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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

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Geralt Takes You to Kaer Morhen....

A/N: Soooo this is like a mix of the Witcher 3 and the netflix show…. If that irritates you, I’m sorry but I have grown impatient and I need the wolves and Yen and Ciri and Jaskier in the keep being one big dysfunctional family. You can fight me if you don’t like it. I hope I got Eskel, Vesemir, and Lambert’s characters right. I’m new to writing them and I feel a little uneasy but I really want to write them because I love them.

-The witcher was known to stop in your village once a year. He’d come when the weather cooled down, just after the leaves turned colors but before all had fallen from the trees. Just before the harsh winter came, he’d ride in on his brown mare. He’d take her to the stables before coming to the inn you worked at. It was almost routine. The stableboy would ask if he was going to see you, the sister to the man who owned the inn and tavern. The stableboy already knew the answer, he just wanted an excuse to talk to the famed White Wolf.

-The first time you met Geralt, a frost had covered everything outside. The air was bitter and frigid, but the warm fire in the tavern just below the inn was welcoming and inviting. The night was slow. There were few patrons in the tavern. You were bored out of your mind, leaning against the bar counter as you surveyed the room. You spotted the witcher sitting alone. He looked lonely and deep in thought, his brow furrowed together as he gazed down at the mug in his hand. -You decided to offer him company. At first, he was wary of you and of your intentions. He didn’t want company and he definitely didn’t want a talkative person around. He just wanted to be left alone. But something about you was different. Your smile was honest and your eyes were kind. The two of you chatted for most of the night. Well, you mostly talked. He just listened. He was a good listener. -The two of you parted ways when the sun came up. You were sad to see him go. He was good company. He definitely didn’t seem like the brutish and terrifying beast many made him out to be. -You didn’t see him again for an entire year. You welcomed him with a friendly and familiar smile. The two of you shared drinks and conversation, then you went up to his room to share a bed. You never would’ve thought he’d be so…. soft and comforting. He was a passionate lover. Scratchy kisses and firm carrasses. Even afterwards, he held you close, taking in your sweet scent and listening to your heartbeat. -”Are you leaving in the morning?” You couldn’t help but ask him. You looked up at him. He answered with a low hum. You placed your cheek on his chest, savoring the moment that wouldn’t last forever. His cool, calloused fingertips brushed up and down your spine. -You fell asleep even though you had fought to stay awake. When you woke up, he was gone. Any trace of the witcher disappeared with him. The clothes of his that had been left scattered on your way to the bed, they were gone. His bags were gone. He was gone. -You found yourself counting down the days, eager to see the witcher again. As winter drew near, you were always looking around the tavern, always searching for his white hair. -He arrived after midnight covered in blood and sporting new scars. You offered him a free drink, trying to contain your happiness with seeing him. He allowed you to help him with his wounds. He wanted your soft touches and your gentle smile. -The both of you sat in your room within the inn. He asked of what you’d been doing for the last year and you gave him the boring details. He was the only excitement in your life. You treasured his company and yet you barely knew the man. After he was fixed up, the two two of you settled in bed together. He was tired, barely able to keep his eyes open. You talked and talked until he fell asleep. -When you woke up, he was still in bed with you. He was on his side facing you, gazing at you with those warm yellow eyes. -”You’re still here.” You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips. He hummed softly. You reached out to brush a few pieces of his hair behind his ear. -He didn’t stay much longer when you woke up. You helped him pack up and you walked with him down to Roach. There, you shared a tender parting kiss. Then you watched him leave on Roach. -Three more years passed. He’d come just before winter. Instead of getting his own room, he began to stay with you. You did your damnedest to stretch out the time you had with him, but he was always adamant on leaving. He never gave an explanation but you didn’t really push for one. He didn’t stay long because he didn’t want to be tied down, you assumed. He didn’t want responsibilities. So you did your best to not appear clingy. -The seventh time you saw him was just like any other. You spent the night underneath warm blankets. Geralt turned over on to his side, propping his head up on his fist. You turned your head to look at him. “What?” -He doesn’t answer you immediately. “Come to Kaer Morhen with me.” -You sat up and furrowed your brows together. “What?” -Every winter, I pass through here to get to Kaer Morhen. It’s a witcher’s keep in-,” “I know what it is, Geralt. I’ve heard the stories.” You paused, eyes staying locked with his. Your heart began to beat faster and faster. “You want me to come with you?” “Yes.” -You didn’t even have to think about an answer. You wanted to leave your hometown, to see what else the world had to offer. -In the morning, the two of you set off for Kaer Morhen. You were on your horse, a white mare, riding behind Geralt. You weren’t entirely sure where he was leading you too. The woods seemed so dense and even though the foliage had died with the winter season, you could still see life in the woods. There were deer and goats and wolves and a handful of bears you saw on your journey to the keep. -When the path became wide enough for your horse to move alongside Geralt’s, you moved closer to him. You couldn’t help but worry about what would be waiting at Kaer Morhen. -”Is…. Is anyone else going to be there?” You asked him, glancing over to the witcher. He didn’t look away from the path ahead as he nodded. “Other…. Other witchers? I-I only ask because I’m…. I guess I’m a bit nervous. Are they like family to you? You’ve never…. You’ve never spoken about other witchers. Do you get along with them? Are they all like you? Are they nice?” -Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle at your rambling. He found how nervous you could get to be endearing. -”No, they aren’t all like me. But the ones here, they’re good.” -You nodded your head and decided to not ask anymore questions. -The tips of a castle began to come into view over the tops of the trees. Then you were nearing an iron gate. It was already raised up and the torches on either side of the bridge were lit. It was nearing dark. Geralt got down from Roach and you followed his actions. -”We can leave the horses here.” He told you, tying Roach to a post just inside of the iron gate. You nodded and tied your horse next to Roach. -”Am I…. Am I allowed to be here?” You looked over to him as the two of you began to walk into what looked like a courtyard. Everything seemed old and outdated, but then you remembered hearing of stories about how the keep was attacked centuries ago. You could still see the results of the attack. Stone walls were knocked in. Some of the stones even appeared to have been burnt. Stones knocked loose lay in the path that you were walking with Geralt. It was like things were frozen in time. -It all seemed like a maze. You were sure to get lost if you tried to venture through the keep by yourself. The wind seemed to get more and more rough as the path took you up into the keep. You shivered, the cold causing goosebumps to arise on your skin even though you were wearing many layers to keep you warm. Geralt noticed your shiver. -”Are you okay?” “Yes. It’s just a bit cold.” You answered softly, offering him a supportive smile. “This place is a maze. How do you not get lost?” -”This is the only place I’ve ever come close to calling home.” He softly shrugged his broad shoulders. “I grew up here. You either learn where things are, or you get lost and die from exposure to the elements.” You fell silent, fearing that your question upset him. It was heartbreaking to hear how this place, the very place that turned him into a witcher, was the only place he had to call a home. -Finally, the two of you arrived at the bottom of a staircase. At the top of the stairs was a large set of heavy wooden doors. Geralt seemed to pause, looking up at the doors, and took a breath in. Then he was climbing the staircase. You followed behind him but a goat bleated and caught your attention. You turned to look in the direction of the sound. There were three goats walking around in what you assumed to be the courtyard. -”You keep goats here?” You smiled at the thought. He hesitated to nod his head. “We, um, we use them as bait for different creatures that inhabit the valley.” He moved towards the door. “Wyverns, forktails.” “Oh.” Your smile fell as you looked away from the goats. -Geralt pushed the door open for you, motioning for you to go in. You stepped into the castle, looking up in awe at the high ceilings. The air was musky and even smelled old. Geralt closed the door behind himself. Since you didn’t step very far into the keep, Geralt was right behind you. You smiled at the closeness, looking over your shoulder at him. The corners of his lips turned up in a light smile. -”Look what the cat dragged in!” -You turned your head to see a man standing at a table just beyond a second doorway. You couldn’t see him very well from where you stood. -Geralt let out a heavy sigh but moved forward to meet the man halfway. -”Almost thought you weren’t coming this year.” “Had to make a quick stop for something.” Geralt looked over his shoulder to you. -The stranger’s eyes followed Geralt’s gaze. “Damn, Geralt. Where’d you find this one?” “Lambert.” The White Wolf sounded like he was almost warning the man, Lambert, to continue. “Oh relax, Geralt. Come on over here, sweetheart. I don’t bite.” -”Don’t listen to him.” Another man moved across the large room to join the other two witchers. “He does bite and I’m positive he’s got rabies.” -You moved towards the group, your hands clasped together at your waist. The first man, Lambert, had a scar through his right eye. The second man had more than just one scar through his right eye. Both had dark hair but the second man had longer hair. -”Who’s coughing?” Geralt asked, turning his head to inspect the large room. You didn’t hear anything. “Ciri’s come down with a nasty cough.” The second man told him. “Not sure what’s up, but we think it’s just the cold weather. Vesemir’s been working on handling the fever.” -You could see worry and concern cross Geralt’s features. He brought his eyes to you, stepping towards you. “I’ll be just a moment. Eskel? Keep her company, please.” “Of course. They’re upstairs in the guest room.” -You watched Geralt leave, fighting the urge to follow him. You were left alone with two strangers who just happened to be witchers. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, your eyes flickering from Lambert to Eskel. You smiled at them both, unsure of what to say. -”Where’d Geralt pick you up at?” Lambert turned to go back to the table he’d previously been at. “Come have a seat.” Eskel offered, gesturing to an empty chair at the table. Your eyes widened at the sight of the creature laying on the table. “Oh, uh, sorry about that. Lambert, get the katakan off the table.” “Why?” “I’m sure Geralt doesn’t want his lady friend scared away. Take it to another table.” “Fine, fine.” Lambert grumbled, moving to pick the dead creature up. “Come to a witcher school, you’re bound to find katakans on tables.” The creature seemed much larger than the witcher but he picked it up easily, carrying the monster across his shoulders. -”I’m Eskel.” He gestured for you to sit at the table. “That’s Lambert.” “I’m Y/N.” -”You’re a quiet one.” Lambert commented as he returned to the table. He and Eskel sat across the table from you. “A nice change. The one he brought a couple years back - Man, is she a hardass.” Your brows drew together. “What do you mean?” -Lambert’s eyes widened just a little. He looked to Eskel. -”He didn’t tell you about Yennefer?” “Lambert, it’s none of our business.” “Sure it is.” -You pressed your lips into a tight line, gazing around the room. Your stomach began to churn at the thought of being just another woman Geralt to the keep. You felt foolish, thinking you were special to him. Your foot began to tap the floor. Your hand gripped your thigh tightly. -Eskel and Lambert chatted quietly while you were somewhere else. You weren’t listening to them. You were trying to figure out how you could be so stupid to believe that Geralt thought more of you. You heart was racing in your chest and it almost hurt. You were struggling to hold back your tears. You didn’t know Geralt. In the seven years you knew him, you’d only spent seven nights with him. How stupid could you be to think that you knew him after such a short time together? -You didn’t hear Geralt enter the room, nor did you hear him say your name. He stood behind your chair, his hand coming up to hold your arm. You jolted, turning your head to look at him. “Are you okay?” -”I-I need-I need fresh air.” You stood up suddenly and headed towards the only exit you knew. -”What did you do, Lambert?” “She’s crying and running from you, my friend. Not me.” Eskel used the back of his hand to hit Lambert’s chest. -Geralt followed quickly behind you. He found you sitting on a little stone ledge. One of the goats had walked up to you and you were petting it. Geralt kept his distance, not wanting to be too close to you in case you didn’t want him near you. He didn’t want to invade your space. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” -You stiffly shook your head, afraid that if you spoke, he’d see you cry. He moved to sit beside you but kept some space between you two. His eyes fell down to his hands. His stomach ached at the thought of you wanting to leave already. Inviting you to the keep was a mistake. It would scare you away from him. -”Am I the only one you’ve ever brought here? The only woman?” You whispered, turning your head to finally meet his gaze. “No.” His answer was quiet and flat. “But the other woman I brought…. She and I…. It’s complicated.” “Did you bring me here to use as a pawn? To make her jealous?” “No, Y/N. I’d never do that to you. You are here because I want you here.” He desperately wanted to reach out to place his hand on you. On your shoulder, on your arm, on your knee. He didn’t care where. He just wanted to comfort you and to be comforted by you. You looked back down to the goat. It bleated rather loud and nuzzled at your knee with his head. -”It’s late and I know you must be tired. If you would rather not share a bed with me tonight, there is a room-,” “I want to stay with you tonight.” You cut him off, speaking a little too quick. Your eyes flickered up to look at him through your lashes. He nodded his head and stood to his feet. As he turned to go back into the castle, you reached out for his arm. He stopped and turned to face you. -”I-I was just…. I was afraid you brought me here for other reasons. I-I was afraid you-that you didn’t think anything special of me.” You blushed at the words you’d just admitted to him. He smiled tenderly down at you, one large hand coming up to hold your cheek. “If I didn’t think you were special, I wouldn’t have kept coming back to you for seven years.” He breathed against your lips before softly kissing you. -The two of you walked side by side back into the castle. A man stood at the table Eskel and Lambert were at. When he saw you, his face lit up. -”By the gods, you’ve finally done it!” The man approached you, a bright smile on his lips and his arms open wide. He took your hands and held them tightly in his own. “I was beginning to fear that Geralt would never bring you to meet me! He’s told me so much about you.” “Really?” You grinned a little, turning your head to look at Geralt. He grunted. “Well, no. Not really.” The man sighed. “Getting Geralt to talk is a difficult task.” “Clearly you’ve never gotten him drunk enough.” Lambert muttered, looking down at the mug of alcohol in his hand. “Once you do that, he’ll tell you anything.” ”Don’t encourage the bard, Lambert.” Eskel shook his head. -”It’s late, Jaskier.” Geralt told the man still holding your hands. “She’s had a long journey. She needs rest before you interrogate her.” “If he gets to interrogate her, can I?” “Lambert.” Geralt warned. “Don’t be so crass.” Eskel told him. “Oh, of course! Where are my manners?” Lambert rolled his eyes. -Geralt ushered you up a large flight of stairs, keeping you as close to the wall as possible. Apparently there were a few stones here and there that were loose and stepping on them could mean you’d plummet to your death. -”I like Lambert.” You giggled, looking over your shoulder to Geralt. “Don’t let him hear that.” -Carrying both of your bags over his shoulder, Geralt led you down a narrow passage and to a room at the very end of the dark hall. He pushed the door open and with a movement of his wrist, a fire grew in the hearth. You looked around the room. “How long has this been your room?” You asked him, leaving his side to go to the tall but thin window next to the bed. Looking out, you were given a view of the courtyard. Just beyond the outer wall of the castle was a beautiful view of the mountains. “Longer than I can remember.” He glanced around, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. -”I must admit, I expected this to be more…. untidy.” You messed with a few vials on a stand in the room, lifting them up and inspecting whatever liquid was inside. “Vesemir throws a fit if things don’t stay neat. Though that doesn’t stop Lambert from keeping his room looking like a storm blew through it.” -”Will you lay down with me?” You asked him as you moved to pick up your bag from the floor. “Of course.” -He clambered into the bed just after you got situated underneath the blankets. He laid on top of the blankets but still held you close. You tucked your head underneath his chin, closing your eyes. He buried his nose in your hair, the scent of you calming him down enough that he could drift off to sleep.

Note: I reeeeealllly wanna do a part 2 to this......

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

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But? Damian Wayne • Tim Drake

Pairing: Older!Damian Wayne x Plus Size Reader, Tim Drake x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: you go through a lot because of Tim and Damian but in different ways.

Request: do you listen to asmr boyfriend roleplay (on yt)? Some of them would be great as fics.

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, sexual innuendos, language, fluff, a very light mention of violence, light mentions of insecurity, is rain a warning?

A/N: the fact that every fic I’ve written for these characters has the same concept is very funny but I definitely see the appeal and the potential.

Based off these YouTube videos: one two three

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Replaying it didn’t make it easier to digest. After months of plans to move in together and talks about adopting a dog, Tim had broken up with you. He fell for someone else, a person he spoke about often.

She was a coworker of his, a gorgeous woman if anyone asked you. You could never blame him for falling for someone like her, she looked like a model and was a badass agent — it just hurt.

Now you were packing the belongings he kept at your place to send them to him with Alfred. It seemed like he couldn’t only break your heart and walk away, Tim also had to humiliate you. Out of respect, Alfred didn’t ask anything at all, he merely reminded you he was always available for you and wished you a good night.

The TV show playing in front of you wasn’t being processed by your brain. Curled up on the bed, covered with the duvet and a fuzzy blanket, you were desperately trying to conceive some sleep, for your brain to at least calm down so your head would stop throbbing and your eyes twitching.

Startled by tapping on the window, you were forced to swallow the mucus clogging your nose. Coughing, you rolled on the bed to asses who had disturbed you. Upon realizing it was just Robin, you begrudgingly left the bed to open the window.

He entered the room without saying anything, waiting for you to lock the window and close the curtains to take his domino mask off. He always did that, no matter how many times you told him no one would see him.

Damian stared down at the dozens of used Kleenex in the trashcan you kept near the bed. “Why are you upset?”

“I thought you knew...” your voice was strained, throat too tired due to the sobbing.

“I clearly don’t.”

“Tim dumped me for someone else.” Saying it in front of his brother was even worse than you had imagined. “Why are you here if it isn’t because I forgot to pack his brown jacket?”

Damian plopped down on your desk chair, staring directly at you, “patrol was boring and father is with Kyle again.”

Nodding, you went back to your spot on the bed, making yourself comfortable with a pillow on your lap.

“Are you tired?”

You were, but you didn’t want to be alone. “Not at all,” you lied so he wouldn’t dare leave. “Do you want to watch that movie you recommended to me last month?”

“Sure.”

Browsing through different streaming services until you found the film, you saw Damian take parts of his suit off in order to be more comfortable. Surprising you, he sat down on the bed, just beside you, once you had found the title.

You had to admit that paying attention was easier with him around, probably because you didn’t want to annoy him. The film did its job, you finally got distracted — you also fell asleep.

It became a routine, every night he would tap on your window and make you company. Some nights you would stay up until sunrise when you had to go to work, others he would be so tired he’d crash out on your couch, and a few nights you fully rested because his presence made you feel calmer.

Damian and you had never been too close, he and Tim had a complicated relationship and you didn’t want to have problems with your now ex-boyfriend. Now you hoped you had, he wasn’t what you had thought — Damian was nicer than every member of the family made him out to be, funnier, smarter, kinder. You genuinely enjoyed being around him.

He was extremely patient with you. He’d recommend you things to entertain yourself, let you vent when you needed, and without having to do it, would often make sure you had been eating properly because he had observed that between how much you had cried the days after the breakup, your job, and your lack of sleep you were low on energy. Damian had even spent an entire week helping you redecorate the apartment to cheer your spirit.

Being close to Damian meant spending time at the park with Titus, a shit ton of it, and trying new food every weekend, and visiting art galleries which had never been your thing. Being close to Damian also meant worrying because with all of his skills and abilities he was the most stubborn man you had ever met who often fought blindly just to end up in the Batcave's medical wing with a worried Alfred calling you to let you know your friend was hurt but alive.

Most importantly, being close to him meant feeling free to be yourself. You were sure no one would believe you, but it had never been truer.

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Elevators had you tired, ironically. The only reason you hadn’t taken the stairs was that you were carrying a portfolio full of documents, a book bag, your purse, and a coat — everything was wet, just like you. Taking an umbrella would’ve saved you many nuisances, or not walking home from work, but you were too distracted in the morning to remember and now you were paying for it thanks to the rain that came with the nearing seasonal change.

You liked the rain, its sound was soothing, the smell made you aware of your own existence as it awakened your senses, you felt cleansed by it. A lovely thing to experience overall, just not after a long day of work.

Stepping out the second the elevator doors slid open, you took the keys out of your coat with your right hand. You let the straps of your purse slide down to your forearm as you flexed your arm while introducing the key in the lock, when it turned, you sighed out of relief and pushed the door open to finally get inside.

The lights were already on, sizzling echoed around the small apartment and a familiar smell of stir-fried vegetables hit your nose. You hung your coat, letting it drip as much water it naturally could before even daring to put it into the dryer.

Walking further into the apartment, you found Damian in the kitchen. He was wearing the comfiest clothes you had seen him on, sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt with only a pair of white socks.

“What are you doing in here with this weather?” you asked, taking a look at what he was cooking.

“I was bored.”

He always said the same, you always told him you didn’t believe him but he ignored it every single time. Patting his back, you announced you would get changed.

“Don’t take too long, dinner will get cold!”

As much as you were fine with Damian being there( and his cuisine,) you had to wonder why couldn’t he tell you his reasonings for his presence at your place. One thing was him visiting when you were there and another him practically breaking into your apartment — you were open to give him a copy of the keys, to be honest, but you would really appreciate it if he asked.

Dinner was delicious, shared over talk about your day. Damian was avoiding speaking about his day, about his entire week actually — in the past month and a half he hadn’t done anything close to that.

Sat on the couch in order to continue bingeing the show the two of you had started last week, you considered asking him what was going on with him. It partially scared you, the last time a member of that family had acted like that toward you they broke your heart.

Taking a deep breath, you threw your head backward to rest it against the edge of the sofa. Damian watched you, frowning. “Are you okay?”

You answered in a hum. “You?”

“Peachy.”

You moved around the couch, opening your eyes to stare at him. He stared back, the frown slowly disappearing from his face as seconds passed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you inquired in a timid voice.

“Father is planning on retiring.”

“Oh... are you taking over?”

“Yes.”

You couldn’t picture anyone but him doing it. Dick had been miserable as Batman, Jason wasn’t interested in being like Bruce after everything that had happened, and Cass was finally finding a balance in her life.

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I am.”

“But?”

He shook his head, “but nothing. It was a long day.”

For your mental wellbeing, you didn’t press on it. He was clearly hiding something from you but he had the right to do so. It made you feel bad but whatever.

The lights flickered, prompting you to groan. The storm was getting worse, the sky was rumbling with thunder and the lighting striking the city and flashing into the living room through the thin white drapes was as mesmerizing as terrifying.

You mumbled, “can you stay?”

“Yes.”

Damian walked behind you, holding the flashlight from his cellphone to light the path toward your bedroom. You undid the bed quickly so he wouldn’t have to hold the device up for so long, you were sure it wasn’t an inconvenience to him but you still didn’t want to bother him.

He sat down on the bed, just next to you, “I’ll stay here until you fall asleep, then I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You can sleep next to me if you want.” You felt your face burn up the second the words left your mouth yet you meant them. Oh, you did.

You heard shuffling. Assuming he was taking his sweatshirt off to get into bed, you moved away from the middle of the mattress toward the farthest side from him.

Getting under the duvet, Damian laid on his back. His cologne mixed with his usual smell of vanilla and almonds filled your nostrils as he dropped his head onto the pillow with his arms crossed against his front.

“Dami?” you whispered. He hummed in acknowledgment. “Can you get closer? I’m cold.”

With no hesitation, he turned over in order to lay on his side. Throwing his arm around you from behind, “Is that better?”

You relaxed with your back against his chest, letting a content sigh out. Damian inhaled deeply, taking a whiff off you. He did it again then, finding the smell of your lotion soothing. As he relaxed too, his arm curled around you more comfortably with his hand laying on your plump belly. You placed your hand on top of his, a little nervous yet excited. Being held was a nice feeling, one you had forgotten.

He lifted his fingers, brushing yours. You intertwined your fingers between his, playing with them. He huffed a light breath, caressing the sides of your fingers as you played with his.

Turning around, you got lost into the ethereal way the light from the lamppost entering through the window illuminated Damian’s side profile. He opened his mouth to probably say something but you abruptly shut him up. You did know what overcame you, it was something that had been simmering in you for the past month — the need of being near him, the butterflies that swarmed inside you when he laughed, the peace he brought you. He surprised you by kissing back.

“Shit,” you exclaimed, realizing you had actually done it. “I’m sorry, I—“

“It’s okay,” he interrupted to assure you. He placed his hand on your lower back, leaning in again. “Can we do it again?”

You kissed him again, feeling him tighten his arm around you in order to pull you closer. He deepened the kiss too, prying your mouth open as you held his face in order to ground yourself mentally. Damian laid you on your back, pushing you into the mattress as he straddled you — his lips didn’t leave yours, not even as both of you whimpered while his hands trailed up and down your thighs and yours mapped his back. Full-on making out with your best friend wasn’t how you pictured your shitty day ending, but you weren’t about to complain.

Damian couldn’t keep his lips off your face, enjoying the softness of your cheeks under his mouth and seeing the natural twitches of your nose which made him realize you were actually awake. He hoped he hadn’t awakened you up.

“I thought you were asleep.” The depth of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. “Were you pretending?”

You hummed, “it was hard with all those kisses.”

“I wasn’t kissing you,” he said teasingly, using his index and middle fingers to lift your head in order to continue kissing your face. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. You?”

He answered, “yes. The best in months.” It felt good knowing you weren’t the only one.

Damian hugged you close with both arms, exhaling happily, “you’re very warm.”

Hiding your face in his chest, you hugged back. You didn’t know what it meant, or the meaning behind the gesture of still cuddling in bed with the guy you had started developing feelings for mere weeks after breaking up with his brother. But it didn’t matter, you were comfortable in his arms and happy with seemingly having cracked his shell.

You had to ask, however. “Did I overstep last night?”

“No, I told you it was okay.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He pulled away enough to fully face you. You attempted to ignore him, shifting under his gaze. Damian licked his lips, “did I make you think otherwise?”

You shook your head, the sound the friction of the side of your face made against the pillow too loud for your liking. “I just... I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Is this ruining our friendship?”

You stuttered, “I— I think so?” You weren’t sure.

“I want to ruin it,” he stated, eyes fixed on yours, “more than anything.”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth as he said it, his full lips tempting you again. You were scared of the lack of guilt you were feeling, but you happily gave in. “Let’s ruin it, then.”

Smiling brightly, he dipped his face in order to kiss you. You were certain you would never get over his soft lips, the warmth of his breath, the firmness of his touch, his intoxicating scent, his silky voice... God, he truly had you smitten.

Nuzzling against your shoulder, he intertwined his legs with yours. “I don’t want to get out of bed yet.”

You giggled. “Then don’t.”

Damian decided he could do that, just cuddle his favorite person in the world until something came up, maybe.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You had been typing on your computer, as music harmonized your den-office when the doorbell rang. Looking at the time to try and guess who could be visiting you on a Tuesday noon, you pushed yourself back, away from the desk, in order to stand up.

Dot, the Labrador you had adopted no long ago wiggled her tail from her spot near the couch as you crossed the living room. She loved laying there, she had a good view of the door and could jump on you the second you got home.

You regretted opening the door the second you faced your visitor. Tim Drake smiled timidly at you, “hi, (Y/N).”

“I— uh, hello?” You tilted your head, confused as to what he was doing there, who had given him the address and why had he thought he would be welcome.

“Can I come in?”

You lifted your index finger. “Just a second.”

Opening the guest-closet, you took a pair of slippers out and padded back toward the door. Tim looked down at the slippers you were offering to him, then at his shoes — as he did, he realized you weren’t wearing any footwear.

He complied, taking his shoes off and sliding his feet into the slippers. When he asked where to put the pair of footwear he had just taken off, you pointed to a mat next to the door, just under the key holders. You closed the front door as he dropped his shoes.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, eyes taking in as much of the space around him as possible, “your taste has changed! How long has it been?”

“A little over a year and a half.”

“We really need to catch up!”

You motioned for him to sit down on the couch. Dot curiously stared at him when he did so while you asked, “do you want anything to drink?”

“Coffee would be fine,” he answered just to have more time to examine the living room. It was extremely luxurious, with a vaulted ceiling and oversized windows.

Curious about the overall design of the penthouse, and how good your job had to be for you to be able to pay for such living arrangements, he followed you toward the kitchen where you were preparing his coffee. It was as full of luxury as the living room, with stainless steel appliances, granite counter-tops and a breakfast bar the size of your previous apartment’s entire kitchen.

“How have you been?” He asked, sliding his palm against the marbled breakfast bar.

“I’ve been great.” You gave him a tight smile, placing the sugar bowl onto the bar.

“I’m glad. How’s your family?”

“They’re great, thank you.” Out of courtesy, you asked, “how have you been?”

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, “well, after I abruptly broke up with you, from which I’m very sorry because I was a dick, my girlfriend broke up with me too...”

“I’m sorry.” You genuinely felt for him, being dumped out of the blue wasn’t something you wished upon anyone. Pouring coffee into a mug, you handed it to him.

“It’s okay,” he smiled openly, nodding as a thank you for the coffee and dropping a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into the beverage, “I’m over it. I moved to Europe when Bruce said he needed someone to supervise the branch of the company there, the drama wasn’t good for my spirit.”

“Why are you back? It’s not like Gotham has changed.”

“My best friend is getting married.”

You hummed, finding estrange that you hadn’t been invited to the wedding.

“You have a new boy or anything?”

You stuttered, dropping a teabag into a cup, “perhaps.”

“Come on, (N/N), tell me! I won’t get mad.” He deviated his gaze. “I’m over you and everything.”

You confessed then, pouring hot water on top of the herbs, “I am dating Damian.”

“Which Damian?”

You waited for your ex-boyfriend to swallow the sip of coffee he had just taken and took the opportunity to have a sip of tea to calm your nerves. “Wayne,” you explained.

“You’re dating my little brother?!” He whisper-shouted. You simply nodded. “For how long?”

“Eleven months.”

“So what? You ran into his arms as soon as I broke up with you?!”

You didn’t appreciate the tone he was using or what he was insinuating. Definitely not when he had cheated on you without for once thinking of sparing your feelings.

“Damian was there for me when no one else had the time, it just happened.”

“I thought you were going to stay away from my family,” he reproached you.

In all honesty, you had thought the same thing. As much as Alfred had told you to call him if you needed anything when he went to pick up the belongings Tim kept at your place, you hadn’t planned on doing it — but that same night, when Damian arrived, tired after a long patrol, and playing dumb by saying he had just dropped by because he was bored you decided you didn’t have to, you didn’t want to. Eventually, you evolved, as many things had after that night, not for Damian nor because of him but next to him, with his patience and support.

“I can’t believe you,” he shook his head.

“I thought you were over me.”

“I’m not jealous! But you deserve better than him — you’re so pretty and nice and he’s selfish and mean and depends on Bruce for everything.”

That didn’t sound like Damian at all. “Maybe you don’t know your brother.”

“You’re telling me he’s changed? Because I don’t believe it.”

You couldn’t be a testimony of Damian’s change when you had never seen the version Tim described, but you could definitely say Damian was everything you had always wanted in a partner and more — he was what you needed, what you loved.

“You still can do way, waaaaaay better than him,” Tim interpreted your silence as a confirmation of Damian’s change.

“Like who, Timothy?”

“Like me!” he exploded, clenching his eyes shut for a couple seconds to control his breathing. “I’ll go straight to the point: I miss you. I came back to get you back, there’s no wedding. I was too stupid to see what I had when I had it, I know, but I’ve changed,” he assured, “I have a new philosophy, I’m surrounded by better people. I’m not blind anymore.”

“Neither I am.”

He ignored your comment and went on, “let’s just start again. In another country, a new house. We’ll adopt as many puppies as you want!” Tim took an envelope out, “I have two plane tickets here for tomorrow. One is yours.”

The front door unlocked loudly, prompting both you and Dot to crane your necks in order to stare at it. Damian pushed it open, shoes in hand and blazer draping over his forearm.

You saw him focus on the pair of shoes on the mat for mere seconds before Dot happily wiggled her tail at him as she approached him. Damian threw his blazer to the nearest couch, quickly undoing his tie which followed suit, before hunching down to pet the little dog.

Out of habit, you left the kitchen to walk toward him and greet him. He stood back up, naturally towering over you and kissing you softly, “hello, beloved.”

You giddily smiled, forgetting you weren’t alone, “hi, handsome. I missed you.” Wrapping your arms around his waist, you inhaled his scent. God, you had truly missed him. Sleeping without him wasn’t the same, nor having to rely on music or the tv for the place to not feel alone. Two days of not hearing his voice not waking up tangled up with him were too much sometimes.

Damian put his hands on your waist, sighing at finally being able to touch your soft body again. “I missed you more.” He leaned downward, placing his lips on yours again.

“(Y/N),” Tim pleaded from behind you, making you jump.

Damian parted from you, looking past your shoulder and directly at his brother. “Drake. What are you doing in here?”

You stepped to the side, opting for opening the terrace’s door so Dot could have some fun outside. In the background, as you leant against the doorway and watched the little dog sniff the terrace, you heard Tim say Alfred had given him the address. Oh, sweet Alfred, always trying to keep the family together.

Turning around, you saw them both sit down in front of each other in the living room. Trying to keep them from fighting, you walked back into the room and sat down next to your boyfriend.

Tim immediately told you, “please don’t throw it all to waste for him.”

Both Damian and you frowned. He put his hand on your thigh, like he had done the first time he had taken you to a business dinner as his date, like he had grown used to do under any table. It was your favorite gesture, he wasn’t a big fan of PDA but he still made sure to always be touching you — the fact that he loved your thighs when you had always been insecure due to their size was a nice addition.

“I’m over you, Tim. Damian is my boyfriend, and with who I want to be.”

“He’ll never love you like I do, he can’t.” Tim’s tone was the harshest you had heard from him.

He was right, though. Damian would never love you like Tim did, that was the whole point. You didn’t want what Tim had to offer, the kind of love he could give — you were past that, you had been for a long time now and it felt amazing.

Tired and spent, Damian hugged you extremely tightly while cuddling that night, almost to the point where you struggled to breathe. Wiggling in his arms in order to turn around and face him, you wrapped your arms around him as best as you could.

“What’s wrong, Dami?”

“Nothing.”

You dropped yourself onto your back, struggling to bring him in but ultimately succeeding. Damian sighed, shifting to be more comfortable as he laid his head on your bare chest.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. Damian inhaled your scent, sighing in content — he was in his safe place. “I sometimes forget not everyone sees me the way you do.”

You supposed he was referring to Tim’s assumptions about him. “Does it bother you?”

“Only when they use it to try putting you against me.”

“You know they would never succeed, right?” You needed him to be aware of that.

“I do.”

“But?”

He moved to hover over you, fitting his legs between yours as he propped himself up with his elbows. “But it’s different when your ex does it. And no, I’m not jealous, I do trust you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. You understood what he meant, perfectly so. Damian had been there to pick up the pieces, he had helped you glue them together and even taught you to tweak them so the final piece would look better — with that, beautiful things had bloomed, but in between many tears had been shed on your behalf and many confessions had been made regarding your feelings in general; sprinkle in how hard it had been to process the fact that you had fallen for each other and you could understand where he was coming from. There was a piece of Damian in you, and there was a piece of you in him; at every level.

“It’s not relevant anymore, love,” you reminded him.

Damian caught your lips in a tender kiss, humming. “I just wish he wasn’t back.”

“He’ll be gone by tomorrow. And if he isn’t, I don’t care.” You started playing with his hair, unconsciously running your fingers up and down through his locks. “But I don’t want you to have a bad relationship with your brother because of me.”

“We’ve spoken about that.”

Damian had never been able to get along with Tim, his relationship with Dick was great and he had even built one with Jason, Cass was his favorite, and he had gotten to meet with Helena a few times. However, his resentment toward Tim heightened when you two started frequenting each other — he seemed to now despise him.

You tilted your head to pepper kisses over his jaw. “You’ll manage, Damian. You ignored him for years.”

Your boyfriend sighed dramatically, letting his weight gradually fall on top of you. Placing his hand on your cheek, he smirked before burying his face in your neck. “Besides,” Damian mumbled, “he’s not the one keeping you up tonight.”

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x plus size reader #tim drake x reader #tim drake x plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #plus size reader #robin x reader #robin x plus size reader #damian wayne #robin #dc x plus size reader #dc x reader #batfam x plus size reader #batfam x reader

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missbeautyandherbeast · 5 years

Text

It’s Nice To Have A Friend

Michelangelo X Reader

Summary: Taking people under your wing was your thing until four mutant brothers took you under theirs. It still didn’t stop you from taking one of them under your wing. Until you screwed that up from miscommunication and some harsh words. Can you fix this? How are you supposed to express emotions when you barely understand the situation? Is it too late to save what you broke? Can you save your friend?

A/N: For the ever-lovely @brightlotusmoon, here’s my drabble into Mikey, making his a round character in my own mind as well as on paper. I hope I did him justice, and you justice.

Word Count: +3,200

Warnings: Angst, panic attacks, self-loathing, fluff, abuse

Was living underground with four large mutant turtles weird? Sure.

If you wanted to call it that. To me, it was a family, as it was to them, brothers and a father. They had all welcomed me with curiosity and hesitancy as I showed immunity to mutagen, and retro- mutagen—both of which happened in Donnie’s lab after a mishap and me tripping over my own feet.

It freaked me out, to say the least. Again, the questioned seemed to be: what was wrong with me? Again I felt different, out of place, with no answer as to why. I loathed it.

To Donnie I was something to be studied, he tried to hide it and he did pretty well, but I caught the nuances. I wasn’t opposed to it too much, I wanted answers as well. But I wished that I was a bit more than an experiment.

To Leo, I was someone to protect. Whatever was different—wrong—about me he wanted to be kept safe from Shredder and the Kraang. Which I understood, but I also refused to fight, or even learn how. I could defend myself, but I refused to go on the offense, or hurt anyone, even if it was someone trying to hurt me. I knew this frustrated him, but he respected my choice of pacifism.

Raphael and I fought. A lot. Not physically, but verbally. He reminded me too much of my abusive older brother that I had finally gotten away from by moving to New York, and there was something about him that sparked anger in me. I found the confidence to snap back at him when he made offhand rude comments, to anyone. Most of the time Leo stepped in and reprimanded Raph before things could get too far. If the red brute didn’t back down, Splinter intervened.

Then there was Mikey. He was the only one who didn’t treat me differently because of who, what I was. Instead, we played Mario Kart until I got good enough to beat him, sometimes. I showed him my comic books and TV shows, and I watched him fall in love with them as I was. We spent nights reading fan theories, working on cosplay, and jamming to Taylor Swift.

It’s nice to have a friend.

.................................

And Mikey was the one I stood up for the most against Raph. As soon as I started to notice that Mikey was his favorite target, I got a bit more observant. Signs that I knew, because I had the same reactions around my own brother.

“You actually like that stuff? You’re so weird.” Raph muttered as we started to binge Doctor Who.

“Says the one who spends every minute of every day looking in a mirror, or working out.” I snapped back.

Raph scoffed and walked off as Mikey was silent beside me, looking down. I leaned against him as the show continued. Slowly he relaxed and we ended up, like always, tangled in blankets, passed out, as the show continued to play.

Raph seemed to back down after a while, now that I was always there to fight back against him. There was a solace around the Lair when the comments ceased to exist. Sometimes they were there, like teasing, or light-hearted jokes, but nothing that cut too deep. I made sure of that.

It was nice to be a friend.

....................................

After a few months, I felt safe enough to go back to my apartment every few nights, just to be in my own space, something that I desperately needed to stay sane. It was comforting, being back in my own small studio apartment on Cornelia. I could do what I wanted when I wanted. Play my own music, eat what and when I wanted to, wear what I wanted. I had no one to impress but me.

Mikey came over the first night that I was back in my apartment. He had a pizza and sodas for the two of us as he stood on my fire escape. I laughed to myself and let him in, going to grab paper towels.

We fell into our normal routine, nested in my bed, watching TV—this time it was season 14 of Supernatural—eating and curled up under blankets. Well, I was under blankets, Mikey radiated heat like a space heater. He finished most of the pizza while I nibbled on my one slice.

When the last episode ended, Mikey was shocked when I jumped up and threw the remote towards the TV. His reflexes were quick enough to snatch it before it did any damage, though he seemed to be in the same agitated state that I was in.

I growled. “They can’t just! It’s not fair! They! And he! And Sammy! And Jack! And UGH!” I paced.

“How is that supposed to be the end of the season!” Mikey exclaimed. “They can’t just do that!” “How is there supped to be only one more season to fix that!” I countered.

We both stared at the TV screen, in tense silence, settling down next to each other again.

“I need something to take my mind off of that,” I muttered, scrolling for another movie.

We ended up re-watching Miraculous Ladybug for like the fifteenth time. We both ended up liking the show, a weird mix of my love for cartoons and his love of anime. Nothing like a boy in a leather catsuit and a girl in polka-dotted spandex fighting an old man who loves butterflies and not his son to comfort the mind.

I rearranged my seventy-five pillows and nestled down next to the warm terrapin, allowing myself to get comfortable. Winter was setting into New York and I was about to really miserable with the oncoming cold weather. It was nice with Mikey though. I could always count on his warmth.

Letting the episodes play through, my eyes eventually became too heavy to reopen. My dreams were light and safe. They always were when I wasn’t sleeping alone. It was nice, for once, not to need melatonin, or not be up until four am, or not need my nightly counting routines to lull me to sleep.

It’s nice to have a friend.

.................................

Once a week Donnie and I worked on figuring out what was so different about me that I was immune. It was a slow-going process because I got tired or disinterested before we could make it too far, and every brother and Splinter was keen on not pushing me farther than I could manage.

“I’m a freak,” I muttered to Donnie one week, looking down at the floor.

“Take it from a huge talking turtle, you’re not a freak.” Donnie mused, a smile playing at his lips.

“Okay, but mutagen affected you: normal. Retro mutagen affects you: normal. Me, absolutely nothing. I’m a freak.” I laid back on the exam table, closing my eyes.

I heard his gentle laugh. I simply sighed.

“No one wants a freak, Don,” I muttered. “No one is gonna want me. I’ll always be weird.”

“That’s not true. You’re a wonderful person Y/n, anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“No one wants a freak,” I repeated, sighing. “No one can love a freak,”

He was quiet for a moment as if he were debating the notion.

“Maybe we’re all doomed then.” He decided.

I chuckled and shook my head, sitting up.

“Do you need me for anything else?” I rubbed my face and stretched.

“You should be alright for today, I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Thanks, Don.”

I almost ran into Mikey as I left the lab.

“Hey.” My face lit up. “You wanna watch somethin’? There’s a new series that I’ve been meaning to watch, or I could show you Rocky Horror Picture Show, that’s a classic.” I went through my mental checklist of things that I wanted him to watch, trying to settle on the best one.

“No thanks. I gotta patrol. Just came to say bye.” His voice was almost void of emotion.

“Oh.” My face fell. “Okay, be safe.” I frowned a bit but kept my emotions under wraps.

Watching him leave, I wandered into the main room, trying to solve the look on his face and his tone, feeling like I was missing something.

“That was pretty harsh there Y/n.” Raph leaned against the wall next to the lab.

“What?” I turned my attention to him. “What did I even do? What was all that?” I gestured weakly.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Mikey heard you.” He made air-quotes: “‘No one can love a freak’? Almost sounded like me.”

“I’m still not getting it?” I stood, anxiety clawing my insides. Had I hurt Mikey somehow?

“The kid is head over heels for you Y/n, and you just told him that you’d never love a freak.” Raph laid it out, his tone was cold and distant.

I froze, panic taking over my entire form. I didn’t think, I just did. I grabbed my jacket and slipped on my shoes. I ignored Raph’s questions, I ignored Donnie’s questions. I couldn’t ignore the hands that held me back though. I thought I heard Donnie explain through a muddled mind.

“I have to make this right,” Tears were slipping down my cheeks. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t...” I could feel my breath hiking moving towards hyperventilation. “Mikey...” My voice was broken.

I was broken.

I had broken my friend.

My best friend.

Who loved me?

...he loved me back.

The revelation was mind shattering. Both my mind and heart laid shattered, the pieces oozing into the concrete floor, refusing to be put back together.

“I’ll go find him.” Raph decided.

“No!” I shouted. “He’s going to think you’re lying. That you’re dragging him along. I have to go. I have to make this right.” My voice was squeaky and pathetic, but it was the truth.

“She’s right. Go shadow her, but she has to be the one to do it.” Donnie rubbed my shoulders comfortingly as he spoke to Raph.

I stumbled out into the cold night, cursing the frigid air.

“Mikey!” I shouted hopelessly. “Mikey, please I need to talk to you! Please!” The tears that ran down my face threatened to freeze. I wiped them away in an attempt to keep warm.

I walked quickly down the route that I knew Mikey patrolled, keeping my eyes on the rooftops, muttering his name and wiping tears away until I couldn’t anymore.

I crumbled onto a nearby bench and buried my face in my hands, sobbing for my loss, my stupid mistake, for my Mikey.

“Y/n!”

It wasn’t the voice that I wanted, but my head shot up, in panic.

“We gotta go! Now!” Raph was right beside me in a matter of moments, lifting me into his arms and taking off, in a direction that held no meaning to me.

“Raph!” I complained.

“Mikey was caught by the Kraang. Leo’s trying to get in now, but...” He shook his head as he turned another block.

Fear froze my shattered heart. The words didn’t want to process.

“Hey, hey. Hold it together kid, he’s gonna be okay.” Raph soothed, sensing my despair.

“This is my fault.” I sobbed. “I did this.”

“Hey. No. This is not... good lord kid. This wasn’t you. I swear.” Raph’s voice was hard and commanding. It reminded me of Leo.

When he stopped on a random block, in front of a random building, a warehouse, he made the mistake of letting me go.

I hit the ground running into the building, right into the center of a vast floor, filled with Kraang, and... and Mikey. When his eyes flashed to mine I almost collapsed. He wasn’t dead. I could still tell him I was sorry. I could...

“Let him go,” I whispered, taking careful steps forward. “Please.”

There was a commotion behind me, and I didn’t even have to turn back to know that it was the other brothers, coming to our aid. My eyes didn’t leave Mikey’s. There was so much hurt and betrayal in them. And now I knew why.

I jumped when a blur of silver flashed by me and into the droid closest to Mikey, sending sparks flying, and the Kraang bot dropping to the ground.

“Man, these things are always creepy,” Raph muttered.

Then all hell broke loose. Both sides advanced, and I was caught in the crossfire. Something pulled me down to the floor, and I landed hard on my wrist. I watched as Mikey’s eyes widened in horror, his eyes fixed on something behind me.

I turned and saw a gun pointed at my head, one of the Kraang’s high tech ones.

A swipe of a katana and the Kraang was no more. Leo and I locked eyes; fear in mine and determination in his.

“Go! I’ll cover you!” He shouted, stealing a glance in his youngest brother’s direction.

I leaped to my feet and dashed through the carnage to get to my Mikey. I knelt beside him, trying to figure out his bonds, thanking someone that they were only rope.

“Just leave me.” Mikey bit out. It was like a slap to the face. “I’m nothing but I freak to you anyway.”

The depressing words weighed on my soul and my body until I was held in place by the weight of his words. I had to stop my task of untying him to fight the urge to not scream and cry. I rested my forehead on his shoulder, tears making their way down my face.

“I didn’t...” I choked out. “I was talking about me. I’m the freak. I’m unlovable. I’m unwanted.” I sobbed out. “I’m so unlovable.” I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself, looking him in the eye. “There was never a day that I didn’t love you.”

Recognition crossed his face, as I sat back on my knees, my head bowed and shoulders hunched, as I finally let go of holding my hurt back, sobs shaking my frame softly as they left my lips in unintelligible self-loathing words. My arms desperately tried to hold all of me together, but no matter how tightly I wrapped them around me, I still fell apart.

Until warm familiar arms wrapped around me tightly did I feel whole again. These arms held me together when I couldn’t do it on my own. These arms and these hands picked up the shattered pieces of my heart and took the time to put them back together with care.

“Don’t leave me, please. Please. Please.” I choked out, wrapping my arms around him, my friend, my best friend, my lifeline, my Michelangelo, my Mikey. “I love you, please,”

I could feel his hand stroke my hair gently, as he pulled me into his lap, encasing me with warmth until I wasn’t shaking anymore. I waited and prepared for the worst. He wouldn’t want me. He wouldn’t love me. He couldn’t forgive me for this. I was unforgivable. Unlovable.

I sank into these thoughts until darkness consumed me.

This is what it was like to lose a friend.

..........................................

“Let her mind protect itself. She’ll come around when she can handle it all again.” The voice was muted and muddled, and made little sense.

“It’s been an hour Donnie,” A worried voice, much closer to me, argued back.

I wanted to tell the voice that I was okay. That I was here. He didn’t need to worry. I was fine. Mikey didn’t need to worry.

“Y/n!?” He called, urgent. “Can you hear me? Y/n!?”

“M’fine...” I mumbled, my eyelashes fluttering as I opened my eyes. Intense blue eyes stared back at me; tears mixed in.

“M’fine Mikey.” I curled up further into his arms.

“Don’t let her fall asleep she might have a concussion,” Donnie warned. I wanted to glare at him. I was fine. Peachy.

I still had my friend.

I hoped.

.....................................

I blinked a few times and struggled to sit up. Realizing what I was trying to accomplish, Mikey’s arms supported me, aiding me.

“You okay angelcakes?” His voice was gentle and worried still.

I nodded, ignoring my pounding headache. I looked up at him, afraid. What now? What was he going to say? What was I going to do if he sent me away? If he didn’t love me back?

“Are you really up this time?” He asked, hesitant.

I frowned and blinked a few more times, rubbing my eyes. I noticed that one of my hands was in a brace. I stared at it with curiosity.

“You hurt your wrist. Donnie doesn’t think it’s broken, but he’s not entirely sure.” He was almost sheepish to explain the fact.

I looked up at him, waiting for more. Tensed and prepared for the worst, praying and hoping for the best.

“Did you mean it?” He whispered, cupping my jaw with one of his hands. I leaned into the warmth. “Do you really love me? Freak and all?” His blue eyes were pleading with mine, begging the fact to be true.

“Since the first night that you stayed.” My voice was raspy and broken sounding from dehydration and being rubbed raw from my sobs, but it spoke the truth.

There was a moment of deliberation on his face before he pressed his lips to mine. I wasn’t shocked. I was relieved. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers twisting into the tails of his bandana. He was gentle while kissing me as if he were afraid to break me, and part of me knew that he could. If he wanted to.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to break me. Or leave me, or yell at me.

He wanted to kiss me and be near me. He wanted to love me. Like I wanted to love him. Freely, openly, courageously.

Pulling away sooner than I wanted, the turtle pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before his blue eyes enraptured mine.

“You’re not unlovable. And you’ve never been unwanted.” He whispered. “I want you. And God, Y/n, I love you.” There was a small smile on his face, my breaking dawn.

“Freak and all?” I murmured.

“Freak and all.” He chuckled.

It’s nice to have a love.

.......................................

Curled up on the couch on a late Friday night after Mikey’s patrol, I laid gentle kisses on his neck, half paying attention to the movie on. He smiled down at me and pulled me closer.

“I don’t see why you like these movies.” He scoffed.

“Reminds me of you, us,” I whispered. “He’s so keen on protecting her, he almost loses her. He’s part of another world that she gets thrown into, and walks in it willingly. She’s different though. She’s immune to their powers.” My eyes flickered to the screen. “‘I tell you I can read minds, and you want to know if there’s something wrong with you?’” I quoted.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“You’re such a dork.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“But I’m yours.” I grinned cheesily up at him.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It’s nice to have a friend.

..................................

Don’t be afraid to comment and reblog! I love knowing what you guys have to say and I love your feedback always!

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royal-writer · 5 years

Text

mini

i got a headache but i want fluff

The moon hung thin against a black sky; the house quiet, and all stray papers, books, and clothes tended to and carefully put away. It was still unfathomable almost, to look around the Illiad estate and think of it as home. There was more space and room then she knew what to do with. It was almost easy to get lost, or in her case, to lose someone.

“M’lord Amon?”

Placing a hand on hip, Essätha sighed with defeat as she looked around the library. It was not empty of people; or to be truthful, fictional people and names of people upon parchment. But there was one particular person who seemed absent here as they did everywhere else. The sitting room was just the same; with a fireplace cold and dusty of warmth.

She cracked the door into the alchemist room next. Peeking inside, a steady smile grew on her face. With a gentle giggle pressed to her hand, she slipped into the room. Wandering her way way across the small room, she came to a pause before the figure. Their jacket was askew. Mouth hanging open, they gave a faint snore with a magnifying glass in one hand, and the other resting upon the book beside their face.

“Having pleasant dreams?” she teased in a whisper; faint and quiet so not to wake. Careful as a creeping mouse, she moved around the table to pick up the spread of tools and vials. Neatly as she could, Essie placed each item gently where they belonged around the room. There was an order to what appeared to be chaos, and much of it she came to know. What few things left her with uncertainty to their position among the alchemy, she left in an open space for Amon to spot and place later.

He gave a sleepy mutter as the magnifying glass was slipped free of his hand. Another mumble followed after she’d put it away to retrieve the book; sliding its ribbon mark into place and closing it softly. She placed it neatly so; angled to the end of the table, before reaching out to her beloved’s shoulders.

“M’lord?”

He did not rouse immediately. He hardly wakened like in novels; flawless and swanlike. Instead he gave a half-lid vacant stare to the table as he slurred nonsense words. The moment he moved to lean back, his entire body winced as his back gave a loud crack.

Flinching with her own sympathy, for that position could not be comfortable to wake from, Essätha slid an arm around his elbow. Her voice was a coo; a gentle melody as she hummed in sing-song, “Bedtime, you beautiful genius.”

“Wha’s that m’darlin Essätha?” Amon rasped, allowing her to help guide the chair back from the table. It squealed and screeched softly, and he barely found the energy to sit and not fold into himself. A gentle nudge to his back got him upon wobbly tired feet, with an arm wrapped around his waist.

She could almost tease his older gentleman qualities. Exhausted and the night was still young. But perhaps all the reading had done him in; droning words in his head until his eyes had fought long enough and now had no more fight left to give. Doing little could be just as damning and tiring as a full day’s routine, she found.

As she guided him through the sitting room, Amon leaned over her frame. Her eyebrows drew close, hoping he was not so unsteady she would need to sit him upon the sofa to rest instead.

However he inhaled in almost a dreamy quality, resting his head atop her own.

Essätha gave a snort in a poor attempt to retain her snickering. The warm hand wrapped in return around her back tightened against the anchor-point found in her waist as Amon nuzzled his face and beard into her dark hair.

“S’different,” he mumbled.

“I can’t believe you noticed,” she admitted; color rising on her face. “It’s some exotic blend of rinse. Has Angel’s Trumpet or some sort in it.”

“M’a gardener,” Amon attempted to retort. He yawned, finishing his statement with a groggy: “And I know m’wife’s collection.”

“Don’t go sniffing all my perfumes and shampoos; however will I surprise you with anything new?”

“You steal mine,” he countered drowsily.

She had to laugh to hide her embarrassment. Technically yes, sometimes she stole away with a particularly enticing fragrance, but she never kept them long. Only long enough to maybe, steal a few drops or spritz on the furniture or a blanket. Sometimes his cloaks weren’t readily available, or hadn’t clung to the points well enough where he placed his colognes to really drink in the aroma he carried.

But she always gave them back! And his collection was less a zealous surprise. Different scents, yes: but he rarely ventured from his regulars. Earthy tones, warm spices, the occasional clean and crisp odors that were reminiscent of laundry breezing on a spring day and the ones noted to the seasons scents.

Perhaps she should have awaited trying the new shampoo in a bath for two, she mused. Amon seemed quite smitten with it; drinking in the strong fragrance it gave off from her locks. It distracted his walking a bit, which took her a wobbly while longer to get him past the threshold and into their bedchambers, to allow him to plop into bed.

It bounced slightly beneath him. With a dreary-eyed blink, he began to incline into a horizontal position.

“Oooh- m’lord,” Essätha squeaked, grabbing his shoulder to righten him as he grumbled. “You’re still dressed! Hold on a second-”

With his eyes sliding closed, Amon swayed slightly in place as she worked on his jerkin. He nearly flopped back as she tugged it off his shoulders and arms, giving a drawn out sigh. The dark hues of his eyes cracked open to spy upon her as she unbuttoned his shirt. Luckily if she kept her head bent down low enough, it was difficult to keep sight of his mystifying eyes.

The shirt was pitched aside, and she dropped down to work on the knotting of his boots. They took the most work; to the point Amon half slunk forward. He made a poor attempt to fiddle with them as though to help, with little actual aid. She sniggered softly at his sluggish nature; so very unlike the sharp and dignified poise he tried to carry most of the time.

When the last shoe thunked against the floor, the Briarton Lord didn’t hesitate to roll over and crawl the remaining way into bed. Essätha looked after him, a short shake of her head and broad grin. He only just had the energy it seemed to worm and wriggle when she tried urging the blankets free from beneath him, to drape them over his frame.

“Get some rest,” she encouraged, patting his side.

Amon grunted. And though she did not pay him heed, his gaze opened and closed. The waves of fatigue were gnawing at him. They drugged him; pulled him towards a peaceful rest that he fought off.

He watched as she stepped behind the divider near her side of the bed. Her daily clothes was tossed into an empty basket off to the side, and a set draped over was pulled down. She continued to move about the room; following a routine of checking the curtains, putting on evening moisturizers, and unknoting some of the gnarls in her hair. There was a quiet humming as she did so; a vague lullaby tune he’d observed her doing night after night by now. A fairytale’s song almost.

When she’d bid the last of her tasks attention; wearing a nightgown he recognized as having gotten for her, Essie moved to climb into bed herself.

Worn and dog-tired as he was, relief was swift. Swifter than he was, groping across the bed as she squealed and squirmed when she’d barely slid beneath the sheets for him to grab at her.

“You should be asleep!”

Ignoring the gentle chastise side of her voice, Amon wrapped his arms around her petite waist and pulled her into him. The warmth of her startled, gasping breath fanned against his bare chest as he grumbled, a barely-there smile tiredly on his face.

“Now I’ll sleep.”

She was delightfully soft and warm in his arms. He buried his face into the flowing freedom of her cascading hair and inhaled. It was sweet scent; different then the spicy tones on her autumn skin. The strength of his hold gently squeezing her laxed quickly as she rustled against him. The tangle of her legs scissoring his, one arm against his waist, and the other pressed over his chest.

Fingers glided slowly over the skipping beat of his pulse, and honeysuckle laughter pressed against his throat.

“I expect you to sleep in a bit late tomorrow, my love,” Essätha whispered as she placed a kiss to the underside of his chin. “Close your eyes now.”

He grunted. Sleep in tomorrow, that was unlikely to happen. Although, he was succumbing quickly from a doze towards a deeper sleep. And perhaps he’d be a bit more willing to lay in bed a while longer if she was willing to stay in bed with him. Drinking in the softness of her breath; savoring the heat of the bed when the chilled morning air was upon them.

“You’re t’good to me.”

“Shhh. I am your wife, m’lord, and I love you.”

A stupid, beaming smile ached against his cheekbones in an explosive grin. He exhaled loudly, feeling the tugs of blissful dreams pull at him once more. They would be sweet dreams of course; but none so joyous like the paradise of the waking world and his dear angel to curl up with.

“I love y’too.”

“Amon.”

There was playful reprimanding in her voice, but he didn’t mind it. The sound of his name was glorious on her tongue. Almost sultry; a promise, and filled with endearment beneath that.

He found sleep pretty easy. His smile only removing itself entirely as he sank deeper into the waves of his sleep thoughts, where he floated gently and with ease among clouds and seas, with no other but his heart’s desire beside him.

#eci artz #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad

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guidedbygunpla · 4 years

Text

Gundam Sports Story Chapter 2. Back Home in Tonosho

The scramjet landed as it always did, its giant parachutes opened up and the last few G’s were decelerated out of the giant titanium bird. Catalyst and Ryu were escorted to their car, and started on the long drive out from the airport.

“you know, I think it’d be better for Ohm if we moved to the city, he’d have more kids his own age, out here in Kagawa its all senior citizens and college kids, no one lives here anymore.” Ryu said as he motioned around them taking his hands off the wheel briefly. “out here, im worried aside from video chats with his online friends, he wont really….you know, have any friends”

“I didn’t really have any friends when I was growing up, I turned out fine” Cat said, her head resting on the cool glass of the window. Watching the sun as it set on the bay

“oh I’m sure that isn’t true Cat, I’m sure you had friends when you were a little girl”

“no I’m sure I’ve told you before, there were hardly any kids on Moore, it was a business side, so it was mostly young men and women just getting their careers growing, so I was always 5 years older or 5 years younger than almost everyone, there were only like 10 or so kids in most of my classes all through school…never really liked any of them. That’s why I moved to Hatte after grade school, I wanted to go to college with people my own age, I didn’t have many friends until that point.”

“well that’s exactly my point, don’t you think Ohm deserves that? You know, to grow up with kids his own age.”

she looked behind her, as ohm layed across the back seat, covering up with his coat like a big blanket.

“yea, I suppose…..but I don’t want to move away from your parents, they love getting to come see ohm when we’re on break, or after big matches….I think it does them good” she said looking back out the window as the bay disappeared behind a sea of trees and old homes.

“Cat, is this a depression thing…you know I don’t want to pry” Ryu said setting a hand on Catalysts leg.

“maybe, I think its just I don’t want to live someplace that exposed…I like being able to just live here, I don’t feel like a celebrity you know. I mean everyone here knows me, but they aren’t stopping to ask for my autograph or anything, just asking how you and Ohm are, I hate being watched now….it makes me feel like I’m back out in the Sides….I always felt like someone was watching me out there.”

her eyes seemed to stare off, past everything around them

“I know Cat, you’ve told me before, the giant windows made it seem like someone even miles away could see you, that’s one of the reasons you liked working as a book keeper, you didn’t really have to be around anyone”

“it kept the noise down” Cat said, her voice a bit toneless

“I know, you always say the newtype thing can get overwhelming, you always thought it was just anxiety when you were a kid” Ryu said, their car cruising into their drive way, their garage door slowly rolling up “Cat we can talk more about this once the season starts to wind down, but I really think we should talk about getting Ohm at least into a school district where he would be able to make some friends”

cat just nodded, she got out of the car and grabbed her duffle bag from the trunk and walked inside their home. Ryu woke up Ohm and walked him up to bed. Their home wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t spacious. Sure they could afford a nicer house. But They liked living a smaller life, living on the run during and after the war made them learn a lot about what they wanted in life, and it wasn’t stuff, it wasn’t things, it was eachother. And it was Ohm.

Ryu got Ohm into his pajamas and into bed. After a while he walked into the room, as Cat slowly worked herself in and out of sleep, her muscles ached, and her head was a storm. The last few matches were just qualifying bouts, a formality to see who in the Japanese League would represent Japan in the Grand Prix, but the fighters were hungry, and many more then usual were Newtype expressive this year, maybe not full Newtype, but they were expressing some base characteristics, heightened awareness, auras, intrusive thoughts. It was exhausting. Catalyst grew up thinking a lot of her intrusive thoughts and fears were just anxiety or depression, but what it turned out to be was she was able to hear more passionate thoughts from those around her, and feel the auras press out from people experiencing strong emotions. A common expression of Newtype abilities, it wasn’t until she was put under the life or death event that was the Moore colony incident that her real powers, the foreknowledge, seeing things happen before they do and being able to react in kind, and the physical 6th sense where she could feel the movements of others who have habited a space before and follow them. She hated the thought that this year she might have to face newtypes with similar abilities, up until now, aside from a few of them with foreknowledge or the one kid from the Oceanian Union who could telepathically yell at her and project images into her thoughts, she had a pretty easy time of it….she hoped this year would go as smoothly.

“everything okay Cat?…you look stressed” Ryu spoke, softly as he climbed into bed alongside her. She smiled up at him

“no, I’m alright, just thinking about work”

“works over, home time.” He said kissing her on the top of her head

She sat in the flight simulator that sat in the corner of her garage, watching computer generated images move around her as Tenneth spoke through her headset.

Ryu was old fashioned in a lot of ways, Cat liked that, it reminded her of her grandparents, who were the first generation to be shipped out to the sides. Ryu grew up on earth, and as such didn’t seem to possess any Newtype abilities, and didn’t seem to put off any aura or even intrusive thoughts. That was one of the things Cat loved about him, when she met him he was one of the first people in her life who didn’t express even a tiny bit of psychic energy. She couldn’t read his emotions through anything but her eyes. And neither could he, but he could read her like a book some nights. Cat snuggled up to Ryu and drifted off to sleep.

_______________________________________

“come on Cat, let that anger out, you’re getting too clouded. Remember, don’t think, act. If you want to avoid having a Newtype spring some mind game trap on you, we need you to ignore all those intrusive thoughts and all the noise up there, and just hit them.” Catalyst used the small thumb stick on the right flightstick to cycle through her combat maneuvers, and select the appropriate ones as the situation called for them, with the most common ones mapped to her primary triggers on the left and right and the two thumb buttons on either side of the thumb stick. A simple block here, a windmill block there, cycle through the menu, Judo Transition, Kata Ha Jime hold, followed by punching the opponents camera out. Battle reset, the simulated mental noise being piped into her earphones increased in volume as it did so. Another round of simple block, windmill block, menu cycle, scarf lock, opponent reverses, Kata Gatame to reverse said reversal, elbow drop to back of head. Combat resets, volume increases, opponent moving faster. Windmill block, opponent has a heat hawk, windmill block again, axe swinging in, opponent moving very fast, Deashi Harai throw, opponent is briefly stunned, Uki gatame hold, try to wrestle away the heat hawk, heat hawk secured. Opponent punches the cockpit of the GM, the first one catches her of guard, the second causes the combat alarm to sound, ending the match.

“you alright Cat…didn’t want to over stimulate you, but figured throwing a few faster ones in there wouldn’t offset you that much” Tenneth spoke as he walked into the garage, turning the lights on as he did so.

she wasn’t paying attention to his hand once the heat hawk was freed.

simulation ended, the noise finally stops

Cat took the earphones out and sat back in her seat.

“no…Ten I think I messed up…I’ve been worrying since last night about whats going to happen if another Newtype on my level actually makes it into the Grand Prix this year, theres a lot of lower rank fighters I’ve gotten paired up with during these qualifying matches who have some abilities, what if someone on my level shows up, who can really throw me off my game” Tenneth sat down in the chair facing the simulated pilot seat itself and handed her, her water bottle.

“well Cat, that’s a good question….I mean intrusive thoughts and that one Aussie who could telegraph stuff at you were bad enough, that’s why we added them to the training routine”

“telepath” she said

“im sorry?”

“the Oceanian Union fighter who used the Gray Efreet with the twin heat hawks, he was a Telepath”

“ah right, sends words an pictures into your head, that’s what I said.” Tenneth stuttered “I mean is there a lot worse than that?...when you say someone on your level, you gotta remember I’m not entirely sure what that entails”

“well I know some of them can cause low level visual hallucinations, like, in Terra Stormriders book, War and Humanities place in it, she talks about weaponizing Newtypes, I guess one of the ones she fought during the war was able to make it seem like she was running through a field with them, as little girls, she said she felt like she was there for hours with her. Imagine if I got in a match and some jag puts me in a submission hold and then transports me to some psychic day dream while I accidently tap out or what have you…..how would I even combat that.”

“well…I mean I could see about finding some Newtype pilot, I know a few from the service, I could call one of them,set up a few test matches with him, we could do the fight in the fukushima exclusion zone, wouldn’t have to worry about helicopters or anything, you and them could work through some counter Newtype techniques, try and figure out some solutions to deal with whatever happens.”

Cat took the straw to her waterbottle out of her mouth and thought for a moment “well…I mean the worst that could happen is theres another Newtype out there who might end up in the Grand Prix who would know said counter Newtype techniques….guess it’s better then going into a Newtype V Newtype fight blind. Got anyone in mind?”

“I’ve got just the guy, he was the Feddie Airforces Ace of Aces, took down over 100 dopps, and even took out a gow carrier single handedly. All with a saberfish, if memory serves, he’s started fighting on the Brazillian circuit” Tenneth said pulling up his MSMMAA stat chart on his tablet. Handing it to Catalyst after he had done so.

“he’s doing pretty well in qualifying, so who knows if he’ll make it to the Prix or not, but he looks like he might make it in. whats he piloting for his qualifying matches? He have a corporate sponsor?” Cat said finishing the last of her water

“right now he’s got a Feddier surplus Zaku, was being used as a test suit in Oceania, near the Sydney ruins, but guessing he bought it off em, or stole it, or won it who knows. been using that, guess he modded the mocap computer, added some basic krav maga and what not into it, nothing too fancy with the zakus limited range of movement of course. guess hes doing pretty well for himself out there in Brazil…no listed corporate sponsors though. I could call Canon up, ask to barrow the Madea and have him and his team flown over. Set up some fake photo shoot somewhere, get all the mobile suit paparazzi away from the fukushima zone, so no one will be any the wiser.”

cat handed the tablet back to Tenneth

“and we’re sure hes full Newtype, not just expressive?” she asked

“that’s what interviews with him will have you believe, no specifics on how his manifests, but from what he says about it, it sounds like hes pretty powerful. Foreknowledge, projection the works. Must be how hes moving up the ranks so quick.”

“wonder why he left the federation? Said on there he had been promoted to captain” Cat asked as she leaned forward and started to log out of the simulatior

“donno, maybe there really is just that much more money to be made in the fighting pit than in a fighter jet.

#gundam #fanfic #chapter 2

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formonbelami · 4 years

Text

Lihaaf

In the depth of winter whenever I snuggle into my quilt, its shadow on the wall seems to sway like an elephant. My mind begins a mad race into the dark crevasses of the past; memories come flooding in.

Begging your pardon, I am not about to relate a romantic incident surrounding my own quilt—I do not believe there is much romance associated with it. The blanket, though considerably less comfortable, is preferable because it does not cast such terrifying shadows, quivering on the wall!

This happened when I was a small girl. All day long I fought tooth and nail with my brothers and their friends. Sometimes I wondered why the hell I was so quarrelsome. At my age my older sisters had been busy collecting admirers; all I could think of was fisticuffs with every known and unknown girl or boy I ran into!

For this reason my mother decided to deposit me with an 'adopted' sister of hers when she left for Agra. She was well aware that there was no one in that sister's house, not even a pet animal, with whom I could engage in my favorite occupation! I guess my punishment was well deserved. So Mother left me with Begum Jan, the same Begum Jan whose quilt is imprinted on my memory like a blacksmith's brand.

This was the lady who had been married off to Nawab Sahib for a very good reason, courtesy her poor but loving parents. Although much past his prime, Nawab Sahib was noblesse oblige. No one had ever seen a dancing girl or prostitute in his home. He had the distinction of not only performing the Haj himself, but of being the patron of several poor people who had undertaken the pilgrimage through his good offices.

Nawab Sahib had a strange hobby. People are known to have irksome interests like breeding pigeons and arranging cockfights. Nawab Sahib kept himself aloof from these disgusting sports; all he liked to do was keep an open house for students; young, fair and slim-waisted boys, whose expenses were borne entirely by him. After marrying Begum Jan, he deposited her in the house with all his other possessions and promptly forgot about her! The young, delicate Begum began to wilt with loneliness.

Who knows when Begum Jan started living? Did her life begin when she made the mistake of being born, or when she entered the house as the Nawab's new bride, climbed the elaborate four-poster bed and started counting her days? Or did it begin from the time she realized that the household revolved around the boy-students, and that all the delicacies produced in the kitchen were meant solely for their palates? From the chinks in the drawing-room doors, Begum Jan glimpsed their slim waists, fair ankles and gossamer shirts and felt she had been raked over coals!

Perhaps it all started when she gave up on magic, necromancy, seances and whatnot. You cannot draw blood from a stone. Not an inch did the Nawab budge. Broken-hearted, Begum Jan turned towards education. Not much to be gained here either! Romantic novels and sentimental poetry proved even more depressing. Sleepless nights became a daily routine. Begun Jan slowly let go and consequently, became a picture of melancholy and despair.

She felt like stuffing all her fine clothes into the stove. One dresses up to impress people. Now, neither did the Nawab Sahib find a spare moment from his preoccupation with the gossamer shirts, nor did he allow her to venture outside the home. Her relatives, however, made it a habit to pay her frequent visits which often lasted for months, while she remained prisoner of the house.

Seeing these relatives on a roman holiday made her blood boil. They happily indulged themselves with the goodies produced in the kitchen and licked the clarified butter off their greedy fingers. In her household they equipped themselves for their winter needs. But, despite renewing the cotton filling in her quilt each year, Begum Jan continued to shiver, night after night. Each time she turned over, the quilt assumed ferocious shapes which appeared like shadowy monsters on the wall. She lay in terror; not one of the shadows carried any promise of life. What the hell was life worth anyway? Why live? But Begum Jan was destined to live, and once she started living, did she ever!

Rabbo came to her rescue just as she was starting to go under. Suddenly her emaciated body began to fill out. Her cheeks became rosy; beauty, as it were, glowed through every pore! It was a special oil massage that brought about the change in Begum Jan. Begging your pardon, you will not find the recipe for this oil in the most exclusive or expensive magazine!

When I saw Begum Jan she was in her early forties. She sat reclining on the couch, a figure of dignity and grandeur. Rabbo sat against her back, massaging her waist. A purple shawl was thrown over her legs. The very picture of royalty, a real Maharani! How I loved her looks. I wanted to sit by her side for hours, adoring her like a humble devotee. Her complexion was fair, without a trace of ruddiness. Her black hair was always drenched in oil. I had never seen her parting crooked, nor a single hair out of place. Her eyes were black, and carefully plucked eyebrows stretched over them like a couple of perfect bows! Her eyes were slightly taut, eyelids heavy and eyelashes thick. The most amazing and attractive part of her face were her lips. Usually dyed in lipstick, her upper lip had a distinct line of down. Her temples were covered with long hair. Sometimes her face became transformed before my adoring gaze, as if it were the face of young boy

Her skin was fair and moist, and looked like it had been stretched over her frame and tightly stitched up. Whenever she exposed her ankles for a massage, I stole a glance at their rounded smoothness. She was tall, and appeared taller because of the ample flesh on her person. Her hands were large and moist, her waist smooth. Rabbo used to sit by her side and scratch her back for hours together—it was almost as if getting scratched was for her the fulfilment of life's essential need. In a way, more important than the basic necessities required for staying alive.

Rabbo had no other household duties. Perched on the four-poster bed, she was always massaging Begum Jan's head, feet or some other part of her anatomy. Someone other than Begum Jan receiving such a quantity of human touching, what would the consequences be? Speaking for myself, I can say that if someone touched me continuously like this, I would certainly rot.

As if this daily massage ritual were not enough, on the days she bathed this ritual extended to two hours! Scented oils and unguents were massaged into her shining skin; imagining the friction caused by this prolonged rubbing made me slightly sick. The braziers were lit behind closed doors and then the procedure started. Usually Rabbo was the only one allowed inside the sanctum. Other servants, muttering their disapproval, handed over various necessities at the closed door.

The fact of the matter was that Begum Jan was afflicted with a perpetual itch. Numerous oils and lotions had been tried, but the itch was there to stay. Hakims and doctors stated: It is nothing, the skin is clear. But if the disease is located beneath the skin, it's a different matter. These doctors are mad! Rabbo used to say with a meaningful smile while gazing dreamily at Begum Jan. "May your enemies be afflicted with skin disease! It is your hot blood that causes all the trouble!"

Rabbo! She was as black as Begum Jan was white, like burnt iron ore! Her face was lightly marked with smallpox, her body solidly packed; small dextrous hands, a tight little paunch and full lips slightly swollen, which were always moist. Those puffy hands were as quick as lightning, now at her waist, now her lips, now kneading her thighs and dashing towards her ankles. Whenever I sat down with Begum Jan, my eyes were riveted to those roving hands.

Winter or summer, Begum Jan always wore kurtas of Hyderabadi jalli karga. I recall her dark skirts and billowing white kurtas. With the fan gently rotating on the ceiling, Begum always covered herself with a soft wrap. She was fond of winter. I too liked the winter season at her house. She moved very little. Reclining on the carpet, she spent her days having her back massaged, chewing on dry fruit. Other household servants were envious of Rabbo. The witch! She ate, sat, and even slept with Begum Jan! Rabbo and Begum Jan—the topic inevitably cropped up in every gathering. Whenever anyone mentioned their names, the group burst into loud guffaws. Who knows what jokes were made at their expense? But one thing was certain—the poor lady never met a single soul. All her time was taken up with the treatment of her unfortunate itch.

I have already said I was very young at the time and quite enamoured of Begum Jan. She, too, was fond of me. When mother decided to go to Agra she had to leave me with somebody. She knew that, left alone, I would fight continuously with my brothers, or wander around aimlessly. I was happy to be left with Begum Jan for one week, and Begum Jan was equally pleased to have me. After all, she was Ammi's adopted sister!

The question arose of where I was to sleep. The obvious place was Begum Jan's room; accordingly, a small bed was placed alongside the huge four-poster. Until ten or eleven that night we played Chance and talked; then I went to bed. When I fell asleep Rabbo was scratching her back. "Filthy wench", I muttered before turning over. At night I awoke with a start. It was pitch dark. Begum Jan's quilt was shaking vigorously, as if an elephant was struggling beneath it.

"Begum Jan", my voice was barely audible. The elephant subsided.

"What is it? Go to sleep". Begum Jan's voice seemed to come from afar.

"I’m scared". I sounded like a petrified mouse.

"Go to sleep. Nothing to be afraid of. Recite the Ayat-ul-Kursi".

"Okay!" I quickly began the Ayat. But each time I reached Yalamu Mabain I got stuck. This was strange. I knew the entire Ayat!

"May I come to you, Begum Jan?"

"No child, go to sleep". The voice was curt. Then I heard whispers. Oh God! Who was this other person? Now I was terrified.

"Begum Jan, is there a thief here?"

"Go to sleep, child; there is no thief". This was Rabbo's voice. I sank into my quilt and tried to sleep.

In the morning I could not even remember the sinister scene that had been enacted at night. I have always been the superstitious one in my family. Night fears, sleep-talking, sleep-walking were regular occurrences during my childhood. People often said that I seemed to be haunted by evil spirits. Consequently I blotted out the incident from memory as easily as I dealt with all my imaginary fears. Besides, the quilt seemed such an innocent part of the bed.

The next night when I woke up, a quarrel between Begum Jan and Rabbo was being settled on the bed itself. I could not make out what conclusion was reached, but I heard Rabbo sobbing. Then there were sounds of a cat slobbering in the saucer. To hell with it, I thought and went off to sleep!

Today Rabbo has gone off to visit her son. He was a quarrelsome lad. Begum Jan had done a lot to help him settle down in life; she had bought him a shop, arranged a job in the village, but to no avail. She even managed to have him stay with Nawab Sahib. Here he was treated well, a new wardrobe was ordered for him, but ungrateful wretch that he was, he ran away for no good reason and never returned, not even to see Rabbo. She therefore had to arrange to meet him at a relative's house. Begum Jan would never have allowed it, but poor Rabbo was helpless and had to go.

All day Begum Jan was restless. Her joints hurt like hell, but she could not bear anyone's touch. Not a morsel did she eat; all day long she moped in bed.

"Shall I scratch you, Begum Jan?" I asked eagerly while dealing out the deck of cards. Begum Jan looked at me carefully.

"Really, shall I?" I put the cards aside and began scratching, while Begum Jan lay quietly, giving in to my ministrations. Rabbo was due back the next day, but she never turned up. Begum Jan became irritable. She drank so much tea that her head started throbbing.

Once again I started on her back. What a smooth slab of a back! I scratched her softly, happy to be of some assistance;

"Scratch harder, open the straps", Begum Jan spoke. "There, below the shoulder. Ooh, wonderful!" She sighed as if with immense relief.

"This way", Begum Jan indicated, although she could very well scratch that part herself. But she preferred my touch. How proud I was!

"Here, oh, oh, how you tickle", she laughed. I was talking and scratching at the same time.

"Tomorrow I will send you to the market. What do you want? A sleeping-walking doll?"

"Not a doll, Begum Jan! Do you think I am a child? You know I am…"

"Yes… an old crow. Is that what you are?" She laughed.

"Okay then, buy a babua. Dress it up yourself, I'll give you as many bits and pieces as you want. Okay?" She turned over.

"Okay", I answered.

"Here". She was guiding my hand wherever she felt the itch. With my mind on the babua, I was scratching mechanically, unthinkingly. She continued talking. "Listen, you don't have enough clothes. Tomorrow I will ask the tailor to make you a new frock. Your mother has left some material with me".

"I don't want that cheap red material. It looks tacky". I was talking nonsense while my hand roved the entire territory. I did not realize it but by now Begum Jan was flat on her back! Oh God! I quickly withdrew my hand.

"Silly girl, don't you see where you're scratching? You have dislocated my ribs". Begum Jan was smiling mischievously. I was red with embarrassment.

"Come, lie down with me". She laid me at her side with my head on her arm. "How thin you are… and, let's see, your ribs", she started counting.

"No", I protested weakly.

"I won't eat you up! What a tight sweater", she said. "Not even a warm vest?" I began to get very restless.

"How many ribs?" The topic was changed.

"Nine on one side, ten on the other". I thought of my school hygiene. Very confused thinking.

"Let's see", she moved my hand. "One, two, three…"

I wanted to run away from her, but she held me closer. I struggled to get away. Begum Jan started laughing.

To this day whenever I think of what she looked like at that moment, I get nervous. Her eyelids became heavy, her upper lip darkened and, despite the cold, her nose and eyes were covered with tiny beads of perspiration. Her hands were stiff and cold, but soft as if the skin had been peeled. She had thrown off her shawl and in the karga kurta, her body shone like a ball of dough. Her heavy gold kurta buttons were open, swinging to one side.

The dusk had plunged her room into a claustrophobic blackness, and I felt gripped by an unknown terror. Begum Jan's deep dark eyes focused on me! I started crying. She was clutching me like a clay doll. I started feeling nauseated against her warm body. She seemed possessed. What could I do? I was neither able to cry nor scream! In a while she became limp. Her face turned pale and frightening, she started taking deep breaths. I figured she was about to die, so I ran outside.

Thank God Rabbo came back at night. I was scared enough to pull the sheet over my head, but sleep evaded me as usual. I lay awake for hours.

How I wished Ammi would return. Begum Jan had become such a terrifying entity that I spent my days in the company of household servants. I was too scared to step into her bedroom. What could I have

said to anyone? That I was afraid of Begum Jan? Begum Jan, who loved me so dearly?

Today there was another tiff between Begum Jan and Rabbo. I was dead scared of their quarrels, because they signalled the beginning of my misfortunes! Begum Jan immediately thought about me. What was I doing wandering around in the cold? I would surely die of pneumonia!

"Child, you will have my head shaven in public. If something happens to you, how will I face your mother?" Begum Jan admonished me as she washed up in the water basin. The tea tray was lying on the table.

"Pour some tea and give me a cup". She dried her hands and face.

"Let me get out of these clothes".

While she changed, I drank tea. During her body massage, she kept summoning me for small errands. I carried things to her with utmost reluctance, always looking the other way. At the slightest opportunity I ran back to my perch, drinking my tea, my back turned to Begum Jan.

"Ammi!" My heart cried in anguish. "How could you punish me so severely for fighting with my brothers?" Mother disliked my mixing with the boys, as if they were man-eaters who would swallow her beloved daughter in one gulp! After all who were these ferocious males? None other than my own brothers and their puny little friends. Mother believed in a strict prison sentence for females; life behind seven padlocks! Begum Jan's "patronage", however, proved more terrifying than the fear of the world's worst goondas! If I had had the courage I would have run out on to the street. But helpless as I was, I continued to sit in that very spot with my heart in my mouth.

After an elaborate ritual of dressing up and scenting her body with warm attars and perfumes, Begum Jan turned her arduous heat on me.

"I want to go home!" I said in response to all her suggestions. More tears.

"Come to me", she waxed. "I will take you shopping".

But I had only one answer. All the toys and sweets in the world kept piling up against my one and only refrain, "I want to go home!"

"Your brothers will beat you up, you witch!" She smacked me affectionately.

"Sure, let them", I said to myself annoyed and exasperated.

"Raw mangoes are sour, Begum Jan", malicious little Rabbo expressed her views.

Then Begum Jan had her famous fit. The gold necklace she was about to place around my neck, was broken to bits. Gossamer net scarf was shredded mercilessly. Hair, which were never out of place, were tousled with loud exclamations of "Oh! Oh! Oh!" She started shouting and convulsing. I ran outside. After much ado and ministration, Begum Jan regained consciousness. When I tiptoed into the bedroom Rabbo, propped against her body, was kneading her limbs.

"Take off your shoes, she whispered". Mouse-like I crept into my quilt.

Later that night, Begum Jan's quilt was, once again, swinging like an elephant. "Allah", I was barely able to squeak. The elephant-in-the quilt jumped and then sat down. I did not say a word. Once again, the elephant started convulsing. Now I was really confused. I decided, no matter what, tonight I would flip the switch on the bedside lamp. The elephant started fluttering once again, as if about to squat. Smack, gush, slobber—someone was enjoying a feast. Suddenly I understood what was going on!

Begum Jan had not eaten a thing all day and Rabbo, the witch, was a known glutton. They were polishing off some goodies under the quilt, for sure. Flaring my nostrils, I huffed and puffed hoping for a whiff of the feast. But the air was laden with attar, henna, sandalwood; hot fragrances, no food.

Once again the quilt started billowing. I tried to lie still, but it was now assuming such weird shapes that I could not contain myself. It seemed as if a frog was growing inside it and would suddenly spring on me.

"Ammi!" I spoke with courage, but no one heard me. The quilt, meanwhile, had entered my brain and started growing. Quietly creeping to the other side of the bed I swung my legs over and sat up . In the dark I groped for the switch. The elephant somersaulted beneath the quilt and dug in. During the somersault, its corner was lifted one foot above the bed.

Allah! I dove headlong into my sheets!!

What I saw when the quilt was lifted, I will never tell anyone, not even if they give me a lakh of rupees.

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