you?”

“Oh, I-I’m afraid I haven’t had much opportunity to, Your Grace.” Now you’re a little embarrassed, broaching a topic of which you know very little. “Women aren’t permitted to ride like men are in my country.”

“Have you never sat a horse?” he asks curiously, angling his body towards yours, and you almost hate how quickly you perk up. His eyes are still guarded, but at least he’s speaking to you - a far cry from how dismissive he’d been.

When you shake your head, he almost seems amused. Something else unrecognizable passes over his eyes, but it’s gone rapidly, replaced by that stony blankness you’re beginning to dislike.

He slices into a bit of meat with his knife, speaks around a mouthful, “A Queen who can’t ride - imagine that.”

It stings, but you manage to hide it. You turn to your own food and eat slowly, your stomach rolling with discomfort, sadness, and anger. Your mother assured you he’d love you, and yet he can’t stand to be in your presence, much less hold a conversation with you. How are you supposed to marry such a man - if he’ll even agree to marry you?

While the clamor in the hall continues, you find yourself utterly alone. Steven has turned to address someone to whom you’ve not been introduced. Your parents chit chat with the nobles beside them. As you look frantically around the room, you jump at a gentle hand on your shoulder.

Sharon frowns down at you with nothing but concern, no doubt reading the growing panic on your face.

“Your Grace, are you well?” she asks, low enough that only you hear. Steven casts her a curious glance but pays her no mind, essentially blocking the two of you out by turning his back to you.

Swallowing, you straighten your shoulders and nod. You’re a princess, dammit, and you’ll present yourself as such.

“I am just fine, Sharon. Thank you.”

She wants to argue, it’s clear on her face, but after a few moments of scrutiny, she nods and backs away. You appreciate the care she already has for you, truly, but you refuse to let anyone, much less a king, make you feel small. So while King Steven continues to ignore you, you let yourself enjoy the work of his cooks.

Roasted meats, spiced vegetables, honeyed breads. You don’t indulge in too much wine, preferring to be of sound mind for the festivities. King Steven has made no attempts to engage you in conversation again, so you opt to watch the interactions. There’s laughter, jokes traded between noblemen, while the women roll their eyes and undoubtedly gossip amongst each other.

Once dinner ends, music replaces the sounds of silverware on plates. The center of the hall is opened up to a dance floor, and nobles all around the room begin to rise. Pair up and flurry about in beautiful ripples of colored fabric. The music itself is beautiful - a bit less lively than what you’re used to, but pretty regardless, and you feel yourself swaying in your seat.

Occasionally, you catch Steven watching you, an unreadable look in his eyes that you choose to disregard. The middle of the crowd opens up when a pair of enthusiastic dancers steal the show. The music picks up and the dancers twirl, leap, and spin to the new melody; you begin to clap along, a genuine laugh rippling from your throat as you watch them.

Even when you catch Steven’s eye, catch the thoughtful frown on his lips, you can’t bring yourself to stop. It’s contagious, the excited, happy energy in the room, and while your home had frequent parties, you can’t remember any of them being like this. This lively and jovial.

“My dear.” Your father’s voice makes you jump, so enchanted by the frivolity. He holds out a hand to you. “Would you do me the honor?”

Smiling, you accept your father’s hand and rise, casting a quick glance at Steven. He’s staring out at the crowd intensely, a million emotions flickering across his gaze that you don’t have the chance to identify.

The music slows, just a little, as you and your father join the throng. Your dress’s skirt billows out as your father twirls you around, leads your steps gracefully. The smile is beginning to hurt your cheeks as he dips you and spins you under his arm. His matching grin is bright, his cheeks ruddy from drink and merriment.

It’s as he’s spinning you again, the music shifting again to something faster, more upbeat that makes it harder for you to keep up, that you see Steven rise from his seat. He looks to you for only a moment, before he stares off at something on the other side of the hall, but there are too many people for you to see clearly what he’s looking at. As he steps down from the dais, his dark blonde head disappears into the crowd of people.

You’re a little disappointed that he hadn’t come to dance with you, hoping that dancing would liven him up, make him warm up to you. The feeling, though, is swept away as you’re swept around the room.

Two more lively songs pass, the last one you choose to sit out, before Steven returns again, looking flustered. His cheeks are tinged light pink, and you assume it’s from drink because he quickly downs an entire goblet of mead. The amber liquid drips down his chin towards his doublet, and it takes immense self-control not to reach out and brush it away.

So preoccupied are you with staring at Steven, that you completely miss the derisive look your father sends him from a few seats down. Steven barely spares you a glance, brushing your curiosity away with a wave of his hand for his goblet to be refilled.

You’re not sure why you say it, or where the courage comes from, but you say it anyways. “You haven’t asked me to dance.”

The change is instant. The air around you growing cold as Steven tenses. He fixes frigid, hard blue eyes on you, jaw clenched tight, and you feel yourself tremble.

“I won’t be asking you to dance,” he seethes, low and venomous.

You don’t speak another word for the remainder of the evening.

It’s a sullen walk back to your room. After Steven had so brusquely brushed you off, you took Sharon up on her offer of taking you back to your room, feigning illness. Wanda joins you, the two of them at your side, not touching as is propriety, but close enough you feel their body heat. It’s comforting, sort of, until you’re so warm you realize it’s anger.

“You told me he was kind,” you accuse Sharon, softly but firmly once back in your bedroom. She’s taken aback, rightfully so, as this is your first night. You should feel slightly guilty, attacking one of Steven’s hired help in such a way, but tonight was… Tonight was a failure, through and through. And you’re angry - hurt, and angry.

“He is, Your Grace, I assure you.” She tries to assuage you, holds out her hands in a show of vulnerability as she pleads with you. “Perhaps he… Perhaps he too is nervous. Maybe even a little unwilling?”

You take offense, and you know it shows on her face as she backtracks. Wanda, sensing Sharon’s rising anxiety and need to fix this, steps in.

“What she means, my love, is that marriage is...first and foremost, a duty. One’s duty to his kingdom, and it is not an easy notion to accept. Perhaps King Steven is as nervous and unsure as you are?”

Her answer makes sense. You twist your mouth in thought, let your anger ebb away a bit. You hadn’t thoroughly considered that marriage is as big a change for you as it is for King Steven. The pressure from the courts that he take a wife, a woman he’s never met yet is expected to spend the rest of his life with, birth children with. It’s quite a deal of pressure for both of you, and while you’re taking it in stride as best you can, His Grace seems adamant in digging in his heels.

You dismiss Sharon and Wanda after they ready you for bed, a simple cream nightdress that touches the floor. The bed itself is about the softest one you’ve ever laid in, the mattress conforming to your shape perfectly. You can’t help it, you sigh happily and hug the equally-soft pillow to your face. The furs atop the bed keep the warmth in, and it doesn’t take too long for your busy mind to shut off for the night.

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #king!steve #king!au #king!steve x you #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers x you #king!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #steve rogers angst

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fanficfeeling · 4 years

Text

Lovely Part 2 - Jaskier x Reader

A/N: Hey everyone! Wow! Part 1 received far more positive feedback than I thought it would! I'm super grateful to everyone who read part one, or left a comment, or was just very encouraging, you've really helped re-spark my love for writing <3 Boy, this took way too long to finish, but I just really wanted to make sure it held up the first part at least a little! I hope you enjoy this part as well, and I'm planning on writing at least one more part to this after this, so let me know if your interested in that/how much more of this story you're interested in seeing! Either way I'm planning on continuing to write for The Witcher, and on starting to post for other fandoms (of which I'll be posting a list soon!) so if you like my work please follow or just keep an eye out! Love you guys.

Summary: 3 times Jaskier has done his best to distract Y/N from the less enjoyable parts of her life.

Part 1

Warnings: Brief language warning.

Tagged: @failure-of-the-day (I might be assuming but I thought you might like to be tagged!) @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @blue-hoodies-for-life @athenaisalpha

Y/N found out rather quickly that spending time with Jaskier is a surefire way to bring a smile to her face. Her job can be depressing, Geralt is often silent at the most inopportune times, and travelling for such long distances can be boring, but Jaskier is none of those things, and often goes out of his way to grab her attention from that which brings down her mood.

For instance, moments like this one: Y/N has returned to this small town's inn after helping the townspeople for the day, feeling like the weight of the world is on her shoulders after the day she's had. Geralt hasn't returned from his monster slaying yet, so she seeks out Jaskier for company.

When she finds him in his room, he's laying on his bed, writing something down on a piece of paper haphazardly, using his propped-up knee as a work surface. As impractical as the position seems, he looks comfortable: laid back, his normal, fancier wear tossed aside for a simple white shirt and comfortable trousers, and a smile upon his face. It take Y/N all of a second to decide that the look does him great justice.

"Jaskier." Y/N starts, making him aware of her presence.

He looks up, briefly startled, but when his eyes come to rest on her, his smile widens, "Hello, Y/N."

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm back in for the evening."

"I'm glad! It was getting boring around here with no company. Please, come in, sit down." Y/N expects him to gesture to the chair against the wall in invitation, but he simply moves his feet and makes room on his bed for her. She means to be more proper about coming into his space, but as she approaches, she finds that she ends up throwing herself down onto the bed, her exhaustion weighing down her bones.

This seems to be the first time Jaskier notices her mood is off, "Hey, everything alright?"

Y/N looks at him sheepishly, "Just a long day is all. How was yours?"

Taking the hint that she wasn't up for talking about it, Jaskier indulges her, "I started writing a new song today, and I have to admit, it's taken up pretty much all of my time. It's-"

It's all Y/N can do to stay focused on his words for that long, as images of ill people, broken homes, and crying children fill her mind. This town is lucky to have an inn still standing, considering all the havoc beasts nearby have caused. Why must monsters even have to exist like this at all? Why must innocent people suffer for mindless, bloodthirsty crazes? Why does Y/N dedicate herself to cleaning up messes that aren't even hers?

"Y/N?" She looks up at Jaskier at the sound of his persistent voice, and it isn't until she attempts to speak that she realizes she's begun crying. She also finds that she can't find anything to say to him to make an excuse for her state.

He doesn't question any further though, and swiftly gives her a soft smile, before setting aside his papers and opening his arms, beckoning her towards him.

She doesn't even think about it as she crawls towards him and re-positions herself so that he can envelop her in a hug, as she lays her head against his chest. Just being there quickly quiets the tears, but Jaskier doesn't let go, and for that Y/N is grateful.

They sit in silence as Y/N calms herself, and eventually Jaskier leans down a little bit to kiss her forehead and whisper, "Whatever you've been through, please just remember that I'm here for you and that your soul is good, and deserves to be returned the help and goodness that you give."

Oh yeah, that's why she does it all. However hard it can be, it's the good she does that keeps her moving.

~~~

The next time Jaskier goes out of his way to lift Y/N's mood, Y/N and Geralt are sitting at a table in another tavern, completely silent. Normally Y/N has no issues with respecting their silence, she often enjoys it, but her work involved a lot of repairs today, and she barely had any human connection at all throughout the day. She fidgets, doing her best not to disturb Geralt as he seems to contemplate something—she knows he has his own demons swimming around in his mind—but she worries that if she doesn't do something stimulating soon, she very well might burst.

Jaskier descends from the rooms above the tavern space, looking to begin his own work for the night as an entertainer. He had gotten permission from the owner of this establishment earlier in the day to perform in the space, and as it got on into the evening, he knew that now was his prime time. He had cleaned himself up, decided on his song list, and was ready to go.

As he looked around the tavern sizing up his audience, his eyes came to rest upon his travelling companions. Geralt seems lost in thought, and Y/N... Y/N seems downright bored. Knowing that she's been having a rough go of it lately with her work, Jaskier quickly decides that he cannot let this stand.

He swiftly changes his course and makes his way towards their table, a plan only half formed in his mind, and when he stops in front of them he finds himself asking, "Y/N, could I ask a favor of you?"

She looks at him, curiosity in her eyes and a soft smile on her mouth—a goddess in the flesh, he thinks—and he continues, "I have some songs that I was planning on playing tonight, and I would like to see how they fare as duets. Would you join me?"

Jaskier doesn't know by what miracle she says yes, and neither does she, really, but soon the two fall into a groove that brings the attention, and coin, of the patrons. They stumble through the first few songs, rousing some laughs from their audience, until they get to "Toss A Coin To Your Witcher", and the audience joins in singing with them. The pair puts on a show as they sing and they dance, and the audience adores it.

After a rendition (or several) of Jaskier's hit song, many of their audience members start to fall away, so the bard takes that as a hint to start slowing things down.

"Y/N, how would you feel about rounding this performance off by performing "Her Sweet Kiss" with me?"

Y/N's heart skips a beat. She's heard the way he sings that song, and the emotion he puts into it is always enough to bring her near to tears.

"I would be honored."

He starts the beginning off himself, and cues her when to come in. "So tell me love, tell me love, how is that just?" Jaskier never breaks eye contact with Y/N as they sing, and she utters no complaints as it feels like he bears his soul to her while gazing deeply into hers.

"I'm weak, my love, and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge, I'll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance, garroter, jury, and judge."

When Y/N had wished for human interaction, this was not what she had expected, but fuck her if it wasn't far better.

As the song comes to a close, Y/N still can't find it in her to look away from his eyes, but luckily for her, it seems that neither can he. The applause of the crowd goes unnoticed by both until the moment passes on its own.

"Thank you, for doing this with me, Y/N."

"Thank you for asking, Jaskier."

~~~

While traveling is, of course, a luxury, just the act of getting somewhere new isn't always the most enjoyable of activities. Travelling may be an integral part of Y/N's job, but knowing that is rarely enough to make her feel better about her soreness from riding her horse, or the boredom she feels as they slowly move along on empty side roads, past endless fields. Yet, this is ultimately a part of her job, so she grins and bears it for the satisfaction of helping people and the coin it brings.

Jaskier, in all his many observations of this captivating do-gooder, begins to notice that she rarely has a good time between locations. He notices that she has no way to occupy herself, besides just listening to him ramble, and he notices that she doesn't seem to plan on doing anything to remedy that situation. So, he resolves to do so himself.

"Y/N," He begins as he sits on her horse behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist. "How would you like to play a game?"

"A game? Why?"

"Because I'm terribly bored and would like to hear your lovely voice. Are you in?"

"Oh, uh, I suppose I am, yes."

"Okay then. I spy, with my little eye-" Her laughter that follows is enough to make Jaskier's heart light. Making her laugh always makes him just a little bit happier.

He hears Geralt groan next to them on Roach, and watches in amusement as he begins to trot further up ahead of them.

"What a grumpy, grumpy man. Alright, hush now, or you'll miss the object. Anyways, I spy, with my little eye, something very long and brown."

"Oh, oh, is it the tree trunks?"

"Very close but not quite. Something dusty."

"The road!"

"Ding ding ding! You've got it!" She laughs once more at his enthusiasm.

"My turn then! I spy, with my little eye, something... big and blue."

Jaskier pretends to think for a moment, and then feigns surprise as he exclaims, "The sky!"

He thinks her joyful laughter is stopping his heart by now, but he's certain he might fall off the horse when she says, "I could preserve this round for a little longer and say 'It was actually your eyes', but that might be a little obvious, huh?"

He rests his head on her shoulder and attempts to look at her face. "That gives me an idea. I spy, with my little eye, something lovely."

A blush breaks out across her face immediately, but she tries not to make assumptions. "Oh, uh... those flowers on the side of the road?"

"Not quite. A bit closer to me." She swears she can feel his arms tighten around her just a fraction.

"Then... is it the horse? You two seem to get along quite well." He chuckle is deep, and she can feel the motion against her back.

"I do love Cinnamon dearly, but you're still a bit off. Try again."

Y/N's breath hitches in her throat, and she glances to the side to look at him, finding him closer than she expected. "Lovely? Is it, uh... me, then?" His smile is enough to make her think her heart will soon burst out of her chest.

"Very good. You're excellent at this. Fancy another round?"

It takes her several minutes to calm down, but she gets into their game again, and sure enough, before either of them even know it, they've reached their destination. They both find themselves a little sad when they have to let go and get off of Cinnamon, but the feeling of being so close doesn't leave either of them for hours.

Yes, Y/N reflects, everything really does get better with him around.

Yeah, Jaskier thinks, I wouldn't trade a second with her for anything.

#Jaskier x reader #Jaskier #jaskier fanfiction #The witcher #part 2 #series #Lovely #mine #Geralt of Rivia #geralt #fluff #cute #fanfic #reader x jaskier

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vikingpoteto · 4 years

Text

problem solver

Read on AO3

______________________

Relationships: GEN. Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne

Summary: Tim's job has always been fixing things up, giving everyone backup, making sure there is a contigency plan for the contigency plan and everything runs smoothly. However, even the best of them ought to grow exhausted and maybe - just maybe - Tim needs to learn that, when you have your family's back, they're willing to return the favor.

________________________

He had had nightmares that felt sweeter than the present.

Even with his arm twisted in a painful lock behind his back and his cheek pressed to the ground, Tim doesn’t feel anything but fatigue. He thinks to himself that it’s been a while since the last time Jason had held him like that, like Tim was the enemy.

Tim doesn’t blame him, though. Even from where he is, he can see Dick kneeling next to Damian’s limp body. It’s a shame that Cass wasn’t around, really, she would’ve been fast enough to stop Tim. Or perhaps Duke, with his powers. But maybe not. They wouldn’t expect Tim to do that, so even the fastest of them wouldn’t have stopped him once he started moving.

There is a puddle of blood on the ground ant that’s an unpleasant sight.

Just that.

Unpleasant.

Damian isn't moving and Tim just wishes he didn’t have to see it.

“ Timothy ,” Jason hisses. When he notices Tim isn’t fighting, he loosens his grip a bit. When Tim still doesn’t move, Jason turns him around abruptly and shakes him by the shoulders. “Tim, what the fuck was that? Who did this to you? Who’s controlling you?”

Right. Of course Jason’s mind would go there. Jay had been out of control before, after all, he still didn’t believe Tim had done such a horrible thing. He should feel good that his brother has that much faith in him, but, again, it feels like nothing.

“It was me,” Tim says, his voice weak. “It was all me. I’m such a failure, aren’t I? But it’s fine. None of this is real.”

Tim had never seen Jason looking so horrified. He likes that about as much as the puddle of blood.

“It’ll be over soon,” Tim assures, and he glances at the giant computer screen. The clock says 00:59. It changes to 01:00. He closes his eyes just as he feels Jason’s hands leaving him.

He opens his eyes again. He’s still in the cave. Jason has retreated several steps and is now staring at Tim like never before, an emotion so intense he doesn’t know how to name. He turns around. Dick is now cradling Damian in his arms, but the boy is still not moving even as his older brother pathetically calls his name.

Tim doesn’t like that either, so closes his eyes again.

He opens his eyes. Nothing’s changed. He stares at the computer. 01:01, says the clock, but Tim isn’t waking up.

“Why am I not waking up?”

No one answers him. He still doesn’t wake up. Dick starts openly sobbing, but Damian doesn’t open his eyes to tell him to stop being a baby. Tim doesn’t wake up and Jason doesn’t approach him again and Tim doesn’t dare look at him, because he’s suddenly aware that Jason looking at him like that hurts a lot. Tim doesn’t wake up, but neither does Damian and he’s slowly realizing he’s the one that’s done that and nothing is happening to change that and that hurts more.

Tim is a problem solver. He had come to the Wayne Manor, joined the BatFamily because he was going to fix things, he was supposed to keep everyone safe-

Tim wakes up. He’s alone on his bed. The phone on the bedside table says it’s 1am, sharp.

On that night, Bruce is awake, as he is most nights. It isn’t his turn to patrol. He could be in his bed now, using the night off to get some rest.

However, as much as he chastises Tim for his (lack of) sleeping habits, Bruce can’t sleep, not even when he isn’t on duty. Especially when he isn’t on duty. He stalls, ignores Dick’s judgemental looks and ends up at the Batcave going over a cold case that might be active again, his eldest on his shoulder. He’ll sleep as soon as Cassandra and Duke come home.

Damian is at the computer reading a police report and Bruce has half a mind to send him to bed - he’s still figuring out the most efficient way to do so - when he hears rushed footsteps.

“DAMIAN!” Tim shouts from the entrance, his voice echoes horribly against the silence.

Bruce lets out a tired sigh, wondering what sort of prank it was this time. He watches as Tim darts down into the cave and makes a beeline to Damian, Bruce and Dick tensing up and getting ready to intervene in a fight as Damian jumps to his feet and stands on guard to… be wrapped tightly into Tim’s arms.

“Drake, what is the meaning of this?” Damian gasps, his voice breaking in his confusion.

Only then Bruce notices Tim’s shoulders are shaking. Tim squeezes his little brother tighter against his chest and lets himself fall to his knees, dragging Damian down a bit.

“Cease this absurd behavior right away!” Damian demands, glancing at Bruce and Dick as though expecting them to do something.

Both of them had been stunned into inaction, however.

“Y-you’re here,” Tim chokes out. Tim is crying. “I thought I- I thought I lost you.”

Damian’s eyes grow wide in utter panic. He finally wraps his tiny arms around the other boy. He again looks at his father in a silent, but clear plea of help.

As usual, Dick is faster to recover. “Timmy?” He calls, approaching his brothers and crouching down by their side. “Timmy, what’s going on?”

Tim simply shakes his head, his face buried into Damian’s chest and his body still trembling. Bruce knows Tim has been through a lot. All of them have. He knows Tim particularly is familiar with loss. Still, Bruce doesn’t remember ever seeing Tim breaking down like that.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I’m so sorry, Dami, I really thought I- I-”

“You what? What has gotten into you, you energum?”

“I- I thought you were dead,” Tim whispers.

That finally shocks Bruce into moving. One of his children is breaking down in front of him, he has to do something. He joins Dick by kneeling in front of his youngest sons and slowly reaches for Tim’s shoulder.

“Tim, Damian is here. He’s safe. You both are,” he says.

Tim lets out a strangled laughter without any humor and Bruce doesn’t want to hear such a horrible sound ever again. “N-not thanks to me, he isn’t.”

Dick makes as if he’s going to try to pry Tim off of Damian to be able to see his face. Damian glares him down before he can do anything. Dick settles for squeezing his brother’s other shoulder and asking in a soft voice:

“Timmy, can you explain what’s going on? Did you have a nightmare?”

“ God . I wish,” Tim sobs, his voice still muffled into his brother’s chest. “Except I can’t wake up. I never wake up, not for real. Th-this why I don’t like sleeping.”

At loss, Dick turns to Bruce, worry twisting his expression and confusion in his eyes. As their father, Bruce should have answers. He doesn’t have answers. He simply watches his teenage son shake in utter grief no child should be so familiar with and he is powerless and confused. It feels awful to just sit back and know there is something for him to do, however it’s outside of his knowledge.

“C-compose yourself, Drake,” Damian tries again. But his voice is weaker now, a little hoarse. His little arms are still awkwardly looped around Tim and his gaze shows he’s petrified.

Dauntless and brash Damian looks like the 12-year-old he is, confused and scared. Damian, Bruce realizes, had never seen Tim breaking down. Tim is his rival, his infuriatingly logical and calculating brother that can take any situation swiftly and solve any problem by sheer force of will. Tim, that never wavered, even when Damian was trying his hardest to crack him.

Bruce can’t wallow in self-pity about his parental skills now. His pride is nowhere near as important as his children. “Tim,” he asks, being careful to keep his voice calm and collected. “Son, talk to me. What do you need from us?”

What he needs, what he wants. Whatever it is, Bruce will get it.

Tim hesitantly pulls away from Damian without letting him go. When he turns to his father, it takes every bit of Bruce’s strength to keep his calm mask. There are bags darker than usual under Tim’s clear eyes, his nose is crimson red and his usually bony face is puffy from so much crying. His helpless expression breaks Bruce’s heart in a million pieces.

“Jason,” Tim says, his voice hefty. “Bring Jason here. Please.”

Dick is already moving before Tim finishes his request. Bruce stays with his son.

“He’ll be here soon,” he says, certain. His last encounter with Red Hood had been less than ideal, but Bruce knows Jason won’t ignore a call from Dick and he especially won’t hesitate to come for Tim. “What else?”

“Just J-Jason. It has to be Jay.”

“That’s not what it looks like,” Damian mumbles, still caught in Tim’s embrace.

Tim lets out a little chuckle. Again it’s hollow, humorless. Bruce hates it.

“I’m sorry, Dami,” Tim mutters. “Just… Just a little bit more. I need this.”

“Tt. Do what you must."

Jason was asleep when he got the call. He wants to tell his brother to fuck off and go back to bed, but with their family business being like it is… Well. Jason knows it’s never a good idea to ignore a phone call. Dick sounded confused when he asked Jason to come over because Tim needs him and he couldn’t explain why.

It’s a good thing Jason doesn't need why. Dick says Tim is asking for him. Tim never asks for what he needs, not unless the world is ending. Jason was getting into his outfit and out of the door before Dick hangs up.

He doesn’t know what to expect when he rides into the cave. Dick assured him that Tim wasn’t physically hurt, he was just asking for Jason. He certainly didn’t expect to find his brother sitting on the computer chair with Damian on his lap.

It’d be cute if it wasn’t concerning. Damian is still short enough to sit there almost comfortably with Tim’s chin resting on his shoulder and Tim’s arms loosely wrapped around his middle. Damian has his arms crossed like the world's grumpiest teddy bear and a murderous expression that challenges Jason to laugh at the scene if he wishes for death.

Jason doesn’t laugh. Not when his eyes meet Tim’s and it’s clear that his brother had been crying not long ago. He ignores Bruce and Dick uselessly standing around and takes off his helmet before walking towards his younger brothers.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

When Tim speaks, his voice is almost to hoarse to recognize. “I’m stuck in a time loop.”

“Damn it. Again?”

His sarcastic reply makes Tim’s lips quirk up a bit. His expression returns to somber too fast for Jason’s liking.

“You’re the only one that always believes me right away,” Tim tells him.

As hypocritical as it is, Jason hates magic shit. Hates it.

“Alright. Let’s break your loop. What’s the last thing you remember before the loop?”

“It was 10pm. Alfred forced me to go to bed. Then I wake up three hours later and it starts.”

Jason glances at Bruce and Dick and they nod in confirmation that that’s their latests Tim memory too. He turns back to his brother.

“Alright. Any constants?”

While time loops are a first for them, they watched enough movies to know there is always something specific repeating itself.

Before answering, Tim hesitates and squeezes Damian again. Jason is surprised when the gremlin uncrosses his arms and awkwardly offers Tim a little pat on the hand.

“The thing that always happens is… You die.”

Jason goes stiff. He can hear Bruce and Dick reacting behind him, but he has to focus on keeping himself calm. Despite his own issues, this is still about Tim.

“Just me?” he asks, as casually as he manages.

“Just you.”

Slowly putting what he knows together, Jason glances at the protective way Tim is holding Damian. Of all of them to be stuck in a time loop, he thinks Tim is the most likely to think his way out. Of all of them, he has the best memory, he’s the one that finds it easier to put away his feelings in a little box and do what’s the best to be done. For him to be that distressed about Damian…

Jason doesn’t beat around the bush, the way he knows Tim prefers. “Tim, did you kill Damian on the last loop?”

Dick inhales sharply. Bruce doesn’t make any noise, but Jason figures he’s frozen in horror. Damian stares at Jason as if he’s gone mad as Tim squeezes him a bit tighter before slowly retreating into the chair. His arms are still around his younger brother, but all Damian had to do was to stand up and he’d be free of his hugging pillow duty. Damian doesn’t move, not even when Tim whispers:

“I did.”

Jason nods. He’s glad that Tim’s eyes are trained on his, because he doesn’t want to even imagine what kind of reaction Dick and Bruce are showing behind him.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

Tim breathes in and out. “It was the seventy-first loop. You were teasing him over something stupid and he had that… that stupid katana. He said he was going to kill if you didn’t shut up and I...” At this point, he retreats fully into the chair, willingly putting distance between him and his little brother. “I didn’t think. I was on high alert for any threat, I just… I hit him with my staff. He fell. I hit him in the back of the head, and… he didn’t get up.”

Damian still doesn’t leave. His expression is unreadable.

“And… and I didn’t care. Dick was horrified, you restrained me and I just… I just got annoyed and waited. But then it was time, the loop didn’t restart and I-”

Tim runs out of breath and chokes on thin air, unable to continue for a moment. No one says anything, even Jason unsure of where to start. He also notices that the whole time Tim doesn't make any excuses for himself, like he does for the many people that hurt him in the past and he's forgiven. He doesn't use the word accident. He doesn't try to remind them he didn't mean to, even though he didn't. Jason thought Tim was making a lot of progress on the self-worth department lately, but apparently some steps backwards were taken.

“I thought it was over. I thought I cemented a timeline in which I killed my little brother. What kind of monster am I? How come my first instinct was to deadly wound anyone, let alone Damian? Then it restarted and… And I don’t know if I can do this anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe you guys should put me-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Damian hisses. He turns to face Tim, his tiny arms tightly crossed again and his eyes steeled with conviction. “I thought you were supposed to be smart, Drake.”

“Damian,” Jason starts in warning.

Damian makes a gesture to silence him and continues: “How can you think that’s your first instinct? That was hardly the first thing you’ve done. What sounds to me is that you watched your favorite brother die seventy times and you were pushed to the extreme. I would not call that bloodlust.”

Tim blinks. “But I didn’t…”

“Of course you didn’t care. You thought it was inconsequential. After watching a family member’s gruesome death so many times, you’d be desensitized as a defense mechanism. That’s only logical. As soon as you thought it might be real, however, you reacted as expected and came to me crying like a child.”

No one says anything for a moment. Damian deliberately leans backwards, pressing his back to Tim’s stomach.

“Besides, it was an accident. You didn’t attack to kill, you attacked to incapacitate and miscalculated the amount of strength needed. It happens to the best of us.”

Jason could have smiled at the kid. He thinks his lips quirk up against his will when Damian grabs Tim’s hands and pulls them so he’s being held again. Confusion replaces the lost look on Tim’s face for a bit.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but the gremlin is right. You’re fine, Timbers,” Jason says.

For a horrible moment, blue eyes become watery and Jason feels as though there is a knife twisting in his gut. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d seen Tim crying. It’s not one of his favorite experiences.

“Timmy,” Dick starts, his voice soft. “How long is every loop?”

“About 24 hours,” Tim says. “It restarts exactly at 1am.”

“And in all of those loops… how many times have you stopped to sleep? Or eat?”

Tim stares at his older brother as though he’s speaking an alien dialect. Dick sighs.

“Well, buddy, it sounds like you’ve been awake for 2 hellish months.”

“But… But I’m always in my room at 1am. Doesn’t that mean I got to sleep like Alfred wanted?”

“Well. We can’t know for sure, but you sure looks like someone that needs some rest,” Dick insists.

Tim tries to protest but Bruce walks to him and combs his fingers through his son’s hair. The touch is enough to shut him up.

“Let’s be practical, chum,” he says. “We need you to be okay to be able to help us. I don’t think you can as you are now. I need you to drink a glass of warm milk and take a nap for about an hour. While you rest, your brothers and I will do research into time anomalies. When you get up, you can join us. How’s that sound?”

A frown. Jason is ready to force him if he must. He resolves crumbles a bit when his little brother turns his gaze to him and asks in the smallest voice:

“Are you still going to be here when I wake up?”

Jason’s throat is clogged. He used to think that his early demise had been inconsequential and that hurt like hell. He didn’t think that it hurt just as much to learn that it mattered, that his family cared, that Tim cared so much, because Jason never ever wanted to be the reason behind that forlorn look in any of his brothers, let alone Tim. Tim who was always there for them, who always worked the hardest, who was Jason’s go0to prank partner, who laughed at his jokes and embraced him as family when he had every reason not to.

“I promise I will,” Jason manages. “You know I’m a man of word, Timbers.”

“We’ll take care of him for you,” Dick adds. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid until you’re back to scold him and all that.

Tim hesitates, glancing from one brother to the other and then to their father. He seems to try and assess his condition and recognizes he feels tired - if not physically, Jason doesn’t need to be a genius to know he must be emotionally exhausted. Finally, he nods.

Well, that had been a rollercoaster from start to… the middle? Damian doesn’t think this is the end per se. It’s best if they put their plan into action sooner better than later, so the boy finally jumps to his feet in order to leave his brother’s lap

“Very well,” he says, “I reckon I’m on Drake Duty, is that correct?”

“Drake Duty?” Timothy repeats, frowning.

Damian shoots him a haughty glare. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you, but you do have the habit of sneaking under our noses to do extra work when you’re supposed to be resting. I’ll be the one making sure you stay in your bed, as you should.”

Besides, Damian doesn’t think Timothy should be left alone as it is. Not that he minds, he just thinks the older boy is unstable and needs to be watched. He’s not worried, just cautious.

“Hm. I was actually going to take a nap at the reading den?” Timothy says. “I… I don’t want to be in my room right now.”

It’s to be expected that he wants to avoid the place where the loop starts, of course.

“Tim, you’re going to wreck your spine if you keep sleeping in the library,” Richard chastises gently.

Damian sighs. “If your room is the issue, mine should suffice, isn’t that right? You may take a rest in my bed.”

The surprised look Timothy gives him is outward insulting. Damian feels as though the others have the same expression, so his cheeks start getting warmer. Annoyed, he tuts and grabs Timothy's hand, starting to drag him away.

“Well? We should not be wasting time!”

“Uh. Yeah,” Timothy mutters. Then, sounding a bit more like his usual self, he tells the others: “We have yet to contact Doctor Fate or Zatanna, they do not pick up their phones. Constantine will answer if Dick’s the one calling, but the day restarted before we knew if he was any help. Bart and Wally have no idea about what’s going on, but uncle Barry had a hunch based on his last essay. Do not contact Booster Gold, his place is on fire and we wasted a lot of time putting it out and he was no help. … Maybe send someone there to help him?”

By then, Damian has successfully dragged Timothy out of the cave and their brothers and father were left to follow his directions. Damian briefly consideres forcing Timothy to sleep and joining them, but decides against it. Thomas and Cain should be joining them soon and he knows their father won’t rest until he finds an appropriate solution.

“You don’t have to do this, Dami,” Timothy says. “I promise I’ll actually sleep. I can take Jason’s bedroom instead. He hasn’t used it in ages, but I know Alfred didn’t leave it dusty.”

Damian ignores him.

“Really, you-”

“For someone that couldn’t let go of me until a couple of minutes ago, you’re sure talking a lot of nonsense,” Damian huffs. “I’m not Todd, but I know you enough that I'm sure that, the moment I leave your sight, you’re going to start torturing yourself.”

Timothy is silent after that. They go up the stairs like that and for the first time Damian doesn’t feel like a toddler while he holds someone’s hand. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s the one guiding or the strange situation. Despite everything, it isn’t entirely unpleasant. He considers for a moment telling Richard that he doesn’t hate hand-holding after all, but decides against it. Richard would definitely abuse that knowledge.

Alfred the cat is napping on Damian’s bed when they arrive. For a moment, Damian panics over having to kick out his precious pet - he has slept on the floor for Alfred before and he’d do it again - but, as soon as he sees his owner, Alfred mercifully stretches and moves to the bottom of the mattress, leaving plenty of free space.

Looking nothing like the, Damian begrudgingly admits, intimidating hero Red Robin, Timothy fumbles with the hem of his ratty hoodie and hesitates. The hoodie is purple and weirdly tight around the arms, so Damian suspects that it belongs to someone else. It gives him an idea.

“Do you need me to bring Brown over?” he asks.

Again, Timothy gives him a surprised look.

Stubbornly, Damian holds his gaze even when he feels his cheeks warming up. He knows he’s not suggesting anything outlandish, because he knows Brown’s unstoppable cheerfulness is on par with the Bats' unmoving angst. He also knows calling her is acceptable, because he heard Todd make the same suggestion once. Timothy was running himself to the ground over an unsolved case and snapped at Todd. Instead of putting Timothy in his place, Todd had simply rolled his eyes and asked Timothy in a whisper Damian is sure he wasn’t supposed to hear, do you want me to ask Steph to come over? and lo and behold, an hour later Brown was climbing inside and making a lot of noise. She forced Timothy to eat and the two ended up asleep together in the living room. On the following day, Timothy looked more like a human being.

“Steph is out of town,” Timothy says. “I tried calling her in a couple of loops. She’s always out of town.”

Oh.

If Brown isn’t around, Timothy has to settle for the next best thing, that would be… well, Todd. But Todd is busy, so the next best thing would be… Cain. Then Richard. … Then Thomas.

But alas! None of them are available so Damian will have to do.

“Well then,” he mumbles. “She’s too noisy anyway. Why are you still standing?”

Like a skittish stray, Timothy climbs beneath Damian’s blanket while Damian stands there, his hands on his hips and his foot tapping on the floor impatiently.

Once he’s settled, Timothy glances at him. “Are you going to just… stand there?”

Damian supposes it’s not ideal to try to sleep with a standing guard, is it? With another tut, he climbs into bed as well, glad that it’s big enough for the two of them and then some.

...then, seeing Timothy’s wide eyes, Damian realizes this isn’t the outcome he expected. Damian curses inwardly, because he can never predict what Timothy is thinking. Richard is ridiculously easy to read, as is Thomas. Todd and Cain he can understand to an extent. But Timothy? He’s a complete mystery.

“Hm. Dami, are…” Timothy struggles with his words. That’s a first. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Damian tries to kill him with a single glare. Timothy seems to find his expression amusing and relaxes a bit.

“Not like that, brat, you know I know you’re deadly, and all that. I mean… aren’t you wary of me after I said…”

“Do you want me to repeat the very solid arguments I already presented?”

“No, just… I get them, rationally. They make sense. But still.”

Damian sighs. “Still nothing. If that’s the case, shouldn’t you be wary of me? I did try to end you. Repeatedly.”

“That was a long time ago, though, we didn’t really know each other.”

“And, by all means, your traumatic experience was with a version of me I don't even know from a reality I’m not a part of. Go to sleep, Drake.”

They stay quiet for a moment. Timothy sits up abruptly. Before Damian can scold him, he grabs the alarm clock on the bedside table and sets it to go off one hour from now, which is smart, Damian will give him that. Then he glares until Timothy lies down again and they’re both on their sides, facing one another.

Alfred the cat stands again and comes lie down between the two boys. The room is completely silent save for soft purs and the even softer tick-tock coming from the nightstand.

Damian stares at his brother’s closed eyelids and he knows Timothy is wide awake.

“Do you really see me like that?” he hears himself whispering.

As expected, Timothy’s eyes shoot open. “Of course not, Dami.”

All right, ouch. That hurts.

“I know you would never hurt Jason,” Timothy proceeds. “That’s why I… that’s why I was so messed up. I knew you weren’t a real threat, not to him. But I still freaked, I still moved before I could think and I…”

Oh. Damian hadn’t considered that, but that’s reassuring. He nods briefly but soon adds:

“I don’t mean that. I mean what you said after.”

Timothy frowns. “What?”

“You know.”

“I really don’t.”

“Forget it.”

“No, Dami, what is it? You know I’m curious, I’m not gonna by able to sleep if you don’t tell me.”

The boy groans, because how is he the youngest in this situation?

“I meant… When you said I’m your little brother.”

“Oh.” Timothy blinks owlishly, his eyes growing big before his voice grows small: “I mean… yeah. I know it’s not mutual, but… You’re part of my family, Damian. Sure, an annoying, cocky part, but… I like having you around. I still love you. I wouldn’t want to send you away or to hurt you or… anything like that.”

Damian makes a dismissive noise and looks away. Timothy used to be more bearable. He wouldn’t say out loud those things to anyone when Damian first arrived. It was his time with that gang of hooligans that were Jon’s brother and the other two that ruined Timothy. He came back home a lot more willing to let Richard cling to him and comfortable saying such embarrassing things to Cain and Pennyworth and Todd and… and now Damian.

“Dami, did you… did you think I don’t see you as a brother?” Timothy asks.

More mumbling. Damian isn’t avoiding his gaze because he’s embarrassed, but because Timothy’s icy stare can be so stupidly intense it’s uncomfortable.

“I thought I burned that bridge a couple of attempted murders ago,” he finally admits.

“That happened to a version of me from a reality I’m no longer a part of.”

Another frustrated noise. He buries his face into the pillow.

“Damian.” Timothy calls. Annoyingly, he waits until Damian looks at him. It’s a trick he learned from Richard, Damian is sure. “You’re my little brother. For best or worse, I… I’ll never let something like the last loop happen. Ever.”

Damian doesn’t know what to say, so he remains silent. Timothy realizes he’s not getting any reply, so he simply closes his eyes again.

It seems unfair that Timothy has to make that whole speech when Damian is the one that’s supposed to be in charge. It feels like he’s losing somehow. Letting out a huff, Damian mutters:

“It is.”

“Hm?”

“You said it’s not mutual. That’s ridiculous. You can’t be someone’s relative one-sidedly. Of course it’s mutual.”

It takes a second for his words to register, and, when they do, Timothy finally lets his lips twist into that annoying smirk he usually wears. He looks genuinely happy, albeit in a tired way.

“Ugh, do not let Richard hear about this,” Damian groans, closing his eyes and turning his back to his brother

“Goodness gracious, I would never.” Timothy chuckles. His sarcasm is less effective when his voice is still hoarse from all the crying. “In exchange, promise me you won’t forget that on the next loop.”

Goddamnit, Damian has to turn back. “There will be no next loop.”

“Hmm.”

“Timothy? Look at me.” He does. Damian sustains his gaze. “There will be no other loop. We’re going to fix this as soon as we wake up. You have my word.”

A little hesitation, a lot of fear of holding onto hope. Timothy reaches for Damian’s hand.

“I believe you. So. Am I Timothy now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Drake.”

“Thought so,” Tim says.

Tim allows himself to close his eyes. Damian’s hand is small and warm and undeniably alive. His older brothers are downstairs trying to fix this for him. His father is going to protect him, too. Soon his sister and his new brother will join them and there is no doubt in his mind that they’re going to have his back.

His family is going to solve it for him.

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aslanjadecarlyle · 3 years

Text

all i have to do is dream (Barlyle)

all i have to do is dream

rating: T

pairing(s): P.T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle, Charity Barnum/P.T. Barnum

warnings: light elements of trauma/PTSD, graphic imagery of a building fire

summary: He may be a failure of a man. A complete, utter fraud.

But, he’ll be damned if his mistakes cost Phillip his life.

———

Something snaps inside Phineas as he is forced to watch Phillip run back into the flaming inferno that formerly served as their home. Seconds later, relief mixes with horror in a nauseating cocktail as Anne Wheeler runs toward her brother.

They embrace.

She is safe.

Alive.

Which means—

“PHILLIP!” his own scream pierces his ears.

He had come back to chaos. Ruins. Utter despair.

Despite everything — despite all that he and his selfishness had put his circus troupe, the people who had come to be his extended family, through — he, truly, had never meant for this to happen.

Yet here, now, he is forced to watch, almost in slow motion, as his failures threaten to tear away the one person left that has shown him much more respect than he has ever deserved.

He may be a failure of a man. A complete, utter fraud.

But, he’ll be damned if his mistakes cost Phillip his life.

Phineas isn’t sure if he believes in a Heaven or a Hell. But, as he looks back into the desperate, devastated faces of his wife and daughters, it is his own father’s face that flashes in his mind.

If he’s to meet his Maker tonight, he hopes to high Heavens that, somehow, his father will still be proud of him. That his father, if he is watching his son, wherever he is, will know that his son tried.

It’s with this thought in mind, that he turns away from his family and runs straight for burning flame.

The screams of his wife and children echo in his ears. He doesn’t realize it at first, but there are stinging tears in his eyes.

Stepping into the burning building is like stepping straight into Hell. The heat, the smoke, the roar of the flame all quickly take over his senses, eyes watering as smoke clogs up his nose. It doesn’t help much, but he raises an arm to cover his face, and he attempts to squint past the tears that are already streaming down his face.

He takes his arm away from his mouth long enough to shout, “PHILLIP!”

No response.

Move. He has to move.

Covering his face once more, Phineas barrels forward. Sweat is running down his face, his neck, he can feel it running down his back and sticking to his clothes. It mats his hair, stings his eyes further. Vision blurring, he panics, wondering how the hell he’ll ever be able to see Phillip... if he can even find him.

Just as this horrific thought crosses his mind, panicking him further, he, quite literally, stumbles over his apprentice.

The man is crumpled on the floor, unconscious.

Temporarily forgetting his surroundings, Phineas gasps, and immediately chokes on the mouthful of smoke that he inhales. He crouches and gathers Phillip in his arms.

Phillip is totally limp, dead weight. But, his chest rises and falls with breath.

“Thank God,” Phineas mumbles. He feels sick with relief.

As Phineas straightens, hellbent on getting them both out of there, a low, threatening crack sounds from overhead.

The beam falls before Phineas can move out of the way. It strikes his back and he cries out, groaning, immediately buckling to one knee. Phillip nearly tumbles out of his arms, but Phineas holds Phillip to his chest, head bent, gritting his teeth.

The beam, mercifully, was not on fire... but he knows it is a sign of worse to come. He has to move. He has to move now.

Rising to his feet makes Phineas scream out in pain. It is pure adrenaline, nothing else, that forces his legs forward. He ducks his head low, trying to avoid the worst of the smoke and debris while keeping Phillip shielded.

Phillip, who is still limp and motionless in Phineas’s arms, despite Phineas’s cry. But, it doesn’t matter just as long as he keeps breathing.

When Phineas finally bursts out of the building, he sucks the fresh air into his lungs so quickly that he chokes on his own breath. He manages to lie Phillip safely on the ground before he, himself, falls, legs finally giving out on him.

He lands on his front, taking in a mouthful of dirt, but it is probably a blessing. His back throbs, demanding that he screams.

So, he does.

He screams and he screams and he screams.

“You... You saved me.”

Phineas is lying in bed, bare-chested, his back and torso wrapped in bandages. He is home from the hospital, but still on strict bedrest, and he’d been told two days ago that Phillip had finally woken up.

Now, he stares in amazement as Phillip himself stands in the doorway.

“Phillip,” he breathes, “What are you doing here? How are you?”

Phillip purses his lips. “I took a bit of an extended nap, but I’m all right now. I was discharged this morning. Charity let me in.”

Phineas’s gaze drifts up to the ugly scar below Phillip’s hairline, and he winces. “I’m so sorry.”

Phillip ignores him. His voice is thick. “P.T., Anne told me that you... ran in after me. You saved me.”

“Of course I did. I wasn’t going to let you die, not because of me.”

“You traumatized your own wife and daughters.”

“They would have been more traumatized had you died. The girls love you, you know.”

At this, Phillip turns away. Phineas frowns.

“Is something wrong?”

Phillip still won’t look directly at him. Phineas watches as he parts his lips, then hesitates.

“Phillip! Phillip!”

Caroline and Helen come barreling into the bedroom, and, ignoring their father, run straight for the young man still standing between the door and the bed. Caroline hugs him, squeezing tight, and Helen tugs incessantly at his hand.

Phineas laughs, but there is caution in his voice as he says, “Careful, girls. He just got out of the hospital.”

“They’re fine,” Phillip chuckles, ruffling Helen’s hair. She beams up at him.

“Phillip, did they have to do an operation?” Caroline asks, eyes wide.

“No, no, nothing that serious.” Phillip hesitates again, very briefly, and says, “Your daddy saved me.”

“We watched him run in!” Helen exclaims.

Phineas winces.

“Phillip, will you play with us?” Caroline asks.

“What do you want to play?”

“We got some new dress-up!”

As they lead Phillip out of the room, each girl pulling him by one hand, Phineas chuckles to himself. From down the hall, he hears Helen exclaim, “Let’s put a pink bow in his hair!”

“I think blue,” Caroline pitches. “It’ll match his eyes.”

“Pink!”

“Blue!”

Once their voices fade, Phineas is left alone for only a few minutes before Charity appears in the doorway.

“Knock knock.”

Phineas smiles, hazel eyes soft. “Hello, darling.”

She looks around. “I take it the girls stole Phillip?”

Phineas laughs. “You may have to rescue him soon. I’m half-afraid they may try to fit him into a dress.”

Charity smiles, but doesn’t say anything as she crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. She smooths his hair back, and he takes a hold of her hand in his.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“He loves you, sweetheart.”

Phineas blinks. “Who?”

Charity chuckles. “Who do you think?”

Phineas’s eyes fall to the door. She nods.

“Phillip?” he asks in disbelief.

She nods again, soft smile on her lips. “Haven’t you noticed?”

“I...” Phineas falters.

“And, I know you were afraid of losing him.”

“Well, of course. He’s my apprentice. My friend. I wasn’t going to let him... to let him...”

Phineas pauses, chokes up. His eyes feel suddenly wet.

“I know that look, Phin. You don’t see him as ‘just your apprentice,’ and you and I both know it.”

Phineas gulps. “Even if... I did, hypothetically, feel... more for him. I promised you, after Jenny Lind, I wouldn’t—“

“Phin,” Charity sighs. He looks at her.

“I was upset at you because you kissed a woman you barely knew—“

“She kissed me,” Phineas interjects, “I swear, Chairy, I—“

“I know that now.” She squeezes his hand. “But, you didn’t have to go on tour, alone, with her.”

Phineas nods. “I’m sor—“

“As I was saying, Phillip is different, and I know that. I know Phillip, he is a dear friend, and I know you love him. I think you know it, too.”

Phineas looks down into his lap. She cups his face in her hands, makes him look up at her again, and peers fondly into his guilt-ridden eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to — but, I think you do. So, if you decide to act... you have my blessing, Phineas. It’s okay.”

She kisses his nose and straightens up

“Now, I should probably rescue him before the girls eat him alive,” she chuckles.

With that, Charity leaves Phineas alone with his thoughts.

He realizes, after she’s gone and he’s left in silence, that he can hear Phillip’s laughter. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Phillip properly laugh before. And, the delighted peal of laughter from his daughters follows immediately after. They are down the hall, presumably in the girls’ playroom.

He looks toward the doorway, and his heart aches.

Phillip offered to pay the entire rebuilding of P.T. Barnum’s circus. He, without being asked, offered up his entire savings, and, once Phineas healed enough from his own injuries, they spent days, weeks, rebuilding everything from the ground up.

Weeks went by, and Phineas, in acts that were totally uncharacteristic for him, always backed down before he could talk, alone, with Phillip.

Now, Phineas carries Helen on his healed back, and Caroline runs ahead of him. The tent looms, proud and tall, ready for their very first performance tomorrow.

Helen gasps in his ear. “Daddy, it’s beautiful!”

He beams. “Isn’t it?”

“Can we go look around?” Caroline asks.

“Of course,” he smiles, lowering Helen to the ground.

No further invitation needed, Caroline and Helen bolt, giggling as they disappear under the flap. Chuckling, Phineas follows at a more casual pace, eyes bright as he takes everything in.

Anne and W.D. Wheeler are practicing their trapeze act. W.D. is midair, Anne standing on the platform, when she notices Phineas. She waves, and he lifts a hand in return.

W.D. sails through the air, to the platform shared with his sister. It’s her turn to go, but Phineas watches, surprised, as she, instead, pauses their rehearsal. She says something to W.D., who nods and glances down at Phineas.

Something twists in Phineas’s stomach, but he doesn’t move as Anne comes down from her platform and approaches him.

“Mr. Barnum,” she smiles, “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful. You’re doing an amazing job. Excited for tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes!” Her smile grows into a full grin, eyes twinkling. “It was a fantastic idea to move us to the docks. You and Phillip really put your all into rebuilding for us. We couldn’t thank you enough.”

His eyes soften, and he relaxes a little. “Well, of course.”

“Speaking of Phillip,” she pitches casually, “I think he’s waiting for you in your new office.”

“Oh?”

She nods. “Said he wanted to talk to you about something. Seemed a little nervous.”

A cold sweat breaks out on the back of Phineas’s neck. “Ah... thank you. I’ll go find him.”

He turns to leave, but she grabs hold of his sleeve.

“Mr. Barnum...”

He looks back at her.

“It’ll be okay.” She smiles again and gives a little nod.

His throat goes suddenly dry.

“Thank you,” he croaks again. She chuckles as she lets go of his sleeve.

His daughters are occupied, watching the elephants in fascination on the other side of the tent. Unnoticed, Phineas slips into the performers’ staging area.

“Mr. Barnum!” Chang and Eng, the conjoined twins, are getting ready for their own rehearsal. Eng is the one to greet him, and Chang asks, “How are you?”

Phineas smiles and nods, but his mind is elsewhere. “Fine, fine. Good work, boys.”

Thankfully, they seem to realize he is distracted and step aside. Phineas leaves them and hurried up the stairs to his office.

The door is closed. He hesitates for the briefest of moments.

Taking a deep breath, he forces himself inside. He forgets to knock first.

Phillip is seated at his desk, but he startles and looks up when Phineas enters the room. They lock eyes. Phillip’s clear blue are wide and unsure.

“Hello,” Phineas smiles, “I was told you wanted to see me?”

His words are casual, but his heart is pounding.

“P.T.,” Phillip greets. He starts to stand, but he hesitates, freezes as he rises. Instead, he settles in his chair again. He drums his fingers on top of his desk.

Despite Phineas’s own nerves, concern for his friend wins out. A frown creases his brow. “Are you all right, Phillip?”

“P.T...” Phillip starts again. He looks up, meets Phineas’s eyes, starts to look away, but forces himself to maintain eye contact. He chokes up as he breathes out, “I... you... you saved me.”

It’s a familiar conversation, and one that went unfinished. Phineas’s hazel eyes are liquid soft as he steps forward and rumbles, “Of course I did. I wasn’t going to leave you to die, Phillip.”

Phillip inhales, his breath shaky. “Nobody has ever... has ever...”

Phineas moves again and, this time, Phillip finds the strength to stand and step away from his desk. He’s shaking like a leaf as Phineas lifts his hand, gently caressing Phillip’s cheek.

“Is this okay, Phil?” Phineas whispers.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Phillip nods.

“You are worth everything to me, Phillip. My life, the circus — everything.”

Phillip’s eyes are bright as Phineas tilts his face up. His fingers are calloused, but run over Phillip’s skin gentle as rain.

He closes the gap and Phillip gasps as their lips meet. Phineas’s mouth is warm and sweet, and Phillip clings to the lapels of his coat, holding him impossibly close.

Phillip whimpers as Phineas’s tongue brushes lightly over his bottom lip, and he parts them just enough to allow Phineas access. His skin is on fire, but he doesn’t let go. He can’t let go.

Every single one of Phillip’s senses is focused on Phineas. His nose, gently bumping and brushing against his. His jaw, not quite smooth, hinting at the faintest ghost of a stubble. His scent, more intoxicating than any alcohol, sweat and peanuts lingering under some expensive, woodsy cologne. The strength of the hand that is pressed against Phillip’s back.

Phillip is so wrapped up in Phineas, in fact, that he realizes too late when the man is pulling away. He groans softly, tugs at Phineas’s coat. Not his brilliant ringmaster coat, but, rather, standard attire any man would wear on the street.

Still, Phineas wears it better than most.

The man in question chuckles at Phillip’s protests and runs a hand lovingly through Phillip’s hair. “You need to breathe, darling.”

Darling.

The name catches them both by surprise.

“Phine— I-I mean P.T., I—“

Phineas chuckles. He caresses Phillip’s cheek again, but this time his touch lingers, cupping Phillip’s face in his hand. Phillip leans into the touch, closing his eyes. Phineas realizes for the first time that Phillip’s eyes are wet and his heart aches a little as he brushes away a tear that rolls down Phillip’s cheek.

“I think it’s all right if you call me by my given name, Phillip,” he teases gently.

“Ph... Phineas, I... I—“ Phillip falters.

“Feeling a little overwhelmed, huh?” Phineas’s eyes are soft enough to make Phillip want to melt.

Phillip nods in great relief.

Phineas pulls Phillip close again and presses a kiss between Phillip’s eyes.

“For what it’s worth,” Phineas mumbles, “You deserved to be saved that night, Phillip, and you are worthy of love. Please don’t ever let yourself think any different.”

Tears well in Phillip’s eyes again and, wordlessly, he presses his face into Phineas’s shoulder. Phineas rubs his back.

They stay in their office, alone, for a long time.

The sky is a fire of oranges and reds by the time they leave the circus. Phineas hails a carriage, and Phineas, Phillip, Caroline, and Helen all climb inside.

It doesn’t take long for Helen to fall asleep in Phillip’s lap, and Caroline rests her head, eyes closed, on her father’s shoulder. Neither girl notices when Phineas lays his hand atop Phillip’s.

“Will you want to tell them?” Phillip asks. His cheeks tinge slightly pink as he looks down at their laced fingers.

“Mmm... eventually. Not now, though. We have time.” Phineas squeezes his hand.

Phillip nods, and Phineas doesn’t miss the way relief washes over his face.

Once home, Phillip gently rouses Caroline, and Phineas carries Helen in his arms. Caroline shuffles alongside them, eyes heavy, holding Phillip’s hand.

Charity greets them at the door, and they get the girls to bed.

As Phineas tucks Caroline in, Phillip and Charity wait in the hall. She looks at him, and his face flushes red. He can’t look her in the eye.

“He finally did it,” Charity breathes.

“Charity, I—“

“Phillip, it’s all right. Phin and I spoke about it weeks ago.”

He looks up. She nods and smiles. Then, before he can say anything else, she kisses his cheek and wishes him goodnight.

When Phineas comes back into the hall, he glances around.

“She went to bed,” Phillip says.

Phineas nods, then hesitates.

“You know you can... stay here tonight, if you’d like.”

Phillip meets his eye. “Phineas, I couldn’t impose—“

“Phillip.” Phineas steps forward, grasping Phillip’s hand. “You are not imposing. You are never imposing. You never have to go back to your apartment alone, if you don’t want to. Would you like to stay?”

Phillip looks down.

“I would, yes.”

“Then you’re staying.”

Phineas shows Phillip to a guest bedroom that is only slightly less extravagant than the Master. He’d agreed to staying, but he’s surprised when Phineas follows him into the room.

“Phineas...?”

“If you want me to leave, I will.” Phineas reaches for his hand again. “But the fact that I haven’t been able to hold you has been driving me crazy the last few weeks. I’d very much like to be able to hold you now.”

That sense of love washes over Phillip again like a tidal wave, so intense that fresh tears spring to his eyes and he leans into Phineas. But, he nods, voice trembling as he speaks.

“Yes. Yes, I’d... I’d like that.”

Phineas smiles and pulls him in for another kiss, this one shorter, but no less sweet than the one they’d shared in their office.

Phineas lends Phillip a sleeping gown. It completely swims on Phillip slighter frame, but being literally wrapped up in Phineas’s scent is so intoxicating that he doesn’t care.

Phineas, himself, is absolutely unashamed and has nothing to hide as he changes. Heat rushes to Phillip’s cheeks as his eyes roam over the taunt, tanned muscles of Phineas’s back, legs. Phineas’s skin isn’t perfect, marred by the scars and blemishes of over forty years of a hard life. Phillip absentmindedly raises a hand to the scar below his hairline and something akin to relief washes over him.

Phillip had slept with strangers, results of one night stands, in his bed before. But, nothing even comes close to comparing to the feeling of climbing into the same bed as Phineas. Shifting closer, wrapping himself in Phineas’s embrace. His arms are strong, warm, secure.

Phillip sighs as Phineas flutters tiny, soft kisses to his neck. Then, Phineas nuzzles his nose in Phillip’s hair.

Phillip drifts to sleep with his head on Phineas’s chest, his hand resting directly over Phineas’s thrumming heart.

Phineas, too, falls asleep, holding the very man he’d spent nights dreaming about since the fire wreaked havoc into their lives.

end

#barlyle #the greatest showman #greatest showman #tgs #pt barnum #phineas taylor barnum #phineas barnum #phillip carlyle #fanfiction #fanfic #AO3 #archive of our own #hugh jackman #hj #zac efron #all i have to do is dream

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pernatius · 4 years

Text

Lost in Space Part 5: Ch 4

ch 3

Summary: An unnamed Space Explorer must come to terms with the fate of the universe resting in her hands.

Part 1: ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

Part 4: ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

————————

Lucy’s sweat, which now glistened his forehead and the crevasses of his face, descended to his suit and sash. They darkened their colors. It looked like I had shot him. It looked like his blood pooled and drenched into their fabrics. The footsteps are getting all too close, but Lucy has yet to decide. His eyes dodge the sight of the gun by switching their focus from me to Saamuki, but mostly Saamuki. As for Saanuki, she’s chosen to look away from both of us with her arms crossed. It felt like I was going to blackout from all the suspense. I tried gulping it down, but it only made it worse. So, I thought I was going to have to do it. I thought I was going to kill the father of who knows how many children. They’d wake up and run out of their rooms. Instead of spending time with their father as they usually did for breakfast, which was the only time they saw him, they’d find their mother hunched down on the table with tears in her eyes. They’d, as they hesitantly stepped towards her, ask what’s wrong. She wouldn’t say a word, too hurt, but when they see their father’s sash held in her arms they’d realize what happened and cry. Their mother, leaving her husband's sash on the table, would hug them. She’d do her best to comfort them. Eventually, the cries would stop, but the pain wouldn’t. The children would live the rest of their lives without a father. As for their mother, she’d have to wake up every day in the large, empty bed she’d used to share with her husband. Thinking of this made me nauseous even though he cheated on her with Saamuki. I thought I was going to throw up, but I was saved by Lucy finally making his decision. “Fine, but Saamuki, if Cabelo finds out about this you’re on your own.”

Turning back to face the guard, “That’s not new to me.”

As Lucy headed elsewhere and Saamuki led me to the door at the end of the hallway, I got a strange feeling that told me to turn around. I do and I find the source of the footsteps, but I also get stricken by fear. In the mouth of the hallway stands a Watcher. They don’t have any eyes, as far as I could tell, but I can still feel them staring me down. Noticing my sudden stiff self, Saamuki stops and turns to see what I’m looking at. Seeing her reaction in the corner of my eye makes me doubt my sense of sight. “You see that too, right, Saamuki?”

“See what? See Lucy?” Rubbing my eyes, the figure is no longer there. Taking this as my mind messing with me, and as an indication, I’m not sane, I tell her to forget about it. We continue walking with my arms covered in goosebumps until Saamuki opens the door for me. A dimly lit room with flickering lights and a steel ladder that descended into a dark abyss greeted me. The last time I was here it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t frightening. Although, most of my attention was on keeping pace with everyone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The further we descended the colder it became. At one point I began to see my breath. The more rungs I grasped the stronger the frostbite on my hands became. The flames from my crown lit up the cramped space circling me and provided me heat as best it could. The trip down the ladder was long. It seemed like it was never going to end, at one point I thought it wasn’t, but a moment later I and then Saamuki finally stepped onto the basement floor. Three hallways stood before us. The middle of which the others and I used. Saamuki nudged me to the hallway right across from the one the group and I saw her and Cabelo walking out of the first time I was here. I follow her. We go through several convoluted twists and turns until we just need one more turn before we’re in front of the door. Both of us hid and waited behind the very wall we needed to get past for that to happen.

On the other side of the door, I can hear Cabelo talking to someone. “It looks like he’s still in there,” Saamuki reaffirmed my assumption. She said something else, but I ignored and tried to listen to what was being said on the other side of that door.

“Free the blood,” a voice growled.

The voice was about to say more, but Cabelo cut their conversation short. The door slid open and revealed Cabelo pressing two fingers between where I think is his nose. He turns and walks away and as he does the door begins to slide close. This was my chance. This was finally my chance to redeem myself after all the shit I’ve pulled. After all the utter embarrassing failures, this was my moment to shine. I grab the crown from my head and even with my mixed feelings of the spiritual realm I pray that it works. I pray that I’m able to make a staff. I didn’t get to see Licata’s staff for long, but it’s burned into the back of my mind. No pun intended. I imagine it and focus it on the crown. Heart dropping, eyes widening, I realize I did it, so I throw it. It all happened so fast. The staff comes barreling towards the crack with its flames trailing right behind it. One second longer and we’d alert Cabelo we’re here by the loud clanking noise it would’ve made if it fell to the ground. The staff slid through the sliver of space between the door and wall. With Cabelo out of sight and both of us smiling that our poorly put together plan was going to work out, after all, we headed towards the door.

Preventing the door from closing was the easy part. The hard part, at least for now, is bringing it all the way open. Saamuki grabbed the door’s edge and tried moving it. Sweat and a vein appeared on her forehead, but it came to no avail. If she couldn’t do it then there’s no way I could, but I got that sense again. I stepped forward and wrapped my fingers around the door’s edge. The room is pitch black. A breeze hit me. I thought it was just a breeze, but leaning in I realize it’s whispering.

“What are they-” I raised my hand for her to quiet. She does.

“Let our minds become one, child,” the very same voice I heard growling had hushed this into my ears. I don’t know what I did at that moment, but the next thing I know is that I’m holding the staff with my hood down and that the room is wide open. I tried swinging the staff around for us to see what’s in that room, but for some unknown reason, the room remains black. So, I look at Saamuki and see that she’s taken a step away from me. Something happened. Something clearly happened to my body a few moments ago. I was about to ask her what happened, but I noticed something warm around my eyes. Raising my free hand to them, I find blood on my fingers. My eyes are bleeding, but I’ve suffered no effect. I can see, but it’s not like there’s anything worth seeing. After a few more moments, though I have yet to digest what happened, we both head inside. Once we do the door behind us shuts. Both looking at each other, we gulp, and begin to regret our decisions. Laughter erupts. It echoes, making it seem like there are multiple beings inside this room besides us.

Was it bravery? Utter fear? Or plain stupidity? I call out to it, “Show yourself.”

Was it an act of chivalry? Knowing they had nothing to fear because we were at their mercy? Or to get a better view of the two people they’ve caused to become pale? The figure looked like a clergy. Their outfit is as black as the darkness around us but it’s also fitted with blood-red buttons and a sash wrapped around their waist. Horns sprouted out from their head and two sets of fangs peek out of their lips. They look holy, but at the same time appear ironically demonic. Also, they’re nearly transparent. “I have done what you’ve asked, yet here you are being ungrateful.” After his fingers comb his hair and he sighs, he bows. “I am The Speaker of a once-great society that helped millions with their knowledge, but in the end, we were thanked with desecration.”

“I’m sorry to hear about this. I truly am, but we don’t have time.”

“Time and time again I am proven that the living is impatient. I have already gotten word why you two have come to me and yes I do know how to bring someone back to life. However, it comes with a cost.”

“What do you mean by cost?”

“The woman you wish to bring back doesn’t have a body to go to. So, someone from the living must exchange their body in return.”

“What?”

“What are they saying?”

"We need someone to give up their body for your sister to be brought back because she doesn’t have a body to return to.” Saamuki doesn’t respond. So, I turn my attention back to The Speaker. “Can’t we just put the soul into a machine? Like a spaceship for instance.”

“You can try if you want to waste your time. It’ll be like forcing a cube in a triangular hole. You’d have a better time placing her in a potted plant.”

I was about to say something, but Saamuki opens her mouth to offer, “I’ll do it. I’ll give my body up.”

“Saamuki, what do you think you’re doing?”

“There’s no other choice. I have to give up my body for my sister. It’s the least I could do for her.”

“No, this isn’t the least you could do for her. This isn’t even the most. Saamuki, do you even hear yourself? You’re giving your life away. What about Mikrovos? You’re just going to leave him behind?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Saa-”

“I am because I already left him behind and now look what’s happened because of it. I left my sister behind and now look where we are. I have to do this.”

The Speaker smiles and moves their hand in front Saamuki. I didn’t like that smile. It told me that there’s something off about The Speaker. I’m about to swat her hand away from The Speaker, but the door slides open and reveals a surprised and slowly angering Cabelo. Flames are shot towards Saamuki. As stupid as it was, but I’m not new to stupidity, I shield Saamuki from it. She screams and I do too. I fall to my knees and watch my body begin to heal from the burns. Still, it hurts. I force myself back up and I swing the staff at Cabelo who’s charging towards us. He is thrown into the air and I think his back slams against a wall. As he gets back up, I ready myself for the fight ahead.

I thought I was ready, but with Cabelo suddenly appearing in front of me and swinging his fist into my gut he sends me flying. I hit the ceiling and then a wall. Getting up, I can hear a few of my ribs have cracked. Him getting all too close to Saamuki and The Speaker, both of which have alarmingly glowing blue eyes, I force myself up and throw the staff once again at him. He catches it in his hand and as he prides himself at my facial expression, I send my fist at him. It goes right through him. The smell of burning flesh hits my nose. It’s my flesh. My arm smolders right before my eyes. I scream as the flesh on the arm slowly tears and melts away. Again Cabelo is entertained by my pain. Through his smirk and as painful as it is, I manage to fling my hand out of him and rip the staff out of his grip with both my hands. He doesn’t have time to react. At that moment I became too fast for him as I saw all the dastardly people that have used that same type of smirk standing in front of me. I move the staff back. With venting rage, I shout as I’m about to thrust it into him, but I’m not fast enough as a blue beam of light beats me to it.

#202 #lost in space #writers #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writeblr #spilled ink #fiction #scifi #wlw #space

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lady-moonbroch · 5 years

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Mitsuhide x MC: “Captured in red threat”

Fandom: Ikémen Sengoku Kinktober: Day 17 || Bondage Genre: NSFW +18 Word Count: 1,293 Author’s note: Hello, it’s me, with a VERY cheesy title..please kill me. I am a little late yet again but I do hope you like this one too. My Mitsuhide bias is becoming more and more apparent, heh *hides* but I cannot help it, he’s a walking sin and I love him. Now, I owe the 16th day fanart (which I will deliver soon I hope), but I will surely meet you with another fic of my favorite CEO on the 20th. Hope you enjoy! 🎃

[The challenge] ~ @alloveroliver

It all began the day you decided to visit Azuchi’s kitsune in the castle dungeons. You were always interested to know how he…”encouraged” people to talk and the veil of mystery around the man himself only added fuel to your curiosity.

You bribed the guard and snuck as stealthily as you could manage in the chamber of the cells. You could hear Mitsuhide’s quite laughter filling the air and prisoners behind the bars cowering to a corner at the sound. You moved in further and carefully gazed inside an open cell, your eyes widening with surprise at the sight that greeted you.

Mitsuhide stood over the spy of a local damyo that was recently discovered to be plotting against Nobunaga. He was tied up with intricate knots and hung from the ceiling, upside down, discomfort and fear painting his features. And then…the crack of a whip and a muffed cry.

Mitsuhide struck the prisoner once more before removing the gag from his mouth. You were too lost in a daze to register the questioning taking place, eyes glued on the tall lean man with the dangerous gleam in his golden eyes, leather whip in hand. Your core clenched at the reminiscence of what you just saw and a quivering sigh escaped your lips before you could halt it. The kitsune’s attention was immediately drawn to your hiding spot and you raced to the exit to avoid being caught red-handed. Or so you hoped.

. . .

Later in the evening a maid came calling at your door, announcing lord Akechi’s invitation to his mansion. You swallowed hard. You knew a storm was brewing and prepared yourself for the consequences of your failure.

You heart was already thundering in your ribcage as you made your way to his manor and the closer you got the more painfully aware you were of the trouble in store for you.

You swear Kyubei could practically hear your heartbeat from standing right beside you. He gave you a reassuring and almost knowing smile before announcing your arrival and letting you in his lord’s room. You must have looked delightfully frightened for him because the moment his eyes began to observe you a throaty chuckle resounded in the room.

“Good grief, little mouse. You look positively startled. Am I really that daunting to behold? Or is it that you are abashed from your disastrous espionage this morning?”, he teased, a fox-like smile tugging at his lips.

You could only turn your face away in embarrassment as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. You turned your eyes upwards to avoid his mocking gaze and noticed a large hook on the middle of the ceiling. You gulped.

“M-Mi-tsuhide…why is there…a hook on the ceiling?”, you stuttered. As you turned your head back to face him you found him standing right in front of you, a long red rope clutched in his hands. He bend down slightly, his breath mingling yours as he looked at you through thick, white lashes.

“You seemed fascinated by my work this morning, I thought you’d might like a…taste. And punishment is much needed for this naughty little mouse, for spying and sticking it’s nose where it ought not to” he cooed as he grazed his fingertips on your trembling bottom lip. Your eyes closed shut and a sigh left your mouth at the wake of his touch, the embers of desire turning into a raging fire that scorched you from the inside. You looked up and smiled sweetly at him.

“I deserve punishment, my lord. Please, do whatever..is necessary” you sighed.

He chuckled softly, relishing the heavy fluctuation of your plush bosom that betrayed your excitement. His eyes remained trained on you, drinking at the sight of your half-lidded eyes glistening with lust and fervour, your cheeks blushing adorably in a light shade of pink and the reveal of the lush curves of your body as he pealed off the layers of your kimono.

He hummed with satisfaction as he marvelled at your delicate figure, making your heartbeat accelerate and your blush deepen. He knelt down and began to work the rope around your legs, complex knots gracing your supple flesh. You could only watch his beautiful face entranced, his eyes focused as his hands captured your body in red thread.

You gaped at his elaborate rope-work, you knew what shibari was but you have never had the chance to experience it yourself. But before you take pleasure in the pressure the rope applied on your most sensitive parts, your feet were suddenly lifted from the tatami floor. You were now hanging from the ceiling, your left leg stretched up and your right tightly bond with your thigh, your hands tied behind your back leaving you helpless at the mercy of his hands.

“What a sight to behold” he uttered, entranced and proud of his handwork.

He traced circular patterns on your skin, his skilful hands brushing erotically over every part of your skin, sending waves of electricity down your spine. He then began to leave teasing kisses down the length of your thigh, drawing closer to your pulsing core only to give his attention to your other thigh instead, straying from were you needed him to be. Frustration kept building up in sync with the growing need for friction and release, you couldn’t take it much longer.

“Mitsu-hide..please. I-“

His snickering cut your plead short. He kept caressing your curves, taking pleasure in the way you shivered for him.

“What a needy little girl you are. You are so wet already and I have barely touched you” he chuckled, changing your position to an upright one. You felt him pressing your body on his, his hands fondling your breasts and teasing your hardened nipples with his fingertips while he tugged and kissed your earlobe. Your breathy mewls filled the room, you longed to touch him yet your hands were bound and the feeling of his bulge pressing on your rear made you yearn for it all the more.

“My lord…I-I want more..than just this…I’m begging..y-you..”, you whimpered whilst trying to rub yourself on him and arouse him further. He clutched your hips, forcing you to cease your attempts.

“What is it that you beg for, my dear? Enlighten me…confide your desires to me...And I shall make them true” he whispered in your ear making your breath quiver at your throat.

“I..I want you to..touch me…and let me give you pleasure...I want you...so much, that I-I’d do..anything..” “Anything…at what price, princess?” he muttered as he came to face you, leaning down to take your nipple between his lips, sucking roughly to coax more of your delicious moans.

“Please…don’t torture me..fuck me, please…I need inside of me..I beg y-“ your words were swallowed by his feverish kiss, his tongue delving in your mouth, twisting and demanding dominance over yours. It was over too quickly you thought, yet you both panted heavily in need for air.

“More” you plead.

“Who am I to deny you, little mouse?” he whispered as he shrugged his own clothes off, capturing your lips in gentle kiss. When you opened your eyes there was a devilish glint swimming in his pools of gold.

“Might I suggest...we use employ this..as well?” he inquired while dragging the whip’s popper down your abdomen and halting right on your glistening clit, pressing it just enough to stimulate. You bit your bottom lip and chuckled at the hitching of his breath before you purred against his lips.

“Whatever gives you pleasure, my lord”

#alloverkinktober #ikemen sengoku #ikesen mistuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen smut #kinktober day 17 #claire's kinktoberfest #can i talk to you about our lord and saviour mitsuhide akechi?#i love this man so much #I'm biased i'm sorry #but not really #he's amazing #i need his route after the lasest event

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may-not-my-flesh-fail-on-me · 4 years

Text

An argent heart painted red.

Part 1:

Gazing upon the state of the once vibrant building in shambles melts the heart inside of a woman’s chest. The vibrant colors flickering across her eyes as she stares at the burning embers fluttering away from the bright flame. As much as she tries to deny it, her stomach twists in a knot and the heaviness of her body weight would trample her legs should she dare a movement.

Dizziness and nausea overwhelm the senses as she reaches out towards the burning debris once a shriveled cry echoes away from the decrepit canvas painted with fire. She cries out the boy’s name as her own enters her eardrums from the boy’s fatal shriek.

“—Excuse me, Miss? Are you Emilia Argentum?” The woman jerks herself awake from the sudden summoning. Quickly making it seem like she had not drifted off into a sleep state, she sits up straight on the chair in the waiting room of Shinra Headquarters.

“Yes, I am.” she speaks groggily but does her best to hide it behind a forced tone. The man who addresses her smiles welcomingly before motioning an arm towards the door.

“Very good, a Shinra advocate will see you in regards to your complaint.” Emilia finds that comment a bit straightforward but allows it to fade away as she realizes that is exactly what she intends to do. Complain.

With a bag draped over her shoulder, the headstrong woman grips it securely while heading into the Urban development wing of the Shinra building with only one thing in mind: to win her case and Gaia save anyone who gets in her way.

With many twists and turns distorting her legs as the man leads her to the destination of the Chairman, her mind stays impeccably focused on her goal. Entering the office, she meets a man who introduces himself as Reeve Tuesti and grips his hand firmly while they share a respectful handshake.

“Please take a seat,” he gestures towards the chair parallel to his own and when she follows his instruction, he speaks to the woman again. “How can I help you this morning?” Emilia respects the formal and friendly tone he emits and returns this with her own.

“My name is Emilia Argentum. I am part of the board of education and a teacher at the Sector 7 school for orphans from the ages five to seven.” Emilia pauses and Reeve gasps lightly to the new revelation, his hands folded twitching as he nods.

“Yes, I am aware of the many successes that school has given for the young youths of the slums. Very well done, I must say Miss. Argentum.” His smile demonstrates the affable nature of his soul clearly but it does not bring Emilia any contentment. Instead, the opposite occurs.

She does not return his notion with her own; her lips remain in a distinct frown in remembrance of the event that has taken place nearly a week prior to this meeting.

“If you know the school I work at, then you must also be aware that the funding for renovations to fix the damages of the plate-fall have been cut.” Reeve’s eyes fill to the brim with dismay and the smile that permeated his face melts into a similar frown that is on hers.

“No! That cannot be right—why, would the funds have stopped?— Ah, unless...” Emilia is distraught by this newfound information as it proves that he, also— the very man who is in charge of this department of Shinra— is not conscious of the dilemma that has conflicted Emilia, her coworkers and the children she teaches.

‘That changes matters to a much more challenging playing field.’ Emilia muses and in the blackest depths of her mind, she is reminded of who she lost that day.

She can still feel the heat of the flame, the choking scent of the blackening smoke and the cries of the boy she couldn’t save. Her incompetence stains her memory with black tar as she tried to enter the burning building but was unable to do so by the burning rubble. There was no way for her to enter and both she and the boy knew it. She watched, aghast as the boy’s flesh singed while holding his hand as his consciousness slowly faded away.

“—Miss?” Emilia blinks away the terror to find Reeve’s tender eyes watching hers carefully. “Are you alright, Miss. Argentum?” The woman clears her aching throat and complies by nodding her head once, doing all she can to keep the tears in the corners of her eyes at bay.

“Yes, I was just... Thinking of a boy I lost in the burning wreckage of the school your President cut the funds to assure its renovations.” Reeve’s sympathetic expression wounds Emilia’s heart as she feels guilty for mentioning the boy’s death as a tactic to achieve what she needs to be done but every action she takes to improve the status of the broken institution will be for him.

“I am truly sorry that you lost someone, Miss. Argentum.” Reeve hesitates, as if in deep thought before continuing quietly. “I’m sure many... Lost their lives to the destruction of the plate.” The two remain silent, a way to show respect for the ones lost in that fatal act caused by the very corporation housed in this building Emilia resides in and little does Emilia know, Reeve holds even more guilt than she does. Granted, she lost someone who was close to her but he has the blood of every single person he couldn’t save on his hands by not being able to stop the President’s ultimate decision of dropping the plate.

“He was six.” Emilia blurts without a thought, feeling secure in this man’s presence enough to give him the details of the young boy who died as she held his hand in hers. “His name was Troy, and oh was he a troublemaker.” Emilia giggles somberly, Reeve returning the comment with an attentive but condoling smirk. “He was so kind when he put his mind to it though. He would always give me flowers he plucked from a flower girl’s garden and oof, he got a stern talking to by her let me tell you.” Reeve and Emilia share a small fit of laughter but sadly, Emilia now gets to when he heard his cry. “His screaming echoed through the rubble and at first I didn’t even hear him. In the debris, I saw his burned skin reaching out of the burning building. I tried my hardest to get him out but it was futile. The fallen metal shards had locked him in with the fire.” Reeve finds his hands trembling to this story. Out of dread, as he knew the consequences but still could’ve tried harder to act against his fellow leaders, but also out of anger. Rage for his failure to intercept the Turks. Animosity for the President who ordered the drop in the first place. “When he took my hand, he said ‘don’t worry Miss. ‘Tum. I’m going to return to the Planet now. I’ll miss you.’” Reeve’s trembling has gotten to the point where he needs to remove his hands from the desk to hide them under the table lest he risks her seeing his regret. Emilia’s head lowers towards her lap and when she twists her hand around to gaze at the sears from the boy’s own burning skin left on hers as scars, she quietly finishes her statement. “He died after that sentence. I felt his burning hand lose its grip and become lifeless in the hold of my fingers.” Reeve is unaware of what to reply to the hurting woman despite feeling a sense of familiarity with her in this current situation.

Hesitantly, he utters soft, concerned syllables.

“I truly am sorry that you lost Troy. You should not have had to go through that, nor should the boy have lost his life especially at such a young age.” His jawline almost pierces his skin as he knows what he unfortunately must say next. “It pains me to say this, considering what you have just informed me of, but you will not be receiving the funds needed to renovate the schoolhouse.” Emilia’s head shoots upward to stare into the man’s brown eyes with bewilderment.

“What!? Why!?” Reeve is quick to disperse the truth to this woman as he feels she deserves nothing but exactly that for what she has gone through.

“It is because the President of the Shinra Corporation—“

“—is dead.” A new voice enters the room, making the two seated at the desk shift their heads towards the source. When Emilia sets her sights on the man who stands in the doorway of Reeve’s office, his sapphire eyes have already become acquainted with hers. “I overheard your story and I am interested in your conflict. Why don’t you follow me to my office.” The man uses an authoritative tone so close to the one Emilia adorns when approaching a meeting done with her fellow members on the board of education and once discerned, she points out he must also be a high official of this company. “That is not objected by you, I assume?” The man’s eyes raise to address Reeve who stands on his feet for a reason unknown to the woman.

“Of course, Mr. President!” Emilia’s perplexed gaze moves between the two men but holds on the President’s once his eyes latch onto hers again, painting her with a look of affirmation. “It was lovely meeting you Miss. Argentum. I truly hope you’re able to get whatever you need.” His sense of honesty gives Emilia a semblance of courage she needs to manifest in order to succeed. Another handshake is shared between the two before the woman follows the new President of the Shinra Corporation.

@quicksilver-fair for you love ☺️

#this is a little story for a buddy of mine #part 1 #i just had to make this sad af also #i legit felt tears bro #sfw i promise #mostly just talkin #hope you enjoy!!#final fantasy 7 remake #story #OC emilia argentum #OC x whooooo~?

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zimisnotdefective · 5 years

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FrankenPAK AU - CLOSED for destroyer-immortalizer

@destroyer-immortalizer

〘🔻〙: The day had been rather unproductive. Zim had gone to skool, had been chased through the field behind the school at lunch by the Dib, and had come home, a little scuffed but no worse for wear. It was a relatively usual day on this horrible hell-planet.

Friday was always the day when Zim set aside some time in the evening to send a transmission to the Tallest, to relay all of his newfound information and current mission status to his beloved leaders. This friday was no different. As he shrugged off his disguise and put it away for another day, he made his way down into his base’s main chamber. There, he stepped off the elevator, and approached the large screen that covered most of one of the room’s walls. A long console panel ran it’s bottom length, glimmering with buttons and small screens. With a few taps of gloved claws, the screen flickered to life, washing the alien in a soft pink glow.

“Computer!” he hailed his loyal base AI, as he stood back, holding his hands behind himself, “Establish a link with the Tallest. QUICKLY! I have much to tell them!”

With a groan, the computer complied, and the daunting screen began to sizzle with static. After a few moments, a connection was reached, and the tiny faux-Invader’s small stature was projected in front of his taller leaders. Zim rose his antennae in salute, a proud smile on his face as he addressed them,

“My dear Tallest, it is a pleasure to stand before you once again. Zim does take such pride in our weekly communications. I trust you have been well?”

Both royal IRKEN sat, bored expressions plastered on their long faces. Purple was slurping obnoxiously on a soda, while Red rested his cheek in his clawed hand.

“I’m sure you do, Zim. I’m suuure you do.” Red drawled, unimpressed by the drone’s formalities.

“Hey! What’s that weird sound?” Purple interjected, attention diverted momentarily from his drink.

“Eh? What sound?”

Zim’s antennae quirked, and he listened carefully to his surroundings. He visibly strained, damaged appendages wiggling slightly, as if grasping at the air for the very soundwaves. It was then that it hit him. His PAK had begun to make a familiar whirring sound; the telltale signs of mechanical stress, and a very good indicator that it may become overheated. Zim went white. How had he not realized?! He had been dealing with the issue for so long, the simple sound no longer registered with him. It was the heat that always alerted him, not the sound.

“Eh, nothing to worry about, my Tallest! Just my... newest INGENIOUS PLAN to take over the stupid Earth-monkies!” Zim lied with a forced smile, raising his antennae once more.

The Tallests did not seem convinced. Red leaned forwards slightly, and narrowed his crimson eyes. His own antennae raised, and he pointed a long claw at the screen.

“Your PAK is smoking.”

Zim could already feel it. The sickening heat had begun to radiate from the device drilled into his spine. He swallowed hard, sleek black stalks snapping down to lay flat against his head. This could not be happening. He had come so far, had so many calls without showing even a single sign of a PAK overheat, but now! Now that streak was ruined, and his Tallest could plainly see the defect in action.

“Oh! Er... is it? I hadn’t noticed...!” Zim forced a toothy smile, and a nervous laugh, “It uh... must just be... uh...”

“That looks a lot like a central cooling system malfunction.” Red spoke, his brow furrowed into a scowl, “You’ve never reported any PAK malfunctions to us. How long has this been happening, Zim?”

“I— My Tallest, my PAK has never—!” the defective grimaced as the metal began to sear against his skin. The expression did not go unnoticed.

Purple leaned over and, cupping a clawed hand around his mouth, whispered something to his counterpart. Red’s antenna twitched, picking up the other’s words as a smirk spread across his face. As the two sat back once more, Red began again,

“Remind me, Zim. The PAK you were given came from batch 90-sub6, did it not?”

“Y— Yes, my Tallest. The same— same batch as you.”

“Well, then. Why didn’t you say that earlier? That batch of PAKs actually had a massive planet-wide recal, due to faulty cooling systems.” the Tallest explained, thouth his expression didn’t match his words, “Isn’t that interesting?”

“It— It did?”

“It did!” Purple replied enthusiastically, before he was pushed back once more by his partner.

“Even your mighty Tallest had their PAKs upgraded to sub7. Everyone with a sub6 did, Zim. Though, I suppose you didn’t, did you?” he tried to hide his smile, “Luckily for you, we have a downloadable patch that should easily repair the horrendously overlooked malfunction for you.”

“Really?!” Zim could barely believe what he was hearing. All this time, he had been suffering, believing his PAK’s struggles to be due to defect. Now, it was all clear to him! It wasn’t his fault at all! It was the fault of some idiotic PAK-manufacturing drone, who had already no doubt been erased from the collective. No wonder Zim had never heard of this! “Oh, thank you, my Tallest! Where can I aquire this patch?”

By the instruction of the Tallest, Zim plugged his PAK into the main uplink port that would allow his leaders to send a digital upload straight into the device. This method was used mostly in dire situations, when an Invader needed to send all of their data back to the Massive in the case of PAK failure. Though, cases like this arose now and then, and the Tallest would even grant some highly productive Invaders free upgrades through the uplink. This was exactly what Zim assumed was happening.

How wrong he was.

The moment the data had finished downloading into the little life support device, the translucent pink plates that covered it’s sensitive inner workings exploded outwards in a shower of sparks, propelling the tiny alien forwards, and into the console. He fell back, the wind knocked out of him, as the device continued to sputter.

“My— My Tallest—!” Zim croaked, clutching his middle as he pulled himself to his knees, “S— Something is wrong—!” The two faces of his leaders towered over him as they broke into hysterical laughter.

“You really think— you really think we would let damaged PAKs be sent out to SMEETs, Zim?!” Red choked out through laughter.

“Our own PAKs, too! A Tallest with a defective PAK!” Purple wheezed, “You really are an idiot!”

“Ooh, watch this! It’s just getting to the good part!”

Zim lifted his head to look up at his leaders, magenta eyes full of fear and confusion. They had... planned this? This was a trick?

Before he could utter a single word, another burst of electric debris came spewing forth from the tiny device, along with cracking bolts of free energy. A strangled cry bubbled up and out of the small IRKEN’s throat, and he hunched. Small pink droplets fell onto the hard metal floor in front of him as he gasped. The same pink was beginning to stain the back of his uniform, green skin cut by shrapnel.

“I-I... I do not... understand...” Zim croaked, trying once more to look up at the screen.

The Tallests had stopped their laughter.

“You’re a joke, Zim.” Red spoke, his voice low, “You’ve always been a joke. A defective. You should have been erased years ago, during your Trial. But you didn’t. Not even sending you off on a fake mission into space was enough to kill you. You weren’t even supposed to find that stupid planet!”

“But... I...”

“Why couldn’t you have just died off then, Zim? Hmm? Do you like torturing us?”

“Well? Do ya? Huh?” Purple chimed in.

“N— No, I—“

“You must, seeing as you’re still not dead.”

Another spray of sparks, and Zim slipped onto the ground. He lay flat on his belly, gasping and spasming as his PAK self destructed.

“As much as I’d love to sit here and watch you die, I’ve got better things to do. Don’t call us again.”

With that, the screen went dark.

—-

A swirl of pink and purple appeared in the middle of a luxurious living area, a strange portal that seemed to pulse with life. It grew in size, creating a buzz of static as something fell through, out onto the floor. In an instant, it shrank back into nonexistence.

Zim wasn’t even sure if Simaris would be here or not. More likely than not, the Cephalon would be down in the middle of the Sanctuary, seated atop his heightened throne. He wasn’t even sure if we was on the right Relay, but he had no way of knowing. All he could do was lay there on the floor, his PAK sparking and sizzling with loose spikes of lightning. Pink oozed out onto the pristine flooring, covering it in a sticky mess that smelled odly of metal. The Cephalon would have to find him at some point.

Right?

#[this is SO LONG I'M SORRY ASDFGHJK]#[can you tell I am......... EXCITED.....]#〘🔻〙: ᴵ ᴮᴸᴱᵂ ᵁᴾ ᴹᴼᴿᴱ ᵀᴴᴬᴺ ᴬᴺʸ ᴼᵀᴴᴱᴿ ᴵᴺⱽᴬᴰᴱᴿ! ║〘 ZIM 〙#〘🔻〙: ᴴᴱʸ! ᴴᴱʸ! ᴹʸ ᵀᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᴬᴸᴸᴵᴵᴵˢᵀ! ║〘 TALLEST 〙#〘🔻〙: ᵂᴼᴿˢᴱ ᵀᴴᴬᴺ ᴬ ᴰᴱᶠᴱᶜᵀ ║〘 FRANKENPAK VERSE 〙#〘🔻〙: People:〘 destroyer-immortalizer 〙

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ghosttoasts · 5 years

Text

Healing

Part one

Time sucked in a sharp breath as he awoke so suddenly. He took deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm himself from his night terror without waking the others. It’s been about a week since he turned into a child. He’s returned to his normal mentality, acting as if nothing was amiss but..it’s been getting more difficult to keep that mask in place.

As much as he doesn’t want to admit, handling his traumas and memories as a child was proving to be much more difficult than usual. Perhaps it was because he was in the body of a ten year old, perhaps it was because everything hurt so much more because of the same reason. He sighs through his nose and slowly sits up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. The distant memory of Navi comforting him during nightmares came to his mind but he quickly pushed it aside. No. He would not give in to his grief any more. He had grieved long enough.

He looks around and feels a small bit of relief settle in his chest when he saw that everyone else was accounted for and asleep, all except Legend who had taken the middle shift. He rubs his eyes tiredly and yawns before looking up and freezing. The moon. It looked so full and so close. He felt his breathing begin to quicken as he stared up at the moon with terrified blue eyes.

He could see it as if it was happening. The moon, with its anguished expression, coming down without mercy. Being pulled out of the sky as if it were an apple being picked from a tree. He could almost feel the earth rumble in protest. The rumbles growing more powerful and more frequent the closer the moon got. He could hear the laughter of the Skull Kid. Of Majora. Laughing at his failures. Laughing at how he let everyone die. Laughing about how he had taken Darmani’s identity. How he had been too late to save Mikau, no matter how fast he had gotten to the shore. He had always been too late.

Finally, he could hear the Happy Mask Salesman. Could hear his usual greeting when he had been too late. When he had let the moon fall. The man would look at him with that same empty look and utter the same words every time. “You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you.” The one man who knew what he was going through. The one man who could have offered him someone to lean on, some sort of help, would simply brush him off because all he cared about was that damn mask.

Time whimpers as he wipes his eyes. No. He would not cry. He’s cried enough. He’s mourned for more than half of his life. All he can remember doing as a child is mourning. Mourning the loss of his friends, his family. Mourning the Great Deku Tree. Mourning his lost childhood. Mourning the loss of his freedom. Mourning the loss of an entire world. Mourning the loss of his most precious friend. It seemed all he was good for was sacrificing his life and mourning for those he’s loved.

He sniffs before freezing when he sees something in his peripheral vision. Upon turning around, he lets out a shaky breath of relief when he realizes it was just Legend settling down against a stone just outside the camp. He shook his head and ran his hands through his head. He needed to get a grip. He wasn’t a baby. He could handle his emotions.

He carefully tugs on his boots but doesn’t secure them, letting them fall a little as he stands. He picks at his fingers as he makes his way towards Legend, his too big boots making his presence known. Once he gets to Legend, he hesitates before sitting down. He crosses his legs and plays with his tunic as they sit in shared silence. Occasionally, they would hear an owl hoot or the soft buzzing of bugs. A gentle breeze blew by, the scent of nature in it. Time breaths it in and sighs, relaxing ever so slightly.

“Never took you as the type to have night terrors.” Legend spoke after a few more moments of silence.

“How did you know it was a night terror?” Quizzed the smaller, avoiding eye contact with Legend.

“You don’t have a shift tonight and you aren’t the type to just wake up for no reason. If there were monsters, we would currently be defending the sleeping beauties behind us.” The traveller drawls, the hint of a smirk on his face.

Time cracked a small smile oh amusement at what Legend had said before sighing and leaning back against the stone, gazing up at the night sky. “Yes..I did have a night terror.” He confirms as he gently makes his booted feet touch.

—

Legend hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t request an elaboration. He knew that Time should talk about his childhood traumas, he himself has faced things he would rather not remember. But keeping things bottled up will only lead to something more dangerous. Bottled up grief and anger will lead to drastic and dangerous actions and thoughts.

As he was about to suggest that Time get a drink of water then go back to bed, a soft voice began to fill the void of silence. Not just a voice, a song filth the air, soft and melodic. His surprise grew when he discovered that it was Time who was singing. He relaxed and listened, letting the melody was over him.

“Day to night, dark to light,

Fall the sands of time.

Let the years like the gears

Of a clock unwind” Sang the child, his voice was light but it also held a sorrow and heaviness.

This tune sounded familiar to him but it didn’t know why. He hesitates before opening his pouch and pulling out his Ocarina. He closed his eyes and listened to the lyrics, trying to map out the melody in his mind.

“In your mind walk through time

Back to better days.

Memories, like a dream,

Wash your tears away.”

Legend took a breath before beginning to play his Ocarina along to Time’s singing. He heard the boy falter and was about to stop when the singing continued. He may not be the best with feelings, but he could tell that this song meant something to the other. He didn’t know what, but he could feel it.

“Like a star in the sky,

Darkness can’t reach you.

Light the night, joy is light,

Till the new dawn.”

As the song continued on, he felt as though he were lighter. That his soul felt soothed and relaxed for once, something he hasn’t felt since he was a child. This must have been one of the magic songs Malon had told them of. The songs that haunted Time from one of his journeys when he was young. But this song did not feel menacing nor malevolent. It felt calming.. felt as though it were healing.

“Cast away your old face,

Let go your spite.

With this mask I’ll ask,

To borrow your light.”

They continued like this, for how long? Neither of them know. They had both succumbed to the peaceful verses of the song and had allowed it to guide them through the melody. It felt as though they were in their own world, their own bubble that was separated from the rest of the world around them. Nothing mattered in this moment. Not the Goddesses, not the Triforce, not the spirit that binds them together, not even the shadows that seemed to watch their every move. The only thing that mattered was the flow of the melody and their feelings.

“Darkness is fading now,

It’s not too late.

Three days is all you have,

To change your faith.”

The song soon came to its end. Legend held the note on his Ocarina for an extra beat before letting that fade as well and they were left in silence once more. They both took their time to catch their breaths. Legend looked at his Ocarina before putting it back in his pouch. He cracked his knuckles before looking over at the child.

“What was that song?” He asks curiously yet keeping his tone quiet, not wanting to calm atmosphere to leave.

“The song of healing..I learned it during my journey to Termina..” The child answered after a few moments. His tone hinting that he did not wish to discuss what or where Termina was.

Legend nods, satisfied with the answer. He hesitates before speaking. “I know I’ve been...colder to you. That I’ve been holding resentment towards you for what happened to me.” He winces. He was never good with feelings. “What I’m trying to say is that..I’m always here. I may not be the best with feelings but..I’m a decent listener.” He finishes, shifting.

He doesn’t see it, but Time smiles a bit brighter, his posture relaxing. The smaller sets a hand on Legends knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. A silent thank you as well as a silent invitation of the same offer. Time understood how difficult it could be for some to share their feelings or traumas. He would never pressure any of them to share their experiences but he would always be open to helping them if they needed it.

Legend feels himself relax as well and watches the landscape before them. He holds back a yawn, a subtle reminder at his late it actually was. He sets a hand on Times shoulder as he looks down at him and gestures towards his bedroll with a nod.

“Head back to bed, it’s getting late and you’ll need all the energy you can get tomorrow. I don’t wanna be stuck with carrying you on my back.”

—

Time snorted at that and rolled his eyes before nodding. “Alright. Good night, Legend.” He hums. He hesitates before hugging the other tighter. He felt Legend tense before slowly relaxing and wrapping his left arm around him.

“You’re welcome, kid..” The hero mumbles and gives Time a gentle squeeze before pushing him away jokingly. “Now go to bed, brat or I’ll take ya to your bedroll myself.” He threatens with a relaxed grin.

Time laughs softly and nods before standing and going back to his bedroll, yawning softly as he did. He sat back down on it and slowly took off his boots, his eyes growing heavy with sleep.

He felt grateful that Legend didn’t push him away nor call him over emotional. He had never expected Legend out of all of them to comfort him as he did. His mind wondered why Legend could play the Song of Healing but he didn’t wish to dwell on it. Perhaps it was passed down or perhaps the other had a skill of picking up melodies.

He curls up on his bedroll and brings the blanket over himself, clutching his blanket tightly as he watched the small fire dance lazily. Even though he didn’t talk about his night terror nor of his experience in Termina, he felt better. Felt lighter. The memories were still there, they still plagued his mind like an itch that won’t go away. But..they were distant now. Quieter. Easier to push aside for the time being. He would tell them one day. One day he’ll explain everything.

As his eyes fell closed, the melody of Healing echoed in his mind, becoming a soothing lullaby that lulled him to sleep. A melody that he once loathed because it would mean death. A melody that usually meant an end of a life now had the potential to be something more. To perhaps be the start of a new era. An era peace. An era of healing. Not just for him, but for everyone else.

With those final thoughts, the child of Time fell into the clutches of sleep, no longer followed my nightmares or traumas.

#linked universe #wild link #four link #hyrule link #legend link #linkeduniverse #sky link #time link #twilight link #warrior link #wind link #music #majoras mask #happy mask salesman

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madaraism · 6 years

Text

Hestia - Part V of Himeros

Ἑστία ; Of family, the home, domesticity and the state.

A/N: We’ve reached halfway! Thank you so much for the ongoing love and support for this series – I still can’t believe I’ve made it so far myself. Please read the previous parts here:

Part I – Himeros // Part II – Algea // Part III – Aletheia // Part IV – Apate // Part VI - Achlys

Summary: The damage done in one year can sometimes take ten years to repair, let alone the damage done in four.

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Rating: Mature Trigger Warning: Sensitive topics regarding pregnancy.

Words: 7023

Inspirations for this chapter – Naked by James Arthur

Tag List: @hhiggs @theroyalweisme @itzmequeenb @alicars @cocomaxley @blackcatkita @trianiasti @viktoriapetit @umccall71 @topsyturvy-dream @kawairinrin @jayjay879 @bobasheebaby @choiceswreckedme @queencatherynerhys @laniquelove @philiasperanza @hopefulmoonobject @mfackenthal @hellospunkiebrewster @boneandfur @gracepedia @jared2612 @jamielea81 @ashtonmore @alwaysmychoices @hamulau @alwaysthebestchoice @pbchoicesobsessed @creatingjana @morriganswife

“…I only need you, Mom.”

Embarrassed, shame and guilt.

It is an odd mixture of emotions, but Riley feels every single one of them so strongly. Her heart clenches and she can feel her insides do countless flips. She is almost unwilling to look at Liam who stands a few steps behind her.

She wants to get angry at Levi, but she can’t bring herself to.

He sits so innocently in front of her, mindlessly reading, flipping the page every now and then, his finger following the words as he reads.

“But Levi,” Riley starts, her voice is small and weak, breaking at the end of his name, “Liam is your dad…”

She feels like she is almost pressuring the boy, to force him to accept the idea of another man coming into their lives so suddenly, so abruptly.

But he is reluctant and refusing; building a brick wall to protect himself from the very idea. His finger pauses on the page again, gaze remaining on the book itself, unmoving, before he finally looks up at Riley after a moment of contemplation.

“…You’re my mommy because you were with me the whole time…” Levi pauses, his eyes moving back down, “If he is my daddy then why wasn’t he with you? Or me?”

Every word that he utters hits her like arrows through her very being.

And Riley questions her every motive, her every action that she has done since the day she decided to leave Cordonia. Her heart is heavy and she can barely feel the air entering and leaving her lungs, her body is shaking and she cannot control the tears rolling down her face as she stares at her son.

Oh, my poor Levi.

My poor, poor Levi.

…What have I done?

She has unknowingly broken Levi by creating their own little bubble in a bustling city. One that was self-maintained, self-sufficient and self-caring. The outside world didn’t matter to her as she took each day as an almost impossible hurdle and she had unknowingly passed that on to him.

The guilt she has is immeasurable. It weighs her down like anchors in the ocean. She struggles to breathe; her voice and sense of self has lost all meaning.

All that she wanted to do was to protect him, to give him a life full of happiness and laughter.

She thought leaving Cordonia would be the right way – the only way to achieve this. Yet here they are, a crying heap of a mess on the cold floor once again.

Was it the wrong choice?

She finds herself hugging his small figure, eyes clenched shut with her mouth open in silent agony. Levi sits there, taking it in as he always does, his arms trying their best to wrap themselves around his sobbing mother.

His words come out automatically.

“It’ll be okay, Mom. It’ll be okay. I’m here…” His voice is quiet and he lets her cry.

Mature.

Brave.

But oh, so burdened.

Liam’s jaw is clenched. His lips are trembling as he watches the scene unravel before his very eyes.

He feels his stiff body come loose, moving on its own to be next to Riley and Levi. He collapses onto his knees as he brings the both of them close into his arms, into his chest. He had wanted to respect their bond as mother and son, to respect his son’s wishes and allow him the time to get used to him as a father, but to see his son…

To see such a small boy who is nearly five, taking on the role as an adult, as the protector, as the nurturer…

His chest is tight.

His arms, strong and toned, hugs them closer, wanting to keep the two of them safe.

His chest is heaving.

His tears reflect the guilt that he feels; the guilt of his absence that caused this to happen, the pain in his body constricting his lungs as his mind counts the number of times that this scene could have possibly played in this very apartment – perhaps even in this very spot.

How broken Riley must be.

How often something like this must’ve happened for their son to be so calm and nurturing in such a traumatic situation.

And Liam thinks of how much of a failure he is as he weeps with them.

Failure as a King who has unknowingly pushed the love of his life away with his titles and rules.

Failure as a ruler who could not produce an heir with his lawful Queen.

Failure as a lover who could not protect their other half from countless scandals and lies and from the cruelness of the world.

Failure as a father who could not provide his son a joyous, caring and nurturing start to life.

And for what?

For duty?

But at what cost?

He recalls the night that he told Riley about Constantine and Regina pushing for an heir.

He recalls himself avoiding her eyes, avoiding the topic of leadership, of ruling, of duty and of abdication.

He would’ve abdicated in a heartbeat if she asked him to.

But he didn’t even give her the chance.

…A child should not be in a position to look after an adult. Ever.

Yet his son. His own son, not even five…

Levi is a child leading a broken adult.

Riley is strong in the face of the world, but behind closed doors she will let the tears slip. She will let the pain envelop her in silent, private moments, no matter how secret, no matter how hidden, it was at the expense of Levi.

Liam’s lips still tremble as he tries to bite back his tears. He had to be strong; if not for himself then for Riley and Levi.

He uses his touches and caresses to soothe Riley – it was one that he realises when he looks down at his son, that Levi does as well. Their hands rub in the shape of an oval along Riley’s back – mimicking, mirroring, in their nature.

Her tears have stopped but her breath still stutters as she tries to calm herself. She swallows, a whimper escaping her lips as she tries to be strong.

As if it is a routine, Riley looks into Levi’s eyes, almost as if she’s searching for something. When she sees his gentle smile, she feels slightly relieved. “I’m sorry, Levi…”

She means to apologise for crying, to apologise for not telling him about Liam, for not being able to give him the best start in life because of how things happened between them. Her apology seemed simple. Small words with such a heavy meaning behind it.

Levi just grins, his voice is sheepish. “My book is all wet, Mom.”

Riley’s smiles as she rubs the clinging tears away from her lashes, “Well, we can go to the library and-”

“I…” Liam starts, his hands now by his side. “I got Levi something.”

His walk over to the dining table is brisk and he comes back with a book which he places it on Levi’s lap.

“…The Little Prince…” Levi reads; he is fluent but requires the aid and guide of his finger. His love for reading has allowed his skills to surpass other children of his age.

Riley nibbles on her lip when she sees the title and she shoots a worried look over to Liam; she hopes – she begs that he wouldn’t tell him just yet. It was too soon, too big of a change.

“It is a fantastic novella, so beautifully written. It tells of different messages and morals for the reader.” Liam is fond of the book, Levi can tell.

The boy is almost shy as his eyes trails over the cover of the book, instead of meeting his father’s face.

He mumbles out of the politeness that his mother has taught him, “Thank you…”

And Liam feels his heart become warm at the small sign of acceptance; a long journey to go, he knows, but a small win paves a way for a bigger victory.

“I can read it to you… at bed time if you would like…?” Liam is hesitant in his words, his voice slow, testing.

But the distance is still there. The awkwardness, the unfamiliarity, the fear of stepping into the unknown…

His son shakes his head ever so slightly – he is quiet again, a hand clutching onto the hem of his mother’s shirt.

Riley smiles gently and tries to reassure Liam, “Maybe later? We’re still working through Matilda at the moment…”

Liam gives a curt nod, his eyes still lingering on Levi. He is so desperate to shower him with love, with his hugs, with his knowledge and countless stories of his life, his life with Riley, his life as a prince, his life in Cordonia and as their King…

So many stories he wants to tell, so many words of wisdom, places to show his son… his kingdom… their kingdom.

He feels the tug at his heart again as Riley picks up Levi to go about their nightly routine in preparation for bedtime. Liam’s eyes follow their every move.

He is so envious of the connection that Riley has with Levi but also so admiring and in awe; the way that Levi rests his head on Riley’s shoulder, eyes drooping; the way Riley would press kisses to his cheek, her fingers running through his hair.

Liam sees how the two of them are so fluent and in tempo with each other, how the world revolves just around them in the bubble that they have created, and he sits there. His presence alone is like a sharp knife or an ever-curious cat, peering and prying, trying to find a way in, to burst that metaphorical bubble.

His brain is muted after the stress of events from today. A blank, quiet void.

He finds himself in front of the bookshelf – books upon books sandwiched together, most of them old and worn out like they have managed to survive through countless of garage sales. Their binders torn but still somehow serving as a solid skeleton for its pages, hanging on by just a thread. There are picture books and there are short novels for children, and Liam wonders just how many of these has Riley read to Levi, and how many of these can Levi read by himself.

He discovers a photo album and he pours himself over each page, drinking thirstily over the lost moments. He sees pictures of his son as a newborn and pictures of him achieving various milestones; clasping his tiny fingers around Riley’s index; holding his own bottle as he drinks while he peers curiously into the camera; his son crawling along the floor to reach a toy; his first steps without any support; him reading so calmly and at peace with himself at what looked like a public library and a recent one, where Levi sits in the middle of bath time bubbles with a displeased frown on his face.

Liam is silent, losing himself in a series of thoughts that are less than coherent. His eyes are unblinking but he knows he is crying.

And he is so unbelievably sad.

Sad at how Riley took on herself this entire journey for the sake of protecting him when it should be him protecting her and their son.

Sad at how he will never be able to rewind to retrieve and witness these moments as if he was there. Never to share laughter and pride at the things Levi has said or has done.

Sad at how his role as King has chained him into doing something that he would regret for the rest of his life, tormenting him each waking, breathing moment. Knives in his heart when he would remember Madeleine and Regina breathing down his neck to remind him of his duty to his country.

And the guilt.

Oh, the guilt.

“…I took those with the hope that if you ever found out about Levi, or Levi ever asks about you when he is older… that you would want to know everything about him.” Riley speaks from behind him, her voice quiet and gentle.

Levi must be asleep already.

He turns to look at her, a sombre expression on his face.

He places the album down and steps in, his hands on either side of her face as he presses his lips to hers.

He isn’t quite sure how to express what he feels in words, so he tries to translate his thoughts through his kiss.

Liam’s lips are slow against Riley’s. So soft and so gentle, tenderly moving against hers whilst his brows furrow in mixed sadness and frustration. His thumb, sweeping across her cheek repeatedly. His heart is heavy and so full of guilt, he feels almost undeserving to be kissing her.

Undeserving to have missed her presence, to have her body against his and to have her kissing him back.

It is an innocent, intimate moment.

His breath is shaking when he pulls away. His body shudders against her touch and he pulls her closer into his arms to steady himself.

Liam’s eyes are half-lidded and laced with tears. His eyes are full of sadness, remorse and a strong sense of guilt. When he speaks, his voice is broken.

“Riley, I… I apologise that I was not a good enough King to protect you.” He swallows, pausing, thinking. “I apologise that I could not have been a better father for Levi. That I wasn’t there to be with you every second of the way for the past few years.”

She wants to speak, but he stops her.

In every single way, he is still hurt from her words earlier when they were in Central Park.

But truth never promised to come sugar-coated. It never promised it wouldn’t hurt to hear.

He is still hurt and angry for missing out on Riley’s pregnancy and Levi’s upbringing, but he understands her reasons for leaving Cordonia, as upsetting and difficult it may have been for the both of them.

His voice lowers even further, eyes now focusing on anywhere but her own, “And I’m sorry… for what happened with Tariq, with Madeleine… Regina and my father’s expectations… I’m so sorry for not being able to do anything and for putting you in such a position, my love…”

He feels himself break before her. His nostrils flare and his jaw is squared as he forces his eyes to remain open, letting the tears blur his vision.

And she feels herself break at his words. Her hand is against his own cheek, mirroring his own. Her fingers caress his peppered stubble and her thumb reaches up to wipe away fleeing tears.

“I never once blamed you, Liam. You are king, but you are not God.” Riley forces him to meet her gaze, and the regret that she sees in his eyes makes her weep for him.

“We were put in an uncompromising situation that we both hated and yes, it was hell. Yes, things aren’t how we would like it to be, but I never, ever, once blamed you. We can’t help that shit happens but I never blamed you and I never stopped loving you, Liam.”

A broken smile; but she can see her words mending him slowly.

She treasures his presence around her and the feeling of his lips meeting her forehead. His voice is soft and she smiles at the warmth of his words.

“…I never stopped loving you too, Riley Brooks.”

Over the next few days, they enjoy and relish in the company of each other, but they are cautious and slow at the freedom presented.

Their familiarity was of hushed, heated and stolen moments, but now their lives is at their own liberty and choice.

The moments they spend on Riley’s uncomfortable couch is civil as they reminisce over the past years with wine. With the topic of a secret son and attempts to reproduce an heir off their shoulders, they explore other conversational topics.

They discuss of their current relationship in each other’s lives and where they stand with each other now that Madeleine is out of the picture.

And Liam shares his hopes of Levi accepting his role as crown prince; a future that they share together as a happy and loving family, one where Riley is able to stand by his side in public, hand in hand, to be able to share loving glances at each other without secrecy, for her to stand by his side and rule together as Cordonia’s King and Queen.

He shares how Levi’s role in Cordonia will provide stability in his country, and while it may seem so unbelievably unreal at the moment, it can be so easily achieved if Riley were to leave with him back to Cordonia with Levi.

It seems almost like a farfetched utopian dream for Riley.

So simple, so easy, yet so unrealistic.

She has grown since the time she worked at the bar as the server for Liam’s then-bachelor party.

The years of endless trials and hardship has hardened her, the scars that she carries in her heart, the dirt in her name and Levi’s very presence and upbringing a repercussion of her childish naïvety back in the day, in a time where she believed she was stuck in some dead-end job.

She still was, of course.

Job after job, shift after shift, but Levi’s presence and future gave her the power to fight, to endure and as something to persevere for.

Riley shares with him these worries that serve as a reason for her not wanting to return to Cordonia. His country may need the stability, but so did she. She did not suffer for the past five years of her life and all of Levi’s four to be swept off by some sugar-coated words of a prince or some noble again, she decides.

She tells him that for the time being, she wants to keep their relationship with a sense of normality. She tells him that she will still be attending her jobs for the time being as a form of safety net in case anything happens.

She cannot be Queen whilst Tariq is still unwilling to admit to his crimes, she reasons, and she is doubtful and unconvinced of her ability to rule the country that Liam so loves.

Riley had once thought she was capable of being Queen, but when Levi was born and she sees the complications of it all, the difficulties, the rumours, the lies and the endless mind games for political advancement… she questions if she is proficient, if she is skilled enough and if she would ever be ready to face it all again – especially when her predecessor was Madeleine, a well-bred, natural Queen.

Riley has hardened with the reality of her life but also broken from the terrors of it all; it was something that she had accepted when she became his mistress, when she fell pregnant with his child, when she decided to leave Cordonia.

So, she had made a promise to herself when Levi was born.

She promised herself that she would not return on some whim, on some love-sick spell that Liam could so easily cast on her.

That she would not leave the safety of her small apartment in New York unless Levi himself knew what was going on, knew clearly who he was and what it meant to be a future ruler.

That she would not leave her safe haven of America for the ruthless battlefield of political drama in Cordonia unless Levi wanted to.

Liam, despite being saddened by the conditions that Riley draws, is understanding of where she comes from. He reassures her time and time again that she would always be a great Queen – she has proven herself to be more than worthy and capable countless times. He reassures her that Bastien will handle her situation with Tariq, and he reassures her that he will love and care for both her and Levi.

He is so desperate for his wish of the three of them being together, in Cordonia. For the three of them to admire the beauty that is his home and country, to love Cordonia like how he does and to understand the impact they could have on his country and the many lives within.

But Liam is also understanding and reasonable. He tells Riley that he will lengthen his stay in New York City for just a while longer. He tells her that he will deal with Cordonia by having his paperwork sent over in almost secrecy, for the sake of Levi and Riley. He promises to her that his priorities first and foremost are as a father to Levi, to bond with him and look after him while Riley worked.

Their talks, while genuine and serious can end up being such distractions. Murmurs of ‘I love you’s and ‘I missed you’s in between heated kisses, their touches trailing fire on each other’s skin as they would hold each other desperately on the couch like a pair of love-sick teenagers.

But all of this was met with unsatisfying cold showers.

The chemistry was there, the want was there, the need was there, but Riley would always excuse herself before anything got too serious or crossed any lines.

She doesn’t tell him, but the churn of almost insoluble disgust, disappointment and betrayal still remains in her body when his hands would ever stray too far south.

The thought of him with Madeleine made her scrub herself down in the shower until her skin is bright red.

Much to Levi’s delight and Liam’s understandable dismay, Riley spends her nights in their son’s room.

Liam finds conversation elsewhere and he is so full of interest of his son – his questions about Levi rolling off his tongue like second nature.

She shares Levi’s obvious delight in reading and also in the arts. She shares how whilst he isn’t a clingy child, he is protective, always asking her if she will be okay, if he makes her happy and if she will promise him to smile. She shares how Levi is predominantly a quiet child, but she always notices how his eyes are constantly searching, always observing as if he is analysing and calculating. She shares how blunt he can sometimes be, how he will point out her lies when she tries to tell him she is okay.

She shares to Liam her worries as a mother – thought on if she is doing enough, if she had done the right thing and her worries for his future; not of his role as crown prince, no, she avoids the topic, but more so on how he will view the world. She recognises and admits that his upbringing has been rocky and may not have been the best, but even more importantly, how his temperament and attachment to her has had such a big impact on him when she interacts with someone new. Levi is always cautious in these cases, his eyes constantly peering with distrust as he would cling onto his mother’s leg almost protectively.

And Liam entering into their lives is an evidence of this.

They can see how strongly Levi has stuck to his words of not needing a father. When he is not distracted by his mother, his books or various curious scribbles on scraps of paper, his dark eyes follow Liam’s every move; it didn’t matter what he was doing, he could be cooking breakfast, doing paperwork or simply reading the paper – Levi’s eyes would be on him.

Yet, Liam does notice how as time progresses, Levi would slowly stop pulling Riley away when he talked to her, or when his simple, innocent caresses lingers for a bit too long.

It must be quite different, this change of pace… Liam would wonder each morning when he would drown Riley’s apartment with the aroma of pancakes with the traditional Cordonian twist of apple spice.

He remembers the first morning when Riley and Levi awoke to him gowned in an apron, serving up Cordonian pancakes for the both of them with a breakfast beverage – a simple cup of coffee regular for Riley and a pairing cup of apple juice for Levi. He remembers the reminiscing look on Riley’s face and the ever cautious one on Levi’s. His son was slow to eat the cut-up pieces Riley gives him, but Liam could tell how much he loved it by the way he would stare longingly at the rest of the stack, which Liam would then cut up for him.

Liam had taken on the role of a domesticated father-figure, and he is so pleased with the routine that they have developed.

Each morning, he makes sure to get up before Riley does to pack her lunch and prepare breakfast for Riley, Levi and himself. Depending on Riley’s shift for that day, Liam would bring Levi along, much to their son’s pleasure, to send Riley off for work. It was something that Levi had never experienced before, since he as either ushered into day care or Daniel would look after him.

Levi and Liam would then venture around, exploring local libraries or even Central Park, if Levi’s legs could carry him that far. Liam has offered countless times to carry him, but he has refused, explaining many days later when he would ask again, that he was turning five very soon and that he didn’t need to be carried.

If Riley’s schedule persists, they would meet up to enjoy lunch together. Afterwards, Liam would take Levi home, where Levi would spend some time resting with a book, playing with his toys or doing a drawing, whilst his father would work on the growing stack of paperwork on the very cluttered dining table.

When Riley returns from work, she would be greeted by Liam’s homecooked dinners. Some were a hit-and-miss as he tries out new recipes that would result in Riley needing to order Chinese takeaway. She is both worried and impressed that Liam hadn’t turned the building into rubble. Their dinners would never be void of any wine or fresh flowers and would always be filled with conversations of what they did each day. Riley remembers seeing the sparkle in Liam’s eye when he would share that Levi, despite how unwilling he was at first to accompany Liam anywhere, to have any prolonged conversations with him or respond to his suggestions, helped mix, or helped season the food on the table. And Riley would remember Levi being specific on which dishes he helped to make and would claim it to be the best one on the table.

Her mischievous little chefs, Riley would call them.

And Liam would wash up the dishes, wipe the benches and sweep the floors. He would pack away the toys that Levi has played with and put bookmarks in the books that he hadn’t finish while Riley bathed him. He would join them later when Levi was tucked up in bed, and with Matilda finally finished, Liam took the liberty to begin reading him The Little Prince.

Liam loves how Levi’s eyes would droop to the sound of his voice once he has gotten past a few pages. He admires how his long lashes would flutter when he desperately tries to stay awake to listen to the story. He loves how Levi sleeps on his side, his hands clutching onto the duvet cover to keep himself warm and tucked in. And he admires his gentle breathing when he finally succumbs to sleep, the way his blanket would follow the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Liam treasured these moments so much, that somehow, everything that had happened since Riley’s departure pales heavily in comparison.

He hasn’t had the pleasure to think about or even explore domestic life since prior to Leo’s abdication. He had been so envious of the life that his brother was now living with his wife, that he feels a great sense of pride that he was now experiencing the same thing, even if it wasn’t in an ideal situation. It was pleasant, however, to experience a slice of life that was in some ways, disconnected to the crown and the court.

He admires the effort that he has put in into their current situation. His relationship with Levi was still sometimes rocky, but it was definitely on the improving edge. At times, Levi would initiate simple conversations which Liam would try to pursue it into something longer and at times, Levi would barely utter a word to him. Liam understands the complications of the current situation and how odd it must be for Levi to take in his constant presence into his life in just a few weeks.

He admires how his relationship with Riley was also improving. Her tears are now replaced with laughter and smiles, their hugs and kisses at the door were of happy nature as they were only exchanged when Riley came home from work, and not because he was the one leaving to be with his legal wife.

Their roles were almost reversed from when they were in Cordonia, Liam notes. It was a nice change from all the tears and longing for each other.

Liam is hopeful of their future, at the very least.

But despite the happiness that they shared, they forget that their situation was forged on a temporary basis and that their expiration date was drawing closer with every passing day.

It all begins when Liam was concentrating on paperwork that sat in the depressingly red despatch box. Bastien makes it an effort to bring over his work every other day, filled to the brim with documents that he needed to sign, papers that he needed to stamp, sheets that he needed to approve, or to simply read.

Levi would ask him simple questions over the weeks out of curiosity. When he spoke to Liam or simply just observing over the edge of his book, his eyes would linger on the different parchments of papers, the red and the gold detail, the various stamps that sat within that red box…

They fail to realise that each individual situation affected the outcome, a butterfly effect of events that forced them to remember the elephant in the room – the last, heavy topic that they have been avoiding.

All of Levi’s questions were short and never on the same day.

It starts with Liam’s accent.

Simple, curious and innocent.

The boy points out the way Liam spoke differently, how he pronounced things differently and even at times spoke in a different language.

European, Liam had replied.

“I was born and raised in a small country in Europe called Cordonia.”, were his exact words.

Liam, being interested in sharing his home, would ask Bastien to bring pictures of Cordonia, and he would receive them the next time he delivered The King’s despatch box.

And Liam would take his time over days, weeks to share the pictures. He tries to describe every detail that he knows and remembers.

The saltiness of the air from the Mediterranean beaches, the crunch of sticks and grass beneath his feet at Applewood Manor, the smell of fresh apples and other various apple themed delicacies, the dusty red colour of tiles, the hustle and bustle of street stalls on a busy market day, the colour, texture and shapes of the stones that makes up Cordonia’s town centre, the cool, crisp water that sprouts out from the famous King Fabian statue, the grandness and height of the bell tower…

He shares with Levi the memories that he has of his mother at the Cordonian library in that very town centre; how he remembers her jasmine perfume, the way the wind would ruffle her hair as they sat on the steps of the library and the way she loved and appreciated books like how Levi did.

“It looks like the New York Public Library here.” Levi had murmured while looking at the pictures.

And Liam would grin when he thinks of the similarities. “The stones are a bit darker in Cordonia. Not as white, and certainly not as big. New York is much bigger than Cordonia, you see.”

The next time Levi brings up Cordonia again, Liam had just gotten off the phone and had realised that he was staring at him.

“…You sound like Aunty Hana.” Levi would insinuate, “And that blonde lady who came to speak to Mom. …Are they from Cordonia too?”

And Liam would nod, remembering Riley mentioning about Hana being her main support over the years and of Madeleine’s very brief, very awkward visit.

And other questions would pop up from time to time.

Questions about Riley in Cordonia.

Questions about the oceans and the beaches.

Questions about the weather and the seasons.

Questions about their obsession with apples.

And Liam is happy to see the curiosity in his eyes, happy that he is eager to learn and to ask. When Riley is there, she too, is happy to share her memories of Cordonia.

But Levi has been staring at it for weeks.

The curious red box that sits on the table. That specific and peculiar shade of red that sticks out in their small and bland apartment. The intricate gold designs that looked like it was symbolic for something. And the gold-stamped letters on the open lid, upside down when it was open.

And when he finally notices the lettering one afternoon, Levi turns his head to try and read what it says. His eyes take in the intricate details of the sigil and how the stamped letters sit in the middle at the bottom, close to the edge.

And he reads the golden, bold letters.

THE KING

He remembers blinking.

He remembers thinking how it was possibly some form of toy; yet the seriousness that showed on Liam’s face and the concentration sketched into his brows showed that it wasn’t some play thing.

It was a look that mirrored his mother’s face when she sat in the same chair, sorting and looking through bills.

It happens a few days later when the three of them sit down for dinner, picking at the small, white takeaway boxes from Panda Express.

Liam and Riley chat away, laughing at something that happened at Riley’s work when Levi suddenly speaks.

His eyes are focused on the food in front of him.

“…What’s the difference between a president and a king?”

A pregnant pause.

Liam is the first to speak, and Levi takes in his words – something about a president being voted in by people for a few years while kingship is hereditary, for life, but both serving as a ruler, as a representative of the country they live in.

Another pause, as Levi pushes the food around on his plate.

“…Does Cordonia have a president or a king?”

“…A King.” Liam replies, a sense of calmness in the situation as he moves his hand to hold onto Riley’s shaking one.

She was deathly pale and quiet, holding her breath. Her mind was not working as quick as she would like, and she was still swaying between if she should or should not tell Levi about his roots.

Liam’s grip on her hand tightens in reassurance as Levi finally looks up at him.

His gaze, Liam notes, is calm, predicting and almost expecting of Liam’s next words.

“And I am the King of Cordonia.”

But Liam can also see the storm of unsorted emotions brewing in his son’s body.

“…Is that why it reads ‘The King’ on your red box?” Levi asks, his eyes unwavering.

So that’s where he found out.

Liam nods.

Riley was not wrong when she said he was observant for a four-year-old.

Instead of the somewhat usual laughter that night, the apartment was filled with eerie silence.

When Riley and Liam enter Levi’s bedroom, he is quiet, sitting in his bed with The Little Prince on his lap, already flipping through the pages and attempting to read the earlier parts.

Riley is quiet, still lost in her own thoughts. She allows Liam to do the talking.

Liam is calm. He sits on the floor so he is at eye-level with Levi – a simple tactic that he has learnt to use in order to convey that he is on Levi’s side, that he trusts him and respects him.

He explains to Levi that he is the Crown Prince of Cordonia and what having that title means. He explains to him the rules and expectations as crown prince, but he also conveys the joys of being able to create change, to shape the future for the better. He reminds him of the conversations that they have had on Cordonia for the past days and weeks; he reminds Levi how much he said he loved the colour of the beaches, the apple delicacies and the Cordonian library. He reminds him of the time that his mother has spent there and how much she had enjoyed it and made countless friends like Aunty Hana.

And Riley jumps in finally when Levi remains silent. She blurts out words of reason, telling him that it also means meeting people who will not trust him and not love him like how Liam and herself does. She tells him how people will talk behind his back and say mean things, but there will be so many people who will love him if he were to love Cordonia like how he loves her. She tells him that being the Crown Prince of Cordonia will mean that they will be able to spend more time with Liam as a family.

They both reason to him collectively, agreeing with each other that he doesn’t need to accept the role as Crown Prince straight away, or ever, if he chooses. They repeat to Levi what Liam had said over dinner, that it was just a hereditary status, that he can take time to think and consider the role that was given to him when he was born.

Levi is still quiet.

It is a lot to take in.

“We can go back to Cordonia together, and you can decide then if you want to stay, Levi.” Liam says, trying to reassure him.

“And we can come back to America if you don’t want to be there, my love”, Riley mumbles, agreeing to Liam’s words as she squeezes and rubs Levi’s hand out of nervousness, out of love and out of worry.

Levi looks at Riley, then Liam, then back at Riley.

He blinks, then stares at his mother’s hand over his own.

He swallows.

And nods, a quiet “Okay.” leaving his lips.

He is reassured, over and over again.

He is hugged, over and over again.

He is kissed, over and over again.

They turn off the light in his room after tucking him into bed, wishing him goodnight.

But his eyes stay open, looking at the flashing lights of a plane so far away in the sky.

He thinks back to the book that Liam had given him and there is a slight frown on his brows.

The slight distrust and questioning returning to his eyes.

The Little Prince…

…The Little Prince.

He thinks back to Liam who had read him parts of the story.

And he remembers the different elements presented, written, drawn and explored in the story. The king with no subjects; the contradicting man; the mindless followers; the materialistic businessman; the lonely geographer…

He wonders how many of these people he will meet – what personalities they would all have, how they would interact with him, with Liam, and with his mother.

He is curious and slightly interested.

He doesn’t fully comprehend the situation, but he is sure of one thing when he recalls the whispered conversation shared between his mother and Liam a few days ago.

“Must you go…?”

“I have to… I need to make an appearance for a while, but I will be back as soon as I can, my love.”

“Levi will miss you… he won’t say it but I know he will. And I’ll miss you…”

“I know, my love. I’ll miss the two of you, too.”

And he remembers recognising the quiet sobs coming from his mother and Levi can still feel the uncomfortable tug at his heart.

He can still feel the uncertainty of his mother’s wellbeing that resurfaced in the twists and turns of his stomach if Liam were to leave. The flashing images that crosses his mind of his mother curled up in bed or on the floor somewhere, hands in her face whilst she cries…

He didn’t care about Liam being a king.

He didn’t care about him being a prince.

But he was determined to protect only one person.

He closes his eyes, wishing for sleep to take him.

Levi doesn’t dare to tell his mother that he only said yes because he could see how happy the man who calls himself his dad made her.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Cold, abrupt judgement.

“My statement for the press. She has a son.” She is calm.

A scrunched-up paper meets the carpeted floor.

“I do not care if she has a son. There is no valid proof that he is the descendent of the crown.”

“You are forgetting what age we are in, my dear Aunt. Paternal tests exist.” Short and brash.

“Tests can make mistakes. Results can be forged. You, are Queen.” Calculating. Ridiculing.

“…”, Her green eyes are icy as they narrow just the slightest, “And what would you presume I do with this child of mine?”

The Queen Mother’s eyes gazes at the scenery of the garden outside from the tall window. Her thin lips meet the rim of her teacup.

“Nothing but a tiny obstacle. You should know what to do.”

A pause as she drinks.

“Cordonia will not do with a bastard child as their crown prince, Madeleine. Especially not with that whore of a woman as Queen.”

Part 6: Achlys

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