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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

Text

sleeping on the blacktop

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, blood, gore, mentions of death, vomiting, medical terminology (that i know absolutely nothing about !! i am not a doctor or an emt—almost all of my knowledge is from an anatomy class or tv so—don’t come for me pls), my ramblings about fate and free will, i also gave the baby a name (sorry if you don’t like it :( i just hate having y/d/n, ya know? too much work)

word count: 8.5k

synopsis: while harry is away on tour, his wife and baby get into a car accident

author’s note: please, be mindful of the warnings and don't read if you're uncomfortable with anything mentioned and sorry for the sort of rushed ending... other than that, i hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

“You don’t need to do that,” Anne says from behind her, and Y/N flinches, nearly dropping a plate. She got lost in her thoughts, staring out the window in Anne’s kitchen.

“You cooked. It’s the least I can do,” she says. Anne grabs a rag and dries some of the dishes. Gemma is keeping Rhiannon occupied in the next room, and from the peals of laughter, it’s the happiest she’s been in days. Y/N sighs, wiping her pruned hands on a paper towel. If she’s being honest, she’s not doing too well; Rhia has had a hard time adjusting to not having Harry around all the time, causing a varied sleep schedule and more bouts of fussiness in general, and Y/N struggles keeping up.

“How’re you doing?”

Y/N hesitates. She contemplates lying. She doesn’t need one more person worrying for her, and she doesn’t want people to think that she can’t take care of her own child by herself. Harry already worries enough, even though she’s assured him many times that he doesn’t need to be.

She knows that he feels guilty for not being there all the time, but she would never force him to stop touring and doing what he loves, partly because she’s afraid he’ll resent her. Despite him being across an entire ocean, she never feels like he is far; he’s always willing to stop anything when she calls, and he tries his hardest to talk with her twice a day. She always keeps him as involved as possible, sending daily updates and photos.

“It’s tough,” she admits, “but it’s getting better, no need to worry about me.” She offers Anne a weak smile.

“Can’t help it,” she says, pinching her cheeks lightly.

Noticing the dimming sky, the sun sinking below the line of trees in the yard, Y/N sighs.

“We should probably go,” she mutters, slipping into the next room. Despite how tired she is, she can’t help the smile that takes over her face when Rhiannon looks up at her, showing her gums.

“Time to go, bug,” she says, light and lilting. Rhia kicks her legs, making her almost lose her balance. She’s too confident for her own good, like her father; she’s only just started sitting up on her own and thinks she can wiggle around without falling.

��You sure you’re okay to drive, love?” Anne asks from behind her. Y/N rolls her eyes, yet smiles fondly at her protectiveness.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only a few minutes away.”

Ever since Harry left for tour, Y/N has been staying in their lake cottage to be closer to Anne. It’s only a quick 20 minute drive away, which has been helpful during the days when Y/N needed to catch up on sleep, and Anne is always happy to help. She didn’t like to do that very often, feeling like she was taking advantage of her mother-in-law.

The cottage was a cute little thing, perfect for just the two of them, and Y/N was glad to get out of their shared home; it was too big and empty for just her and Rhia. Harry was always able to liven up any place they were at, but now that he’s gone, it felt hollow and dismal.

“You know you’re welcome to stay here. I’ve got plenty of room,” Anne tries to convince her one last time. As much as Y/N appreciated her worrying, she didn’t want to impose, and she’s sure that Anne wouldn’t want to listen to a fussy baby, even though she would deny it to the end of her days.

Y/N puts Rhia in her coat with little resistance, which is surprising, but she only had a short little nap that afternoon, and they had a busy day.

“I know, Anne, but I don’t want to intrude,” Y/N says. “Besides, Rhia sleeps better in our bed, and you need all the sleep you can get, don’t ya?” She tickles her daughter’s little bloated belly, making her giggle sweetly. Once she’s strapped in, the baby stretches and tries to put Y/N’s fingers in her mouth.

“You know I worry about you,” Anne sighs, kneeling next to Y/N.

“No need to worry,” Y/N smiles. Anne tucks the woven green blanket under Rhiannon’s legs. It’s the same blanket Harry had when he was a baby, barely held together with a few threads and love. Y/N stands, hoisting the carrier up to her hip.

“Call me when you get home, yeah?”

“Course,” she says, pressing a kiss to Anne’s cheek.

When they’re settled in the car, Anne stays out on the porch, watching them until they’re safely on the road, offering a wide smile and an air kiss. Y/N is so thankful to have her shoulder to lean on.

It’s a clear night, which Y/N is thankful for, no fog or rain, which isn’t an often occurrence. She stops at a sign, brakes squealing slightly. She stays there for a second, feeling the familiar burn of exhaustion behind her eyes. She rests her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Da, da,” Rhiannon mumbles. Y/N reaches behind her, barely able to reach her on the opposite side of the back seat, and she grabs onto her fingers.

“I know, peach,” Y/N sighs, “Miss daddy, too.”

She never considered how fragile life could be until she met Harry, not in the sense that death is an imminent and constant force, more in the sense that everything, her goals, her view on life, and her priorities, shifted when she met him. He became her influence, and she was willing to go through hell or high water just to be with him.

In summation, it takes all but five seconds for your life to completely change, for better or for worse.

There are dozens upon dozens of tiny events that build up and push you toward that one big moment that will change your life. Nothing is set in stone; different choices lead you down different paths, and your paths are constantly changing, either for better or worse, and slowly but surely, you’ll finally reach the top of that mountain. Every choice you questioned, every sacrifice you made, will come together in due time, just know that you’re working toward a greater purpose.

Y/N has never been a big believer in fate, that everything is beyond your control and that everything is already set in stone, but perhaps there is some truth to it. Fate could have pushed her to leave home when she was young. Fate could have put her on a safe and stable path when she went to university that landed her a good job when she was fresh out of her internship, and fate could have brought Harry into her life.

But she will never claim fate as a sole guide to her life. Fate is not responsible for her success nor her mistakes; that was all because of her hard work and integrity, her youth and ignorance. To her, fate is simply an excuse. People want to put blame on something, and when things seem out of their control or when they make bad decisions, they don’t feel quite as guilty. They’re willing to take credit for good things that happen but won’t when it affects them negatively.

Say, perhaps, that fate brought Y/N to that intersection, then maybe it was fate that planted the trees that obscured her vision; perhaps, it was fate that made the lights in the post go out that evening.

If so, fate has a twisted sense of humor.

If not, why wouldn’t fate give her any time to react before the impact?

How could fate be so cruel?

—

Working as an EMT, there are always certain risks you accept when you are on the clock; not only are you surrounded by an unbelievable pressure, there is always the ominous cloud looming overhead, a thin thread between life and death threatening to break at any moment, and it’s your job to keep them stable until they arrive at the hospital.

Not too hard, right?

Being able to save people from the brink of death and reuniting families makes almost everything worth it, but there are always scenes that stick with you for the rest of your life, and for Leslie Greene, this is one of them.

What stands out the most is the sound of a crying baby.

She’s seen some very horrific accidents: cars that have been reduced to nothing more than a ball of cheap scrap metal, with blood coating the shattered glass, to DOA’s, where the impact made them look unrecognizable. She has seen a lot of unspeakable things and had a lot of good people die on her watch.

But never has she ever had a baby present at any accident scene. That’s new.

Those cries will probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

“I didn’ see ‘em,” the man slurs from the police car. He has a bloodied lip and a slight bruise forming around his neck from the seat belt. The stench of rum rolls off him with every breath. He sits back, eyes dull and hooded, like he doesn’t even realize what he’s done.

Another EMT meets with her half-way to the other vehicle, lodged against the ditch across the way.

“Driver side sustained some serious damage. The baby has no discernible injuries, but another ambulance is a minute out to take her.”

From the driver’s side, Leslie can see the baby on the opposite side of the backseat, the car seat still tightly in place. The baby flails about, legs and arms kicking with strength. The car is twisted and mangled, but most of the damage is on the driver’s side, the door latched closed. Shattered glass cracks beneath her boot.

When they’re finally able to get the car door open, the woman, barely even mobile, opens her eyes slightly, but she flinches back at the bright lights. Blood drips down from her hairline, bruises already forming on her eyes from the impact on the steering wheel. Blood pools on the leather seat as she shifts with discomfort.

James, a newbie who has never been to a scene with this much damage, breathes out shakily. Leslie turns to see his lips curling, close to dry heaving.

“Go get the baby, yeah?”

He nods quickly, pale in the face, and scurries to the other side. The baby is soothed only momentarily before her wails continue. The woman’s eyes snap open fully this time, panic clear on her features. She tugs fruitlessly on the seat belt, a pained groan leaving her when she moves too quickly.

“Please, don’t move. My name is Leslie. I’m here to help.” She presses a hand to her chest, feeling the woman’s racing heart. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she grits out, her eyes fluttering dangerously. From how she reacted to the lights, she probably has a concussion. Leslie cuts the seat belt, and glass falls onto the blacktop, clinking musically until they settle, like they’re sleeping. Through the gloves, she can feel how warm she is, sweat beading down from her forehead. Glass has settled in the divots of her wool sweater, but not before cutting her skin, caking the pearl necklace peeking from the neckline in blood.

“Y/N, I need you to turn a bit. I need to see where the bleeding is coming from,” Leslie says softly, inching her slowly onto her side. She sighs as more blood pools, gushing down her back and soaking her jumper further. It’s from a rib that broke through the skin. She can only hope that they didn’t puncture an organ.

“Does that hurt?” She asks as she puts pressure on the skin.

“No,” Y/N whimpers, eyes fluttering closed. When they get her on the stretcher, with minimal blood loss, she stirs with life again, her trembling hand reaching onto the sleeve of Leslie’s shirt, painting it red.

“Rhiannon—my baby girl—is she…” She swallows back tears.

“She’s fine.” Leslie knows that it’s unwise to lie to a patient; perhaps, she’s not entirely lying, but it’s never a good idea to give a victim a sure diagnosis without actually knowing anything. There may have been no physical signs of trauma to the baby, but internal problems are a very real possibility that they won’t know of until they get to the hospital.

She knows that she shouldn’t lie. It takes seven minutes to get to the nearest hospital, but it’s time that Y/N may not have; despite how quickly they were able to get her into the ambulance, she’s losing a lot of blood.

“Thank you,” Y/N sighs in relief, clutching onto her hand. Her wedding ring nearly cuts through the gloves from the pressure.

“Of course,” Leslie says, easily putting her on an IV.

“My husband,” she gasps suddenly, her arm jerking about. “Harry—he—he’s gonna be worried. ‘M supposed to call. He has to tell her goodnight—“

“Y/N, relax,” Leslie coos. “We will contact your husband. You need to focus on yourself, yeah? Don’t close your eyes, Y/N.”

Leslie can see the fear in her eyes; it’s something she’s grown very familiar with, but it’s not just fear for her own survival. She can see how scared she is for her family. She struggles to keep her eyes open, resilience and weakness fighting for power. Like any mother, she’s fighting for her family. She’s fighting to be able to hold onto and kiss them one more time.

She is trying so hard to fight for her family.

But at the same time, it’s so easy to give in.

“If I don’t make it,” she slurs, breathing quickly out of her nose. The blood from her nose slips down into her mouth, making her cough.

“Don’t say—”

“If I don’t, I need you to tell Harry that I love him, and that…” She lets out a pained whimper, struggling to catch her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault, love.”

Her lip quivers, teeth chattering.

“I’m just sorry for everything.”

Leslie knows exactly what that means. She’s making amends, apologizing for not being able to fight. A lone tear slips from her eye, but Leslie wipes it away.

“I will.” She promises, gripping her hand tighter.

Only two more minutes.

Y/N gives her a thankful nod, and as if she has finally made peace with the world, she falls limp, the light leaving her eyes.

—

Harry has always enjoyed New York, and it’s not very often that he is able to stay for longer than one night. There is just something about it that’s completely different from London or L.A. that he likes about it; He couldn’t imagine actually living there, with the massive crowds and fluctuating weather, but it’s a nice place to visit, very different from what he’s used to.

He’s halfway through the tour for his most recent album, and New York is the last stop before he gets a short break to go home. He has a show tonight at Madison Square, a radio interview in the morning, and then, he’s home free. He’s been looking forward to this break before the tour even began. Don’t get him wrong, he loves performing and meeting fans and traveling the world, but now that he has a family, it gets more and more difficult not being there for the people who need him most.

“So, I heard,” the interviewer begins, smiling widely.

Sadly, Harry has already forgotten his name. The interview was supposed to be a short little thing for social media, only supposed to take 20 minutes, so he could prepare for the concert that evening, but it’s been nearly an hour, and there are no signs of stopping any time soon. Harry holds off yet another yawn, the lack of sleep from the night before washing over him. He’s having trouble focusing.

“You’ve got a baby girl.”

“Yes,” Harry beams. Even though he wants to keep his baby out of the limelight, he can’t help the excitement that fills his chest whenever she's mentioned. He can easily go on and on about how wonderful and sweet and perfect she is. He tugs on his pearl necklace, biting on his lips to keep quiet. He and Y/N agreed that it would be best for Rhia to grow up as normally as possible, which meant only posting about her on his private social media and avoiding busy places so as to not be seen, but some things were simply unavoidable, like interviewers trying to get him to let something about her slip to get their five-minutes-of-fame. It seems rude of him to completely ignore their questions, so he just sticks to very short, vague answers.

“How are you adjusting to fatherhood?”

“Uh,” he laughs, fiddling with his wedding ring. “It was a struggle to begin with. I will admit that, but it’s getting better. We’re still learning how to adjust to everything.”

He says it like he’s actually there, actively helping Y/N, even though he's on the other side of the world. He hasn’t seen his daughter in nearly two months; video chats have absolutely nothing on the real thing. He isn’t helping Y/N put Rhia to sleep when she’s feeling particularly fussy or feeding her at two in the morning, so Y/N can finally get some well-deserved sleep, and he’s not there to play with her or comfort her.

It feels like he’s lying.

He’s a sad excuse of a father. That’s what he really is.

The thought makes the smile fall from his face, but he’s quick to force another one; if there’s anything that he’s learned after years in the public eye, it’s how to fake emotions. The interviewer gives him an understanding smile. He’s older, but not too old, only having a few years on Harry, age wise, but the wrinkles beside his eyes and the nicked ring on his finger suggest years of familial experience.

“I completely understand. I have three boys of my own, and—”

“I am so sorry,” Jeff, Harry’s savior, says suddenly from behind the camera. “D’ya mind if I borrow Harry for a second?”

The interviewer nods.

“No problem. Take 15?”

Harry feels a twinge of guilt as he stands quickly from the chair, happy to finally have a break.

“Thanks,” Harry sighs, brushing past Jeff to the refreshment table. “‘M exhausted. Maybe it’s ‘cause of Rhi, but every little thing wakes me up. Swore I heard her cryin’ last night.” Jeff is quiet, fiddling with his hands nervously. Harry doesn’t notice how quiet the man has gotten, and he opens a bottle of water, rifling through his bag.

“Isn’t it almost 3? Y/N should be callin’ soon.”

“Harry,” Jeff says again, stronger this time. Harry still doesn’t notice how his voice breaks slightly, wobbly and hesitant.

“Yeah?” Harry drinks nearly half of the water, not sparing a glance up. He fishes for his phone, only to remember that he left it in the car. He sighs and turns. That’s when he finally notices how shaken up Jeff is, pale and nervous.

“What’s up? Look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he laughs, downing the rest of his water before tossing it in the bin.

“Harry,” Jeff says again, soft and somber, and it makes Harry stop. Dread settles in his stomach, deep and heavy. Jeff has never been one to be the bearer of bad news, and he tended to beat around the bush. “Why don’t you sit down?” Jeff tries to guide Harry over to the cheap stool in the corner of the room, but he rips his arm from his grasp.

Harry has never been one to let his mind run wild; he’s the calm one, who looks at reason and logic. He's the one to tell everyone that everything’s going to be fine; he’s the one who takes everything in stride, like water rolling down his back. Bumps in the road are nothing. He’s the one that comes up with solutions and executes them with ease, but with the way Jeff is treating him, his heart races.

“What?”

“There’s been an accident,” Jeff says slowly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

It takes a second for Harry to process his words, but when he does, he stumbles back.

His mind automatically tries to reason with itself, that maybe it has nothing to do with him. Perhaps, something went wrong at the venue, and they would have to postpone, lengthening his stay for only a couple more days. Maybe, Mitch got food poisoning and will be unable to play that evening. There are dozens of reasonable explanations as to why Jeff pulled him aside, but Harry knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t have such a mournful look in his eyes, if it isn’t anything less than very serious.

Okay, fine, there was an accident. That could mean so many different things. An accident doesn’t even necessarily mean that they are in grave danger; they could be walking away unscathed.

“W-what? I-i-is it Gem? Mum?” Endless scenarios flicker in his mind, each one worse than the last. The one thing that he doesn’t even consider is it being Y/N or Rhiannon. His mind refuses to go down that road; if it did, there’s no way of knowing how he would react. He doesn’t even consider the possibility of them being in trouble. He hates how long Jeff is taking to tell him, as if holding off will soften the blow. Irritation starts bubbling below the surface, and he finds it hard to keep calm.

“Harry,” he says, shaking his head. “Anne called me. There was a drunk driver, and they’re headed to the hospital now—”

“They?”

His heart stops for a second, and it feels like his chest collapses in on itself. His body feels like it’s reacting to a stressful situation, with adrenaline and fear and anger, but Harry isn’t thinking with a grieving mind; it’s cloudy and slow, delusional, even. He shakes his head.

“No,” Harry mutters, taking a step forward. He can feel tears burn in his eyes, and he makes no move to wipe them. “It wasn’t…” Harry can’t finish the question. It makes him nauseous. Jeff nods solemnly, which, in any other circumstance, would have been answer enough. “Say it,” Harry snaps.

It’s unreal, like a dream. This didn’t happen to him, not his family.

They’re safe. There’s just been a mistake. That’s the only reasonable explanation to everything. Someone made a mistake. Maybe a fan thought it would be funny to pretend to be his mum, and they somehow got Jeff’s number. It had to be a horrible, awful, repulsive joke to get some attention or something; as implausible as that seems, it’s the only thought that makes sense to him because he can’t possibly understand the weight of the truth. He doesn’t know if he can handle it.

His girls are fine.

They have to be.

“Harry—” Jeff tries to calm him down, seeing a bright red flush to his skin, frustration seeping through every pore. Anger isn’t becoming of Harry; Jeff has only seen him angry a couple of times, but never to this extent: red in the face, words shaky, eyes glassy.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“It was Y/N and Rhiannon.”

That is the absolute last thing that he wanted to hear.

Even though, deep down, he knew that they were in trouble. From the first moment Jeff said his name to how sickly he looked when he told him to sit down, Harry knew, deep in his heart and mind, that his family is in trouble. He just wasn’t willing to accept it or even think about it, as if that could change reality. Until Jeff said those five words that confirmed his worst nightmare.

And he feels his world come crashing down, but he’s stuck, frozen, mind not moving nearly as fast as it should be.

“My—my…” He stutters, throat closing. “My girls?” The ache in his chest increases tenfold, and he holds onto his, feeling the racing of his heart and his quick breathing. “You’re fuckin’ with me,” he scoffs, rage building. He shakes his head with denial. “What kind of fuckin’ prick—”

“I wouldn’t joke about—”

Harry knows that. Y/N and Jeff are close. Hell, they even considered making him their daughter’s godfather. Jeff would never joke about something this serious, and Harry knows that, but he isn’t willing to accept the reality because the reality is nearly too much for him to comprehend, to carry on his already weak shoulders.

“No, they’re not,” Harry closes his eyes, hands slipping through his hair like it normally does when he’s anxious. He tugs on it, but the pain is nothing compared to the sick feeling in his stomach or the crack in his pounding heart. He honestly feels like he’s going to be ill or pass out, feeling his mouth dry up, his hands clamming up, and he begins to feel light-headed.

“Y/N’s just about to call me. It’s Rhi’s bedtime.” He rambles, not listening to Jeff.

They can’t be going to a hospital. He talked to Y/N just this morning when he couldn’t fall asleep. He spoke about his worries and doubts and guilt that he felt for being so far away from them, and Y/N soothed all of his fears and reservations, reminding him why he does what he does. Before she left, she told him that she loved him, and he could hear Rhi babbling away in the background, content and happy and safe.

“There’s a plane leaving in a half an hour—”

“And I sing to her. That's the only way she’ll sleep through the night. She hasn’t been sleepin’ very well these past few days,” he says, lost in his thoughts. His words begin to slur.

“Harry, listen to me,” Jeff says, holding onto his shoulders, trying to keep him grounded, from falling apart. Harry doesn’t get anxious often, but when he does, everything comes to a startling halt; he’s not used to it, and he lets it overwhelm him until he can’t function. That’s the last thing anyone needs.

“No, no, they’re fine. They’re fine. They’re—” He swallows, and like a wave, realization dawns on him, drowning him. His family is in the hospital, and he’s not there with them. “Oh, god,” he cries, feeling bile burn his throat. He sinks to his knees, hand pitifully covering his mouth to keep from vomiting. His vision darkens. It feels like the walls are crumbling down, and he’s stuck, frozen and alone, with no one coming to save him.

Just like his girls.

“Harry, you can’t shut down, not now,” Jeff says, kneeling beside him. “They need you.”

He knows that. He needs to be strong for the both of them, so he wipes away his tears, clenches his jaw, and pushes everything down, even if it feels like he’s choking. He has to be strong for the both of them.

The drive to the airport is a blur. He swallows back his tears until his head feels like it’s going to burst and holds his breath until he can see black spots in his vision, but most of all, he’s numb. A small part of him is still trying to convince himself that this is all just a big misunderstanding, but the larger part, the part that’s screaming the loudest, tells him he’s being irrational and selfish.

It takes 7 hours to get home; he has to travel across an entire ocean to get to his family.

How unfair is that?

He wants to blame the world, God, fate. He wants to curse whatever force existed, but behind all of the hate and accusations and judgement, he is nothing more than a guilty, broken shell of a man.

He’s angry with himself, mostly, with the choices he’s made, with how selfish and greedy he was, and how inconsiderate his actions have been for the past few months. He can’t believe that he could be so self-centered, taking Y/N for granted. She’s his wife; they’re supposed to be partners, equals, and he treated her like she was disposable while he traveled the world, living out a dying dream.

He wishes he was there, to not only prevent it, but also to tell her just one last time how important she was to him and tell her of the pain that would spread in his chest at the possibility of losing her or their child; he wants so badly to show his love for her. In four days, they would have been celebrating six years together, and in that time, he has never doubted his love for her. He knew, from the moment they met, that she was meant to be with him until the very end. They were soulmates.

Now that he might lose her and his baby, he feels like his soul is being ripped out of his chest, leaving nothing but a gaping, painful void.

Jeff sends him a link to Twitter and a message: Harry, take all the time you need.

The post says: Due to a personal emergency, Harry will not be able to make the show at MSG this evening, and all tour dates from this moment forth will be canceled until further notice. Know that he wishes he could be with you all, and please, respect his privacy in these trying times.

He calls his mother shortly after, but she doesn’t answer. When he tries Gem, she picks up after a few rings, shaky and winded. He sighs, trying to quell the tremors in his hands. His lips quiver.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Gemma explains what happened to the best of her ability, that Y/N just left to go back to the cottage after eating dinner And that Anne received a call from the hospital, after he didn’t answer his phone (that part stung to hear).

“Please—” He begins, but his voice teeters and breaks at the end. He can’t help the tears that slip down his cheeks. Exhausted and weak, he finally cries. He cries for his wife, his child, and himself. They’re not heart-wrenching sobs, where he’s keeled over, grief and anxiety spilling out of every pore, but they leave him breathless, chest aching.

“Please, tell me everythin’s gonna be fine.”

Her silence is answer enough. She can’t promise him anything. It’s too early to tell, and she’s not going to lie to him, either, not when his wife and child’s life is in the balance.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Gemma admits, “but I will call you as soon—”

He hangs up before she can finish.

—

Rain thunders onto the broken concrete, a flash of lightning brightening the dull sky. Despite the rain, the earth nearly brimming with life, the hospital is dead. There’s not a soul going in or out. The lights flicker eerily in the corner of his eye. It’s four in the morning, so it’s not much of a surprise, but the sight of it being so lifeless just feels wrong.

His mind is moving quicker than the world can keep up with, it seems, and he feels like it goes against the laws of nature. It’s a strange feeling when you feel like you’re falling apart, but the world continues on; most people on the street wouldn’t bat an eye or even pay any notice to him as he’s deteriorating before their very eyes.

As irrational as it is, it feels wrong. It feels wrong that everyone else is able to go on while his life is crumbling.

He called Gemma when he landed, and there were still no updates on their condition. He broke dozens of traffic laws to get there, and now, he stands outside the entrance, still wearing his wool jumper from the day before, smelling like an airport, with rain soaking his hair. Droplets slip down his cheek and jaw, livening the dried tears from earlier, and they seep into his mouth; he can taste the salt.

He’s just staring at the flickering sign.

He can’t move.

Well, that’s not really it; he can move, he can feel, and he can see, but he doesn’t want to move.

How fucked up is that?

He doesn’t want to go inside. Despite all of his fears, and his longing for answers, and his need to see his family, he can’t move.

Because that would make everything real.

If he goes inside, if he pushes past those doors and sees the doctors, he can’t deny it anymore. When he goes inside, he has to face the very real possibility that he could lose his wife and daughter. He isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to handle it.

He’s being selfish. He knows that. He should be running inside, yelling at doctors and nurses to tell him what they’re doing about his family. He should be trying to do something, anything to see his wife and daughter.

But why is it so hard to move his feet?

And why does he still feel so numb?

He breathes in the cold air, burning his tender throat.

When he finally opens those doors, past the point of no return, he’s welcomed by a blinding light and the scent of antiseptic. The inside is just as lifeless, with dull white walls that leaves his head throbbing and dingy carpet that scrapes against his boots. He follows the signs, leading to the waiting room.

A new round of tears fills his eyes when he sees his mother’s familiar figure. He hasn’t wanted to just completely collapse into her arms, crying, in years, but now, he just wants to be in the comfort of her presence, to forget the world.

But he can’t, just like Jeff told him, he needs to stay strong, for them. He can’t shut down. He breathes out deeply, raises his head, and calls out for his mother.

Anne turns around, and when he sees Rhiannon pressed tightly to her chest, safe and sound, he feels more of his strength return, like he can breathe a little easier. He feels his knees weaken, but he keeps moving. He doesn’t feel quite so empty and broken and numb, a small ray of hope filling him for the first time in hours. He cups the back of her little head, thumb caressing the soft baby hairs. They’ve gotten thicker since the last time he saw her.

“She’s fine, Harry, just a little shaken up,” Anne says, smiling slightly.

His happiness is short lived when Gemma stands from behind Anne.

“Y/N’s in surgery right now. All we can do is wait,” she says, her eyes ringed with red, mirroring his own.

“Da,” Rhia says, and he smiles, a single tear running down his cheek. He wipes it and sniffles.

Y/N pretended to be upset when that was Rhi’s first word. She said it only hours before he had to leave. They were in their home, and Y/N was helping him lug his suitcases out of the bedroom when he heard it. It sounded like another babble, but it became clearer until—

“Da,” she squealed, bouncing in her little jumper chair. “Dada.” She hit a little plastic toy ring on the tray

“Y/N,” he called out for her and knelt down in front of his baby. She rushed out of the bedroom.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Say it again, peach, show mummy,” he cooed, and Rhi repeated it, again and again, reaching for her father.

“I carry her around for nine months and feed her out of my tit,” Y/N whined, “and this is the thanks I get?”

They laughed, nevertheless. It was a bittersweet moment, as he looks back on it now. He was so happy that Rhiannon was growing and learning, but she was growing up too fast for his liking. He lifted Rhi up out of the chair and pressed a gentle kiss to her chubby cheek, tears stinging behind his eyes.

“She’s just daddy’s little girl. Aren’t ya, peach?”

She left a slobbery kiss, well, her version of a kiss (which was more tongue than lip) on his nose. He scrunched up his face, and her features pinched together in return, mimicking him.

“See, jus’ a little mini-me you are,” he said, tickling under her chin.

And when she called out to him after saying their final farewells in the airport, it made it even more difficult for him to leave.

Maybe it was a sign that he shouldn’t leave.

He should have listened.

He’s knocked back into the present when his baby girl looks up at him, eyes lit up with innocence, completely unaware of the dire situation they’re in. They’re not in their London home, and Y/N’s not there with him. His lips wobble, nose burning. His chest hurts, whether from unshed tears or from the thought of actually losing the love of his life, he doesn’t know.

He cups his baby girl’s cheek.

Rhia has Y/N’s eyes. He loves her eyes. When she first opened them, as he held her for the first time, bundled tightly in his arms, he cried big, fat tears until they were all dried up. He felt nothing but love for this little human because she was a perfect mixture of him and Y/N. He loves Rhiannon’s eyes, but now, they serve as nothing but a deathly reminder of his wife, who could possibly not survive these next few hours.

She gives him a gummy smile, her little tongue slipping out over her lips. There’s some white peeking through her gums, and his heart aches. He wipes some drool from her chin, and she reaches for him, but he backs away.

His stomach sinks, and he wants the ground to swallow him whole. His mother looks at him softly, not a shred of disappointment apparent on her face, as if she knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his own daughter. His throat closes.

How could he be so weak?

Rhia’s smile drips down, but she lays her head back on her Nana’s shoulder. Anne cups the girl’s head, wrapping the thinly woven blanket tighter around her; sadness and pity present in the air.

“‘M gonna check in with the nurse, see how Y/N’s doin’,” he whispers, backing away, and he stumbles down the hallway, following the signs until he sees the nearest nurse, clad in pale blue scrubs. Even though he’s sure the nurse expects him to look nothing less than distraught, he smooths down his clothes and clears his throat, trying to quell the cries building, lips quivering pitifully.

“Do you have any information on Y/N Styles?” His voice is watery and broken.

The nurse looks at him with sad eyes, warm and understanding, like his mother’s. How does everyone else know what he’s feeling besides himself?

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” she says, and he simply nods. He doesn’t have the energy to be upset or press her anymore. The heaviness on his chest building, he doesn’t even try to stop it anymore. He just wants to wallow, curl up and cry until he’s finally able to wake up from this nightmare. He hates the feeling like he’s just given up, accepted that Y/N may not come back from this.

He wants to fight, but all of the fight he has left him as soon as Jeff told him the news.

“Thank you,” he whispers, heading back to the waiting room. He sits down silently on the chairs next to Gemma, the worn wood squealing from the sudden weight. Anne paces in front of them, rocking Rhia back and forth, like she has been for the past few hours; call it a nervous tick or a mother’s instinct, but holding Rhiannon calms her.

Gemma glances at him in the corner of her eye, unsure of how to comfort him in such a situation. He can see her

“I can’t hold her, Gem,” he says weakly, and she looks at him, finding his gaze held on the small little bundle in their mother’s arms. She sighs. “What if—” There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. He covers his mouth with trembling hands, trying to push back the cries swelling in his chest.

“What if Y/N dies?”

It’s one thing to think about it, but saying it aloud breaks his heart in two.

Y/N has been a constant in his life for six years, and in that time, she became his rock, his shoulder to cry on, his stability, who held his heart so close to her. Then, he thinks about his baby girl, who has had her mother for barely seven months, just to have her ripped away so easily because of some drunk who didn’t know when to quit, and he thinks he’s going to be sick again.

It takes only one mistake to set off a series of irreversible events.

Exhausted, he doesn’t fight the sob that comes out, his shoulders shaking as more and more. He heaves for breath, curling into himself. Gemma wraps an arm around him, and he cries into her shoulder. He feels useless, sinking further into the endless pit in his mind. He’s never considered the possibility of Y/N never being there with him, holding his hand through the fire, and now that possibility is very real; he can’t face it.

When he’s run himself dry, he finally looks at her with red-rimmed eyes and swollen cheeks.

“If she dies, I dunno if I could even look at her,” he admits. “To see her eyes...” Gemma just listens. She knows that there’s nothing she could ever say to make the situation any better. She holds her brother’s hands tightly. “I should have been here,” he says, nodding softly.

“Harry, there’s nothing you could have done. It’s that prick’s fault, not yours,” she says angrily. She’s trying to keep calm, for everyone’s sake, but it’s difficult when it feels like her family is being torn apart.

“I would’ve been driving,” Harry insists. “I would be the one in there, not her, and they would’ve been safe.”

“You don’t know that,” Gemma argues softly. She’s never seen him like this before, but that’s to be expected in the situation they’re in. He’s normally such an optimistic person, and to hear him degrade himself is almost too much to handle.

“If she does make it—”

“When she makes it,” Gem snaps.

“She’s gonna hate me. I know it.”

“She has never blamed you for anything, not when fans gave her shit, not when paps would follow her, and especially not when you had to leave. There are some things that are simply out of our control, and she understands. She understands that you can’t be there all the time. She understands that this is your job, and your job has made you who you are today. She won’t blame you for this either, so don’t blame yourself.”

“You don’t understand,” he sighs. It’s true. She does not understand what he’s gone through. She doesn’t know what it feels like, but she knows that the damage is already done. There’s no use in looking back and analyzing everything to see what they could have done differently.

“I should’ve been here.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“Harry?” A shallow, unfamiliar voice speaks from behind him, making everyone raise their heads.

Anxiety spikes in his stomach. He wonders how anyone could have recognized him, since there is absolutely no one else in the hospital, and how insensitive they would have to be to come talk to him while he’s in such a state. Anger bubbles within him, his skin turning hot as he turns to face the woman.

The blood on her uniform makes him pause.

“My name is Leslie. I was one of the first people on the scene.”

“Do you know anything?” She shakes her head sadly.

“But I was with your wife in the ambulance. She wanted me to tell you that she loves you and…” She coughs, hesitation clear on her features. “And not to give up.”

She probably doesn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words because when he stands and tugs her into a hug, she tenses, hesitantly wrapping her arms around him. Again, like when he saw his baby girl, hope warms him, blanketing and strengthening him.

It’s like Y/N is speaking to him through her.

“Thank you,” he whispers, offering her a weak smile. Just as they part, an older woman rounds the corner. Everyone sits up a little straighter, the air becoming a little tenser, when she gets closer to them.

“She’s resting, now, but she should be up in a few hours,” the doctor smiles.

Harry wants to crumple to the ground as a weight lifts from his chest, and he can finally breathe. He’s run ragged, a broken cry slipping out of his blubbering lips. He tugs Gemma into his arms, who returns the embrace wholeheartedly. Such relief and warmth fills him that he can barely hear the doctor as she continues.

“There was some pretty severe internal bleeding, but we got her stabilized. She also had a couple broken ribs, nothing that time and care won’t heal. After we do some more tests, she should be released in about a week. I can show you to her room, if you’d like?”

“Yes,” Harry cries.

When they reach Y/N’s room, Harry pauses outside and turns to his mother. Her eyes, noticing the confliction in his eyes, are soft and understanding. He never thought about seeing her in such a state until now, but least she’s still with him, his little fighter, just like Rhi.

“Mum, can I, uh…” He nibbles on his lip, holding his arms out.

“Course,” Anne says, moving the baby in his open arms.

“Hi, peach,” he says, smiling. She sleeps contentedly, her features relaxed. His heart twinges as she burrows herself into his chest, and he wraps the blanket a little tighter around her.

“We’ll go to the cottage and get some extra clothes for you all,” Gemma says, knowing that Harry needs this time alone. She tugs her mother, who hesitates but soon follows.

He expected her condition to be poor, but that doesn’t stop the burning in his eyes when he sees her, hooked up to what seems like dozens of machines, her face swollen, and stitches along her hairline; she looks so fragile, so broken, but her heart beat is strong, breathing steady. As if sensing her father’s discomfort, Rhi burrows further in his arms, snuffling lightly.

He settles in a chair next to Y/N’s bed, one hand holding hers while the other arm cradles his baby.

“Gave daddy a scare earlier, peach,” he coos. “Daddy’s sorry that he wasn’t there with ya.”

He promises her many things, that she’s safe, that nothing will ever happen to her, and that her mum is safe, too, but most importantly, he promises to be there for her. He cries silently, careful to keep the tears and painful jolts of his chest from waking Rhi. He just can’t help it. After the dust settles and the smoke is cleared, the gravity of the situation weighs on him: he could have lost the two most important people in his life, and he would not have been there.

A nurse stops by to bring a bassinet for Rhiannon and to check on Y/N, who is doing wonderfully, especially after such an invasive surgery.

Y/N wakes after about an hour, just as the sun peaks beyond the horizon. Harry is still up, of course, watching his girls, finding comfort in the heart monitor. He pushes the bassinet back and forth with his foot.

“H?”

He beams when he hears her voice, gravely and worn, but it’s her voice nonetheless, comforting and warm. He wishes that he could hold her and kiss her until his love heals her wounds, but he has to settle for holding her hand and kissing her forehead for the time being.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, tears slipping past her swollen eyes. “It happened so fast.”

“What are you sorry for, lovie? You did absolutely nothin’ wrong,” he says, brushing back her hair.

“You had to leave because I wasn’t being careful enough, and I—”

His heart aches, eyes glazing over. He hates that he made her feel like his job was more important than her.

“No, none of that,” he says, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter. Listen, this was not your fault, and as far as tour goes, it’s not nearly as important as you two. I would drop everythin’ if you needed me to. There is nothin’ that I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right? You both are my life, now; I made that promise the day we got married and the day she was born. You both are my number one priority, and I haven’t been treating you like it. For that, I’m so sorry.”

“Harry—”

“It was selfish of me to think that I could live in the past and the present, live the life that I used to while trying to be a father and a husband. It wasn’t fair of me, and I am so, so very sorry, babylove.”

He kisses her, careful of her bruises, and she sinks further into the bed, comforted by his warm words and tender touches. Her eyes, fluttering with exhaustion and filled with tears, refuse to close, as if she’s afraid that he’ll be gone by the time she wakes. He runs his thumb along her cheek, mindful of the swollen areas. For the first time in what feels like years, his mind is calm, basking in the feeling of happiness as he’s finally able to feel and see his family, safe and within his reach. That’s all he’s ever wanted, and as he sees her nodding off, he presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, whispering.

“Rest, lovie, I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

She falls asleep with a faint smile.

Perhaps, fate isn’t cruel as many think. Just like anything, it can be merciful and loving for those who are worth mercy and love.

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes angst #not my gif #credit to owner

1K notes · View notes

jeonqqin · 4 years

Text

you break up :

request: no

warning: angst, anger, suggestive, dirty talk (???)

word count: 9k

a/n: i’m sorry for doing this to you all

Chan:

hey, sorry, I’ll be in the studio late tonight.

text you when I’m out.

it was time to mark another day where Chan wouldn’t be coming home.

no matter what he said to you;

oh baby, i’ll be home later.

see you at ten. ;)

i’m so excited to sleep next to you tonight.

it always turned into—

sorry, it looks like i’m busier than i thought.

i’ll be in the studio tonight.

before, you would call him and tell him how much you loved him, just reminding him not to work so hard and that you’d be waiting for him.

but then he decided it would just be easier to text.

and you stopped going to the studio after he got frustrated with your attempts to get his attention.

so you sat at home and waited patiently.

until two weeks passed and you started to think that just waiting around for him wasn’t what you wanted anymore.

Chan, can you come home, please?

i really need to talk to you.

and it was seen, but there was no response.

Chan.

please talk to me, I don’t know if I can do this anymo—

no, you deleted that.

i think we should talk about a few things.

sent.

seen.

no response.

your chest clenched.

he had never once ignored you.

you called him with shaky hands.

one, two, three, four, five rings—

��hello this is Bang Chan, please leave a message—”

you huffed with a sob in your throat.

you weren’t just sad anymore.

you were frustrated.

Chan was the man you would do anything for; the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

you’d given so much for him and your relationship—sacrificed so much.

but he couldn’t even make time to respond to your damn text message.

and you were sitting alone in a cold apartment, like you had so many nights before.

and he was working.

sure, he had expressed how important his work was before, but he had never ignored you for it.

maybe he wasn’t ready for a relationship—maybe he wasn’t ready for your relationship.

maybe he needed someone less clingy.

or someone who didn’t want so much of his attention.

but that wasn’t you.

you knew what you wanted, and he wasn’t there to give it to you.

you couldn’t even remember the last time he kissed you—or hugged you.

or said “i love you” to your face.

suddenly, your phone was buzzing in your hold and you rushed to pick up, your voice shaking.

“Chan? h-hello?”

“Y/n, what is it?”

he sounded rushed, his voice rough.

“Chan, i-i really just wanted to talk—”

“god, Y/n, i know, you told me already. please just get to the point. i have a deadline and can’t just listen to you ramble about nothing right now.”

he sighed, and you could tell he had put his phone down—sounding distant.

you bit your tongue.

“okay, i understand you’re busy, but please, i need you to come home so we can have a conversation about everything that’s been happening.”

you may have sounded calm, but your heart was beating out of your rib cage.

“i can’t come home tonight, Y/n. just tell me tomorrow night, when i’m home.”

you scoffed. “yeah right, you won’t be home tomorrow…”

“Y/n, you know i can’t hear you when you mumble—”

“you won’t be home tomorrow! i know you won’t, Chan! you say that every single day, and you still aren’t here.”

“i’m busy, Y/n! our fucking comeback tour is in one week, and we still need to work on these songs—”

“you’re going on tour…?” your voice was strained.

he never even told you he would be going on tour so soon.

not even that, but in the early days of your relationship, he had promised you that he would stay with you the week before he went on tour since you knew he would be gone for weeks.

and he didn’t even tell you.

“you know what, Chan? nevermind. i don’t want to talk to you right now.”

he sighed. “Y/n, i didn’t mean—”

“no, Chan. i-i hope you all do well on tour.”

and then you hung up.

and immediately went to packing your bag.

you weren’t going to wait for him if he was going to throw out your feelings like that.

you dialed the first number that came to mind.

“Minjun—it’s Y/n.”

“woah, Y/n? it’s eleven o’clock at night, what’s wrong?”

“can i stay at your house for a few days please?”

Chan had always been weary of Minjun.

he was your best friend and you spent lots of time with him.

naturally your boyfriend would have mixed feelings.

but you knew he would comfort you while you thought about your relationship with Chan.

and he did.

he babied you as much as you wanted when you were there, even giving up his bed for you.

and all you could think was “why couldn’t Chan be so attentive?”

and the worst part of it was—

you didn’t hear from Chan for the entire week.

no calls, no texts.

nothing.

until saturday night, when there was a knock on Minjun’s door and he opened it to see Chan there.

he wasn’t too happy to see him either.

“what, Chan.”

Chan wasn’t happy about you going to Minjun.

he had been pissed when he asked your friends where you had gone and they reported that you were at Minjun’s house.

“can i talk to her?”

Minjun scoffed. “seeing as you didn’t want anything to do with her all week, i’d think you were broken up.”

Chan fumed.

“it’s not any of your business, Minjun.”

“it is when my best friend comes to me in the middle of the night crying her fucking eyes out!”

you then pushed into view.

“Minjun…” you sighed, placing a hand on his arm.

Chan zeroed in on the action.

“let me talk to him.”

Minjun looked hesitant and pissed, but he moved to the side to let you through.

“alright, darling.”

his last words were said with a sneer at Chan.

they were only to rile him up.

you shut the door behind you.

Chan looked down at you with sad eyes.

he’d missed you.

he missed your sweet voice, and you bringing him coffee in the morning.

he missed pulling you into him at night, and waking up to your face in the morning.

“i miss you so much, baby…”

you sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“well, i missed you too, Chan.”

he immediately looked hopeful, his arms reaching towards you. “baby, i’m—”

but you stepped away from him.

“i missed you when you spent weeks on end in the studio, promising me that you’d come home. only to hear that you were staying at the studio again.”

Chan’s heart dropped.

“Y/n, baby, you know how I get when we’re close to tour. i get no sleep, and i don’t think right.”

you nodded. “i understand, Chan. which has me coming to the conclusion that…” you took a shaky breath, looking past him and not directly at his sad face. “we aren’t right for each other.”

Chan grabbed your arms immediately, his breath ragged.

“no, no, baby, please don’t say that. i love you so damn much, i can’t lose you.” he pleaded, searching for your eyes.

“Chris—”

no, you couldn’t.

“no, please. i only want you, baby. you’re my girl, i love you.”

you shrugged his hands off.

“Chris, i think you should leave.”

Chan didn’t notice Minjun pulling you back, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

Chan only saw the way you turned into his chest.

the same way you used to with him;

when you were tired, when you were scared, when you were upset.

“get out of here, Chan. you’re only hurting her more.”

he had debated knocking Minjun down a peg, maybe make him eat his words.

but he couldn’t do anything with you looking at him like that.

so he left.

what the hell was he supposed to do?

Minho:

“babydoll, look at me—”

“Minho don’t fucking touch me right now.”

you were pissed.

no, you were beyond pissed.

Minho had gone to a club with you for your birthday, and the moment you stopped dancing and went to get a drink, you watched him pull another girl into him and dance with her.

when you pulled him away and back to his apartment you were ready to throw a fit and yell.

you were furious with him.

and he didn’t even seem to understand why.

but the worst part—

was that you couldn’t even justify being mad.

he made it very clear when you began messing around with him that he wasn’t going to be exclusive with you.

and you said okay.

like a complete dumbass.

how would you know that you were going to catch feelings?

“doll, i didn’t think you would care. she was just some girl. it was just for fun.”

just for FUN.

you knew what was fun—fucking not having feelings for an asshole.

“Y/n, come on, i didn’t think you’d care so much.” he chuckled lightly, tugging on your arm, but you yanked it away.

his attitude was only pissing you off more.

“well, i do care—i did care.”

you grabbed your purse from the bedroom.

in all honesty, you were more mad at yourself for caring so much.

you should’ve seen it coming.

Minho had always been a player, even his friends had warned you as you were getting deeper into the relationship.

you should’ve listened to them.

damn you and your fragile heart.

who was he to fucking do that?

who were you to let him?

Seungmin was going to give you an earful later, that was for sure.

“doll, what are you doing? hey, Y/n, stop.”

he grabbed your wrist.

“Minho, let me fucking go. find some other slut to stick your dick in.”

Minho panicked, grabbing your arms and tugging you back.

“Y/n, stop. you’re being crazy.”

he had no idea why he cared so much about you.

he took pride in his members thinking he was a totally “no strings attached” kind of guy.

he bragged about it.

but there he was,

looking at you and pleading for you to stay with him.

what was happening to him?

what did you do to him?

and he didn’t care.

Minho brought one hand up to brush your hair from your face. “we have something—”

“no, i don’t think so, Minho. i’m doing what i should have done the first time we slept together.”

“babydoll, you don’t have to leave.”

Minho pleaded with you, his head dipping to rest his forehead on yours.

even while you struggled in his hold, he held on tight.

“just forget what happened, okay? let me make you feel better…”

then he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss.

god, you hated him but he felt so nice against you.

after you melted into his hold he pulled back and held your face in his hands.

“please, doll, i didn’t mean to upset you.”

he didn’t mean to upset you?

when he danced with another girl in the club he didn’t mean to upset you.

okay, so he really was a dumbass.

“you’re an asshole, Minho.”

and you pushed him away.

you couldn’t believe you almost let him fucking get away with it.

he always kissed you when you were mad at him and you always forgave him.

not anymore.

you picked up your jacket and your phone, ready to call your roommate to let her know you’d be home soon.

but a familiar hand reached out and grabbed your arm.

“Minho, i swear to god—”

and he kissed you again, causing you to drop your purse as he pushed you up against the wall.

he was strong against you, his hands holding onto your hips tightly.

but this time you didn’t want to give in.

you shoved him away.

“what the fuck, Minho?”

“what, i—”

“no! fuck you, i—” you choked, your hand moving to cover your mouth. “...we’re done.”

and then you were leaving the apartment as quickly as possible, an attempt to hide your tears from his wide eyes.

and Minho just stood there, wondering why the hell he was such an asshole.

and how the fuck was he supposed to get you back after that?

Changbin:

ah.

why did you know that it would end so soon?

even with the lingering thought in the back of your head, you still felt his words pierce your heart.

“i just think i’ve fallen out of love with you…”

damn him.

things had felt off for months, but it turned out he was too scared to tell you until the last moment.

maybe if he had told you sooner, there could’ve been something to salvage.

but no, you saw nothing when you looked into his eyes.

nothing but guilt.

you sighed, feeling your chest tighten. “okay. i—uh, i understand.”

and then came the feeling of heartbreak as he looked at you with relief.

god, it hurt so fucking much.

“really? you’re okay?”

you had to force yourself to nod, though the tears that stung your eyes betrayed you.

“yeah, totally. if you’re not happy anymore, Changbin, then i wouldn’t want you to stay with me.”

and there was the wince.

“look, Y/n…”

“it doesn’t matter. just get the fuck out of my house.”

maybe you were being a little unfair,

but you were just getting ready to start the serious phase of your relationship.

and suddenly he was pulling back his feelings.

had he always been half in the relationship?

how long had he been thinking about breaking things off?

when did he even love you?

“i’m sorry. but it wouldn’t be healthy for either of us if I decided to stay in this relationship.”

you scoffed.

“right, and it also would’ve been crazy to give me a heads up before dropping this bomb on me. not even a, oh i’m sorry but i’m starting to lose feelings. nope, just straight into, sorry Y/n i don’t love you anymore. thank you for that, Changbin.”

Changbin didn’t respond, instead looking off to the side in shame.

he knew it was wrong to keep it from you.

but the steady decline of his feelings went alongside your increasing love for him.

and he didn’t know how to break you like that.

so he waited until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“y’know, i really blame myself.” you said as he looked to the floor. “i should’ve been able to see you falter every time you said you loved me—you fucking liar.”

Changbin stood and walked to you, his hands reaching out for a moment. “i still love you, Y/n… it’s just different now.”

you slapped his hand away with a glare.

but despite your anger, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. “that’s such bullshit.”

“come on, we have been through so much. you’re still my best friend, Y/n—”

you stood in order to look him in the eye, tired of hearing words that only cut deeper into your chest.

“do you realize how much just looking at you right now hurts me? does it not occur to you that having you talk to me about how you still love me is fucking killing me?”

you paused for a moment to give his chest a shove.

“i’m not going to sit here and listen to you try and repair your conscience.”

he opened his mouth to protest—you could tell by the furrow of his brow and the small frown on his lips that he was about to raise his voice or lecture you about how that wasn’t what he was trying to do and that you didn’t know what you were talking about.

you had been getting into more fights recently.

he had used those excuses often.

but before he could utter a word, your hands had already wrapped around his jacket that he had left on the couch and had thrown it in his face.

“get. out.”

he frozen, slowly pulling his jacket from his head and looking off like he didn’t even know what had happened.

but you didn’t give him time to process.

as the tears streamed down your face in warm rivers, you pushed him towards your front door, not even stopping when his foot tripped over something and he nearly fell.

you just wanted him out.

so you pushed and pushed and pushed until he was at your door.

you opened it for him quicker than he could react, and suddenly it was slamming in his face.

he couldn’t even process going through your apartment to get to the door.

just suddenly he was looking out into the hallway of your apartment complex, and he realized—

it was finally done.

and unlike his initial thoughts of relief, he really didn’t know how to feel as he stared at your closed door.

he had just lost his best friend and his girlfriend in one night, and as much as he felt like he had drifted apart from you over the months,

he still felt his chest ache when he realized you were actually gone.

Hyunjin:

butterflies swirled in your stomach.

it was the night.

you knew you were ready, and you had been waiting for the perfect time to tell your boyfriend of two years.

you wanted to have sex.

you were a virgin.

and your boyfriend was not.

you had discussed it a while ago with him, but hadn’t been quite ready to take things any further.

and he was a perfect gentleman and said, “i’ll wait as long as you want, princess. no worries.”

and finally you were ready to surprise him after a day at the studio.

so you had put on a set of white lingerie under a sweater of his and some sleep shorts.

he loved when you wore his clothes.

though, he never admitted it.

it was only when you heard your apartment door close that you felt the giddiness fill you.

you were tempted to giggle.

“princess? i brought you something from the bakery down the street since you told me—oh.”

he paused in the middle of the kitchen once he finally saw you, mid placing the bag of baked goods on the counter.

“you look—are you wearing makeup?”

you smiled as a blush spread to your cheeks.

“mhm.”

despite the shaking of your hands, you proceeded forward towards your stunned boyfriend.

his eyes widened with every step you took, and he finally put down the bag in his hands.

well, more like dropped.

“Y/n, i-i—”

you met him in the kitchen and rose to wrap your arms around his neck.

“i’m ready, Hyunjin.”

“r-ready?”

“i want you tonight.”

he visibly gulped.

“well, princess, i—”

but you cut off his cute ramblings with a kiss.

and he melted into you immediately.

and somehow, with coordination you didn’t know he had, he had led you into the bedroom without breaking the kiss.

you then wasted no time in pushing him onto the bed and resuming the kiss, straddling his hips in the process.

“shit, Y/n—” he groaned.

you hummed in response as you pulled your (his) sweater off of you.

he stared with wide eyes and gaping mouth, and you couldn’t hold in your giggle.

“princess, hold—”

but he was cut off by his own groan as you felt the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

“will you take care of me, Jinnie?” you whispered, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“fuck, yes.”

you continued to strip him and yourself of your clothes with all the excited energy in your body.

until your chest was completely exposed and he was left in his boxers.

you were shy, of course, despite it not being the first time your boyfriend had seen you topless.

but it was the first time he had looked at you so intimately.

and god you loved him so much.

a smile rose on your face as he kissed you so tenderly.

then he pulled away.

“Y/n, i have to—”

you ran your hand down to his boxers and he shivered, looking down at you with hesitation.

“hmm?” you giggled.

but the moment your hand came in contact with his clothed dick he jumped away with an exclamation that startled you.

“woah, woah, woah, Y/n. wait.”

“what? what’s wrong? did i hurt you? what did i do wrong?”

“just—fuck, i didn’t think it would be this fucking difficult.”

your heart sank to your stomach.

“what…?”

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair.

“you’re just not like the other girls, babe—”

babe?

he never called you babe.

he said he thought he sounded like a prick when he used that name.

and yeah, he was fucking right.

“what the fuck do you mean, Hyunjin?”

he sighed. “look, don’t take it like that, Y/n.”

you were completely blindsided.

how could he be so loving and gentle with you and then suddenly switch to some asshole that wanted you to be like all the other damn girls he had fucked before?

were you that fucking bad?

did he—

fuck.

he wanted someone with more experience...?

“oh my god…” you covered your face as it got warmer in embarrassment.

“princess, hey, look at me—”

“what the hell, Hyunjin? you don’t want to have sex with me because ‘i’m not like the other girls’? isn’t that the fucking point?”

“i just need to get used to—”

you stood quickly covering yourself the best you could as you collected one of your sweatshirts and a pair of leggings, pulling them on quickly.

“sorry i’m not some slut you can fuck. jesus…”

you felt tears of embarrassment burn the back of your eyes.

“Y/n, you don’t understand what—”

“Hyunjin,” you stopped him, crossing your arms protectively over your chest. “i think you should leave.”

he stood from the bed in a panic.

“princess, no! no, come here.”

he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your frame, holding you close.

“of course i’ll make love to you, princess. please, just forget everything i said, okay?”

the protest died in your throat when you felt his fingers run along your core, only a squeak leaving your lips before you clamped them shut.

“i love you too much to go…”

but it wasn’t right.

his words from just minutes ago ran through your head, and you couldn’t enjoy it all anymore.

he didn’t want to have sex with you, so what was he doing?

your hands gripped onto his biceps as his fingers sped up.

“Hyunjin—”

“you like it, babe?”

there was that word again.

you pushed on his arms.

“no, H-Hyunjin. stop.”

he froze at the croak of your voice.

you shoved him away quickly, gulping breaths of air as you composed yourself.

you were beyond embarrassed.

never in your life did you want your first time to be out of pity.

you wanted to give it to someone that wanted you as much as you wanted them.

or more than you wanted them.

not the other way around.

“Hyunjin, please just leave…” you sniffed, holding in everything that was rapidly rising to the surface.

“Y/n, i—”

“please, i can’t look at you right now.”

Hyunjin stood stunned.

what had he done.

he had to be the worst boyfriend to say something so insensitive when his beautiful girlfriend was literally handing him herself on a silver platter.

what could he even do to fix it?

“please, Y/n. i don’t want to live without you, princess.”

you shook your head, having little belief in his words.

“just go away.”

then he saw your wet eyes.

so he nodded.

Hyunjin felt powerless as he pulled on his clothes as you stood there shaking.

he knew you were holding in your tears—he’d seen you in such a state before.

never did he think he’d be the cause.

so he left, his head hung low and his eyes stinging with the tears that he let flow down his face the moment he closed the door behind him.

Jisung:

as soon as you heard the front door of your apartment close, your head peaked out of the bathroom to check if the cost was clear.

and with no sign of your boyfriend, you stepped out in your elegant party dress that your female coworkers had picked out just for the occasion.

your work was your life, and you spent years to get wear you were; a symbol for the company.

the face of the business.

and the face of the business couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

there could be no slip ups of your plastered on smile.

which also meant you had to be the most desirable person in the room, with only the best dress and the best date.

not to say your boyfriend wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but he was a little wild.

the last gala you took him to ended sourly.

your boss wasn’t impressed with his childish behavior.

so you always neglected to tell him about them in case he had any hard feelings about you not asking him to join you.

you quickly grabbed your purse and stuffed a few extra makeup products for the night in there, taking one last look around before setting the note for Jisung on the table.

‘called me in for work, baby. see you at 11. <3’

then you turned to leave.

but met eyes with your boyfriend—the person you really wanted to avoid.

you forced a smile.

“where are you going then, sugar?”

“Sungie, i just wrote you a note. i thought you were on a run?”

Jisung quirked an eyebrow, though he didn’t look amused as he usually did.

“you’re either cheating on me, or the standards of work casual has drastically changed.”

you winced.

“i’m not cheating on you, Sungie…”

he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“then what are you all dolled up for?”

his nonchalance began to make you nervous.

your usually happy boyfriend was nowhere to be found, and instead stood a stranger that you weren’t used to.

you looked down at your hands as he stepped closer to you.

“just for work…”

“you have a business party tonight.”

you sighed, smoothing down the fabric of your pretty dress.

“Jisung, it’s just the way my work is, okay? there’s nothing personal.”

he scoffed. “right. just like how my work is nothing personal? for god’s sake, Y/n, stray kids is the most important thing in my life right there next to you, and you’ve met all of my best friends—my brothers. i’d be stupid to think you didn’t feel the exact same about your job and your coworkers.”

he threw his keys onto the table roughly, causing you to visibly jump.

Jisung didn’t get angry very often—and in all ten months you had been together, he had never been mad at you before.

you could tell you were in for a hell of a night.

“i know none of them like me, Y/n. those stuck up assholes wouldn’t know how to have fun if it punched them in the face—”

“okay, Jisung. you’ve made yourself very clear.” you snapped.

your coworkers were your family, and it had been very hard to keep your two worlds separated knowing that neither of them could ever mix.

but you never thought of picking.

you were both very sure and very nervous about which you would pick.

Jisung huffed a humorless laugh. “you live in a fantasy world, Y/n. ignoring all your problems so you can make everyone else happy. your just waiting for it all to bite you in the ass.”

“you’re a pushover.”

“stop being such a fucking hard-ass, Y/n.”

“live your own life for once.”

they kept spewing from his mouth, no matter if you wanted to listen or not.

they wouldn’t stop.

Jisung was famous for his word vomit.

but suddenly your phone began ringing, pausing him mid speech and catching both of your undivided attention.

Jisung was the closest, and wasted no time in checking the caller id.

“Taejun.”

he was your partner in the workplace, often mistaken as your boyfriend since the two of you went to social events together.

he was easily the most attractive man in your building, which is why your boss paired you two.

a good visual pair for campaigning.

your friendship came naturally after that.

Jisung hated him.

“i should’ve fucking known.” he laughed dryly, putting your phone back down. “you’re going with him then?”

you rolled your eyes, keeping your mouth shut.

you had nothing to say to him.

8:30

you had to go, or be in danger of being late.

that not only threatened your position, but your business’s.

so you sighed, turning to Jisung.

“i need to go. i can’t be late.”

so you reached and grabbed your phone, throwing it into your purse haphazardly.

Jisung remained silent as you passed him, but the moment your hand touched the door, he called out, spewing words you never thought you would hear leave his mouth.

“it’s me or them, sugar.”

your hand froze.

the usual pet name sounding like poison rolling off his tongue.

“if you leave… you obviously would rather go to some useless party than fix this.”

the air was thick;

thick and silent.

you released a breath you hadn’t known you were holding and gripped the door knob a little tighter.

“i’m sorry, Sungie…”

and then you left.

even if you had never thought of picking, you still knew exactly what you were going to choose.

Felix:

“are you sure?”

“the doctors were pretty concerned. they took her in immediately, Y/n.”

the stressed voice of your father had you nervous, his worries bleeding to you.

“alright… don’t worry, dad. i’ll get a flight as soon as possible.”

“we love you, Y/n.”

“i love you too.”

then you hung up.

the conversation hung heavy in the air as you stepped back to think.

your mother was very ill, to the point of hospitalization, and they didn’t know how much time she had left.

with your dad working his ass off to pay for your college in a different country and all their own living expenses, your mom barely had anyone to take care of her.

so he called you.

he didn’t have to beg you to take some time off of school and go home, there was no way you could continue to live peacefully with the knowledge of your mother’s condition.

you just didn’t know what to tell Felix.

the two of you had met in australia when you were in high school and you moved to south korea with him when he became a trainee.

your parents were supportive the whole way; they loved Felix to death and knew he was good for you.

which made it harder to think about what you ultimately had to do.

Felix’s career was flourishing; stray kids weren’t even at their peak of success and they were already so popular.

you couldn’t force him to make the decision between the career he loved and you—the girl he was in love with.

so you made it for him.

holding back your tears, you stepped out of your shared bedroom.

“Felix,” you called, swallowing the lump that formed in your throat. “we need to—we need to talk.”

he was immediately looking over his shoulder from his position on the couch.

but then he saw your face.

he stood and rushed to your side, the video game on the tv long forgotten.

“sunshine, what’s wrong?”

god, don’t say that.

you sniffed, a sad smile rising to your cheeks.

“baby…” you started, but it was a struggle when your emotions blocked them from escaping.

“your mom’s okay, right?” he asked with worried eyes.

you shook your head.

“she’s in the hospital, Lix.”

his face fell.

“okay, shit, let me call the boys.” he spoke quickly, reaching for his phone. “we can get a flight for next weekend. i’m sure Chan won’t mind if i miss a few days—”

“her life expectancy is a year, Felix.”

he froze.

“i’m leaving tomorrow.”

“woah, hold on, at least give me some time to tell the guys.” Felix ran a stressed hand through his hair.

you shook your head, avoiding his panicked stare.

“i don’t think you should come with me…”

“come on, sunshine… don’t say that. i love your mother just as much as you do. i have to go.”

you laughed humorlessly, throwing your hands in the air. “Felix, you barely even travel to see your own parents! i can’t let you jeopardize your career for me or my mother—she’s my responsibility, not yours.”

“your responsibilities are mine, Y/n! i thought we agreed to that when you moved here with me?”

you rubbed your eyes frustratedly as they started to sting.

“there is no way i’m going to watch you give up your dream, Felix. not to mention the danger you’d be putting your friends in! because if you disappear then they will have to deal with the backlash. they—they can’t do that again, Lix.”

Felix flinched at your words.

“i’ll find a way to juggle both at the same time then.” he said, voice firmer.

he was daring you to say no.

“how will you do that? i’ll be at my mothers side every hour, and i can’t just rush to the closest international airport when you decide you can spare a little time with me.”

you sighed, finally feeling a tear slip from your eye.

“it’ll tear us both apart, Lix.”

he shook his head in denial. “sunshine, you’ve been my world since i first saw you… you want me to give that up now?”

you squeezed your eyes shut as the first shot of pain rippled through your chest.

“i don’t want any of this.”

“Y/n, just—”

“i never wanted my mom to be put into the hospital, i never wanted to have to drop out of school, and i never wanted to have to choose between you living your dream and loving me.”

Felix spent a second just looking at you sob, his brows furrowed in pain, his own eyes becoming wet.

then he took one long stride to you, crashing against your shaking form and pulling you tight against his sturdy body.

“sunshine, no matter what happens, i would’ve—i will never stop loving you.”

so you released your tears and pain into his chest, knowing that everything was only going to get harder as the days passed.

you’d have to wake up without him snoring next to you.

you’d have to go through your day knowing he was hundreds of miles away.

and you’d have to accept the fact that you might grow apart in your absence.

he might find someone else.

and you had to live with that.

“Felix, please stay with me today.”

he let his tears run down the side of your neck as he pressed a firm kiss against your jaw.

you gripped the fabric of his shirt.

“yeah—okay, sunshine. okay.”

Seungmin:

god he hated when Minho got drunk.

he was a total asshole when he was drunk.

“what did you just say to me?” Seungmin glared.

Minho sighed, throwing his arm over Seungmin’s shoulders as a form of comfort.

“i’m sorry, dude. i know it can be hard—bitches like her are the reason i’m not tied down!”

but Seungmin wasn’t going to listen to him, pushing his elder off of him with a glare.

“watch what you fucking say about my girlfriend, hyung.”

“hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” he raised his hands in surrender.

no, Seungmin couldn’t believe that you would do something as horrible as cheat on him.

but Minho telling him that he witnessed the scene with his own eyes, made him a little dizzy.

“you don’t know shit, hyung.”

Minho frowned in concern. “Seungmin… i know it was Y/n. i may be drunk, but i wouldn’t tell you something like this if i wasn’t sure it was her. what kind of hyung would i be if i wasn’t?”

Seungmin froze.

Minho had never lied to him before, nor would he lie about something with so much weight.

but he just couldn’t believe him.

“it couldn’t have been her.”

but it was you.

Minho was just too drunk to process the real situation.

they had all gone to a jyp trainee showcase, and afterwards, they decided—more or less—to attend the after party.

most of the jyp groups attended, mingling with friends they hadn't seen in months.

unease churned in your stomach.

you hated jyp parties.

you were surrounded by gorgeous faces and people you barely knew.

not to mention that you and Seungmin were in the middle of some stupid argument about nothing important.

but he had left you like an asshole.

he knew you would be miserable by yourself, and he did it on purpose.

the fucker.

you just wanted to fucking leave.

to drag your boyfriend home and tell him he was stupid and get over the argument.

but he was nowhere you looked.

you checked with Chan and Felix—but no.

checked with Jisung—no.

and even Jeongin and Hyunjin—still no.

all you wanted was to find Seungmin.

but for the life of you, you couldn’t seem to find your boyfriend anywhere.

“you okay?”

you jumped when a hand was placed onto your arm, spinning around to see a man you weren’t familiar with.

“you look a little—i don’t know,” the man chuckled, shrugging. “lost.”

you shook your head with a sigh.

“i’m just a little anxious…”

“party jitters?” he laughed, raking his eyes around the crowd of dancing figures.

you chuckled lightly. “something like that.”

“oh? what then? idol jitters? these guys creep me the hell out sometimes, that’s for sure.”

“you’re not a trainee then?”

he shook his head rapidly with an embarrassed laugh. “no way. i’m just a journalist working for jyp. thanks for inflating my ego though.”

he definitely looked the part of a trainee.

youthful, stylish, kind,

and definitely attractive.

you laughed. “no problem.”

“so what’s the real reason why you’re here?”

you paused for a second.

you really didn’t know him, so why were you actually debating on sharing your personal life with him?

you had no idea.

“my boyfriend ditched me when we got here, and i’m not the biggest fan of parties like these.”

the guy's eyebrows furrowed. “he just left you?”

“we’re kind of in the middle of an argument right now.”

you chuckled, wrapping your arms around yourself.

it felt nice to just get your frustration out there.

he genuinely looked concerned, and you were really sick and tired of Seungmin acting like a child.

“my name’s Jaehan.”

“Y/n.”

you smiled.

he paused for a second, thinking.

“i could give you a ride home if you wanted?”

ah, you winced.

no way would Seungmin take well to the news of you leaving with a man you didn’t even know—a man that wasn’t him period.

“i don’t think i can.” you huffed. “as much as i want to right now.”

Jaehan nodded in agreement.

“i wouldn’t want my girlfriend running around with some other guy either,” he said with a chuckle. “i also wouldn’t leave my girlfriend alone at a party.”

you snorted, bringing your drink to your lips. “i know, right?”

“especially if she was as pretty as you.”

you felt the blush creep to your cheeks the moment you met eyes with him, a nonchalant smile on his lips.

you bit your lip to hold in your laugh.

no one flirted with you anymore; not when they knew who you were dating.

who would want someone else when they were dating an idol?

Jaehan was cute—in a quirky way.

“well, thank you.” you said with a nod of your head.

the two of you talked for a good portion of the party, no sight of Seungmin the whole time.

you were a little disappointed.

he wasn’t even looking for you?

you couldn’t even remember what he was mad at you about.

why the hell did he care so much?

it wasn’t like it was so important that—

“Y/n? you okay?”

you jumped, his hand on your shoulder startling you.

seemed like a reoccurring thing.

“yeah, just—it’s hard to think with all this noise, you know?”

he nodded in understanding, a smile finding itself back onto his face.

he really was cute.

“let’s go outside then. i need some fresh air anyway.”

he nodded towards the balcony and you sighed in relief.

thank god.

“yes, please.”

Jaehan guides you through the cluster of people and reporters and paparazzi.

and seeing him walking confidently through the crowd allowed you to see how tall he really was.

broad shoulders too.

weird.

but then you eventually made it to the balcony, and you took a deep breath of the night air.

no overwhelming smell of alcohol or perfume—thank god.

“damn,” Jaehan breathed a sigh. “why did i take this job again?”

you two laughed, leaning up against the railing.

“at least you have someone who can share your misery now.”

Jaehan snorted tilting his head to look at you. “yeah, that’s true.”

silence took over then, the nerves in your stomach finally stopping.

his smile was nice—calming.

but then his eyes were dropping to your lips.

and you were frozen in place as he leaned down.

and the balcony door was opening.

and he was kissing you.

and then the door was closing.

and he pulled away with wide eyes.

and you were staring up at him with surprise.

what just happened?

“i—what was…”

he swallowed nervously. “Y/n, shit—i’m sorry. i wasn’t fucking thinking. you were just so pretty looking at me, and i—fuck i forgot you have a boyfriend.”

you brought your hand up to your mouth and kept your eyes down.

holy shit.

“i have to go find Seungmin…”

Jaehan nodded, his hands moving to rest on the back of his neck.

“Y/n, jesus. i’m so sorry.”

you took in a shaky breath and sent him a weary smile.

“no, it’s okay.” you suddenly felt guilty. “don’t worry about it, Jae.”

he nodded, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“if you want me to help you find him…?”

you shook your head.

Jaehan was just a stranger that was nice to you when you were anxious, he was just someone who let you vent to him, and shared your dislike for parties.

that was it.

Seungmin couldn’t be upset with you—the kiss was just an accident.

you knew he wouldn’t be mad at you.

oh, but he was.

he was tipsy, and confused, and furious.

and he couldn’t find you anywhere.

so he made Minho take him to when he apparently saw you last, checking each face he passed in case you were one of them.

but no, he saw no one of importance.

until they reached the balcony—

“shit, that’s the guy and—”

“Y/n.”

Seungmin immediately made eye contact with you through the glass.

why you were so close to the guy, he didn’t know, but he fucking hated it.

and he was a little more drunk than he originally thought, and you were so close to him.

he didn’t even remember opening the door to the balcony.

but he was looking between the two of you with such sorrow and confusion.

it hurt you to see him like that.

“Minnie, honey, i—”

“did you kiss him?”

he swallowed, staring into your eyes.

you gaped, your mouth opening and closing with each passing thought.

but you couldn’t get yourself to actually say anything.

he raised his voice. “did you, Y/n?”

“look, man, it was my fault. Y/n, didn’t—”

Seungmin didn’t remember grabbing the guy’s collar, or shoving him against the balcony door.

he just remembered you pulling him away.

“Seungmin, fucking stop! what the hell are you doing—?”

and he didn’t remember breaking up with you.

but he remembered walking out with Minho at his side, his face red and his eyes feeling heavy.

he remembered Chan driving them home.

he remembered Minho telling him he ended things with you.

he remembered Jeongin bringing him water as he laid down in bed.

and he remembered missing you lying next to him.

but he didn’t remember breaking your heart.

Jeongin:

“we need to stop seeing each other.”

you stared with wide eyes as the scene unraveled in front of you.

you couldn’t believe it.

you thought things were going so perfect?

what made him think that it was okay to rip your heart into pieces just like that?

you felt tears cloud your vision.

“i just don’t think we’re right for each other.”

he spoke with no emotion.

his face blank, like a slate.

“no…”

you wiped your tears with the back of your hand.

how could he?

“Y/n, you’re getting too into these movies. maybe we should stop.”

Jeongin’s voice broke the dramatic music of the drama in front of you, the main protagonist crying her eyes out while her love interest stomped on her heart.

and yours too, god damn it.

“no way. you knew what you were in for when you agreed to watch romance movies with me.” you said whilst wiping the wetness from your cheeks.

Jeongin smiled down at you, shaking his head.

the moment he had pressed play earlier that evening, you had cuddled up into his chest with the biggest and heaviest blanket he owned covering you, and his arm casually slung over your shoulder—

emphasis on the word casually.

you and Jeongin had been best friends since childhood.

and that was all it was;

friendship.

unfortunately.

Jeongin had the biggest crush on you, and with you using him as a pillow and hugging him like a teddy bear, it definitely wasn’t going away.

but he could live with it.

because as cheesy as it was, he didn’t want to lose you all because he wanted free reign to kiss you.

and hug you.

and take you on dates.

and sleep next to you at night.

and do other things with you at night.

no way was he going to lose you period.

of course everyone teased him about it.

he was a mess, and they found it hilarious for some sadistic reason.

“okay, as long as you don’t yell at the end like you did the last one. Changbin won’t be happy if he has to come out again.”

you laughed.

oh, his poor heart.

“fine. i’ll withhold my pain.”

he hummed, a poorly hidden smirk on his lips. “good.”

the two of you continued the movie, Jeongin covering your mouth every time he felt a yell or scream coming.

with you hugging him tighter when the couple in the movie found each other again.

and you reaching for his hand under the blanket to intertwine your fingers with his when the overused and painfully intimate “kissing in the rain” scene played.

and maybe he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

and pulled you in closer.

but yeah, you guys were just friends.

once the movie was over, your eyes hurt and you were openly gushing about every part that you loved during the movie.

Jeongin listened with a smile.

“—the end was so perfect. if he had left her, i probably would’ve thrown my shoe at the screen.”

Jeongin shrugged. “it was lackluster at best. the couple gets together in the end and the entire plot of the movie was useless because, oh it was all just a big misunderstanding.” he mimicked the voice of the protagonist with a mock flip of his hair.

“but that’s the whole point! the only way they could’ve been together was if she told him—”

“but where’s the drama in that?”

you huffed, a pout on your lips.

how dare he bring up such reasonable points?

you pushed at his shoulder. “oh yeah? let’s see you do better, mr. big-shot movie critic.”

“better?”

“yeah, show me.”

Jeongin paused for a second to think.

show you a better ending?

huh, fine then.

it was just an act right?

so he grabbed onto your hands and stood, yanking you up in the process and pulling a whine from your lips.

but the whine turned into a giggle when he started to imitate the character that was on the screen only minutes before.

“i can’t stand here and listen to you spout stories that i know to be false. god, you’re like a poison to me; slowly tearing me down until i finally close my eyes and succumb—”

okay, maybe he was really good.

and maybe it made your heart flutter when he pulled you closer.

“—but i know now that if i were to dismiss everything and play dumb like the countless times before, there would be an ending where we both were happy together…”

he then proceeded to yank you into his chest, holding your hips tightly in his grip, and making you release a small gasp.

Jeongin smirked.

“but, angel, you and i were enemies before we were lovers.”

angel?

the character had vividly called the female protagonist darling—

where did angel come from?

but before you could question it, Jeongin was dipping down to press his lips onto your own.

and you were kissing him back.

holy shit, you were kissing him back.

Jeongin nearly died.

but then your arms were around his shoulders and your hands were in his hair—

and he was holding you impossibly closer.

but you were best friends.

were you still going to be best friends after?

oh god, were you going to regret him kissing you??

were you going to act all weird and avoid him???

Jeongin couldn’t breathe.

so he pulled back and held you away by your shoulders.

he was so stupid.

“Jeongin, i—”

“sorry, about that,” Jeongin laughed, quickly removing his arms from your shoulders. “that was really weird, right?”

he laughed again.

you felt your gut drop.

what?

“uh, well i wouldn’t say weird, just—”

Jeongin cleared his throat, interrupting you. “right. you know, weird that i just kissed my best friend.”

you scoffed, disbelieving.

and to think he had actually meant that moment between you two.

what a fucking asshole.

Jeongin laughed anxiously. “it’s getting late…”

“i should leave.”

his eyes snapped to you.

you looked away immediately, clearing your throat. “i mean, because—because it’s late.”

“right.”

you both just stood there, neither of you looking at each other before Jeongin risked a glance.

you were close to tears.

and it was only then that he questioned his actions.

had he read the situation wrong?

“Y/n—”

“no, Jeongin. just shut up.”

you snapped and he jumped, eyes wide.

“i—i can’t right now.”

he felt sick.

then a tear fell down your cheek and you panicked for a moment, spinning around and wiping the wetness from your eyes so he couldn’t see your heart break.

god, you shouldn’t have even felt so shitty.

he was your best friend—he didn’t mean it.

but why did that make you feel even worse?

“i’m gonna go. i’ll see you later…”

so you grabbed your coat—that just so happened to be one of his old ones—and threw it over your shoulders as you rushed to the door and slammed the door shut.

he didn’t follow you.

and that hurt.

because that really meant what had happened was true.

so you cried.

y/n i’m sorry. please come back.

you ignored the telltale ding that came from your phone.

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johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

(requested by calligomiles)

Sometimes you go to the bar to take your mind off work; sometimes you go for a drink; sometimes you go for a quick hook-up; Rosa had come to think. Not about her past, or Logistics, or any of the dozen other topics that somewhat dominated her life - no, she was here to fantasize, to let her mind wander places it couldn’t normally without the help of a few glasses of whiskey and a barstool under her, and three glasses in she was finally in the perfect mental state-

-for some stupid Feline to spill her beer on her. “Aah! When’d you get there?”

“When did I get here? I’ve been sitting here for some time now, thank you.” The Ursus found herself half-glaring, half-staring, at Swire, Lungmen’s best business manager...and right now, a very flustered drunk.

“Oh, well then’s my fault, I guess.” She pouted. “So damn hard to walk when every’s all duplicate-y. There’s like five of that guy, for crying out loud!”

The noble followed her glance- hang on, no, there were two of him, each with a glass in hand. “I know what you mean...I should go home before this beer soaks in any further. Even then, it’ll probably smell like alcohol for awhile.”

“You’n come back to my place! It’s like right ‘round the corner fr’mere.”

“You do owe me for causing this, I suppose.” Rosa hopped to the floor. “Well, then, take me there...Is something wrong?”

Swire hiccuped. “N-n-nope! Nope, nothing wrong here, heheh...Thicc.”

“Excuse me?” The Ursus couldn’t have heard her correctly.

“Nothing, nothing!” The Feline grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door. “Lezgo!”

The bartender, as they left, looked to the Oni who’d brought Swire in with her. “Yer not gonna try’n stop ‘er?”

“Why would I? It’ll make a great story tomorrow, I’m sure.” Hoshiguma gave him a wink before going back to listening to the karaoke playing from the back.

“A’ight, we back in da crib!” Miraculously, after lugging the money-cat around while she gave confused rambly directions, they’d found their way to her apartment. “First things first, gotta getcha outta those rags so they’n get washed. Bathroom’s back ‘dere, I’ll getcha a robe.”

This was already taking a weird turn, but whatever; if it got her not smelling like cheap booze, it was good enough. “Thank you, Miss Swire.”

“Miss? Don’cha start with that, just Swire’s fine.” Definitely not the night to try and treat her like a lady.

“Well, thank you regardless.” She opened the door, glancing back at the Feline. “Knock when you’ve found a robe for me.”

Swire gave her a thumbs-up, watching her close the door before whistling. “Well, Swire, ya brough‘er home...Wa’ step two? Damnit, Hoshi, ya forgot’a tell me step two...We’ll fig’r it out. Let’s go fin‘era robe.”

Rosa took her time in the shower, not because it was an amazing shower, but because she wanted as much of the booze stink off of her as possible. Even if the one who’d brought her home was drunk as a skunk, the Ursus was a lady, and a lady doesn’t climb into someone’s bed at anything less than her best. There was no accounting for taste, and it seemed to her like the money-cat was on the same wavelength.

“Hey, Rosa?” Knock knock knock. “Gotcher robe wi’me. I’ll pastya thru ‘d door. Might babit small tho.”

“Thank you, Swire...What do your friends call you?” Natalya opened the door enough for the Feline to pass her the robe, keeping out of the crack’s line of sight. She’d have her chance to see it all soon enough.

Audible silence from the Feline. “Uh...Kitkat...Not g’na laugh?”

“It’s not funny to me; it’s rather cute, actually.” She swung the door wide open, robe tied around her but not leaving much to the imagination. “A name like that tells me you must be pretty sweet.”

“...Are ya comin’ onta me or am I just that out of it?”

The noble laughed. “Oh, my, you are drunk, then? Well, by my honor as a lady, if you’re not able to give consent-”

“Jussa snuggle?” Swire was giving her Jessica eyes. “Ifya don’wanna take a chance I getcha, but I mean...we’roth ‘ere, ain’t we?”

“Hmm. Yes, that should be fine.” It’s hard to feign consideration when you’re chomping at the bit to get something.

The Feline led her back to her bedroom, gesturing for her to make herself comfortable first before half-rolling into bed. “Ya know I’d’ve said yeah, right? Was the ‘ole pointa goin’ t’nite...Ow.”

“Come here, Kitkat.” Rosa beckoned to her; when she was close enough, the Ursus pulled her on top, setting the back of her head against her chest and softly stroking her hair. “In the morning, when you’ve had time to sober up, I’ll still be here.”

“Ya will? Why?”

Oh, a little taste couldn’t hurt, could it? She kissed her forehead. “Because once we were through the door, I had the same thought.”

“Ohhh.” Swire giggled. “Well thaznice...G’night, Nat.”

“Good night, Kitkat.” Wait, did she just...maybe she’d remember to ask in the morning.

#arknights #arknights fic #swire (arknights)#rosa (arknights)#dnd went late #but it's not midnight yet!

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legionofpotatoes · 3 years

Note

As someone who absolutely loves sci-fi and loved ME, but struggles to care much for anything fantasy (never cared for LOTR or Witcher, what would you recommend about Dragon Age that might appeal to me?

I am not sure how to enter your headspace nonnie, so it’s a bit hard for me to answer genuinely, but uhm. I’ll try to start broad and address Dragon Age in a bit?

From what I understand if someone goes exclusively after sci-fi and not fantasy, there’s something unapproachable about the aesthetic packaging to them. Because by and large both of those genres operate on the same heightened metaphor plane, but sci fi is much much closer to our ground rules whereas fantasy is probably harder to relate to on those elemental points. Beyond that, the stories told are quite similar because as people we tell similar stories. So it’s hard for me to tell why you’ve never cared for the genre at large.

My guess? There is a seeming elegance to worldbuilding structure of science fiction that I think some consider absent from fantasy - that fantasy by its definition is a kitchen sink playhouse of wish fulfillment - and hence find it overwhelming to engage with. I say this because I’ve had this thought a few times as a kid.

But it is not at all the case; to go back to Dragon Age and relate it to your love of Mass Effect, see how the integral strength of ME’s stories are the conflicts it creates from character-driven plots, and how those conflicts are built upon internal world rules like AI ethics or power abuse or familial relationships or even weaponized genophages. Those are all ideas that are hardwired into the foundation of the worldbuilding and not vice versa; and thus are supported by the narrative, feeding directly into character actions and giving us those sweet sweet conflicts that make good stories and make us love these games. None of that is absent in Dragon Age; it is not an unapproachable esoteric world without any tether to our own. It is just as hardwired with stone-set rulesets and established political and ethical conflicts as any Mass Effect, it just has a different packaging around it with an appropriately varying combat gameplay component and all of this ends up asking us to buy into their exposition with a bit more abandon than usual, but beneath all that is the same exact dance of Bioware’s wobbly ethical dilemmas expressed through quests and stories tied around gathering rag-tag teams of lovable characters with optional romances thrown in. Execution on all that stuff is more-or-less as imperfect as in Mass Effect, but that’s something subjective that I don’t need to talk about here.

This is all like big-level stuff about story ethos and its function within heightened genres, but I may have completely overshot your initial ask in my ramble :D if your question was a simpler quandary based on gameplay mechanics and such, well, Dragon Age’s dialogue and character relationship systems are VERY similar to Mass Effect, you can really tell it’s built under the same roof. Combat gameplay is quite different, with a higher emphasis on class power play and squad management (you have 3 companions with you in combat encounters, as opposed to 2 in ME, and that ties into the overall balance), and tbh it can get more fun than ME since there’s no Gun you can fall back on. So it’s all about using the tactical pause and approaching hard encounters like a chess game, with a less faster overall pace. Camera’s third person.

As for the exploration pillar, it is pronounced in some installments but less so in others. To wit, the DA trilogy games are just as varied in their systems as the ME trilogy games were, so it is hard to talk about that part succinctly. Origins covers one country, DAII is set more or less in a single city, and Inquisition spans half a continent. The stories they tell and their parsable content is tied very much to how those settings mentally scale.

Another big thing that might sit on top of your criteria is the playable character; while similar to ME in terms of the DA games telling a chronological story of Thedas (the world they are set in), their protagonists differ per game and hence boast no direct and instant connection to the PC like you’d get in the second and third ME games. The savegame transfer is still a thing and worldstates carry over, but e.g. central characters from past games may show up as tertiary NPCs in later ones and create a meta dissonance and a disconnect between your headspace and that of your player character’s, who does not know them at all. I find that a bit irritating, but it comes with the approach.

So yeah, I think I’ll end here until my rant becomes unmanageable. This wasn’t as much a recommendation as it was an overview that you can hopefully make a more educated decision on. I apologize for the long read. Thanks for the ask!

#anon #asks #dragon age

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certifiedskywalker · 4 years

Text

Shared Scars - Cara Dune

Cara has been alone on Sorgan for a long time. Long enough to forget where she came from but not quite enough to forget the pain. One night, she needs to numb it; whether that meant through a good fight or a sweet surrender.

AN: Tell me what you think! I feel like I could have stuck to Cara’s character a bit better but for a first time....eh?

She felt like she was on fire. With each movement, heat bloomed in her muscles and spread through her veins like liquid flame. Her chest was tight but, as she recovered from a swift dodge, Cara let her shoulders relax. Tension would hinder each strike, she knew this all too well.

“Sa da all u got?” Snapped the green-skinned Mirialan in broken Huttese. Cara grinned as she eyed the dark dribbles of blood on his lower lip. She was getting to him.

“Why don’t you find out?”

A furious roar ripped out from the Mirialan’s throat. He rolled his broad, thickly muscled shoulders and Cara braced herself; he was about to lunge. She had picked up on his tell after the first few strikes. Now, Cara knew how the Mirialan fought.

Smiling, she readied her stance and waited with all the patience of a seasoned warrior. Finally, he charged towards her. Seizing the moment, Cara swung her leg and swept his feet out from under him. The Mirialan fell with a hard crash that brought Cara to her knees at his side as the sparring belt still connected them.

Before he could get to his feet, Cara rushed over and clambered on the Mirialan’s lap. His deep blues eyes had lost their furious glow. Now, all Cara saw was fear. For a moment, she hesitated, but in the next second her years of tactical training and her fists won her over. It took Cara only three solid punches to get the Mirialan to yield; technically two. The third strike was one just for her.

At the man’s cries, Cara took a shaking yet grounding breath. She stood up from the Mirialan’s lap and smiled. Victory was sweet, almost always.

The crowd that swarmed and surrounded the fighting floor cheered. Cara closed her eyes a took a deep breath to savor the sound. Their voices were loud, filling her ears just enough to distract from the ever-present ache in her heart. The credits they threw in her direction were simply a bonus.

“Yes, thank you,” Cara was beaming. “Any moof milkers that made a bet, it’s time to pay up!”

Begrudgingly, those who had placed wages against Cara stepped forward. They handed over what meager credits they had been willing to part with, frowns on their rosy faces. All of them had been entertained but her violence. Before Cara could dwell on it, the Mirialan slapped a small stack of clinking credits in her extended hand.

She looked up into his eyes and smirked. “Wanna rematch? I’m always up for another round.”

The Mirialan scoffed, his own, wide grin spread along his bloody lip. Cara felt her confidence waver at the sight. Something was not sitting well in her stomach, not with the way he was looking at her. Almost as if he sensed her unease, the Mirialan’s expression deepened.

“Watch your back, trooper.”

Cara stiffened at his words, slightly caught off guard by his pristine Basic. “I’m not the one you should be worrying about.”

Her masked threat did little to set the Mirialan off. Wordlessly, he wiped at his bloody bottom lip and pointed at Cara’s cheek. Instincts overwhelmed her and Cara jerked away from the man’s green, extended finger. His knowing grin remained even as he walked away.

“You might what to see someone about that,” he drawled as he strode out of the cantina.

Once the Mirialan was completely out of sight, Cara reached a hand up to where he had pointed at her face. Something warm and wet soaked through the material of her glove. When she pulled her hand back to examine it Cara saw crimson staining the fabric. A small gasp passed over her lips. When had he struck her cheek?

“Damn,” she muttered and stepped over towards the bar. An older man was working behind the counter and Cara waved to get his attention. “Can I get a rag for this?”

“Yes, of course,” he ducked to the side and pulled a scrap of fabric from one of the shelves. Cara caught a glimpse of the glowing, blue spotchka bottles. Her mouth watered slightly but the barkeep moved to stand before her.

“Thanks,” she sighed and took the cloth from his open palm.

“Looks deep. You might wanna get it looked at.”

As Cara placed the strip of the fabric against her cheek, she eyed the man. He seemed kind enough. There were laughter lines in his face, a few age spots here and there. He was old enough to have seen the end of the Clone Wars perhaps. Cara shuddered at the thought.

“Yeah, you know anyone?”

The barkeep pressed his lips in a thin line and glanced about the cantina. Cara watched his searching gaze, not paying attention to who exactly he was eyeing. He tipped his chin over Cara’s shoulder and the ex-trooper traced the direction of his gesture.

“That one,” he said softly, “a retired medic.”

“Retired?” Cara’s brow furrowed as her gaze landed on a fresh face. “A little young for that, huh?”

When she looked back, the barkeep shrugged. “Comes recommended. Does good work in the krill village down the way.”

Cara hummed thoughtfully and thanked the older man. He turned with a dipped head to help the other customers. For a moment, Cara watched him go. What a simple life he led. Long ago Cara would have despised the idea of such a living. Now, it was something she longed for.

A sharp ached in the side of her face broke Cara out of her reverie. She turned and pressed her back against the bar counter to study the ‘retired medic’ the man had pointed out to her. The word ‘retired’ in and of itself set Cara on edge. Who in the galaxy could be so well off, so secure enough to ‘retire’? Not even under the New Republic did that feel like a possibility.

Perhaps that was what made you so appealing to Cara, she wasn’t sure herself. Even as she made her way over to you, Cara was struggling to figure you out. The Mirialan man had been easy to see through. He was some disgraced warrior turned bounty hunter; Cara had seen the likes of him before. But you? You were a puzzle that grew more complicated up close.

“Hey.”

When you looked up at her, Cara felt her breath catch in her throat. “Hi, you’re uh, you were in the fighting ring right?”

“Yeah, I-”

“Your face,” you gasped, standing from your spot at the secluded table. Cara jerked back as you stepped towards her. Confused, you pulled back.

“Sorry, I just…” Cara could see the worry in your eyes and she took a breath. “Post-fight nerves, you know.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, still looking at Cara’s wound. “You can sit down and I can stitch it up for you. If you want? I’m Y/N, by the way.” Cara couldn’t help but smile at you. Slowly, you returned her kind expression and the ex-shock trooper could help but marvel at your beauty. How had you slipped past her eye on Sorgan of all places?

“Y/N,” your name warmed her heart. “Thank you. I’m Cara.”

Cara took the seat beside yours, fiddling with the now bloodied strip of fabric in her hands. The noise in the cantina had dulled after the fight. Idle chatter created the quietest din Cara had ever heard. It was silent enough for unwanted memories to crept up from the back of Cara’s mind. A shudder rattled up her spine, quelled only by your presence.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” you said as you started to reach towards Cara’s face. You paused when she met your gaze, your hand hanging between you. “May I?”

“Of course,” Cara felt a confident smile spread along her lips as your fingertips brushed against her chin. Carefully, you turned her head and pressed gently along her cheek to make sure the wound wasn’t infected. The touch was enough to stir up Endor Blues’ in her stomach.

“Not infected, just deep,” you murmured, your voice doing nothing to help the butterfly-light tickling in Cara’s insides.

“I don’t even remember getting hit.” Cara didn’t miss how you smiled at her words. Granted, the smile was brief, soon covered up by your mock professionalism.

“Well, you’ll remember the scar,” you sat back and met her gaze. “Sewing it up will expedite the healing process but not necessary.”

Cara bit at the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to leave you just yet. There was still so much tender mystery around you and she wanted to know all of it. At least, as much as she could. She had to make up for lost time.

“What does the doctor recommend?” Cara lifted a flirtatious brow and smiled when she saw your reaction. Your eyes widened and you nervously rung your hands, all the while letting out a thoughtful hum.

“Stitches would keep bacteria out,” you thought aloud, “and Sorgan isn’t the most clean place to stay. If you’re roughing it…” You began to ramble and Cara couldn’t stop her the spreading of her grin as you rattled on.

“Stitches it is,” Cara said, interrupting your chatter about the possible causes of infection on the swampy planet she was currently calling home. You stopped and shifted in your seat. Something curious, anxious, lingered in your posture. Just as Cara was about to ask you what was the matter, you began to speak.

“My medical supplies are in my tent.”

Cara felt the butterflies swarm up in a frenzy. She hated that she loved the feeling. “Lead the way.”

Cara followed you as you strode off towards your small abode. Under the light of evening, you looked beautiful. You looked like you belonged in a place as natural as Sorgan.

“You from here?”

You glanced over your shoulder and met Cara’s gaze. In the instant after, your eyes feel to the series of credit-shaped stripes wrapped around Cara’s arm. You stuttered, faulty words spilling past your lips before you could stop them. She was with the Rebellion, or was. You know with each inlay of ink, death followed the woman you now found yourself so taken with.

Your stuttering and thinking caught Cara’s attention. With her slightly squinted gaze, she peered at your face. There was something in your eyes that Cara felt as familiar. She had seen it in her own reflection before. It was that glint in your pupil, Cara had seen the same one in her eyes. Fear; it was the fear of someone running.

“Uh, no, I…” You stopped suddenly and gestured to a dark tent. “We’re here.”

Cara didn’t miss your jerky movement as you parted the entrance to your small home and took fast steps inside. She could feel your nervous energy as she followed you into the shadows. Your hand shook as you flicked a lighting unit on, bathing you and Cara in a yellowish glow. Cara’s skin, especially around her wound, almost seemed orange; as if she were a burning flame. You had to take a breath to steady yourself.

“Nice place,” Cara teased. Your tent was nothing to gawk at. Inside, there was only a cot, table, and three chairs. “Homely.”

“It works,” you shrugged and gave Cara a careful smile. “You can sit. I have to grab my things.”

Cara nodded and took a seat next to the small table in the center of the tent. She glanced around your ramshackle home and pressed her lips into a thin line. Her camp was just as sparse as yours. Little belongings made it easier to run fast and away. It was a lifestyle that Cara had adopted after her...departure from the Republic.

“So, where are you from then?” Cara turned to watch you as she asked the question. You were already walking towards her, medical bag in hand. At her question, her persistence, you faltered. Your feet knocked into the table legs and Cara wondered if you had been drinking at the cantina beforehand. Or, perhaps, she made you that nervous.

“Uh, Outer Rim, Dantooine.” You took the seat at her side and started to organize your supplies. Cara watched as you pulled out a needle, a stiff looking thread wheel, and an old bacta dispenser. She squinted her eyes at you and you stiffened. “What?”

“Haven’t heard that name in a while. Part of the Rebellion, right?” You met her gaze for a moment before turning back to your supplies.

“Um, yeah it was.” You threaded the needle and faced Cara once more. “Can you turn your face?”

Cara complied wordlessly and you set to work. The first piercing of the needle in her cheek stung but not as much as the silence that now hung in the air. In the quiet, memories of old battles came to mind. Cara could hear the cries of her fellow soldiers and the blasts of proton torpedoes. Even in it’s disembodied, haunting state, the sound was enough to make Cara flinch.

“Did that hurt?”

“No, I,” Cara shifted, “can you talk?” You sat back and eyed her warily.

“Talk?” Cara met your eyes and gave you a half smile.

“To distract from-”

“Oh, yeah. Alright.” You leaned close to Cara’s cheek once more and set back to work. “So, um, where are you from?”

Cara’s breath caught in her throat. This was not the distraction Cara had been hoping for. She hadn’t though about home in so long. There wasn’t even a home to think of anymore.

“Alderaan.”

You stopped your work, the needle pinched between your fingers when the name reached your ears. “Alderaan.”

Cara didn’t meet your gaze, partly because she didn’t want to disturb your work but also because she was scared of what she would see. She feared that, if she were to look, she would see pity. That was the last thing she wanted. All her life had been was fighting and pulling herself out of the spiraling pit of sorrow. Seeing you sad for her would have pushed all of Cara’s work behind her; it would have all been for nothing.

If she looked back now, Cara would loose everything she worked to forget. Yet, there was something nice about remembering. She had come so far.

“I can’t imagine…” You trailed off and got back to stitching her wound. A tiny stream of blood oozed from her cut as you worked, slipping slowly like a red tear.

“Don’t,” Cara sighed, “it’s not worth it.”

“I’m sorry. You lost...everything…” You let your hands fall in your lap, unable to continue sewing. You had only heard of the Alderaan tragedy. Whispers of the new asteroid field left in the sector reached your ears long before the news of the Death Star. Although it was not the first time you had heard of the Empire’s cruelty.

“I don’t think about it.” Cara said it coldly in the hopes of turning the tide of conversation. However, the sudden tone shift caught you off guard. How could she not think of it?

“Cara, there are-”

“I like to think of better things,” she continued. You only nodded and tied off the lingering bit of medical-grade thread. Compared to past, rushed work, Cara’s stitches were clean. You would dare to venture on ‘refined’. Leaning back you focused your eyes on your supplies and started to tidy them away.

“I’m afraid I’m not so positive.”

A stretch of silence fell between you and the mysterious fighter. When you found enough lost courage to meet Cara’s eyes, you found her already looking at you. Her cheeks, not just the one you had sutured, were a flushed red. You imagine it was run off adrenaline from her fight with the Mirialan.

“You’ve seen it too, war.” Cara leaned back in her seat, strong arms crossed over her chest. You swallowed hard at the sight.

“More than I care to admit.” You looked down at the piece of stray thread between your fingers. “I left before the New Republic was instated.”

“A deserter,” Cara hummed. You glanced up at her nervously. The utterance of the title you had been running from sent a chill through you.

“You’re not going to turn me in, are you?” Cara smirked and shook her head. A flood of relief rolled over your shoulders. “Thank the Maker. I saw your stripes and…”

“I don’t fight for anyone else,” she said coolly, “not anymore.”

In her words, you could feel the weight of your own history. There was no point in sharing your story. It was the same as Cara’s only you had a planet to go back to. Your village had been destroyed, trampled by the boots of stormtroopers and war machines. When the Rebellion came to Dantooine it was like you were being rescued. That rescue turned to recruitment and suddenly you were fighting when you had been raised to heal; raised for peace. Sorgan was as close as you came to peace after you fled.

“You’re good at disappearing,” Cara said suddenly. You lifted your eyes from your hands to look into her pretty face. Pretty in an unconventional sense of the word. Her eyes were sharp, features hard and battle-worn. You had seen people like her before, but not any as strong.

“Disappearing?”

“Thought I was the only ex-Republic anything on Sorgan.” You inhaled deeply at the realization. Both of you being here....it put the other at risk.

“Planet’s not big enough for the both of us,” you sighed. Cara nodded, eyes falling from your face to stare into the lantern on the table. You felt the corners of your lips turn upwards and you found the strength to stand.

You turned your back to the woman and packed up your medical supplies. Soon, you’d pack the rest of your things. Whatever Cara had here, on Sorgan, it was something you were not willing to take from her. You would take no more, not again.

“What are you doing?” Cara asked as you moved to the storage unit beside your cot. Clothing, rations, everything you had managed to find to aid your survival fit into one box.

You looked over your shoulder at her to find that she was standing now. Her hands were clenched into fists and you realized she thought you were searching for a weapon. Long ago, you would have thought the same thing.

“Getting ready to disappear again.”

“Y/N,” her hands relaxed and she stepped towards you.

“No, no,” you straighted your back and raised your hands. “You are liked here. They’ll notice if you’ve gone. It’s best I slip away now.”

In the dim light of your cramped tent, a tension grew. There was an unseen tether that tied you and Cara together; a tugging you both felt but one that went, despite it all, unspoken. You shared a history, scars that would never heal, not properly; at least not yet. Time, you both needed time and space between the pain.

“Don’t go yet.” Cara’s voice was small. Feeble as it was, there was a fire in her eyes and you could feel its heat.

“Okay,” you said softly, pushing your gathering of sparse belongings aside.

Before you could say anything else, Cara was closing the gap between you. When her hands found your waist, you sighed in relief; the touch was grounding, took your heart out of tarnished memories. When her lips melded against yours, it took all you had to not give yourself over to her completely. For once, your mind went blank. The background noise of battle in your head and Cara’s went dead silent.

There were better ways to cope. Talking, for instance, would be a better way to work through the trauma. Though it wasn’t ideal and there were worse ways. Drinking, gambling; Cara had already dipped her toe into the ladder with her budding pit-fighting career. Touch, raw and real, was far form the worse.

You let Cara in. Together you traced the scar of battles fought and bittersweet victories. In her kiss, Cara told you her story. In your arms, Cara heard your tale, felt your pain as her own. There was no need for words.

And in the morning after, when Cara woke to an empty cot, all of your warmth gone, there were no need for words then. Yet, you left some behind on a piece of parchment. How archaic it was, leaving a note rather than a holomessage; but it was the old ways that had kept you safe for so long. Though leaving pained you, you knew it was for the best, you couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.

‘By the light of Lothal’s moons, may we find each other again’

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chroniclesofcake · 4 years

Text

TMNT- Element Collision

*Yes, this is my story that I had gotten from my dA account, written a while ago in 2014*

I’ll be posting more of this story, dw :)

In this AU, they are not related whatsoever!!!

Chapter 1: Hot leather whips the backs of the innocent men, as they are forced into cage trolleys. Cackles from the abductors ring out to the rest of the small indian huts. Children sobbed their hearts out as they saw their fathers being snatched away like animals. Mothers would plead by the captors’ waists and beg for the return of their husbands, but in return had received lashings from their superiors. All but a little sea green turtle on the dirt road. Blood ran down his face, like water from a leaf. Alas, he wouldn't move, for he believed that someone would take him home. To take him away from the dangers of the world. His eyes revealed the brightest sapphires, shaken from fear. To his beliefs, he didn’t know why would he be left behind. Every moon, since he was isolated, he wouldn't think about food, water, and any type of necessities. All he could think about was a home. A place where the bed wasn’t the road. Years later~ At the central market place, there were a variety of stores and stands. They included a variety from fruits and vegetables, to clothing, and everything in between. Standing at one of the fruit stands, was an old balding cat. He was feverishly attempting to sell day old oranges. He was even resorting to bargaining for them. But he would never just give them away, not without payment. Lurking from the shadow, was a steel blue eyed terrapin. “What’s for lunch today, old cat,” the terrapin murmured. The old cat, oblivious to the blue eyed terrapin, was darting over to get more supplies from the sack to put on display. With a fatal swoop of his hand, the terrapin dashed and grabbed all the oranges he could get in the worn down satchel. The terrapin heard from behind, a very red in the face cat hissing profanities for the stolen goods. “Sucker,” the orange thief snickered away. While running on the dirt ground, he ran past some of marble pillars which lead to the lush courtyard garden. Hiding by the marble door arc, he saw a cluster of small animal children. They were clothed in rags, barely nourished by the small amount of greens that the caretaker had given. Not being able to hide his excitement, the turtle emerged from the shadows. “Mikey!!! You’re here,” the little children squealed with excitement. “Hey my little munchkins! How are you guys doing,” Mikey quickly hugged each and every one of the 20 kids. “We’re doing ok, just hungry,” a little girl kitten whimpered. Just by looking at these kids, it made Mikey remember how tough it was on the streets without a family. It was as if he were looking into a mirror. “Well you’re in luck, because I bare gifts for everyone,” Mikey chirped with glee, revealing the satchel full of oranges. The caretaker and children went ballistic, cheering for day old fruits. Completely unaware of his surroundings, Mikey didn’t sense the looming shadow from the distance. As the children and caretaker dined on the stolen fruits, they saw a huge figure appear behind the teen turtle. The little girl kitten screamed, making Mikey turn around to see his stalker. Behind him was a taller forest green turtle, with blue warrior markings near the eyes. Noticing all of the markings on the larger turtle; the younger terrapin could tell he was little older than him. “I saw what you did back there,” the forest green terrapin remarked. Mikey felt shudders as the larger terrapin spoke. He had a deep sensual voice, as if he could make anyone fall to their knees upon hearing him speak. The feature on him that stood out the most were his eyes. They looked as if they were murky gray blue. So cold of a stare, yet a playful feeling laced around them. The younger turtle glanced down at the larger terrapin, to find two twin warrior katanas, and a forearm guard with the symbol of the imperial army. “No. Not this again,” Mikey felt a deathly chill run up his spin, suddenly remembering that horrid night. In sudden remembrance, the little turtle took a step back. This man resembled the men that took the innocent village men away. To battle. Shaken with fear, the little terrapin fled away from the courtyard. He was not going to be taken away to a torcherous fate. “Wait! Come back kid,” The older terrapin commanded, the authority not mistaken in his voice. With the speed of a tiger, the older terrapin chased after the younger terrapin. Being light on his feet, Mikey was much faster than his chaser. Jumping from stand to stand, as he tried to escape his imperial stalker. Feeling his endorphins kick in, Mikey did a backflip off of one of the vegetable carts, thus causing the cart to tip over. Creating a block in the path, enabling the larger terrapin from crossing. “Not today old man,” Mikey shouted, feeling the burn in his calves. “Who are you calling old, I’m twenty-one,” the forest green terrapin spat back in disbelief. The nerve of this boy was unpredictable. He couldn't believe the agility that the sea green turtle possessed. “Even though he has agility, doesn't mean he doesn’t have stupidity,” the older terrapin smirked. Mikey reached the end of the market. “Shit,” he groaned as he looked for a quick way to create a diversion. The only distractions Mikey had left were a few food vendors. Searching left and right he saw a table that looked like it would create plenty of chaos to allow him an escape. He ran to the table. Feeling the burn in his legs as he ran, he knew it was an all or nothing shot. As he went to knock the table over, he felt his legs buckle. He fell to the ground, up setting the table as he used it to try to catch his fall. “You’re not getting away this time,” the older terrapin stated as he drew one of his swords. He came closer to the the younger turtle. “Shit shit shit,” Mikey scrambled to get up from the dusty ground. But it was too late for him. The larger turtle grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up. The moment Mikey felt the forest green terrapin touch him, he felt a spark on his shoulder. “What the hell was that,” Both turtles questioned. “Listen old man, get your pedofile hands off of me,” Mikey growled, feeling threatened. “Wouldn’t dream of it toddler,” the older terrapin proclaimed “What the hell do you mean by toddler, I’m eighteen, asshole,” Mikey threatened, trying to kick the terrapin in the balls. “Yeah, not going to kick me there, are you,” The terrapin stopped Mikey’s foot from kicking him. “Was trying to, but you’re too fat to get my foot across,” Mikey grumbled “Listen I’m not going to fight you, but you need to stop trying to assault me,” The older terrapin smirked. “Oh, you out of your god damned mind?! You were trying to assault me with your pedo self,” The younger terrapin snapped back. “I’m twenty-one, for your information! Do I look like I’m forty,” the unknown turtle questioned. “Well-” Mikey considered. “Don’t even answer that,” the large terrapin was getting annoyed. “Who the hell are you, and what do you want with me,�� Mikey retorted as he was getting up from the ground. “Listen pipsqueak, my name is Leonardo, but you may call me Leo,” Leo responded calmly as if he did not experience the chase of his life. “Ok Leo, well first of my name is not pipsqueak, shorty, or anything stupid like that,” Mikey rambled on. “My name is Michelangelo. But, you will call me Mikey, or I’ll kick your ass,” Mikey attempted to act tough towards a guy way stronger than him. Both turtles felt something in the air that wasn’t normal. It was as if the air was suffocating them; bringing them close together. “Ok Leo, you have to back up cuz you’re taking all the air in my bubble,” Mikey unconsciously took a step back. Leo didn’t seem phased with this, considering that this turtle was still young. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t tease the younger terrapin a little more. “Well I think most of the air is going to your brain, but it’s alright,” Leo saying it as nonchalantly as possible. “Hey! Watch your mouth,” Mikey was getting steamed by this. “Well I’m sorry if I offended you in any way Mikey,” Leo giving a signature smirk. Mikey felt in somewhat of a daze at the sound of Leo’s voice. “Wow, he’s sounds kinda...nice saying my name,” Mikey wondered. “Let’s get back to matters of business. Why did you steal oranges from Mr. Neko,” Leo interrogated, no mercy to give. “Listen here, Imperial guard, I did what I had to do to get food for my little ones,” Mikey felt the urge to kick Leo in the gut. “Wait a minute, little ones? Does this guy have kids? He seems unbelievably young to be a dad,” Leo questioned in his mind. Mikey saw Leo’s questioning stare, until it clicked to him. “Dude, they aren’t my kids, they are like my family,” Mikey quickly covered up the matter. “That now makes a lot of sense,” Leo feeling relieved. Why was he relieved? “Ok Mikey, just don’t do that again, and you won’t have to deal with me,” Leo looked down at Mikey, with a small laugh trying to escape. “Alright Pedo,” Mikey scampered away laughing. “I’m not a Pedo, you brat,” Leo yelled, then received complaints from the nearby vendors. Sunset was just dimming down, raising the moon up in it’s place. “I have to make it before the fire starts, otherwise I’m not going to get a good seat,” Mikey grumbled as he sprinted off to the beach to find his village mates. “Mikey! Michelangelo,” The villagers cheered. This was truly Mikey’s domain. “Ok people, I told you I wasn’t going to sing tonight,” Mikey replied in a raspy voice. It took him the whole week to practice that voice. Standing from a distance, once again was Leonardo, wondering where the racket was coming from. To his surprise, he saw the younger sea green turtle sitting in the circle of villagers. One of the villagers saw Leo from a distance, and dragged him into the group. To Mikey’s surprise, the older terrapin came forth. “Leo? What are you doing here,” Mikey questioned, shocked to see him at the bonfire. Leo’s initial reaction was seeing Mikey, with the glowing embers lighting his face. It was a sight for sore eyes. Shaking his head from the ridiculous thoughts, he proudly responded, “Well the rest of the village wanted me to sing, saying I looked like I had the vocals.” With a cocky smile, Mikey retorted, “oh yeah, why don't you put your money where your mouth is?” “You’re on, Mikey,” Leo’s smile broadened. He picked up the guitar one of the villagers brought along, getting ready for his performance. (play song link from the bottom) Jao Na Don’t go Tum Jo Ho Toh Gaa Rahi Hai Yeh Hawa… As You’re there the winds are singing Tum Jo Ho To Reshmi Si Hai Fiza… As You’re there the breeze has a silken touch Jao Na Don’t go Tum Jo Ho Toh Gaa Rahi Hai Yeh Hawa… As You’re there the winds are singing Tum Jo Ho To Reshmi Si Hai Fiza… As You’re there the breeze has a silken touch Jao Na Don’t go Ho… Phir Na Yeh Raat Aayegi This night won’t come again Phir Na Yeh Rut Chhayegi This atmosphere won’t be cast again Phir Na Yun Milna Hoga We won’t meet like this again Phir Na Jaane Kya Hoga… Who knows what will happen later Jao Na Don’t go This had the whole village standing up, swaying with the lyrics of the music, dancing with each other. Somehow Mikey felt drawn to Leo at that very moment. It wasn’t the fumes of the bonfire, or the way people were dancing. It was Leo’s own voice, so hypnotic yet soothing. It made the young terrapin sing along with Leo. The way both voices combined, it was like two star cross lovers hoping to come in contact. Mikey was taken aback; Leo was giving him a very airy feeling inside his heart. Leo at the same time, felt like his veins were pumping so much energy, that he was getting drunk off the lyrics of the song. By the time the song ended, Mikey was right next to Leo on the log. While everyone danced, Leo felt something very warm on his hand. Getting wide eyed, he looked down to find Mikey’s petite hand was on his own hand. Then a swirling feeling began in both of their souls, feeling energy clawing at their insides, begging for a way out. Before they could let go of each other’s hands, Mikey’s eyes turned white, making his eyes glow like the sun. A little girl saw what was taking place, and screamed on the top of her lungs. The villagers came into panic, screaming, “Bala! Bala! Cursed one, cursed one!” Bodies pushed each other, getting away from the beach, leaving just Leo and Mikey at the beach. Leo didn’t seem worried, but amused. He couldn’t believe what had just taken place. Mikey was reverting back to normal, feeling his own spirit come back. When he finally awoken, he saw Leo looking at him straight in the eyes. And, the one word that scared Mikey the most came from Leo. “My equal,” Leo looked at Mikey with affection in his eyes. Feeling his knees buckle, Mikey fell to the ground, tears dripping down his cheeks. “Why does this happen to me!” Mikey screamed to the world. His soul felt broken and without repair.

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Link to the song for the story: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cmd2Un… I dont own the song, belongs to the movie What's your Raashee?

#tmnt 2k12 #tcest warning #tmnt mikey

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lostinfantasies38 · 4 years

Text

14 Days of DA Lover’s - Day 10 Surprise Kiss

@scharoux @14daysofdalovers

Pairing: Cullen/Alistair

Locus Amoenus

[def Latin - “pleasant place,” usually a charming field or a walled garden]

Strolling the quiet fortress in the evening was a favored pastime. He noticed many things that others might overlook. Dorian and Varric discussing history in the library. Cassandra and Josephine swapping romance novels with excited giggles. Lels and Vivienne plotting on the mage’s terrace or maybe discussing their mutual love of fashion, but since they spoke in Orlesian, he wasn’t sure which it was. Since teaming up with the Inquisitor, Alistair began to see the various companions as family and the castle his home. Surprising, indeed, since the last time he lived in a castle it had certainly not felt homey.

Of course, his feelings had absolutely nothing to do with the enigmatic Commander who also lived and breathed and, Maker’s breath, prowled the halls like a caged lion. Alistair sighed heavily. He’d pined for Cullen since he was old enough to realize his brotherly affection for him wasn’t quite so… brotherly.

Leliana was right… again. Damn that maddening woman! He should have spoken to Cullen about things face-to-face before he left. Then, he wouldn’t have spent 16 days, 9 hours, and 27 minutes stressing about his reaction. If he had simply told him, instead of leaving a furtive note and running away, he could have spent the time away either celebrating…or more likely, patching up his battered heart away from prying eyes. Now, he had to walk blindly into a mess of his own making - well, he would if he hadn’t been avoiding every opportunity to speak to him over the last two days.

Andraste’s flaming sword!

Entering the garden, Alistair found it blissfully empty and quickly located his favorite spot at the far end of the cultivated square. Closing his eyes, he leaned against a column hidden by riotous purple blooms and tried to muster the courage to do what he needed to do. Everyone is at dinner and I’m sulking behind the wisteria, hiding from my problems - like usual.

“I thought I might find you here.”

The rich baritone startled him and he wrapped his arms around the cool marble in shock. Swallowing hard, his hazel eyes landed on the man casually leaning on the wall across from him, noting the twinkle in his amber eyes, and his surprising lack of armor.

His attire was the same as his own, except his tunic was red instead of cream, and Alistair’s lips twitched. Of course, he would wear red – it was practically his signature color. Not that he was complaining, because the shade definitely suited him and without his mantle Alistair could appreciate how Cullen’s muscular legs filled out his breeches.

Clearing his throat, Alistair stammered. “Cullen… I, ah… shit. I’m really sorry about the letter… and everything. I shouldn’t have just thrown it in your lap and disappeared like I did. I –“

Cullen’s warm chuckle interrupted his rambling. “I hope you aren’t sorry about the letter, because I’m not.”

Alistair sucked in a ragged breath as his lips curled into that infuriatingly gorgeous smirk that made him weak in the knees. Producing a red rose from behind his back, he twirled it with careless finesse. He nearly collapsed; his heart pounding so hard he thought it would surely burst. A strangled wheeze tumbled from his mouth without his permission, rudely exposing his absolute astonishment to the man who never had so much as a single hair out of place.

In three quick strides, Cullen stood before him, one hand cupping his face with a tenderness that Alistair dreamed of for almost twenty years. Cullen’s gaze flicked to his lips and closed the two inches that separated them, scattering all rational thought from his mind as he allowed himself to be swept away, fantasy at last made real.

Full lips moved against his own, the scar surprisingly smooth, and Alistair swore he could hear Andraste singing. When they deepened the kiss, brandy and mint danced on his tongue, setting his blood aflame. The moans ripped jointly from their lungs proved he was not alone in this maelstrom of emotion. The arm hooked around his waist might well have been steel, holding him captive as their sweet kiss rapidly gave way to something more primal, insistent, demanding. He needed more; he needed all of Cullen, everything he thought he could never have, yet hoped for since his youth.

Separating with a gasp as his brain asserted the need for oxygen, Alistair stared at Cullen in awe. The blond was just as dazed, swallowing hard before he rasped, “Is that answer enough for you?”

Alistair blinked in residual astonishment while scrambling for a response. “W-why...did you never say anything?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced in embarrassment. “I’m sure for the same reason you didn’t. I was… afraid that I would lose your friendship and… I –“

“Would rather have that than nothing, at all.” Alistair finished and they smiled shyly at one another. “When did you know?”

The blond cleared his throat, features pinking slightly with his admission. “Ahh, when you poured that bucket of dish water over my head and instead of making me angry, it made me laugh. Surprised the hell out of you, if I recall.”

Alistair snorted. “Surprised the hell out of all of us, actually, but Maker’s breath, Cullen! I’d already been in love with you for a year at that point!” Recognizing the enormity of his words, Alistair clammed up and stepped aside to flee. Yet Cullen always anticipated when he would retreat and snagged his arm to return him to his original position.

His eyes shone like polished bronze in the fading light of the garden and Alistair was lost in them. Cullen’s breathing increased along with his and he hoped, he prayed, that he had not stuck his foot so far in his mouth that he couldn’t dig his way out, if needed. A strong arm snaked around his back, deliberately pulling him closer until they were intimately flush. Uncertain what he should do with his arms, he settled for wrapping them around the blond which must have been the correct choice as the other man visibly relaxed in his hold.

Alistair was the taller of the two, but in this moment, he felt small and vulnerable. Cullen also seemed unsure, but certainly more confident than Alistair after his slip. Brushing a hand across Alistair’s cheek, Cullen whispered hoarsely, “I love you, too, Alistair. I have for… far too long without being able to tell you. I-I want this… you… us. If… you’ll have me, that is. I know that I am not… whole anymore.”

“Don’t say that!” Alistair’s wide eyes pleaded, gripping him firmly, mimicking the tightness in his chest. “No one can ever understand what you’ve been through, Cullen, not even me. But you are not broken. You are a survivor and I have so much damned respect for you. Giving up lyrium? Leaving the Templars? Commanding an army?” Alistair thumbed his stubbled jaw. “You’re an inspiration.”

Cullen scoffed softly, glancing at the ground as color flared up his neck and face. Alistair smiled and lifted his chin, stating adamantly, “Yes, Cullen, you are. You’re an inspiration to me.” Tears briefly welled in his golden gaze, but he blinked them away with a small quirk of his lips, relaxing in his gentle hold.

Alistair glanced at the rose in Cullen’s other hand. “Is that the one I gave you,” he whispered reverently, melting at the tenderness with which Cullen cradled the bloom in his large hand, a fond smile decorating his face as he admired the flower.

Cullen nodded slowly as though lost in thought, his thumb delicately rubbing the velvety petals. “I… ahem… asked Dorian to enchant it – preserve it, so it won’t die.”

Alistair rocked on his heels in shock. After a heartbeat, he gasped breathlessly, “You told Dorian?”

His brow furrowed with uncertainty, fear beginning to swirl in his amber eyes. “Yes… only because I needed his help. Should I not have? I was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

In response, Alistair captured his lover’s mouth again, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss. A few moments later, he rested his forehead to Cullen’s, choking back tears when he spoke. “Of course, I don’t mind, you chivalrous knight! You told someone about me… us.”

Cullen cupped the nape of Alistair’s neck, affectionately circling his soft skin with battle-worn fingers, the clouds of anxiety now banished in favor of understanding. “Of course I told someone. You’re not a dirty little secret, Alistair. I love you. I am in love with you and I have been for half my life. I never expected you to feel the same way, but I am not ashamed of you or us… as a couple.”

Alistair’s tongue was thick with emotion when he replied, “I love you, too. I’m in love with you, Cullen.” Brushing their lips lightly together, he then pressed a chaste kiss against the scar he loved, but knew made Cullen self-conscious. The blond’s breath caught at the action – so much said in that one touch. A lifetime of kisses and acceptance in one and neither of them ever felt so full.

“Come with me,” Alistair whispered, afraid to speak any louder and potentially break the spell in the quiet garden. Cullen nodded mutely, eyes suspiciously bright as he clung to Alistair’s hand, gingerly holding the enchanted rose as they stole up the stairs to the battlements and Cullen’s tower.

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

Flower symbolism:

Red Rose: the lover’s rose

Wisteria: this vine has multiple meanings, but I used it in this scene for this particular one “serious devotion, whether it’s to a cause or another person”

#14 days of da lovers prompts #14dalovers #alistair theirin #cullen rutherford #cullistair #day 10

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batskulldrag · 4 years

Text

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

Heads up, the beginning to this chapter in intense with angst. Trigger warning for abuse.

After that it should be ok. and we finally get to see deceit. His human name is Ethan and he is their new lawyer.

Chapter Seven: Hellfire from The Hunchback of Notre Dame soundtrack

Virgil woke up in a sterile greenish blue room. There was a heart monitor beeping somewhere. It might have been his. He felt an IV in his arm, and a truck load of pain everywhere else. He tried to remember how he got here.

Last thing I remember is… His blood turned to ice water.

The last thing he could recall was his father being furious. And hurting him, he had been thrashed within an inch of his life. He tried to look around, but he could only see out of one eye. The other one was swollen shut. He didn’t see his father though.

Maybe he had finally gone too far, and CPS had stepped in. Maybe things were ok now. And he’d get sent somewhere else. And his dad would get sent to prison. Maybe it was over.

A few doctors came and went, checking his vitals and stuff like that. None of them said anything about him of his dad. He had to know.

“Why am I here?” He fought intense agony to speak.

“Shh.” One of the nurses cooed. “Don’t try to talk, sweetie. You’ve had a nasty fall and you injured a few ribs. Just lie very still.”

“Where’s my…” He felt like he had been stabbed with a hack saw. “My… Dad?”

“He’s right outside. He’ll be in with you in a moment.”

Whatever pain he was in was dwarfed by the crushing blow of disappointment. Nothing was ok. He felt tears falling across his face, seeping into open cuts and stinging like hell. Of course, they swallowed whatever excuse his father had fed them. And there was no way they’d ask for his side of what happened. No, he was just a prop. No one wanted to know how he said it happened.

“It’s ok,” The nurse soothed. “You’re alright now. Everything’s going to be fine.”

She didn’t know! Of course, she didn’t know! How could she even say that!? Didn’t she know that it wasn’t ok!?

It’s not ok! Help me!

His dad walked into the room with a mask of concern that he wore amazingly. Nominate him for an Oscar, he deserves it. Even Virgil himself was tempted to think his father had an ounce of remorse.

“How is he?” His dad asked in such a genuine tone, when did he find time to rehearse?

“He’ll pull through.” The nurse assured him.

“Oh, thank goodness.” He sighed. “I was so worried. He’s all I have after his mother left me. If something happened to him…” He trailed off. The fucker even shed a tear.

“I understand.” Welp, he had her.

“Is it alright if I stay with him now?”

“Of course.” She said.

NO TAKE IT BACK!! TAKE IT BACK!!!

“In fact, he was just asking for you.”

“Poor baby. He must be terrified.”

DON’T LAEVE HIM WITH ME!! PLEASE HELP ME!!!

“I’ll leave you two alone.”

NO! SAVE ME!! PLEASE HELP ME!!!

She left. And more importantly she left him alone with his dad.

“It hurts doesn’t it.” The mask came off. All that was left was the sadistic tone of his father. “I may have told them you were morphine intolerant.”

“Why?” It came out as a whimper.

“Well, I had to get my point across.”

“Why?” He wheezed again.

“Well.” His father started. “First off, I want you to know they’re not going to ask you if you can have morphine, they already believe me. And they won’t ask for a second opinion. And that goes for your little tumble down our stairs. You tripped and fell, and your frantic dad rushed you to the emergency room. And if you say otherwise, I think we know who they’ll side with.”

“And even if they believe you.” He grinned; the monster might as well have had three rows of teeth. “They’re a bunch of doctors who didn’t repeat seventh grade. They’ll just say I went easy on you. You see the grown up isn’t just always telling the truth, but they’re also always right.”

He pressed down on one of his ribs. Virgil yelped in pain.

“So, don’t disappoint me again.” He hissed.

Last thing Virgil remembers is everything going black.

# # #

“PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!!!!” Virgil cried. “PLEASE HELP ME!!”

Patton and Logan both shot awake and bolted to Virgil’s room. They met Roman in the doorway; he had brought a weapon. They all ran in as Virgil continued to shriek.

“SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!” He pleaded, thrashing around on the bed like he was being murdered.

Roman burst in and Logan switched the lights on.

“Get away from him!” Roman demanded of the empty room.

Virgil screamed and fell of the bed. He then just laid on the floor whimpering and drenched with sweat.

“My baby.” Patton yelped, rushing to his side. “Are you ok honey?”

“…I-I-I’m fine.” He panted. “I just had a bad dream.”

Roman hid his samurai sword behind his back.

“It’s ok.” Patton cooed, pulling the younger man into his lap. “I’m here, Da- I’ve got you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Logan knelt beside Patton.

“No.” Virgil’s voice came out as a squeak.

“Ok.” Patton gently rubbed his back. “You don’t have to. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

With that said, Virgil started sobbing. Patton looked at Logan in horror and mouthed out ‘what did I do?’. Logan shook his head in mutual confusion. Roman sat down on the floor with them and stretched his hand out to Virgil.

“It’s ok.” He said softly, running his hand through the child’s hair. “You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to feel this. It’s ok.”

Virgil continued crying as he buried his face in Patton’s shirt.

“They-they’re gonna…” He gasped from Patton’s chest. “They’re not gonna believe me.”

“Who?” Logan asked, with a pretty good idea he knew the answer.

“The courts or the jury or whoever.” He panted. “They’re gonna take his side.”

“No,” Patton soothed. “No, they won’t. it’s just his word against, like mountain of evidence.”

“But he said I’m allergic to morphine and I’m not allergic to morphine,” He rambled in short, ragged breaths. “And they just went with it, and no one asked me if I fell down the stairs or not. Cause he already said I did. And…and…” He gasped hard.

“Shh, shh.” Patton tutted. “It’s alright, no one’s gonna just blindly believe him ever again. He’s been branded as a liar. As he should be.”

“Virgil.” Logan gently grabbed his shoulder. “No one is going to believe him over you. No one is going to believe him over evidence. This isn’t just he says you say.”

Virgil mumbled something into Patton’s chest.

“What?” Logan made a face like he had just been slapped.

“I said.” Virgil sniveled. “What if they think he was going easy on me and I deserved it.”

“Virgil.” Logan grabbed him by both shoulders and pulled his face up. “Look me in the eyes and listen to me. No one is going to say that. No one! You did not deserve any of what he did to you. Do you understand me!? You did not deserve that! And he did not go easy on you! He nearly killed you twice now! That does not quantify going easy on someone! No one is going to think that he was in the right, because he wasn’t! What he did was wrong! And nobody is going to think otherwise! Do you understand?!”

Virgil nodded timidly.

Logan sighed and pulled Virgil into a hug.

“Ok.” He whispered. “I’m sorry for raising my voice to you. But you need to understand this. Your father…” He made a face at the title. “Payton was wrong to do this. And no one else is like that. This isn’t normal, and it isn’t right.”

“I lied about what grade I’m in.” Virgil said. It was barely audible over his breathing. “I got held back. I’m starting eighth grade in the fall.”

“I figured that out.” Logan sighed. “We got your school records last night.”

“And you were asking all the questions about being held back earlier.” Patton added. “It was a really bad lie.”

A long, tense silence filled the room.

“We’re not going to do anything you expect us to do.” Roman broke the silence. “Please don’t lie to us again.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.” Patton wiped a tear off Virgil’s cheek. “We’d like you to trust us, and we wanna be able to trust you. Sound fair?”

Virgil nodded.

“Good.” Logan patted him on the head, it was unspeakably awkward. “Do you think you can fall asleep on your own, or would you like to take one of your pills?”

“I’m fine.” Virgil sighed. “I don’t need to take anything.

“Ok. But if you need your medicine come get one of us.” Patton fussed, pulling Virgil in and stroking his hair. “Do you want one of us to stay here until you fall asleep?”

“No, I’m ok.” He paused and smiled coyly. “Trust me.”

“We gotta get you some other bands to listen to.” Roman said unamused. “You can’t just keep quoting My Chemical Romance.”

“My chemical Roman?” Patton quipped.

“Patton,” Logan said calmly. “No.”

“Absolutely not.” Roman agreed. “Never call me that again.”

“I thought it was funny.” Virgil piped in, giving Patton a weak smile.

“Well, at least one of us can appreciate humor.” Patton ruffled his hair. “You go ahead and get some sleep now. We’ll talk more in the morning if you feel like it.”

“Ok.” Virgil yawned. “Thanks.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“I mean thanks, for.” He looked down and bit his lip. “Thanks for everything. All of you.”

“That’s no trouble either.” Patton continued to pet him softly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Oooh, you’re feisty.” Patton teased. “Let’s get you into bed kiddo.”

Patton helped him up and tucked him in, despite his protests the he was thirteen and didn’t need to be tucked in. Patton disregarded him without so much as going ‘uh-huh’ and pretending to listen.

“Sometimes.” Patton kissed him on the forehead. “It’s nice to be tucked in.”

As the three of them left the room Logan switched the light off and closed the door.

“Poor little baby.” Patton whimpered as soon as the door closed. “How could anyone do something like that? He’s just a little kid.”

“Some people are just rotten,” Roman patted him on the shoulder. “In a perfect world you’d be an only child. All we can do is be decent human beings to make up for the vile few who waste our air.”

“I agree.” Logan nodded. “Just not as dramatically. Yes, there are bad people out there. And yes, all we can really do to counter them is act properly. There’s no point dwelling on what your brother did, all we can do now is work to help Virgil.”

“I mean,” Roman gestured towards the door. “We already succeeded in not giving him night terrors. I’ll call that the minimum. So, we’re off to a great start.”

“What the proverbial hell are you wearing?” Logan asked, only really looking at him for the first time.

Roman looked down at himself. He was shirtless and clad only in red booty shorts that read ‘Royal’ across the butt.

“It’s hot!” His face changed to match his shorts in hue. “it’s summer and we live in Florida!”

“I think we all look silly.” Patton mumbled, tugging on the hem of his Pawton T-shirt.

“I thought Virgil was being attacked by an intruder.” Roman argued. “I had time to either grab my robe or my sword!”

“What were you gonna do, seduce the murderer?” Patton made a face.

“Why are we having this discussion again?” Logan rubbed his temples.

“Oh, we’re doing this?” Roman got defensive. “Because I happened to notice you were wearing seashell print underwear when you came to get me on Friday. And Patton had on dark blue boxers.”

“So?” Logan challenged.

“So, you don’t wear print underwear and Patton doesn’t own any without print.” Roman smirked sadistically. “I think you had on more than his shirt.”

“Oh my God!!” Virgil screamed from the other room. “Get away from my door! I can hear you!!!”

“I take back what I said about the nightmares.” Roman said flatly.

# # #

The following evening was Patton and Logan’s turn to have to deal with the press. So, Roman was on babysitting duty. Given what would go down in infamy as ‘the booty short incident’ things were a bit awkward between the two. And now that Patton and Logan had left Roman was starting to feel a bit like the friend of a friend.

“Do you think you’d like to be on the news once you’re feeling better?” Roman asked to ease the tension.

“Sorry, what?” Virgil pulled out an earbud. He was curled up on the couch with his computer.

“I was wondering if you wanted to be interviewed when you feel better.” Roman fought the cringe. “I’m sure they want to speak to you.”

“I’m sure I’m not as beat up as they want me to be.” Virgil paused what he was watching. “Not too many bruises to exploit. Unless they want me to strip.”

“That may not be so uncommon.” Roman said. “They asked me to strip last night.”

“Really?” Virgil sat up and looked at him intensely.

“Yes, I’m so gorgeous that everywhere I go people want me to take my clothes off.” Roman finished off the bit elegantly. “Mostly the ladies, but once the guys find out I’m on that side of the field… well. Let’s just say that they are not as weak as people think they are.”

“I can’t believe I fell for that.” Virgil slumped back. “I’m an idiot.”

“Well, maybe it’s just really believable.” Roman smirked. “I do have a god bod.”

“You are like uber gay. Patton and Logan are married to each other and you’re still the gayest person in the house.”

“How about you? Any crushes?” Roman turned the tables. “I bet everyone goes crazy over those eyes.”

“Nah.” Virgil looked down and drug his hand across the rim of his laptop. “None yet.”

“I guess that’s been pretty far from your mind.” Roman realized what he had done. “I’m sure you’ll be getting into it as you get older. Logan didn’t have his first until he was eighteen.”

“Logan has…” He trailed off.

“And you had other stuff to deal with.” Roman finished for him. “When you get your bearings, you’ll get your first crush, and if you never take an interest in romance, so be it. Different people need different things, and they need them at different times.”

Virgil smiled softly at him, his lips only parting slightly to show a thin portion of his teeth.

“And right now,” Roman stood up. “You need to watch Hunchback of Notre Dame with me.”

“No way, I read that book, it’s horrible.” Virgil objected.

“We’re watching the Disney version; it has a happy ending.” Roman explained. “Also, there’s a book?”

“Yeah, it’s long.”

“You’re in middle school, what are you doing reading stuff like that?”

“I was in some kind of advanced reading class over the past couple of summers. You know, anything to eat up whatever free time I can get.”

“So, you’re reading on like a high school level.” Roman pointed at him.

“So, what, reading’s not hard. Like, everyone can read.”

“Not on a high school level they can’t.”

“Anyone who passed high school can.” Virgil countered, throwing his hands up.

“Do you remember our different people chat from a moment ago?”

“Just put in the movie.” He paused. “Wait, what time is your interview showing?”

“Last night.” Roman shrugged. “It was pretty boring. And I decided that I hate it when the press tries to be clever.”

“Go on.”

“Actor Roman Lupine, known locally for his role as Mufasa in the community theater portrayal of The Lion King has found himself in a different kind of cast following the events of Friday night.” He recited.

“That’s not even funny.”

“I’m just thankful no one brought up my infiltration of the press.”

“You’re the dude who pretended to be a reporter to troll my dad?”

“I had to make sure they asked the right questions.” He defended. “And they didn’t. So, it’s a good thing I was there.”

“Yeah,” Virgil looked down. “Honestly, before you guys showed up the press thought the sun shined out of my dad’s butt.”

Roman couldn’t help but laugh at that image.

“Wow,” Roman coughed between laughs. “You are a word smith.”

“This movie another musical?” Virgil asked, stretching himself out.

“All the best ones are.” Roman declared.

Roman out the movie in and flopped himself down on the couch next to Virgil. The little one scooched away from him and curled up into a ball.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” Roman smiled at him. “I may be gay, but I’m only attracted to people old enough to consent.”

“Weirdly enough, I wasn’t worried about that.” Virgil said giving him a confused look. “I just haven’t bathed in a while, and I’m starting to smell.”

“That’s you? I just thought my deodorant gave out.”

“No, it’s me. I smell like death barfed up a bunch of old Band-Aids.”

“Remind me why we haven’t bathed you yet.”

“I can’t use my hands.” Virgil held up his gauzy paws. “Or get them wet or get my cast wet.”

“Let me think for a minute.” Roman put his hand to his chin. “I’m great at creative solutions.”

“Whatever you say, dude.”

# # #

Roman did come up with a solution. So, the two of them were now standing in Patton and Logan’s bathroom as that one had a walk-in shower with a grip bar installed inside. Roman unrolled a generous amount of plastic wrap.

“So, we can wrap up your cast and hands really good with this stuff.” Roman smiled. “And then I can duct tape a back scrubber to one of your hands. That way you can clean yourself.”

“I’m doing this more for entertainment than out of thinking this will work.” Virgil scoffed.

“My kind are never recognized for their genius.” He feigned hurt and placed a hand on his heart.

“Fine let’s do this.” Virgil sighed and held out his hands. “The smell is unbearable.”

“Now, I’ll help you get your shirt off.” Roman said as he bound Virgil’s hands. “But your pants are your responsibility. I’m not getting my name put on any lists.”

“You’re a saint.” Virgil said flatly.

“Thanks for noticing.” Roman stood up. “Now, I find duct tape.”

“Can’t you just put socks or something over my hands? It’d be easier.”

“Now I go to get a pair of socks!” Roman rephrased. “Stay right here.”

“Where would I go?”

Roman returned with the socks, applied them and left Virgil one of his robes. With that done he left the bathroom. No way was he getting his name put on any lists. He sat on Patton and Logan’s bed, tracing the blanket pattern with his finger. It was creepily quiet.

“Virgil,” Roman called. “Are you ok in there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He yelled back.

“Ok. I’m right here if you need me?”

“What the hell could I possibly need you for in here?”

“I meant in case you fall. Weirdo.”

“You’re weird.”

Roman laughed to himself. This kid was terrible at name calling, at least in the moment. Roman softly sang to himself to break the silence. He looked around the love bird’s nest, they sure did like blue. He didn’t normally go into their bedroom if he could avoid it. Not that the room had anything wrong with it, it was the standard room with more plushies than would be expected scattered around. There was one desk, Logan’s, and it was home to many piles of books. As would be expected.

“Sup?” Roman nodded at the large stuffed dog laying on the foot of the bed.

“Roman?” A timid voice asked.

“You can talk?” Roman grabbed the plushie. “Wait, I’m an idiot. What is it Virgil?”

“Can you come in here?” Virgil sounded strained.

“Did you fall? I’ll be right in.”

Roman darted in and saw Virgil bunched up in one corner of the shower, covering himself with a towel. Thank god.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asked, stepping closer.

“There’s a bunch of weird spots on my skin.”

Roman looked down at his chest and saw that it was peppered tiny irritations that were rough to the touch.

“Ok.” Roman forced himself calm. “You come on out of there and put this on.” Roman held up the robe and looked away. “It’s probably just a reaction to the soap, or to not being able to shower for a while. You know, that kind of rash.”

“Ok.” He squeaked. “I know it wasn’t here yesterday, so you’re probably right.”

“Right. So, we’re just going to wash your clothes and see what happens.”

Roman sent Virgil to his room and immediately called Logan. Logan answered surprisingly fast, he must have really not wanted to be interviewed.

“Roman, is something wrong?” Logan answered, confused.

“Virgil has this weird bunch of spots on his body, I don’t think it’s chicken pox, but it looks like scarlet fever.”

“It probably is.” Logan said calmly. “That or he’s having a reaction to his antibiotics.”

“WHAT!!?” Roman screamed into the receiver. “He’s going to die?”

“Roman, scarlet fever is also known as strep throat rash.” Logan explained. “Both are caused by the same bacteria. I suspect he contracted it because his father didn’t take him to the doctor. Symptoms are the same as strep throat, and the first degree burns he suffered in the fire must have covered the rash.”

“What do I do? Do I have to burn things? Is he going to live?”

“He’ll be fine, just put some baby powder on the rash; we’ll take him to the doctor tomorrow to see if he needs his antibiotic dose increased or decreased based on what the rash is. Don’t burn anything, this isn’t the nineteenth century.”

“Should I tell him?”

“No, you’ll just freak him out.”

“All this time scarlet fever has just been strep throat?” Roman mumbled, floored by the revelation.

“Just wait until we tell you about what happened to measles.” Logan said blankly before hanging up.

# # #

“Just have a seat on the table and the doctor will be right with you.” The nurse said, holding the door for them.

Virgil lurked in quietly with Patton and Roman both in tow. He stopped to look at them both and saw that Logan had also gone ahead and come in. Somehow, he had amassed and entourage.

“I… Uh. Don’t think we all need to be here.” Virgil said, tugging on his sleeves.

“We need to know what you have.” Roman defended.

Virgil pulled himself onto the table and silently prayed that the doctor wouldn’t ask him to take his pants off. He was generally opposed to striping, but he was more against it now that he knew his audience wasn’t going anywhere.

“It’s ok.” Patton rubbed his shoulder.

“I’m not afraid.”

“Oh.” Patton said surprised, not taking his hand away. “That’s ok too. You shouldn’t be afraid. It’s going to be alright.”

“I regret telling them about strep throat rash.” Logan said to him. “I’m very sorry. I should have expected this kind of reaction.”

“What other reaction is supposed to come with the news that he has a potentially fatal illness?” Roman protested. “Joy? We aren’t Barbra.”

“The severity is dramatically decreased because of modern antibiotics.” Logan sighed. “Virgil’s not going to die from this. And it may not be strep throat rash, it could very well be a reaction to our detergent or his medicine.”

“If he’s allergic to antibiotics that’s still a problem.” Patton objected.

“How do you keep forgetting everything you learned in nursing school?” Logan sighed.

Virgil chewed on his bandages, longing for the day when he could get at his nails again. Roman had kept his mouth shut about the idea of scarlet fever pretty well, but when Patton got wind of it, he freaked out. First kid and all that. Logan had been good about using the modern name, but of course Patton googled it and found out what it was. Virgil hadn’t had a moment’s peace since.

Mercifully the doctor entered the room. Virgil knew this one, Dr. Talyn because they had been dealing him while he was still checked in. Nice to see a familiar face.

“Hi Virgil.” Talyn said, clearly happy to see him. “How have you been?”

“Recovering.” Virgil sighed. “How long do I need to have my hands wrapped again?”

“I’ll look at the burns while I’m here, but I guarantee you that you still need to have them wrapped for at least another week.”

“I know you.” Roman interrupted happily. “You’re the doctor who stood up to Payton that night.”

“And you’re crazy twin guy.” Talyn nodded. “I’m a friend of Joan’s.”

“You have one insane twin brother and that’s all anyone ever remembers about you.” Roman protested.

“So, Virgil has a rash that you two are worried about?” Talyn turned to Patton and Logan.

“I think it may be strep throat rash,” Logan explained calmly. “I just need to know what it is and if we need to adjust his antibiotics.”

“Scarlet fever can make people go deaf.” Patton interrupted. “Is that gonna happen?”

“No.” Talyn looked amused at Patton’s panic. “And it’s probably not strep rash, it seems weird that it would show up after we started treating the strep throat.” They turned on Virgil. “Can you pull your shirt up baby?”

Thinking he had a bright future as a stripper, Virgil pulled his shirt off. Life was hell. Talyn looked at the rash for a minute and went about the other standard doctor examinations.

“It’s not scarlet fever or a reaction to his meds.” They said finally. “It’s just a little stress rash.”

“Oh, poor baby.” Patton fussed, grabbing Virgil and hugging him.

The demonic voice in Virgil’s head screamed so loud that it blurred his vision.

# # #

“Oh, poor baby.” Patton pulled his nephew into his arms.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Roman sighed. “I thought he was done for.”

“For the last time, he wasn’t going to die.” Logan added tiredly.

“If you want, I can prescribe a topical cream for the hives,” Talyn continued. “But aside from that I can’t really do much. They’re just gonna have to go away on their own.”

Patton brushed Virgil’s hair out of his face and paused. Virgil was being oddly still. He loosened his grip and Virgil fell limp onto him.

“Guys! I think he fainted!” Patton yelled in abstract terror.

Dr. Talyn took over and shooed him away. They laid Virgil down on the table, took his pulse and checked his pupils. After that they put a cold cloth on his head.

“Doctor,” Patton asked softly. “Did we do something wrong? His anxiety is getting really bad around us. Did we do the wrong thing?”

“No, I don’t think this is anyone’s fault.” Talyn checked Virgil’s pules again. “I think he’s just having a harder time adjusting then we thought he would. All we can really do is give it time.”

“We already made him a follow up appointment with Dr. Picani.” Logan added guiltily. “I didn’t think we were causing him that much stress.”

“You don’t need to be in a stressful environment to have anxiety.” Talyn explained. “And he may have PTSD after everything his dad did to him. And he’s only like five days into this transition. That’s not even enough time to get used to a school week.”

“It’s not right.” Patton brushed his hand through Virgil’s hair. “He’s just a little kid.”

Virgil murmured a bit the bolted upright.

“No! Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” He yelped. He stopped and looked around then sighed. “Sorry Uncle Patton, I-I thought you were someone else.”

Who? I wonder. The words burned themselves into Patton’s brain.

“It’s ok sweetie.” Patton hugged him. “It’s ok.”

“What happened?” Virgil pulled himself away.

“You passed out a minute ago.” Logan explained. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He crossed his arms and looked at the floor.

Talyn cleared their throat.

“Do you three mind if I talk to Virgil alone?” They asked.

“No.” Patton sighed. “Go ahead.”

# # #

Virgil watched the other three leave and whished that he was going with them. Dr. Talyn closed the door behind them and the room suddenly seemed oppressively tiny.

“I have to ask.” Talyn sighed. “Are they treating you ok?”

“Yes.” He looked down from the ceiling that he swore he could reach up and touch. “And not just the bare minimum of not beating me into a coma. They’re all being really nice.”

“Have they done anything that wasn’t physical? Any insults? Anything like that?”

“No. None of that stuff. It’s like some kind of alternate reality.”

“Are you happy there?”

“Yes. I wanna stay…” He dropped the sentence and stared at the floor.

You can’t though, it’s not gonna happen. You can’t stay. He’s not going to let you. He’s going to ruin this for you if you don’t ruin it first.

“Ok then.” Talyn finished. “You understand why I had to ask you that right?”

“Honestly, I have been asked that more in the past couple of days than I have in my entire life.” He sighed. “Yeah, I understand why you asked. I don’t understand why no one else ever did.”

“Neither do I.” That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “I’ll check out your hands, then you can go.”

Talyn checked his hands over and rebandaged them so that they looked like mittens. They padded the thumbs loosely so he could use them and kept the rest of his hands covered. He looked down at his appendages and saw that three of his fingernails had come off. He gagged and looked away.

“I know,” Talyn soothed. “It’s creepy.”

They finished with him and sent him on his way. He lurked out into the other room and joined the others. Patton immediately hugged him. He sighed and slumped into the hug.

I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.

“It’s ok sweetie.” Patton pacified.

“It’s just going to take some time.” Logan rubbed his back.

# # #

“Ok, we’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Patton said chipperly on his way out the door. “Are you two gonna be okay?”

“I already watched him last night.” Roman sighed. “I can do it again.”

“I don’t even really need a babysitter.” Virgil added. “Dad used to leave me on my own all the time.”

Don’t blow up, it’s ok. We’re literally on our way to see the lawyer. Patton bit his lip.

“Well, you’re still sick.” Patton smiled. “So, you ought to have a grown up to look after you.”

“And you’re in an unfamiliar environment.” Logan added.

“I’m not a cat.”

“We’ll be fine.” Roman shooed them. “Don’t be late to your meeting. We still have as entire anthology to watch.”

“Ok, but nothing that can, you know…” Patton mimed pulling a trigger on a gun.

“I won’t.” Roman rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“It’s going to be alright Patton.” Logan squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Ok.” Patton grabbed Logan’s hand. “We’ll be back in a few hours, or less depending on what happens.”

“Take all the time you need.” Roman was almost pushing them.

Patton looked over and saw Virgil staring at him curiously from the couch. He knew something was going on, kids can always tell. Patton guiltily avoided his gaze, there was no need to bring him into this and stress him out even more.

And I definitely don’t want to get his hopes up and disappoint him. A thought preyed on him.

No, that’s going to happen. This is gonna work out. We’re gonna be ok.

You couldn’t save him before, what makes now different?

You shut up!

You can’t save him. You already let him endure this for thirteen years.

Stop it!

Payton isn’t just going to roll over! You can’t just smile and hope your problems go away!

“Ok,” Patton forced a smile and took another step out the door. “I love you. We’ll be back in a bit.”

Patton and Logan walked to the car in silence. Patton stared out his window and caught a glimpse of Virgil looking out one of the front windows at them, trying not to be seen himself. Poor little anxious baby. Patton looked at his feet. He wanted nothing more than to hold Virgil and tell him everything was going to be ok, and just keep holding him until they were.

“Logan,” Patton sighed as they drove into the street. “Do we have a chance?”

“A chance of what?” Logan glanced at him.

“Winning custody.”

“We do, in fact I’m optimistic in spite of myself.”

“Are you sure, Payton’s gonna fight us on this.”

“Payton has been digging his metaphorical grave for years, and it is now too deep for him to get out. The evidence is in our favor.”

“Are you sure?” Patton rubbed his arms, feeling a sudden cold engulf him.

“Yes, and if you’re worried that he’s going to lie his way out of this… well I don’t think his silver tongue is going to help him here.”

“I feel kind of like I’m kicking him while he’s down.”

“This isn’t about Payton’s feelings. Provided that he can feel. This is about what’s best for Virgil.”

“Payton’s not gonna like this.”

“I don’t care.”

“Maybe he’s gonna say we shouldn’t be parents because we’re a same sex couple.” Patton said worriedly.

“He was running for mayor as a gay man who had suffered abuse for it.” Logan said blankly. “No one is going to want to hear that.”

“What if he says we beat Virgil up to make false evidence?”

“We can disprove that.”

“I read that judges don’t like to break up families, like take kids away from their parents.”

“With the exception of that parent being a violent sociopath, who may have tried to murder them.” Logan added, grabbing Patton’s hand. “Sound like anyone we know?”

“I’m just worried.”

“I know, I’m worried too.” Logan held his hand tighter. “But I’m not going to let it consume me or make me lose sight of reality.”

“I love you.” Patton said quietly.

“I love you too.” Logan smiled. “After all, I am having your baby.”

“When can we start introducing him as our son?” Patton perked up a little.

“As soon as custody is granted. And remember not to overwhelm him.”

# # #

“Ok,” Their new lawyer said after they finished their story. “It definitely sounds like you have a case.”

Their lawyer was remarkable short and built entirely of muscle. Outside of that he was scary. Completely pale with light blond hair that he covered up with a black derby hat. He looked like he had albinism along with a massive scar that covered the left side of his face, leaving him a dead eye and a slightly dented lower jaw. The scar pattern looked like a waffle iron. Patton pondered how the poor man got it.

The lawyer had a name plate that read “E. S. Pent”. No first name.

“So, what we need to do.” E. S. said. “Is organize what we have now, police reports, medical records and testimonies. You said Virgil is going to be seeing a psychiatrist?”

“Yes,” Logan answered. “Dr. Emile Picani.”

“Ok, we should be able to get him as a witness. He’s done all this before.” E.S. sighed. His job probably sucked.

“Is Virgil gonna have to testify?” Patton bit his lip. “I don’t wanna expose him to all this.”

“If he wants to, more power to him. But if not I’m pretty sure people will understand.”

“Is there anything we need to be prepared for if he tries to counter us?” Logan asked.

“Well, Patton already passed his background check.” E. S. looked through the papers. “I recommend you and your friend, Roman, both get one as well.”

Logan looked around tensely and Patton instinctively grabbed his hand.

“I, I have Asperger’s.” Logan sighed. “Is that going to cause any problems?”

“No, I don’t think so.” E. S. smiled reassuringly. “Provided that it doesn’t make you violent or suicidal.”

“No, all it really does is make me weird.”

Patton mouthed out the words ‘I will fight you’ at Logan. Nobody talks about his husband that way.

“Is it a problem that we’re gay?” Patton tilted his head.

“It shouldn’t be.”

“So, this is it?” Patton squeezed Logan’s hand.

“Well you need to serve Payton papers, and set a court date. I’ll help you with the papers. And if you don’t want to face him, you can have a police officer, or a lawyer serve the papers for you. And I knew Payton in law school, he’s a prick. So, if you’d like, I would love to serve him the papers.”

“I’ll give them to him myself.” Patton looked at the table. “I want to talk to him.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s my brother, I can’t just turn my back on him. And if I’m going to do this, I’m not going to do it from behind someone.”

“Alright.”

# # #

It was past nine when they got home. Roman was on the couch contentedly watching the credits of Aristocats while Virgil dozed on his shoulder.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re home.” Roman teased in an air of mock desperation. “It was so troublesome to look after a sick teenager. We had to watch movies and then he fell asleep. The horror.”

“Very funny.” Logan whispered, feeling Virgil’s forehead. “Last night you called me in a panic thinking he had scarlet fever.”

“Which you confirmed.” Roman whisper yelled.

“No, no. get away.” Virgil mumbled in his sleep.

“Shh,” Roman purred. “it’s ok. It’s ok. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Patton leaned in and pet Virgil’s hair. Poor little anxious baby!

“Has he been talking in his sleep a lot?” He whispered.

“On and off.” Roman looked down at him. “Mostly saying the same things. ‘get away’ ‘stop’ and ‘I wanna stay here’.”

“You can stay with us baby.” Patton continued stroking his head. “We’re not gonna send you away.”

“No,” Logan smiled. “You’re here for good.”

Roman covered the sleeping boy’s ears.

“How did it go with the lawyer?” He asked.

“I’m serving Payton the papers on Friday.” Patton looked down.

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Author’s note, Deceit’s color was similar to the albino Burmese python, so I made his human alternate an albino. Also a went with a scar instead of scales. Ethan will talk about being trans in a later chapter.

#Sanders sides fic #pattonsanders #logansanders #romansanders #virgilsanders #sympathiticdeceit #transdeceit #parentalmoxiety #parenatlanological #platoniclamp #logicality #famILY

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Text

Hope in Change - Epilogue

Murtagh stumbles across a couple arguing in the street and quickly realizes the young woman is Brianna.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Murtagh, Jamie, and Ian were at work building a cabin for Fergus and Marsali and Claire had taken Lizzie to help deliver a baby at one of the settler’s cabins several miles away, so Brianna volunteered to run back and forth fetching spare or replacement tools, bringing food and water, leading Clarence back to his pen when they’d finished moving the heavier logs into place for stripping and cutting.

The mule was stubborn and reluctant to return to captivity after having a chance to stretch his legs and do more than pull a cart. Each time Brianna disappeared around the house to grab him some more food or check to see how the laundry was drying on the line, he made a ruckus when she came back into sight and stamped his foot to get her attention.

“You’re like a toddler throwing a tantrum,” she muttered before rolling her eyes and heading to check on the goats and horses for their midday meal.

This time he started making noises before she’d even reached an area where he could see her. But when she rounded the corner he wasn’t alone.

“Roger?” she gasped, dropping an empty pail to the ground and running to him as he tried to dismount before his horse had stopped walking. She threw herself in his arms and buried her face in his neck. He held her tightly, sighing with relief.

“You need a bath,” she told him, her words muffled by his coat.

“Nice to see you too,” he chuckled, pulling back to look at her. She smiled then stood on her toes to kiss him.

“Did Bonnet or his men give you any more trouble? They didn’t hurt you, did they? Is that why it took you so long to find your way here?” she rambled, her eyes roving over him taking in the details of his appearance to be sure he was really there and truly in one piece.

He laughed again taking a step back to spread his arms so she could better see him. “I’m no injured. They gave me a hard time but it wasna anything I couldna handle—no after spending all that time wi’ them at sea. And it took me so long to get here because it’s a long bloody way from Philadelphia to Fraser’s Ridge when ye’ve naught but yer own two feet for much of the way—it has to be close to a thousand miles… or at least, it feels that far. I didna manage to find a horse I could afford till I’d nearly reached Virginia.”

Convinced by his cheerful indignation, Brianna grinned and moved to lead his horse to the barn while she filled him in on what she’d been up to in his absence.

“Mama probably won’t be back until tomorrow but Da and the others will be home a little before dark. Come in and help me make supper and maybe I’ll let you have some too,” she teased.

There wasn’t much left to be done as she’d accomplished the more difficult preparation earlier—dough for a pie crust, the meat (venison) cleaned and cut as finely as she could manage, kept that separate from the potatoes and carrots she’d diced. She rolled out the dough and began piecing the elements together while Roger built up the fire in the hearth.

“How are ye doin’ wi’ everything?” Roger asked, taking a seat on the bench opposite and watching her closely.

“It’s… been interesting. I’ve been hunting with Jamie and we’ve talked a lot. It’s strange, but not in a bad way… just… disorienting,” she told him, her attention entirely on the food in her hands as she stacked and arranged the pie’s filling, careful to make sure all the ingredients were distributed in equal measure. “It’s hard to explain. Every time I feel like I’ve got a handle on the past—on my childhood—I see something or hear a story and it shifts all over again. Like when I see him come up behind my mother and rub her neck… and she leaned into it and… I remember all the times I saw Daddy try to do that and she shrugged him off… until he just stopped touching her that way. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being surprised by him—by them. You’ll hardly recognize Mama when you see her.”

“Bein’ in this time… it changes ye,” he agreed. “Makes sense now, how different yer mam could be after she returned—and no just because of Jamie. I ken I’ve a newfound appreciation for many a convenience I took for granted back home. Indoor plumbing and modern transportation bein’ verra high on that list. I’ll say a prayer of thanks each and every time I so much as look at a proper toilet.”

Brianna gave him a weak smile as she crimped the crust on the pie and turned to set it into the brick oven at the side of the hearth. The rebuilt fire was beginning to warm the space but it would take a while for the pie to be thoroughly cooked.

“I’ll get you some water you can use to clean up,” Brianna said, puttering around the cabin to locate a bucket and fill it with warm water from the enormous cauldron near the hearth. She led him out the door and in the direction of a small hut. “Since Lizzie went with Mama and they shouldn’t be back till tomorrow, you can borrow her bed tonight. We can figure out something else in the morning. You’ll want to rest and brace yourself for meeting my father and cousin. Murtagh shouldn’t be too intimidating for you at this point. Blankets,” she exclaimed after setting the bucket down. “I’ll go find some.”

By the time she returned, Roger had managed to clear most of the sweat and dust from his face, neck, and arms. He’d pulled his shirt off as well and was splashing water over his chest and dribbling it down his back, not caring that it was soaking into his breeks and continuing on its way down the rest of his body. He had a single change of clothes in his pack but those weren’t in much better shape than what he was wearing.

“Here,” Brianna said, showing him the quilt and furs she’d brought. She set them down on the bed along one side of the hut’s walls. She stepped closer to him, taking the ragged stock he was using as a washcloth and wringing it out thoroughly before wetting it again and helping him reach the difficult spots on his back. “Hmm. Much better. I’ll show you the creek we use for bathing in the morning. It’s a bit chilly but easier than trying to heat the water for a hot bath.”

“If that’s Lizzie’s bed,” Roger nodded to the one she’d put the blankets on, “then the other would be yers, I’m guessin’?”

“You would be guessing right,” Brianna confirmed. “And… you don’t have to sleep in Lizzie’s bed if you don’t want to. It’s small but it’ll be warmer and cozier in mine.”

“Bree… I’ve missed ye—Lord knows I have—but… have ye changed yer mind? About marryin’ me?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t,” she told him, tears in her eyes. “I just… it wouldn’t be fair to you. Not when things are so different now.”

“Different?” he asked, taking a step closer to her. “Different how? Ye still want to take me to yer bed. Tha’s no different, or am I misunderstandin’ yer invitation?”

Her cheeks went pink with embarrassment.

“No, I still love you and want you to be the first man I… take to my bed, as you put it. But… spending these last weeks with Mama and Da… I told them about the fire. They’re not sure there’s anything that can be done to keep it from happening either. And we don’t know when exactly it’s going to happen. It could be this year or the next or five years from now… But just in case we can’t stop it and the worst does happen… I don’t want to regret that I didn’t spend more time with them when I had a chance to.”

Roger took a step back, his expression going slack as what she meant sank in. “Ye’re stayin’ here. Ye mean to stay no just for a few weeks or months… but years.”

“Yes. I remember what it was like to lose Daddy and how much I wished I’d agreed to go with him when he had to run errands or that I’d stayed at the office with him while he worked and I’d gone off with my friends instead. I want to know that I’ve done everything I can to save my parents and that I spent every second with them that I could.”

“And ye dinna think I’d stay with ye?”

“It wouldn’t be fair for me to ask you to,” Brianna pressed, her face getting redder as she forced herself to confess, “and I don’t want to lose you without knowing what it’s like to be with you, to show you how much I do love you.”

Roger laughed and the redness in Brianna’s face switched from the self-conscious shades toward those darker shades born of rising fury. But he rested his hands on her shoulders and smiled at her narrowed eyes and furrowed brow.

“Ye’re not askin’ and ye dinna need to. Ever. If ye’re goin’ to stay then so am I. Ye love me enough to let me go? I love you enough not to care where—or when—we are, so long as it’s together.”

Her face softened and tears pooled in her eyes as she beamed at him a second before throwing her arms around him and kissing him silly.

They laughed and held each other tight, Roger lifting her off her feet and spinning her around in the cramped quarters of the hut. Setting her down again, Roger kissed her softly, then again longer. She clung to the damp, bare muscles of his back, pressed herself against the length of him. They pulled back to look at each other, the simple joy replaced with the deeper yearning both felt. Neither said a word as Brianna pulled him toward her bed.

“The spare head should be right inside the barn door,” Jamie told Lizzie while Claire fussed with the dressing around his hand. “Be quick about it. Murtagh will be lookin’ for it. We wanted to be done wi’ preppin’ the beams ‘fore givin’ up for the day and he’s stubborn enough to try workin’ in the dark… And Ian’s foolish enough to go along wi’ it.”

“Oh, give them more credit than that,” Claire suggested, frowning at the cut on the back of Jamie’s hand from when the head of the hatchet came loose mid swing and flown off the handle. His reflexes were fast or he might have been in danger of losing the hand altogether. Instead it was superficial and shallow, a scrape across the back with deeper gouges at the knuckles. “Or give yourself fewer airs. If it weren’t for your mishap here, you’d be just as determined to work whatever the light conditions might be. Let’s get inside so I can clean and bandage this properly.”

“I need to tend yer horse,” he objected, moving to take the reins even as she reached to release the straps that held her medical box in place.

“I can tend the horse while you go in and rest a few minutes,” she insisted. “See what we have for supper and—”

“Bree came back to make supper some time ago,” Jamie reminded her. “We hadna thought ye’d be back tonight.”

“Well, that’s what happens when the baby arrives before the midwife. All it took was a quick check on mother and child, a small glass of whisky to wet the baby’s head, and we were headed back the way we came.”

“Mistress Claire, Mister Jamie,” Lizzie exclaimed, running toward them with the spare hatchet head in her hand. “There’s a strange horse in the barn,” she informed them, her eyes wide and frightened.

“Never mind about that,” Jamie told her calmly. “Get that back to Murtagh and Ian and stay wi’ them until they come home. Perhaps wi’ you waitin’ there for ‘em they’ll decide to just be done for the day.”

Lizzie nodded and headed off down the path.

When she was out of sight Claire began calling for Brianna and Jamie went to check the house when she failed to appear.

“There’s a pie cookin’ in the oven,” he told Claire, “so she’s no likely to have gone far.”

“And the ‘strange horse’ is in the barn so whoever it belongs to must be nearby as well. Perhaps they only went to fetch wood or to get more water,” Claire suggested hopefully.

A moment later, Brianna emerged from the hut she shared with Lizzie. She brushed some loose curls out of her flushed face and smoothed her hands down the front of her bodice.

“Mama… What’re you doing home? You weren’t supposed to be back till tomorrow,” Brianna remarked.

“The baby came quick,” Claire explained, her eyes narrowing at her daughter.

“D’ye ken who the horse in the barn belongs to, a nighean?” Jamie asked.

“Actually… yes. Roger arrived a little while ago. I was making up Lizzie’s bed for him since she was supposed to be with you all night, Mama. But I can put it back the way it was and he can sleep somewhere else. He’s cleaning up a bit from being on the road so long,” she told them, glancing back over her shoulder.

Roger poked his head out. “Good to see ye, Claire. I’ll right there. Dinna want to be sayin’ ‘hello’ still smellin’ of horse.”

“Mmmhmm,” Claire murmured, trying to keep a straight face as she turned to look at Jamie. He looked torn between laughter and shock. “We’ll be in the cabin when you’re ready,” Claire called to them, nudging Jamie in the other direction. “Your father hurt his hand and I need to clean it.”

#so in this version (if I kept going) roger and bree would be handfast (in front of her family) within a fortnight #and they'd realize she's pregnant with Jem a few weeks after that #;mod lenny #Hope in Change AU #show!verse #featuring: bree #featuring: roger #featuring: lizzie

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highordinal · 5 years

Text

Birthday

This was not how he envisioned his birthday would turn out.

Kayn, bloodied and battered, was on his knee using Rhaast as a means to hold himself steady. He glared up, teeth bared, as his eyes trained on the crew of the Morningstar. Captain Yasuo with his rag-tag team of criminals guarding the Templar who stood behind them, her expression unwavering given the situation they were in. He grit his teeth- how annoying. What a nuisance they were- getting in his way like this.

The Captain pointed his sword at the Ordinal, a fierce look in his eyes. “That’s enough, Ordinal. You’ve obviously been beat. Give up and leave us be.”

Kayn cackled, pulling himself up to stand back on his two feet. He wiped the blood from his mouth, smearing it across his cheek. “Oh, I’m not done yet, Captain-” His eyes widened as a rocket flew toward him, prompting him to leap to the side, rolling along the dirt to safety. An explosion set off behind him. He glanced back to the crew, that Jinx girl’s weapon steaming from firing the rocket; her face surprised.

“Oops.” He heard her utter from afar. The disgraced miner stifled a laugh.

He had faced platoons of men before, never having a problem with slaughtering them all, but for some reason this crew had nothing but luck. They weaseled out of every situation he put them in and managed to beat him time and time again. He was beginning to get frustrated- he just wanted that damn Templar!

“Give it up, kid.” Yasuo called out, earning a frown from the Ordinal.

“I’m no child!” He snapped. “As of today I’m 27!”

He saw the Captain’s eyes widen slightly. “It’s your birthday and you’re out here? Fighting with us? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Shut up! I don’t need any sympathy from you. Just hand over the Templar already!”

The larger alien stared at him before uttering a firm “No.”

“Whelp,” Yasuo shrugged, sheathing his blade. “You heard the big guy. Can’t give you the Templar, sorry.” The Ionan gestured towards their ship, which a few of the crew started walking to.

“Wait-!” The Ordinal called, “Where are you going!?”

“Go home, Kayn. Do something else for your birthday.”

The Ordinal seethed in anger, but was unable to do anything about it. His legs were weak and he was exhausted. All he could do was watch the crew of the Mornignstar hop onto their ship and fly away. How embarrassing. How disrespectful. How infuriating. He’d slaughter them the next time they crossed paths, he swears it.

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The Ordinal sat in the office of his ship with his arms crossed, a nurse sat beside him tending to some of the cuts along his face. Upon seeing how angry he was when he boarded, no one other than his Captain had said a word to him. He could even feel the nurse’s unease as she treated him.

It was then said Captain walked into his office, regal in her uniform. She spoke with the nurse, sending her away before walking right up to her superior. “Don’t sit there and pout, Sir.”

“I am not pouting.” He snapped back.

She rolled her eyes. “And stop frowning so much, you’ll develop wrinkles early.” She then reached into her overcoat and pulled out a square object, wrapped neatly with bright red paper and topped with a white bow. “Don’t focus on what happened today, focus on yourself.”

She placed the gift down onto his desk before walking towards the door. “Happy Birthday, Ordinal.” She said before stepping out.

He stared at the present for a short while before finally sitting up, swiping it off his desk. He slowly unfurled the gift, sighing and face palming as he saw the contents inside. It was the new K/DA album, but there was an extra piece of paper taped onto the front which read: I have camera’s in every room on this ship.

He loved the present, but he felt so embarrassed. “I can’t believe her.”

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When they docked back within the Armada, Kayn wanted nothing more than to go to his room and lay on his bed. No more crew of the Morningstar, no more birthday, he just wanted to sleep. That is, until he felt something crash into his stomach. He groaned in pain, but they were drowned out by the loud and frantic shouting of his daughter.

“Dad! Dad! Dad!” Zoe stood before him, jumping up and down.

“Yes, Zoe?” He looked to her, still waiting for the pain to pass.

“It’s your birthday!” She smiled excitedly.

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“We made you something! Well, Vael and I made you one thing and then Vael, me and daddy made another thing-”

“Vael, Daddy and I.” he corrected, earning a frown from the bubbly aspect.

“Whatever! Just come!” She didn’t bother to correct herself and just took both his hands and began to drag him away from the docks and towards the royal quarters.

He let the young girl guide him around the ship, letting her ramble on about the everything that came to her mind. When they reached their quarters she said, “Wait here.” Before running to the door, cracking it open slightly to peer inside. She and someone else inside exchanged a few hushed whispers before closing the door and skipping back over to him.

“Soooo,” She began, rocking on her heels. “What did you do today?”

He chuckled, knowing full well whatever they were planning wasn’t ready and she was just stalling for time. “I got had a confrontation with the crew of the Morningstar again.”

She gasped. “What? Again?” Her eyes widened in awe. “Did you beat them up?”

“Of course I did.” He scoffed, his pride a little hurt because it was only a half truth.

“Wow dad, you’re so cool and strong.” She smiled, but her attention was brought back to the door when they heard it open.

Vael peeked their head out. They saw Kayn, beamed, then gestured something at Zoe. The girl responded with a nod and she came back to hold Kayn’s hand.

“Right this way, Mr. Ordinal Dad.” She hummed as they both walked into the room.

Once the Demaxian stepped inside, he couldn’t stop the giddy smirk that formed across his lips. Streamers and birthday decorations hung about the room, some parts neatly placed and others messily thrown together. He could tell who did what. Jarvan, his lovely, amazing and oh so handsome husband stood in the middle of the room, balancing a cake in one hand with his other on Vael’s shoulder.

“Happy Birthday!” They all cheered.

Kayn was in shock. He was speechless- what could he say after seeing all this? It was all so festive and joyful; his beautiful children standing with his wonderful husband, nothing but love and adoration on their faces and in their tone. He was close to tears.

“You three..” He sighed, walking up to where they stood. He fell to his knee, cupping Zoe’s cheeks and showering her with a few kisses before pulling away to do the same to Vael. When he stood, he placed a firm kiss on Jarvan’s lips.

“Happy Birthday, Sheida.” The emperor cooed, stealing another kiss. “The kids and I made you a cake!” He stated triumphantly.

Kayn looked from his husband to the cake in his hand. He could see that it was homemade; the frosting was not as refined as a bakery would make it, but he didn’t mind it in the slightest. Anything made by hand, especially by his dear family, held such a special place in his heart.

“You spoil me.. Thank you. This is.. This has made me the happiest man in the galaxy.” He pulled back, allowing the other to place the dessert onto a nearby table before enveloping him in a tight hug.

“I love you, Sheida. We all love you so dearly. Let us celebrate.”

Kayn smirked. “Yes, let’s celebrate with the children now and we can have another celebration together later tonight.”

The emperor flushed a bright red. “S-Sheida..!”

The Ordinal laughed, winking to his husband before moving to pick up both Vael and Zoe. He kissed both their cheeks. “Okay, let’s eat.” He declared, earning cries of joy from the kids.

This life; this peaceful domestic life- it was all he wanted. And waking up each day, experiencing the wonders of being a parent and a husband made him want it all the more. He constantly questioned his goals- realizing that he would lose so much more if he listened to the voice of ora, but still a part of him craved that power. But this was not the time to think about such a thing. Today he would focus on himself and his family. He would relish in this happiness, for he wouldn’t know how long it would last.

#drabble #jarvan #ic #birthday #asdfjklgn this was so fun to write i cant

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alarioth-the-paladin · 5 years

Text

Kh’gufthral Part II

Titled “Atomic Motion”, it was an oil canvas painting that showed a man standing before a great vortex of distortion and a large pair or pairs of eyes were fixated on him. I needed to use all of my willpower to keep moving as all of the eyes filled me with a great feeling of paranoia. Esgurt lead me to a dingy dinner table that was sparsely equipped to serve even one mouth. I hoped to conclude my business as soon as possible, as one of the dishes did nothing to ease my waxing sense of nausea. I explained to him about my recent obsession and concern with The Catalyst. He assured me that it was just the ramblings of some old author out of ideas and desperately trying to stay relevant, there was no actual proof that anything short of the major historical events that took place in that book even happened, and given the new look of the tome, I agreed that Esgurt must be telling the truth. A book so old to have a detailed record of the invasion of Rome could hardly be in such good condition. We talked about the hypothetical existence of these elder gods and old gods and new gods for a while before I realized that it was getting late and I did not want to stay to try all of the repulsive food he had on display. I asked if I could have the book a little while longer, for my own intrigue you see. He said he could let me study it more, and I thanked him and made haste. Once I was home, I couldn’t sleep. My obsession was just beginning.

I managed to arrange the book to stay in my possession for a month longer. I should have gotten rid of it the moment I met Esgurt. He frequently came over, how he found my address I’ve no idea, and wouldn’t leave until I heard all he had to say about The Void-Faced One and even worse beings whose names elude me. How the god of pain would liberate us through our strife and make us stronger by breaking us. I wanted to send him away, but a sickness came over me and I was entranced by morbid curiosity. One night, after a very long and loathsome discussion with Lawrence, the sun began to flutter its eyes awake as a knock came at my door. As I had been unable to sleep for the past week, I was slow to answer the caller. As soon as I turned the knob, the door burst open and a rag was shoved in my mouth and in the same motion, a rough sack was thrown over my head and secured using a thick rope. I tried to fight back, but a sharp punch to my left kidney soon had me keeled over in pain. When the pain numbed, I was tied to what felt like a chair in what sounded like the hull inside of a ship, most likely the Greygorn dock as it is the only one in the city. The sack was removed, but before my eyes could adjust to the light, a blindfold was wrapped and tied tightly around my head. The rag in my mouth was extracted and a wet sponge replaced it, god was I thirsty. I drank and drank and drank until the sponge was dry and I did it all over again over the course of what seemed to be days. I heard heavy footsteps approach me and a felt a crack on my skull before passing into dreams. I dreamed of a swirling pool of blood and a molten ash rain. I dreamed of dreaming dreams. I dreamed of lunacy and sin. I dreamed of violation and purity. I was woken up by the crashing of waves and the cool ocean mist. I was tied to what felt like a cold metal spire and I could hear the sea on all sides of me. The blindfold was removed and I was allowed to take in my surroundings for the first time in what felt like a century. My hearing served correct, as did my tactile sense. What my hearing didn’t perceive was the mass of people surrounding me. They were adorned in red gowns and hoods with black markings that seemed familiar.

Esgurt approached me and whispered in my ear, “the infection has already taken hold. I wish I could help but you are too far gone. And unfortunately, we can’t let good stock go to waste.” He drew a long and horrifying blade and held it, tip pointing at the space between my eyes, unwavering. I pleaded with him to let me go home and sell him the book. He smiled and accepted the book from one of his acolytes. He turned to a page that I haven’t seen before and this time, the characters upon the page have never been written by human hands, yet he spoke them without falter.

“Kh’gufthral, durāg solu wnt rty eb uoni stepe clusre da frjda.”

He dragged the tip of the blade down my nose, slicing it in two and did this with the rest of my skin and I howled in pain. With a click of his tongue, two of the hooded acolytes pressed their fingers into the cuts upon my torso and pulled, peeling my skin off of me. Have you ever had someone pull your hair out? If you have, you will know that it feels like they are pulling from a place deep inside you. That is what it felt like to be skinned. The cold ocean air hit my bare muscles and for the first time I truly knew pain. But my dictionary of pain was about to be burned and rewritten. My ribs started to swim and elongate and shrink. Soon, my legs and pelvis followed suit and my body began to crack. From within the very bones of my body, a new form ruptured. One that existed to be a pure and liberated being. Before me, the blade that Esgurt wielded became red with the blood spurting from my body and it transformed into a giant figure. It’s hand like appendage gripped my throat and teeth grew from the initially smooth skin. I tried to cry out in pain, but the grip was like a lock. I was drowning in my own blood. I gurgled and squaked until my life faded. Now I roam the dimension of pain. Every time we stub our toe or cut ourselves, every time we feel pain, that is the plane of Kh’gufthral trying to reach us. It is trying to consume all that is in pain and sorrow so great, that nothing will stand in Its way to wage a war on a universal and dimensional scale. Belief that pain is great because it brings us closer to the elder god of pain is strange. Maybe we were never meant to be any closer to anything than we already are, as if we were to stray too far in any direction, we would get iriquivially lost and existence would be unending nightmare and torment. We evolved the way we are to keep us as far away from all threats as possible. And belief might just push us too far to one side.

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nhlhoser · 6 years

Text

On The Rocks - 25

Part 24 Masterlist

word count: 3557

Warning!!!: swearing and we’re getting heavy

Noah checked on me twice before going to bed and both times I was unable to keep more than a couple mouthfuls of water or if I was feeling bold some of the chicken broth I ordered from room service down. My temperature stayed at 100 which isn't bad but definitely not good either.

Noah repeated his message for me to call him before I kicked him out to get to his own room and shortly I was able to fall into a decent sleep that lasts all of 4 hours before I was up and had my head in the toilet again.

Where I am now, waiting for nausea to pass. My throat burning and my diaphragm beyond sore from the wrenching, my breathing ragged and heavy. I should definably call Noah because this doesn't feel normal even though this - isn't normal, to begin with.

Bracing my hands on the seat I roughly pushed my sore body up but the room spun in front of me as I stepped into the wall instead of out the door jostling my head back, making the world spin me round (right round).

"Fuck me," the rasp of my voice shocked me, trying to clear my throat proved even more painful than it already was earlier.

Pressing my palms on the wall I rest my forehead on the cool surface trying to re-orienting myself some before pushing off slightly using the wall as support to get into bed again. Sitting slowly onto the soft inviting bed, a wave of exhaustion setting on my shoulders.

Setting myself into pillows I stare at the landline on the side table, the number slightly blurry from the dizziness but closing one eye and squinting the other I eventually manage to dial what I hope is Noah's room.

"Hello?" A groggy male voice answered on the other side.

"Noah?" I rasped pathetically holding the phone in a death grip.

"Yeah?" He sounded like he was drifting off back to sleep again.

"It's Amelia, You said to call if things changed," I hesitated feeling bad for waking him up but this didn't feel right. There was a thump on the other end and a lot of muffling and weird sounds.

"Amelia, you still there?" His tone alert and awake-ish this time.

"uhm yeah- what happened?"

"I fell out of bed" He sounded sheepish before clearing his throat and tried to sound professional again. "What changed?"

"I'm really dizzy and - I just don't feel right," the last bit coming out quiet and slightly slurred, the mattress under me is really soft and warm - like a summer cloud.

"I'll be right down with a banana bag. It sounds like dehydration but I'll keep an eye on you," He talked more for himself than actually to me. "Are you hot?"

"Well, I think I am but I think it's a matter of ones taste," I rambled out breezily.

"I meant temperature, Amelia," He's so mean but there was a chuckled somewhere in there I could hear it. I am fun, so of course, there should be a chuckle, giggle or laugh because I'm hilarious- see I just made myself giggle.

"Amelia?" Noah's voice broke through. "Are you feeling hot?"

Pause.

Sweat is building upon my brow and various places on my body but I don't actually feel hot (probably don't look it either). "I guess," I mumbled semi-coherently.

"Yup you're delirious," I could practically see his unamused but slightly amused face he always gives me.

"You're shaking your head at me right now, aren't you?" I teased making myself giggle in delight because he doesn't protest or disagree with the statement but he did huff out a long breath on the other ended soundly slightly annoyed, he isn't my biggest fan on a regular day but not that I woke me it's probably much worse.

"Hang up the phone Amelia," Yup he hates me.

"No, you hang up," I tease.

CLICK, he hung up the phone.

Rude.

"I should probably unlock the door," I decide and will my body off the bed, resulting me to flick my body at the door with too much force. "Okay, stop walking to things, Amelia," I coach myself unlocking the door and opening it a crack before engaging the deadbolt well it's open so the door can't close. I should really give myself a high five or pat on the back for managing that in this whacked out state.

My legs wobbling like a baby giraffe with every step until I planted my butt back on the bed and re-arrange my self back into a comfortable position laying down, the covers all bunched up between my limps like a body pillow for me to cuddle relieving pressure over various parts of my aching body.

"This is me knocking," Noah's familiar voice entered the room before him pushing the door open, his hands full of medical looking things. I watch him from my huddled form, unmoving or disturbed by his arrival clad in his sweatpants and a hoodie.

He carefully set his supplies around me, going over a checklist in his hand before making a face as he surveys the room. "What's da matter?" My voice muffled by the blanket has pushed into my mouth.

"I don't know how to hang the IV," Noah Admitted looking stumped with two IV bags in his hand, one being a yellowish colour as the other is clear. Unmoving, I glance around the room the low hanging light fixture directly above our heads catches my eye.

"Hang them off the light using the hangers in the closest," Noah's eyes instantly snapped to the fixture with a scrutinizing look before he starts moving around the room again doing as I suggested, which felt nice to have enough sense left in me to help.

I start letting myself drift off as he getting everything together around me, stepping on the bed to reach the light doesn't really bother or move me much but when I felt the cold wet swipe of an alcohol wipe I groaned in anticipation.

"Don't move," Noah warns holding my hand flat on his thigh as he preps the area to be punctured by the IV needle. I clench my eyes closed as the cold sterile metal touches my skin and Noah painless inserted it into a vein on one go- thank god.

"Thank you," I mumbled eyes still closed but the sincerity was still apparent. "Sorry for waking up a- whatever ungodly hour this is," I cracked my eyes opened to less lighting and the room still spins just not as severe this time. Noah sittings right in my field of vision I have to turn my head up a little to catch the soft smile on his face before his grimaces.

" 2 am but I told you to call," He reassured setting the back of his hand on my fore feeling the temperature before moving it to move the hair from my face. " but please try to not need me so we can both sleep, yeah?" everything about him was soft right now as he drags his hand through my sweaty hair, helping me set into a calm state.

"Hopefully, I already feel like death," I sighed through my nose, My chest still sore from all of my wrenching earlier as is my throat. "I'll see you later today," Noah patted my shoulder before gathering his things quietly stopping once to ask for my room key to get in later before leaving with a soft click of the door.

Soft strokes through my hair roused me from my slumber what I hope are hours later not minutes as that's what it feels like. I could still feel the needle for the IV in my hand by the stiff feeling. The handwork gently in my gross hair but I am selfish to tell them to stop. They could probably tell by touch and sight that my hair is gross and yet they are still working through the grim consensually.

Peeping my eyes open one at a time the room is only lit by the crack in the curtains probably done by the person the hand is attached too because neither I or Noah touch them to my knowledge earlier. A large weight has set themselves behind me as they drag their hands through my hair calmly. There aren't much sounds other than our breathing and the traffic outside.

"If I was a cat I'd be purring," My voice raspy than it has ever sounded making me sound weak and pathetic. The hand in my hair halts and the body attached jerks slightly in surprise and a small gasp is hear.

"What time is it?" I make no move to find out for myself staying cuddled up with my mound of blankets, feeling slightly better than last night but in a different sense worse. The dizziness and nausea have gone away but has left my chest and throat in a lot of discomforts.

"7 am," The familiar voice was soft and definite not suppose to be here.

"Auston," I whined. "You're gonna get sick," but I don't want you to go.

"I was never here. I don't know I can get sick I was never here," He teased moving off the bed meaning his hand slips out of my hair with him. "I came by to see how you were doing and it seems like you got worse," His voice was light but shifted to a concern, I guess when he taking in the still dripping IV attached to my hand.

"I wasn't planning on waking you," That could be creepy but I cooed on the inside. Auston softly came to the bed to be in front of my face. "I also didn't plan to see this," He motions dramatically to the IV drip. "but subconsciously I kind of knew that the banana bag might be needed," His eyes fill with too many emotions to decipher.

"Thank you," I croaked weakly, half-lidded looking up at him. "but it's little creepy to watch me sleep," I teased cause the red in his cheeks to intensify.

"I was planning on coming to see what you needed. Like Gatorade, water and I also brought you this," Auston reached across to the end of the bed, producing another one his shirts. "Baggy shirts make great PJs or so I've heard," especially if they're your shirts.

"Thanks, Ah I think my shoulder is asleep," I wiggled weakly trying to shift my weight different but prove difficult with my sore body and the needle in my the back of my hand. Auston took pity on me and tried to help but just made it worse when he knocked the IV port and I hissed causing him to jump a foot away from the bed.

"I have an idea," He didn't wait for my input, he places my right hand with the port on his chest instructing me to keep it there as he tucks his arms around me and lifting me into his arms. My faces end up pressed into the crock of his neck as he-man hands me to the other side of the blanket wall on the cool untouched blankets. He arranges the pillows accordingly to support my back and neck.

There's more in his eyes than just concentration on helping me or concern- he's sad. Even though he looks like he's concentrated there is something deeper going on his head that isn't pillow placement.

"Auston, you're gonna get sick," but I have yet actually told him to leave yet. He watches with the same complex expression before sighing and closing his eyes dragging his hand over his face and through his hard.

"I'm sorry," He broke the words for physically hurting him to say. "I was such an ass to you. I totally missed the mark on you telling me about your plans to open up with Stephanie-which is a really good idea," He talked with hands, something he does when he's nervous.

"We're a lot alike Auston. We both shut off from people when we're going through our emotions. Yes, I was mad but more annoyed because you got mad at me for not letting you in and I wanted to smack you but Babs would have killed me," I managed to lighten the air between us.

"But Auston, please don't get sick to my account because again Babs will kill me," I pleaded with him again.

"Fine, I'm going," He got dramatic as he lifted his nose in mock offense and back away towards the door. "But I am going to get you more Gatorade and water," He announced nearly walking into the closet instead towards the door, turning around he was out of the door quickly.

So, I got 5 hours but feels like 5 minutes in my head, my chest throbs when I breathe so all the time and my throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper repeatedly but thankfully this new position relieves the pressure on my sore body and now I can just reach the bottle of water to my left without much trouble. I didn't bother setting it back on the table dropping it to my side once I've capped it.

Staring at the ceiling feeling more human than I have this whole trip despite the fact I have a tube attached to my right hand or maybe it's the reason I feel better. All the nutrients my body lost are being replenished by the bags hanging from the light fixture that could look alarming and strange to someone other than Noah or myself.

I could only imagine Auston's confused face when he caught sight of the rigged up IV's and my probably disgusting figure curled up in the blankets pathetically. My face pale from illness yet my cheeks tinted pink from the fever and my eyes glossy and dull. I can feel just how gross and tangled my hair is from sweating and being left matted against my head last night instead of comb out- yet Auston still ran his hands through it willingly.

Weird boy.

Noah came into my room about 15 minutes after Auston left which is probably for the best because Auston would have got an earful from the doctor about the importance of staying healthy during the playoff. I would feel horrible if he actually did get sick because of me and if Babs found out - oh god.

Noah worked on removing the IV drip first despite wanting to check my temperature and all that jazz but I was not having that I wanted the needle out. Once it out came to the thermometer in my ear and a flashlight checking the back of my throat. As soon as Noah's eyebrows furrowed I wanted to groan.

"Does your throat hurt?" He asked once he pocketed the penlight and started feeling the glands on neck and under my jaw less than gently, earning multiple groans of displeasure on my part.

"Yeah," My voice hoarse and sounded overused despite the fact I haven't been using it.

"Your esophagus is for sure inflamed from you puking over the past day but your glands aren't swollen which means you're already a lot better than you were just hours ago," Noah sighed and stepped back looking slightly stumped.

"But your temperature is still 100, I don't know if thats good or bad. I mean it's great that it didn't get worse but you're definitely showing the signs of fevers and your delirium episode with the dizziness is the most concerning because that isn't normal FLU symptoms," Noah wrote down some of the things he says as he starts to slightly pace in front of me, working through something in his head.

He stops before going to rummage through his bag for something before coming back up with a stethoscope with a frown.

"Shouldn't you of started with that Doc?" I deadpanned not enjoying this just as much as him. Noah just glared at me as he instructed me to breathe deeply and cough as he listens to my lungs and heart.

At least someone listens to me - my heart would say if it could.

"I don't hear anything abnormal," Noah says with a much lighter tone than the one he was using initially. As some of his frustration eases but mine doesn't because his hands are cold on my bare skin as he continues to listen to my body functions.

Would be a great time to burp if I could see how loud it would be for him. The rogue thought makes me smile lightly but it dies when Noah mentions something about a hospital. My whole body freezing, including my breathing which Noah can hear as he's still listening to my breathing.

"How convenient that Amelia would be in the hospital the day before she signs the papers, Maria" My father's angry voice hissed in what is suppose to be a whisper but having a booming voice such as his, it is impossible to whisper. A sharp feminine gasp is heard on the side of me across from my father.

" Luca, be reasonable here. Do you really believe I would do something like this, to our daughter?! " My mothers voice rasped as she tries to keep her volume low like my father had but both fail.

"You mean the daughter you tried to steal from," His voice broke at the end and his words got watery before clearing his throat as the grasp on my hand tightens softly- anchor his emotions.

"Luca," My mother gasped with a great offense, her hands landing on my other arm and instantly felt like flames were sparked by her grasp. My father snorts as a dry evil laugh escapes his throat.

"Of course I do," He spat with venom with little words needed probably given her his infamous glare that made me behave as a small child. Her grasp on my arm tightened painfully before releasing and her heels could be heard as she departed the room and my life.

"You're safe now, Tesoro," He pressed a soft kiss into my hair as something wet fell on my hair.

"Amelia?!" Noah's voice came through loudly all of a sudden as my memory release me from its ever painful grasp and back into reality even harder as the pain in my chest and throat seem worse than before.

Blinking dully, Noah's face invades my line of vision snapping his fingers in front of my face causing me to jerk back further into the pillows. My breathing is fast and labored as tears freely stream down my heated cheeks and down my neck, gasping loudly I kind of get control over my body as the crying turns into manageable sniffs.

"so, no hospital for you unless absolute must," Noah said softly trying to lighten the mood, it works to an extent but I still felt the effects of the panic attack holding my limps. Flashes of the buried memory haunt me when I relax but Noah's grasp on my hand- anchors me enough to get a control over my surroundings again.

"Amelia, I'm not going to ask much but Do you take anything for your anxiety or see anyone?" Noah asked seriously, holding my eyes with his as he speaks every word softly afraid to spook me- more than I already am.

"I used to see someone but never like taking anything," My voice shaky and weak, barely audible but Noah hears enough to nod but I could tell he clearly wanted to ask more but held his lip in his teeth to stop himself.

"Rest but try to get out of the room for a bit so the maids can clean the room. Maybe try to go down for breakfast and eat something small and drink tea lots of tea but don't overdo it," Noah slowly got gather his things and putting the empty IV and port into a yellow and red biohazard bag.

"I'll come back at 12 and we'll see how you are then," Noah gave me one last look of pity as I nodded along to what he says, he slips out the door again with a soft click this time leaving the key so I can leave and come back as I please.

Too many emotions cloud my brain as I stare at the ceiling feeling a whole different kind of shit but this type hurts differently. It's not physically hurting me but it weighs on my limps and drains my energy enough to feel like it's physically restraining me, the comforter laying over my legs and chest begin to feel too heavy on me. I thrash my arms to get the damn thing off me, frustrated when the fabric tangles with my legs but I continue to thrash around until I was free and gasping for air again.

I wanted to scream.

Weirdly enough for the first time, I didn't want to be alone, I wanted someone to just be there.

I needed someone here.

As if they'd have the answers to my problems.

but they could help...

They could distract you, hold you and you can maybe let yourself feel something.

#auston matthews imagine #auston matthews #on the rocks #482754

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