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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

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A Reading: Part 3 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Witch Reader)

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Warnings: cursing, threats, manipulation

Word Count: 3257

Y'know how I said I would update this fic and then I never did? Well, come get y'all juice

Still. They were all perfectly still after you explained everything that you'd seen. None of the boys moved, but none of them were looking at you. They were processing your words, with some of them having already asked a multitude of questions as you tried to explain. You'd told them that this path, the path they'd set themselves on, would only lead to death. Their deaths. But that, as you'd seen, it wasn't either of the brothers that fired the first shot. Well, it wasn't their hand on the trigger- stake- whatever. It was two boys you hadn't seen even in your vision. They were with the youngest brother, but the thing that you stressed was that he wasn't the one that staked him. Staked Marko. You didn't even know the kid, but you were trying to make sure he didn't end up on a missing poster.

You'd described the images in as much detail as you could. From the cards, you guessed it would be Paul and then Dwayne next simply from their placement on the death card. David would be last, but, again, you guessed that that battle would be between him and the brunette. From the way he'd held the antlers, the way he'd stared directly at the platinum blonde. A shiver ran down your back, and you reached for your cat. You tugged him close to your chest, and glanced at the four vampires. You'd tried to be as helpful as you could, keeping in mind the disadvantage that you were at. The silence was starting to thicken the air, make the hairs on your arms stand up. Salisbury meowed, as if sensing your discomfort. That little noise broke them out of whatever haze they'd been under, and it was Marko that asked,

"Is it- Is this it? There's nothing we can do?" He asked, and, even if they were vampires, your heart broke for him for a moment. The way he looked at you, how big his eyes were. The rest had lifted their eyes as well. Paul's eyes were eager, pleading. As if you could stop this. Dwaynes were intense, staring into you. As if there were more answers written into the creases of your face that he could see if he just looked a little harder. And David? David's face was unreadable, but his eyes were alight with anger. You gulped, and quickly shook your head.

"No- no. This is just the current path you're on. You make decisions every day, ones that keep you or push you off of a path. You just have to find a way off of it, and onto a better one." You told them. There was hope for them, even if you knew part of you shouldn't have been encouraging that. They were vampires. Killers. You should be happy to find that the creatures plaguing Santa Carla were going to end up dead in a matter of weeks. But, you couldn't bring yourself to be. Not when they were right in front of you and some of them seemed to be fighting tears. Fighting hopelessness.

"We could kill them." Paul suggested with a shrug, and you were quick to send him a glare. But, to your surprise, David shook his head. Perhaps it was just because he knew you'd argue, or maybe it was because David knew that wouldn't take care of all of them. Or some of them might die in the process. David was staring to the side, and you could practically see the way the gears were working. He was trying to figure this out, figure a way out of it. You pet Salisbury absently, feeling awkward in your own home. There wasn't like there was much you could do now-

"Why are you traveling alone anyways?" David asked suddenly, and the question nearly made you flinch. Your eyes flicked to him, and, without meaning to, your thoughts gave him your answer. Witch hunters flashed through your mind. Your most recent encounter giving him a crystal clear image of what you faced. Of your predicament. You were running, trying to escape the hunters that pursued you. He stared, and then he nodded. "Our problems are the same then." He said, and your eyebrows furrowed. You stared at him, wondering what he meant. Where he was taking this. To answer him, you said a small,

"I suppose." It was barely a mumble. You didn't know if you would call them the same. Vampire hunters and witch hunters were both hunters at the end of the day, but you were sure you didn't deserve the prosecution. Them on the other hand…

"This could work. You protect us, we'll protect you." He said, and his voice sounded as if he already decided it. You opened your mouth to protest, or maybe just question, but David interrupted you. "Or, we could just eat you." And you shut your mouth just as quickly as you'd opened it. They watched you, waiting to see what you'd decide, and you finally let out a sigh.

"What do you want me to do?" And David grinned. Some of their requests you could've guessed. Protection spells and wards, and Paul had even asked if you'd bless a few of his jewelry items. You'd replied to that with a simple,

"Won't that burn you though?" And he shrugged and replied,

"Why, are you a priest?" And you did your best not to let him make you smile. You really did. But it still lead to you saying,

"These are gonna take time, especially the spells. I won't- I won't be able to complete them all tonight." You said, especially with how exhausted you were. The sun was coming up soon anyways, and it wasn't like they'd be able to avoid the rays completely in your little caravan. Plus, you weren't sure your nerves would be able to tolerate staying in such close quarters with them for an entire day if they did get stuck with you. Luckily, they could take a hint and they all finally headed towards the door, and Marko called to you with a wave of his fingers,

"Don't go anywhere." He said teasingly, but part of you knew the threat that lied underneath. Paul winked at you and said a quick,

"Check you later, chica." Before Dwayne sent you a pair of finger guns and headed out the door with the rest of them. David was last, and he hung around for a moment. He looked around your little home, at all your trinkets and things. And then his eyes settled on you. You could feel the suggestion in his tone as he said,

"Don't even think about leaving." He told you, and you felt your necklace pang. Deflect any of the mental games he was trying to play. You nearly wanted to glare at him for trying to use his mind control on you, but you bit your tongue. You were so close to getting off scot-free. You wouldn't mess it up with a harsh word. Instead, you just nodded, and you watched as he left the room and you locked the door behind him.

You fell in a heap into your bed, staring at the roof of your caravan. It had been a normal town, just trying to make a buck. Now, you were involved with vampires. Vampires. You ran a hand over your face and groaned. As you tried to get ready and settle into bed, you ran the events over and over in your mind. Perhaps you should've just kept driving, or stopped in the next town over. Anything to have avoided the predicament you were in now. You sighed and tried to fluff your pillow, Salisbury at your side as the sun peeked above the horizon. As you tried to fall asleep, you decided that this seemed to be a never-ending nightmare

You were quickly proven right when a loud knock came at your door. You'd been up for a few hours, but you'd been too shaken to really explore Santa Carla. Or to try to make any money. The night had been slow, with you working on a few spells that you thought could help your reluctantly made allies. The knock had startled you, and you went to the door to peer outside. You left the chain on just in case. Standing there was Paul, a wide grin on his face. You hadn't even realized it'd gotten dark yet.

"Evening, sweet-cheeks. Miss me?" He asked, and you sighed. You undid the chain and pulled the door open another inch. You were surprised to see that it was just him, and a part of you eased. One vampire you could handle. "Now, did you have a dream about me too or was that just me?" When you stared at him and didn't reply, he sighed and shook his head. He pushed himself up from where he'd been leaning and said, "David told me to come check on you. Make sure you were still here." He said, almost sounding upset that you weren't willing to play along. But you were sure that he must've been used to his fair share of rejection by now.

"Well, I am." You told him, standing in the doorway and staring at the blonde. He arched a brow, surprised by your coldness. "Anything else?" You asked, trying to speed this up. The quicker you could finish their spells, the quicker you could leave Santa Carla. Paul sucked his teeth and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nah, not really. You finish my ring?" He asked, keeping his tone cool. Even if you could tell he didn't enjoy how quickly you were trying to get rid of him.

"Yeah, a little while ago." You told him. He glanced at the opening in the door, not so subtly asking. You sighed and pushed the door open. He grinned at the silent invitation, and followed you into the trailer. He closed the door behind him as you went to your bed, picking the piece of jewelry off of your makeshift work table. You'd meant to just turn around and give it to him, but Paul passed you to lay on the bed just next to the slab of wood you were using to place all of your things. He grinned up at you, staring at you from where you stood. You stared back, not looking half as amused as he did. His hair had splayed out behind him, and his mesh shirt had risen a bit. Showing off a sliver of skin. He grinned when he saw your eyes follow the movement of him pulling it down. You quickly looked away and went to sit on the bed on the other side of your table as Paul pushed himself up onto his elbows.

The boys had made you nervous yesterday, but now? You were tired, grumpy, and just wanted to be left alone. But Paul was the least intimidating of the bunch, even if you knew you shouldn't underestimate him, and he was insistent on staying and amusing himself by touching all your things. He reached out to touch the herbs and jars you had on your table, and you lightly shooed away his hand. The gesture only earned a grin from him and he teased you by reaching out again. When you sent him a glare, he responded with,

"You're really cute when you're angry." And you rolled your eyes. You tried not to let it chip at your resolve, but you could feel your cheeks heating up. You handed him his ring, a silver one with an eyeball on it, and you watched as he slipped it on. No burns. He grinned, playing with it and examining it. "So, what will it do?" He asked, and you waved your hand lightly as you spoke, calling a cup of tea towards you.

"It's just got some light protection on it. It'll warn off bad entities and help keep you safe." You said as you paged through your book, taking the cup from the open air and taking a sip. You didn't see how Paul watched the action, and you flipped the page. You were trying to find a spell that could protect all of them, or their space. You'd been consider the idea of warding wherever they slept during the day, but you were hesitant to suggest that. You didn't necessarily want to walk in a vampire den, allies or not.

Paul didn't move to stand, even after he had his ring. He hung around, even if he was just watching you read. He played with his ring, turning it on his finger, and the pair of you chatted here or there. Finally, he said,

"Did you- Did you do the dream thing?" He asked, and you looked up and responded with a confused hum. He looked surprised by your confusion, and quickly looked back down at your ring. "Oh, just- I really did dream about you and we don't usually…" He trailed off, and this time your eyes didn't leave his face. He'd looked away, and you could tell he was trying to figure something out. In fact, you thought he almost looked embarrassed. You tilted your head, the edge of your lips tilting up as you watched him. "Nevermind. How does your floaty thing work?" He asked, and you laughed and nearly choked on your drink from his description.

"My telekinesis?" You clarified, and he nodded. He was smiling, and it lit up his entire face. He was quick to reply,

"Yeah, that." And you found yourself staring for a moment. You knew vampires were supposed to be attractive. Most supernatural creatures were. It was a part of their appeal, like a venus fly trap. They pulled you in with their beauty and their charm, just to snap around you and eat you while you were still alive. But the way Paul's smile lit up his face? How easily he laughed and, while you could blame this on herbal substances, how he just seemed the slightest bit slow? It all made it seem as if he wouldn't hurt a fly. You smiled to yourself and said,

"Uh, what do you mean?" You asked, and Paul was leaning in, nearly making your work table tip over.

"Like, you can move things with your mind, right? So, is there anything you can't move or like- y'know?" He asked, and you swirled the spoon in your tea. You thought about it, and then shook your head.

"I mean, I don't use it all the time. I don't really think there's a limit it's just, like, how concentrated I am. But, I guess, I get tired when I use it too much." You told him. You didn't know why you were telling him these things, but you supposed he was good company. Better than you talking to Salisbury. If you were honest, it was probably the fact that it'd been a long time since you'd talked to anyone. And anyone that was as attractive as the blonde.

"Could you use it on me?" He asked, and you saw the glint of mischief in his eyes. You let out a scoff when he lifted his eyebrows suggestively, and you waved him away.

"In theory, yes." You told him, and he rested his head on his hand then. He gestured to you, as if encouraging you to do it. You gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on. If I knew witches were as uptight as you, I-" And you flicked your wrist. He was pushed back and his wrists were pinned on either side of his head. A surprise noise left his mouth, and you watched as he struggled. You pushed your work table out of the way, moved to sit besides him, and looked down at him. Your face was only a few inches away from his, and you watched the way he tried to pull against the hold. But, the grip was solid and his wrists didn't move an inch. Gently, you grazed your fingertips against his jaw to gather his attention,

"Happy?" You asked, and you watched as his gaze lifted up to you. He was watching you carefully, but, as the grin grew on your face, a smirk grew on his. You watched as a fire in his eyes grew, and the heat of it threatened to burn you.

"Extremely." He said, biting his lip and raking his gaze over you in a way that didn't hide at all what he was thinking. You didn't need to be able to read his mind to tell. You laughed, tugging yourself away from him just when he started to lean up, and you flicked your wrist to let him go. As you sat back, he followed you. One of his hands went down to yours, his cool fingertips reaching to hold your hand. "Is there anything else you can do?" He asked, tilting his face close to yours. Your breath hitched and you leaned back, and you tried to find a way to make your mouth move. To ignore the flirting in his tone. To ignore the way that, if you didn't know what he was, you would've already pulled him in. You tried to remind yourself. Vampire. Not to be trusted. Not to be underestimated. You'd forgotten that Paul could hear you, and the next moment Paul was tsking and saying, "You think too much." Just before he leaned in to close the gap.

***

When Paul approached the boys with a pep in his step and reeking of the witch, David arched a brow at him and asked,

"Well?" And Paul gave him a lazy grin.

"She won't be a threat." Paul said easily, and Dwayne lifted his eyes to give him a glare. Paul lifted his hands up, giving the brunette a look back. "What? I did what I was supposed to. Her telekinesis is strong, but she gets tired if she uses it too much and she didn't do the dreams. There, happy? And," He said. He went to sit on the railing, just next to where Dwayne was standing. He was slipping the ring off of his finger to give himself something to play with as he continued, "I figured she wouldn't be a problem if she actually liked us." He said, and David watched him for a moment. For how dumb the blonde usually played, sometimes he wasn't dumb at all.

He'd sent Paul to scope her out, to figure out how strong she was, and to more so see how she'd react to just one of them. If she'd try to make a break for it or surrender herself to the situation. It seemed she'd picked the latter. And the blonde was right. It would help if she liked them, even if Paul had a specific type of like in mind. Marko landed a soft punch on Paul's arm, and affectionately said,

"You're such a dog, man. We sent you to get information, you ass." But it seemed nothing was going to dim Paul's mood. He shrugged and said,

"I did. I just answered a few of my own questions." He said nonchalantly. Star and Laddie were off somewhere, so it was just the four of them on the boardwalk that evening. They watched the crowd for a moment, before Marko finally asked,

"How far did you get anyways?"

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #david the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys x reader

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yannowhatigiveup · 3 years

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T.W.A.A: The Eccedentesiast

This is a one shot I started last night and I finished it at around 2 am because I’m an insomniac. Sadly this isn’t the 10k+ word one shot I was talking about (I’m still writing it aaa) but this one is around 4-5k words long so I hope you enjoy. This is rushed, badly written, badly plotted and badly named.

TW: Dark topics such as sexual assault and suicide is mentioned in this piece of writing.

Paris, the City of Love, what a big misconception that was. If anything, Paris should've been labeled as the City of Misery considering the fact it was haunted by a villain who preyed on negative emotions. No one outside of Paris knew though, they were oblivious to the fact hundreds, thousands even millions had died in the city home to the Eiffel Tower, only to be resurrected and tormented with the memories of their death. It was worse for Marinette though, she had watched all the citizens, her beloved citizens, die before her eyes and she was powerless to help them. Their screams of anguish and cries of pain forever ghosted her nightmares. It wasn't just their blood that she drowned in, she was bullied, abused and betrayed in her civilian form by those she trusted the most.

Her classmates. She thought she could trust them but they left her for someone shinier and newer. They all hurt her, destroyed her hard work, verbally and physically bullied her. Nino and Kim, her childhood friends had turned their backs on her too, even joining the others in causing her physical and emotional pain. Alya, her best friend, had become her main abuser. The reporter stabbed the poor bluenette in the back, figuratively. Lila was the one who did it literally. Lila, the sound of the name itself made Marinette sick, after all, the brunette was the one who did this to her. She made her friends turn their backs on her, she made them abuse her and she only watched with fake crocodile tears and a smug smile when no one was looking. And Adrien, he was the worst of all. When Marinette was younger, Adrien was the embodiment of perfection. But now? All she could see was a spineless coward and a predator.

As Chat Noir, he wouldn't participate in the battles, only flirting with her hero persona. He would whine like a toddler when she rejected his advancements. Even when he did join in the battles, he was useless, ignoring anything that Ladybug would tell him and go straight for the kill which never worked. Chat Noir was incompetent and a sexual harasser. As Adrien, however, he was much more. Just two days ago, he had tried to sexually assault the young bluenette. The blonde had underestimated the girl and she managed to get away but nothing could erase her memory of the event.

The ultimatum Lila had delivered to Marinette when she thirteen seemed over-dramatic and seemingly impossible at the time. Yet three years later, she was at the point of no return. Her classmates, her friends, her teachers, the boy she once loved, her partner, her parents. They all left her. Mayor Bourgeois, fearing for his daughter's safety, had sent Chloe to New York with her mother. Luka was on tour with his father so they could build a better relationship. Kagami had a family affair back in Japan that would last for at least a month. She was truly alone. Her parents had fallen victim to Lila's lies and Marinette overheard them discussing about kicking her out. The only one by her side throughout the whole ordeal was Tikki, her beloved kwami. Even Master Fu had to leave her.

Marinette felt shut out by the rest of the world. Sure, Paris adored Ladybug but it felt different. She was fighting battles alone, she stood as the last survivor, the last protector of Paris. She took that title in stride, or that's what the Parisians thought. In reality, she was hiding behind a mask.

The bluenette had suffered endlessly for years, she was ready to break that cycle of torture. Yesterday, she came to the solid conclusion of who Hawkmoth was, who is accomplices were and what his motive was. Gabriel Agreste was the man behind Paris' torment, Nathalie Sancœr was one of his accomplices and so was Lila Rossi. For his motive, he wanted to bring his wife back. Marinette understood the pain he was in but she wouldn't go to such extreme lengths as he did. Many years ago, Marinette made a friend, one of her very best friends who she fell for. But she never told anyone who he was, where he came from or even the fact that she met someone. The reason behind this was the fact she witnessed his murder. That death, of all she witnessed, was the most heartbreaking. Even when all these years have passed, she never truly got over his death. His green eyes always lingered her mind.

The bluenette let out an anguished sigh, she was on the Eiffel Tower, admiring the city's skyline despite all its obvious flaws under close inspection. Though Marinette had drastically mentally changed, she would always put on the same mask, she would always portray herself as a regular school girl. This was the one time she felt a little peace in her chaotic excuse for a life. Her blue eyes stared off into the distance, focusing on nothing in particular when she heard footsteps coming from behind. In her peripheral vision, Marinette could see the figure of Gabriel Agreste slowly approaching. Not wanting anything to happen, she made her knowledge of her appearance known.

"I never expected to see you somewhere so public, Monsieur Agreste" Her voice remained neutral. Gabriel didn't flinch meaning that he had expected her to sense his arrival, it made the young girl slightly unnerved but she refused to show it.

"The Eiffel Tower holds the greatest inspiration, as a designer yourself I'm sure you are aware" Marinette was used to his cold voice by now, she kept her guard up reminding herself that this was Hawkmoth was standing a few feet away.

She hummed, putting the two miraculous users in a deathly silence, until she decided to break it. "You know, you could've just asked" The older man raised an eyebrow in confusion but Marinette never looked in his direction, "It would've saved a lot of bloodshed"

Gabriel managed to catch up with what she was saying. "Are you implying that I am Hawkmoth?" He didn't sound offended or defensive, merely curious.

"I'm not implying anything" She replied curtly, then turning to face him. "I am merely stating a fact"

The miraculous user turned away from her, focusing his gaze on the city's skyline once more. "What are you going to do with this knowledge?"

The question confused Marinette, surely he would've attacked her or try to get her to remain silent?

He must've noticed her confusion. "Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't say anything"

Marinette turned her full body towards the taller man, she was going to end Hawkmoth's reign as quickly as she could. "I can heal her"

"What?"

"I can heal her" The bluenette repeated. "Emilie"

Gabriel also turned to face her, his usual cold scowl was replaced with a staggered expression. "Y-you can? Even after all I've done as Hawkmoth?"

Her head twisted back to portrait that was Paris. "To end it all, yes I will"

"Then please, follow me and I promise I will give you my miraculous as well as Mayura's. Just, heal my wife please" His tone changed from intrigued to pleading, Marinette could see that he meant every word.

"Oh don't worry... I will"

~~~

"I did it!" Tim's voice echoed in the Batcave.

"Did what replacement?"

"I found Hawkmoth's identity!"

Around three months ago, Wonder Woman had noticed Green Lantern trying to delete a video. She stopped him before he successfully did the task and watched the video herself, calling a meeting to express her anger about the situation. Most were shaken since they had never seen the Amazonian this livid before. She briefly explained how her mother was once a miraculous user and how powerful these magical jewelry could be. Aqua Man also shared his concerns, revealing that the fall of Atlantis was due to the miraculous. They knew the logical decision was to work on this from outside of Paris, the villain preyed on negative emotions and they had been ignoring the Parisians' calls for help for four years. Their sudden appearance would definitely trigger the heroes. So in the last month, they had gathered files of nearly every person in Paris as well as all the necessary information about every akuma attack. It was tiring for the Bats but they trudged through it anyway.

Damian had taken a special interest in the spotted-heroine specifically, without the knowledge of any of his family members. She appeared similar to a female friend he had made quite some time ago, the one who had witnessed an assassination attempt on him. He saddened him to no end knowing that the friend he loved thought he was dead. The green-eyed boy became one hundred percent convinced that this hero was his friend.

One day, Dick had caught him in the Batcave observing a recently taken image of the Ladybug heroine. His older brother thought that Damian was crushing on the lady and began to tease him as others entered the cave.

"Tt, that's not true" the green-eyed boy retaliated.

"If you don't have a crush on Ladybug then why are you staring at an image of her?" Dick added more information necessary so that his younger brothers could join in on teasing his youngest brother.

The Robin vigilante sighed and brought everyone's attention to the screen. "See that?"

"All I see is this little lady Demon Spawn" Jason's smirk was quickly gone when he noticed Damian's serious expression.

"She's alone" he stated simply and before anyone could get a word in, her explained further. "There is usually a team with her"

Everyone seemed to lean closer to the screen.

"She's fighting alone. Her 'partner' doesn't participate in the battles anymore, he stays on the sidelines, observing" He let the others catch up to what he was saying. "The attacks have been lasting a lot longer than usual, Ladybug leads a super hero team correct? Then why is she fighting alone this time."

"They could have all been killed... We have to go to Paris to help the poor girl" Dick turned to Bruce. "Who knows how much longer she'll last alone fighting a psycho butterfly man!"

Bruce's fatherly instincts were screaming at him from merely looking at the photo. "I'll announce to the League that we'll be joining the fight in Paris"

~~~

Gabriel lead Marinette to his office, Nathalie wearily watching. Just as he was about to open the double doors, his assistant collapsed in uncontrollable coughing. Marinette was much faster than the older man so she got to the woman first. The bluenette carefully put Nathalie down on one of the chairs available while putting her hand on where she thought the assistant would where the peacock brooch. The blue-eyed girl could sense the broken miraculous' energy trapped in the woman so she did the only reasonable thing she could at that moment, she extracted the corrupted magic, healing Nathalie almost instantly. Marinette ignored Gabriel's relieved expression and gestured for him to lead her to Emilie.

"When this is over, I wish to have a restraining order against your son"

"May I ask why?"

"..."

"...I understand, I'll make sure to tell Nathalie"

The older man stopped before a painting of his wife, his fingers reached for the painted shapes and pressed on them, revealing an elevator to which he went down in. Following his motion, Marinette placed her hand on the painting and allowed herself to descend down the mansion. It lead her to a repository with a catwalk which lead to a circular platform covered in luscious greenery. In the middle on the platform was a class-covered cryogenic pod which the sleeping body of Emilie Agreste lay. The bluenette carefully made her way to the glass casket, placing her hand on the transparent material when she finally reached her destination. Focusing all her energy, a red light erupted from her finger tips and it soaked into Emilie's skin. Gabriel opened the pod, carefully watching his wife as Marinette took a step back. Suddenly her eyes fluttered open.

"G-Gabriel, what happened?"

The man didn't reply, he simply hugged the woman of his dreams before turning the the young girl.

"I... Thank you Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, I can give you the miraculous now if-"

"Ladybug will be at the Eiffel Tower soon, I suggest you give the miraculous to her then"

Gabriel nodded and thanked the girl once more as she left. Before she reached the lift that would lead her back up to Gabriel's office, Marinette turned to face the newly reunited couple.

"Enjoy the happiness in your life, Monsieur Agreste, you never know when it may end"

She then turned to leave, not wanting to here what her former idol had to say. When she reached the main floor of the Agreste Mansion, Marinette was greeted by Nathalie. The bluenette acknowledged the assistant with a nod, meaning that Emilie was awake. The assistant let out a sigh of relief and rushed to Adrien's room, not wanting to be around the blonde boy, Marinette promptly left. Once out of the premises of the mansion, she transformed and waited for Gabriel to return the miraculous. What she didn't realise was that the Justice League would also be coming to pay her a visit.

It felt like an eternity, waiting for the miraculous to be handed back to her but the bluenette was patient. She waited four years for this moment, but she had to share the moment alone. It was bittersweet. Soon enough Gabriel arivied, hastily giving Ladybug both the brooches with apologetic eyes and leaving without a word. The spotted heroine presumed that he wanted to get back to his wife and son, she couldn't blame him. Ladybug reached for her yo-yo teary-eyed, she was going to put both miraculous in her weapon before returning them in the miracle box but she stopped when she heard multiple figures approaching where she was standing.

~~~

Batman and his sons were the ones to go to Paris and alert Ladybug of their findings. The five men found themselves in front of the Eiffel Tower, Tim found out that was were the heroes would return to after their patrol.

"We must tell Ladybug right away" Batman pulled out his grappling hook and flung himself to one of the higher levels, all but Robin followed suit.

The vigilante had a feeling to remain on a lower level. He wanted to be reunited with his long lost friend but he couldn't find the words. Simply, he used his grappling hook to bring him onto one of the beams, low enough so he couldn't be seen but high enough to hear any conversation.

"Greetings, Ladybug" His father's voice echoed through the quiet building.

"Monsieur Batman? Wh-what are you doing here?" Her voice sounded almost exactly as he remembered, of course it sounded deeper and more matured but it had a more desolated edge to it.

~~~

"We apologize for not intervening earlier but we didn't know how well we needed to control our emotions" Red Hood watched as Nightwing brushed a hand through his hair nervously.

"But we can help now!" Red Robin's excited voice came out of nowhere, Ladybug looked at the vigilante in surprise. "We found out Hawkmoth's identity so we can finish this once and-"

Ladybug put a single hand up, a small smile on her face, silencing Red Robin's rambling. "That's very considerate of you, all of you" Her gaze landed on each vigilante one at a time. "But I... have things sorted" She pulled out two brooches from behind her back to show the men before putting the miraculous in her yo-yo. "I appreciate all you've done, truly I do. But can I ask one for one more favor?"

"Of course, what is it?" Nightwing asked, clearly wanting the spotted heroine to be gleeful once more.

"Could you... help the other heroes to help the Parisians to heal?"

"It's the least we can do" Batman replied. "Will you be there too?"

"I'm afraid not" Ladybug turned around and leaned forward on the banister. "You know how Hawkmoth prays on negative emotions, so I've had to deal with my emotions in an unhealthy manor but now... Hawkmoth is no more. I can be free"

"Wh-"

"Thank you, truly" Ladybug jumped up on to railing, facing the group of vigilantes. Her sad smile faded as she stared at the floor.

They didn't even get a chance to process what was happening before it did. A bright light surrounded the young hero and they were forced to close their eyes. As the light died down, Red Hood saw a small bluenette. She looked so weak, so pretty, so... fragile. It hurt the vigilante's heart seeing someone like this being the sole protector of Paris with no one by her side.

"Hey little lady-"

"I'm sorry Tikki"

The girl looked at all the vigilantes slowly, mouthing a 'thank you' before letting herself lean backwards.

Gravity took the Parisian heroine and she fell.

A small creature holding something shiny stared in horror as its owner fell."MARINETTE!" The small creature's anguished scream seemed to bring the vigilantes back to reality.

~~~

"MARINETTE!"

Robin's head shot up, that name was all too familiar. Suddenly, he took note of a figure falling fast from above, her raven hair flowing in the wind. Without giving a second thought, he bounded down the ledge he was on, landing on one of the platforms and had his arms out ready to catch the fallen angel. The bluenette was close enough for Robin to grab her and he pulled her in so that her feet landed on the platform, her body still looming over the edge of the building. His brother and father landed not far from him, bounding over to help the bluenette but Robin took no notice of their presence.

"Why didn't you just let me f...all" The girl's voice trailed off as her eyes widened in recognition, the air in her lungs escaped from her lips. "...d-Damian?"

The two friends took no notice at how the vigilantes behind Robin stiffened. Her eyes developed a watery sheen as the situation began to really hit her. Tears threatened to spill as her lip quivered. Robin pulled her away from the ledge and she jumped into his arms, she was heavily touch-starved. Much to his family's surprise, he didn't push her away. In fact, he hugged her back. They heard what she said next.

"I... I thought you were dead, Dami"

"...why? What made you do this, Malaki?"

They didn't hear what she said next as her mumbling was muffled in Robin's chest. Nightwing walked up to the two first, kneeling down to be eye level with the girl.

"Hey Sunshine... we don't know what you've been through but we're willing to help you though it okay?" The girl looked at his sincere gaze, her eyes were so round with innocence, Nightwing thought he would melt.

"I... thank you, I'm sorry for worrying you when I... jumped" No one failed to notice when Robin ran his fingers through the bluenette's hair.

"Don't apologize Little Lady" Red Hood walked over to where Nightwing was kneeling, sitting next to his older brother. "Hawkbitch forced you to bottle up your emotions, you were just strong for too long."

Marinette looked between the two men, a grateful smile on her face while she wiped the tears of pure happiness running down her cheeks. "Thank you, I- this... this is the nicest I've been treated recently"

"If you don't mind me asking," Batman walked over and Marinette felt slightly intimidated you his presence as well as his tone. The dark knight must have noticed this since he cleared his throat and began talking in a softer manner. "What happened to cause you to go to such extremes? You're obligated to not having to talk about it right away if the subject makes you uncomfortable"

"Well I guess I do have to talk about it eventually..."

Recognising the bluenette's discomfort, Red Robin stepped in. In his palm was the shaken kwami who flew straight for Marinette once the vigilante got close enough. "Since you know Robin's identity, and we already sorta know yours, it's only fair if we tell you who we are, right?" He looked at his two older brothers and then at his adoptive father. "My name's Tim Drake nice to meet you"

Marinette was about to take his offered hand when the vigilante she presumed was Red Hood took it instead, "Jason Todd, Robin's most charming and handsome brother" She giggled at Damian's obvious annoyance.

"Well I'm Richard Grayson, Robin's favourite brother, but you can call me Dick" The vigilante in the suit who comforted her first, introduced himself.

"It's nice to meet all of you"

Batman soon came over as well to aquatint with the young heroine, offering out his hand for a handshake. "Bruce Wayne"

She returned the hand shake and brightly smiled, it blinded nearly all those near. "Thank you, Mr Wayne. Wait..." she turned to face Damian, one of her eyebrows raised. "Wayne?"

"I may have failed to mention that part" To Robin's surprise, Marinette started giggling so he huffed in taken offense.

"Sorry it's just- a girl in my class as been boasting about dating you and about the Wayne Family seeing her as their 'honorary member'. I knew she was lying I just didn't know that I would bump into the people she was lying about"

Bruce hummed. "We'll have to do something about this girl you're talking about. In the meantime, why don't you come back to the hotel with us? You and Damian can catch up" The older man saw the hesitation in her eyes but he also saw the willingness that shine through the most. "If you're living in a bad environment then you do have to escape" His sons nodded along.

"I'll come, can I bring some overnight clothes? It's been a long day..."

"Of course, you go get your belongings and you can meet us at the Grand Paris Hotel"

"I... thank you again" She transformed and headed in the direction of her house, leaving Robin at the mercy of his brothers.

"You like her, Brat" Red Robin spoke up first.

Nightwing pretended to wipe his tears. "Baby Bird's all grown up now"

"That means you can't adopt the little Pixie, don't think I haven't seen the adoption papers"

~~~

When Marinette destransformed on her balcony rooftop, she quickly went inside, packed some clothes as well as some essentials. When she was satisfied with her belongings, she gave a macaron to Tikki before heading downstairs where she was met with two disappointed looking parents.

"Is something wrong?"

"We've decided," Tom began. "We're kicking you out for what you've done to your lovely classmate, Lila"

"We don't recognise the person you've become, Marinette. You are not the daughter we raised" Sabine added

"May I pack my things in the morning?" Marinette inquired, her eyes void of emotion. When her parents nodded, she left the bakery and down to the hotel where Damian was waiting in the lobby. As she approached, he took her bag and intertwined their hands together. She blushed at the contact but leaned into his embrace.

When she entered the hotel room she was greeted by the vigilantes who were now changed and unmasked. The bluenette was welcomed with open arms, she felt the warmth in her heart for the first time since Lila's Tyranny. She briefly explained Lila's lies, what she had done to Marinette and how the bluenette was able to protect Paris. She would've carried on longer if it weren't for the hotel phone ringing. It was the receptionist, saying that someone had asked to see Marinette. Confused, she went down with Damian, Jason followed closely behind since he had grown quite attached to the little fairy. Waiting at the front desk as a woman, Damian and Jason recognised her instantly as Mayura. Damian tried to step in front of his friend but she completely ignored their futile attempts to keep her in reach.

"Ah, Hello Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng"

"Hello Nathalie, we're you the one who asked for me?"

"Yes, I just need to clarify a few things"

"Go ahead"

"You're request for the restraining order has been fulfilled" the bluenette nodded, waiting for Gabriel's assistant to continue. "May I ask what did he do to make you request for it?"

The two notices how Marinette stiffened. She contemplated before sighing. "Attempted sexual assault. If you look at the camera footage outside of the Louvre from two days ago, seven pm onwards, you'll see your evidence." Marinette turned away from Nathalie and walked back to Damian who, once in range, pulled her in for a hug.

"I'll never let him near you again, Angel"

~~~

The next day, Bruce had shown up with Marinette at her parents' bakery. Upon hearing about the young bluenette being kicked out, he had asked for her permission for him to be her Guardian until she was old enough to live in her own. Marinette accepted his offer. When they had entered the building, her parents had greeted their customers kindly before recognising Marinette. Bruce turned to the young girl next to him and smiled.

"You go pack your things I'll deal with this" She smiled and bounded upstairs, leaving Bruce to talk with the bakery's owners.

"Hello Sir, how may we help you?" Sabine began, wanting to know who this man was.

"I've come to gain guardianship of your daughter, Marinette Dupain-Cheng"

"Why should we give you guardianship?" Tom asked.

"I'm sure you know the liability for child neglect, Mr Dupain" With his words, both adults seemed to turn white. "I will file the necessary and submit it with the court, I'm sure you'll be willing to give your approval"

Both Marinette and the mystery man left, true they were glad that their mistake of a daughter had gone but they wondered who she had gone with.

~~~

Later that afternoon was a charity event which the Waynes were supposed to attend as they were invited by the mayor himself, the plus side was that the Akuma class would also be attending and they had no clue the Wayne Family would be there.

"...And finally I'd like to thank the Wayne Family for joining us this evening" Mayor Bourgeois finished his speech and all heads turned to the table the Waynes and Marinette were sitting on. As his speech was over, a teenage girl with glass and a very pale brunette came over to the table.

"Hello Mr Wayne, My name's Alya and I'm your honorary daughter's best friend and I was hoping-"

"Marinette" Bruce began, cutting off the aspiring reporter. The Alya girl only then seemed to notice that the bluenette was sitting at the table. "Is this girl you're friend?"

The bluenette took one hard look at Alya before shaking her head, "No"

"Marislut what th-"

"It would be appreciated if you did not talk about my honorary daughter and future daughter-in-law on that manner" Both Damian and Marinette turned red, one much more than the other. "In fact we should be leaving" Bruce and the rest of the family got up. "Miss Rossi, I will not tolerate your lies. You will receive a lawsuit for defamation and slander. Have a good evening" They left, leaving a reporter, a liar and a class speechless.

When they reached the hotel room they finished packing up, they would be leaving that night. Marinette made a few phone calls, telling her friends that she would be moving to Gotham. They had their belongs taken to the limo downstairs and had a few snacks before making their way down. In the lobby were many different people around the bluenette's age, she recognised them as her classmates and continued walking beside Damian until Alex came over.

"Marinette... we're sorry. We understand that you probably won't forgive apps but we wrote you letters anyway" the skater girl gave Marinette a pile of enveloped letters, ones she put in her bag straight away.

"Thank you for your apologies but I don't think I can forgive you just yet, goodbye Alix" the bluenette got in the limo and let out a breath she knew she was holding.

Her eyes glanced out the tinted window, she smiled knowing that she was leaving Paris for a better life. A better life with a friends, a better life with a new family. A better life with Damian.

~Bonus~

The harsh blizzard outside was definitely being felt from inside the manor, leaving a cold and tired Marinette on the couch. Damian, noticing his girlfriend's state, went to grab a blanket to cover both Marinette and himself. She snuggled into the green-eyed boy, taking all the warmth she could get, and slowly she drifted off to sleep. Damian too felt drowsy so soon followed his girlfriend into dreamland.

Jason came in a few moments later to find the sleeping couple, he was then reminded by how tired he was so he went on the couch and leaned his back against his youngest brother, himself too falling victim to slumber.

The next person to walk in was Dick, he had just finished training so he was exhausted. But he couldn't help to coo when he came across the scene in front of him. The eldest son then got on the sofa and carefully leaned against Marinette, similar to what Jason had done with Damian. It didn't take long for him to join them in dozing off.

Tim arrived with a big cup of freshly made coffee, one which he was about to drink until he noticed his siblings all curled up on the couch sleeping. The co-CEO went back to the kitchen, left his cup of coffee then went to grab a blanket to join his family. Wrapping himself in a blanket burrito, Tim placed himself on the floor pressed up against sofa.

When Bruce returned home safely, he went to the main living room to see his children, and his future in-law who was basically his own by now, sleeping soundly with the TV still running. Reaching for the remote, he turned the television off and grabbed his phone to take a picture. He planned on printing it out and having it framed in his study. Bruce sat on one of the armchairs, taking a book to read. If there was peace in the house, he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

#daminette #maribat #maridami #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damianette #mlb x dc #ml x dc #This is so bad I hate it and it started out good as well aaaaaaaa

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls.

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods.

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires.

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past.

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him.

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places.

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease.

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone.

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely.

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-"

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue.

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you.

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?"

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium.

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back.

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..."

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze.

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy.

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

#are you feeling the angst yet #pierre gasly #pierre gasly X reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 rpf #f1 rpf #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfiction

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teenage-mutant-ninja-freak · 3 years

Text

You already know how this one ends

Mob! Mikey x gender neutral reader

Warnings: Murder-spoken about in detail, alcohol mentions. Summery: It’s been such a lovely evening, your boyfriend has taken you out to the movies and dinner and now you’re having a lovely starlit stroll around the park. How could anything be better?

(Authors note: This is a very dark fic, like very dark. It involves a detailed description of someone dying, please read at your own discretion.)

The breeze is cool as you walk arm in arm with Mikey around the park. It had rained earlier, while you were at dinner, and now the damp air is filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and wet concrete but, it wasn’t unpleasant. Looking around, the trees danced in the slight wind and stars could be seen between the few clouds that loomed over you, casting shadows from the almost full moon. It was quiet and serene, just you and him. You hugged your coat a little bit tighter. It was a beautiful one, not cheap either, that he had bought for you; made of alpaca wool, a caramel sort of brown and fluffy. It went down to almost your knees and you loved it very dearly. You called it your ‘teddy bear coat’.

He, Mikey, had taken you to see a movie and then out for dinner at the most lavish place you could imagine. “It’s a special evening” he’d told you but never given you a reason as to why. Now you were walking through a park only a few blocks away from the restaurant and he was pointing out constellations. It was marvellous when he was like this, attentive and sweet and lucid. He had a bad habit of getting locked up inside his own head and becoming distant and irrational. That warm feeling comes over you like a tide in how quickly it rises but less forceful, like air in how it fills you but more tangible. You love him and he loves you, he’s told you hundreds of times before. Maybe he’ll forgive you.

You have a secret, you’re not actually a part time pre-school teacher but, in fact, a detective in the NYPD and you’d been sent to observe him, find out everything you could. It had been thrilling at first, but as it always seems to happen in the movies, you fell for him and fell hard. He kept you out of business, said it was too “unsavoury” for a delicate thing such as yourself so you hadn’t really learned much about it. Of course you tried but, any questions were expertly side stepped or ignored all together. You had, however, spent a lot of time with him- retreats to the country side, trips to Paris or Italy, nights at the theatre and stunning parties at houses bigger than you could ever dream to afford. You had also spent many nights in his bed with him. You had no significant other to return home to so on that first night, the first time it had happened, when he took you in his arms for a passionate kiss and lead you by the hand to his bedroom, you had no objections. He was an excellent lover and you don’t regret a single moment you spent with him.

Tonight was the night, however, that you had to come clean.

Mikey dropped your arm for a moment to reach into his pocket and pull out a flask and raise it to his lips to take a long swig of what you assumed was whiskey. He edged the flask in your direction as an indication that you should do the same. Your fingers brushed his as you took it from his grasp and the cool liquid stung as it travelled down your throat to heat your belly. You would need all the courage you could muster and liquid courage is as good as any. Handing the leather bound container back to him, he placed it securely in his breast pocket. You sighed. Would it still be like this after he knew the truth?

“And that one’s Orion’s belt. Good story that” he continued.

It had only just occurred to you that he’s been talking for a while now, you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to listen.

“I haven’t heard that one, tell it to me” you said, now returned to reality and interested in the tale. He was always a good story teller.

“Well Orion was boasting one day to the goddess Artemis, she’s the god of the hunt, you know, and her mother Leto that he could kill any beast on this earth. “Bring it before me and I will lay it down!” he’d said. Very full of himself that guy. I suppose all the gods were, even though he was only like 3/4 god I suppose. So anyway, the earth goddess overheard and devised a plan. a test of sorts. She sent a scorpion to him and the scorpion stung him on the ankle and he died. That’s only one of the stories of it though. Everyone argues about how it actually happened- if he was saving Leto from the scorpion or trying to force himself on Artemis and she sent the little critter. Either way it doesn’t really matter, the outcome is the same. He gets stung and-”

“I need to tell you something!” You weren’t sure where it came from but the words erupted out of you. You couldn’t wait any longer.

“what is it? There’s nothing I don’t already know about you” he stopped walking now and turned to you, putting his hands on your shoulders as if you steady you. You had seemed quite distressed to burst out like that.

“I- well its....Look I love you. I really do” you began

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.“ he laughed. His smile put you at ease. Those perfect teeth and plump lips curving into a half moon shape towards his eyes- eyes that you could get lost in and often did.

“Hey, just listen. You know I told you that I’m a part time teacher over at saint Johns? Well, that’s not exactly the truth. I’m. Well...”

“you’re a cop” He added

“Exactly! And I’d wanted to tell-. Wait. How did you know that?” you were taken aback. How could he have known? How long had he known? As if he had read your mind, he answered.

“I found out yesterday, talked to my brothers about it.” his voice was lower now, more sombre as if it brought him great sadness to even think about it.

“Where does that leave us?” you asked

There was a long pause, he didn’t look at you but instead behind your right shoulder, staring off into the distance. He seemed quite pensive. Another breeze rolled though the air making you shiver and a bird called out in a far off tree. You were suddenly all too aware that no one was around. It had occurred to you before, made the evening seem more romantic but, now that this information was out in the open it scared you a little. You could see the handle to Mikey’s gun peering out of the holster beneath his blazer. After what felt like minutes of silence, he finally spoke again.

“You already know how this ends” His tone was dire and it sent a chill through you.

Before you could respond and ask what the hell that even meant, a leg, Mikey’s leg, sweeps underneath you- knocking you to the ground. The force of your impact sends a huff of air out of you and the ground is cold and still wet from the earlier rain beneath your form. Before you have time to register what’s going on, he’s on top you you.

His hands go to your throat and tighten dramatically. Surely you think surely this isn’t really happening? He loves me, I know he does. This isn’t really happening. This thought it short lived, however, as your vision is already beginning to dot and you can feel your face reddening and growing hot from the lack of blood and oxygen. His face is contorted above you into a pitiful look and you feel something drip onto your face. Is he crying? You try your best to take a better look and it sent a second chill through you. He’s crying because he has to kill you.

It may seem daft, lying on your back in an empty park with your lovers hands strangling you and it only just occurred to you, now, that you’re going to die, but everything had happened so quickly and you still loved him, even with his hands around your neck, so much that you didn’t immediately think of that. This sparks something wild in you. Your own hands go to his face, slapping and clawing at him as best you can with limited air and in this position- doing anything you can for another sweet, sweet breath of air. It’s all to no avail, spots are becoming bigger and more frequent in your vision, your arms are tired and your lungs burn from the deprivation of oxygen. Within a minute or so they fall to your sides, slapping his thighs on the way down and you look up at him one final time.

“I’m sorry” you manage to strain and gargle out. Had you know this would be the last thing you’d say to him, or ever, you might have picked something better. Nonetheless, this was fitting. You were sorry. Sorry for lying, sorry for agreeing to the job and sorry for ever moving to New York in the first place. Somewhere in the back of your mind the image of a scorpion climbing onto a frogs back appears- an old fable your mother used to tell you before bed. They’re half way across the river when it stings and the water is dark and angry as they both get pulled under. “It is in my nature” was the scorpion’s response. This is how you felt about Mikey., you could not hate him for it, as much as that would be the easiest emotion to conjure up, as he was simply doing what he knows. What he does best. What’s in his nature.

Your vision slowly begins to vignette until only a pinprick of sight is left. He is still crying, still straining to choke the life from you as quickly as possible- you suppose that’s the only mercy he can give you right now. A quick death. With all that’s left of your vision, you look up. The stars are still beaming up above you and Orion’s belt is shining in all it’s glory. Of all the things you could notice right now, the stars were probably the best one. You blink slowly, a small wheezing sound escapes your lips and before you can think of anything else, the world goes dark.

________________

He stays like that for a few minutes after your eyes close, making sure every last string of life has been well and truly drained from you. He’s still crying as he does it. Eventually he will raise himself up, wipe the tears from his face and take a quick look around. The park is still empty, still dark and for the first time this evening he is alone. It does not feel good. He looks down at his hands. Hands that were toughed by work and age, hands that had done unspeakable things that he couldn’t admit to himself let alone to you.

Slowly he will walk home, close the front door behind him and lock it. “Is it done?” His brother will say to him, he forgets which one. “Yes” he will reply. They will say something else, but he isn’t listening. That night he will drink himself stupid, until there are no more thoughts of hands and throats and eyes looking into his that are lit up by the stars above. It’ll become a fever dream and nothing more.

Tomorrow a paper will be placed in front of him, the headline will say something about a dead NYPD officer. He will not read it.

The End.

#my fic #you already know how this one ends #Mob! AU #mob au #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #mob! Mikey #mob mikey

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hxwks-gf · 4 years

Text

ㅡ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟹

ʜᴀᴡᴋs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ғʟᴜғғ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜɪɴɢ, ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Weeks passed, and the weather steadily shifted from the end of summer to the beginning of autumn. The leaves began to change, throwing the city into a vibrant mix of red, orange, and brown. The air outside gradually got colder and colder, until you got used to grabbing a coat before you left for work.

Endeavor’s attitude towards you had improved, much to your surprise. He no longer sent you off on ridiculous errands whenever he had meetings with other heroes or with the Hero Public Safety Commission. Rather, he actually had you attend them, sitting beside him at the long conference table, dutifully taking notes.

A particularly boring meeting with a few lower-ranked heroes had just come to an end. It went on quite longer than expected, you noticed, as the sun had already set and the stars were twinkling next to the moon in the sky. The nighttime air was brisk and frigid as you quickly walked down the quiet sidewalk to your apartment. There was no one else in sight.

Or so you thought. You were in your own little world, imagining the hot meal and hot bath that was waiting for you at home. You were too busy daydreaming that you didn’t see the shadowy form slip out from an alley and fall in step behind you. He followed you for a couple blocks, until you started to feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You glanced over your shoulder and saw himㅡbut you couldn’t make out his face.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself, facing straight forward again. Your feet began to move quicker. Just a few more blocks….

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” a raspy, guttural voice hissed. Before you could break into a run, a hand shot out with surprising speed and gripped your upper arm. “You look good enough to eat.”

“Let go of me!” you snapped, trying to wrench your arm free.

“Hey, hey, don’t be like that.” His grip on your arm tightened painfully, pulling you back into his chest. He leaned down to speak in your ear, his breath tickling your hair. “I’ll be gentle.”

Your eyes scanned the street wildly, for anything. Anyone. Where were the patrols, goddammit? You felt yourself being pulled into another dark alley, hidden from view. After coming to terms that no hero was going to save you, you decided to take matters in your own hands. As he dragged you to a secluded spot behind a dumpster, you flexed your hand by your side, careful to keep it subtle. You hardly ever used your Quirk because it took so much to actually get it to workㅡit only ever seemed amplified when you found yourself in danger. Like right now.

You started to cry as his hands began to roughly roam your body, but you forced yourself to focus on your hand, and on the rusted crowbar that was leaning against the opposite wall.

A strong gust of wind caught you and the assailant off guard. He stiffened and shoved you away. You stumbled to your knees, shivering at the lingering feeling of his disgusting fingers dragging across your skin, but you kept your gaze on the crowbar. It was maybe ten, fifteen feet away. This would take a lot out of you if you pulled it off.

“Who’s there?!”

You jumped at the sudden shout, glancing over your shoulder at him. He was standing in the middle of the alley now, looking around wildly. Looking for something. For someone.

There was another gust of wind, but this time you saw a flash of red. You wasted no time stretching out your hand to the crowbar and winced at the painful tug in your gut, forcing your Quirk to activate. The pain in your stomach became unbearable, but you saw the crowbar tremble with energy against the wall. After an excruciating second, it flew across the alley and slammed into your outstretched hand. You had one chance to use it before you gave in to the sudden exhaustion that plagued your entire body.

With a swift, precise motion, you surged to your feet and used the momentum to swing the crowbar at your attacker. The cold metal collided with his jaw with a sickening crunch. He let out a screech of pain and crumpled to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth and splashing over you and the brick wall.

You stood over him with the crowbar still in your hand, breathing heavily. God, you were so tired now. This was why you never used your Quirk. Your eyesight blurred, and you stumbled into the wall. You leaned back against it and slid down into a sitting position, trying to keep your head upright. You gripped the bloody crowbar tightly in your hands, resting it between your legs. You knew you needed to get up and get to the nearest police station, but the world was spinning and blackness was creeping into the corners of your vision. Maybe you should just take a nap first...just to rest for a little bit...

Hawks heard the police sirens from a few blocks away. He turned away from the street and stepped into the alley, his avian gaze focusing on the body of the man that had groped you, laying face down and unmoving by the dumpster. Blood had pooled around his head, the metallic stench of it crowding Hawks’ senses. He scanned the rest of the alley.

And there you were, sitting against the wall with the bloody crowbar in your limp grasp. Your head was lolling forward, but he could hear you breathing.

“Jesus, kid,” he murmured, quickly going to your side. He took in the wild splatters of blood that stained your lovely shirt. Hawks looked over at the body of the attacker again, and sighed. This would be a lot to process when you woke up. He lifted his wings up to shield you from the decrepit alley, extending his gloved hands out to gingerly lift you into his arms like a child. The flashing lights from the police cars bounced off the walls and illuminated him as he carried you out, the crowbar still in your hands.

“Anybody injured?” Hawks recognized the chief standing there with a notepad in his hands.

“One,” he replied softly, careful not to wake you up. “I saw it happen. It was in self defense.”

The chief peered around Hawks’ wings and into the alley. He nodded solemnly. “I see. I’ll need the weapon for evidence.” The chief slowly slid the crowbar from your hands, but you didn’t stir. “We’ll get this sorted out, Hawks. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll have Y/N at the station tomorrow to give a statement. I don’t think you’ll be able to get one now.”

“Understandable.” The chief rubbed his chin and studied you, wrapped in Hawks’ arms. “Poor thing. Take care of ‘em, alright?”

“Always,” Hawks replied, shifting you to a more comfortable position. “Thank you, sir.”

After the chief nodded, Hawks extended his wings and with one powerful beat, he launched himself into the night sky, holding onto you so carefully, like one wrong move could strip you away from him.

The first thing you registered was the one continuous ache that stretched over every inch of your body. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to even open your eyes.

But you forced yourself to blink away the blurriness, and you realized you were in bed in your apartment. Maybe it had all been a dream. The door to your patio was cracked open, letting cool air into the room. It was early evening, you noted, the sky a mix of pink, orange, and purple. Which means you had slept all day. You had missed work.

You shot up straight in bed at the realization, and immediately doubled over in pain, nausea coursing through your entire body. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your face into the blanket, trying to steady yourself. After a few minutes, you slowly forced yourself into a sitting position. You were still wearing your clothes from yesterday. Glancing down, you noticed strange, red blotches covering your chest and torsoㅡ

And then the sound of metal crunching bone erupted in your mind and you felt bile come up your throat. The images of the crowbar slamming into that man’s jaw flashed behind your eyes over and over again, until you scrambled out of your bed and painfully crawled over to the bathroom, heaving whatever was left in your stomach into the toilet. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. There was nothing in your head except the splatter of blood from the crowbar that you had used. Everything was red.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay! You’re okay, I’m here, I’m hereㅡ” Strong arms were wrapping around you, cradling you gently on the floor of your bathroom. You gulped in great, heaving breaths, trying to calm yourself down. You recognized that voice.

“H-Hawks?” you said weakly, rubbing your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought you back home after last night,” you heard him say. He was so warm. You instinctively curled into him, tucking your head beneath his chin. He smelled good too, just like you remembered. His hands started to softly run over the stretch of your back, massaging the sore muscles. “I’m so sorry it happened, Y/N. I really am.”

“Did I kill him?” Your voice was hoarse as you spoke the words.

Hawks was silent for a moment, but his hands kept rubbing your back. “No. I thought you had, but the chief of police called me a few hours ago and said he’s stable in the hospital. You shattered his jaw and clavicle.”

Painful, wracking sobs came from your chest as you cried. Hawks said nothing. He just held you tightly and rocked you back and forth, his hands never stilling in their comfort. It felt like hours had passed when your cries finally subsided, and you leaned back from his embrace and took in his face.

He wasn’t in his hero uniform. Without his heavy coat, earphones, and eyewear, Hawks looked...younger. His wings were extended and curved around the two of you like a cocoon, keeping you safe and hidden from the horrors of the world. You stared into his golden eyes, eyes that were tired and had dark circles underneath them. He must have stayed up all night and all day to make sure you were safe. But something stuck out to you.

“How did you know where I lived?” you asked.

He blinked and tilted his head. “Your driver’s license.”

“Oh, right,” you murmured, averting your gaze. “Thank you for...taking me home. And making sure I was alright.”

Hawks hummed in response, reaching up and pushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “I told Endeavor what happened. You’ve been ordered to take a week off to recover.”

“A week?” you repeated, eyes going wide.

“A week.” Hawks gently slid you out of his arms, getting to his feet and stretching. He looked down at you still sitting on the floor with that dumbfounded expression on your face. “His orders.”

You stared at your hands. What were you going to do for an entire week? Who was going to take care of the reports, the filing? You had already taken off too much time, with missing work yesterday.

“Stop stressing,” Hawks said, leaning against the sink. “You went through something traumatic. You may think you’re fine now, but it’s just going to come back and send you spiraling if you don’t rest and process what happened.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” you said, wrapping your arms around your knees and pulling them to your chest.

When he didn’t answer, you looked up at him again. His jaw was set and he was staring intently at the tile pattern of the floor, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“Hawks?”

“I’ve just seen my fair share of shit,” he said, meeting your gaze again. He squatted in front of you, a hand extending to trace the dried blood on your shirt. “You need to change. And shower. Where do you keep your clothes?”

“I can get them myself,” you said, getting to your feet. You winced at the dull, throbbing pain that seemed to reach every nook and cranny in your body. You weren’t sure if you could walk across the apartment to your closet. A beat of silence passed. “The closet,” you muttered, defeated. “By the bed.”

He nodded and started to leave the bathroom, but stopped and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I want to help you. If you’ll let me.”

You just silently nodded. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and then he was gone. You hobbled over to the door and pushed it closed before turning on the shower. Standing in front of the mirror, you nearly screamed at your reflection. Your work clothes were dirty and disheveled, and covered with blood. So much blood. The room started to spin again as you hurriedly stripped them off your body, kicking them out of sight. The hot water of the shower felt like heaven as it spilled over you, washing away what you had done.

As you toweled yourself off, Hawks knocked on the door. “I have some clean clothes,” he said, voice muffled.

You cracked open the door and peeked up at him. His eyes darted from your face to take in the droplets that slid across your collarbone and disappeared beneath the towel, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Thank you,” you said softly, taking the neatly folded clothes from his hands, not breaking his gaze. You closed the door and quickly got dressed, making a mental note of what he picked out: one of your favorite shirts that was old and worn with use, a pair of soft sweatpants, and a cozy cardigan. It was like he knew exactly what you liked to wear around the house.

He was sitting on your couch, aimlessly flipping through a book. Once you stepped out of the bathroom he glanced up, and his wings immediately puffed and stretched out behind him. “You look...comfortable,” he managed to get out, trying to pull his wings back in.

“I am,” you nonchalantly replied, smoothing a hand over your shirt. “Thank you.”

Hawks nodded a ‘you’re welcome’ and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. You glanced over at the clock on the stove and saw that it was late.

“It’s getting late,” you blurted out. You immediately wanted to slap yourself for how rude you sounded, but he was already getting up.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked, edging towards the door.

“I think I’ll be okay...” You trailed off as you looked around the apartment. The only light source came from the bathroom, and there were too many dark shadows and corners. A cold feeling of dread slid down your spine as you saw the splatter of blood flash in your mind again. Then the memory of the attacker’s hands grabbing you raised goosebumps on your skin. You looked back to Hawks, who was opening your front door. “Wait!” you cried, running to him.

He looked back at you, eyebrows raised in question.

You hadn’t realized you had reached out and put your hand on his arm. You licked your lips in anticipation, staring into his golden eyes. He waited patiently for you to speak.

“Stay,” you finally whispered.

“What?”

“Please,” you begged, fingers curling into his skin. You squeezed your eyes shut. “I….I don’t feel safe by myself. Even if I lock the doors. Everywhere I look, all I see is him….I feel his hands, wrapping around my throat, squeezingㅡ”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted you. “Of course I’ll stay. I didn’t want to leave you alone anyways, but I didn’t want to step over any lines.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “T-thank you. I think I owe you a lot more than lunch, now.”

Hawks chuckled and closed the door, flicking the lock into place. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, kid.”

“You can have the bed,” you said quickly as he guided you back into the living room. “I know you need more space for your wings.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, horrified. “I’ll be just fine on the couch.”

As if to prove a point, he nestled into a pile of blankets and pillows on the couch and gave you a thumbs-up. But you could tell he was uncomfortableㅡhis wings twitched and quivered behind him, no matter how tightly he pulled them against his body. But you also knew he wouldn’t budge.

So you said nothing and clicked off the bathroom light. Moonlight slipped through the windows and covered the room in silvery shadows as you padded barefoot across the floor to your bed, feeling your cheeks heat up as Hawks watched you from the couch. You pulled the covers back and slipped underneath them, rolling over so you faced the wall.

An hour passed and you were still wide awake. You listened to Hawks shifting on the couch, his breathing quiet and steady. Was he asleep already?

As you lay there, you started to see red again. Blood spilling over marble floors, staining white sheets and covering the entire world. Your throat tightened and you tried to calm yourself as quietly as you could. But you couldn’t. “Hawks,” you managed to choke out.

“Yeah?”

Your heart was pounding against the bars of your ribcage as you struggled to find courage. “Can you come over here, please?”

He wasted no time. You listened to the sound of his wings unfurling, and moments later you felt the bed dip as he gently slid underneath the blankets. He kept a mindful distance away from you, but the warmth that radiated from him seeped into your tired muscles almost immediately.

Your cheeks were wet as he adjusted himself to a comfortable position. He was quiet, waiting for you to make the first move.

“All I see is red,” you whispered, still facing away from him. “I can’t think straight.”

“I know,” he quietly replied, his words rumbling from his chest and washing over you. It calmed the storm in your mind for a moment, and you realized you were aching for him. Not sexually, like the time in his office. This was different. You knew you felt safe in his arms. It was the only place you felt safe.

And he sensed it, but he was trying to respect you. A tenuous silence stretched through the space between you, until you couldn’t take it any longer.

“Hold me.”

It was as if he was just waiting for you to speak the words. Hawks was pulling you against him with gentle force, slipping one arm underneath your head and the other snaking around your waist. His chest was strong and firm against your back, and the images of red slowly disappeared from your mind as he held you. His fingers softly carded through your hair as he pressed his lips to your temple, his hot breath fanning over your face. His scent enveloped you. You were surrounded by him.

You welcomed the deep, dreamless sleep as he held you in a lover’s embrace, knowing that as long as he was near you, you would always be safe.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: @msgrungie

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Soulmate Imagines

Another short not drabbles but not full stories either! I was completely inspired by a post made by @absurdthirst and really really wanted to write the boys in these scenarios! So I completely ignored both of my active WIPS and wrote this instead. Oops? Enjoy these long and indulgent soulmate imagines!

Total Word Count: 5,179

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Din Djarin:

Soul Tattoo AU

“Shit!”

You hummed, turning your head over, vision fuzzy. Din was rushing around the Crest, and you could see red painting his beskar. Was he hurt? You tried to stand, and then it hit you. Oh. You were hurt.

“Din,” you rasped out, blinking as his fuzzy image came into more clarity.

Din looked at you, helmet trained on your face. “Cyar’ika,” he said, taking your cold hands. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a herd of Banthas,” you said, shifting and wincing. “What happened?”

“Bomb,” Din explained, gesturing to your torso, where you were wearing a thin robe and nothing else. “Hit your side. Patched you up best I could.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. “Did it scar?”

Din hesitated. “Some of it will. Nothing on your back though.”

Relief flooded you. You had no idea why you were so worried about your soul tattoo, but you were. The beautiful star map to Aq Ventina spanned your entire back, from shoulders to tailbone, the sides creeping over your waist. You’d done research about Aq Ventina years ago, when the curiosity had finally peaked. You’d read up on the history and knew that it no longer existed, decimated by a droid attack decades before you’d even known it existed.

“It’s a beautiful tattoo,” Din said softly, out of nowhere.

“Thank you,” you said, looking at his helmet. “It’s my soul tattoo.”

Din nodded. “I figured.”

And that was the last it was spoken of for almost five months. The next time it was relevant was during a two day long bounty hunt, when Din left to shower and you sat in your shared inn room, cooing at Grogu.

The shower water turned off, and you heard Din drying off. Then he called your name.

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Worried, you stood and headed to the bathroom. “Din?”

“Come here.” His voice bordered on urgent, and you immediately shoved the door open.

You were met with Din, completely shirtless yet still wearing the helmet, in the bathroom, no urgent problem in sight. However, instead of being mad, you were focused entirely on the tattoo that spread across Din’s back.

It was identical to yours.

“Din?” Your voice was tiny, so apprehensive.

He sighed, looking at you and taking your hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” he said. “But Aq Ventina was my home, so you have to understand that it was odd and a bit painful seeing the star map on your back.”

You nodded. “We’re soulmates,” you breathed. “I didn’t even know you had a soul tattoo.”

Din chuckled. “It’s not like I expose much skin,” he reasoned.

That drew a laugh out of you. “Yeah. But still.” Your fingers danced over the exposed edge of the star map that crept over Din’s side. “Soulmates.”

Din nodded, resting his forehead against your head. “Soulmates,” he agreed. “But only if you’ll have me.”

You smiled. “As if I could ever say no.”

Marcus Moreno:

Color Soulmate AU

To say you were stressed was an understatement. A huge project for Heroics was cradled in your arms, all sorts of papers and binders and information you were carrying to the filing room to be sorted. The stack was tall, which was probably why you didn’t see your boss until you ran directly into him.

“Fuck!” You shouted as you fell on your back, folders going everywhere. Marcus Moreno, your boss, was toppled next to you, also swearing.

“I am so sorry!” You said hurriedly, scrambling to gather the papers, eyes focused on your task. “I really should’ve looked where I was going and-“ you looked up, shock killing your words.

Marcus’s eyes were brown. Very very brown.

You gasped, your task entirely forgotten. “Oh.”

Marcus was staring at you with just as much shock as you were staring at him with. “Oh,” he echoed.

Your fragile moment was shattered by the click of heels and another employee coming over to check on you, her voice frantic.

“We’re fine,” Marcus reassured, standing and dusting himself off. Without saying anything else, he walked quickly away.

Once all the files were secure, you headed back to your desk and pulled out a small box of crayons. You’d never seen color, not ever, so this would be interesting. At least it would be if your hands would stop shaking.

One of your coworkers, Matt, came up to you as you used a teal crayon, marveling at the color. “Oh? You met your soulmate?”

You nodded, looking up and noticing the vibrant purple color to Matt’s tie. “Yeah. Bumped into him in the hall. Literally.”

Matt grinned. “Who is it?”

You cringed, the embarrassment setting in. “Mr. Moreno.”

“Mr. Moreno?” Matt practically yelled. “He’s our boss!”

“Yeah, I know!” You retaliated, checking your clock and scrambling up. “Fuck! I gotta go, that huge meeting is in ten.”

Matt smiled. “Good luck!”

Despite Matt’s wishes, you were fairly certain the presentation was a disaster. Marcus was missing, which was odd, and you ended up tripping over your words and getting a huge migraine halfway through the presentation. After sheepishly explaining the scenario, you were told to go home and adjust, you could redo the presentation tomorrow.

Of course, tomorrow was just as bad. Marcus was actually present, wearing a yellow tie that kept distracting you and forcing your words out in a jumble.

After the train wreck of a presentation, you decided this was a situation that called for a large hot chocolate. Getting one and settling in the cafeteria, you sighed, swirling your drink with a spoon. You were a certifiable mess.

The creaking of the chair brought your attention back to planet earth, and you looked up, nearly choking on your spit. “Mr. Moreno!”

“Please, I think we should be on a first name basis,” Marcus said. “So.”

“So.”

Marcus tapped the table. “I’m sorry I ran off yesterday. I just, well, I haven’t seen color since my- Since Clara died.”

You nodded. “I understand if you don’t want this,” you murmured, looking back down at your drink. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Marcus asked. “No! I’m, well, a little excited.”

That shocked you. “Excited?”

“Yeah.” Marcus nodded. “Excited. Missy’s over the moon, of course.”

You grinned. “Thanks. Sorry I’m so nervous. I’ve never seen any of this before.”

“Really?” Marcus said. “Oh I definitely know what we’re doing first.”

“What?”

Marcus smiled, taking your hands. “You’re going to love sunsets.”

Max Phillips:

Black Mark Soulmate AU

“Oh no.”

You stared at your boss with nothing short of mild fear. Max fucking Phillips. There was no goddamn way. You’d known him very briefly in college, but this, this was unexpected.

He smiled at the employees, shaking hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As if his right palm wasn’t the color of fresh stained ink.

He walked up to you, holding out his ink stained hand. You were hesitant to accept. After all, your right hand was equally black. But handshakes were common, very common among soulmate meets. Max Phillips was not your soulmate.

You were able to tell yourself that until the moment your hands touched, the blackness turning into a beautiful swirl of bright colors.

Max’s eyes widened as he looked at you. “Your hand.”

“Yours too,” you said, letting go of Max’s hand and letting him examine the watercolor of reds and purples that spread across his skin.

Max took a nervous breath. “No. Something must be wrong.”

You were shocked. “Max. Is it really that bad?”

“You don’t understand!” Max snapped, scaring you a tiny bit. He leaned closer, so you could see the devilish gleam in his eyes. “I have no soul.”

Your blood chilled as you saw the overly sharp teeth and the hint of red behind the deep brown in Max’s eyes. “Max.”

But he was gone, disappeared from right in front of you. Blinking a few times, you turned to your computer, determined to uncover the truth about your mysterious boss and the still tingling rainbow of colors on your palm.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Countdown Soulmate AU

The countdown timer was surprisingly unnerving.

Actually, was it really that surprising? It was counting down to the most important day pretty much ever. Yours had always had years and years, much longer than any of your friends, but you didn’t mind. That was just more time to prepare.

Of course, when you woke up one day to find that the timer that had read seven months suddenly read twelve hours, you freaked the hell out. Taking deep breaths, you calmed yourself and got dressed, texting your best friend and asking him when he wanted you over for movie night. He responded with eight, and promised that you’d love his friends.

With one last deep breath and a glance around your apartment, you left for the day.

And ended up with a popped tire on the side of the road ten minutes before eight.

Screaming your frustration into the night darkened woods and frightening some poor birds, you sighed and called roadside service. An hour, at least, before they could get to you.

Your next call went to Benny, who you apologized to and told him you’d make it up to him.

Your final call was to no one. You simply sat back in your car and waited for roadside service while you tapped away at some mind numbing game you’d downloaded on a whim.

Headlights were visible in the distance not even ten minutes later, which shocked you and then worried you. Who the hell was out on this road this late at night? Were you about to be murdered? Who would find your body? Would Benny still hold true to his promise and wear a lime green tutu to your funeral?

The car stopped when it saw you, and your anxiety skyrocketed. You quickly texted Benny one last time and locked your car.

“Hey!” A few sharp knocks and a face in the window. “Do you need help?”

You were trembling, trying to keep a brave face. “Tire popped.”

“Oh.” The voice sounded genuinely worried. “That sucks. Where are you headed?”

“A friend’s house.”

“Did you call roadside?”

“An hour.”

“Oof. Hungry?”

“What?” You looked over, seeing the dimly lit silhouette of a man holding up what was probably a granola bar. “Yeah actually, I am.”

The man’s cheeks lit up, and you assumed he was smiling. “Well you’re gonna have to open up if you want it.”

You hesitantly cracked the door and watched the man step back. The car lights illuminated him fully, revealing a very attractive man holding a slightly squished granola bar.

Turning in the seat so that your legs were hanging out the car, you took the offered food, smiling as you ate. “Lord this is good! Thank you!”

The man shrugged. “No problem. I’m Frankie.”

You mumbled your name around the granola bar, and then froze as your wrist burned warm and then cold, a clattering alerting you to the fact that your timer had fallen off.

And from the look on Frankie’s face, so had his.

He looked back up at you, seemingly nervous. “So can I get in the car now? I promise I’m not a creep.”

You nodded, still slightly shocked as Frankie got into your car, sitting in the passenger seat. It was silent for a minute before you spoke. “So. Soulmates.”

“Soulmates,” Frankie agreed. “I’m glad I shared that granola bar with you.”

Your phone pinged, and you swore softly, answering Benny’s text and then rereading it. “Do you, by any chance, know a Benny Miller?”

“Yeah,” Frankie said. “I was headed to his place when I saw you.”

“Me too.” You showed him the text, which read ‘Dude! Be careful! My buddy Frankie’s coming along, so if you get attacked, he’ll totally protect you. Also, totally not wearing that tutu because you’re not dying first.’

Frankie smiled. “You’re in on the tutu thing too?”

You laughed. “Oh god! Not you too!”

“Yeah!” Frankie said, laughing along with you. “Benny totally already has it, y’know.”

You sighed. “Damn. That’s wild.”

The hour until roadside service arrived was filled with stories and bonding. After your car was towed, you got in Frankie’s truck and headed to Benny’s, arm in arm.

“Hey, Frankie found the murder victim!” Benny said happily, opening the door. “Oh shit, dudes I was starting to get worried about you.”

Frankie shook his head. “Actually, it couldn’t have played out better.”

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels:

First Words Soulmate AU

You sighed, taking a breath. Today you were meeting your baby brother’s coworkers at a work party. It wasn’t supposed to be so damn nerve wracking, but your stomach was a ball of anxiety. “Danny, are you sure about this?”

Danny, or as he was better known at work, Tequila, nodded. “Hell yeah, it’ll be fun.”

You tugged your bracelet, trying to cover the words winding across your wrist.

What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?

The Statesman Fourth of July party was apparently a big deal. There were sure as hell a lot of people. You stuck by Danny’s side, smiling at his coworkers and eventually sitting with a woman named Ginger. She was nice, and when Danny wandered off to flirt with someone, she stayed with you, giving you names to attach to faces.

“Oh, and that’s Jack,” she said, pointing to someone talking to Champ. “One of the longest lasting agents we have.”

You eyed Jack. He was handsome, especially with that cowboy hat. He must’ve noticed your staring, because he wandered over and sat down at the table.

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

You took a breath, gripping the hem of your shorts and trying to think without looking awkward. A thousand responses rushed through your head, and you finally picked one you hoped wasn’t weird. “I dunno cowboy, why do you ask?”

Jack recoiled as if he’d just had ice water poured on his head. Ginger stood, shocked as Jack ran away. “What just happened?”

You were nearly speechless, tears starting to well up. “I think my soulmate just ran away from me.”

After a good long crying session in which you sobbed openly into Danny’s jacket and he vowed to absolutely murder Jack, Ginger gently explained Jack’s past with his previous soulmate. Which sent you into another round of crying and made Danny even more pissed.

He ended up taking you home early to watch shitty movies and eat tons of ice cream, comforting you as you numbly ate half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s on the couch.

When he left for work the next day, you made him swear not to hurt Jack.

You got a call from Ginger two hours later telling you to come pick Danny up.

Marching into Statesman again, you found Ginger at the entrance, lips pressed tight. She led you to the infirmary, where Danny was proudly sporting a black eye and a split lip. Jack was laying in a bed next to him, pressing ice to his cheek.

“Control your fucking brother!” He yelled as soon as he saw you, sitting up in the bed. “He nearly killed me!”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” You snapped back. “You best be glad I’m not petty, or else I’d have let him kill you.”

Jack was, wisely, silent as you helped Danny up and out of the building. Danny was also silent, but was definitely smug about it.

“Y’know I totally won that fight,” he said as you exited the building.

You sighed. “Sure. Whatever. Let’s go home.”

The next day, you got a call from an unknown number.

“This is Jack,” the voice on the other end said when you picked up. “I’m calling to apologize for beating your brother up.”

“Apparently he won the fight.”

Jack snorted. “Sure he did. Look, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

A pause. “Cool. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you.”

He hung up first, leaving you with a dead hole in your chest. When you would see that cowboy again, you didn’t know, but when you did, oh boy was he in for it from you.

Ezra:

Pain Sharing Soulmate AU

You were screaming.

Well, screaming may not have been the word to describe the feeling. No, the agony in your right arm was numbing pain, the kind of pain that brought out animalistic noises and made spots dance across your vision. You writhed on the floor, clutching your upper arm and begging someone, anyone, to make the pain stop. A few nurses you worked with tried to dose you with painkillers, but nothing could touch soulmate pain.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the pain began to fade. You’d had some aches in that arm after a stab that was really painful and you’d assumed some kind of injury that your soulmate had sustained was being treated. But that, that harsh, indescribable pain that had you sweating and panting on the floor with your head spinning, you had no explanation for that.

After that, the nurses set you up in the break room with fluids and a light snack. Your right arm still hurt like hell, but it was manageable now. As time passed, the pain passed, until it was no more than a dull ache once more, with some odd numbness that lingered in your fingertips.

Of course, on the day you decided to try working for a few hours, your soulmate went and got himself fatally injured again.

Gasping and falling sideways, you gritted your teeth through a scream as your gut lit on fire, as if someone had driven a knife into your belly. It was the second time in three days that your soulmate had put you through this. What the hell was he doing?

Yet again, you were put in a room to wait out the pain, probably scaring patients with your sobs and pleads for any merciful god to put you out of your misery. This pain refused to fade, and you completely missed the wail of emergency sirens as a new patient in critical condition arrived.

Eventually, finally, the pain forced you unconscious.

You woke a few days later, breathing deeply as you realized you weren’t in any pain. The faint voice of a doctor met your ears as you slowly regained your senses.

“We’re all shocked they survived. With pain like that, I surely wouldn’t have been as strong as they were. First it was their arm, and then their stomach. We still don’t really know what happened.”

The doctor turned to you, and smiled when he noticed your open eyes. “Finally, you’re awake. We have someone who wants to talk to you.”

You grumbled, trying to string together the past few days. “What?”

The doctor gestured to a man sitting in the other bed in the room. “This is Ezra, our critical patient from a few days ago.”

“I was too busy being stabbed in the stomach to notice any crit patients,” you pointed out.

“Yes, well,” the doctor said with a smile. “He may have some answers for you.”

You sat up, rubbing your aching head and facing the other man in the room.

He looked like hell, face sunken and shining with post injury sweat. You reasoned that you probably didn’t look much better. But the interesting thing about the man was his bandage wrapped right arm. Or more accurately, his lack of an arm that was wrapped in bandages.

“Hi Ezra,” you said slowly, rubbing your temples. “Is this my headache or yours?”

Ezra chuckled. “I think it’s yours,” he said. “I can’t feel any of my own pain right now.”

You sighed. “Doc, can I get some painkillers? I got a headache.”

The doctor nodded, grabbing a few pills, but you shook your head. “The good shit, please.”

Smiling, the doctor picked up a syringe and lifted your left arm, considering your right still felt a bit numb. “Countdown?”

“Nah.”

The doctor gave you the painkillers, and you watched Ezra wince at the pinch from the needle as it hit your skin. Laying back as the painkillers took effect, you sighed, looking at Ezra. “I’d love to stay and chat,” you murmured sleepily. “But this stuff works fast.”

Ezra smiled. “Don’t worry songbird,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Javier Peña:

Soulmate’s Name on Wrist AU

“Get up! New client!”

You groaned, adjusting your top and trotting into the hall, standing with the group of women waving and giggling at the new client. He looked up at your group, a light grin on his face.

“He’s cute,” you said to the woman next to you.

She nodded. “He’s a regular at places like this,” she said. “Says his name’s Javier.”

You froze, the small name tattooed on the inside of your wrist practically burning. “Javier? He got a last name?”

“Not that he’ll share.”

In the end, you were Javier’s lucky victim, mostly because when he asked your name and you responded, his watch-covered wrist twitched. So he was your soulmate. Or at least you were his. He showed you bliss, paid you handsomely, and left without a word but with a spark.

Two weeks later, you ran into him again. You’d been in touch with a man at the US embassy about cartel stuff, mostly that the cartels had been reaching out to people like you and you wanted to stay safe, and the man had invited you to come over and give a statement. You were hesitant, of course, but the man looked kind enough, and the other employees knew him well enough that you felt secure.

“This is my partner, agent Peña,” the man said as he gestured you into a room. “But,” he said slowly, eyeing the bare name on your wrist. “I think you knew that already.”

“I did.”

Javier took a breath. “Can we get this done with?” He said, trying to sound annoyed but only succeeding at stressed.

Your statement was quiet and precise, and before you knew it, Javier was walking you out.

“Javier,” you tried.

“Don’t,” Javier growled. “Just go, forget you ever met me.”

“I can’t!” You all but yelled, grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t walk off. “I’ve been wearing your name since the day I was born, you think I can just forget all of that?”

Javier was quiet. “You think I want a soulmate?” He asked quietly, and you froze.

“I’m sorry?”

“No!” Javier growled, shaking his head. “I mean, fuck. This job, if they find out you’re connected to me, they’ll kill you.”

Your blood went cold, but you kept your composure. “Hate to break it to you,” you said, shoving Javier’s sleeve up and exposing your name written on his wrist. “But we’re already connected.”

From that day forward, you were under protection. You quit your job, moved reluctantly to an apartment that was secured by the embassy, and barely left the brand new apartment for anything. The war on drugs dragged on, and every so often, Javier would shuffle across the hall and find solace in your arms, always leaving before dawn.

One night, after a particularly hard day, you and him were tangled together on the couch, name wrists pressed against each other. Your skin burned and prickled at the intimate contact, but Javier was so lost he didn’t even notice.

“Javi?”

“Hm?”

You smoothed through his hair. “Will we ever be safe enough to be soulmates?”

Javier was quiet. “I don’t know.”

You sighed. “One day, I hope we will.”

Another long silence, and then Javier spoke up. “Me too.”

That morning, you woke up in his arms instead of in an empty bed, wondering exactly how life would shake out now that you had fallen in love with your soulmate.

Maxwell Lord:

Dream Sharing Soulmate AU

“I’m going to cry,” you groaned, pressing your head to the table. “He hasn’t slept in days.”

Your coworker, Ellie, sighed. “Hon, you just gotta keep trying. Go home, rest up. Get some sleep.”

You stood. Ellie was right. Just because Max wasn’t sleeping didn’t mean you had to punish yourself. You’d been going rounds with him for months, and it was really starting to weigh on your own sleep schedule. All you needed, all you wanted was to go home and sleep for days to correct your broken internal clock.

Your apartment was cold when you got back, and you quickly fiddled with the thermostat before stripping and falling into bed, cuddling up with the blankets and falling asleep almost immediately.

Just as with every night your soulmate didn’t sleep, you didn’t have a soul dream. Instead, you had your regular dreams, all nonsensical and silly. You woke up at one point to eat before falling back into bed, still exhausted.

This time, your dreams were different. You were in a soul dream, which meant he was finally sleeping.

“Max!”

No response as you ran around the elementary school, but you quickly skidded to a stop, seeing bullies mock a young boy for his lunch. That was your Max as a child, and you immediately rushed to his aide.

“Max.”

The real Max, the one who was asleep right now, looked at you with worry, finally tearing his eyes off the bullies. “You.”

“Me,” you said softly. “You need more sleep.”

Max shrugged. You knew who he was, after all, who didn’t? But the suave businessman you knew on TV was very different from the scared man you knew from your dreams. “Wasn’t tired.”

“For three days?” You asked. “Max, that isn’t healthy.” You felt a tug on your gut, a signal that your dream was starting. “C’mon.” You held a hand out, offering Max a reprieve. “My dreams are kind.”

He accepted, taking your hand as you led him to your dreams. In your subconscious reality, you were a child again, laughing and ice skating with your parents.

“Can you skate?” You asked Max, still holding his hand. He shook his head.

You smiled. “That’s okay, you can learn.” You snapped your fingers and skates appeared on both of your feet. “C’mon!”

Turned out, Max was an abysmal skater, but he was laughing by the time your bodies were ready to wake up.

“I don’t wanna go,” he admitted, and you grinned, squeezing his hands tight. “Can we do this again?”

“Tomorrow night,” you promised. “I’ll find you.”

For almost a month, you rescued Max from embarrassing or painful dreams, taking him to your more comforting dreams. Occasionally, he’d do the opposite for you when you had a nightmare, but you mostly spent the nights in your dreams, watching fireworks or going swimming. His darkest secrets were no longer secret, and he trusted you with everything.

“Y’know,” he said softly as you and him watched a Fourth of July fireworks show from when you were seven. “We could do this in real life.”

“We could,” you murmured, leaning closer to him. “The fourth is, what, next week? Doesn’t DC do a beautiful fireworks show?”

Max nodded. “We could make our first shared memory.”

You smiled. “We could,” you agreed. “We will. I’m not too far from DC, I can totally drive down on the fourth. I’ll pick you up from work, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds perfect,” Max murmured softly. “Dreamlike even.”

You laughed. “Dork.”

“Hey, you fell in love with me!”

“Yeah,” you said, looking at Max’s firework illuminated face. “I did.”

Pero Tovar:

Color Soulmate AU

You pressed the leaf between your fingers, trying to gauge how sick the plant was. The grey color didn’t worry you, because you were fairly certain it was still green. “It just needs more water,” you determined, standing and brushing yourself off. “Try watering these plants daily instead of every other.”

The woman you were helping nodded, and you smiled at her as you walked back to your own garden. Rolling your sleeves up, you got to work tending to your plants.

It was hours before you looked up, alerted by the sound of hooves on the ground. A mysterious man was sitting atop a horse, his hair long and greasy, his face creased from what you imagined was a grueling ride. He jumped off the horse and stumbled in your direction, leaning against the fence. You stood, abandoning the plants in favor of helping the man.

He shook off your help, but stopped the second his hand connected with yours and both your worlds exploded with color.

You stumbled back, the sudden colors shocking you as the man reeled from you, his sun battered face full of shock.

“I’m sorry!” You said quickly, steadying yourself and reaching out to the man. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the man said firmly, right before he passed out.

Two days later, the man woke up, his partner by his side. The blond man had showed up yesterday, introducing himself as William and the mystery man as Pero Tovar.

Pero looked around, nervous as he saw you in the corner, slowly and methodically mending his shirt. “William, quien es este.”

William shrugged. “I don’t know. Not a nurse, from what I can tell.”

“Diles que se vayan.”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, without looking up. “And please continue to talk about me in a language you assume I don’t understand.”

Pero blinked a few times. “You’re smart.”

“I pick up on languages fast,” you said, setting down the mended shirt. “Who are you, Pero Tovar?”

William looked between you two before finally speaking up. “Should I leave?”

“Please,” you said.

William left, and you crossed your legs. “So, who are you?”

“No one you should know,” Pero growled, getting up and grabbing his shirt. “Just forget you ever met me. You have your colors, go live a happy life.”

You frantically tried to keep him in the village, but he left with William as soon as the local medic deemed him okay.

For the next week, you slowly learned colors, finding your favorites with much trial and error. Some of the village women who had lost their soulmates in battles consoled you as you grieved for a man you barely knew, a man who had given you a universe of change and then left as if it had been nothing.

Almost exactly one week later, the sound of hooves rang out again, and this time, you didn’t look up from your gardening. At least, not until the visitor entered your garden, standing in front of your vegetables.

You looked up at him, taking in a much neater and more groomed Pero. He seemed nervous, shuffling from foot to foot.

Standing, you raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Pero nodded, handing you his dagger.

You took the weapon. “What’s this?”

“In my culture,” Pero began. “When a man is ready to settle with his soulmate, he must give them his most prized weapon as a way of showing he is ready to stop fighting and raise a family.”

The dagger gleamed in the sunlight, and you smiled. “Well then, I guess I should make dinner for two, shouldn’t I?”

Pero grinned. “Yes, that would be nice. I’m hungry.”

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 25)

Notes: Hi lovely readers,Thank you for everybody who commented on last weeks chapter and for those of you who fed back to say you would keep on reading E&L after ACOSF. It's great to know I can continue at my own pace, especially as work is about to pick up for me so it would be hard to write more than I have been already.

Let me know what you think of this chapter :) And as usual, apologies for my typos!

Chapter Twenty-Five Nesta

Nesta barely heard the sound of the door opening and shutting as Feyre left. Neither did she truly register the murmur of voices or the sensation of power vacuuming into nothing as Rhys and Feyre winnowed back to Velaris.

Feyre’s words had cracked her open again, and all Nesta wanted was to sleep so she didn’t have to think about her sister or the errors of her own past. Of the forgiveness her sister had granted her which she did not think she deserved. How her sister had offered a slate wiped clean, something that Nesta had secretly hungered for so long she couldn’t even pinpoint when it had started.

It was a chance to begin again, if Nesta wanted it. Or the chance to draw a line under everything and leave entirely.

A choice, either way.

Everything Feyre had said had been true. Nesta had felt her sister’s honesty in her stomach laced with her sister’s scent — pear and lilac. But was Nesta ready to forgive her sister? Seeing her sister curled up in the armchair — stationary rather than moving, the world still — made everything hurt. But when they had been in the midst of action, when together they had fought side-by side, a team rather than two opposing forces, Nesta had felt whole.

Another wave of tiredness washed over Nesta. She was too drained to contemplate it further, so she allowed the exhaustion to tug her down, down, down with both of its strong hands. She allowed her body to mould into the mattress, surrendering to the comforting weight of the midnight blue duvet and the woollen blankets.

Nesta dipped in and out of a sleep infused with pine and musk. Her pointed ears picked up the sounds of someone moving about the house, the bedroom door as it opened. She felt large hands on her forehead. The dip of the mattress. Heard the rustle of wings.

At one point, she had cracked open an eye to see a tent of red umber. Felt the ghosting warmth of a body and soft, even breathing before she slipped back under.

She had nightmares and vivid dreams. At first it was lifeless eyes, cracked wings, screams and blood. But then she saw her mother at the breakfast table, pouring herself a cup of tea. Her father returning from a long absence, his hair smelling of sea salt as he picked Nesta up in a hug. Nesta saw a younger Feyre, her face full of innocence and youth as Nesta read to her, a book of fairytales lying across her skirts. And Elain, brushing Nesta’s hair in front of a cracked mirror, the strands a dull, brittle brown in the weak firelight…

When she woke the next morning, Nesta was still tired but the pain in her abdomen had been dialled back, gnawing quietly rather than roaring.

Cassian was not there.

Wincing, Nesta eased herself into a sitting position just as Mas bustled into the room with Roksana in tow, the latter carrying some dusky blue snowdrops in her chubby hands.

Setting down the tray she had been carrying on the bed, Mas moved to open the curtains. Beyond the deep-set window was a stretch of luminescent white snow and a sliver of startling blue sky, the colour you usually saw in paintings rather than in real life. The Illyrian sky still took Nesta’s breath away, the colours brushed across its canvas so vibrant that Nesta knew that anywhere else would seem dull in comparison.

Roksana started to clamber onto the bed, her small wings stretching as they prepared to launch her into flight, but Mas caught her before her feet could leave the ground. “No you don’t, little youngling,” Mas tutted, placing Roksana firmly back on her feet. “Tuck those wings back in and show Lady Nesta what you have brought her.”

Shyly, Roksana stuck out her hand to show Nesta the flowers and said in Illyrian, “Ecce.”

Nesta did not allow her eyes to widen as Roksana spoke, but she allowed a her lips to tug upwards. She had picked up enough Illyrian to understand the youngling: Here.

“Thank you,” Nesta told the little girl sincerely as she took them from her clenched fist. “Pulchra.”

Nesta darted a look at Mas to check she had said the word ‘beautiful’ correctly and Mas nodded as she kissed Roksana on the cheek and tickled her belly.

“What do you say, sinta?” she asked the youngling.

But that seemed to be the limit of Roksana’s conversation. A shy blush stained her tan cheeks and she stubbornly shook her head, her tangled hair moving.

Mas shot Nesta an apologetic smile but Nesta shrugged it off with a small smile of her own. One word had been enough to make the whole of Illyria that little bit brighter. She longed to give the girl a hug, but she had yet to test the range of her movement given yesterday’s injuries.

“How are you feeling?” Mas asked, bending to kiss Nesta’s cheek before she rubbed it away with her thumb. Nesta wished she wouldn’t. Wished she could let the mark of love sink deep into her skin.

“A little sore,” Nesta conceded as Mas handed her a steaming mug of Frawyley’s tea. Then she admitted, “I’m desperate for a bath.”

Whilst Nesta had woken with no blood on her, she still felt the grime coating her skin like a thick oil. She longed to scrub off the residue of blood and screams, the images of limbs and dead bodies. Durkhanai’s green unseeing eyes floated across Nesta’s vision, and she closed her eyes tightly in a bid to shut out the image.

Sweet, kind Durkhanai. A female, who like so many others, had deserve more than her harsh, miserable life. A female who had decided to fight but had been cut down before she’d been properly able to wield a blade.

Nesta swallowed and Mas cupped Nesta’s face in her hands. “We will remember them all,” Mas said quietly. “Today we will burn their bodies on the pyre and let their souls go. Then they will be free.”

When Nesta opened her eyes, Mas was staring at Nesta with a determination Nesta had not seen on her before.

Mas sat down on the mattress and took Nesta’s hands. She stared at them for a long moment.

“I think I am done, Lady Nesta.”

Nesta froze, scared somehow, at the words. Her heart thumped. “What do you mean?”

Mas’s hands squeezed Nesta’s fingers, and then she looked directly at Nesta. “What I mean, is that I am done,” Mas repeated quietly, but there was a fervent way in which she spoke. Her dark hazel irises burnt with a deliberate intent that Nesta had felt raging in her own on many occasions. A steely resolution. “I am done being ruled by males. I am done being inferior. I have been given a new life and I do not intend to waste it.”

Mas smiled tightly at her and then kissed Nesta’s cheek again. It was a loving gesture and Nesta’s heart swelled. This time she did not rub it away. “General Cassian said someone might have been behind the attacks. That us widows might have been targeted somehow.” The housekeeper huffed angrily. “As if we deserve more suffering than we have already endured, most at the hands of males. Well, I will not stand for it any longer, and neither will the fellow females in my camp.” Mas let go of Nesta’s hands and straightened up, as if that was the end of the conversation — black and white. Obvious. “I will run you a bath.”

She handed Nesta a spoon loaded with liquid. “Take this for the pain and drink the tea for your magic whilst I get it ready,” she told Nesta, “General Cassian told me to let you know that your sister will be arriving soon. There is a consul for the lords. He asked if you’d like to attend.”

Swallowing her medicine, Nesta gingerly eased herself out of bed and wrapped her fingers around her mug. She had been in too much pain the day before to be eased into different clothing and her leathers creaked and cracked as she moved. Nesta winced at the dull throb that twisted through her side. It was nothing like the pain that knocked the breath from her lungs yesterday, but it was enough to be uncomfortable.

Mas shot Nesta an admonishing look as Nesta stiffly followed the housekeeper to the bathroom, but she did not reach out to help her. Nesta appreciated it; she was fed up of being mollycoddled. Only Roksana came to Nesta’s side, her arms wrapping around Nesta’s right leg.

“Hi sinta,” Nesta said, running a palm over Roksana’s messy hair. Hi darling. Mas’s favourite phrase, but one Nesta had adopted for herself when she spoke to Roksana. “Once I’ve had a bath, shall I do your hair?”

Roksana nodded, slipping her hand into Nesta’s.

“How are you?” Nesta asked the housekeeper once she was fully submerged into the deliciously hot water. Mas had slipped in the same oils Cassian had used when he’d drawn her a bath all that time ago, and already Nesta could feel all of her muscles relax. Roksana was sitting on the carpet, drawing patterns into the thick plush of the bath mat with a stubby finger, her little wings trailing on the floor.

“I am fine,” Mas replied, lathering up Nesta’s hair. Normally Nesta would have refused to let anyone bathe her, but it hurt to lift her arms. For the first time that morning, it made Nesta glad that Cassian had not been there when she woke. Had not had to bathe her himself. The thought of Cassian having to bathe her — his hands in her hair — sent a shiver through her, goosebumps littering her skin.

“You’re cold?” Mas asked, raising an eyebrow as goosebumps littered Nesta’s skin.

“No,” Nesta replied, sinking a little lower into the steaming heat of the bath. “I don’t know if I would be fine if I had experienced what you had.”

I wasn’t fine, Nesta thought. I wasn’t fine for a very long time. It’s ok for you not to be fine, too. But she didn’t say that. Couldn’t, even now.

Mas eyed Nesta for a moment, before she continued to rub shampoo into the ends of Nesta’s hair.

“When the life bled out of me, it was not the pain or the injustice that plagued me, but the regret that I had not fought,” Mas admitted quietly. “And when you gifted me with a new chance, I realised that I had a choice; I could let my experiences consume me, or I could use them to fuel something else.”

“So I am not fine,” Mas continued, “but I will let that feeling motivate me into doing something good. I will try to do my bit.”

Nesta craned her neck to look up at the housekeeper. She had dipped a jug into the water ready to wash the suds from Nesta’s hair.

“What are you going to do?” Nesta asked, after Mas had gently poured the water over her head. Suds ran down the length of Nesta’s hair and Mas submerged the jug into the water again.

“You’ll see,” Mas said, her expression tight but promising as she carefully poured more water over Nesta’s head.

And that was that — conversation over. Nesta did not press the housekeeper. Mas had not pushed her when Nesta had first come to Illyria, when she had been a tangle of hollowed out grief and anger. Mas had not raised an eyebrow as Nesta was tapered off the alcohol, her clothes stained with vomit and her body relentlessly shaking. Mas had not forced her to eat when her cheeks were sunken and her figure skeletal. She was like Cassian in that way. Choice after choice after choice. An endless presence. Silent support.

So, Nesta would do the same. Because that’s what you did for those you loved.

Nesta was braiding Roksana’s hair when Feyre arrived. To her surprise, her sister did not winnow directly into the living room but to the front door. When she knocked, Roksana jumped. Nesta dropped her hands to the youngling’s shoulders in reassurance.

When Mas opened the door, Feyre smiled tentatively. “I don’t think we were properly introduced,” her sister said to the housekeeper as she stepped inside in a waft of pear and lilac. “I’m Feyre.”

Blushing, Mas kept her eyes downcast as she bobbed into a curtsey. “I know who you are, High Lady.”

“Feyre,” her sister insisted. “Please. How are you today?”

“I’m well,” Mas said, a blush staining her tan cheeks.

Nesta bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop in place of rolling her eyes. She was sitting in her usual spot at the corner of the U-shaped couch with Roksana sitting on the floor between her legs. When Feyre approached them, Roksana began to scrabble, her small wings flaring as if she were ready to take flight.

Nesta managed to run a hand over the little girl’s head without losing hold of the end of the plait she had been finishing. “You’re ok, Roksana,” Nesta assured the youngling. “This is Feyre, my sister.”

Roksana’s wary eyes followed Feyre as she walked to the hearth and held her hands out to the flames, but she settled back into her previous position so Nesta could finish weave the last few twists to her hair.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked tentatively, her softened expression moving from Roksana to Nesta’s midriff, before finally settling on her face. No doubt taking in the colour in her sister’s cheeks that was absent the day before.

“Sore,” Nesta said, because it was the truth. Then she turned her attention back to Roksana. “Now,” she said to the youngling, “what colour ribbon are we going to choose today?”

Roksana pointed silently to a ribbon the colour of pine.

“And what letter does the word ‘green’ start with?” Nesta urged.

Roksana twisted to look up at Nesta. For a moment, she thought Roksana would refuse to speak, but then she mumbled, “Guh.”

“Very good,” Nesta praised with a nod. “Perhaps we can ask Feyre to pass the ribbon.”

Eyes sparkling, Feyre picked up a red ribbon from the collection littering the pine coffee table and asked Roksana, “This one?”

Roksana shook her head.

“Silly Feyre,” Nesta chided. She tickled her finger across Roksana’s chubby cheek as if she were erasing the little girl’s somber expression. To Nesta’s relief, the beginning of a smile promised to bloom across the youngling’s face at the touch. Nesta was thankful to Feyre for playing. Roksana’s eyes weren’t as haunted as they had been yesterday and Nesta was determined to keep it that way. “She doesn’t know the difference between green and red, does she, Roksana?”

No giggle but that small, secret smile widened slightly as Feyre passed Nesta the right ribbon.

“You look lovely,” Nesta told Roksana, her heart twisting as the little girl glowed. “Why don’t you go and show Mas your new hair?”

Feyre smiled as Roksana scampered off, her wings bobbing behind her. Then she turned back to Nesta and produced a letter from the folds of her cloak.

“From Elain,” Feyre said, handing the envelope to Nesta. “She sends her well wishes. She wanted to see you today, but there’s a consul meeting with the lords. Will you attend with me?”

“Yes, I’ll come,” Nesta replied, easing her body off the couch in a movement that she knew to be stiff.

Feyre eyed her as Nesta eased her headband over her head with a wince. She had opted for leathers again today, and although it had been a trial for both Mas and Nesta to get her into her them, Nesta was thankful for it. She was wearing her favourite pair, the material stretched from hours of fighting so that it moulded her body like a second skin. She fastened a midnight blue cloak around her body, the edging lined with soft, dappled fur, and tried not to notice how similar she looked to her sister.

Feyre was also wearing leathers, the close-fitting material complimenting her long limbs and the elegant shape of her body. Around her neck, she had fastened the black leather clasps of a thick silver cloak lined with white fur.

Her hair was the only difference to Nesta. Whereas Mas had braided Nesta’s hair into a bun held in place by a woven plait that ran from the right of her hairline, Feyre’s golden strands were weaved into a tight braid that ran from her crown to the very ends.

Even so, there was no mistaking that they were sister’s.

Thankful that she hadn’t tried to thread her arms through her coat, Nesta reached stiffly for the door handle.

“I can winnow us, if you like,” Feyre said carefully, before Nesta had the chance to bear the house to the elements. No doubt her sister had clocked her grimace.

The old Nesta — the girl angry beyond measure — would have turned her sister down, merely because conceding that someone had dissected how she was feeling made her feel too vulnerable. But Nesta needed to change. Wanted to… to a point.

So, she nodded shortly. “I don’t think I can walk that far.”

Then Nesta turned to Mas, who had emerged by the alcove to see them off. Roksana peeked from behind Mas’s legs, a ring of chocolate around her mouth.

“I’ll come and meet you at the camp later,” Nesta told the housekeeper. “Shall I bring anything? Blankets and warm clothes?”

But Mas only shook her head. “We have plenty. Emerie — the shopkeeper — bought armfuls of blankets and clothes for the widows last night. Durkhanai used-“

“I know,” Nesta interrupted, not able to hear about Durkhanai when the wound was so fresh.

Mas did not scold Nesta for the interruption. She only smiled sadly and waved the two of them off, before disappearing back into the kitchen with Roksana at her heels.

“Roksana is an orphan?” Feyre asked Nesta, glancing sideways at her sister after they had winnowed into the midst of the camp.

Ahead of them, beyond the pointed tents, Nesta could see the outlines of the sparring plateaus. Shadowy, winged figures moved within them, the clang of steel and grunts carrying on the wind.

Letting go of her sister’s hand, Nesta settled her headband over her ears so it was snug. Despite her determination to dull any unwanted noise, she had a feeling that today was going to try her ability to succumb to battle fatigue.

“Yes,” Nesta replied shortly. But then there was a beat of a pause in which Nesta realised that Feyre was right; communication was an issue for them. So, she elaborated, “Mas fostered Roksana when she was first brought to the widows camp. When Cassian found out, he employed Roksana alongside Mas to keep her out of harsher work.”

Nesta had seen the little girls who were set to work in the kitchens, or worse, the laundry rooms. The latter was the harshest of the camp jobs, and the younglings were often required to stamp and wring cloth for long durations of time until their feet and fingers blistered from the friction. It was always easy to tell apart the orphans from the other girls. Their faces were more gaunt, their clothing ragged, their eyes hollow. They looked exhausted and Nesta had always left feeling so outraged she wanted to set the laundry houses alight.

Feyre looked at Nesta sharply. “But Roksana can’t be more than five.”

Nesta’s lips tightened until they turned white. “No,” was all she said.

Surprise wound through Nesta as Feyre took her hand. “Will you show me the camp when you are better?” Feyre asked. “I would like to get a better sense of how things are run here. Children should not be working—”

“There are many injustices here, not just to the younglings,” Nesta clipped, because she could not stand by and allow her sister to think that was the only twisted cultural tradition in the camps.

But then, slowly, she nodded in agreement. If Feyre could make change happen in the camps, then Nesta wasn’t going to let their difficult past get in the way of that. “I will show you,” she conceded. “Mas can help, too. She is like a mother figure to many of the females.”

Silence fell again, but this time it was not uncomfortable. They continued to walk through the snow towards the large tent Nesta knew was reserved for war counsel. It was huge, the canvas at least three times the size of the other tents.

“Do you think the rebellion has weight?” Feyre asked her sister. “Do you think the Illyrian’s have a reason to want a different leader?”

It was a plea for honesty and it was not in Nesta’s nature to lie. So, she said, “I think the Illyrians are a proud race who are ingrained in tradition, but they desperately need help in how they restructure the injustices in their communities. They need to do it without losing the elements of their culture which make them who they are.”

Then Nesta changed the subject, because she could not sense him. Had not sensed him since she’d woken that morning, and it was starting to unnerve her, even though logically, she knew he must be in the tent with the other lords. “Where is Cassian?”

Usually, Nesta would not ask outright, but the more things shifted between them the less she cared. There was a part of her that needed to see him. Did he not feel the same? She supposed she had driven him away one time to many. Was that not what he had said yesterday?

If I remember correctly, it was always you trying to rid yourself of me.

Sometimes, Nesta thought the both of them were traversing down a path that was tangled in miscommunication and mistranslated actions.

It was true that Nesta had told Cassian to leave her alone after the war, but had he not chosen someone else well before that? And despite his dying promise to her, Cassian had left the battlefield with Mor rather than her. That had spoken volumes for Nesta. It was not how the love story was supposed to play out in her head. It told her they were nothing but a tie strung between them, rather than being motivated by true feeling.

Even now, the thought made Nesta angry… Yet, the way Cassian looked at her sometimes, his eyes tender and his touch reverent… It was almost enough to convince her that there was something deeper.

They may be magnets but if that attraction was severed, would there by anything left or would they both part ways without a glance over their shoulders?

“Cassian has been with Rhys all morning,” Feyre told Nesta. “Azriel brought news this morning and Rhys disappeared from Velaris in the early hours.”

Nesta did not want to imagine her sister’s mate curled and sleepy around Feyre, dragging himself unwillingly out of bed. Did not want to hear about her sister existing in a home that had been made without her. A home built specifically for every member of their inner circle but her.

And Nesta had wanted to be left alone initially, but then to see how it played out… to see her erased as her sisters started anew and Nesta was forced to attend…

Well, it turned out that Nesta had not wanted that at all.

“What was Azriel’s news?” Nesta asked.

“I’m not sure,” Feyre admitted. “Rhys left whilst I was asleep.”

“Didn’t he speak to you mind-to-mind?” Nesta asked with a frown. Her sister and her mate were always doing that with one another, especially in the company of others. If Nesta were the sort, it would have made her increasingly paranoid. Instead, it just made her irritable.

Feyre nodded. “He only asked me to come to Illyria and see if you would join us in the war-tent at midday. He said there was an update.” She glanced sideways at Nesta. “It’s harder to speak to one another when the distance is great,” she elaborated. “It’s like we’re speaking under water. The sound is muffled, so he made it brief.”

Together they stepped up to the huge war tent. Feyre had fallen silent, as if Nesta had reminded her of her own abilities and she were conversing with her mate.

Nesta stared at the tent whilst Feyre’s eyes remained glazed. Stared at the black banner that flew from the top of the canvas, bearing a mountain with three silver stars above the monolith - Ramiel.

“Rhys says we are to go right in,” Feyre said finally. “They haven’t started yet.”

Inside, Nesta heard the rumble of low voices. It was not a comforting sound; rough and weathered, rather than Cassian’s gentle rumble that felt like a caress.

“Are you ready?” Feyre asked.

Nesta snorted. “What for?”

“The lords.”

A harsher snort. “I don’t care about them.”

Straightening her posture, Nesta drew up tall and formidable. Even though she knew every male in there would rival her in height, she would not allow herself to be intimidated. And she shouldn't be, not with the double-edged serpent which writhed inside her veins — her welcome friend.

Nesta allowed that power to seep from her fingers, testing it out, winding the mist until it was a string of fire around her wrists; a coiled, formidable whip.

Feyre’s lips twitched as if she were pleased to see her sister’s magic. She held up her own tattooed hand, showcasing the fire that she darted between her outstretched fingers.

Her smile was feline. “Let’s go.”

The tent was surprisingly warm once Nesta had pushed through the heavy flaps. Roaring open steel fire pits crackled fiercely, lighting the canvas and the simple yet comfortable interior ochre.

In the centre of the tent was a large pine table with studded detail, and rather than strewn with maps, it was surrounded by low-backed chairs. In them were the local lords.

Nesta recognised some of the lords cruel faces as she strode inside, her long legs carrying her despite the bark of pain that bit at her side. A quick glance around the table told her that there were no spare chairs, but she kept walking anyway, as if she were nothing but certain in a tent full of testosterone and muscle.

“Good,” a smooth voice drawled — Rhys. “We’re all here.”

He was sat at the head of the table closest to the back of the tent, bedecked in his usual black rather than leathers. A modest crown was inlaid into his unruffled blue-black hair with such subtlety it seemed as if it were a part of him. It was twin to Feyre’s, the stone the colour of the midnight sky and the same as the jewel set into the ring on her sister’s finger — her mating ring.

It was a purposeful move to wear their crowns. Neither of them had done that the last time they had visited Illyria together. The day that Nesta had first met Devlon. When he had called her a witch. The thought amused her now. Her power jumped too, as if it was also entertained by the memory.

The mist wreathing around Nesta’s wrists thickened, gleaming silver.

When Nesta found Cassian, she stopped searching. He was decked out in full scaled leathers and his hair hung wild around him.

With the flickering flames bathing him in a warm glow, he looked indisputably rugged and fierce, but his eyes were on her wrists. Letting her walls fall away Nesta speared for him, just as Azriel had taught her. The method was easy, as if her magic was already seeking him out.

When Cassian’s hazel eyes darted to look at her face, a barely detectable light danced in them. And when her stomach filled with mirth and pride, she knew he was privy to her invisible move.

“What are they doing here?”

All amusement in Cassian’s eyes winked out, his irises turning dark as he snapped his head to the lord who had sneered.

The lord — like all of the most powerful Illyrian warriors — was tall, his entire body corded with unyielding, fierce muscle. Black ink peeked out of the armour at his neck and his hair was close-cropped to his scalp, which was flecked with white scars. His eyes were depthless and such a dark brown in some lights they appeared obsidian, his irises practically blending with his pupils.

They were fixated on Nesta.

Nesta allowed the lord to glare at her. She stared right back, her expression blank but her eyes burned.

He looked unmistakably like his son, Ragar.

“Your High Lady and her sister will be joining today’s counsel, given their involvement in yesterday’s events,” Rhys said calmly, but nobody could mistake the sudden chill of starlight eternal which filled the tent.

A growl of disagreement from the lord. Grumbled murmurs from the other males also ran around the tent.

“A witch has no place on this counsel,” the lord replied bitingly.

Nesta did not let herself rise to the comment. She did not let her power leap to assert authority. Did not need to, even as Cassian’s snarl whipped around them with such ferocity that the fires sputtered.

And then, to everyone’s surprise — before Rhys or Cassian could even open their mouths — Devlon said coldly, “I believe the witch has earned her place on this counsel more than you have, Albar. She is the reason we don’t have more deaths and casualties.”

When Devlon got to his feet, his scaled armour clinked at the movement. Broad wings flared to balance him as he pulled out his chair. And rather than offer it to his High Lady, he gestured for Nesta to sit with a jerk of his chin.

Silence fell but Nesta only drew up taller. Did not allow herself to wince as she seated herself at the table. She felt Cassian’s concern anyway. Slammed up her ice to block him out. She didn’t need the distraction of his emotions right now, not when she wanted to remain collected.

Not when she was trying to block out the sounds of the roaring fires from the open pits.

Rhys waved a hand and two more chairs appeared around the table for Devlon and Feyre. The war lord sat in the chair beside Nesta, just as Cassian settled himself in a chair one place down to allow Feyre to sit next to her mate.

Another flick of the hand silenced the fires. Some of the lords frowned in confusion.

Rhys did not rest his violet eyes on Nesta. She was relieved.

“Since when have we allowed a witch to live amongst us,” Albar sneered, clearly not finished. “We are Illyrian’s. We do not accept outsiders, even if this bastard has a preference for one.”

The way in which Cassian leant forward over the table was slow, but every single lord turned to look at him as he braced his hands on the wood. His seven siphons gleamed threateningly and his face… it was brimming with thunderous calm.

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, his hazel eyes flashing, his wings rustling, but Nesta stopped him before words left his mouth.

She did not need someone to fight her battles. And Cassian did know that, but she also knew that Cassian could not help himself in his need to defend her. She was not angry at him for it. Did not judge. She would do the same. If anyone dared to speak ill of him she would burn them until they were nothing but cinders.

The knowledge was terrifying and soothing at the same time. An irrevocable conflict.

Nesta’s chin rose, determined and unintimidated. “I am not a witch and I belong to no-one but myself.”

Ten pairs of dark eyes snapped back to her, but Nesta acted as if she were entirely unfazed.

“You’re unnatural,” Albar said, his voice cold.

Nesta expected the words to spear home, but they merely bounced off her leathers as if they were made of nothing but a ball of yarn.

“Then I suggest you don’t get on my bad side,” Nesta clipped, holding up her fingers to showcase the mist that was moving with more intent, like a serpent waiting to strike with venomous, pointed teeth.

Albar bristled. But then, with a sneer he sat back, his horrible, dark eyes fixated on her hands. Nesta rested them on the table, kept her power burning slowly. A visible reminder that she would not yield.

“Now we are all here,” Rhys said, “we can begin.”

His violet eyes scanned the table as he spoke, even as he remained sat back in his chair, a powerful king relaxed amongst his subjects. He recapped over yesterday’s events, called in Feyre and Nesta to comment when it came to the start of the attack.

“Devlon,” Rhys said when they had finished recalling the ambush. “Report on the gaps in the patrol.”

A tense silence followed, but the war-lord did not snarl. He only said in his deep, rough voice, “Three of Windhaven’s warriors are missing. Their absence is the reason we were not alerted to the kerits sooner. They were supposed to be patrolling that side of the pass.”

All of the lords sat up straighter.

“Who?” One of them barked. He had a nose that had been so broken, it lay flat and twisted on his face. Nesta had heard Cassian call him Laggar.

“Druis, Alaksandar and Hakkir,” Devlon replied. “Good soldiers. Excellent flyers. Expected to perform in the Rite this year.”

Another of the lords grunted. Nesta recognised him. He was often at Devlon’s side in the sparring ring. His name was Saker. “All bastards.”

“Should we be surprised,” Albar drawled, “that bastards are the reason we have thirteen dead Illyrian’s lying on the pyres today?” He paused as his eyes tracked their way across the table to Devlon. “You have always been soft on the bastards in this camp, Devlon. Look where places of responsibility have gotten us when bastards should not have been elevated above the ranking of foot soldier-“

Nesta could not help but cut a glance at Cassian. His jaw was clenched, but he remained silent. She melted her ice a little, reached for him, felt his anger simmering in her stomach. She contemplated sending an emotion back to him, to let him know that she was not standing for these arrogant males either. That she sympathised, but Cassian was already leaning forward.

The gesture made Albar pause.

“Perhaps you should not be surprised,” Cassian replied quietly, “that bastards may have finally become fed up with those who have cast them out and left this camp all together.”

Cassian’s voice was deathly calm. He did not move from where he was sitting, but the flickering flames of the pit fires emphasised his dark eyebrows and his angular jaw.

It made him appear as sharp and dangerous as freshly forged steel.

And to Nesta’s surprise, not one of the lords opened their mouths. They only cast their eyes downwards, to the siphons gleaming with promise on Cassian’s scaled armour.

“For all we know, the males could be dead,” Devlon answered, his chair creaking as he sat back in his chair. “Lord Slat and I already have males scouting the areas for signs of the males.”

“They are warriors with no honour,” Laggar sneered. “We—“

But Rhys cut Laggar off. “It has not yet been determined why the warriors weren't in the skies. We will not cast judgement until they are found. I believe that is what we call a fair trial, Laggar,” Rhysand said smoothly.

A snort from a number of the camp lords. Only Devlon and Slat did not grunt with derision.

In fact, the latter male tilted his head at Rhys, his round, beady eyes boring into his High Lord as if he were trying to read him. The male was shorter than the others, his hair cropped close to his head, his body leaner but still packed with muscle. His figure was not unlike Lorrian’s — built for the skies — and on the inside of his right wrist, he wore a tattoo; a glowing siphon encased by huge, mighty wings. A symbol that marked him as part of the aerial unit. On the backs of his hands, his four siphons gleamed emerald.

More powerful than the other lords, who wore a maximum of three siphons on the backs of their hands. As powerful as Devlon.

When Slat spoke, his voice was thick, “If you are searching for the males, you are searching for bodies. If they are strong flyers, they will be long gone by now. The skies will have left no trace of them.”

“Even Illyrian’s can’t fly forever,” Feyre said. “They have to rest at some point. It’s been snowing. It will be hard for three warriors to hide their tracks.”

“Not if it’s been snowing,” Albar countered, his voice thick with derision. As if Feyre was stupid.

Nesta bit back a snarl, but she allowed her fingers to spark silver and her whip to glow. A warning. Nobody spoke to her sister like that, unless it was Nesta herself.

But Feyre did not back down. “Especially if it has been snowing. They will have left tracks that can be spotted easily enough from the skies. It hasn’t snowed since yesterday afternoon.”

“What I think we really need to discuss is why warriors would go missing just before a kerit attack,” Slat announced.

“As General Cassian has already insinuated, we are considering it a possibility that the attacks might have been manufactured,” Rhys admitted, arranging his hands so his fingers were steepled in front of his body, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. He, too, was seated in a low-backed chair, having chosen to wear wings today rather than arrive without. It was a deliberate move. It showed the Illyrians what their High Lord had in common with his subjects rather than how he was different.

Nesta would give her sister’s mate that. He was not stupid. For the most part, he thought things through.

A low murmur ran through the lords.

“Kerits have never attacked our camps before,” Cassian elaborated, when Rhys did not say anything further. Nesta wondered if it was because he was giving Cassian the ability to assert authority. “It is strange that it has happened across three separate camps in a matter of weeks.”

“I’ll be damned if Lord Beron isn’t behind it,” Albar spat, his fist coming down on the pine table so hard the table shook. “Forktail has never had any qualms about organising raids on Windhaven in the past—”

“If Forktail has had no qualms about acting on past feuds,” Nesta said coldly, unsurprised by the lack of intelligence of the males, “then they would not have beasts attack the camps. They would do it themselves.”

A flicker of pride wound through her, despite her walls, but Nesta did not glance Cassian’s way.

“Lady Nesta is right,” Rhys said, before any of the lords could open their mouths to speak. “We cannot assume that this is an attack from another camp. We are considering external forces might be at work. With that in mind, Devlon will be organising fiercer patrols around the camp and it is time for us to erect tougher boundaries around the perimeter.”

Rhys continued, “Myself, my mate and others will be putting protective shields in place for each of the camps. We will not lose any more unnecessary lives when there’s a simple solution to stopping the kerits from attacking again. Your General will work with those on patrols. My spymaster will be present in the camp over the next few weeks questioning warriors.”

“We do not need your fancy shields,” Devlon snapped. “We are Illyrians. We are born to protect. We do not need your magic-“

“Females died because your protection failed,” Nesta interjected with a snarl, her head snapping to look Devlon straight in the eye. Her voice was brimming — shaking — with fervour.

She felt her emotional shields falter, her anger too sharp and ruthless to be stifled. Nesta thought of Durkhanai’s lifeless eyes and the cook’s broken body. Of Mas’s trailing guts as she lay in a pool of blood, Roksana’s hands inside of the housekeeper as she tried to stop the bleeding. “They did not know how to defend themselves yet they did not hesitate to protect your young.” Mist was running rings around her limbs, her whip glowed bright but did not burn — not unless she willed it.

Nesta leant forward. So her face was so close to the war-lord’s that her breath touched his cheek. Devlon did not flinch. Did not move. His dark eyes stared right back at her, as she said, “You will allow your High Lord to erect protective shields around this camp.”

Slowly, dangerously, Nesta sat back in her chair, never breaking eye contact with the war-lord.

And then, to Nesta’s surprise, Devlon gave a sharp nod as he pushed back his chair. The legs scraped on the low wooden platform despite the rugs atop it. “Put the shields in place,” he told Rhys coldly. “We’re done here.”

And then he left the tent, the other lords trailing behind him.

Cassian found Nesta the moment she left the tent. Rhys and Feyre had disappeared to put the protective barriers in place, winnowing from inside the tent as the lords started to leave.

Nesta had not wanted to remain in the war-tent. Sitting straight for so long had the dull pain in her stomach elevating to an insistent throb, so she had risen stiffly with the other lords and left in search of fresh air.

“How are you feeling?”

Cassian’s voice was a low, welcome rumble in her ear — the only male voice that day that hadn’t made her power itch to escape. Nesta turned into that warmth that always seemed to radiate from him, to find him looking down at her with eyes that swam gold.

“Fine,” she replied. “Sore,” she added, when his expression didn’t change but his wings rustled.

For a moment, Nesta remembered the sleepy memory of a curled wing and even breathing close to her. Had he slept beside her? She wasn’t sure if it had been a dream or real. It had felt real, but she had taken a lot of sedatives and her subconscious had conjured images from both dreams and nightmares.

Cassian’s dark features tightened into a slight frown. For a moment, she thought he was going to suggest she go home and rest, but he only nodded shortly.

“You didn’t tell them about the carrion,” Nesta said.

Cassian threw an invisible bubble around them as they walked. “No,” he replied. “Any information like that could strengthen feuds between the camps. Illyrian’s are hot-headed at the best of times, we don't want to add kindle to the fire before we know who is responsible for leading the kerits to the camps.”

Nesta nodded to indicate she had heard him.

“If the missing warriors have sought allegiance elsewhere, I can’t say I blame them,” Cassian admitted quietly. He was staring away from her, his features twisted. “If I had not had Rhys and an allegiance with his court, I might have been bought when I was younger. I was outcast from such a young age… Those males cannot be blamed for hoping they might belong elsewhere.”

Nesta’s insides squeezed at the concession. She curled her fingers around Cassian’s arm of scaled armour, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Nobody should be outcast,” she told him. “It is not wrong for you to admit what might have been, or to understand another’s point of view. That is not a weakness, it is a strength.”

Cassian looked down to where she clutched at him before he met her gaze. Nesta did not back away, made her expression as earnest as possible.

“They are burning the pyres in a moment,” Cassian told Nesta, casting his gaze to the front-left side of the mountain pass. “Would you like to come?

Nesta swallowed. She thought of the cook… of sweet, beautiful Durkhanai who had not deserved the fate the damned Cauldron had dealt her. “Yes,” she said.

Cassian gestured with his arm to indicate that they should continue to walk to the main path that cut through the camp. “Devlon’s changed his attitude towards you.”

Nesta snorted softly, but then she admitted, “I don’t know why.”

“I do,” Cassian replied, but he didn’t expand further.

Nesta took a moment to study his face. Shadows ringed beneath his eyes, his tan skin a shade paler than usual. “Did you sleep?”

If he were surprised by the question, Cassian did not let it show. Nor did he indicate that she had thrown him with the sudden change of subject. “For a bit,” he replied.

“You needn’t have tended to me, I would have been fine,” Nesta told him, knowing somehow that his exhaustion was partly her fault.

But Cassian shook his head. “You had me worried,” he admitted eventually. “The sedative gave you nightmares but you were in such a deep sleep I couldn’t reach you.”

Nesta fought the red that wanted to flush across her face. She hoped that she had not been speaking in her sleep. Did not like anyone seeing her that vulnerable, not even Cassian.

“You settled after a while,” Cassian added, after another pause that had stretched out for a beat too long. And then to her dismay, a stain appeared on both of his cheeks.

She watched him drag his gaze away from her to stare resolutely at the ground beneath his feet.

Oh. Not a dream then. Cassian had slept beside her. Had arced his wing over her.

Nesta remembered how safe she had felt when she’d woken to a dome of umber. How the gentle, even breathing had lulled her straight back under. How she had fallen into dreams rather than nightmares.

“Thank you,” Nesta said quietly, the words barely audible, but Cassian dipped his chin to indicate that he had heard her.

Then she stopped, a sudden realisation hitting her. “Do I need to change? I - What do I wear to a funeral in Illyria?”

But Cassian’s eyes only softened as they took in what she was wearing. “You’re fine,” he replied, his head tilting slightly to consider her. “Warriors wear armour to funerals.”

The widows would be given a warriors funeral, Cassian had informed Nesta as he walked her to the front-left of the mountain pass. He led her on a route that she had not taken before, but which Cassian seemed to know with his eyes closed, his feet anticipating rock and uneven ground before it rose up to meet their feet.

Usually the burning of widows did not draw an audience or demand a ceremony; they were seen as a stain on society, a blemish of which Illyrians were glad to rid themselves. Yet… the act of the widows. The way in which they had sacrificed their lives for the younglings… Devlon had not protested when Rhys had ordered they were given an honourable send off. He had only grunted to show he agreed before he stalked off to make the necessary arrangements.

Sentiments were changing in the Windhaven camp, Cassian told Nesta with detectable hope. It was a positive sign, even if the events leading up to it had been unimaginable.

After a long while of walking along the rocky wall of the mountain pass, a clearing petered out to their left. It was full of too-small ramshackle tents and fae-made fire-pits fashioned by scooped out earth and a circle of craggy stones around the perimeter which no doubt acted as makeshift shields from the battering winds that Illyria was known for.

Somehow Nesta knew what it was without Cassian saying a word, even though the camp was deserted.

“Is this where you lived?” Nesta asked.

Cassian did not stop. “Yes.”

He shrugged, even though Nesta could tell by the tightness of his shoulders that the memory was painful for him. Because of the trauma or the reminder of what he thought to be his own unworthiness, Nesta wasn’t sure.

“This is where Rhys found me and dragged me from my tent,” Cassian expanded, pointing to a spot by a cluster of bare-looking pine trees. “The mud is frozen at the moment because of the snow, but when it rained, the forest floor would become waterlogged. The pine trees provided us bastards with the best shelter against the elements.” Nesta surveyed the thin, red trunk and the pine needles above that couldn’t do much to protect the run-down looking tents below it.

“Anyway,” Cassian continued with a shake of his head, as if he were ridding himself of an unwanted memory. “Rhys took me to the house he and his mother were living in. She was livid, but she told me to get in the tub to bathe or I could go back out in the cold. She never let me leave, after that. Rhys’s mother was full of soft-fire, but she had grown up low-born and knew what it was to suffer, so she gave me clean clothes and a bed to sleep in. I never left, after that.”

Cassian’s darkened expression had caved to make way for something smoother. Yet, it was laced with a sadness.

“She sounds lovely,” Nesta said, not knowing quite what to say. For once, she did not avert her gaze from him. Instead, their eyes locked and something started to turn inside of her. Not her power. But as if a different key were turning in another lock, opening rather than closing.

“She was,” Cassian corrected, and then he looked away, the key jamming in place. “The bastards tents are near the pyres. Whenever there was a funeral, if the wind was blowing in the wrong direction, I’d crawl out of my tent to find the ground covered in ash.”

Horror twisted through Nesta. At the thought of little boys with nobody to love them having to crawl through the ash of flesh and bone. “That’s horrible.”

But Cassian only shrugged and gave her that crooked smile of his, the one he wore when he spoke about the injustices inflicted upon his race by his race. “Yes,” he agreed. He tilted his head in the direction of the trees that ran along the mountain wall. “It’s not much farther.”

Nesta allowed him to lead her across the forest floor through the snow and pine needles. Eventually, the trees cleared and a wide ledge jutted out from the mountain pass, suspending them in midair.

Crowds and crowds of Illyrians had already gathered. No, Nesta corrected, crowds and crowds of females. And it was not just widows and female orphans. Nesta recognised the the faces of females who worked in the laundrette, in the kitchens, as seamstress’s…

Nesta spied Emerie too, standing a little away from the crowds by the mountain wall. Her unusually blank expression was twisted with grief, her tan cheeks stained with dried tears, her eyes red. Durkhanai had worked in her shop… Emerie probably knew the orphan better than anyone else.

At the bottom of the huge pyre, Nesta spotted Rhys and Feyre. Devlon was nearby speaking to Slat. The other lords were nowhere to be seen. Nesta was not surprised, but she couldn’t help the fury that heated her blood at the knowledge that they did not deem the widows worthy of a send off. It clouded her mind, until the fear she had not yet admitted to herself was pushed far, far back: that the sound of the fire would trigger her trauma.

Cassian seemed to know what she was thinking, because his eyes flicked briefly to her headband, as if he were tempted to make sure it was properly secured over her ears. But eventually, he merely jutted his chin towards the bottom of the pyre and led them through the crowds to where Rhys and Feyre stood.

Not long after they had arrived, Nesta spied Mas weaving her way through the Fae with little Roksana in tow. The youngling was clinging to the housekeeper’s hand with an apprehensive look on her face, as if she had witnessed a funeral before and it brought back dark memories. She was hanging back slightly from Mas, her footsteps heavy, her little wings drooping…

Mas did not smile as she approached, but she did not look down. Did not become subservient. Her back was straight, her short, choppy hair ruffled by the breeze. Her eyes were determined in a way that Nesta had never witnessed before

“Masak,” Cassian greeted, his voice low in Nesta’s ear before he bent down to kiss the housekeeper on both cheeks.

Nesta did not fail to hear the murmur that went around the crowd, as the General of the Night Court’s armies greeted a low-born widow not with civility, but clear affection.

“High Lord,” Masak said to Rhys after Cassian pulled back, dipping into a low curtsey. Nesta suspected the two had met many times before. That it was that familiarity that allowed Mas to bury the gender role dictated by her culture. “Thank you for sending off the females this way.”

Rhysand dipped his chin, and to Nesta’s surprise, a dark shadow passed over his features. “Of course, it’s the least we can do. I am sorry we could not prevent their deaths.”

Mas nodded shortly. Nesta watched her wings rustle, as if she were nervous, and then she said, “I would like to speak to the crowds. To the females, before you light the pyre.”

Beside Nesta, Cassian stilled. His chest was almost pressed against her right arm, and he was closer — much closer — than he usually was. Nesta assumed it was him being over-protective. She knew she had terrified him when she had collapsed yesterday. Had felt his unleashed panic, the sensation so fierce that it had practically consumed her. Had been so overcome with it that he had not even bothered to contain it within his shields.

Even so, Nesta knew he had dialled back the territorial side of him that had wanted to snarl at everyone and everything. Knew that he had made the conscious effort to reign it back because he thought she would not like it.

Yet… to know someone felt that strongly about her that they were on edge enough to fight off any threat that might compromise her safety… It was an unusual feeling, to have someone care about Nesta that way.

She didn’t find that she hated it. Perhaps because she knew she would have done the same thing for Cassian. Would not have hesitated to burn the entire camp if it meant he would be safe and well.

If they ever had to go, they would go together rather than apart. It was an unconscious choice, but a choice all the same.

Rhysand’s expression flickered with surprise for a fraction of a second, but then he bowed his head and held out a hand to the crowd. “It would be my honour.”

With a flick of his hand, magic shot from his palms and a bubble slid into place with a gentle glow of violet.

The crowd quieted.

Mas turned to Nesta, passed her Roksana’s sticky hand. Gently, Mas cupped her palms to Nesta’s cheeks, stared deeply into her eyes, as if she were able to see directly into Nesta’s soul and loved every part of it, fire and steel and all. She kissed each of Nesta’s cheeks in turn, just as she had done to Cassian, before she turned and stepped out in front of the expectant crowd.

A surprised murmur ran through the sea of bodies, but the females stood up taller, eager to listen…

“My fellow widows,” Mas started, and a quiet hush immediately fell over the crowds. Rhys had clearly done something with his magic to ensure Mas’s voice rang loud and clear, so even those at the back could hear her. “And my fellow females,” Mas corrected as her eyes ran over faces upon faces, not just from the widows camp but from Windhaven in general. “Today we remember the females who gave their lives for our safety. For the females who offered themselves for the pyre so we could walk free.”

Pausing, Mas took a deep breath. For the briefest of seconds, her dark eyes settled onto Nesta, but then she continued to speak. “Yesterday I was blessed with a new life, and with it, a fresh perspective — a chance to start again. Yesterday, the widows camp was attacked by kerits. Us widows, and the female orphans who live with us, were targeted first because we were banished up a mountain for no other crime than that our husbands or parents had passed. Our isolated camp was subject to the harshest of weather conditions and the most treacherous of paths, not to mention the least safe location in the camp should we be open to attack. Without our High Lady and Lady Nesta arriving early on the scene to fight off the beasts, many of us would not have made it to safety and our death toll would be far greater. It is thanks to them,” Mas said fiercely, looking to Nesta and Feyre in turn, “that so many of us are alive and breathing.”

Mas stopped speaking to survey the crowds, her hazel eyes falling on face after face after face.

No-one spoke.

When Nesta glanced at the sea of fae, she saw that each and every female was fixated on Masak, their expressions stricken with grief and… something else.

“I have been a mother to many of you,” Mas continued, holding out her hands to encompass those that had gathered. “I have taken you under my wing and put clothes on your back. I have never wanted anything in return. But today I do. I ask you to wake before dawn tomorrow and meet me in the sparring ring with a General who cares if we live or die and a High Fae who slew beast after beast to protect us. Two Fae, who like us, know what it is to suffer and who have emerged triumphant despite it.”

Mas was eyeing the crowd with a determination that Nesta had never seen. In the grey light, her eyes danced with a strength Nesta had not witnessed before.

For once, the housekeeper stood tall, the ancient lines of wisdom on her face powerful and indisputably fierce.

“And,” Mas continued. She had fallen into a rhythm now, her voice enchanting — addictive. “I ask that when you travel to others camps, you tell the females of what happened here yesterday. Of how we have suffered but emerged strong. Of how together, we will learn how to defend ourselves, to ensure we are not mutilated or beaten down, or cast out. Of how we will honour those who died by no longer allowing ourselves to be disposable or be told that we are not worthy, because we are. And the next time males or beasts try to knock us down, we will fight and we will win.”

The crowd roared with sudden chatter; the females who had once been silent beyond measure, sparked into conversation, as if life had been breathed into their bodies for the first time. But when Rhysand — their High Lord — walked towards the housekeeper and handed her an unlit torch, they fell silent again with a wave of hush.

For a moment, Mas merely stared at Rhysand. Then she looked down at the torch he had placed into her hand.

Nesta didn’t know what fuelled her to do it. It was as if her fingers moved independently of her body, the digits flicking with an expertise she did not know she had. Silver flames crackled across the clearing in a contained whip of heat. It struck the torch’s cloth with a precision even Nesta was surprised by — that she knew, if she and Cassian had been in training, he would have praised her for.

The torch roared to life in Mas’s hand. Silver flames licked into the fresh, untamed air of Illyria, but then, somehow, Nesta willed them to be silent and they obeyed. As if her power had rolled over at her will, subservient. As if finally, Nesta had understood that her magic was not separate from her, but part of who she was, and as such, bent to her will.

Mas’s widened eyes connected with Nesta’s, but Nesta only nodded, her chin dipping in encouragement. Her heart was bursting, full to the brim with love and pride for a female who was brave beyond measure, despite the atrocities life had dealt her.

The sensation melted through the icy cage Nesta held fierce around her emotions as if it were made of nothing but air, hitting her square in the chest, but Nesta did not try to stop it. Instead, she allowed herself to truly feel. Let her barriers fall away so she could be overcome with it. Throwing her magic out over the crowds like a fishermen casting a net out at sea, Nesta allowed it all to hit her. And as the awe, grief and determination of the inspired females in the crowds wound its way into her gut, Nesta realised that her gift was not just a curse. That it could be beautiful.

Biting back a sob, Nesta stood tall, gathering Roksana so the little girl was hugging tight to her legs. Cassian’s hand came to grip Nesta’s upper arm, but when she craned her neck to look up at him, he was not looking at her but at Mas. His grip remained tight as together, they watched their foster mother — the mother to so many vulnerable Illyrians — lower the torch to the pyre.

Nobody spoke as the flames took hold, even as the pyres blazed with silent silver. Instead, they all stood and watched the dancing flames submerge the cloth bound figures.

Cassian did not drop his hand. Did not loosen his grip, as if he were too caught up in the moment to catch himself.

His dream, for so long, finally coming to fruition. The dream he had held since he had learned of his mother’s fate. Another female who had been discarded and deemed unworthy, even as she had brought life to the world.

Nesta knew all that without him having to speak. Unthinkingly, Nesta brought the hand that was not pressing Roksana close upwards, so that she could slide her icy fingers against his warm ones.

And she squeezed, just once, before she let them drop.

At dawn the next morning Cassian, Nesta, Devlon, Lorrian, and a few of the camps best instructors watched Mas walk to the sparring ring. Behind her was a stream of females both young and old.

They were not just from the widows camp. Nesta spied Emerie and the female who worked in the apothecary. The females who worked as seamstresses, in the kitchens… No camp-matrons, but Nesta hadn’t expected that. They were too deeply entrenched and favoured to sacrifice the positions they have no doubt battled for in their own way.

“They’re determined,” Lorrian murmured to Cassian. He clapped his friend briefly on the back, as if he too knew what this meant to him. “It’s a good sign.”

Cassian only nodded to indicate he had heard, his features tightening. Nesta knew it was because he felt too much. Because he didn’t know how to arrange his expression. Because he had never dreamt that his vision for the females of Illyria might come true.

Nesta could feel all his emotions churning around in her stomach. Had let herself feel them. After the funeral, Nesta had not stacked her ice walls back to form an icy cage around her heart. Instead, she had stacked them into a wall heigh enough to block out lower level emotions. Any emotion that surged would still reach her, but Nesta had found the new height allowed her to filter out the lower-level intensities.

“You will demonstrate?” Cassian asked Nesta.

He turned his head to face her. Concern was etched upon his face and his eyes darted to her stomach, which was clad in her favourite leather’s.

Nesta’s injury had faded away with another night's sleep, and she had woken that morning feeling refreshed and new, as if she had not suffered major internal bleeding at all.

“If you like,” Nesta agreed, even though she had been going to offer anyway. Was not in a million years intending to watch on the sidelines.

“Please,” Cassian said.

Nesta blinked. In all the time that she had known him, Cassian rarely said please. When he had, it was usually when he was begging her.

Please talk to me. Please don't shut me out. Please eat, Nesta.

But this was different. It was not Cassian simply asking her to help him, but telling her what she wanted more than anything. What she had always wanted.

You are useful. You are needed.

So she just nodded, unable to find the words to respond verbally.

The males soon set to work, splitting the females into three groups dependent on age. Then Cassian started to teach. He explained that they would start with self-defence, talked through each move, demonstrating each one with Nesta. When he finished talking through the counter-assaults, he had the groups split up into the three separate training rings to begin their practice.

Today, the females would focus on learning to strike down their opponents with a forearm to the neck, followed by a hard strike to the stomach with an elbow. When they had mastered that, Cassian had informed Nesta during their walk to the sparring rings, they would move on to harder moves.

Cassian had taken his time explaining to the females why each move was important. Why every Illyrian who trained in the rings mastered the self-defensive moves first. Whilst Cassian spoke, Nesta had scanned the females faces; many of their expressions were grim, as if they had suffered from attacks before.

Nesta tried not to wonder how many females had been raped or beaten. It hurt too much, so she concentrated instead on the look of determination on their faces. It blended in with the apprehension, but not one of them walked away.

Afterwards, when the females had finished for the day, Lorrian came over to join Cassian and Nesta where they stood just inside the entrance of the main training ring. The Colonel had been training the eldest females with Slat, a lord who Lorrian appeared to have a terse but amicable relationship with. Nesta supposed that being part of Windhaven’s aerial unit, Slat respected Lorrian’s expertise in the skies. Just the night prior, Cassian had informed Nesta over dinner that Slat had fought in the most recent war against Hybern, but that he had escaped the fate of the Cauldron’s blast because of an injury to his left wing, which had forced him to remain in the war-camp.

“How many females have had their wings cut?” Cassian asked Lorrian as the Colonel stomped through the mud. The weather was still bitterly cold, but the trampling of feet had meant that icy ground had given way to thick mud just at the opening to the ring. Cassian’s expression was grim — expectant of bad news — but there had been a rare light in his eyes that morning which he did not usually allow the Illyrians to see. It was as if someone has swept a hand over his face and lightened the sense of foreboding and worry he harboured when it came to his people.

Lorrian grimaced. “Too many. A lot of the younger females can fly, but I’d imagine they lacked the training as youngling’s, so it will be slow work if we want them in the skies.”

“But not impossible?” Nesta asked, before she could help herself.

“Not impossible,” Lorrian assured Nesta. His eyes fell to Roksana. The youngling had come over to shyly clutch at Nesta’s legs.

The Colonel’s features softened, but then Devlon was stalking over to where they stood, and Lorrian straightened.

As always, the lord’s face was serious, but there was no trace of a sneer across his face. “They are all green and weak,” he told Cassian coldly, his tone matter-of-fact rather than outrightly cruel. “The trainers have been given orders to turn up five days a week.”

Cassian dipped his chin once to show he was satisfied. “Colonel Lorrian will attend every Wednesday,” Cassian replied. “Alongside Slat, he will get those able up into the skies and organise drills so the females can strengthen their wings.”

Cassian and Devlon continued to converse in short, terse sentences. Nesta wondered how difficult it was for Devlon to allow the females to train, when his upbringing told him otherwise. Nesta knew he had only been begrudgingly teaching the few female students when she first came to Windhaven because of Cassian and Rhys’s insistence. That if Cassian was not there, the lord would have let the sessions slip. But… with such a big turnout it seemed that even Devlon could not deny the females the right of learning how to fight. Had not complained to Cassian, apart from to grumble briefly about pulling extra trainers from the male rings to compensate for the amount of new recruits.

Nesta’s attention was pulled away from Cassian and Devlon as Roksana began to tug urgently at Nesta’s leg. The youngling’s wings were flapping with such agitation that Nesta was worried, but when she bent down she realised that Roksana’s face was alight with excitement.

Roksana’s hands slipped around Nesta’s neck, pulling her head down by the loose tendrils of hair that had slipped free of the plait that Nesta had braided down her back when she had woken.

Nesta was so astounded by the fact that Roksana wanted to whisper in her ear, that she didn’t make out what the youngling was saying until she had repeated it for the third time. “Manticore.”

Nodding encouragingly, Nesta looked over to where Caerleon was lying in the mud as if it were a throne. His beautiful, sandy head was raised regally, and he was surveying the scenery with a look that was all-seeing.

“That’s right,” Nesta told Roksana, her lips twitching upwards. “M is for Manticore. His name is Caerleon. Would you like to say hello?”

But that seemed to be too much for Roksana and she scampered off, her wings flapping every few strides as she went to join some of the other young orphans just outside the training ring. Mas was conversing with some of the widows a few feet away and Roksana was no doubt waiting for her foster mother to take her back to the camp.

“That little one has small wings.”

Nesta’s head snapped Lorrian who was nodding in the direction of Roksana. His expression was thoughtful.

“Is that bad?” Nesta asked with alarm.

Lorrian shrugged. “She might have a late growth spurt, but it wouldn’t hurt her to start strengthening them as soon as possible. If youngling’s don’t learn to use their wings, it slows down the growth rate.” When Nesta continued to look concerned, he elaborated, “As a lot of older widows have clipped wings, it is not unusual for orphan younglings to grow up without witnessing their guardian’s fly. It means that many of the female younglings have wings that are underdeveloped.”

“I can tell Roksana wants to fly,” Nesta told Lorrian. “She is always scooting over the ground.”

Lorrian jerked his chin at Roksana with a small smile, and Nesta saw the orphan skate over the mud to meet Mas. “I’ve noticed. Will she let me examine her?”

Nesta frowned. Roksana did not like males. Cassian was the only male Roksana did not shy away from. He had even held her the other day, and that morning, Nesta had felt a fist clench over her heart when Roksana had hovered over to Cassian when he had bent down to say hello.

Nesta knew how it had affected Cassian. Had felt joy flare inside of him as he fell into soft Illyrian which Nesta could not follow. Had seen the way his eyes lit up as Roksana had quietly said thank you as he complimented her hair.

“We can try,” Nesta told Lorrian. “You’ll have to bend down to her level. She’s wary of males.”

Lorrian just nodded to indicate he understood. “She will need to stretch her wings for me.”

When Nesta called to Roksana, the little girl spent no time coming over to her, but she still clutched at Nesta’s legs and stared up at Lorrian with an apprehension which hurt Nesta to look at.

Smoothing a hand over Roksana’s braided hair, Nesta said, “This is my friend Lorrian, Roksana. He wants to take a look at your wings. Would that be ok?”

Silence fell as Roksana’s hands tightened on Nesta’s leathers. When Lorrian knelt down to eye-level, she darted behind Nesta’s legs, only her face peeking around the tops of Nesta’s knees.

But Lorrian did not let her movement faze him. He smiled kindly, wiping all traces of Colonel from his face. It made his features less harsh, revealing the male that Nesta had come to know since first day in The Steppes when she and Cassian had been attacked by kerits.

“Hello, stella,” Lorrian said. “Can you stretch your wings out for me?”

He puffed his chest out with mock importance and pulled his wings wide, straining the tendons. After a little hesitation, Roksana followed suit.

“What beautiful wings,” Lorrian said conversationally. “I’m just going to touch them quickly. Would that be all right, Roksana?”

“Roksana?” Nesta prompted gently, running her hand over Roksana’s head when the little girl remained mute. The youngling was still clutching at Nesta’s legs, but she dipped her chin just once in agreement, the action so wary Nesta’s heart ached.

“Atta youngling,” Lorrian said with another gentle smile.

Quickly, he examined Roksana’s wings, running his hands brusquely over the tendons and bone. He asked the orphan to open and close her claws, to curve and straighten her wings, for her to hover above the ground.

For the latter, Roksana wobbled as if she were unable to balance herself.

When Lorrian nodded to indicate that he was finished, Roksana half-scampered, half-skimmed the ground as she went to join Mas.

Nesta and Lorrian watched her go.

“She’s got excellent control considering her wings are under-developed,” Lorrian told Nesta. “I’ll speak to Cassian about ensuring all of the orphan younglings aren’t being missed out when it comes to flying lessons. I can oversee them myself during my weekly trip.”

“She’s a quiet little thing,” Lorrian added after a moment. “Do you know what happened to her parents?”

“No,” Nesta said. “She’s only just started to say the odd word. The grief rendered her mute.”

Lorrian’s expression tightened. “It’s a good job Frawley isn’t here,” Lorrian said finally, but he didn’t offer anything else, even though the following silence was pregnant. In the end, he added, “If you want to help Roksana strengthen her joints, you could hold her hands whilst she practices flapping her wings a few feet off the ground.”

Nesta nodded. She would do that. Would do anything to make sure Roksana tasted the skies. Nesta knew Roksana hungered for it. The same way that she did, herself.

Roksana deserved that freedom. All of the females did.

“You have Caerleon today,” Nesta observed.

When Lorrian had arrived at the training rings, the manticore had been padding silently by his side. It had only taken Caer moments to spot Cassian. Nesta had noticed the beast’s ears prick forward, but rather than bounding over to the General, he had remained close by Lorrian, his spiked tail flicking leisurely from side to side as his hips swayed. And the Illyrians… they had stepped backwards, their eyes wary as they took in Caer’s huge body and impressive wings. To them, he was a deadly predator under Lorrian’s control. It certainly made a statement. It told them that Lorrian was not to be messed with.

It hadn’t stopped Caer from pushing his head into Nesta’s hand when he had passed her, or butting his head lightly into Cassian’s midriff. The action had been enough to tell any watchful eyes that Caer held an allegiance with them — that they were his to protect.

“Yes,” Lorrian replied. “Frawley insists that Caer likes to stretch his wings, but I think she likes to know that having a manticore reminds the Illyrians that they would be wrong to challenge my authority.”

Nesta’s lips twitched upwards. “And does it work?”

Lorrian snorted. “It certainly makes them cautious.” He turned to Nesta, then. “Cassian says you chose the bow.”

“Yes.”

To Nesta’s surprise a pleased expression wound itself across Lorrian’s face. “Would you like another instructor?”

Nesta blinked at the Colonel. “You want to teach me how to use the bow?”

Lorrian crossed his arms firmly across his chest, as if to demonstrate that he was immovable on the subject. “Of course. I’ve been told you’re formidable in the sparring ring. I’d be honoured to teach you how to fight with my weapon of choice.”

Nesta studied Lorrian’s expression, tilting her head to try and decipher whether he was being serious or not. In the end, she dropped her emotional shield and felt around until she found that air of heat laced with sandalwood - Lorrian. And she felt… no humour. No mocking. Only honestly.

Feeling guilty for having doubted him, Nesta stacked up her wall again.

“I would like that,” she conceded.

A smile broke across Lorrian’s face. It wasn’t the true, unfettered smile she had been privy to in his home, but it was unguarded and genuine enough. “Frawley wants you to come and visit. Perhaps I could oversee some of your training whilst you are with us? Otherwise, I can give you a lesson when I’m here to oversee the aerial legions. It would only be once a week, so I’ll have to trust you in the hands of that brute for the rest of it.” Winking, he jerked his head to Cassian who was striding towards them through the mud.

“You don’t have to visit,” Lorrian added, seeing Nesta’s taken aback expression, “but we would love to have you.”

Nesta thought of the warm cottage, a place that brought only a sense of comfort despite the way she had first ended up there. And… Nesta liked Frawley as much as she liked Lorrian. The witch was brusque and direct, but clearly kind-of-heart. Someone who predominantly chose to heal rather than injure.

Perhaps Nesta could use the opportunity to take up Frawley’s offer of mastering her healing magic. It was the first strand of her power that Nesta truly liked. It felt like it was a manifestation of the most secret part of her, a chamber which barely anyone knew about or understood. That she did not thirst for her ability to bring about death, but to give life to those who deserved it.

The thought sent a thrum of power through her veins, silver turning over to give way for white light.

“No,” Nesta assured Lorrian, who was still looking at her with reserved expectation. “I would like to come.”

“Come where?” Cassian asked as he drew up beside them, so close that his chest was inches from Nesta’s side.

“I’m going to visit Frawley and Lorrian next week.”

Mock-wounded, Cassian threw a hand to his heart as he said to Lorrian, “And you didn’t ask me? One of your oldest friends?”His eyes were sparkling when Nesta craned her neck to look up at him. He winked at her and magic spiked in her veins.

Grunting, Lorrian replied wryly, “I don’t know why you’re pretending that you won’t hound us for a visit. Pick up Nesta and come for dinner. We’ll see you the following week for Solstice, anyway.”

At that, Lorrian turned to the manticore who was still lying in the mud, his large almond eyes blinking in the pastel sunlight. “Caer,” Lorrian called, as he started to spread his own wings wide. The manticore stood, stretching slowly with a wide yawn which showcased his long, sharp teeth and his leathery wings. As Caerleon trotted over to Lorrian, his ears perked forwards and his tail shot up so it was engaged and upright, the deadly bristles at the tuft soft rather than pointed.

“I’ll take you back to the cottage with me when I visit next week then,” Lorrian told Nesta. He looked to Cassian, “Start Nesta on the basics before then.”

And then, with a wide stretch of his large wings, he shot into the air.

Mas found Nesta shortly after Lorrian had left. She and Roksana were the only females left in the sparring grounds. In the distance, Nesta could see the last of the retreating figures of the widows as they made their way back to their new camp, which was set up at the back of the mountain pass, not far from the sparring rings. The new camp was full of green pine trees and forest floor rather than treacherous, ominous rock and battering winds.

“Come,” Mas urged to Nesta, taking her by the hand. “Not you,” she told Cassian firmly, but he had only grinned in that unbridled way of his, before he shot into the skies in search of breakfast.

Together, Nesta and Mas walked up the mountain to the old widows camp with Roksana in tow. Nesta watched the youngling skim across the patches of deep snow. The path was a blanket of white, but despite the bite in Nesta’s feet, she did not complain. Nor did she moan about the dull ache in her side. Instead, she walked hand-in-hand with the housekeeper, allowing Mas to lead her up the zig zag path until they reached the even ground.

The destruction and death in the camp had been covered by the snow, but Nesta could still feel it: the sorrow, pain and terror seeping into her skin, lining her stomach in a way that was so intense that her power surged. Yet, Nesta did not try to push the sensation away as Mas led her with purpose to the Eastern side of the camp. They passed the makeshift canteen, the shell of tents scattered with snow and the rusted fire drums, until they reached the far point where Mas had lain on the ground as the life bled out of her.

The mountain wall loomed up into the dusky sky to their left, running until the ground round at the tip, leaving only a sheer, terrifying drop to the right.

When Mas stopped, so did Nesta. Roksana was a little way off, approaching the edge, and Mas scolded her to come back before she fell off the precipice.

Roksana skimmed over the stone, her little wings flapping at a rate that was faster than normal, as if she had to work extra hard to stay aloft. She collided with Mas’s legs, but the housekeeper only tutted in a way that held no bite, before bending to press a kiss to the little girl’s head and ordering her to stand back.

Nesta did not say anything. Not even as Mas clasped her dry, weathered hands in Nesta’s and peered into her face.

“Diyosa,” Mas said quietly, her voice brimming with feeling — love and anticipation — as she led Nesta slowly to the edge, carefully stepping backwards. “I wanted you to see it first. I wanted you to witness the freedom you have granted me.”

Despite the tears lining her eyes, a toothy grin spread across the housekeeper’s face.

Nesta watched Mas stretch her wings out wide, the movement slow and purposeful, as if she were flexing unused muscles.

And then she stepped backwards off the cliff.

For a second, Nesta was consumed with a terror that gripped fiercely at her throat, but then the boom of wings sounded around the mountain pass and Mas soared up on the wind, her beautiful wings beating hard as she caught an upward draft to climb above them.

Beside her, Roksana let out a cry. Her little hands clapped together and from her mouth… a laugh. Not one of Roksana’s small, secret smiles, but a delighted laugh that was so joyous it rang around the mountain wall.

And it was that, coupled by the whoop of delight from the housekeeper, that made Nesta laugh, too.

Nesta could not remember the first time she had truly laughed. As if it were a forbidden sound, her hands flew up to clap over her mouth, but then Roksana was hovering high enough in the air to pull them away, tearing off that mask that desperately wanted to cling on out of years and years of habit.

And Nesta allowed the youngling to do it. Clasped her fingers around Roksana’s as for the first time that Nesta could remember — through the tears of happiness that poured down her face — Nesta felt joy.

So Nesta laughed. She laughed for the female flying above her who had got her freedom back. For the little youngling who was holding onto Nesta’s hands as she hovered in the air, her wings flapping in desperation to join Masak… to taste freedom, too. And Nesta laughed for herself. For having finally done something right. For giving life rather than death. For bringing happiness rather than sorrow.

Then Mas was diving, her form flawless as she swooped down to take Roksana’s hands in hers, taking the youngling up, up, up into the Illyrian sky brushed with pastel hues.

That was when it happened. Nesta’s laugh fell into an untethered smile… a smile which had been imprisoned for so long. And as she did that, Nesta allowed her magic to reach out again… to sense the emotions that seeped up from the ground from years and years of suffering. But Nesta did not let them surge through her veins to charge her power. Instead, she gave something back. Nesta added a new layer upon the rocky ground that was tainted with death and pain. A comforting blanket of her own joy and happiness. A layer that symbolised that there was hope. That there was a way out of the inky black and the biting cold.

And the camp, which had been full of anguish and pain and unimaginable suffering, suddenly burst with light so pure that it was dazzling. The promise of healing shone from Nesta’s palms, and she stared down at her upturned hands in awe. At the light which travelled upwards to bathe the two females dancing in the air, as they laughed and laughed and laughed.

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable

#acotar #acosf #nessianfic #nessian #cassian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfiction

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kashi-prompts · 4 years

Note

Kakashi and y/n have feelings for each other and one day, they end up getting drunk and having sex. The two pretend that that night never happened. Months go by and y/n discover that she's pregnant but since she doesn't know about Kakashi's true feelings, she panics and decides to hide the pregnancy from everyone. From this part is a bit from your choice. She loses the baby after getting injured in a battle (mission or war) and Kakashi discovers about her pregnancy. Thank you for reading! 🥰

A/N: yo, I’m back lol I know it has been a really, really long time but I frequently check this page and am AMAZED at everyone’s kindness towards my posts. Thank you so much for reading. You have no idea how much it means to me. So here is a really long prompt that I hope you like. Feedback is welcome <3 I’ll try to write more prompts soon.

* * * * *

Rating: M

Pairing: Kakashi x Reader

Genre: ANGST. And fluff at the end lol

The shuffling of paper roused you from your sleep.

Your head was throbbing. Your eyes pulsed behind your lids and your stomach stirred irritably. Groaning, your body tensed in soreness as you tried to move.

Where am I? you thought. distantly These sheets didn’t feel like yours, nor did the pillow under your head. The smell in the air was lighter than it was in your apartment and the light shining on your eyes from the early morning sun didn’t seem to be at the right angle if it were your apartment.

Bargaining with yourself, you opened your eyes and inhaled a yawn. The blur in your vision dissipated after a few blinks and you looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Your chest quivered as everything from last night came swarming back to you in one fluid thought.

Feelings of guilt and fiery emotion overwhelmed you..

“Good morning,” you heard near you.

You sat up, realizing you were nude underneath the green comforter. You pulled the blanket up passed your chest, covering your breast as you looked over.

The Rokudamine sat across from at his desk and you realized where you were. His silver hair was getting long, large strands falling in front of his eyes. You weren’t used to seeing him with both eyes open, but after the war it was his new normal. He looked up at you, his expression soft as he set down the ink he was signing papers with.

“Good morning,” you said quietly, shaking your head once you realized the world was moving a bit. You didn’t know which was worse, the nausea from the alcohol or the nausea from the realization of what happened.

“How do you feel?” He shuffled some of the papers. You were surprised by his causal tone.

“I’m - fine,” you managed. “But -”

“Don’t worry, I feel like garbage as well.” He muttered, raking his fingers through his bangs to push them away. He sat back in his chair. His complexion was certainly paler than usual.

You looked away and closed your eyes.

The celebration, you remembered. You had successfully returned from your first S-rank mission with your team. You had stayed back after your team left, wanting to ask the Hokage for feedback. A meal was offered and a drink was shared, maybe two. No, it had to have been more than two.

You thought of the two of you tossing in the sheets the previous night. Images of tangled limbs and sort, sweet kisses made your stomach burn.

What a strange relationship the both of you shared, you thought as heat swelled on the back of your neck. The attraction was certainly mutual, yet neither of you had been willing to risk it. There were moments when both of you had come close. Small, intimate moments before he had become Hokage on the training grounds and on missions. A hand that had touched yours perhaps on accident while you were both sleeping on a mission, or a gaze that had lasted a few beats too long. Regardless, things had changed before they were even able to begin when he had become the Hokage.

But now? How had you ended up here?

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said glancing up as he reviewed another scroll. “If I don’t wake up to finish this, it will never get done.”

“I understand,” you nodded. The awkwardness hung in the air. He looked up, putting his papers down.

“Are you okay?” He asked, sitting back. He looked exhausted.

“I’m fine,” you felt unwanted and just awkward. How could he pretend this was normal? You stood, starting to get dressed from yesterdays dirty mission clothes. You pulled on your clothes quickly, feeling embarrassed. Did he use you?

“[y/n],” you felt a hand on your upper arm. Your stomach flipped at his touch. You turned, and your eyes met his black ones. The both of you stood there for a moment, his gaze looking down at yours. You felt a blush creep up your neck and your skin prickled. He reached up, moving a strand of hair from your face with a gentleness that surprised you.

His somber expression and tender touch didn’t seem to match.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, searching your face.

“For what?” you asked, confused.

“For last night. We - we shouldn’t have done that.”

A moment passed.

“I know,” you managed. His hand trailed down your arm and away.

“I didn’t mean for this all to happen,” he said, “it was my mistake. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation. I need to... remain professional.”

“Why?” the words came out of your mouth before you even thought about it. Despite the fact that you knew this couldn’t work, you were still hurt with his agreement. “You don’t really think that.”

He pressed his lips together under his mask, “you know why.”

“No, I don’t. Please explain it to me. I am not your student, I am not another kage, I am just a regular Jonin in the village who used to be your teammate. So please, explain to me why we can’t... why we can’t-” you couldn’t get the words out.

He shook his head, turning around to head back this desk. Was he going to ignore your question. You picked up more of your clothes, following him over to his small desk.

“I don’t think last night was a mistake,” you told him with certainty. “I know you think we have something here. We could be something. I-I have had feelings for you and -”

“I can’t,” he finally said, turning around. His expression was stern, but it almost looked hurt. “I can’t risk losing someone else.”

“What?” you looked at him, exasperated.

“I am not going to put you at risk. People who are close to me are a target, especially after a war. I’m not going to risk -... I’m not going to risk losing someone I care about.”

So many emotions were floating around in your chest, you could barely breath. The nausea from the hangover and the overwhelming sensation of his words made your ears ring.

You were at a loss for words. His words were telling you to go, but his eyes said the opposite.

“Please, [y/n].” He said, almost desperately, “I don’t want to do this.”

You stared at each other, your heart pounding. Without saying another word, you picked up your sandals and closed the door behind you, leaving a very conflicted hokage alone in his quarters.

* * * * * * * * * * *

You avoided him and you avoided him often. The thought of him pulling his mask down in the heat of the moment and smashing his lips to yours would cause your stomach to twist.

Could you grieve over something that had never really happened?

The grieving of a relationship that never was had taken up most of your spare time. You laid in bed, feeling exhausted the majority of your day. After a few weeks, you still felt tired. You chalked it up as depression.

4 weeks had passed since your night with him. When you stood before him in his office with your teammates, you avoided his eyes. You knew he was watching you. You knew he wanted you to look at him so bad, to feel something for a moment. But you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Before a mission on week 5, you started to feel different. Nauseous for no reason and still fatigued. You pulled your new uniform over your head, but it felt tight. You turned in the mirror and ran your hands down your body’s silhouette. It seemed curvier. You narrowed your eyebrows.

The realization cause a cold sweat to break out across your body. Your ears were ringing as you ran over to your calendar, counting the days since the last X mark.

Your cycle should have started last week.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Pregnant?

How could you be pregnant? How could you have been so stupid?

You had tested yourself again and again after returning from your mission. All of them coming back positive.

You considered leaving the village. Would you still be considered a rogue ninja if you weren’t leaving on malicious terms? Could you disappear for 9 and pretend nothing was wrong?

Full panic engulfed your body. You could tell him and risk how upset he would become. If he didn’t want you, why would he want a baby?

You sat at the edge of your bed, wondering who you could even tell. Certainly they would ask who the father was? Certainly when the baby came out with a full head of silver hair, they would know. The whole village would know - the world would know. He would know.

You curled up in a tight ball, holding onto your legs. The air felt thick.

You just felt so guilty.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The pregnancy was something that you decided to ignore. You didn’t want to hurt your baby in any way - but your mind just wouldn’t allow you to pretend it was real. Even if it was for a second, you ignored it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You were 16 weeks pregnant at this point. The only person that knew was Sakura and she swore she would not tell a soul. She wasn’t your friend, but she was a reliable medical ninja who took her job more seriously than some gossip.

She urged you to stop going on missions, saying that it was dangerous for both yourself and the baby. But you were one of Kakashi’s most reliable shinobi, his once teammate and you didn’t want to risk his suspicion.

This decision was a mistake.

On your missions, you created a jutsu that would protect your stomach from any threat.

However, on this day you didn’t account for how much chakra you would already be using.

“Look at this poor girl,” the notorious smuggler you were assigned to capture stood before you, your teammates holding your arm up as you fell to the ground. The baby growing within you drained most of your chakra on a daily basis, making it apparent that you were not the ninja you were previously. You could feel the barrier you created on your stomach disintegrating as your chakra levels vanished.

“So pathetic, these are the Leaf ninja the big Hokage has sent to capture us with, no?” Konamji snickered to his partner. Aoba, your teammate, held your arm and tried to pull you up. Your body felt like mush. Your foot slipped into the swamp that separated your team and the opponents and you quickly pulled it back.

Konamji smiled, his partner close next to him.

“Earth Style: Dragon Bullet!” Konamji and his partner yelled, their hands signs quick. A mud dragon appeared from the swamp and you quickly tried to get away. Aoba pulled you up, pushing you out of the way. The mud dragon smashed into the ground between the two of you, sending you flying across the grounds as the earth came apart.

Something smashed into your head.

You had cried out in pain, looking at Aoba across the way as he tried to make his way to you. You felt blood trickle down your forehead. Your vision blurred and you felt a searing pain in your abdomen as well. This couldn’t be happening. How could you have been so stupid - again?

“We have to get them,” you managed to Aoba, seeing him skid down on his knees next to you.

“They’re already gone,” Aoba told you, your vision going black for a moment before refocusing. “We can get them another time. You’re seriously injured. Shit.”

“My head,” you tried to tell him.

“I know, I know!” Aoba was frantic, trying to determine where you were bleeding. “HANA!”

“Aoba,” you swallowed, feeling yourself beginning to lose consciousness. Something was very wrong. “I need to get back to the village. Now.”

“I know, your head - it’s bleeding a lot,” Aoba searched his pack, looking around frantically for Hana.

“No, Aoba,” You closed your eyes, feeling the world moving underneath you. “I’m pregnant.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Aoba, Hana,” Kakashi sat behind his desk, his robe draped over his slumped shoulders. He looked up, his face tired. “Report?”

Aoba stood straight, his back rigid and mind blank with what he had witnessed.

“We were unable to capture the smugglers, Hokage-sama,” Hana stated, her gaze straight ahead.

“This shouldn’t have been a difficult mission,” Kakashi replied, his eyebrows pointed in surprise. “I imagined I could trust you all with a B-rank mission. Where is [y/n]?”

A heavy moment passed, “in the hospital, sir.”

If Aoba and Hana hadn’t shifted their gaze to the Hokage at that moment, they almost would have missed the second his body stiffened.

“What is her status?” Kakashi asked, his voice calmer than his appearance.

“She is doing better, sir,” Hana offered. “She suffered a serious head wound from Konamji and Hiroshi’s Dragon Bullet.”

“Dragon Bullet?” Kakashi tried to shift his attention back to the mission. “Such an advanced jutsu.”

“Hokage-sama,” Hana interrupted, “if I may, there is more regarding [y/n].”

Kakashi looked up, curious yet hesitant.

“She’s... pregnant, sir. 16 weeks. She should not have been on this mission.”

The room felt as though it had shifted beneath him. Aoba and Hana watched the color drain from the Hokage’s face, his eyes staring at them.

“Pregnant?” Kakashi repeated, his calm demeanor melting away. “Is she - is the baby - ?”

“We don’t know, sir.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Your vision was blurry, but a silver head of hair was the only thing you could make out. You stirred, your head throbbing in pain. You groaned as your ears registered the constant beeps next to your head that was your heart monitor.

“[y/n]?” you heard Kakashi’s voice. You had never heard it sound so concerned.

You opened your eyes, looking over at the Hokage sitting beside your hospital bed.

“Where am I?” your voice was raspy.

“You’re in the hospital,” he said quietly. He looked at you, concern and a hint of fear in his eyes. “Hana and Aobe brought you back. You suffered a severe head injury.”

“Is - ?” you stopped yourself wanting to ask him if your baby was okay. But you couldn’t. “I need to talk to a doctor.”

Kakashi hand touched your head, pushing your matted hair out of your face. His face looked tired and pale. The slightest touch of his hand warmed your body.

“Listen,” he said to you softly. “the baby is fine.”

Waves of both relief and panic washed over you. Relief that the baby was okay, panic that he knew. You opened your mouth to try and say something but no words came out. His eyes met yours and he waited a moment.

“Is it -... Is it mine?” Kakashi asked. For the first time since the morning after you had spent the night with him, you saw vulnerability in the Hokage’s eyes. Quietly, you nodded, your head still resting on the pillow.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked finally, flickers of pain and joy in his eyes. You had never seen so many emotions on the notoriously calm shinobi. You knew him well, many years of missions together. This was a first.

“How could I?”

Kakashi shook his head, looking down and thinking to himself how this was his fault. He had pushed you away, not wanting to have a relationship. If he hadn’t done that, perhaps you would have told him and perhaps you wouldn’t have put your baby at risk. He felt his chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” he looked up. He reached over, his calloused fingers touching yours. “Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” you asked, confused. “You should be the one forgiving me. I put this baby at risk. I was foolish.”

“Yes, but I shouldn’t have pushed you away because of my own insecurities. I was afraid I would lose you, just like I lost everyone else.”

“That is why I couldn’t tell you,” you looked away. You felt his fingers twitch over yours. A few minutes pasted an no one said anything. You turned your head and looked away, feeling his gaze never leave you.

“[y/n]?” Kakashi spoke quietly. You turned, opening your eyes again. His gaze was soft as he took your hand in both of his.

“I want to be with you,” he said finally. It felt as though he had been waiting to tell you this secret for years. “I wanted to be with you since the moment I met you. But I couldn’t get past the risks of seeing death again. And now - I know this seems cliche - but now I feel like I finally have this sense -... that for the first time in my life this is the right decision.”

“What about -?” you started, feeling your chest tighten at his words.

“I was stupid,” he said shaking his head.“And I love you and I have for a long time. So if you’ll forgive me for being an idiot and not taking you when I should, I would like to be with you and be with this baby. I have a promise to protect this village, but I’m making a promise to protect you and this baby now. On my life.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A/N: sorry, Kakashi has lost too many people. I couldn’t let him lose a baby :/ I know its super fluff and I don’t normally go for that but I’m in the mood.

Thanks for reading! <3

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myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (8/?) - A Nice Trip

The next chapter is up with a little more insight into Killian's past, hopefully answering some of the questions (or maybe creating more?).

Huge thank you to everyone who commented, reblogged, liked the previous chapters! Also thank you to my beta and artist @thejollyroger-writer for helping with correcting my mistakes and making this amazing art!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 8/? - A Nice Trip

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~5.5k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2 II Ch 3 II Ch 4 II Ch 5 II Ch 6 II Ch 7

It took a while for the dreams to cloud her mind as she slipped into unconsciousness. Her shoulder was still throbbing and the events of the day played a loop in her brain. A few hours later, she woke up surprisingly relaxed and relatively refreshed. She allowed herself an hour to just lie motionless on the bed, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what was waiting for her that day. The usual languid calm was gone.

She climbed out of bed and decided to find a bathroom and then the kitchen. She wasn’t ready to face the day’s problem until she’d a cup of coffee. But no sooner had she set foot on the floor, the door suddenly slid open. Ruby wasted no time knocking, she simply barged into the room as if she’d owned the place.

“Good, you’re awake! We’re leaving.” Her words came quickly as she gestured urgently towards the door.

“Where are we going?” Emma asked, getting up from the bed slower than usual with her shoulder still aching.

“To your house,” Ruby nodded, smiling at her. “Get your stuff and pack some things for David too. You can change at your apartment if you want, but you’ll have to hurry because we’re going to Leo’s funeral after that. And then back here. It would be best if you took everything you wanted from home, because you won’t be returning anytime soon.”

“Great.”

-/-

“Why am I the one going with him?” Emma stared blankly at Ruby’s smiling face. It was a mystery to her why the brunette was in such a good mood. Emma didn’t feel like grinning at all, especially now that it turned out she was going to be alone with Killian again. Of course, David had no idea. If he did know, he’d surely have an aneurysm.

“It was pure fate,” Ruby said with a shrug, but Emma could see she was hiding something.

She didn’t want to argue with her, so she left it at that. But Ruby couldn’t seem to let the subject go. “Why are you so against him?” she inquired cautiously as they climbed the stairs to the first floor that led to the crumbling wooden house.

“I’m not, I just don’t understand. I thought David’s drama queen behavior yesterday would have kept him from having anything to do with me.”

“The decision on matters like this isn’t up to Killian, or even David. It’s all the Council,” Ruby explained.

“Oh, how I’d love to meet them one day,” Emma remarked, grudgingly, multiplying her steps as she followed Ruby, who was still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

It was terribly cold upstairs. Emma was only wearing her sweater from yesterday and was already chattering her teeth as she rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself up a bit.

When they reached the clearing, she noticed at least a dozen motorcycles and twice that many cars parked there. She had no idea if they’d all been brought here under the cover of the night, or if they’d been hiding around here all along. Looking around, she immediately spotted the black Porsche. It actually wasn’t hard to spot, nor was the talk, dark figure lurking beside the vehicle.

Killian seemed unaffected by the cold. His hair was ruffled by the light breeze (or by his fingers running through it), and he was also forgoing his usual eyeliner today, which made his face look younger. He was wearing a simple black shirt and his favorite leather jacket.

“Be at the cemetery by two in the afternoon, and get back here by four at the latest. Don’t wait until it gets dark, for everyone’s sake.”

“Will do,” Killian nodded, stubbing out his cigarette, which Emma just noticed, on the outside mirror without hesitation.

“Have a nice trip!” Ruby waved at them, then walked after Robin and Mary Margaret.

“Ready to go?” Killian hid his hands carelessly in his pockets and stared at her expectantly. Was he seriously going to wait for her approval now?

“Yeah,” she sighed.

This is not going to be fun.

-/-

To her surprise, they made their way to the apartment in not-so-uncomfortable silence. She didn’t know what to say as she stuffed her ham sandwich into her mouth and Killian remained stubbornly silent. She was sure his mind was on their “conversation” from yesterday, too. Which, well, let’s face it, had been pretty interesting.

“Be ready no later than half-past two,” was his first sentence after they got out of the car.

“You’re going to help, too,” she announced. “We’ll be done quicker if you help with packing up David’s stuff.”

“As you wish.” He didn’t comment on her instruction, so Emma showed him David’s room and the bathroom, loaded her brother’s suitcases and bags onto his bed, and left Killian to his task.

She made her way upstairs and began packing up everything she might need with heavy movements. Of course, she had a hard time packing all her things into her bags, she didn’t want to leave anything in her room. She really wanted to take her favorite books, her ancient boombox she’d gotten from David, and every trinket that held precious memories for her. However, she had to realize that was pretty much overkill. She probably wouldn’t even have enough room for her things, let alone time to actually read books.

Eventually, she felt compelled to put a few things back on the shelves, including the boombox, of course. It was already quarter past two when she finally finished packing and headed to the bathroom. She only wanted to take a look at her reflection, but the sight that greeted her made her pause.

Her face was paler than usual, the remnants of her black eyeshadow around her eyes complemented by dark circles under them didn’t look particularly attractive. Her hair almost resembled a crow’s nest, her clothes were dirty, bloody, and torn in places. Honestly, she looked like a survivor of a zombie apocalypse. Which, when she thought about it, wasn’t that far from the truth.

Grimacing, she turned away from the mirror, quickly ridding herself of her clothes, and climbing into the shower with boundless relief as the warm water hit her tired skin. Carefully, she peeled the bandage from her shoulder and was glad to see that she didn’t need stitches. Only five smaller, circular, red wounds adorned her collarbone and shoulder. At first glance, they didn’t look like serious injuries, but she knew — and felt — that they were deep.

She quickly washed her hair as well and finished as quickly as she could, not wanting to test Killian’s patience. As soon as she was done, she wrapped a towel around her body and hurried to her room to get the hairdryer she had already packed in one of her gym bags. It would do her good to think ahead sometimes…

She rummaged in the bag that was next to the door, but of course, the damned device was hidden away well. She cursed under her breath and ripped open the zipper of her last bag as the door slammed open, connecting with her hip head-on.

She yelped more in surprise than pain. She had just enough presence of mind to reach for the towel slipping off her body, but she lost her balance and landed on her ass.

“Did no one teach you to knock?” she growled in annoyance.

“Apologies, but I didn’t think I’d find you dressed only in a towel,” he retorted, glancing impatiently at his watch.

But then he walked over to her and reached for her hand to help her up. She considered refusing him for a few seconds, but then she deemed it unnecessary to continue being hostile and grabbed his offered hand.

This time, there was no unbearable headache to warn her as she glided through space and time. She simply found herself under the open sky without any of the uncomfortable transitions a vision usually entails.

The sun burned bright and hot; it was a sultry summer day. The air was stuffy, not even a slight breeze was blowing through the air. At first, it seemed to Emma that she was standing in a playground, but in the background, the image of a school with at least hundreds of students unfolded before her. She turned her head in wonder, for the children’s clothing was clearly reminiscent of the late nineties.

No one noticed her, so she was sure she had just stumbled into another vision. A girl in a towel appearing out of nowhere would have been quite the sensation, but they were not just looking through her, they were walking right over her body too.

She didn’t understand any of this, she had no idea what to look for. She whirled around the courtyard, trying to figure out why she had gotten here. Soon, a calling of a name broke through the dull fog of shock.

“Hey, Killian! What’re you doing?”

Emma immediately spun around and turned in the direction of the voice, but saw only a completely unfamiliar, short, and dark blonde boy. He couldn’t have been older than twelve. His flashy red leotard stretched over his stomach with dark spots down the front. His jeans were already worn and a little too short for his legs, with patches of green grass staining the knees.

He scurried toward a sullen, skinny boy sitting alone on the back of one of the benches, staring off into the distance. Panting, the blond came to a halt in front of the other and braced his hands on his hips. His bloated, freckled, but lovely face glistened with drops of sweat.

“Killian, why don’t you come play?”

Emma stared wide-eyed at the boy skulking on the bench. Was this Killian? He didn’t look any older than fourteen or fifteen, either, but his gaze was almost as unsetting as it would be twenty years later.

His hair was longer than it was now in the present, tied behind his head with a rubber ring. His slightly worn Pearl Jam t-shirt was much larger than his torso, his jeans were worn and torn — but not for the sake of fashion. The soles of his sneakers were about to come off the dirty shoes.

“Aren’t you coming?” the blonde repeated.

Killian didn’t answer, just stared unflinchingly at the school’s iron gate. “No, Kristoff. Not now,” he shook his head, and his voice, unusually deep for a kid of his age (and size), caused Emma another surprise.

“You’re waiting for Milah, right?” Kristoff looked at Killian sympathetically, and Emma’s ears perked up at the name.

Maybe now she could figure out who Milah was to him.

Killian turned his head to Kristoff with an impatient sigh. “If you already know, why even ask?”

The other boy just shrugged, leaving Killian’s question unanswered. He settled down next to him on the bench. “Killian, come on! You can’t sit here all day! You know she’s not coming anyway.” Kristoff shook his head and glanced sadly at Killian with his big, piercing blue eyes.

“She will!” Killian’s hand clenched into a fist, his eyes flashed. “She promised,” he added a little more quietly, and Emma moved closer to the two of them, so as not to miss a word.

“It doesn’t matter. Her father won’t let her anyway. Our last class is about to begin, Killian! I’m sure…”

Before he could finish the sentence, the school bell started to ring. Kristoff immediately jumped up from the bench as the sea of students moved towards the main entrance of the building.

“We’re going to be late!” Kristoff shifted his weight impatiently, but Killian didn’t even move, staring fixedly at the school gate.

“We are,” Killian finally nodded, picking up his bag that had been lying next to the bench.

It was a dark green, awkwardly patched, worn backpack. It was quite dirty with dust and sand, but Killian didn’t seem to care.

“My mother will kill me if I’m late…” Kristoff turned pale, blinking more and more nervously across the slowly emptying courtyard.

“Go to class, Kris,” Killian smiled, then picked up his bag on his shoulder and hurried to the school gate.

“Killian! Stop! What are you doing?” Scared out of his wits, Kristoff ran after Killian.

He grabbed him by the arm and turned the older boy to face him with a forceful jerk.

“I’m going to Milah’s,” Killian shook Kristoff’s’ arm off.

“No! You’ve gone mad! Your parents will… oh, there’ll be nothing left of you if Milah’s father sees you there! I thought that scar on your arm would have been a good reminder of that.”

“I’m not afraid of her father,” Killian laughed. His voice was husky and mocking. Emma knew very well where his confidence came from.

Elven blood.

He could easily handle a grown man, no matter how big or muscular he was.

“You can’t go there! Even Milah told you that!” insisted Kristoff.

“I don’t care.” Killian shook his head and headed for the gate again.

Kristoff stared after him for a while, panting, apparently unable to decide what to do. “Killian, wait! I’ll get my bag…”

The little blond boy slipped off in the direction of the school building. Killian, meanwhile, settled himself at the entrance and, to Emma’s small shock, lit a cigarette. If she could’ve, she’d have flicked it out of his fingers. He was too young for that sort of thing.

However, when she took a closer look, she saw that his hands were shaking, he seemed quite nervous, and his appearance, as well as his manners, made him seem much older.

“Uh… Humph! We can go!” Kristoff gasped as he finally reached Killian, more specifically through her spirit body.

She’d never get used to that.

“You really don’t have to come. It won’t be...without risk,” Killian admitted, and Emma believed that only she understood what he meant.

He could defend himself, but he couldn’t split himself in half and be there with Kristoff all the way. And if the boy wasn’t in his immediate vicinity, Killian couldn’t guarantee his safety.

“Come on!” Kristoff waved. “I want to come!”

“Suit yourself,” Killian nodded, rising from the parched ground. He dusted off his jeans, which Emma thought was completely unnecessary, and walked with quick steps to the side of the road.

“You really have a crush on her, don’t you?” Kristoff seemed to have quickly gotten over the trauma and aftermath of missing school. He stared at Killian with a grin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Killian shook his head and blew out the smoke with relish.

“Well, about Milah, who else?” Kristoff waited anxiously for Killian’s answer, but it didn’t come.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Killian glared at the younger boy.

“You don’t have to deny it! I saw you both out in the meadow by the bunker yesterday,” he reported with a triumphant smile, and to Emma’s surprise, he achieved the desired effect; Killian’s cheeks and the tips of his ears turned the color of tomatoes.

“What the bloody hell were you doing there?” His eyes widened in shock, and he quickened his steps almost unconsciously.

“Well, I was just going to the bunker because I left my sweater somewhere and I thought it was there.” Kristoff shrugged, his mouth still twisting into a smile. “But in the end, I found something completely different there,” he chuckled.

Killian narrowed his eyes.

“But I was far enough away, I didn’t see everything!” Kristoff added hastily.

“Wonderful,” Killian growled, scowling at his friend. “What did you see?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Kristoff clasped his hands behind his back and whistled softly as he stared up at the completely cloudless sky.

Emma had to admit, she was starting to like this kid, Kristoff. The little rascal knew how to get a rise out of Killian, and it was strange to see such strong emotion on his face.

“You’re starting to get on my nerves, lad,” Killian hissed.

Kristoff grinned wickedly at him and just shrugged. “Did you kiss her properly? Like in the movies?” He eagerly watched Killian’s every move.

“Aye,” Killian coughed, then watched with a forgiving smile as Kristoff punched the air with a loud cheer.

“And what else did you do?” Kristoff almost climbed into Killian’s face.

“Never mind that, you’re too young for that,” Killian grinned, blowing the smoke in Kristoff’s face who leaned away from him, coughing.

“Stinking shit-face!” he groaned, gasping for air.

“Vouyer rat!” snarled Killian back playfully

They walked along the road in silence for a few minutes and then soon turned onto a narrow, weedy dirt road. They were in a small rural town that Emma was unfamiliar with.

“I’d never dare kiss Anna,” Kristoff confessed shyly.

“Well, I wouldn’t either,” Killian laughed hoarsely, and hearing his voice, Emma wondered how long he’d been smoking.

“Are you making fun of me?” Kristoff raised an eyebrow in offense, but Killian just shook his head.

“Anna would talk your ear off before you could even reach her lips. Don’t you think she’s a little hyperactive?”

“Maybe... But she’s still the prettiest one in the class.”

“That’s one thing,” Killian waved it off, then tossed the cigarette away and stomped on it carefully.

“But still beautiful!”

“And a chatterbox,” Killian said, shaking his head.

“Does it matter? At least there’s no awkward silence.”

“Then it really doesn’t matter,” Killian laughed again.

It was weird to Emma to listen to this conversation as she slipped invisibly behind the two of them. Killian... There was just no way he was only like fourteen. She had no idea what could have happened to him, but a normal boy his age wasn’t like him.

After a good twenty-minute walk, the hundred-degree weather made it almost impossible to wring the sweat from Kristoff’s and Killian’s t-shirts.

“Do you really go out here every day?” Kristoff growled as he wiped his brow. “At least slow down a little!”

“I don’t come out here every day, her father would really kill me. Besides, we’re not far away, their house is just around the corner,” Killian replied.

Nearby, the grass was yellow from the drought, and the road was pure dust beneath their feet.

“And what’re you going to tell her?” Kristoff asked.

“I don’t know,” Killian lowered his head. “We’ll see.”

“Is it really true that her father is crazy? I’ve heard all kinds of things about him, but I couldn’t decide if it was true.”

“He is,” Killian said in a lowered voice. “One minute he was completely calm and quite friendly, and then suddenly he got angry, howling and lashing out at the things closest to him. He’s already been treated in a mental hospital, and he has also been in prison several times…”

-/-

The large but rather old-fashioned residential building included an old barracks. Several dogs were roaming around in the company of a few cats around the porch. The platform of the rusty van in the backyard was already packed, and a burly, shirtless man was in the process of dumping the rest of the suitcases onto the others.

He watched the boys’ arrival with keen eyes. He brushed his graying hair out of his forehead and stared expectantly at Killian and Kristoff with his hands on his hips. Sweat glistened in droplets on his exposed skin, his large beer belly covered in dirt.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled unkindly. It was obvious from his expression that he was already on the verge of strangling the boys with his bare hands, but for some reason he controlled himself.

“I came to see Milah,” Killian replied confidently.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have time for you, she’s packing right now. You’re in the way, we want to leave today!”

“Where are you going?” The confidence left Killian’s voice and was replaced by horror.

“We’re moving. We’re going back to England. It’ll be a better place for the girl!”

Emma could clearly see Killian’s face turning pale despite the blistering heat. His lips opened slightly and he stared at the man with widened eyes.

“Where… where’s Milah?” Killian’s hands clenched into fists again, trembling with rage, and at that moment Emma no longer feared for Killian’s safety, but rather for the man’s. If he couldn’t restrain himself, there would be trouble…

“I thought I told you to fuck off—”

“Killian!”

A girl’s stunned voice came from the direction of the barracks. She had long, dark brown hair that ended in wild curls, and her eyes were almost the same bluish-green shade as Emma’s. Emma immediately knew she was Milah.

The girl blinked at her father in alarm, then looked back at Killian.

“We’re leaving in half an hour. I don’t want to have to look for you, you know what we agreed on,” her father growled at her and set about securing the bags on the platform.

Milah sighed in relief and signaled for the two boys to follow her.

She led them into the kitchen. It was an immaculate room, but the cleanliness in no way made up for the deplorable sight of junk, old furniture, and weathered paint on the walls.

“Are you...really moving?” Killian didn’t sit down, and neither did Kristoff.

The blond preferred to slip quietly into the backyard, but Emma stayed in the kitchen, not feeling guilty for eavesdropping.

“Yes.” Milah didn’t look up at Killian.

He blinked in horror. “But why?” he snapped.

Milah flinched in fright and raised her eyes to him, almost pleadingly. “Stop yelling!” It wasn’t long before she began to cry.

“Apologies,” Killian soothingly walked up to the girl, wrapping his arms around her.

“I don’t want to leave, but Papa says nothing would become of me here. We’re moving to London and I’m going to attend an all girls school. Killian, I don’t want to leave!” she blurted out, desperately holding onto Killian’s worn t-shirt.

“You’re not going then,” he said firmly.

Milah laughed softly and leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling. “What’ve you got planned?”

“We’ll run away!”

Milah laughed even louder at his answer. “We can’t possibly! He would find us, and if he did…” she shuddered at the thought. “He would beat you up like never before…”

“He wouldn’t catch us, and you know it,” Killian grumbled heatedly, casting a startled glance outside, but Kristoff continued to pet every single animal outside and seemed to hear nothing of their conversation.

“We can’t run forever! Sooner or later we’ll get tired, especially if I’m there to slow you down.”

So Milah probably knew what Killian really was. That was interesting. Maybe she wasn’t a simple human either, that was why they were so close…

“I’ll hold out as long as it takes! He would never find us and…”

“And then what? What would we do after that? This is all foolish. When you think about it, maybe it’s best to walk away...”

“Pardon?” Killian froze at her words.

“Yesterday... He found out what we were doing in the meadow! Why do you think I’m wearing a sweater in this heat?”

“So you don’t want to see me anymore.” Killian let her go and took a step back.

“It’s not that! You’re more important to me than anything, but that’s not good. I’ve had enough, don’t you understand? I can’t take this anymore,” she raised her voice.

“Milah…” Killian’s gaze was desperate, almost pleading, watching her every move.

“What the hell is going on?” Milah’s father entered the kitchen, apparently having heard his daughter’s screaming.

“Nothing, Papa!” she replied immediately, perhaps a little too quickly.

“I let you say goodbye to my daughter, and this is how you thank me? You’re—”

“No!” Milah cried out, but her father was already marching toward Killian.

Emma couldn’t decide if she or Milah was more scared. The man didn’t care about Killian’s satisfied grin, he didn’t really know what it meant.

“He begged for hours to say goodbye to you today, I let him because we won’t be here by tomorrow. And he has the audacity to…”

“Papa, no!”

She wasn’t worried about Killian, she was worried about her father.

The man’s fist swung for Killian’s face, but a thin arm knocked the fist aside with unobtrusive speed, then Killian pushed the man back. Milah’s father fell onto the kitchen table, shattering two of its legs. The vase on the table hit the back of his head, making him even angrier, washing away his momentary shock. He jumped up, glaring at Killian, and gasped as Milah screamed deafeningly. She was already standing next to Killian, tugging at his arm in horror.

“Killian, no! Please, don’t do it! Calm down, don’t do it!”

But Killian paid her no mind. His vision seemed to be clouded, his arms tense.

“What the…?” Milah’s father blinked in confusion at the little boy, who’d just flung him away with one hand.

But nothing registered in Killian’s mind anymore, he was on the verge of losing his temper.

He pushed Milah away from him, and she hit the floor at the other end of the kitchen, knocking three chairs aside.

“You little shit! I’ll teach you a lesson!”

Milah’s father rummaged blindly in one of the boxes that stood next to the kitchen entrance. He managed to grab a knife with a blade at least twelve inches long.

Milah was lying dazed on the floor, Kristoff was about to run off into the woods, scared out of his wits as he witnessed what was going on in the house. Milah’s father scurried to Killian, and now for the first time, Emma recognized the terror in Killian’s eyes. She couldn’t really place it, because it was only a knife, and it wasn’t as if this mammoth of a man could inflict a wound on him that wouldn’t heal in ten minutes or so anyway.

Killian tried to back away, but his back hit the wall and his gaze searched for Milah. That much inattention was all the man needed. He grabbed Killian’s arm and jammed the blade into his stomach. Killian cried out and slid along the wall to the floor. Milah’s father didn’t seem to care. He scooped his only daughter into his arms and stormed out of the house. The van’s engine roared to life not long after.

Terrified, Emma knelt beside Killian, though she knew he would soon be healed and survive the ordeal. It was a horrible sight. He leaned to the side, not knowing if it was the pain or Milah’s departure that had brought tears to his blue eyes. He reached for the handle of the knife and yanked it out with a quick jerk. He groaned loudly and winced.

The knife fell from his grip and he bowed his head to the floor, his cheek resting on the cold tiles.

He had a hard time getting out of his loose t-shirt, but when he did, he pressed the garment to the wound. His chest and abdomen were snow-white, but his arms were tanned. All of his ribs were visible…

The bleeding wouldn’t subside, however, and the wound contracted. Killian soon lost consciousness, and the journey was over for Emma.

“Swan! Emma, answer me! Do you hear me? Bloody fuck!”

At first, she didn’t understand the words, they only gradually made sense and formed complete sentences. But it didn’t matter that she managed to comprehend what she was hearing, she couldn’t give an answer yet. Her head was pounding and she was having a hard time getting air into her lungs,

Something — or someone — was caressing her face, but she felt terribly cold. Goosebumps covered her body from head to toe, and then she was finally able to slowly open her eyes, and the first thing that flashed before her was Killian’s blurry face. She was still in her room, her open bags lying to her left.

Her head rested on his shoulder. He sat on the floor and she lay on his lap as he hugged her tightly.

“Are you okay, lass?” His concerned gaze searched her face, and he immediately pulled his fingers away from her cheek.

“I think so.” She nodded cautiously, then her head immediately flushed as she realized that she was still only wearing a towel.

“You’ve been unconscious for more than half an hour,” he said softly.

“Figures,” she mumbled with a nod, unable to take her eyes off his face.

She tried to recognize the sweet, broken little boy, but it was very hard to do so.

“A vision?” He still wouldn’t let go of her.

“Yeah, I think so,” she nodded again, unsure and still a bit disoriented.

She was ashamed to admit it to herself, but it felt good to be in Killian’s embrace. His anxious gaze and the reassurance of his arms around her filled her with a warmth she couldn’t explain.

“What did you see? You’ve gone pale,” Killian searched her face curiously, but she averted her eyes.

She wanted to know what had happened to him, what made him...what he was now. She was unable to put it into words.

Strange.

Special.

Kind of an old young person.

But she was afraid to ask, to dig into the past. She was scared it would open up wounds too deep and painful.

“Are you sure you want to know?” She sighed in resignation, knowing in advance what his answer would be. Reluctantly, she disentangled herself from his hold and rose from the floor, careful that the towel wouldn’t fall off her body. “Think about it.”

With that, she left him alone and marched into the bathroom. She rubbed her half-wet hair with another clean towel, no longer needing a hairdryer. As she dressed, she suddenly remembered why they’d been in such a hurry earlier.

“Killian! The funeral!” The door was nearly ripped out of its frame as she stormed out of the bathroom.

“We already missed it, Swan,” he sighed. “I talked to David, they know what happened. When they’re done, they’ll come straight here.”

“Oh…” She’d wanted to be there for Leo and she’d blown it with her stupid ability to see visions.

Killian was still cross-legged on the floor. He watched her, curiosity shining in his aquamarine eyes. “We still have some time before then, so why don’t you tell me what you saw?”

“All right,” she said, sitting down beside him. “But first, I want to ask you a few questions.”

“So my suspicions were correct. The vision was about me,” he said, frowning.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Tell me, who exactly Milah is?

Killian’s eyes widened in shock and she could see he wanted to jump up and leave, but she held his arm before he could do so. He almost pulled her up with him, but finally relented and sat back down.

Killian glared at her with his familiar, expressionless poker face. He tried to barricade himself away.

“Killian, don’t do this…”

“This is none of your business,” he said sharply.

His voice trembled with suppressed anger. But Emma could also see confusion and terror. “Tell me who she is. You always clam up when I want to talk to you about...well, you.”

“Swan, don’t, please.”

“See? You’re doing it right now!” she poked him in the chest with her finger.

“I hate talking about my past," he shook his head.

“Have you actually tried?” she raised an eyebrow.

He grimaced and shook his head again.

“Killian, I want to understand you. And I want to know what happened to you.”

“Why would you care about a repulsive beast like me?”

She knew it was inappropriate, but she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of her. Killian, repulsive, and beast? Those three words were completely different things in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but none of those apply to you,” she chuckled, feeling a tear leave her eye.

“No? Because that’s what people usually call me,” he hissed angrily.

“At first glance, your appearance and manners don’t exactly scream trustworthiness,” she remarked, still smiling. “But you only pretend not to be.

“Maybe because that’s how it is, and you’re the one who’s wrong. Have you ever thought about that?”

“No. And you’re wrong. Now answer my question,” she’s starting to feel like an interrogator.

“You don’t know me, Swan. You know nothing about me, and that’s the only reason you dare to be alone in a room with me.”

Then he jumped up from the floor and marched out the door.

Perhaps she’d succeeded in opening a more painful wound than she’d first intended. At that moment, she felt like a pathetic fool. Because let’s face it, tact wasn’t exactly her strong suit.

#cs ff #captain swan #cssns21 #cssns 2021 #captain swan ff #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #thejollyroger writer #ouat #ouat ff #once upon a time #captain swan supernatural #my fic #TWPYR #cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #emma x killian

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silvercrystalwhump · 3 years

Text

Their Not so Different Are They?

Here’s some during the time when Vince and Dmitri were just friends

Vincent Shield belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: references to sex, implied dubcon (being drunk), alcohol reference,

The warm embrace of drowning ichor.

It’s been awhile!

Lights dancing against air

Can you keep a secret?

The way hands brush against skin.

Just for tonight, got it?

Ice cold breath.

You’re absolutely gorgeous.

Poison across sheets.

You’re just perfect.

Boney, empty void.

Vincent wakes up, eyes ripping open to meet the pale tiles of a ceiling. A fan spins above him. Like an omen, it looms over him. His fingers wrap around the fibers of the bed spread. Slowly, he sits up, eyes focusing around the mirror across the room.

He’s in a hotel room.

Why am I in a hotel?

He rubs his temples and leans forward. Vincent, trying to pull together a story around him, glances to his left. The covers of the blankets were tossed off to the side.

Shit.

Vincent looks down at himself, piercing his lips. He is starkly naked.

Fuck.

Vincent glances down at the floor and sees most of yesterday's clothes scattered across the floor. He feels a wave of unease cross over him.

Why the fuck do I even so this?

He throws his legs over the side and scoops up some of his clothes. Vincent can smell the reek of alcohol, regret and something else. Pretending to ignore his mistakes, Vincent throws the clothes on as if this was a normal morning.

No one is in the room with him.

Vincent peeks just about everywhere as he bottoms up his shirt. He's tired, the kind of tired that makes you weary rather than drowsy. Everything feels slightly out of reach, his fingertips too sensitive.

He finds his phone tossed onto the small couch. Vincent sighs and plops down, grabbing his phone, and pulling up his messages.

Vincent rolls through the handful of messages he sent during his haze the night prior and one stands out.

Don't worry about picking me up, I'll have a ride in the morning.

Vincent puts his head back in his hands, dread blooming in his chest.

Looking across the hotel room, he tries to find any clue as to who he decided in his drunken stupor to sleep with. The faint ghosting of hands trailing down his spine forces him to pause ever so often.

Nothing.

The only sign being the discarded bed sheets and the soreness in his gut.

He collapses against a wall and lets himself slide to the floor. A hangover to trump all Hangovers eats as his temples.

Then his phone pings next to him.

Wanna hear something funny?

The text is from Dmitri, which is both a relief and a jab to the gut.

Sure, Vincent responds, rubbing his temples.

Have you ever seen someone fall into four dozen Boston Cream donuts before?

No.

Well yesterday night some guy, drunk off his ass, came in and demanded four dozen Boston cream donuts. He takes them and gets three steps from the door before stumbling over and falling on his donuts. There was just cream EVERYWHERE. Had to help Yasmin scrub it off. Hilarious in hindsight thou.

Vincent tisks at the mental image, cream filling covering tiles and windows. He remembers walking into Yasmin’s bakery before with Dmitri. The place smelled of warm honey.

Staring at his phone scream, he slowly types out a message. His finger hesitates over the send button. He, slowly and tentatively, presses down and the soft ping nearly sends him up a wall.

Can you do me a favor?

Vincent stares blankly down at the phone screen. Anxiety eats at his already pounding skull. His body, a quivering leaf in a hurricane of regret, feels cold even through the heater next to him.

Sure whats up

Can you pick me up?

Vincent’s mouth dries.

…

Sure. Where are you?

Before Vincent realizes it, he’s sliding into the passenger seat of Dmitri’s truck. Looking like an absolute mess of a human, he lets himself sink into the chair.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Vincent says as he messes with his pants. The slacks are so wrinkled that the place where he digs in his nails changes nothing. He can feel the fabric crinkle under his fingers, knowing how much Marie is going to have him for ruined pants.

Especially these ones, they were not cheap.

“I know,” Dmitri responds as his eyes twitch between street signs, “But I wanted to.” Something about how nonchalant Dmitri seems and how disheveled Vincent just feels off. Nobody Vincent knew would be this… uncaring for appearances. Yet, Dmitri, in an almost invisible way, takes no notice.

Vincent leans back, the muscles in his shoulder twisting into coils. He tries to fade into the soft music barely playing through the speakers. “You didn’t---” “You want some coffee?” Dmitri interrupts, as he pulls into an exit.

“You don’t have to get me anything.”

Dmitri blinks as he turns the car into a drive-through, “I know but do you want coffee?”

Vincent pauses, “I- Yeah but I’ll pay.” Vincent reaches for his wallet, vision blurring with every sudden movement.

Dmitri reaches out and stops his hand. He gives him a soft smile and shakes his head, “My treat.”

“I shouldn’t-”

Dmitri pulls into the drive-through and chuckles, “Nope, too late, I’m paying.”

Vincent tries to open his mouth but Dmitri is already ordering. He finds himself sitting tentatively under his own skin as they get coffee. He prayed silently that the cashier does not recognize him, or anyone outside of Dmitri’s truck.

I really don't want to be seen.

Vincent feels himself coil back behind his eyes again. The weight of air on his skin is just too much to bear. Each roll of the air conditioning across his skin feels too much like breath. Everything, even the hair rising on the back of his neck, just adds to the couplings of soft teeth barely grazing his mind.

Then, the air conditioning stops.

“If you were cold you could’ve just asked to turn the AC down,” Dmitri says, ripping Vincent from the flood of sensations.

“I wasn’t cold,” Vincent responds, noticing the coffee sitting in the cup holder next to him. He takes it and brings the cup to his lips, the smell of hazelnut letting him anchor.

Dmitri raises an eyebrow, “You kinda shut off and started shivering.”

Vincent looks up and blinks. They are in a completely different place, driving through winding hills in the middle of nowhere. “No no I’m just a bit hungover.”

“Oh,” Dmitri chirps as he leans back and grabs something from the seat behind Vincent, “Here, drink this.” He hands Vincent a Gatorade and returns to driving, “I have just water if you don’t do gatorade.”

“Why gatorade?”

Dmitri shrugs, “Hangovers are caused by dehydration, the brain doesn’t have enough water and usually other things too so if you drink a lot of liquids the hangover fades faster.”

Vincent reluctantly takes it and opens the cap, “You keep this stuff in your car?”

“Yeah, Samantha, one of my employees, sometimes comes in hungover so I give her one when she needs it. It kinda became a habit so I just keep them in my car. She’s a good kid so I try not to harp her too much about it,” Dmitri says as he drinks his own coffee.

After taking a sip, Vincent realizes actually how thirsty he is.

I haven’t drunk anything other than liquor since yesterday morning… and that was coffee.

“Have you ever gotten so drunk you only remember flashes of what you did the night before?” Vincent asks as he drinks all of the Gatorade.

Dmitri nods, “I did that alot in my twenties, losing yourself in the lights and all that. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve woken up in either a field, a motel 6, or in the ice box.”

Vincent looks down at the now empty bottle of Gatorade, I drank all of that? He places the bottle at his feet and makes a mental note to throw it out when he gets home. A part of him burns slightly with soured memories of liquor, scotch cologne, and envy. He rests his head back on the chair and lets out a sigh.

His thoughts, taking the wheel of his lips, just spill from his lips, “I really shouldn’t be doing shit like this, since now I have to go off of foggy memories of who I even went back there with.” Vince you’re rambling. “I don’t even remember this guy's name.” Vince, shut up. “And I wake up the next morning, knowing that I slept with him.” Shut the fuck up Vincent! “He’s not even there in the morning too, and now I have to figure out who i have to get to keep his mouth shut about me being gay and I just-”

Great, fucking great Vincent Shield, you’ve dug this grave. Now die in it.

Vincent pales, vision whitening around the edges, “I should've said that- I should’ve please don’t tell anyone. I’ll pay you but please---”

“Vee,” Dmitri says calmly, “I get it, your secrets safe with me. I remember when I was far back in the closet.”

“Wait you’re-”

“Gay, yup. I know I don’t exactly scream fruity but I am.”

Vincent feels himself relax just enough to breathe, “I- thank you, I can’t say how-”

“I get it,” Dmitri reassures, “I’ve accidentally outed myself before too. I did it to my Dad. I know the feeling and I would make a peep.”

Vincent crumples under the weight of his words. Like a cord snapping back, the whiplash of emotions feels like a beheading. “Thank you.”

Silence floods the truck. It gnaws at the ends of Vincent's fingers until they go numb. Vincent shakily reaches out and takes the coffee cup. Hoping the heat loosens the sinue of his fingers.

“So am I just dropping you off at your house or…”

“Yeah yeah, at my house.”

#forgotten to found #dmitri o'brian #vincent shield #dubcon tw #implied dubcon tw #sex mention tw #alcohol tw #vincent makes dumb decisions vol 5

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yuusa · 3 years

Text

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟐𝟏

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐𝟔𝟑𝟖

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟐𝟏:

“Eeeh?! (Y/n)-kun is sick today?” Tohru gasped while Yuki nodded.

“It seems as if she stayed out too late yesterday night.” Yuki sighed, how clumsy could you simply get by staying out until late dark without a jacket?

You were a bit overconfident when you decided to stay late at night with Machi to watch a Mogeta movie. You had been out shopping for the entire day and by the end of it, you both spotted a movie theater that was still open. Everything wasn't planned out perfectly, but that was just how Machi liked it to be, something that was spurts of interest rather than an organized meeting. Although Machi insisted that you go home to sleep for school, you told her that it was fine and that Machi looked really excited when she saw the poster for Mogeta. She felt guilty when you began to sneeze and shiver once you had left the movie theaters. Could you really say you regretted it when Machi's eyes sparkled? You would be a fool to take the road home.

Yuki sighed, this was the explanation you gave to him. You were apologizing profusely for having Yuki carry around your committee work but he simply dismissed it off, telling you that it was fine and he would be visiting your home later to deliver your homework.

“T-That’s terrible! I-I can bring over food for her!” Tohru suggested, bringing up different types of food she could make to help you recover faster.

Yuki shook his head, “it’s okay Honda-san, I’m going over to her house to give her the homework assignments. You should stay home, I don’t think (L/n)-san would want you to get sick either.”

“O-Oh! You’re right! Then, tell (Y/n)-kun that I hope she gets well!”

He smiled before stacking your paperwork on top of his. He only needed to sit through one school day and he would be able to see you after.

You sneezed and wiped your nose with a tissue, throwing it across the room and narrowly missing the trashcan by a few centimeters. You opened your small container of hand sanitizer and wiped it across your skin, the cold feeling spreading across your warm body as you laid back down in bed.

This day sucked.

You groaned as your eyes slowly fluttered shut, the need to sleep was beginning to take over your body. Your head was throbbing with pain as if someone was knocking on your head like a door, or a wood chipper bird piercing through a tree trunk. Before you could drift off completely you heard the sound of your doorbell ringing.

'Who could be at my house at this time?' You thought, completely forgetting the fact that you were actually supposed to have a guest over. You yawned and stood up from your bed, wobbling slightly as you walked towards the door, your hands touching the wall for support. You opened the door and cracked your eyes open slightly, seeing Yuki in front of your house with stacks of papers.

‘Her apartment. . . It smells even more like (L/n)-san!’ He thought, seeing your body sway side to side as you tried to rub your sleepiness away from your eyes.

You internally cried on the inside at the number of work he carried in his arms but opened the door for him to come inside, “. . . Good morning. . .”

Yuki nervously chuckled as he took off his shoes, “it’s already the afternoon (L/n)-san, why don’t you go back to bed?”

“. . . Lazy.”

“You’re lazy?”

You slowly nodded as you zombie-walked over to your table and slammed your head down, the throbbing pain of the impact was nothing compared to the unbearable heat and sickness you felt. The cold feeling of the wood soothed your stinging and burning forehead as Yuki quickly ran over to your side, almost tripping on some of the loose items on the floor.

“A-Ah are you okay?!” You gave Yuki no response as you quietly laid your head on the table, feeling tired yet hungry.

Yuki could hear your stomach growl loudly from the other side of the room, “did you eat anything today?” He asked.

You shook your head no, your forehead rubbing against the wooden material as you continued to lay your head there. Yuki smiled before opening your fridge, noticing that there wasn’t much other than vegetables and leftover chicken. He sweatdropped at the realization that he would have to cook something for you. Perhaps he should have taken up Tohru’s offer of having her cook for you, but he shook his head. It was already too late to call over Tohru for something as small as this.

“Are you okay with eating porridge (L/n)-san?” You pressed your cheek against the table, your eyes watching as Yuki searched through your cabinets for a pot. Although your room was messy, you actually kept your kitchen quite clean and tidy.

“. . . Okay.” You replied, your eyes slowly closing and opening every few seconds as you tried to stay awake.

He wrapped your apron around his body, tying a knot behind his back to secure the material. Yuki nervously began to cut the vegetables as you stared at him from a distance. He certainly wasn’t the best at cooking and it was making him feel anxious when you are staring at him, but he reminds himself that you might be dozing off in your half-asleep form. He heard you shuffle in your seat as you moved your arm to rest underneath your head, serving as a pillow while you waited for Yuki to be done. He smiled at you before returning to finish the porridge.

Although he has been at your house for quite some time, it still surprises him to see that you have nothing on your apartment walls. There were no photographs, no sticky notes, there was simply nothing hung up on the walls. You didn’t have any photos for your contacts either. He wonders if you ever took a photo of yourself that you actually kept.

He pressed his lips together as he covers the lid of the pot for the rest of the food to finish cooking. He turned around to face you, you had already fallen asleep while waiting for him. He carefully walked over to you to brush away the strands that were covering your face, revealing your peacefully sleeping form. He could hear you mumble something in your sleep but it was too quiet for him to catch with his ears.

He noticed that on your desk was a sheet of paper on top of all of your stacked books as well as the two erasers that looked newly bought. He peered over the top of the desk to see that it was the drawing he and you created when you first sat together for lunch. He reached out to pick up the paper with his pale fingers, admiring the pencil strokes and memories that were carved into thin sheets of a former tree. The image was well preserved, the strokes were not smudged and it looked the same as when you first drew it. The rat leaning up against the eagle on the trees as they peacefully slept together, his side of the drawing was messy compared to yours but you still kept it there either way. There weren’t many creases in the paper other than the one that was on the left side. He pressed his fingertips against the paper, staring at it while you slept on the table.

There was a lot that he didn't know about you.

You had no family background, no photographs in your house, nothing on your phone aside from the basic apps that were preinstalled. There was nothing about you that connected you to anyone else. You were a solo animal striving for something you couldn't see. You depended on only yourself. You had no one to pull you up from this darkness.

He wonders how the eagle would take away his burdens. Was it truly possible to rid someone else of their problems when you couldn't help yourself? The kindness Tohru showed him made him realize that perhaps there is a light in this world, her smile makes his day much brighter than it was before. However, your presence was an enigma, you made him feel as if there truly was someone else in the world who understood the same pain he felt. He doesn't understand why he feels this way to you but he does anyway.

He wants to rid you of your pain as well.

He moves up from his position, leaving the paper on top of your books to finish the porridge that finished cooking. He tasted it with the small saucer that was stacked neatly on your counter. It tasted slightly bland to him but it was the best he could do at this moment, he wasn't the best cook in the world but he wouldn't consider him to be the worst either. Yuki quietly sets up the food in front of you before hesitatingly shaking you awake.

"(L/n)-san, wake up, it's time for you to eat." You groaned and slowly opened your eyes again to see Yuki in front of you.

You could smell the porridge and you began to rub your eyes, your vision adjusting to the scene. A small, cute yawn came out of your mouth as you picked up the spoon and stared at the food. Some of the pieces of vegetables were cut unevenly and strange, the porridge itself didn't look too bad though. You took a spoonful of the porridge and began eating it, your mind still tired. Yuki thought that your lack of silence meant that it didn't taste good, which made him feel slightly concerned on the inside.

”Does it taste okay. . .?” He asked, nervously fidgeting with the edges of his clothes as he watched you continue eating.

”. . . Mmhm. . . I can’t taste anything.” You frowned as you stared at the food in confusion. You held the spoon upside down to your tongue, still trying to figure out if you were actually tasting the food or the spoon. There wasn't much flavor and some parts of it were undercooked but it wasn't completely bad. Even in your tired, half-asleep form, you still knew that Yuki had put a lot of effort into making you something despite having the chance to just order take out.

”Is that you telling me that my cooking sucks or it’s because you’re sick?” He sweatdropped.

You hummed, ”. . . Both?" Yuki felt a comedic arrow stab at his heart, this was hard coming from one of the top students in Home Economics.

You picked up another spoonful of the porridge and brought it to your lips for another bite, "But. . . Sohma-san made it for me so. . . It still special to me.”

His cheeks began to feel hot as he watched you continue eating it. He knew he wasn’t the best, it was undercooked and messy, it didn’t even taste that good, it was imperfect and yet. . . it still was enough for you. You ate it as if it was the best meal that someone had presented to you, your smile still on your face as you were halfway finished with the food. You had this strange effect on him that neither of you even realized.

You were starting to feel tired after eating, your stomach feeling satisfied as you set the spoon down and leaned back, feeling the plush material of your comforter on your back as you began to feel sleepy. Yuki stifled his laughter at the sight of you so tired.

“(L/n)-san, you should get up so you can lay down in bed.” He shuffled over to your side and brushed back your hair, wiping at the stray pieces of rice that stuck to the edges of your lips with his handkerchief, “come on.”

“. . . Okay.”

You hummed before slowly crawling into bed, listening to his soft voice as you dropped your head onto the pillows. Yuki pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, your temperature was slowly rising and he was beginning to worry. One moment he turned around to look back at the kitchen for a nearby towel, you had already fallen back asleep despite eating just minutes earlier. He sighed before quickly walking to the counter and running a towel underwater, he squeezed the remaining water out of it. He folded it into a rectangle before placing it on your forehead.

You must have been really tired from yesterday, he thought. If you were this sleepy when you got sick, he couldn’t imagine how you would last the entire day without eating or taking proper care of yourself.

”You shouldn’t have gone out so late without a jacket.” He scolded pressing his cold fingers against your hot cheeks.

”. . . Sorry. . .” You apologized weakly like a small child.

”It’s okay, wear a jacket next time.” Yuki rubbed the top of your head as you hummed.

His cheeks still felt warm as he watched you fall asleep for what seems like the third or fourth time already. He turned to look down at his phone, seeing that it was starting to get late. As much as he knows that he should go home, it doesn’t extinguish his worry about you.

What if you fell off of your bed? Or what if your temperature got worse? What if you need help getting water for your throat? There was too much that was worrying Yuki that he was starting to internally panic at the different things that may go wrong. He sighed before standing up to get a drink of water, but your hand reached out to grab onto his. He yelped as he felt you tug on him with enough force to bring his face closer to him.

'Was she always this strong?' He thought, his face beginning to burn a hot color as he felt your warm breath against his lips. Instead of waking up, you stayed unmoving in your bed, still asleep as you held onto him. He fears that you may give him a heart attack, or worse he would transform back into his rat form. He quickly pulled his face away from you, but your hand was the only thing keeping him from completely separating himself from you.

“. . . Don’t. . . Leave me.” You mumbled, stirring in your sleep as you held onto his hand, “. . . Please stay.”

His eyes widened as you intertwined your fingers with his, bringing it close to you. He slowly caressed your cheek with his fingers, watching as your eyes began to drip with small strings of tears. You flinched in response, the flow of water continuing to flow down your cheeks and onto the tips of his pale fingers.

“. . . Stay. Please. . . Don’t leave.”

He gave you a small, saddened smile, “I’m not leaving (L/n)-san.” He leaned his head on the blankets that covered your stomach, watching as your breathing began to slow down, your body relaxing slightly as he felt your fingertips rub against his palm.

How many times have you cried in your sleep? How many times have you been left behind? Did you cry like this when you slept at his house? He wants to know. He wants to know so desperately to cure the ache in his heart. You sniffled as he continued to wipe away at your tears. What sort of pain have you been through? How badly broken was your heart that you had to hide everything away?

Will you ever tell him?

He felt his eyes close as he began to drift off into sleep, the warmth of your cheeks still brushing against his skin. His phone may have rung and buzzed several times, but neither of you paid attention to the noise. There was only one thing the two of you did feel.

It was the presence of someone else by your side as you were at your most vulnerable.

#Fruits Basket #fruits basket x reader #Yuki Sohma #yuki soma #yuki sohma x reader #yuki soma x reader

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lombredanslaeu · 4 years

Text

where the heaven are we? | j. jaehyun

plot: a trip back to jung jaehyun’s childhood home triggered his memory of you. a bottle of pills a friend gave years ago aided jaehyun in finding out what happened after he left - and if your fate was all his fault.

word count: 8k

genre: romance (fluff, angst), time travel-ish! au

warnings: drug use/abuse, addiction, implied smut (not too detailed), messy af writing lol

not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes

The house was cold and quiet. Surfaces were covered with a thin layer of dust as old memorabilias of Jaehyun’s parents remained as still as yesterday. After his father’s death, Jaehyun delayed selling the house as much as he could. But opportunities for money came and he found himself filling boxes. The movers were supposed to take all the boxes tomorrow. Jaehyun only has one room left to empty: his childhood bedroom.

Pictures of him and his college friends were plastered against the walls. The bed and pillows were rid of sheets as no one was using them anyway. Jaehyun decluttered before leaving home so there was not a lot of stuff to pack. A small shoe box sat inside the empty closet. The contents of the box triggered a wave of nostalgia all over him.

The box contained letters, photos, and small trinkets. It was as if someone put his college life into a small box. An orange, translucent cylinder caught Jaehyun’s eye. Beside the cylinder was a polaroid of you - smiling, full of life.

Jaehyun stared at his reflection. The image of the man he used to be was no longer found in the reflection staring back at him. Strands of grey found themselves in his hair. His youthful skin was starting to form wrinkles. There was a slight ache on the joints of his fingers. The sensation made him realized how old he actually is. He lived a long life. He went through the highs and the lows.

“Yes, son, I already recieved the email.” He spoke through the speaker of the phone.

“How was it, dad?” The young man asked.

“Good job, Jeno.” Jaehyun complimented. “I expect more of this work soon?”

“You got it.” Jeno replied.

“I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you, dad.”

For a moment, he believed that he had done everything he needed to do in life. He had a loving wife and a smart son. The image of a perfect family hung above the staircase. That’s how life was for him; he was successful and adored. They say what matters most is what lies ahead. But Jaehyun couldn’t shrug off a memory of a girl from decades ago.

No portrait was big enough to overpower the small image of your smile. It reminded him of something that’s been unfixed for such a long time, he doesn’t know if there’s still a chance to resolve it.

Jaehyun felt weirdly tired. Perhaps it was the age talking but it was still weird since it was a Sunday and he did not have work. It was unusual for him to feel weary on a weekend. He yawned as he rest his body on the bed. His head spinned as if he was drunk. Before he could think of a thought, his eyes fluttered.

The scene was a regular day at university. Jaehyun crossed his eyebrows as he stared at his reflection in the campus restroom. His complexion was youthful - rose-colored flush spread across his cheeks. His hair was a soft shade of pink. The distant voice of Johnny Suh was heard behind a cubicle.

Where the fuck am I?

“Dude, I’m so fucking tired of taking care of your drunk asses at every party.” Johnny continued to complained. Jaehyun’s eyes widened at Johnny.

Johnny did not look like the Johnny he saw two days ago at the restuarant. The Johnny in front of him has black hair while the Johnny from two days ago had red.

“Do you even want to go to Taeyong’s party tonight?” Johnny asked. It took Jaehyun a few seconds to realize that he was being questioned. He muttered a small yes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well last night.” Jaehyun made up the excuse. He has no idea why the hell is he reliving his college self. The thought both scared and intrigued him.

Jaehyun’s mind was still drifting as they walked across the building. His nerves tingled in his fingertips. It’s been years since he last walked the campus and yet it seemed like he was also here yesterday. His eyes lit up at the sight of his college friends, clumped up at a small bench near the field.

“I’m only going if Doyoung is going.” Johnny announced.

“I already told you, everyone is going.” Taeyong answered back.

“I better not be in charge of the fucking booze again.” Taeil complained.

“Haechan will forget half of the things I’ll tell him to buy.” Taeyong rebutted.

Jaehyun stayed quiet. It hasn’t sunk into him yet that he was indeed reliving the past. But why? Was it because of the box he discovered days ago?

This is so fucking weird.

It hasn’t occured to him yet why this is happening. He leaned back at the bench and stared at the clear sky. The chaotic chattering of his friends occupied his ears. He definitely felt young. The aging burden he’s been carrying lately was liften off his shoulders.

Jaehyun’s head started to be spin. He sat straight to stabilize the world around him. Running his hands across his hair, he attempted to speak to his chatting friends. None of them seemed to notice Jaehyun’s distress. It weirded him out that Sicheng was looking at him and talking as if Jaehyun was alright. Black dots appeared in his vision. He blinked rapidly as he glanced one more time among his friends who acted as if nothing was happening. He couldn’t explain the phenomenon. It was like he’s about to faint. Only a sound of static was heard as he closed his eyes - in an attempt to stop the world from turning.

After a few seconds, Jaehyun’s heard started to feel normal. Although, a different type of sound could be heard by his ears. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at his feet. He was standing now. The color of the room was a mix of purple and red. Loud music bounced through the four walls of the room, accompanied by the shouting of people. He was at a party.

Jaehyun looked all around him. He recognized the place immediately. This was Taeyong’s house. Jaehyun felt drunk. It wasn’t the nauseating type of drunk. He felt good; he felt as if he was invincible. He only felt this way while he’s drinking with his friends. He only felt this way when he was with someone he couldn’t put a name into. Jaehyun approached Yuta who was on the couch, rolling a blunt.

“It’s weird to see Jung Jaehyun without a girl under his arm on a party.” Yuta commented. The thick smoke of the blunt covered his smirking face.

“I’m just as confused as you.” He replied.

“Have you seen the freshmen?” Yuta asked. “Boy, Johnny did not lie when he said they were hot.”

“I haven’t yet.” Jaehyun took a sip of his beer. “It’s hard to determine who’s a freshie and who’s not.”

“Taeyong made the freshmen wear a yellow bracelet.”

“Why?”

“So we know who to fuck with and who to not.”

Soon enough, Yuta became occupied with a girl who sat beside him. Before standing up to go somewhere, Yuta handed a small cylindrical container to Jaehyun. “Ten said to give this to you. He said to only take it when necessary.”

The orange, cylinder. The one he saw inside the shoe box in his bedroom. He straightened his back with his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He still wasn’t sure why the hell he’s in this timeline of his life. He was hoping he could know the answers tonight.

“Oops.” A small body collided with his strong one. The impact shook Jaehyun out of his reverie. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Jaehyun replied. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”

The girl look at his eyes. Jaehyun felt a heat rush to his ears and cheeks. He was thankful that the lights were dim or else the girl would have noticed his red ears.

“I don’t think so.” The girl replied. “I’m a trasnferee.”

“Really? From where?”

“I took my first year in Yonsei.”

“That’s quiet far from here.” Jaehyun added. “Oh, by the way, I’m Jaehyun.”

“I’m Y/N.” The girl replied, shaking his hand.

A minute ago, Jaehyun had no idea why all of a sudden, he was reliving his college life. Now, he knows why.

A ringing in his head made Jaehyun press his palms against his temples. He shook his head. It was happening again. A nauseating feeling erupted in Jaehyun’s stomach. With a fleeting second, the earth beneath him felt normal. He was almost scared to open his eyes. He was scared of what lies before him. With a gulp, he opened them.

“Come on, Y/N, back me up!” Johnny yelled at the graphic video game in front of him.

“Ugh! There’s so many orcs on my way!” You screamed back.

“Johnny, you’re supposed to heal us too.” Jaehyun complained. Why the hell did he know what to say and what to do in a video game he hasn’t played in decades? “Not just you!”

“Attack, attack, attack!” Johnny commanded.

A series of keyboard clicking erupted through the living room of Johnny’s house.

“Yes!” You all exclaimed as “victory” presented on the screen of your laptops.

“Damn, I’m beat.” You announced, leaning back on the couch.

“I wish we could stay this way forever.” Jaehyun spoke. “Just carefree nerds battling orcs.”

“Who said we’re nerds?” Johnny faked an offending face.

“Yeah, we’re just some college kids who decided to reward their hardwork with these childish games.” You replied.

“I’m proud of you and Johnny for winning the national debate.” Jaehyun said with a huge grin on his face.

“I’m glad I met you guys.” You said wholeheartedly. The men beside you sent gagging sounds over your cheesy sentiment. You playfully punched their arms as you prepared yourselves for another night of video games.

Jaehyun wasn’t supposed to take it but he needed to see you again. It has been a week since he rediscovered the pills Ten gave him. He didn’t know if this could affect his health. He didn’t even know if Ten is still alive. He didn’t know if the pills were legit, if they were expired, or if it was some bad drugs that Ten disguised as magic pills. All he knew was there has always been a hole in his soul. All because of you. For the past years of his life, he wondered what would have happened if things didn’t turn out the way they did.

Memories of you suddenly flooded his mind. The image of your soft hair hitting his face as you frolic through the field together. The warmth of your arms as you hug him out of the blue. Most importantly, he remembered your loyalty. It all came back to him now.

He really shouldn’t have done it but he could only do so much now that one of Ten’s pills was already sitting in his stomach.

His head felt light. The world around him seemed to double as he tried to shake out of it. His fingers felt rigid but his legs were wobbly. Swaying left and right, Jaehyun could hardly make it back to his room. He expected to collapse on to the cold tiles of his bathroom floor but a soft mattress welcomed him instead.

Pill #1

This time, the scenario was happening inside one of the campus libraries.

Wow. So Ten’s pills really do work.

Jaehyun felt selfish. He felt bad that he was running away from his current life to see you again. What else was he supposed to do? He was given the opportunity to fix an unsolved bridge in his past. He’s not letting this time slide.

“I hate this subject so much.” You complained. The table that you and Jaehyun shared was trashed with different variations of papers and pens.

“Come on, what is it about?” Jaehyun asked.

“Something about quarks and photons.” You groaned and rest your head on your palms.

“It’s not that bad. Look,” Jaehyun said. He took a scratch paper and a pen. “It says here that photons aren’t considered as a matter because they don’t have mass. Quarks, however, have mass.”

“Therefore, photons aren’t made up of quarks.” You concluded.

“See? It’s not that bad.” Jaehyun teased.

You glared at his smug face. He chuckled and looked at his phone. There was a message from Jungwoo.

Jungwoo Kim [4:45 pm]: wow lover boy’s on the move

Jaehyun [4:46 pm]: Wtf?

Jungwoo Kim [4:48 pm]: I know about your little crush on Y/N

Jungwoo Kim [4:48 pm]: DO NOT WORRY. ur secret is safe with me ;)

He shook his head at his friend. Jaehyun leaned back at his chair. His eyes remained on your slouching figure. Your brows furrowed as you tried to slow an equation. Your hair swayed in the wind caused by the large fan on the ceiling. Jaehyun hated what happened between the two of you. He was worried, however, about how far each pill could take him. He only had 4 remaining pills left. It boggled his mind how the pills could determine how far in the past it could take Jaehyun.

“You hungry?” Jaehyun asked all of the sudden.

You were taken aback. But it would be a lie to say that you didn’t find Jaehyun attractive. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure that how beautiful he is.

“Yeah.” You replied. “Getting quiet tired of all these studying.”

You fixed all your scattered belongings on the table. The sun was still out despite the time being late into the afternoon.

“It’s a Friday.” You announced. “Don’t you have any plans you should be preparing for right now?”

“The guys are taking it easy this weekend.” Jaehyun answered. “There’s a lot of exams coming up.”

“Wow, for such party people, you sure are responsible.”

“Hey, it’s not easy being a business management major.” Jaehyun’s response made you laugh. “What made you take up physics?”

“I like the universe.” You replied. “More than that, I like how there’s still so much left to be answered. What causes things to function they way they do? What happens inside a black hole? Can you get out? When will the universe reach its unevitable end and what happens after that?”

Jaehyun watched you as you rant on and on about why you chose to study that. He saw the gleam in your eyes as the skies washed your face with its golden light.

“I hope I can live long enough to know the answers.”

The last few words of your sentence bounced back and forth. The golden skies whirled and Jaehyun waited for it to happen again. As if bracing for impact, he held his head between his hands and closed his eyes.

“A little birdie told me that you have a little crush on someone.” You were wearing a yellow sun dress.

The meadow behind you was filled with flowers matching the color of your dress. The skirt of it flowed through the wind as you held your head to keep your hat from flying.

“What? What crush?” Jaehyun stuttered.

“Come on, Jaehyun, who’s the lucky girl?” You looked at him with doe eyes.

You.

“I’ll tell you once I ask her out.” Jaehyun replied.

“Ugh,” You groaned. “How about this: I tell you who my crush is and you tell me mine.”

“Deal.” Jaehyun wanted to slap himself for agreeing.

“I have a crush on Johnny.” You confessed.

Jaehyun felt a pang in his chest. You like Johnny. Of course, you would. Johnny is a sweet and smooth guy. He tried his best to hide his frown.

“Oh.” Jaehyun muttered. “Well, I like Mina.”

You smiled sweetly at him, clearly impressed with yourself that you got him to confess. You turned your back from him as you frolic in the field. Jaehyun could only watch your swaying figrue as you drift farther and farther away.

Jaehyun woke up in cold sweat. The shine was starting to shine through the windows. He groaned as he sat up in the bed. He glanced over the bedside table. There stood two photo frames - one of him and his wife and one of his son. The death of his wife was followed shortly by the death of his father. Jaehyun loved Adelaine. She was a woman of psychology - respected and adored by many. He lifts the frame and looked at their young and smiling faces. Jaehyun was happy. He lived a happy life, with a loving wife and a smart son. His smile soon fell as he remembered his dream last night.

“Tought night?” Kun slipped a cup of coffee on Jaehyun’s desk.

“Nah.” Jaehyun replied, getting the cup. “Just watched some movies until it was 3:00 pm.”

“Is this what living alone does to a man?”

“Shut it, Kun.” Jaehyun growled.

‘I’m just kidding.” Kun laughed. “Hey, you ready to meet the physicists this afternoon?”

Jaehyun could only swallow bitterly.

Your hopes and dreams lingered in Jaehyun’s mind. For the longest time, he believed that you, among many of his friends, were one of the reasons behind the darkest days of his life. He believed that the reason the universe made him rediscover the shoe box was to remind him of why he should think that way. Aside from your hopes, your laugh echoed through Jaehyun’s brain. All of a sudden, he felt guilty for having to experience the joys of life. He figured that if he became happy, you should be too.

Many reunions came along and he never found you in any of them. He would ask your mutual friends where you were - if you were still alive. They all answered the same thing: “I don’t know.” It was as if you never existed. A part of him wanted to believe that you were gone; probably to alleviate the guilt and pain. Besides, there’s no reason for you to ditch all reunions and disappear from the face of the earth. A bigger part of him believed that you just moved on with your life - whether still with vices and or without. He wanted to know what happened. He wished he gave his younger self a chance to turn and see you one last time.

He was definitely swallowing another pill tonight.

Pill #2

The pain felt fresh. In real time, it would have been 30 years since Jaehyun’s parents dropped the news about their divorce. Right now, the pain in Jaehyun’s chest was stinging. In real time, he would have forgotten the words his mother threw at his father. But right now, it still rings in his ears as if he just heard it an hour ago.

“I wish I could do something, bud.” Ten spoke silently beside him.

Jaehyun could only smile. The divorce was something Jaehyun carried with him throughout his whole life. He was afraid of failing at marriage, he was afraid of hurting his children.

“It’s okay, Ten.” Jaehyun replied.

“You know what,” Ten went to one of his drawers and pulled out a small, clear bag. “I’m not sure if you’re gonna agree, but I can assure you this takes away the pain.”

Jaehyun could only stare as Ten emptied a bag into the table. He took his school ID card to form the powder into a thin line. After rolling a piece of paper, he used it to connect the powder to his nostril. The scenario enticed Jaehyun. With the pain he was feeling right now, he wanted to feel something. Before he knows it, he was laying on his back with a burn in his left nostril.

Jaehyun’s mind felt hazy. It was as if he was seeing stars and flying amongst them. He no longer felt the ache of his parents’s divorce, he no longer remembers their arguing. It was as if the universe fell into place. He saw stars, he saw constellations, he saw galaxies. And most importantly, he saw you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A dazed Ten spoke beside him.

“Y/N.” Jaehyun replied.

He saw you beside him, under him, in front of him. He saw you laughing, smiling, frowning.

A female’s laughter entered the scene. Jaehyun’s vision blurred as the world began warping in front of him. Ten’s body was slowly disappearing from Jaehyun’s vision as he saw a wide, white light. The burn from the light caused Jaehyun to shut his eyes close. When everything felt stable again, he slowly opened them.

This was another scene. He remembers this time like the back of his hand. How he hated every memory of it for it was the start of your ruin. He looked over you as blood left his face.

You threw your head back, forcing the white powder to hit deeper in your system. You looked over a dazed but still beautiful Jaehyun. You laid down beside him.

“Did I do it right this time?” You asked him.

“Yeah.” Jaehyun answered.

You were only looking up at the beaten and growning ceiling. However, little specks of glitter appeared everywhere. The glimmer of the specks shined as they doubled in size and in quantity.

“Can you see that?” You inquired.

“What?” Jaehyun looked over at your amused side profile.

“The stars. I can see them.”

Jaehyun looked up once more at the ceiling. The brightest star was already shining beside him.

“I see it.” Jaehyun answered, still basking in your beauty.

Soon enough, you felt as if your body was floating. You felt as if you could touch the stars. You raised one hand up to touch one of the specks but it vanished at your touch.

“Where the heaven are we?” You spoke.

Jaehyun’s chest began to tighten. In the center of your made up universe emerged a black hole. Jaehyun leaned forward and let it take him.

“I don’t know.” You responded gingerly.

“Come on, Y/N.” Jaehyun insisted. “This would be last one for the week.”

It’s only Wednesday and yet you already wasted Jaehyun’s one week supply of drugs. Johnny shook his head besides him.

“Jae, maybe you should take a break for now.” Johnny suggested.

“But I need an extra boost to finish that history essay!” Jaehyun reasoned out.

His sentiment made you remember why you got an A+ on your essay about quantum mechanics. You remembered the feeling and suddenly, you were craving for it.

“This is the last one for the week, okay?” You said, igniting joy in Jaehyun.

Johnny looked over his friends. In a few years, he would beat himself for doing nothing. Right now, all he did was walk away.

Darkness was slowly introducing themselves in Jaehyun’s vision. It was a signal for another time wrap. Although his nerves went array, he still prayed that it would take him back to a time where you’re sober. The world stabilized itself but the image in front of Jaehyun punched him in the chest.

A bottle of vodka in one hand and a syringe in one. Your once plush cheeks was starting to hollow. The red tint of the lipstick your wore was struggling to hide the blue. You look miserable, but you felt happy. You looked over at Jaehyun - the beautiful man that is Jung Jaehyun.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your voice was coarse and deep, but it still had the sweetness to it.

Jaehyun looked over your features again. He felt miserable but all he did was smile.

“I like you a lot.” Jaehyun confessed. He does. He adored everything about you. In 30 years, Jaehyun could only remember so much yet he remembers everything about you.

“I like you too.” Your response made Jaehyun rise from his seat. The feeling of your lips against his was something he yearned for decades. And he felt it now.

Sparks exploded between you and Jaehyun.

“What took you so long to do that?” You asked.

“Never had the chance.” He replied.

All he did was blink. All Jaehyun did was sigh and blink. All of a sudden, the scenario changed before him.

“I want more! I fucking want more!” You exclaimed.

The bags under your eyes were darker than it was just seconds ago. Your hair was also shorter, falling just below your collar bones.

“Why are you just standing there? I fucking want more!” You screamed, thrashing around in a chair.

“I can’t give you more until you finish your essay.” Jaehyun warned.

“Fuck that essay!”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened. Just months ago, you were so passionate about physics. You could do an essay or answer an equation in a snap. Now, you couldn’t do anything.

Your mouth felt dry and your throat was coarse. There was a insatiable thirst that water can’t seem to fix. You held your head with your palm as you stare into your lap. This wasn’t you. Just seconds ago, you felt infinite. Now, you just felt empty. You needed more but the rational part of your brain screamed no. You wanted to feel something, to feel alive. That’s why the next thing Jaehyun knew, you were kissing him with all your might.

The force of your lips againts his gave Jaehyun the signal to lead you to the bedroom. It was beyond Jaehyun’s morals to fuck you while you’re high but he couldn’t find any other way to silence you. The soft mattress was soon adorned with scattered clothing and two lovers. Each sensation of Jaehyun inside you drove you to a frenzy, it gave you a feeling of bliss that you never felt before. You loved the stars, you love the galaxies. Tonight, you didn’t have to be an astronaut to see the universe unfold before you.

“I want to live with you forever.” You whispered against Jaehyun’s lips.

Jaehyun clinked his glass with Johnny. The dark whiskey swirled inside the glass as Jaehyun started at his aged reflection.

“Hey, Jae?” Johnny called out to him.

“Yeah?”

“Do you still remember Y/N?”

Johnny’s question made Jaehyun’s heartbeat race. The memories of his time exploration last night was enough to answer Johnny’s question. But Jaehyun refused to tell Johnny all about it. The older man would probably just conclude it as an “aging hallucination.”

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

“I still wonder what happened to her.” Johnny answered. “It was as if she vanished from everyone’s memory.”

“Me too.”

“Did you regret it?”

“What?” Jaehyun looked at Johnny, confused.

“Did you regret getting her into drugs?” Johnny said. There was a hint of sterness in his tone.

“What kind of question is that, John?” Jaehyun retorted.

“I’m just wondering.” Johnny took a sip of his whiskey before continuing. “If she hadn’t started drugs, who knows where she would be right now.”

“Are you blaming me?” Fury was starting to ignite within Jaehyun.

“I’m not?” Johnny asked. “But based on your reaction, I have a feeling you do regret what you did to her.”

Perhaps Johnny was right. The reason why Jaehyun still chooses to reminisce his days with you was because he blamed himself for what happened to you. But that’s not something he will admit, not even to his best friend.

Pill #3

This time it was different. Instead of Jaehyun living as the past Jaehyun, he couldn’t do anything but watch as his old self seat in front of the university dean - as if he was a bystander in his old life. He tried to catch the attention of the old Jaehyun, but it was as if he wasn’t even there.

“Do you know that this could get you kick out from the university?” The dean spoke with anger laced in his voice. “When did you even start?”

“5 months ago.” Jaehyun replied with a small voice.

“Look, I’m only giving you another chance because your father is a benefactor of this university.” The dean leaned in, emphasizing every word he said. “If I caught you slipping one more time, it’s over for your stay in the university.”

All Jaehyun did was watch the dean with furious eyes. He wanted to scream but he knew that he wouldn’t get anything good out of it. The dean’s warning went through one ear and out the other. He huffed before leaving the office. Anger rushed through every vein in his body.

Outside the office, you fiddled with your thumbs. The Johnny was beside you who busied himself by kicking rocks off the pavement. Your licked your extremely chapped lips. No amount of lip balm could smooth them away. It was starting to worry you; the whole fiasco of your life falling apart worried you. You wanted to quit, but you didn’t want to leave Jaehyun alone.

“How did it go?” You asked once you saw Jaehyun come out from the office.

“They’re giving me one last chance.” He replied. He took your hand in his and rubbed his thumb on the back of it. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Dude, this is getting worse.” Johnny said quietly. He was geniunely concerned for the welfare of his two friends.

“Johnny, if you have nothing else better to do than blame me,” Jaehyun cocked his head in bubbling anger. “Then just fucking go away.”

Johnny clenched his jaw at Jaehyun. He knew better than fighting with Jaehyun since it could lead to more trouble. He trudged his feet away from the two of you.

“He was only trying trying to help.” You said, carefully.

“So, you’re on his fucking side now?” It was you he was cocking his head at.

“No,” You defended. “Of course not. Look, let’s just go home.”

The walk back to his dorm was quiet. It wasn’t filled with deep talks and laughter as it used to. It was filled with anxiety and trembling fingers. The cold air of Jaehyun’s room greeted your frail body.

“Jaehyun,” You called out to him. “I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

“What?” he turned around to face you. “What do you mean? You don’t want to see me again?”

“No! I do want to see you again.” You replied. “It’s- We have to quit, Jaehyun.”

Tears were forming in your eyes as you whispered the last sentence. You fear that he wouldn’t understand. You wanted so bad to say that it was his pain that caused this.

“We’re hurting people, Jae.” You whispered. “We’re about to hurt ourselves.”

“You don’t understand, Y/N.” Jaehyun said. “You don’t understand anything.”

“Jaehyun, trust me, I’m trying to understand you.” Your voice was starting to shake. “But, this is ruining us.”

“No, we’re not quitting.” Jaehyun said firmly. “This isn’t ruining who we are. You said you felt happy. Did you lie?”

The response he got was your first sob. This was the first time you sobbed in front of Jaehyun. You were vigorously shaking your head, trying to get him on the same page as you.

“I’m failing my classes, Jaehyun.” You held back a sob. “I’m losing who I am. I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore.”

“You’re still the Y/N I love.”

“You did this to me!” You exclaimed, your voice accompanied with your cries. “You did this to me, Jaehyun. I can’t do this anymore.”

“And now what? You’re gonna leave me?” Jaehyun’s eyes was starting to water themselves. “Okay. Go on. Leave me.”

“Why do you keep on doing this to me?” You were running out of energy to fight.

“What?”

“Everytime I try to help you out of this, you just turn the game against me.”

“Why the hell is everyone portraying me as the bad guy here?” Jaehyun’s tone turned louder. “It’s not my fault my parents fucking divorced and it made me fucking messed up!”

“Jaehyun-” He cut you off.

“You will never understand anything, Y/N.”

“Why do you act as if you’re the only one with all the problems here?” You tried to match the angry tone of Jaehyun, even though it was scratching your throat. “Do you even remember that you were the one who get me into drugs?”

“It’s not my fucking fault you were too much of a coward to resist, Y/N.”

His sentence broke you. All of the patience and the temper you held for him - in understandin him - vanished in a snap. Tears were falling like thunderstorms on your cheeks. Slamming the door behind you, you walked far away from Jaehyun’s dorm.

Watching from a safe distance, the present Jaehyun remembered this scene all too well. The betrayal he felt in his heart. He wanted so bad to run and get in between you and the old him. He wanted so bad to tell you that he was willing to quit.

With present Jaehyun watching you from a far, he saw that you bumped into Johnny near the campus.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Johnny held your wrists. “What the fuck happened?”

All you did was cry on his chest. Johnny tightened his grip around you as he let the front of his shirt be soaked with your angry tears. Jaehyun watched - his admiration for his best friend only blossomed. Somehow, he wished that it was Johnny you fell in love with.

“Will things ever be okay for us?” You whispered.

“It will.” Johnny answered. “I promise you, it will.”

He was willing to do lose his happiness for you. All he could do, however, was wish it was what the old him was thinking.

Pill #4

Just like the last time, Jaehyun could only watch. He could only watch as you tossed and turn in your bed, sobbing your eyes from the pain. Jaehyun wished you were crying because of him, but he’s entirely certain you weren’t.

You wish you listened to Johnny. The amount of times he held you and Jaehyun from returning to drugs. You felt magical, that was your argument. All your life, you wanted to feel something.

You laid in your bed, it was the only thing you could do for now. Your spine felt like it could snap into two whenever you attemp to sit or stand up. There was a crawling feeling behind your face and you wanted so bad to peel your face and scratch it off.

“Make it stop, oh my god, make it stop!”

All you could do was cry. Your whole body was in pain, it was burning, aching, pounding all the same time. Your tongue swirled around your mouth to find something moist. You pressed your fingertips on your cheeks again as the crawling sensation was getting worse. You were restless but all you wanted was to sleep. The pounding in your head worsened each breath you take.

All you did was cry. And all Jaehyun could do was watch in pain. You screamed and screamed, hoping someone outside your door would hear you. Two girls came bursting through your room door as they scurried to call 911.

“Oh my god, Y/N, what happened?” A girl who Jaehyun remembered as Nayeon asked you in panic.

“Kill me! Oh god, kill me!” You pleaded, your voice scratching.

A boy came and carried your heaving body outside the door.

This was a scene Jaehyun never saw. It was as if the pills was nothing more than just a punishment for abandoning you. He cursed at himself for ever thinking that he could save you.

There was a stabbing pain through Jaehyun’s chest. The area where his forearm meets his wrist had a piercing sensation. The world was closing in on Jaehyun’s body. And he let it.

Jaehyun knew what happens next. 30 years ago, he was admitted to the hospital for overdosing on drugs. He knew that you were staying on the floor beneath his. Yet, he did nothing. He didn’t check up on you, he didn’t contact your parents to find out if you were even alive or responding. Jaehyun had many regrets in his life, but he could never find one regret that he resents more than that one.

“Hey,” Jaehyun slowly entered Johnny’s office.

“Hey.” Johnny responded. The argument from last night was still lingering between the two man.

“Look, Johnny, I’m sorry.” Jaehyun started. “It’s just that what happened during that time in college was really hard to me.”

“I know, Jaehyun.” Johnny said. “I’m sorry I even brough Y/N up.”

“I appreciate your concern for me, John.” Jaehyun reassured. “It’s not your fault I couldn’t own up to my mistakes.”

“I just miss her, you know?” Johnny stared at the whiskey in front of him. “I wish she was here celebrating accomplishments with us.”

“I miss her too, buddy.” Jaehyun whispered. “It hurts not knowing where she is or if she’s even alive right now.”

“I remember going to arcades and flower field with her.”

Jaehyun could only nod and smile at his best friend. What happened back in college was something sensitive even between close friends. Jaehyun only stayed friends with a few people from college.

“I feel like we need let the memory of Y/N go.” Jaehyun spoke again, breaking into a sincere smile. “I don’t know if we’ll ever see her again but all I could do right now is pray that she’s happy and well.”

“You really think we can’t see her again?” Johnny’s demeanor showed remorse.

“I don’t think she’ll want to see me again, anyway.” He replied.

Pill #5

The eerie sound of a machine beeping filled Jaehyun’s ears. The first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was the horizontal lines of light in the ceiling. He squinted before looking around the room. A doctor clad in a white coat was besides the hospital bed.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Jung?” The doctor asked, shifting his eyes from Jaehyun and back to his clipboard.

“Uhm, I’m thirsty.” Jaehyun spoke. “And a bit groggy.”

“I’ll run a few test first before I could speak on your condition.” The doctor said. “For now, I’ll have someone come up with water. Please rest now.”

Jaehyun nodded. He laid his head back into the pillow, squinting his eyes from the light. Before the doctor could leave, he turned around and said, “This is your last chance, Mr. Jung.”

Jaehyun remained stagnant over the doctor’s sentence. Last chance at living? He knew that. He knew that he overdose and if he did it again, it would cost him his life. The doctor’s last words remained in his mind. He wasn’t sure if he remembers that happening years ago.

“Hey, buddy.” Johnny entered the room slowly.

“Hey.” Jaehyun’s eye lit up at the sight of his friend.

“How are you?” The look on Johnny’s face wasn’t something Jaehyun expected. A blurred red rim around his eyeballs and his eyelids looked swollen.

“Have you been crying?”

“Of course I am! I just received a message that you overdosed! What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“I’m sorry for lashing out the last time.”

“It’s alright.” Johnny said. “I’d rather have you mad at me than you dead.”

“You’re the best, Johnny.” Jaehyun chuckled.

“Y/N is just under this floor.” Johnny said out of the blue. “Do you want to visit her?”

“No.” The answer was automatic - as if Jaehyun didn’t have to think before muttering an answer.

“I’m guessing things didn’t end well between the two of you?”

“It’s for the best.” Jaehyun revealed.

“Why the hell do you not want to visit her downstairs?”

I saw her suffer.

“I don’t know.” Jaehyun sighed. “I promise I’ll talk to her once I’m out of here.”

Jaehyun felt his eyelids became heavy. He laid back as the world spinned around him one last time.

Jaehyun was walking. A second ago, he remembered falling asleep in the hospital bed. The next thing he knew, he was with father, walking towards the exit of the hospital. As he walk through the hallways, he passed by the room you were assigned to. A doctor pushed her way into the door of the room. The gap made by her action gave Jaehyun a small glimpse of what was inside. Tubes and machines were attached your face. The brief glimpse failed to give Jaehyun a look if you were awake.

He turned away. Y/N wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.

Each step he took reminded him of something you said.

“I like the universe.” Step.

“I like you too.” Step.

“I want to live with you forever.” Step.

“Make it stop!” Step.

“Where the heaven are we?” Step.

Jaehyun glanced back at the hospital gate. His breathing deep but steady. The cold, winter breeze pushed back against his rigid body as he stared into the clear doors of the hospital. It was a battle; his legs telling him to run through the gates but his mind didn’t cooperate. A rational part of his brain told him to go back but he did the opposite, pivoting towards the parking lot where his dad was headed.

Jaehyun’s heart tightened, his eyes threatening to let the tears go. Finally, he realized why the hell he was reliving the past. All his life he wanted to know what happened to you. Now, here he is - outside the same hospital he last heard you were in. He was a few steps away from the answers. A summer image of you with the brightest smile flashed before him. He wanted to go back. His vision was starting to go black. With rapid breaths, he turned around. The black dots where getting larger but he fough through it. He blinked and swing his head, hoping it could stop the world was falling in front of him.

As he was about to push the gates open, the world turned dark.

Jaehyun couldn’t believe it. He had one shot of finding out and yet he screwed it up. He let out a painful groan on his pillow. He scurried back to the bathroom and messily searched for the orange cylinder.

Empty.

The chances were out.

“Fuck!” He gripped the roots of his hair in frustration.

Jaehyun leaned on the sink and took deep breathes. The pain was dormant for the longest time now, and then suddenly it erupted like hot lava. It burned all corners of his heart - even corners that belonged to Adelaine.

Jaehyun could only weep, as the aching hole in his heart stinged worse than before.

The river reflected the tall buildings of the city. A pink hue was starting to paint all over the wide skies. There is a great big world out there. He sighed as he reminisced his life. The laughter, the tears, the heartbreak - every single bit of what happened molded Jaehyun into the man that he is now. A man that new more than solving problems with bigger problems. It wasn’t easy cutting strings with stuff that made you feel limitless. But this is the real life - you are finite. No amount of liquor or grams of drugs could ever change that. There are definitely areas in Jaehyun’s life that he wished he could change. However, that would mean he never grew as a person. If Jaehyun could bring back one last thing before he returns to dust, it would be a chance to see you again. The age old question of where you are now was still unanswered. Some hoped you were alive, some decided to close that chapter of their lives completely. Jaehyun hovered the pen over the blank piece of paper.

Dear Y/N,

How are you? I hope life made you well. This is Jung Jaehyun. Do you remember the time you told me about why you decided to study physics? I hope you’re on your quest towards the answers to your questions. I am more than happy that the magnetic force of the earth helped me meet you. It’s not gonna be long until one of our bodies combust into nothing but stardust. And until then, I am eager to meet you again.

You met me at a happy point in my life. I was a promising student with a clear record. You were there during my peak and you were there when I collapsed. You know what? I don’t think I was happy I ever met you. If I didn’t know you, you wouldn’t have collapsed with me. Who knows where you would be if the addiction never happened. When you asked me if things were ever going to be okay for the both of us, I wish I never said yes. I wish I never promised you that things will get better because I am living in constant guilt that it only happened to me. Where are you now, Y/N?

I remember thinking to myself that I wanted to die before I turn 30. I joked about how I don’t have to worry about wrinkles because I really didn’t think I was gonna live beyond 25. But, the moment you told me you wanted to live with me forever - it made me think twice. You said you wanted to live with me forever - I don’t care if we’re lovers or friends - then, where are you now, Y/N?

Johnny, Taeyong, and Jungwoo misses you a lot. Why didn’t you come to the reunions? Did I hurt you that much? You should have come for them anyway. Johnny and Jungwoo still lives in the city. If you’d like, you can always visit them.

For all the things I’ve done, Y/N, I am so sorry. If I could turn back time once more, I would have done anything. In our next life, can you promise me that you’ll find me and tell me it’s alright? There’s still so much questions I cannot answer. My heart will always yearn for you.

What the hell happened to you? Where the heaven are you, Y/N?

Love, Jaehyun.

a/n: was this too messy??? anyway, feedback is always appreciated. if there are any plotholes or mistakes, pls let me know. i wrote this at the crack of dawn so. i hurt my wrist writing this fucking story lol i hope u liked it

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