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littlefreya · 4 years ago

Text

As I was saying

Summary: You recently found out that you’re pregnant and Henry is being all sorts of over-protective and annoying about it and won’t shut up about what you should or shouldn’t eat. So you find a creative way to shut him up...

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (no description of body type or ethnicity thought it’s mention that Henry is taller)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+, RPF, fluff to smut, early pregnancy, blow job, bodily fluids, slight FemDom/SubMale, My overuse of poetic sex metaphors, cottagecore!

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, or parts from it.

A/N: This story was born out of a convo I had with my sweet @the-soot-sprite about the photo above. Many thanks to @agniavateira my solid rock who betas all my work and to @firefly-graphics for the dividers

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed my story. I work hard on each one of them and your validation means the world to me. 🖤

As I was Saying

Henry’s velvety voice carried through the cottage like seductive vapours of honey liqueur. It wasn’t often that he'd sing a blissful tune so casually out of the blue—after earth-shattering sex perhaps, which indeed you had the night before. However, this morning, his chants were laced with a new flavour of sugary bliss.

Two little pink stripes. That's all it took for his eyes to shimmer the way precious cobalt is kissed by a moonlight glow.

Sneaking about in the mien of a curious little mouse, you trod after the pleasant tune of his voice, which was now accompanied by a soft rustle. Wander laved your face once you leaned against the kitchen door frame, peering at the prodigious man who stood in front of the open fridge.

Preoccupied, he appeared to be ransacking through the shelves with the song ‘Cheek to Cheek’ thrumming on his tongue.

“Heaven... I'm in heaven…”

Fingers clutching at the edge of the wall, you pressed into the chilled surface with a relaxed smirk, lingering on the irresistible view when your ease of mind faded with a blink of an eye — while methodically rummaging through the fridge, Henry threw fresh food straight into an open trash can.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice rising to a high-pitched yip.

Henry made a soft flex; the muscles of his back rippled in a tidal motion. Though acknowledging your presence, he proceeded to hover a finger over different products.

“Cleaning up the fridge," he answered absentmindedly.

With a soft shove, there went your French cheese.

“That’s brand new!” you protested and rushed toward him, alarmed.

Towering over the trash can, you considered diving in to salvage the precious bulk of cheese from the dreary pit. Henry glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, testing your resolve while his claw grabbed some papaya salad leftovers and pushed it over the edge of the shelf, joining the rest of the discarded meals.

“It is,” he nodded and closed the refrigerator door, carrying on to the high cabinets. With a slight wrinkle between his brows and a hand scratching the stubbles of his dimpled chin, he narrowed his eyes to scrutinise the items carefully. “I'm pregnant-proofing the kitchen. I called Hanna while you were asleep. She created a proper daily menu for you with the dos and don’ts: less sugar, more veggies and protein.”

It took you a moment to process his words, your eyes narrowing while asking, “Hanna? As in Hanna, your nutritionist?”

Henry nodded at your question, a faint crease lining his cheek. “That’s the one. Don't worry, princess, she specialises with pregnant women.”

Unwittingly, a somewhat inhuman growl sounded in your chest. You were only getting used to the idea of developing another person inside you, and here stood your husband, already seeing fit to dictate your diet. Slithering into the narrow space between the heavy man and the counter, you tilted your chin to meet his stare while your fists pressed into your hips assertively.

“Listen here, Cavill! You might have jizzed me one too many and succeeded in putting a baby in there, but this is still my body. I can take care of my own pregnancy diet.”

With an arm stretched above your head, Henry offered a charming display of pearly whites to pacify your strained nerves. His dimples nearly managed to beguile your senses when your eyes flared at the sight of what was held between his long fingers.

“No! Henry, no! Not the coffee!”

“Oh, I’m afraid so, my love. You shouldn’t have any caffeine at your current state.” Despite his argument, the tenderness of his gaze stroked upon your face like a warm ray of sunlight piercing through heavy clouds. Lazily it dropped to your belly, the cascading heat cradling your unborn child.

Words of protest left you for a sliver of a moment, too in awe of the dreamy grin on his face.

Thoughts of how beautiful you’d look rounded and full with his child illuminated him that you swore his skin developed a glow over the night. Didn’t they always say women are radiant when they are pregnant? Well, it seemed that in your case, it applied to your husband as well.

The charming haze of bliss almost swallowed you up; but you quickly slapped yourself back into reality, reaching a hand in an attempt to stop Henry from throwing away your delicacy. Though taller, Henry held his hand far out of reach, a hint of a smugness stretching his lips.

“A pregnant woman is allowed to have a little bit of caffeine!” You muttered and sent both hands in an attempt to retrieve the box while Henry teased you by throwing it from one hand to the other, further fueling your annoyance.

Vexed to the point of frustration, you stood still and sighed, “you know what else is bad for the baby?”

Henry paused his foolish games and tilted his head as he waited to hear your answer.

“His father at the morgue after I’ll kill him. Now stop that and hand it over! A pregnant woman can have a cup a day, according to Google.”

“Nope,” Henry clicked his tongue, his laughter replaced with a severe stare. “Love, I know they say it’s okay to have a teeny bit, but I’ve been doing some research while you were asleep, and it’s not recommended. Caffeine increases heart rate and blood pressure, which is not good for you nor for the baby. It also increases urination, which may cause dehydration.”

Clenching your jaw at the onslaught of information he bestowed, you watched his lips move while none of his words registered. Preoccupied with the rules of a “healthy” pregnancy, Henry was set on being the practical one, completely forgetting to enjoy the moment. And damn, it was the moment to celebrate. All you wanted right now was to stay in bed for a day, ride your handsome husband to hell and back and eat as much ice cream as possible.

“Everything you eat from now on goes to our baby,” Henry proceeded to lecture on a thing you were perfectly aware of.

Ire found you within seconds, embroiled with pregnancy hormones which made him further intolerable at the moment— intolerable

... and delicious.

Soaked with hunger, your eyes raked his sight: the thickness of his muscles was apparent beneath a plain black t-shirt and those good old grey sweats outlined the source of your current predicament. Your fingers twitched just from thinking about it, mimicking the sensation of squeezing its girth and eliciting those low groans that made your heart flutter.

But his chatter still interrupted your sultry thoughts. If only there was a way to get him to shut up, you mused. Then your eyes focused on the soft bulge that winked back at your hungry glare.

Unaware, Henry turned toward the table to grab a bulk of informative documents he printed earlier in order to educate you of your pregnancy, he licked his thumb and began to read through, “As I was saying….”

Hastily, you exploited his lack of attention and took a step forward, your fingers latching around the hem of his sweats. With one swift movement, you fell to your knees and tugged his trousers along.

Lost in his passionate speech, Henry was still muttering nonsense when your hand seized him; but as the lushness of your tongue bedded his soft cock without warning, all that could be heard in the kitchen was a husky gasp.

Feeling the warm silky flesh swell and harden within your mouth, you sent your eyes up to peer at him, admiring the sight. Nothing spoke of your power better than the wrinkle between his shut eyes and his mouth agape with all air draining from his lungs. There you were, lowered to your knees with a maw full of his cock and yet, he was the one who lost his ability to speak and had his legs quaking of need.

Unable to help yourself, you sent one palm to feel the tremor that ran through the muscles of his thighs while the other cradled his heavy sac.

“Uh……” he finally managed to utter, a groan of bemused bliss pushing itself between his parted lips. “What… what are you doing?”

You crooked an eyebrow in response and answered by dragging your mouth along the length of his shaft. Your pillowy lips ran across ridges and thrumming veins, your jaw loosening until you felt him deep in the back of your throat.

Locked in the cavernous cage of your maw, he tightened his gut and shuddered with pleasure. Though, the low unbridled groans that sputtered from his chest fueled your enticement just as so; memories of how the same thick girth that brimmed your mouth would split open your narrow canal made both your eyes and abandoned cunt tear of desperation.

It always beguiled you how much arousal could be found in bringing him to his rapture without touching yourself. The harder he throbbed on your velvety serpent, the more you soaked.

With fervent strokes, you feasted on the briny flavour of his cock; the tendons vibrated with bliss while your tongue twirled and pushed around them. You pulled, sucked, and pumped him in your warm mouth, milking the senses of a man infinitely stronger—a man who succeeded in conquering your womb yet now crumbled to nothing at the touch of your tongue.

“Fuck…. Babe… keep going,” Henry breathed out a plea. The documents held by his hand slipped between his fingers as he pressed his palm to the cabinet with a thud, and began to rock his hips back and forth to fuck back into your mouth. Like feathers, the white slips floated around you, landing onto the ground while you worked him to his ecstasy.

His other hand found your head, caressing lovingly and trying to take control: yet his strength waned and his head fell back with a moan. Faster, harder, you sucked your husband to the point of submission while hums of admiration laced around his rigid length. Your eyes beamed as you watched his resolve shatter. Your fingertips toyed with the coarse hair at the apex of his thighs, your thumb seeking the tendon at the base of his cock and pressing into it, urging him to spill his gift down your throat.

“I’m going to… I’m going to…. In your throat… fuck.”

With a guttural grunt, he thickened against your tongue; the overflow of salty-sweet cream glazed your mouth and then flowed down your flaring throat.

The room thrummed with the buzz of the refrigerator, Henry’s heavy exhales - these were the sounds of your triumph. Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you cracked a smile and neatly pulled his trousers back on before you rose to stand straight.

Overwhelmed and drenched in sweat, your husband scrutinised you while you reached for the box of capsules and tilted your head.

“You were saying?”

#henry cavill rpf #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

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Devil-May-Care

Pairing: demon!Dream / Clay x demon hunter!gn!reader

Summary: [Demon Hunter!AU] When you went in search of the most powerful demon known to mankind, you didn’t expect him to be so charming.

Warnings: a little horror + some violence + tw// weapons (crossbow, gun)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this was requested by a passionate anon! i fell in love with the request at first sight and had loads of fun writing this, although i did take some creative liberty with it. i hope you all enjoy :)

You huffed as you pushed past the branch hanging in your face, wrinkling your nose as you trudged onward. The forest was almost eerily silent around you, the pitch black night doing nothing to ease the tension that had gathered in your shoulders. Above you, the moon and stars twinkled soundlessly, peering down at you with wide, watching eyes.

Where could he possibly be hiding? you thought to yourself with a grimace. Is he even in this forest?

Your mentor had told you that this forest was the last place he’d ever been seen, and that it would be your best bet. But she also told you not to get your hopes too high, since he was known to be a trickster who never stayed in one spot for too long.

You sighed as you stepped over a fallen log, making sure not to trip. Despite how young the night was, you were already getting tired. Tracking was arguably the hardest part of your job, and easily your least favourite part of it.

Then again, no one said being a demon hunter was easy.

With a slight grumble, you squinted through the darkness while walking past another tree. So far, all you’d seen was tree after after tree, and you were getting fed up. Heck, you could have sworn there was a clearing just ahead of you here.

It was at that moment that the trees suddenly parted before you, and you found yourself standing in the middle of a clearing. The soft grass rustled beneath your feet as you took a tentative step forward, your ears perking up for any noise or movement. When nothing came, the muscles in your legs tensed.

This was the first clearing you had found in hours, and something about it just felt off.

“What are you looking for, little hunter?”

You whirled at the sound of the low, curling voice, your gaze frantically darting around the darkness for its source. You kept your lips pursed as your head whipped this way and that, nothing but silence filling the forest air. Even with the light of the moon, all you could make out between the shadows were the silhouettes of trees and their taunting branches looming over you.

There was no way it was who you thought it was... right?

“Not gonna say anything? Hm. Perhaps that’s just because you can’t see me. Here.”

You heard the snap of a finger, and the clearing around you suddenly lit up in a faint, greenish hue. Your eyes widened as the earth you stood upon began to glow, your fingers twitching at your side. Turning again, you quickly searched your surroundings once more for the voice’s owner. Everything seemed to be exactly how it appeared when you first arrived—the trees were just trees and the grass was just grass, even if they were both admittedly glowing.

Just then, there came a whistle from above you.

You lifted your head, and your gaze fell upon a figure sitting atop a tree branch a few feet away. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight.

Piercing, emerald eyes. A green fitted shirt to match. Dark, golden hair. A smattering of freckles. A cold, wicked grin.

The man smiled at you, swinging his legs leisurely as he tilted his head. “Hello there, pet.”

You didn’t wait another second before your arms were reaching up behind you, pulling your crossbow off your back. You slotted the arrow into the flight groove in near record time before aiming it up at him, aiming for but a split second before you pulled the trigger. In a flash, the arrow went flying through the night sky, pointed directly at his face. You could have sworn you caught his eyes turn red before he suddenly vanished, your arrow passing through empty space before pinning itself into the tree trunk he had been leaning against just seconds prior.

You panted, quickly pulling another arrow out of your quiver and reloading your crossbow as you turned in a circle, not a single detail going unnoticed by your watchful eyes. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you tried to focus on the rustling leaves around you. Your fingers curled around the stock of your bow a fraction tighter, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Where is he? Where did he go?

A smooth voice curled around the back of your neck.

“Is this how you greet everyone you meet, or am I just special?”

Whipping around again, you pulled the trigger without even an ounce of hesitation. A twang of satisfaction shot through you as you heard the distinct sound of flesh being pierced, followed by a tumble to the ground. You rushed over at the sight of the man—or demon, as you should be calling him—lying sprawled on the ground, his arms casually tucked under his head as if he hadn’t just been shot.

“Ooh,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the arrow sticking out of his chest, “your arrows are made of dreamshade.” He grinned at you. “Smart one, aren’t you?”

Before you could even react, he ripped the arrow out, watching with amusement as crimson slowly dripped onto the front of his shirt. You stared at the hole in his chest, left behind by your arrow, a glimmer of glee expanding in your chest. Yes! you thought, your lips quirking as your hand floated toward the pistol hanging at your side. Now’s my cha—

All of a sudden, you watched in horror as the skin began to reform, the sinew and muscle stitching themselves back together to fill the gap. In an instant, his chest was whole again, the hole having disappeared entirely with nothing to even hint at its existence, were it not for the tear in his shirt.

“Unfortunately for you,” he said, tossing the arrow behind his head with a flick of his fingers, “I’m tougher than most demons out there.”

In a flash, you were standing over him, one foot digging into his chest. You didn’t even give him the chance to blink before you were pointing your crossbow at him once more, this time just barely allowing the arrow tip to hover above his neck. You tried to calm your breaths, pushing back the sick sense of joy you could feel starting to boil over inside you. You were so, so close to just killing hi—

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to attack me without even asking for my name?” he calmly drawled, looking bored out of his mind.

You blinked in surprise, your thoughts faltering for a moment before your expression hardened once more. “I know who you are.”

He cocked his head at you, something like delight swimming in his viridian eyes. “Do you, now?”

You gulped, hesitating only for a moment before you began to speak. “Y-You’re Dream. Lord of chaos. Progenitor of destruction. Harbinger of nightmares.” You nearly choked on your own words.

“The world’s most powerful demon.”

He grinned at you, clapping his hands together above his head as he let out a small hoot. “Aw, you know all my titles?” He winked. “That’s cute.”

Cute, your brain repeated dumbly, a fuzzy feeling forming in your chest, but you quickly shook the thought from your head with a scowl. You should not be happy that one of the most powerful demon’s known to mankind called you cute.

(Okay, well. Maybe you were a little happy. Not that you would ever admit it.)

With a stony look, your finger wrapped around the crossbow trigger, the cool metal sending a shiver down you spine. “I’m here to kill you, Dream.”

He didn’t look fazed. “Oh? Even though we only just met?”

A snarl ripped itself out of your throat, fury slowly beginning to claw up your insides. Why did he sound so calm? Didn’t he understand that he was about to die to your hand?

“That doesn’t matter,” you said bluntly, trying to ignore your heart ramming away at your ribcage. “You’re a monster that needs to be disposed of.”

He hummed, absentmindedly picking at his nail. “That’s bold of you to say.” His tone was dull and interested, and his eyes seemed to shine even brighter thanks the green glow surrounding his head. “I can’t remember the last time a demon hunter has ever been so upfront with me.”

The string tying your restraint together snapped. That was it. How could he be so nonchalant? So apathetic? Didn’t he care?

“You’ve killed so many people,” you spat, “taken so many innocent lives, and for what?” You narrowed your eyes, nothing but pure disgust running through your veins as you dug the tip of your crossbow into the soft flesh of his neck. “What reason do I have to stop myself from ending your life right here, right now?”

Below you, Dream only stared blankly at you, his eyebrows raised. Then, he let out a sigh, wrapping a hand around the stock of your crossbow. Panic shot through you as he pulled it away from his throat with ease, his fingers curling around the polished wood. “First of all,” he said lowly, “that little thing isn’t going to do anything.”

In a blink of an eye, you heard the snapping of metal and wood, your gaze going wide. He shot you a cocky grin. “Not anymore.”

You leapt back, gritting you teeth and tossing your now useless crossbow onto the earth beside you. Your hand moved in a blur as you reached down and pulled out your pistol from its holster, pointing it toward him. “Each and every one of these bullets is soaked in holy water,” you shouted, your hand cocking back the safety. “Don’t think I won’t shoot.”

Dream rolled over onto his stomach, his grin widening as he rested his chin on his hand. “Tell me,” he drawled, tilting his head, “do you really think you scare me?”

You ignored the shaking of your fingers. “I—I can and will shoot you.”

He laughed, an uncomfortable warmth wrapping around your gut. “Please, darling—I’ve been alive for longer than you can even fathom. As if you’d be the first to pin me down, let alone try to shoot me.” His eyes flashed crimson, and you felt your stomach drop. “I know all your hunter tricks and tactics, and believe me when I say they won’t work.”

Suddenly, he floated up off the ground, not changing his position whatsoever. In only a matter of seconds, he was hovering above you, blinking down at your shocked expression with mirth glimmering in his scarlet gaze.

Of course he could levitate—what were you expecting?

“Second,” he said, “I did a lot of those things a long time ago, especially in human years. How long has it been?” He tapped his chin. “Probably centuries by now, which is like forever for you guys.”

You scowled at him, your pistol still pointed at him. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t caused any chaos recently.”

“That’s true!” he chirped, snapping his fingers. “But my more recent activities have been much more... tame in comparison to my golden years, don’t you think?”

As much as you wanted to shoot him right here and now, you also wanted to punch him in the face before you did. “Lives are lives, Dream!” you shouted. “Any more or less lost doesn’t make you any more redeemable.”

A chuckle slipped from his lips, flipping onto his back as he continued to hover in the cool, night air. “Oh, you humans and your morality. How entertaining you all are.”

There was only one word running through your mind as you glared at him, your jaw clenching tight as your rage only multiplied inside you. Monster, monster, monster.

His eyelids fluttered shut as he allowed himself to drift a fraction lower toward you. “Well, I do believe I should ask—who’s to say that I was the one who killed those people, anyways?”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “...what are you talking about?”

He peeked an eye open at you. “It’s not like I flew down from the sky and shot them all with a rifle, and it’s not like I just snapped my fingers and everyone dropped dead.” He hummed at the thought. “Just what kind of person do you take me for?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your toes curling in your boots. “Stop distracting me—you’re dodging the question.”

“On the contrary,” he shot back without missing a beat, “I’d argue that you’re dodging mine, pet.” You could hear the laughter threatening to bubble up his throat as he spoke. “Do you really think I was the one purely responsible for all that destruction?”

You tried to ignore the slight tremble of your hands. “A-Aren’t you?” you stammered out. “You’ve started wars, detonated massive bombs, pushed people to their absolute limits. That stuff’s all your fault.” You gulped. “...isn’t it?”

For a second, he simply stared at you. Then, he burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh, how naïve you are, pet. Just what were you taught?” As he clutched his chest, he sunk a little lower toward you. “I didn’t fight on those battlefields. I didn’t press the red button. I didn’t kick men and women to the ground, pointing guns in their faces. But do you know who did?”

The cogs in your head began to turn as you wracked your mind over his words. Then, a wave of understanding slammed into you, and you lowered your pistol, your arm going limp at your side.

He couldn’t possibly mean...

“Ding, ding, ding! You guessed it.” His lips curled up into a delighted smirk. “Humanity did.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Oh, no.

The manic look in his eyes only grew. “Oh, yes.” He cackled at the look on your face, pointing at you. “I didn’t even have to lift a finger for you to all walk straight into your own demise! How pathetic is that?”

You took a shaky step back, your pistol dropping to the ground. “B-B—”

“B-B-B-But what?” he said mockingly, mimicking you in a high-pitched tone. “Did they tell you that I’m the big, bad wolf and that humanity is Little Red? Because they lied, pet. They lied to you.” He pointed his fingers together to form an X, tilting his head at you. “I’ll have you know that I’m not a liar. A trickster, perhaps. But a liar?” He narrowed his eyes. “Never.”

He bent down where he hovered in the air, waggling a finger in your face. “The truth is, darling, is that I didn’t do anything. I just stood in the room and watched. I might have pointed out that that one little duke was in perfect view, or that that one city only had so many people living in it, but I never took any lives myself.” He lightly tapped your nose, and you shrunk back as he crooned, “Humanity did all that, pet. They’re the real monsters to blame here.”

You wanted to sink to your knees and melt into a puddle on the ground. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Your mentor told you that Dream killed all those people—that he was the one to stab the knife in and twist it while pulling it out. She wouldn’t lie to you, never in a million years.

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But there was something about the freckles scattered across Dream’s face and the way the moonlight bounced off his eyes that made you realize.

He was telling the truth.

A few moments passed in silence as you stared long and hard down at your feet. You could feel Dream’s gaze boring into your figure, eyeing you up and down as you struggled to steady the beating of your heart. You half-expected him to mock you even more, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Maybe he was more human than you thought.

“Why?” you finally whispered after god knows how long.

When you were met with silence, you raised your eyes to meet his once more. “Why did you do it?” you said, louder this time. “Why did you interact with us at all if you wouldn’t even get your own hands dirty? If you knew it would only end like this?”

His eyes flashed, the tiniest hint of carmine swirling in their murky depths. “Isn’t the answer obvious, pet?” He flashed you a wicked grin. “I was bored.”

You blinked, realization slowly setting in. “Bored? Bored?” You were about to lose it, now. “You did all that just because you were bored?”

He shrugged. “Sure did. Chaos makes the world so much more interesting, don’t you think? If only good things happened, you would be bored, too.”

Your stomach churned with disgust. “You’re twisted.”

His smile only widened. “At least I’m having fun.”

All you could do was stare at him in defeat. This wasn’t right. There were more ways to have fun than to toy with humanity’s psyche and drive them to end people’s lives, even for a demon like him. There had to be something you could do. For some inexplicable reason you couldn’t bring yourself to name, a part of you almost wanted to help him.

I must be losing my mind, you thought. What person in their right mind would try to save a demon, let alone the most powerful one of them all?

You, apparently.

The cogs in your head began to churn, your mind bustling as it tried to come up with some alternative, no matter how silly. There had to be something he could do that wasn’t just this.

That was when it hit you.

“Why,” you started slowly, your voice coming out shaky and unsure, “don’t you have fun in a way that doesn’t destroy things... but creates them?”

He blinked lazily at you. “Hm?”

You swallowed, raising your chin. “You—you can have chaos, but it doesn’t need to be destructive.”

He raised his brows. “It doesn’t?”

Your gaze hardened. “Not at all.”

Just then, a flash of memory shot through your skull, and you gasped. “Say, Dream,” you began, “do you—do you know how the Greeks thought the universe came to be?”

You didn’t wait for him to answer. “First,” you said, “there was chaos. And from chaos, life was born. Gods and goddesses, plants and animals.”

“And humans,” he added.

You nodded. “And humans—like me.” You pressed a hand to your chest. “See? Chaos can create things. It doesn’t have to be so full of death and terror.”

While his expression was bemused, there was something sad about it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “You do realize that that’s just a story that you human made up?” he hummed. “How the universe came to be is far more different.”

You blinked. “You were alive for that?”

He sent you a blank smile, the look in his eyes betraying nothing. “Maybe, maybe not.” Waving his hand, he flipped over onto his back, floating a fraction higher than before. “Point is, that kind of chaos probably doesn’t exist.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side. “But it could,” you whispered.

He paused, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “What?”

You dug your heel into the ground, raising your voice. “It could! You don’t know that it doesn’t.” You took a step toward him, throwing your arms out. “Isn’t that fun? Isn’t that exciting? That there’s a whole other form of chaos you’ve never discovered before?!”

Your shout rang out into the quiet forest as Dream stared at you, his lips parted the tiniest bit. Rather than looking amused or arrogant, he almost looked... raw. Real. This might just the most vulnerable look you’d gotten of him all night.

Then, he burst into laughter.

Lowering your arms, you huffed at him, trying and failing to ignore the warmth blossoming between your lungs as you took in his wheezing face. “W-What?”

“Oh,” he gasped between peals of laughter, “what a treat you are, pet.”

Heat flashed across your cheeks as he wiped away a tear from his eye, his chuckles slowly dying down. His laugh should not sound as attractive as it was—he should not be as attractive as he was.

“Tell you what,” he said as he caught his breath once more, sending you a devilish grin. “If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you my real one.”

You stared at him for a moment, then your jaw dropped. “What?”

He stared at you, his emerald eyes glowing in the dim light. “You heard me.”

For a few seconds, you simply gaped, your brain still struggling to process his words. “But... but why?” you finally blurted. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

He hummed at you, flipping upside down. “What about it doesn’t make sense? It seems like a fair trade to me.”

Sputtering, you threw your hands into the air. “A demon’s true name is the source of their power! By handing it over to me, you’re basically putting your life in my hands—in a demon hunter’s hands.” Your face blanched at the mere thought. “A human name and demon name aren’t even remotely comparable.”

He blinked at you, slow and lazy. “I know.”

You didn’t understand—you couldn’t understand. “Then why are you doing this?”

He dipped his down toward you, his face hovering mere inches away from yours. “Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured. “You’re interesting. And rather cute, I suppose.”

You back-pedaled, your eyes wide as you stammered, “I-I could kill you if you told me your real name.”

He hummed, tucking his hand under his chin. “Perhaps, I suppose.” His lips curled upward. “But you won’t.”

Your hand squeezed around nothing. “You don’t know that.”

He chuckled again, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “Oh, yes I do, pet. Don’t act as though I can’t see right through you. I know you’re too wishy-washy to kill me off just like that.”

He tilted his head at you, his gaze brimming with mischief. “That’s the thing about humans—you’re all so greedy. You all want something you don’t have, something that fuels you to acquire more. It might be power, or fame, or fortune, or love. It’s quite pathetic, really. But curiosity?”

Lowering himself, he pushed himself up until he was standing flat on the ground again, his hands sliding into his pockets. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and your mouth went dry. “Why, curiosity is your greatest flaw of all. You humans always want to know more, and I know that you want to know what I do next, whether you’re aware of it or not.”

You felt like your blood was going to tear right out of your veins. You hated how right he was, how well he seemed to know you. “You’re insane,” you said.

His smile was lazy and wide as he took a single step toward you. “Probably. But I’ve been alive for ages now, and you might be the most fun thing I’ve seen in millennia. I want to know your name, pet.”

This was crazy in every sense of the word. Any other demon wouldn’t even dare utter their true name aloud, even to themselves, yet here Dream was, bargaining his for yours.

You’d be an idiot not to tell him your name, now.

Swallowing, you didn’t dare look away from his piercing eyes. “It—my name is [Y/N].”

His lips parted in awe, and he stepped toward you once more. “[Y/N],” he repeated, slowly. Carefully, like a wolf stalking its prey. “Fascinating name. Haven’t met too many of those in my lifetime, shocking as it may be.” He paused for a moment, and you could have sworn his smile looked different. “It’s pretty.”

A rush of heat went shooting down your spine, your stomach doing a flip. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glared at him. “Well, stop dawdling! What’s your real name, Dream?”

For a long, excruciatingly slow minute, he only stared at you, scanning every inch of your face. You could feel anxiety begin to crawl up your throat as he did nothing more than watch the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed.

All of a sudden, he was standing in front of you, his hand tucked underneath your chin and lifting it upward. You barely had the chance to gasp before you felt a soft warmth pressing against your lips, light as a feather and tasting like ash and smoke.

Before you could even register what had just happened, he was gone.

You whirled, your face growing astronomically hot. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears again, but for an entirely different reason this time. You raised your hand to touch your lips while your cheeks burned furiously.

Did he just... kiss me?

Just then, a whisper ran along the shell of your ear, so soft that you almost missed it.

“My name is Clay.”

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hanii-rose · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I saw that your request are open and I really liked you writing! But Badd is my favorite boi, so can I get badd’s reaction to seeing his S/O tuck in Zenko? I thought I would be cute ^w^ have a good day please!

𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮

Metal Bat × GenderNeutral!Reader

The jingle-jangle of keys rang out throughout the peaceful apartment, alerting you of your boyfriend's return.

Your hand never ceased from gently patting Zenko to sleep. You sat beside her on her Amai Mask themed bed, her head on your lap, eyes closed in a peaceful slumber. Her hair stayed somewhat wet from the Amai Mask themed shampoo she had lathered it in, yet you didn't mind the chill of the cold water. It was all for Zenko after all....

She was such a smart, sweet child, always following the rules, doing her homework and chores on time and never making a mess.

The complete opposite of her precious onii-chan.

If she were awake now, she would've for sure run up to him to welcome him home, but she was lost deep in her dreams,

You felt her snuggle up to you more for warmth and you gently swept her bangs away from her adorable face.

Her onii-chan came stumbling into your view, his back turned to you, jacket torn in places you’d never be able to sow back together, hair tussled and dirty and signature metal bat covered in dents and scratches.

Badd moved slowly throughout the corridor, leaving you behind without a word. The idiot probably didn't even know you were there. He looked pretty banged up as well...

Carefully placing Zenko’s head on her Amai Mask themed pillow, you quietly got off of her bed and and headed out of her room to follow Badd.

“Badd, are you okay?”

Your boyfriend turned around upon hearing your voice, dropping his tattered red top on the floor, crashing down onto the couch, rubbing his temple.

“Oh Badd...”

You slowly walked around over next to him, placing your hand on his shoulders, steadily rubbing the tension away. He refused to look at you, keeping his eyes shut tightly and letting out exhasperated sighs.

“You know, if there’s something bothering you, you should talk about it. It really helps.”

He dully shook his head no and leaned back. You cupped his face with your dominant hand, gently swiping your thumb against his cheek, wiping off some muck that had gotten onto his handsome face.

"I'm here for you, I'm willing to listen honey..."

Your voice had softened, so had your expression. Badd lethargically rubbed his face with his rough hands, frustrated.

“I’ll set some tea for you. You’ll feel better soon.”

You felt awful to see him so depressed. Everything was better when he was his sweet, brash self. Whenever he was unhappy, the world around you became dull, lifeless, without meaning.

You reassured him as best as you could, brushing back his dark disheveled strands and rising from your spot beside him. You dusted yourself off, disheartened, making your way to the kitchen but before you could take a full step, you felt a small tug on the end of your shirt.

Huh?

“I was only stressed. It ain’t nothin’ to cry over-”

“-yet i feel like i gotta...”

You fully spun around to face him, grasping his shoulders and pushing him back to rest against the headrest.

“...Why Badd?”

As if on cue, Badd’s cat, Tama came striding in, jumping onto his lap and becoming a loaf. Badd took a deep breath and started.

“I almost lost today. Me, almost losing, that just don’t sound right...”

His fingers cutely nuzzled Tama’s head as he explained calmly.

“All this time, I thought I was indestructible. Someone that people could’a depended on. Someone Zenko could’a depended on.”

"I don't got any parents Y/N. No one to look after Zenko if I suddenly don't make it."

You looked at him, realizing what he meant. You gave him an incredulous expression, disbelief took over your emotions.

“Badd, you dork!”

He stopped stroking Tama’s fur and quirked his brow.

“How dare you?!”

You exasperated, completely unable to grasp his source of unease.

"Badd, the only reason there are still people around is because of you!"

You balled your hands, frantically trying to get your points across.

"We can all rest easy knowing Metal Bat is here to protect us."

"Zenko can go to school, make friends, study and live because she knows nothing will happen to her when she has an amazing onii-chan like you..."

You tilted your head in the direction of Zenko's room, requesting him to follow you there. Tama scurried off of his lap as he moved to get up from his seat.

"Look..."

The two of you stood by her door, peering inside to see her sleeping soundly.

"She's precious to you, right? Well, you're precious to her too."

Badd leaned on the doorframe while you walked over to Zenko, picking up her head delicately and fixing her position, making her more comfortable.

Badd's piercing black eyes watched you cradle Zenko while simultaneously fixing up her bed.

"She has so much faith in you. So much faith that you'll always return to her and attend all of her piano recitals, buy all of the Amai Mask merch with her, and stay with her forever."

You softly spoke, not wanting to break Zenko's peaceful slumber.

You placed her down onto her pillow again, unfolded her blanket and draped it over her little frame, tucking her in.

Her brother observed the scene, something in his chained up heart started to burn as he suddenly felt all of it being unlocked. His face gracing a rare expression. He looked...surprisingly pleased.

"She loves you because she believes her onii-chan is the strongest hero of all. Everyone does."

"I do..."

You looked up at Badd with a gleam of hope in your eyes and walked over to him, grasping his hand and exiting Zenko's room, quietly shutting the door behind you.

"We love you. Not because you win every fight but because we have faith in you. You give us hope!"

Badd's expression seemed to be unreadable as he kept his face down, trembling where he stood while crushing your hand in his.

"H-hey, Badd don't be sad!"

He shook his head violently and stood tall, still trembling.

His face painfully scrunched up as he tried containing his tears, pinching his thigh with his index and thumb.

"I ain't cryin' c-cus I'm sad..."

You took one look at his face and stifled a laugh.

"Don't ya' dare start laughin'!"

And just as you burst out in giggles, Badd pulled you into his chest, hugging you snugly.

"Ya' take such good care of Zenko..."

You nodded, of course!

...

"She's like a little sister to me too! I'll always be there for her."

"That's all I ever wanted to hear..."

"I love you."

You giggled at his abrupt confession and patted his back. This damn kid...

"Oh Badd, I love you too..."

"Now, how about I set you a warm bath and after that, we'll get tucked in too. Hm?"

Badd nodded in agreement, no longer having a dull exterior. He was back to his confident old self again.

Kissing him on the cheek, you strode down the corridor to his bathroom to get started on filling the tub.

Badd called out to you from behind, getting your attention, his words making you blush and smile to yourself.

"But don't think I won't be takin' ya' into the tub with me!"

You turned a corner and winked.

"You'll have to catch me first, honey!"

Soon, the two of you found yourself in bliss, the world around you and the problems it produced became insignificant as the two of you embraced for the last time that night.

The last thing you remember doing was leaving gentle kisses on each other, before falling away into your dreams, while holding each other tight.

_________________________________________

Too much fluff for me...BLEHHH

#metalbatonepunchman #metalbat #metalbat x reader #metal bat x gender neutral reader #gender neutral s/o #gender neutral reader #opm #zenko #please let me know if i need to tag anything else

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johaerys-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Summary:

Patroclus is a sailor, and Achilles a merman that saves his life when his ship is caught in a storm. The two end up on a deserted island, and the friendship that develops between them will change both of their lives for good.

Chapter 3: The Nymph Who Became Star, the penultimate chapter of my Merman AU Fall Into Your Tide is up! Art is by the wonderful @katartstrophe :)

Read on Ao3! Or read from the beginning

Once upon a time, deep in the Laconian mountains, there lived a nymph. The forest was her home; she walked the woods and swam in the streams, protected the animals that lived there and helped the trees and plants grow strong.

One day, she met a young man from a nearby village. He was a healer’s apprentice, and had ventured deep into the forest in search of medicinal plants. Touched by his gentle manners and dedication to his craft, the nymph decided to help him and share her knowledge with him. The man returned the next day, and the day after that, bringing her gifts of flowers and honeyed sweets. His visits became a regular occurrence; they would spend hours together, talking and gathering herbs, exploring the forest. It wasn’t long before the two fell in love.

Months passed in peaceful bliss. However, when the next summer came, a terrible war broke out with a neighbouring state, and the man was called away from his village and sent to battle.

Endless days rolled by without him. The nymph waited and waited, fearing the worst, for she knew well how fickle and short the lives of humans were, winked out in a fateful instant like the flame of a candle. Finally, after several months, the war came to an end. The men who had gone to battle returned— or what was left of them.

The young man did not come to her. Overcome by worry, the nymph decided to approach the village in hopes of seeing him, even though she had always kept her distance from humans and their settlements. When she finally found his house amidst the multitudes of others, she hid in the trees of the garden and peeked inside.

She was overjoyed to see that her love was still alive, but her relief was short-lived. He had been grievously wounded, and his life was hanging by a thread. The healers of the village had done what they could, and all that was left was prayer. Incense burned around him night and day, while he lay on the bed, pale and unmoving.

The nymph's heart ached with longing and grief, such that she had never known in her long life. Tearful and distraught, she returned to her forest, determined to find some way to help him.

She searched for the other nymphs, much older and more experienced than her in the art of healing. None knew of a way to bring back someone that was only a breath away from crossing Hades’ rivers.

“Death cannot be healed,” they admonished her, “and it should not.”

The nymph listened to no one. She kept asking, kept searching. Only a dryad, knowledgeable and wise and older than the forest itself, her skin tough and leathery like an oak tree’s bark, knew of an answer. She told her of a herb, one that grew on Olympus’ highest peak. It was the rarest plant there was, unmatched in its potency. It could mend the deepest wounds, cure the most severe of illnesses.

"The gods guard their home well," the dryad warned her, "and do not tolerate trespassers. No one dares enter the Olympians’ realm without their consent. Anyone who does, must pay the price.” T he nymph thanked the dryad for her help. There was nothing else for her to do other than to brave the long and arduous journey to Mount Olympus.

She was quick and silent as she travelled, yet her movements did not go unnoticed. Zeus' eyes were on her long before she'd reached the foot of the mountain. For an oread, a mountain nymph, to leave the safety of her forest and travel such great distances, to cross rivers and plains and deep ravines and pass so close by so many human settlements was unheard of. So he watched, curious, and waited.

When the nymph reached the middle of the mountain, he disguised himself as a centaur, and presented himself to her. When asked where she was going, the nymph told him the truth:

"I have come to gather a herb, to heal the one I love. It grows on Olympus' highest peak."

Zeus was angered by her boldness, but her earnestness intrigued him more. He warned her, not unkindly,“If you continue on your quest, you will make the gods angry. They do not take kindly to such insults.”

The nymph thanked him for the warning, and continued on her way.

Zeus kept following her, taking on many disguises: a deer, a hunter, a satyr. Each time, he told the nymph the same thing, and she responded in the same way: she thanked him warmly, and continued.

When she finally reached the peak, and her satchel was filled with the precious herb, Zeus presented himself to her. He thundered and shone, blindingly bright, in all his menacing godly glory. I nstead of cowering before him, the nymph stood tall.

“I am aware that this is your land,” she told him, “and this plant belongs to you. Whatever price you command for it, I will gladly pay it.”

Zeus thought long and hard. The nymph’s insolence was unparalleled, but he found her bravery refreshing. In the end, he decided to let her go, allowing her to take with her not only the rare plant she had gathered, but also enough provisions for her journey home to Taygetus’ misty peaks.

The nymph returned to the young man’s village as swiftly as she could. In a matter of days, he had regained his full strength; he was lively and healthy again, as bright and fair as he had been before he had left for the war. They were both so glad, that their love shone like a midsummer sun.

It was then that Zeus reached down and plucked the nymph from the earth and her lover’s embrace. He placed her among the stars and tasked her with guarding the very plant she had stolen, for all time. Before he left, he set one of his fearsome eagles upon her, to make sure she would never shirk her duty.

The price for saving her lover’s life had finally been paid.

The Guardian star shines in the midst of the constellation of Aquila, Zeus’ eagle. The star shines the brightest during the summer months, when the plant is in full bloom.

Achilles let out a sigh after I had finished. The sky had darkened while I recounted the story, and the stars were now twinkling above us. We were lying on our backs on the sand, still warm from the sun that had been beating upon it all day.

“Olympians,” he muttered darkly, “and their cruelty.”

Many times before had Achilles expressed his dislike of the Olympians. The nereids were Titan-born, and the Titans had not been on good terms with the powerful and arrogant sons and daughters of Cronus for millennia. By the way Achilles’ brow furrowed whenever I told him tales of their many transgressions or fierce punishments of those who displeased them, I could tell that this animosity between the old and newer gods was far from forgotten.

“Why did not Zeus simply let her take the plant?” he asked. “He didn’t need it. He wouldn’t miss it. What could one mortal’s life have meant to him, in the grand scheme of things?”

“In truth," I said, "I do not think it was about the plant at all."

“What was it about, then?”

“Perhaps it was because the nymph attempted to hold on to something she was never meant to have," I told him earnestly. "She wasn’t meant to have a long and happy life with that man; he was dying. Nothing could change that other than this plant, and it was forbidden. She wished to avoid the pain of losing him, therefore she was punished."

Achilles frowned. "Anyone would wish to avoid that. That doesn’t sound like that serious of a crime to me.”

I took a breath, letting my gaze drift over the dark sky above. Achilles’ scent of ocean currents, of salt and sand filled my lungs, warming me. His hand was so close to mine, I could feel the faint heat emanating from his skin, yet I did not dare close the distance between us. Something held me back. It always did.

"Pain is only a natural consequence of living,” I said, and the words sounded dry to my ears, harsh. “Death, separation; those are the rules. Life is the exception. This is how it’s always been, for humans. If the souls in Hades’ halls were released, they could fill the earth ten times over— there are so many more souls down there than up here, an infinite supply of them. The only certainty for any mortal is that, one day, they will die. For gods, it’s different. Life is guaranteed; death is but an improbable outcome. The nymph wished to defy this rule, to give her lover something that wasn't hers to give, or his to keep. In so doing, she would have challenged the order of the world itself. It could not happen. The gods could not allow it.”

Achilles turned his head to look at me, his large, feline eyes piercing me to the core. The light brush of his breath against my shoulder sent a roll of warmth cascading through me.

“Do you think she shouldn’t have done it, then?”

I stayed silent for a moment, pondering his question. "That is not for me to say," I said after a short while. "I'm not sure it was a matter of choice for her. It is said that, when you love someone, you act to keep them with you for as long as you can." I shook my head lightly. "I have never loved someone like that before, the way the nymph loved this young man. But I think… I think I can imagine what it must have been like, for her.”

The truth was, I had never let anyone too close to me. I did not know what it was like, to care about someone deeply enough to risk everything to keep them by my side, the same way that no one had ever fought to keep me by theirs. My father had given me up when I was far too young to know the difference, and since then I'd had to largely rely on myself for my survival. I always tended to keep my distance from most people I met, and never lingered in any one place or ship for too long. Xanthos was my closest friend; we had known each other for years, but even he would go away for months at a time to return to his family, while I stayed at sea. I had always been alone, and I always told myself I preferred it that way.

I had thought my life peaceful, comfortable, even. A life of hard work and few luxuries, yet it was mine. I was a free man, depending on no one. I had thought myself content. It wasn’t until I had come close to losing my life in that storm, until I had found myself on this island, until I had met Achilles, that I realised how drab and colourless my life had truly been.

Achilles was looking up at the night sky now, his profile illuminated by starlight. The stars shone bright, like a multitude of silver pins on a dark blue canopy, keeping it in place. He lifted his arm, pointing at a cluster of stars right above us. "Is this the nymph's star?"

"No," I told him, "it's this one." I took his hand and moved it slightly to the left, until it was pointing right at the Guardian star, the smallest of the bunch.

He gazed at the star for a long moment. Then, he asked, "Whatever happened to the young man? The one she fell in love with?"

"I don't know," I replied. "That was where the story ended. I never learned the young man’s fate."

He sighed. “I would have liked to know what happened to him,” he said. “What his life was like, after the nymph was taken.”

“You would?”

"Yes." Achilles tilted his head to look at me. “It is the greater grief, after all, isn't it,” he said softly, “to be left behind when another is gone?"

The nightbirds cooed above us, and the chill breeze stirred the leaves of the cypress trees that lined the coast. The world was peaceful, and in the silence that lingered, I thought I could hear his heart beating, a quiet and steady thump between us. His skin reflected the pale moonlight, and in its feeble glow he looked very nearly transparent. When his eyes focused on me like this, soft and dreamy, almost wistful, I knew that I wanted nothing more than to be where they could see me.

I swallowed, willing myself to meet his gold-flecked gaze. Gods, I could drown in those eyes. I would gladly let their shifting currents swallow me whole.

"It is," I whispered.

Read the rest on Ao3!

#the song of achilles #tsoa #patrochilles #patroclus x achilles #achilles x patroclus #achilles #patroclus #achilles/patroclus #patroclus/achilles #tsoa fanfic #tsoa fanart #merman au #fall into your tide #johaerys writes

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cablesscutie · 4 years ago

Text

Inspired by @hayleynfoster’s comic and some hilarious headcannons about the littlest steambaby with Hayley and @favlie

Read it on AO3

The day Avatar Aang comes to meet his second niece, Fire Lord Zuko refuses to let his youngest child out of sight. Katara rolls her eyes, and reminds her husband that neither of their children had ended up psychologically disturbed because of their flights. “Not,” she adds, pointing at Aang, “that I am allowing a repeat, but I think just holding her while firmly on the ground will be fine.”

“Mmmm,” Zuko hesitates, curling Kallik closer to his chest. Her big eyes blink up at the adults guileless from her blanket. “No.”

“You let Azula hold her!” Aang argues.

“She doesn’t do anything with the babies!” Zuko shoots back. It’s not strictly true, he knows, but his sister’s ritual with newborns is unsettling in a much different way. She simply stares deep into each child’s eyes upon being handed them, until some kind of understanding passes between her and the baby. Results have varied, but the most important part is that there was no threat to life and limb.

Katara’s raised eyebrow says that she also doesn’t believe Zuko’s words, but she doesn’t say anything. They are, after all, a united front - to the children, to politicians, to their friends. In the privacy of their chambers, however, he knows he will be hearing about this.

Katara and Zuko take the kids to spend Kallik’s first birthday at the South Pole. It’s a tradition they’ve observed with all three, and Zuko always looks forward to going to visit her family. The house is loud and chaotic, full to bursting with people, the exact opposite of his own lonely childhood. There is no posturing, and everyone loves and squabbles openly. On this particular visit, they have overlapped with Aang’s stay with Sokka and Suki, so Gran-Gran’s house is in even more of an uproar than usual by the time Zuko and Katara arrive.

Kya immediately dashes off to coo over her little cousins as they toddle around behind Pakku, pretending to be otter penguins. Satoshi runs to the kitchen to be showered in kisses and cookies from Gran-Gran. Hakoda finds them barely out of their parkas and already thoroughly abandoned.

“I could’ve sworn you had at least one other child,” he tells Katara, scratching his head as he pretends to search for his missing grandchildren. She laughs and hugs her father tight. Neither of them let go for long moments, and Zuko’s throat feels tight when he notices his father-in-law’s misty eyes. He looks down at Kallik, thinks of his other two children, and wonders for the thousandth time how Hakoda could ever forgive him for keeping Katara so far away. It’s why he hands his daughter over easily when her grandfather waggles his fingers expectantly and says, “Alright, give her here.”

Hakoda settles Kallik on his hip with practiced ease, and pulls Zuko into a brief hug with his free arm. “Good to see you, son.”

Zuko clears his throat. “You too,” he says, and Katara laughs softly at his awkward shuffling, amused by how he doesn’t know what to do with his hands without a baby in his arms. She answers his question by lacing their fingers together as she leads him deeper into the house to find her brother and their friends seated around the hearth fire watching the kids run around.

Hugs are exchanged all around, and Zuko settles into their familiar company. Hakoda joins them after taking Kallik to say hello to Gran-Gran and Pakku, and bounces the baby on his knee to make her laugh. Aang makes silly faces at her that have her letting out piercing giggles and reaching out to try and grab at the wooden beads of his necklace.

“Well clearly she’s bored of me,” Hakoda says, making to hand her off to her uncle. “Here you go -” Zuko leans over and intercepts.

“Oh no. No baby catapult,” he says, shaking his head.

Aang gives him a pout to rival Momo. “Come on, we’re indoors!” Katara clears her throat, and when Zuko glances over, her eyes are narrowed at him. With a sigh, he holds Kallik out to Aang.

“Fine. But I’m watching you.”

Extended family vacations to Ember Island always sound like a good idea to Katara. At first. When her husband is burnt out and aching, and the kids are climbing the walls, and she just wants to lie in the sun with a book, it seems like the cure for everything.

And then they arrive. Somehow, much like she forgets the excruciating pain of childbirth, she never recalls the onslaught of chaos and catastrophe that comes every vacation. Like the time Sokka got stung by a jelly-ray. Or the time Suki and Zuko got in a fight about disciplining each other’s kids. Or the time every single one of the kids managed to get sunburnt and couldn’t sleep. Every year, it’s always something, and somehow, it usually ends up being at least partially her problem to solve.

This year, though, is somehow turning out alright. They reach day three without major incident, and almost entirely without tears - a near miracle for a vacation involving five children under the age of ten.

“I’m almost done with my first book already,” she tells Zuko as they rock slowly in a hammock on the deck, whispering in hopes of keeping any listening spirits from knowing that she’s gotten her hopes up.

“Good, you deserve the break,” Zuko says. He looks on the verge of sleep despite the fact that the sun is still climbing in the sky. The dark circles beneath his eyes are already faded almost to nothing. She sighs happily and grabs her book, but before she can actually crack it open, she hears Toph cackling and her Mom Senses light up. Zuko calls after her in surprise as she leaves the hammock swaying wildly behind her, but she doesn’t look back on her way to the beach.

When she arrives, it is just in time to see Toph pick up Kallik, a wicked smile on her face. Sokka and Suki’s twins are further down the beach standing beside Aang, both of them jumping up and down with excitement, waiting for something.

“Go long, Twinkle Toes!” Katara’s eyes go wide, and faster than should be possible, she reaches them, yanking Kallik out of Toph’s hands. “Hey!”

“Absolutely not!” Katara says, scowling.

“I was gonna catch her!” Aang shouts. Katara shakes her head.

“This is not happening. No way.” Then, silently lamenting the loss of quiet time with her husband, Katara looks at the twins and asks, “Who wants to go get some ice cream?

At Zuko’s request, his birthday is not a big deal with his family. It’s a combination of the fact that the entire Fire Nation loses its mind about the day anyway, so he is all but forced to spend a day attending a festival in his honor, and the fact that he is used to his birthday being a marker of all the disappointments he has been in the past year. It is a long-standing compromise with his wife that she is allowed to throw him a small, family-only party, to be kept within the bounds of the garden. He enjoys the excuse to get everyone together without a barrage of meetings involved, and the rest of their family is so boisterous in comparison to him, he can almost forget that the day has anything to do with him at all.

For his thirtieth birthday, he makes the further concession of allowing Uncle to set up his new phonograph so there could be dancing. Zuko is manning the crank, watching Katara and Kya swing each other around while Aang sits next to him, flipping through the records looking for the right song.

“Do you have a request too?” Zuko hears him ask, and turns to see Kallik has toddled away from Uncle Iroh and approached the Avatar. She puts her hands on his knees and starts bouncing, flashing him a smile that shows all of her new teeth. “You want upsies?” Aang coos, and reaches to scoop her up by the armpits. Zuko clears his throat loudly, shooting Aang his best murder eyes, and the Avatar shrinks back into the collar of his robes a little. “What about dance party?” He lets Kallik grab onto his fingers and starts hopping around with her to the beat, hunched over and both of them giggling.

“Oh Uncle Aaaaang!” Kya sings, striding out into the garden where Appa has just landed. She has Kallik on her hip, and Satoshi follows along at her heels, excited to see Appa and Momo again. His pockets are already full of lychee nuts for his fuzzy friends.

“Hey guys!” Uncle Aang calls, his gangly arms waving excitedly. “Are you the welcoming committee now?” He lands in front of them on a gentle breeze, setting down his bag and grinning broadly.

“Mom and Dad are in a meeting,” Kya informs him. “But somebody wanted to go for a little flight.” She hitches the toddler higher and winks conspiratorially. “If you catch my drift.” Uncle Aang’s eyes go wide, and he looks between the kids with unease. Satoshi feels terror grip his throat. He knew his big sister was crazy, but would she really…?

“Oh I dunno, your Dad was pretty...adamant...that you all are grounded until further notice.” Satoshi lets out a sigh of relief.

“Dad’s in a meeting,” Kya reiterates, as though being in a meeting involves entering another dimension. She should know better, her brother thinks to himself. Mom and Dad always find out when they’re up to no good, and as the sibling who’s usually leading the charge into trouble, Kya should definitely have that figured out by now. Uncle Aang should absolutely know that by now, but with horor, Satoshi realizes that the Avatar is looking a little bit convinced. “And we’re not gonna tell on you,” she wheedles. Speak for yourself, Satoshi thinks, glancing around to see if there are any guards within earshot if he calls for their parents. Sadly, it seems nobody has realized that the Avatar requires careful supervision.

“Well…” Uncle Aang considers, then comes to his decision, smiling once again. “Alright, I guess one can’t hurt. Who’s going?”

Kya moves to offer Kallik to him, her tiny hands reaching out and making grabby motions. Satoshi’s world goes into slow-motion. There’s a roaring in his ears, and as if from outside his body, he hears his own voice say,

“I am.” Kya and Uncle Aang blink at him, stunned. Their uncle is the first to recover, and asks,

“Are you sure, kiddo? I mean, you weren’t the biggest fan when you were a baby…”

“I want to try again,” he makes himself say, despite his sweating palms. Uncle Aang grins and ruffles his hair.

“That’s the spirit! You get that from your dad.”

As his uncle’s hands grab him under the armpits, Satoshi hears Kya mutter, “It’s the self-sacrificing idiot gene,” and then he is gone. As he soars through the air, he wonders if maybe his body hasn’t even left the ground yet. He can’t feel anything. Maybe he just died of panic and this is just his soul taking off for the spirit world.

Then he reaches the height of his arc and starts plummeting back to Earth, and the sensation of all his internal organs rattling around asserts the fact that he is very much still alive and experiencing this. He closes his eyes before he gets anywhere close to the ground, so it comes as a surprise when he comes to a sudden stop, cradled briefly by robes smelling of hay and bison fur, before being deposited back on his feet.

“How’s the weather up there?” Uncle Aang asks him, patting him on the back. Satoshi doesn’t know what the weather was like. He doesn’t know anything except that solid ground beneath his feet may have replaced his mother’s hugs as his favorite feeling in the world. He meets Kya’s eyes, and sees from her horrified expression that he must look like as much of a husk of a child as he feels.

A quiet, affectless “Thank you,” is all that he can manage to say, and then he is wandering back into the palace, where he shoves his head into the nearest antique vase and screams.

“Psst.” A small sound behind him has Aang on alert. The Fire Nation Royal Palace hasn’t been a place of danger for years now, but with Toph and Sokka around, the probability of sneak attacks has risen a hundred fold. He doesn’t see anything though, and goes to turn back around, only to be caught by a surprisingly firm grip on his cape. About two feet below where he’d expected to find his assailant, Aang comes face to face with his youngest niece, Kallik. Her expression is the same determined furrow of the brow that Katara and Zuko have shared for so long it is impossible to tell which parent bestowed the trait on her. It has the eerie effect of summoning the terrifying force that is their combined will. Aang already knows that whatever she wants from him, he’s going to cave, and it will probably get him in trouble. “I hear you’re in the business of yeeting kids. I want in.”

Aang sighs. Zuko has been trying to prevent this day since the moment Aang met Kallik, and Kallik has been trying to evade her father’s overprotective tendencies since the moment of her existence. It is a battle Katara has elected not to fight, likely remembering her own impossible stubbornness and the futility of trying to stand against it. So it is with all of that knowledge that he says, “Okay.”

“Flameo!” Kallik cheers, punching at the air.

“Well ‘flameo’ was actually more of a greeting -”

“Let’s save the fun facts. I wanna fly.” With a creeping sense of dread, Aang follows the child pulling him along by the cape until they reach a courtyard. Kallik turns to face him, plants her feet, and rubs her palms together. “Alright,” she says, spreading her arms wide. “I’m ready.”

“Here we go...I guess,” Aang says, glancing over his shoulder as he reaches out to scoop her up by the armpits. The coast is clear, so he swings her around in circles a couple of times to get ready. As his niece starts to giggle, the garden blurs, and wind ruffles his robes, Aang feels the giddy anticipation of liftoff.

He hoists Kallik, up, up, up.

And then her momentum carries her out of his hands, and the wind that has built up around them propels her even higher. Her already small body shrinks until she looks more like the shadow of a bird in the night sky, clearing the palace roofs. A happy shriek pierces the air. Aang smiles, feeling her wonder as if it is his own. This is always the best part of someone’s first flight - witnessing them discover the wind anew - and while taking Air Acolytes to glide at the Northern Air Temple is fun, nothing compares to sharing this part of his culture with his nieces and nephews.

Kallik tumbles back into his arms, eyes wide with wonder, ecstatic grin plastered across her face. “Again!” she cries, the moment breath rushes back to her.

Aang laughs and holds her on his hip. As he always does, he asks, “How’s the weather up there?”

“The moon is huge! And I could see the whole city! And the ocean!” Kallik’s pudgy hands move in broad, sweeping gestures so similar to her mother’s bending as she speaks. He still remembers Katara’s delighted gasp the first time she flew, Toph’s bruising grip, Zuko’s shocked laugh. This moment, too, will be another piece of the Air Nomad legacy living on.

As Aang tosses Kallik yet again, Katara finds Zuko leaning against a pillar at the edge of the courtyard, watching. She approaches her husband, curious to find that he isn’t having a coronary at the sight of their daughter in freefall, and takes hold of his arm.

“You gonna yell at him?” she asks, feigning nonchalance. He doesn’t look away from them, but he is smiling, serene.

“Eh, she seems fine.”

#zutara #steambabies #zk fic #my writing

59 notes · View notes

samstree · 3 years ago

Text

splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (2)

(geraskier, prince!jaskier, fairytale elements, angst with a happy ending, insecurities, jaskier whump, chest pain, 4.8k)

Geralt discovers that being with a prince comes at a price. Jaskier deals with some bad news.

previous: [1], read on AO3

A big thanks to my amazing beta @wanderlust-t!! 💖💖

Geralt will always come second in Jaskier’s heart.

As he sinks into the soft mattress and gathers the prince into his arms, the realization becomes ever so clear.

His fingers find those faint freckles on Jaskier’s back, the ones he can already trace by heart without looking. The press of Jaskier’s body nuzzles into his. The clamminess from their earlier passion makes the closeness a little uncomfortable, but Geralt can’t seem to find the strength to pull away.

Instead, he moves closer to Jaskier to observe him carefully.

The prince has this look on his face that Geralt never liked, one that suggests he’s lost somewhere far away, so Geralt brushes a strand of stray hair away to guide those blue eyes back to the presence.

“What are you worrying about?”

“Huh?” The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle when he snaps out of the trance. “Nothing, um—court happenings. Valdo has received news on the investigation in Cintra.”

“About the assassination?”

“Dead end, again.” Jaskier chews his lips. “No concrete proof that it was ordered by Calanthe, nothing except for some whispers you stumbled upon in a tavern. Valdo is looking elsewhere now.”

Geralt tilts his head in sympathy, hating the idea of the prince living with one more potential threat lurking in the dark. “How can I help?” he asks.

“You stopped them. I reckon that’s plenty.” Jaskier leans in, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “I won’t bore you with grim details, my dear. But perhaps…distract me? If you truly want to help.”

So Geralt presses his lips everywhere he can reach. One on the crown of Jaskier’s head, another at his hairline, and then on those already kiss-swollen lips, so enticing in the candlelight.

The prince responds eagerly, his deft fingers roaming across Geralt’s chest and provoking him with the softest touch, soothing and aggravating the ache deep within him. A surprised giggle escapes Jaskier’s lips as he catches Geralt’s hand trailing down under the cover.

“Really? Again?” the prince threads their fingers together and pulls Geralt’s hand away, subtly interrupting his not-so-subtle attempt. “The way you screamed my name earlier, my dear, I thought you would pass out from the sheer intensity of it. Witcher stamina or not, you can’t possibly still want more.”

“I don’t… scream.”

The defense is so weak that Jaskier’s grin breaks out in amusement. He continues to kiss Geralt’s knuckles with the utmost care, but the ache in his stomach still simmers.

Geralt groans with frustration.

“What is it?” Jaskier, ever so perceptive, notices his turmoil. The bliss on his face soon turns into concern and Geralt regrets ever letting on his emotions. “Talk to me, darling. It’s okay.”

“I—” Geralt realizes how silly it would sound, but Jaskier is waiting for an answer. “Tonight is the first time I’ve seen you since Ellander. Since the striga.”

“Since you accepted my hand in marriage.” Jaskier places an open-mouthed kiss on the scar on Geralt’s neck. “Darling, I wish I could have stayed with you at the temple. You know I do, but there was—”

“The coup at the border. I understand.” Geralt chastises himself for even bringing it up. He remembers how tired Jaskier looked after riding day and night to reach Temeria, how attentive he was when it came to nursing his injuries. “Uh—forget I said anything. You had to go, Jask. It’s fine.”

He also remembers when the urgent message came four days after they were betrothed and the sinking feeling in his stomach to watch Jaskier leave—albeit reluctantly. At the time, the prince kissed him so fiercely, his touch lingering on the signet ring he left on Geralt’s finger. Jaskier repeated his promise so many times, to return to him as soon as possible.

Geralt remembers the disappointment when he didn’t.

“It’s not fine.” Jaskier looks almost sad. “It’s never fine to leave you when you are hurt. It’s never fine to break my promise to you. Geralt, don’t you know you are my whole world? It’s my job to take care of you. Of course, you have every right to be angry with me.”

Except you also have to take care of the whole world.

Literally.

The world will always take precedence over a mere witcher.

“I missed you, that’s all.” Strangely, the admission lifts a weight off his chest. “I’m not angry with you for wanting to keep your people safe.”

“You aren’t?”

“I just—” Geralt’s stomach churns at the uncertain look on Jaskier’s face. “I just want to be with you, all of you. For more than four days at a time.”

“You have me.” Jaskier scrambles onto his elbow, not quite letting go of Geralt’s hand. “I’m here, all of me.”

“For tonight.”

“And tomorrow, and every day after.” He presses another kiss to the ring. “You’ll see, starting tomorrow morning. No more coups. I’ll stay with you when the tailors come over. Knowing how much you hate choosing designs and having people fuss all over you, it’d be cruel if I didn’t. It’s important that my husband looks dashing on his wedding day.”

“Hmm.”

The word husband is all it takes. Geralt finds himself drawn to Jaskier’s blinding smile, like a moth to a flame.

It should scare him, the thought of binding himself to someone. A witcher is not meant to stay at one place, with one person. And yet, Jaskier promised him the freedom to return to the path anytime as well as a seat at the Aedirnian court as the prince’s husband.

Because that’s the kind of person Jaskier is. When he’s in, he’s all in. In both his political life and with Geralt, Jaskier is ever so consistent. When he’s with Geralt, it’s like he’s only existing for the man in front of him, only in the here and now, as if his sun rises and falls with the tiniest sign of happiness on Geralt’s face. And yet, when he’s away…

It’s the world and the people the crown prince has sworn to protect.

It’ll always be the world before him.

Always second.

Geralt rubs the pad of his thumb on the signet ring, the proof of Jaskier’s devotion. The weight on his ring finger has become so comforting in Jaskier’s absence.

Maybe it’s enough. He has witnessed how Jaskier gives an ocean of love eagerly and unreservedly, to his work and his music. If Jaskier’s heart is willing to spare him anything like he’s someone worth loving, worth keeping, it’s enough.

Geralt drifts off with the prince soft and pliant, draped all over him.

And he wakes up to a cold bed, the familiar scent of citrus soap still faint on the sheets. Resting on the pillow, where tousled brown hair should be is a note scribbled in haste.

My darling witcher,

I must ride out before dawn as a riot has broken out near the settlement. It seems that men’s prejudice has not only made them seethe with hatred, but ruined our time together as well.

Forgive me for my absence, and for not having the courage to wake you before I leave.

Remember that I love you. I love you.

I love you,

Geralt’s grip tightens around the paper before letting go of it with resignation.

Perhaps he has made peace with being second in Jaskier’s heart. He just wishes the proof is not so solid in ink.

Geralt stops in his tracks when he sees Valdo Marx standing outside the kitchen, his blonde curls shining even in the low candlelight. There’s a tankard of wine casually held in his palm.

“Well, isn’t this the White Wolf himself?” The lord flicks a strand of hair out of his face, checking the witcher up and down. “What brings you here so late at night?”

“Could ask you the same,” Geralt doesn’t want to converse with the man for too long. Every time he speaks with Marx, the lord always hides an edge in his words that makes the witcher uneasy. “And Geralt is fine, as I said last time.”

“Of course, how can I forget the name of the man who captured our Prince Julian’s heart. For so many years, he thought of marriage as a mere joke. A songbird is not to be caged, he said, or he will be forever songless. Julian was ever so dramatic on this matter. But that’s before you swooped in and suddenly he’s reduced to a lovestruck fool. It’s always Geralt this, Geralt that, even before the ball.” Valdo leans against the doorframe, squinting and scrutinizing.

“You are in a chatty mood, my lord,” the witcher dismisses the salty comment and walks toward the door. “Excuse me for not having the time. I’m only here to fetch Jaskier some food.”

“No need.” Valdo puts a hand on Geralt’s elbow to stop him from entering the kitchen. The smell of alcohol is strong around him. “I’ve ordered the maid to prepare something to be brought up. I know Julian must have slept through dinner. How is he now?”

Geralt hums. The too-familiar tone with which Valdo speaks of Jaskier has always put him off, as well as the hand that’s currently resting on his arm. Even though the urge to shake the man off is palpable, Geralt is determined to remain civil to the most important member of Jaskier’s council.

“His heart acted up earlier. It’s fine now. But he’s still resting.”

“From the fatigue, I imagine.” Valdo releases Geralt’s arm, his face falling. “The riot was a real pain in the neck. The people living near Dol Blathanna have been displeased since the settlement started, but one that lasts a fortnight is a first. Julian barely slept a wink. He was dead on his feet by the end of it.”

And now he’s just woken up, waiting for Geralt to return.

“I should go if you have everything sorted—”

“Do you know how dangerous it got at one point? How out of control the situation was?” Valdo’s piercing eyes meet Geralt’s, his tone demanding. “How come you, the deadliest witcher and Julian’s betrothed, were not at his side protecting him?”

“Jaskier never wanted me involved. I assume the Butcher won’t be good for his looks.”

“You would be more stupid than I thought I you believed that bullshit,” Valdo curses loudly. “He wanted to propose after meeting you twice, even though his whole council was against the idea. And you think he’s ashamed of you? No, he’s leaving you out of everything to protect you.”

Geralt frowns, but the lord continues.

“He cares so much about your stand, your neutrality or whatever moral code your kind holds on for dear life. He believes accepting his hand has already compromised your beliefs—as if marrying a prince is such a chore—so he won’t ask your loyalty to Aedirn. He won’t ask you to fight for him.”

The bitterness in Valdo’s voice is nothing compared to the bile that rises up in Geralt’s throat.

“If I was with him…”

“He’d be safer. The guards can’t always stand between him and danger, as your first meeting has already proved.”

The lord’s jaw tightens before downing the content of his cup. The silence hangs in the quiet night.

As much as Geralt dislikes Valdo’s snarky remarks and jabs, he cannot bring himself to hate the man. His devotion to Jaskier is unmatched even amongst his closest advisors, let alone the fact that they were childhood friends.

Even when no one supported Jaskier, Valdo was there. And for that, Geralt will forever be grateful. Even though a witcher never answers to nobles, perhaps an explanation is owed to Valdo Marx.

“I am loyal to Jaskier if that’s your concern.” Geralt says in earnest. “He has my sword, even though I’m no knight.”

Valdo crosses his arms, the tankard still in his hand and tipping sideways. A drop of red liquid hits the floor.

“Good. If you have to marry our prince, you might as well take your duty of serving him more seriously. Although only the gods know why he chose you over so many more deserving.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at the bitterness in that statement.

“Like a court advisor? A politician of the highest rank?” he stares down at the other man. “A long-time friend, maybe?”

No surprise flashes across the other man’s eyes, but being a lord his whole life means anything can be hidden under the calm surface.

He does let out a tight laugh, the wine loosening his tongue. “The whole continent will know before Julian.” He shakes his head, mumbling something incoherent. “Did you know he started to sing because of me? I took lute lessons one summer in Cidaris. I was eight and Julian was two years younger, and what do you know! He was better than me within six months. Ha! With talent like that, it’s a shame princes aren’t allowed to be bards.”

Geralt feels equally proud and jealous to hear the childhood tale. Jaskier has not talked about his relationship with Valdo much, apart from the fact that both of them were extremely competitive growing up. Although it is not difficult to imagine if a six-year-old Jaskier was as infuriatingly persistent as he is now.

“Are you to flaunt how well you know him again?” Geralt almost scowls. “How you know him better than anyone because you’ve known him for two decades longer?”

“I should remind you, witcher, that I’m also friends with people more powerful beyond your imagination. Mages who can dispose of a witcher with the snap of a finger.” Valdo straightens his back as if it’ll make him more imposing. “Julian may never listen to me on the matter of his marriage, but if you ever harm a hair—”

“What’s left of me will only be found in the deepest dungeon of Aedirn, I know.” Geralt holds his gaze steadily. These threats would be laughable if not so tiring. “No need to repeat yourself so many times, my lord.”

The promise hangs in the air. Just when Valdo Marx opens his mouth again, they are interrupted by soft footsteps padding from the other end of the hallway.

“Geralt? What’s taking so—Oh, Valdo.” Jaskier blinks while turning the corner, his sleep-rumpled hair sticking to all directions. His nightshirt is all wrinkled and unbuttoned halfway down, revealing thick chest hair. A soft woolen robe is draped around the prince’s shoulders. “Why are you still here? It’s so late, just go home already.”

And Valdo Marx, wordsmith and seasoned politician, is spluttering.

“I—Julian.” The other lord bows, way too formally, and clears his throat. His eyes are darting all over the place, avoiding the unkept picture of the prince. His already flushed face is turning a bright red. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. That is…um, why I stayed.”

“I’m fine, just tired.” Jaskier rubs at his heart in the guise of adjusting the shirt. “Now will you go? You did so well, as always. You deserve some rest.” Despite the weariness in Jaskier’s eyes, a hearty smile lights up his face, and Geralt hears Valdo’s breaths catch.

“If you say so, Julian.” The lord nods before taking his leave, throwing another stern look over his shoulder at the witcher, only to avert them when Jaskier drops all pretense and burrows into Geralt’s embrace with his back to the exit. The clicking of Valdo’s heels fastens almost desperately.

Geralt would have sympathized with the man if he didn’t have something much more important to take care of.

“Are you really fine?” Geralt asks quietly, frowning when Jaskier’s freezing hands press against the nape of his neck, and the prince shakes his head faintly.

“Not when you’re held up for so long, darling. I’m still waiting for my late-night snack,” Jaskier mumbles into the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“It’ll be brought up in a minute.”

“You are the sweetest.”

“Valdo, actually. He thought of it.”

“Oh.” Jaskier pulls away, surprised. “Have I told you that I learned the lute just to spite him, back when we were kids?”

“You can tell me now.”

The prince wraps the robe tighter around his torso and steers Geralt towards their bedroom. “It’s a great tale that ends with my sweeping triumph, my dear. If you will just follow me.”

Gladly.

Valdo’s words keep turning in Geralt’s head for the rest of the evening as he helps Jaskier with a simple meal before letting him retire again. Asleep for the second time, the prince looks uncharacteristically small, his frame swathed by the thick velvety blankets, carefully tucked around him to fend off the chills. A shadow falls under his long lashes, making Jaskier’s features appear a lot younger than he is, a fragile buttercup, even an innocent one.

But Geralt’s prince is anything but innocent. Not when he’s seen no less evil than anyone on this continent, not when he’s hurt deeply for acting against it.

Geralt wraps his body around the prince, and knows for a fact that he is willing to follow Jaskier anywhere on this journey.

Geralt fusses with the cuffs of his ceremonial doublet one last time when the servant rushes in.

“It’s the king,” the boy says with rounded eyes. “He just collapsed, sir. The prince is with him.”

When he gets to the other side of the castle, there must be more than a dozen people in the corridor, close friends of the royal family waiting outside of the wooden double doors. Among them is Valdo, pacing anxiously at the edge of the crowd.

There are only two heartbeats in the king’s chamber, one steady, the other one weak and erratic, like a candle in the wind.

Geralt doesn’t need to smell the decay in the air or the stale melancholy trapped in the building to know that the king is dying.

Through the closed doors, Jaskier’s soft whimpers follow the king’s hoarse murmurs. Geralt forces his heightened senses away from what must be a private moment, the last heart-to-heart Jaskier will ever have with his father. He shouldn’t intrude.

The collar is too tight. Geralt rests his hand against the door by instinct, wanting more than anything to be with Jaskier, to hold and comfort him. Waiting out here might just be the cruelest torture when Jaskier is hurting in there.

“Geralt,” Valdo interrupts the witcher’s wandering mind, “I’m sorry that it’s happening today.”

Geralt blinks at the genuine sympathy on the other man’s face. “It’s hardly about me, Valdo.”

They turn their heads towards the king’s bedchamber in unison. The young prince sitting at his father’s deathbed is the single focus of both men, of everyone standing in this corridor, and soon enough, of this entire country and all of the northern kingdoms.

“Still, I was warming up to you, witcher. It’s a shame your big day has to end like this.”

Geralt hums, and, “Thank you, my lord.”

In the dim light, Geralt’s attire appears to be a homogenous dark fabric, the embroidery easily overlooked—buttercups, threaded with the same black as the silk. Subtle, but they are there. There are hidden buttercups all over him, weaving through his color and laying claim.

Jaskier would appreciate the design. Geralt brushes his thumb over one flower sadly.

“Did he tell you already?” Valdo asks.

“About what?”

“The investigation.”

A frown creases between Geralt’s brows. “I thought you couldn’t trace it back to Calanthe? That there was no proof.”

“Because it wasn’t her. Think about it. Since when has Calanthe resorted to a shady kill like this in the past? The Lioness was angry at our prince and she was vocal about it, but you’d think she’d just charge across the Yaruga with a sword in her hand,” the blonde man snorts. “We were looking the wrong way.”

“Jaskier never told me.” Geralt stands there, dumbfounded.

“He was protecting you. Again.”

Annoyance licks up in Geralt’s chest, burning for answers. “What is the truth, then? You have no inclination of doing the same, Valdo. Just tell me.”

The lord drags the witcher away from the murmuring crowd and lowers his voice in secrecy. “We were overthinking it by assuming it was an elaborate plan, but it hit me one day. How can we be so blind when it’s right in front—”

“Out with it.” Geralt grits his teeth and finally the noble sighs and ceases stalling.

“A friendly fire.”

“The poisonous arrow was friendly.” Geralt deadpans.

“When it was sent by someone who only wished to deter Julian from furthering his plans and angering every other king in the north by siding with the elves. Someone who arranged an attempt on his life only to scare him off, but didn’t anticipate the one million things that could go wrong on the day.” Valdo sends a heavy look to the closed double door. “Someone dear to Julian. Someone who has regretted the decision since.”

Geralt feels like all air has been punched out of his lungs. His knuckles crack and his nails are close to drawing blood from the palm. It’s because of Valdo’s hand halting him in place that Geralt is not charging into the room.

“His own father…” Geralt murmurs, suddenly all strength saps from his body and he just wants to get Jaskier out of this damned place, away from the man who’s supposed to support him but instead almost took his life. “I need to go in.”

“Don’t. These people will know something’s wrong. This cannot get out,” Valdo hisses. Down the hall, a few lords and ladies are already throwing them some curious looks.

“Jaskier knows this,” Geralt says, shaking off the buzzing in his ears.

“And he’s made his peace with it, and now they are spending their last moments together. Your anger, or mine, is—”

The double doors open with a creak, and there Jaskier is, eyes red-rimmed but his back straight.

“—pointless.”

Valdo completes the sentence but Geralt pays no mind. When he reaches Jaskier’s side with a few quick strides, there’s no other heartbeat inside the room, only silence. His world narrows down to the thrumming in Jaskier’s chest.

The palpitation is unmistakable. Fluttering dangerously.

So is the stench of overpowering pain, mixed with the distinct citrus floral scent that is Jaskier and the never-ending decay of a sick old man. Geralt almost gags.

“The king is dead,” the prince announces the tragedy. A few nobles reply with kind words. It all fades into background noises.

Geralt’s gaze fixes on the man he’s supposed to marry this very day, and watches as Jaskier bites into his lips when another quiver happens upon the spasming muscles of his heart like the wings of a hummingbird. A lady reaches out to offer condolences, so Jaskier takes her hands and thanks her. His features reveal nothing.

The paleness could be taken as a result of grief, the tremor as well. The guests remain blissfully oblivious to the agony their prince is in, and one by one they come to him and linger.

But Jaskier’s agony cannot escape Geralt’s eyes, not when he’s the one most intimate to those heartaches that have been with Jaskier since the day they met. A sheen of sweat gathers at Jaskier’s forehead, his lips pursed into a tight line, but the prince won’t show any weakness to these people. Instead, he stands tall and proud, stubborn like the first dandelion in the spring, blossoming where the wind is cruel and the soil still frozen.

“Julian,” Valdo calls out the name like a prayer.

“I need you, Valdo.” Jaskier’s voice cracks, the first outward indication of discomfort. “We’ve found ourselves in the most precarious situation, and I—”

Jaskier breaks off for air, squeezes his eyes shut to ride out a chill down his spine. Geralt catches the prince by the elbow and instantly Jaskier leans into the support.

“I will make the arrangement for you, my prince,” Valdo replies when the prince schools his expression back to normal and gives out a trusting smile.

“I depend on you, all of you,” Jaskier addresses the crowd, “for the future of this land we share. But now it’s time for me to grieve, my good people. Allow me some privacy and time with my husband.”

The slip goes unnoticed when the lords and ladies are led out and the only people left are Geralt, Valdo and Jaskier himself. The prince lets out a labored gasp, staggers, and sags against Geralt’s chest like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Shit. Jask—” Geralt scrambles to keep him up but Jaskier drops like a leaf in the wind and they both end up on the floor in a heap of limbs. He looks to Valdo in desperation.

“I’ll get the healer. Julian, please hang on.” The other man’s hand lingers by Jaskier’s wrist before he hurries away, but the prince seems unaware.

And it’s just them, alone on their wedding day.

Jaskier’s ragged breathing echoes in the empty hallway and Geralt has never felt more helpless in his long life. The prince’s face crumbles in agony and his body won’t stop shaking.

“Hey, just look at me.” Geralt places Jaskier’s cheek against his shoulder so their gazes meet, the cornflower blue not responding. “Why do you need to be so stubborn? Damn you, Jaskier…”

“You are wea—wearing buttercups, Geralt. Look—” A boneless hand comes up to caress the dark embroidery on Geralt’s collar, Jaskier’s eyes sparkle with fascination before a tremor racks his body again and contorts him into a writhing mess.

“Shh. Don’t talk, Jask. Save your strength.”

Geralt’s words are drowned in fear, and he can only wrap a steady hand around Jaskier’s cold, clammy one and hold it over the prince’s frantic heart in the hope of easing the tightly wound muscles underneath.

“But…but I’m all over you. Like you are all over me. See?” Jaskier squeezes Geralt’s fingers and that’s when he notices the wolf pattern sewn into Jaskier’s sleeve for the first time, silver thread against white. A perfect symmetry between them.

Despite himself, the corners of Geralt’s lips tug into a sad smile, and it is soon returned by Jaskier. His eyes well up in the process. From the physical strain or grief, Geralt isn’t sure.

“I don’t need it to know that I’m yours, my prince. Now and always.”

Where Jaskier bit into his lips earlier seeps with crimson, a stark contrast against his bloodless complexion, the look in his eyes dreamy and far-away.

“My knight in shining armor. My savior.” Jaskier says in earnest before something dawns in his eyes and devastation sets in. A whimper chokes in his throat. “You, Geralt…Will you betray me too? Even…my own father. The person closest to me. But how can he? How—”

The prince squirms against Geralt’s chest and struggles to take in air, his cheeks soaked wet with sweat and tears. Something twists in Geralt’s stomach powerlessly as he hears the wheezing sounds in Jaskier’s lungs.

“I won’t, Jaskier. Please,” Geralt pleads into Jaskier’s hair but it falls on deaf ears. Strings of words tumble out of his mouth, delirious and nonsensical.

“We didn’t even have the time…couldn’t even make it right. There was no time…”

Geralt shushes him and tries to calm Jaskier’s breathing by stroking his back but it only makes it worse. The deterioration is happening too fast, juxtaposed with grief and shock that Jaskier’s already weakened heart cannot handle. Geralt fears the worst.

“My father, I—they all hurt me and leave me…Like my… Don’t leave me, G’ralt—" Jaskier clings and pleads, but cannot escape the cage made out of his sorrow.

“I won’t. Not when you’ve promised the same, Jask. Stay with me. Just stay with me, please.”

He’s trying.

Jaskier is trying and failing. And it’s the last straw.

“It hurts too much.”

With that, blue eyes roll into the back of his head and Jaskier collapses in Geralt’s embrace, the column of his neck exposed with the strain and the pulse underneath faint like a whisper. His listless hand slips from Geralt’s grip and hits the floor.

Carefully as if any more force would break Jaskier’s skin, Geralt presses his lips to Jaskier’s still ones and tastes of copper and salt. He draws out the kiss like in those fairytales, like a proper true love’s kiss. When he finally pulls away, a swarm of healers and nurses are surrounding them and Geralt is pulled away by hands he doesn’t recognize.

But Jaskier doesn’t wake from the kiss.

Not like in the stories.

---

I know Jaskier isn’t having the best day but I promise this story has a happy ending. <3

Also I’m not sure who wants to be tagged for this one, but feel free to tell me ;)

#geraskier #geraskier fic #hurt/comfort #prince!jaskier #jaskier whump #hurt jaskier #insecure geralt #(slightly) jealous geralt #valdo marx #geralt x jaskier #established relationship

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graceverse · 3 years ago

Text

Here Be That EniKao Fic I Told You All About

Please note that this is post "The Final" movie. This happened around 2 months after Kenshin and Enishi's fight. AND OH MY GOD, this is my first RK fic since what? 2017?! It has happened and I would like to thank Mackenyu for making this possible. LOL.

--------------

An Unexpected Invitation

Winter and spring had passed quietly without much excitement. Which was exactly what the occupants of the Kamiya Dojo, and indeed the residents of Tokyo, needed. After much turmoil from the previous year, the quiet restful months have allowed everyone to heal from their wounds.

Physical injuries were all but gone now. No one was wearing any bandages, no one was limping around, clutching a broken shoulder or needing a change of bloody bindings.

Megumi has finally been able to get a decent enough stock of bandages and ointment for the actual patients of the Ouguni Clinic. A feat she didn't think was possible especially since everyone seemed to have been incapacitated in the aftermath of Yukishiro's Jinchuu.

"You're all a troublesome bunch." She told them when she'd given everyone a clean bill of health. She haughtily tossed her hair, looking imperiously down at them. "Next time, you're replacing everything that you'll use up in the clinic."

"Just let Sano take you out for dinner as payment." Yahiko suggested. Boldy too, since he had never really tried teasing Megumi before.

Megumi didn't seem to mind as she actually winked at him before turning to give Sano a look. "Dinner, eh? Sagara Sanosuke can afford dinner?" If she had any eyebrows, it would have disappeared up into her bangs. But the curl of her lips was enough to let Sano know that she was merely teasing him.

"Jou-chan would lend me money, right Jou-chan?" He sidled up to her, elbowing her and making faces that Kaoru supposed was meant to make him look like an adorable puppy, but failing miserably with the still darkened bruises on his face. His spiked-up hair did nothing to help his cause.

"I will most certainly not!" Kaoru indignantly crossed her arms, sending both Sano and Megumi a glare.

"I'd rather that Kenshin take me to dinner, ne Ken-san?" Cool hands snaked around his arms and Kenshin was quick to jump away from Megumi's clutches.

"Why you-"

"Maa, maa -" Kenshin said, raising his hands, trying to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.

As usual, they all ignored him; insults and intimidations of violence were quickly tossed around which ended when Kaoru actually promised Sanosuke that she will give him the money he needed just to shut Megumi up and make her stop acting so inappropriately towards Kenshin.

To which Megumi had answered with a laugh, sultry enough to make both Kaoru and Sano blush. Chaos ensued and Kenshin reveled in the happiness that stirred inside of him as he watched his friends chase each other, threatening murder and all sorts of physical pain.

It was good to be back.

-----------

All traces of the violence and destruction from last winter was gone. It was as if it that night of chaos and fire, explosions and screams piercing through the night, the ghostly air balloons silently stalking the sky had become more like a nightmare that had faded away.

It was now the height of summer, the humidity so unbearable that even when Kaoru had changed the schedule of her classes to the hour of the hare, ("too damn early, busu!" Yahiko had complained), by the mid-morning everyone was drenched with sweat, limp and tired.

Classes were dismissed by noon which gave her ample time to take a long, cooling bath and sit at the engawa eating watermelons while watching Kenshin do the laundry or the gardening or whatever household chore he fancied for the day.

Today however had been hotter than usual and Kaoru briefly wished that she was alone at the dojo so she could changed into something more lightweight, like a yukata.

A slightly opened yukata.

She missed those days when she could just lie down, arms and legs thrown around and not have a care in the world about propriety. It was a constant learning process and test of patience living with two grown men and a young boy on the verge of manhood.

She could not understand how her father had dealt with so many hotheaded, pigheaded, sweaty, untidy – well, except for Kenshin – scoundrels.

Ugh!

Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes, leaning her head against one of the columns of the engawa, her socked feet listlessly swinging at the edge. If only there was tiny little breeze to alleviate this heat. She wanted very much to loosen the summer kimono that she was wearing.

She'd been planning on going to The Akabeko later. It was the only reason why she had dressed up today. Tae-san had promised her that she'd prepare anmitsu and Kaoru could already taste the sweet red bean paste inside her mouth, but as the day progressed it had become too hot that she could barely move from her spot.

Even Kenshin had decided not to do any outdoor activity, quietly sitting beside her instead. Apparently feeling the same kind of stupor that had descended upon them.

It was the kind of heat that robbed you of thought and speech and Kaoru had been imagining dipping into a tub filled with ice cold water when the sound of bells and sirens blasted through the tepid air.

Another fire.

There have been small conflagrations around the city, what with the heat and people being addled by it, someone was always bound to fall asleep with a lit cigarette or mothers too distracted by the heatwave would leave matches lying around for bored children to play with. Easily put out without much fuss but when she'd look up, startled by the sound, she could see dark plumes in the sky, getting bigger by the second.

"It looks like that's from the docks." Kaoru murmured, sitting up straight.

"That it does, Kaoru-dono." There's an almost sleepy quality in Kenshin's voice, low and raw from not having spoken for a quite a while, but she sensed his alertness as he stood up, grimly looking at the cloud of smoke that had impossibly become larger at such a short amount of time. Before Kaoru could say anything, Kenshin had stepped off the engawa, already sliding his zori on.

"Kenshin-" she had started to stand up as well, but Kenshin had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, stilling her.

"Please stay here, Kaoru-dono. It is too hot, that it is. Yahiko and I will go check if we could be of any help." His eyes are narrowed, an unpleasant thought obviously occurring to him but Kaoru didn't think that a fire, a safe distance from their home, should be of any concern.

"Don't over exert yourself Kenshin." She told him, the warning tone in her voice softened his eyes, the corners crinkling as he very visibly tried not to smile.

"I mean it, Kenshin." She added a little more firmly, fighting the urge to grab on to the ends of Kenshin's hair and pull on it just to show him how serious she was. "Absolutely no running inside burning buildings. None of that foolishness. I forbid it, Kenshin."

Kenshin's eyes gleamed at her. "Aa, Kaoru-dono, this one promise to stay behind the police line, that I do."

A blatant lie. The insufferable jerk. But Kaoru was too tired to argue and she only gave him her mightiest glare, one that was enough to make Sano squirm.

It apparently does not work on Kenshin as he merely reached out to briefly pat the top of her hand, his fingers lingering for just a few second more and Kaoru suddenly felt all hot inside. Like she had swallowed a whole taiyaki fresh from the oven and now it was idly swimming inside her stomach. She felt her whole face heating up and was rewarded with a genuinely amused smile from Kenshin who had leaned forward, just a fraction of an inch, head bowed down that she couldn't even see his eyes.

She felt herself freeze, her heart stuttering inside her chest. Kenshin seemed to have sensed this as he slowly, almost languidly, pulled back, the same amused smile still on his face before murmuring a quick goodbye.

She reluctantly let him go, trying not to worry so much as she watched as Kenshin waiting for Yahiko by the gate, ready to provide some much-needed assistance to the Tokyo Police.

Once they have closed the gate behind them, Kaoru sent a quick prayer to Kami-sama that no one was hurt from the fire and that her boys would come back unharmed.

She let her lids drop, trying to recapture that emotion she had felt when Kenshin had nearly invaded her private space. He'd never done that before…she wondered if it was brought upon the heatwave or something that he had seen in her face – when she had been imagining tugging at his hair…

Kaoru took a deep breath her eyes suddenly snapping open as she realized that she was finally alone. She let out a lazy smile as she pulled on the collar of her kimono, loosening it a bit. She let herself lay down, sprawled on the engawa, enjoying the little comfort it gave her.

--------

A shadow loomed over her.

It took her a second to realize that she had fallen asleep and the presence of someone looking down made her sit up, grabbing the nearest object she could reach to use as weapon: it was an emptied tea cup, utterly useless but she threw it with all of her might, hoping that in her still half-asleep state, her aim would be good enough.

It wasn't.

A hand caught it with ease and then a glint of light caught her eyes as she stared up into the face of Yukishiro Enishi, casually staring down at her as he pushed the bridge of his eyeglasses up to his nose, his other hand crushing the tea cup in his fist.

Kaoru let out a small gasp, realizing that that was her favorite and most expensive cup. Kenshin always took great care when handling it and now it has been turned into dust.

The indignant scream of rage that had wanted to escape her throat was swallowed down as Enishi wordlessly tossed something at her feet, it made a soft sound as it hit the wooden floor. Scrambling to sit up she glared at the object only to find out that it was Tomoe-san's diary.

She frowned and then slowly turned to look up at Kenshin's possibly deranged brother-in-law, now apparently escaped from prison, fugitive brother-in-law.

This could not be happening to her.

"I'm dreaming." She muttered darkly, more to herself, ignoring the man standing before her. She reached out to touch the diary, but pulled her hand at the last minute, her fingers curling in mid air before digging into the plump flesh of her palms. "I just need to wake up and everything will be fine." She closed her eyes, wondering rather inanely, if closing one's eyes would work when trying to wake up, wasn't she supposed to be doing the opposite? But -

Enishi was not cooperating. "I've read it." He told her, breaking the silence and forcing her to once again open her eyes, back to the dream. He was looking at her as though they were having some conversation that she had missed entirely because, what?!

"What?" She asked, equal parts perplexed and irritated at her inability to wake herself up.

"Nee-san's diary. I read it like you told me to." Enishi's voice held the same quality as Kenshin's earlier. A low rumble that sounded too unused and raw. Like those were the first words he had uttered since the last time she had seen him at his ruined garden, clutching at his stomach, sobbing Tomoe's name. He looked strangely normal all things considered. He was wearing an unusually bright orange Chinese robe that made Kaoru squint.

Kami-sama. She brought her hand to the side of her head, pressing hard, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

And then completely out of nowhere, in an almost toneless, disinterested voice, Yukishiro Enishi asked her: "Are you married now?"

Again, "What?!"

Enishi frowned at her. "Am I not making myself clear, Kamiya-san?" Now he was impatient, the tone of his voice changing into something that sounded suspiciously patronizing.

Kaoru absolutely hated being treated like she was a child. "Shut-up." She hissed at him. "What are you doing here?"

Enishi made a displeased sound at the back of his throat, "Why is your kimono open, Kamiya-san?"

Why is my -?

Kaoru felt her left eye violently twitching before letting out a shrieked loud enough to disturb their neighbors, it was a wonder no one came rushing in to check if she was alright. Kaoru had the presence of mind to clutch at her kimono, closing the tiniest of gaps that Enishi deemed improper. The stupid jerk. He couldn't have seen anything.

She took a deep breath, both hands clenching into tight fists as she gathered all of the swearwords Sanosuke had taught her and was about to let Enishi have them when something inside her head clicked.

She blinked up at her former captor who looked almost friendly, if it weren't for the stoic expression on his face that might actually surpass the permanently emotionless face of Shinamori-san. "The fire, that was you?!"

Enishi merely shrugged, untroubled by her accusation. "It was an old, hideous building. Abandoned." He added when Kaoru opened her mouth to protest, "I did Tokyo a favor."

A favor?! Kaoru wondered how exactly Enishi's head worked. How was deliberately burning a building –

"It was the green one with the stupid yellow door." He explained further, seeing the balled-up fists that Kaoru was shaking at him.

Kaoru saw the building inside her head and winced. It was incredibly ugly and she had complained about it to Tae-san about how much of an eye sore it was and she wished someone would just burn it to the ground but hadn't meant it literally!

She suddenly jumped up when she noticed Enishi stepping into the engawa.

Going into her Chūdan-no-kamae stance, her left foot just a few inches behind her right foot, her left heel elevated, hip thrust forward. Her shoulder was too tense though and she had to concentrate, trying to relax her shoulders.

She took deep breaths, readying herself for any attack. She didn't have her bokken with her, dammit, but she wasn't going to be taken without a fight. Not again. Never again. If she had to claw out Enishi's eyes or shove his glasses to his eyeballs, she'd do it.

"Stay back." Kaoru hissed at Enishi as he took another step towards her. "I will not let you take me again."

Enishi frowned at her. "Take you? Why would you think I'd want to take you?" He asked in a tone that suggested something entirely different to Kaoru, she just didn't know what, which further annoyed her. This was too weird to be a dream.

Yukishiro Enishi was really here. Again. In her dojo. And he made damn certain that no one was with her but he didn't want to take her.

Why couldn't Kenshin's brother-in-law be Yahiko's age?! She'd have a better way of dealing with that instead of this brown eyed, six feet, bulging muscles of insanity - Kaoru shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "What do you want then, you creep?"

Enishi merely raised his eyebrows, a dark severe line, in complete contrast to his disheveled white hair. "Is this how you normally react when asked if you're already married?"

Kaoru's jaw dropped. A hummingbird can probably fly inside and make a nest inside her mouth. She quickly clamped it shut before, letting out a battle cry: "You jerk! That's not of your business!" She lunged at Enishi, who smoothly slid out of her way and she tried another attack, swiping her feet from underneath him, which he also dodged by jumping away from her. He backed into the dojo and Kaoru followed, grabbing a bokken. Finally, a weapon she could use. She grinned in triumph and prepared to attack once again.

The bastard didn't even break a sweat as he effortless avoided her blows – and if he hadn't, she would've cracked his head. The whistling sound her bokken made every time she swung it towards Enishi filled the air.

Still, he sidestepped, graceful and damn it, oh so elegantly. It was almost as if he was dancing, his feet light and silent.

"Kuso, stay still!" Kaoru ordered, completely losing her patience, panting like a wild boar.

And the stupid fucking Yukishiro smirked at her.

Smirked! She was going to wipe that off of his beautiful face.

Wait.

WHAT?!

"I take it you aren't married yet." Enishi finally said, stepping into the line of her attack.

Gotcha!

But of course, like before, his hands clamped around her bokken, snatching it from her with restrained viciousness and throwing it somewhere against the wall where it noisily clattered.

Completely unperturbed by the events, Enishi then very casually asked her, "Do you want to go to Shanghai with me, Kamiya-san?"

And Kaoru thought, not for the first time in her life, that she was cursed to deal with incorrigible men that she would very much like to whack with her bokken.

Mou!

------------

Author's Note:

And that is what I have so far. I don't know what to do with it. Anyway, tell me what you think. This fic is borne out of the sheer frustration of The Final and how Jinchuu Arc, which I am now calling the Cursed Arc for obvious reasons– had been - watered down seems too kind, ne?

But I'll rant some more if I can manage to have a second chapter up. Maybe.

Lastly, I typed this all up really fast while pretending to work so, if there are any typos, annoying grammatical errors, I promise I'll come back and try to fix them. I hope.

Translations and notes:

The hour of the hare: 6:00 a.m.

Anmitsu is a traditional Japanese dessert, traced back to the Meiji era (1868 to 1912). It consists of cubes of agar jelly, which are made using water and/or different fruit juices. Typically served in a bowl, with toppings like slices of fruit and sweet red bean paste. The dessert is also served with a sweet black syrup, kuromitsu,(the -mitsu in anmitsu) that's poured over the treat just before you enjoy it.

Taiyaki - Fish shaped cakes filled with anko (red bean paste)

Chūdan-no-kamae is the middle posture used in kenjutsu. The most basic stance, it allows for a balance between attacking and defense. When performed correctly, the practitioner's trunk and right wrist are protected

#enikao #enishi x kaoru #kenkao #kenshin x kaoru x enishi love triangle of death #kidding #sort of #take this The Final #hahaha #no really #rurouni kenshin fanfic #rurouni kenshin #i'm done

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bubblyani · 4 years ago

Text

Bloom

(Rick x Reader)

A Rick (Knight of Cups) One Shot

Movie: Knight of Cups (2015) Terrence Malick

Summary: When he pays a visit one fine morning, you realize the immense effect Rick has on your mind, body and soul.

Word Count: 2000+

Rating: Mature

Warning: Sexual Content

Author’s Note: Rick was a visual treat in this movie, thanks to Christian Bale. And thirsting for this character led to another One Shot. Tried to give the writing an aesthetic feeling more than last time. A tribute to Terrence Malick’s style, I suppose. Did my best. But also with some added fan girl frustration *wink* Enjoy y’all!

You’re regretting it now, aren’t you? Coming to see me?

Your heart was aware of your smug query. A sense of smug, that stemmed from the confidence of your words. A sense of smug, that unfortunately was stained by an obvious sadness. The type of stain that refused to be rinsed off. An obvious sadness, for you meant every word.

With your knees locked in an embrace, there you sat on the edge of the bed. Your eyes succeeded in finally freeing themselves from the tempting grasps of the polished wooden floors. They moved up in slow motion, to fill oneself by the breathtaking sight of him. Leaning against the Bedroom door, Rick gently shook his head in a mild manner. As if a frantic response was nearly impossible. And truthfully, that would not have suited him:

I couldn’t stop.

Raising one’s eyebrows, you felt your head tilt to the side:

Stop what?

You swore your eyes were expert enough to trace a soft smile form in that angelic face of his:

Thinking about you.

His words so breathless, tickled your ears long enough, that butterflies began to flutter within you. So breathless, you despised the mere thought of losing them to the wind. His gaze managed to pierce through the distance, resulting in the subtle blushes of your cheeks. Simply put, You were gluttonous for his words. More important, you were gluttonous for him.

However, never did you display it. How could you, when imaginative dark clouds of despair reigned over you with such weight?

Shaking your head, you smiled bowing it down:

Heh…you’re crazy.

Your pointed feet reached the floor with control and grace, feeling the chill in the morning greet your skin. And the very moment you did, the floor urged him to take careful steps towards you. Barefoot and quiet:

Maybe I am…for you

Goosebumps resulted in your skin, and you blamed his seductive poetic soul. Keeping one’s head down, your eyes stealthily watched him approach you. With your pulse quickening all of the sudden, you were tempted to conceal it all. Conceal those lines in your face that nature had bestowed upon you. Conceal the skin your mother had gifted you. Conceal the imperfection that you yourself had stowed away with such expertise, from the entire world. Undoubtedly, the flame of insecurity was certainly strong and burning bright at that very moment.

Until it was extinguished, by the his mere touch.

Shaky breaths exited your lips as his hand rested on your head, his long fingers digging into your hair with the sole intention of intimacy with your scalp. Your eyelids fluttered frantically, for you were intoxicated, you were spellbound. The manner in which his fingers made contact with your scalp, some would even wonder if they were lovers in secret. For his fingers, they treated it as if it was the most precious, awakening your entire body in every possible manner. Gathering courage, you looked up to find the man who rejuvenated your senses.

With his beautiful, chiseled frame adorned with a long sleeved black v-neck top and pants, Rick was nothing short of a refreshed, visual pleasure. While the satin negligee still lingered in your frame, with messy bed hair and smudged eyeliner as the shameful accompanists. Empty bottles of wine and spilled bottles of pills occupied the bedside cupboard. Already 11 in the morning, and you were nothing short of a mess.

This…this is me. This is who I really am.

Your eyes enunciated every word, gazing directly into his very own. Truth was inevitable to escape your soul, when you were staring at divinity. The sunlight streamed through the white curtains, illuminating his frame, for he was a god. A deity who descended into earth, robbing himself of time, just for you: A withered flower.

You never hid that.

Rick’s eyes shone, warm as the sunlight on a winter’s morn.

Never with me.

And before you could protest, a gust of wind swept you away. The wind that were his loving arms, pulling you up with ease. Permitting your body to press against his, you felt his lips unite yours in a gentle kiss.

You first ever knew of Rick’s existence not too long ago. More specifically when your eyes met from across the room, at a party one Summer’s Eve. And it certainly did not seem like sweet coincidence, especially in the comfort of a Billionaire’s Mansion in Los Angeles. Truthfully, it would seem eventual, for all knew all in entertainment. As the distance between the two of you grew smaller, his curiosity was made well known to you. A curiosity, which was satisfied the very moment an onlooker of a musician hurriedly played your latest music video on his phone, posing the question to Rick with disbelief:

“Don’t you know who she is?”

“Dude, Rick’s a legend. Doesn’t she know who HE is?”

In all fairness, a smile could have graced your lips upon glancing at this handsome stranger, in the midst of the queries from the onlookers around. You could have acknowledged the dilation of his pupils, by showing him your very own. You could have made very clear of your own growing curiosity about him. But you did not. For you were weary, in mind, body and soul.

Live Shows, Recordings, Photo shoots and Press Junkets. In the midst of them all, you were just a name, a mere symbol of profit milked by all those around you. Blinded by power, it seemed none of them were aware of the husk they leave behind when the day was done. The husk of a young woman, left to mend herself back in her lonesome. The young woman swept away by the tornado of fame with such speed, she lost her sense of purpose that existed in the very beginning.

Until his curious kiss that night, urged you to engage in a rediscovery.

You never hid that. Never with me

He was right. With him, you were always yourself: unapologetically. Without question.

His kisses were consistent. They were the sips of water the dry throat craved for days. His lips were the hands that held on to you with care, guiding you sensually to form your own Rumba. And this morning, with the sunlight streaming over your own head, and with your hands wrapped around his neck, you were bestowed with a rush of pure exuberance. In simpler terms, you were alive.

Possessed with life, your movements suddenly were the epitome of energy and speed. You pushed him away, giggles causing your voice to crack as you leaped to the bed. And for Rick, it was simply an invitation to join you in a game of catch. A game that will be won without hesitation. And he did, gripping you by the ankle, only to pull you back to him as you fell on the mattress. Squeals vanished the moment you found his figure hovering over, leaving you breathless. And all the sudden, exuberance morphed into tranquility, for you were transfixed, hypnotized. For he was responsible.

With the blink of an eye, you found his face inches away from yours. When breathing were finally in syncopation, the world seemed to stand still. The soft brunette hair that framed his face, dared to tickle your cheeks as his lips were drawn in to yours with a magnetic force. However, he defied nature’s law, by pulling away in tease. Just when they were millimeters close. Frustration was evident in your stomach, that your eyes began to display it without a shred of embarrassment.

But he caught you by surprise, as his accentuated nose brushed against your forehead.

You’re beautiful.

Shivers managed to appear, for those words never failed to move you. Taking the role of painter, he moved downwards in sweet torture, awakening every inch of your face: Your closed eyelids, your own nose, your burning cheeks, and under appreciated chin. Your lips yet, were discriminated.

Parting them with frustration, you stared at the ceiling with desperation as his torture continued south. Shaky breaths were incited, when his nose made contact with your bare neck. Even more so when he mindlessly painted your body with desire, crossing the borders through the collarbone.

Butterflies fluttered as the tip of his nose made strategic, temporary stops over your mountainous geography. Two erect peaks formed through the satin plains on either sides once he wandered over your heaving bosom with leisure. Nether muscles tightened, resulting in moans of the softest nature. Throwing your head back, you winced and gasped when he pulled your negligee up, permitting his brush to paint over the exposed stomach. If your body was awakened before, now it was slowly being lit up in flames. A slow burn, to be precise.

You’re intoxicating

Moans grew loud and unabashed, when he had the audacity to reach down your thighs.

I want you.

Putting his brush of a nose aside, he began to play Aesthete. And it was evident he did, the moment his lips attacked your inner thighs with gentle kisses.

Mine.

Leaving your thighs burning, he kept his gaze affixed while his fingers urged your lace panties to part from your legs, opening the door that deemed most secretive. His intentions were made aware. And feeling the growth under his pants with your foot, you could not help but agree. Especially when your legs locked around his waist in a hurry. However, you were surprised even further when he switched positions in a heartbeat, allowing you to straddle him in return.

All of you. All mine.

His eyes, they burned. His words, they haunted. His hands, they were impatient. Not to undress himself, but to hold onto your own hands instead. Pulse quickening, your mind was full of queries as he pulled you closer.

And closer, past his stomach. And closer, past his chest.

The very moment he gave a final tug, realization washed over you. For you knew how exactly Rick, the wanderer, the observer, the adventurer wanted you. Right to the exact detail. Licking ones lips, you shuddered as you lifted yourself up:

Then want me. Please.

Your plea was sudden, desperate, yet there were no regrets. Desirous need was all that was filled in you, when you sank yourself low, when you sank yourself slow, to have his ethereal face welcome the region right between your quivering thighs. To have his hungry lips finally taste the mere essence of your being.

You gasped, out loud. The simplest brush of his lips, his facial hair were simply triggers, akin to a centralized button that set off a theme park a lit. And like in a theme park, you were on a ride of a lifetime.

Want me, like you never wanted anyone.

Keeping your balance with your knees firmly rooted on the soft white sheets, you rolled your hips. You rolled them in steady rhythm. Back and forth. All the while you felt his nose rub against your moist opening, and while his generous mouth proved his hunger for you. And he was not the one to waste any time.

Want me, as if your life depended on it.

You rolled, you rode. Holding on to your own hair, you were possessed with such greed, you knew you would go mad. Mad with ecstasy. For his lips were divine. His kisses translated to hunger in abundance. His tongue, did not fail to fall behind. If his nose played the artist, then his tongue played the writer, versatile enough to weave his own love notes in poetic form in the inner most intimate centre of your glorious body. His words roused you, till your moans were melodic and repetitive.

Want me, as if you love me.

With your pleas, your arms extended involuntarily. A shadow, caught your attention, as your eyes moved towards the bedside. It appeared so flexible, so lively. It was yours. As you kept glancing at it writhing in pleasure, in the midst of your moans and his, the realization was clear as the morning itself. No sign of exhaustion, nor any sign of hopelessness. A smile was all your face could provide you, and empowerment was all your heart could afford.

The withering in you had vanished. Your heart had no trace. For Rick, he was the sunshine, and hydration incarnate. For he was the nourishment. Your nourishment. And thus you, a once withered flower, now finally bloomed in full.

——————————————————

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yhwhrulz · 1 year ago

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Morning and Evening with A.W. Tozer Devotional for August 5

Tozer in the Morning True Love

Among the innocent victims of this effete and degenerate age, there is none so pure and so beautiful as love.

Next to the word God with its various forms, there is no word so fair in all the language. Yet it may be said without qualification that this beautiful word has so suffered in the house of its friends as now to be scarcely recognizable. For the great mass of mankind, love has lost its divine meaning. The novelist, the playwright, the psychoanalyst, the writer of popular love songs, have abused this fair being too long. For filthy lucre, they have dragged her through the sewers of the human mind until she appears to the world as no more than a blowzy and bloated strumpet for whom no one any longer has the least trace of respect, the mention of whose name brings no more than a wink or an embarrassed simper. By losing the divine content from the concept of love, modern man now has remaining only what we might expect--a brazen-faced dowd whom he courts at all hours of the day and night with songs that should make a chimpanzee blush.

Tozer in the Evening In the Pursuit of God - Preface

In this hour of all-but-universal darkness one cheering gleam appears: within the fold of conservative Christianity there are to be found increasing numbers of persons whose religious lives are marked by a growing hunger after God Himself. They are eager for spiritual realities and will not be put off with words, nor will they be content with correct `interpretations' of truth. They are athirst for God, and they will not be satisfied till they have drunk deep at the Fountain of Living Water. This is the only real harbinger of revival which I have been able to detect anywhere on the religious horizon. It may be the cloud the size of a man's hand for which a few saints here and there have been looking. It can result in a resurrection of life for many souls and a recapture of that radiant wonder which should accompany faith in Christ, that wonder which has all but fled the Church of God in our day. But this hunger must be recognized by our religious leaders.

Current evangelicalism has (to change the figure) laid the altar and divided the sacrifice into parts, but now seems satisfied to count the stones and rearrange the pieces with never a care that there is not a sign of fire upon the top of lofty Carmel. [See 1 Kings 18 for the allusions.-ccp] But God be thanked that there are a few who care. They are those who, while they love the altar and delight in the sacrifice, are yet unable to reconcile themselves to the continued absence of fire. They desire God above all. They are athirst to taste for themselves the `piercing sweetness' of the love of Christ about Whom all the holy prophets did write and the psalmists did sing.

There is today no lack of Bible teachers to set forth correctly the principles of the doctrines of Christ, but too many of these seem satisfied to teach the fundamentals oft he faith year after year, strangely unaware that there is in their ministry no manifest Presence, nor anything unusual in their personal lives. They minister constantly to believers who feel within their breasts a longing which their teaching simply does not satisfy. I trust I speak in charity, but the lack in our pulpits is real. Milton's terrible sentence applies to our day as accurately as it did to his: `The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed.'

It is a solemn thing, and no small scandal in the Kingdom, to see God's children starving while actually seated at the Father's table. The truth of Wesley's words is established before our eyes: `Orthodoxy, or right opinion, is, at best, a very slender part of religion. Though right tempers cannot subsist without right opinions,yet right opinions may subsist without right tempers. There may be a right opinion of God without either love or one right temper toward Him. Satan is proof of this.'

Thanks to our splendid Bible societies and to other effective agencies for the dissemination of the Word, there are today many millions of people who hold right opinions,' probably more than ever before in the history of the Church.Yet I wonder if there was ever a time when true spiritual worship was ever a time when true spiritual worship was at a lower ebb. To great sections of the Church the art of worship has been lost entirely, and in its place has come that strange and foreign thing called theprogram.' This word has been borrowed from the stage and applied with sad wisdom to the type of public service which now passes for worship among us.

Sound Bible exposition is an imperative must in the Church of the living God. Without it no church can be a New Testament church in any strict meaning of that term. But exposition may be carried on in such way as to leave the hearers devoid of any true spiritual nourishment whatever. For it is not mere words that nourish the soul, but God Himself, and unless and until the hearers find God in personal experience, they are not the better for having heard the truth. The Bible is not an end in itself, but a means to bring men to an intimate and satisfying knowledge of God, that they may enter into Him, that they may delight in His Presence, may taste and know the inner sweetness of the very God Himself in the core and center of their hearts.

This book is a modest attempt to aid God's hungry children so to find Him. Nothing here is new except in the sense that it is a discovery which my own heart has made of spiritual realities most delightful and wonderful to me. Others before me have gone much farther into these holy mysteries than I have done, but if my fire is not large it is yet real, and there may be those who can light their candle at its flame.

A. W. Tozer Chicago, Ill. June 16,1948.

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allegra-writes · 5 years ago

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"Lights Up" part I

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: And there was only one bed!!

Peter must deal with the aftermath of what Mysterio did, but he's not alone: Nick Fury and Pepper Stark have a plan, one that includes you, Peter and the tropical desert island of Eroda.

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His lungs were on fire, his legs burning with the strain, he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to go on. The sharp pain piercing his side was disconcerting, he used to be familiar with it, he remembered as much, but he hadn't felt it in years, not since the spider bite. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten so much as winded just from running, but he had been at it for hours now, ever since he had ditched MJ and his suit in that dingy alley in hopes of Peter Parker being a little more inconspicuous than Spider-Man.

But by then, everyone in the city knew his face, and in the age of the internet and smartphones all it took was one single snap, one tweet, one livestream, to find himself surrounded by an angry mob, screaming for his blood, like something out of an old horror movie. All they were missing were the pitchforks and torches. There was nowhere to hide.

So he ran.

And he kept on running, but even he couldn't run forever. At least not without eating anything, the calorie deficiency starting to take a toll on his super-metabolism, causing him to become dizzy, his reflexes slower.

That was probably why he didn't realize his mistake until it was too late, until he reached the intersection and found himself surrounded: He had been ambushed, led like a lamb to the slaughter. He came to a halt, turning around, looking in vain for a way out, but the circle they had arranged around him was a tight formation, he was either going to have to fight his way out or shoot a web and swing away and he could kiss goodbye any chance left at keeping his identity secret after that…

"Looks like we caught ourselves a spider, guys!"

"Not so brave now, eh boy?"

Peter cursed internally. There was no other way, falling into stance, he braced himself for the fight. But before he could make a move, he saw it. A car, a rather distinctive one, heading straight their way, and it wasn't slowing down. If anything, it seemed to speed up the closer it got to the crowd, forcing people -including Peter- to jump out of the way to avoid being run over.

"Get in!"

He didn't need to be told twice, jumping into the passenger seat, the car speeding away before he even got to close the door completely. You stole a glance at him. He looked tired, maybe a little pale, but uninjured. You sighed in relief. He was there, you had gotten to him on time. He was safe.

Safe and openly gawking at you.

"Y- y/n?"

You flinched,

"Yeah, not my real name" You took your eyes off the road to give him an apologetic look, "Sorry 'bout that"

"Then who are you?" His voice was steel. So much for being grateful for saving his ass, then…

"I'm agent 16 of S.H.I.E.L.D's Special Service. I was assigned to protect you" You threw him a side-glance, "and a little 'thank you' would be nice"

Well, that explained the uniform and you driving Item 20-25. God, he was so stupid! Of course you were a spy, why else would a girl like you even give him the time of day? The pretty girls at his school weren't nice, not to him at least. But now it all made sense, down to the very first time he saw you, beaming at him as Mr. Warren pointed at the empty seat beside him. All the times your hands brushed in class, fingers lingering on test tubes and books a couple of seconds longer than necessary. All those little touches, all the secret looks when you thought he wasn't watching, it was probably all part of your mission. Probably just to get close to him, to gain his trust. After all, you had demonstrated you weren't truly interested in him when you turned down his invitation to prom.

He had cried afterwards. Not much, not like at Ben's funeral, or when Mister Stark… No, definitely not like that, but he had shed a couple of tears that night.

He had lost sleep and appetite over you. Lost hours daydreaming about you, about the fruity smell of your hair, wondering what your strawberry lipstick would taste like. But the truth was, after all this time, after all that staring, all that pinning he didn't know anything about you, did he? Not even...

"Can you tell me your real name?"

"You don't have the clearance for that"

You replied, turning to face him. And maybe he ought to fasten that seat belt after all, or shut up and stop distracting you from the road, cause you were still going too damn fast and breaking all traffic laws known to mankind. Mr Dell's shocked, appalled face after your driving test flashed through his mind.

"Spider-Man has a level 6 clearance" he protested.

"You need a level 9. At least."

"I thought 9 was the highest level" Gods, his frown was adorable.

You just smirked and made another turn, driving through an entrance and a ramp that hadn't been there a second ago.

"We're here" You announced, killing the engine. Peter didn't move.

"Where exactly is 'here'?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D's Manhattan headquarters"

You got out of the car, rounding to his side and pulling his door open, then closing it once he had gotten out. The gentleman in him protested it should be the other way around, he should be the one opening doors for you and helping you out of cars. It was absurd, of course. There, with you in that black catsuit, thigh holsters on both your legs, walking like you owned the place there was no mistaking it: You weren't y/n, his school crush; you were a highly trained special agent, escorting him through the premises.

… Pretty familiar premises, actually.

"Avengers Tower? S.H.I.E.L.D bought Avengers Tower?"

"It was a donation, actually" you explained as the elevator's doors opened to the Stark Memorial Garden, an open garden as majestic as it was massive, located right in the heart of the building.

"A donation? But wh-"

"Peter! Oh thank god!" A relieved voice and the clicking of hills on the stone path interrupted him.

"Mrs. Stark?" Peter let himself be crushed into Pepper's chest, closing his eyes, the tears he hadn't known he was holding back starting to fall as soon as he felt safe in her embrace.

If Tony Stark had been like a father to him, Pepper Potts-Stark was a mother trough and trough. She had tried to step into her husband's role of a mentor for Peter, knowing fully well she couldn't ever replace him or occupy his place; but she would be damned if she allowed that giant Tony shaped hole on that boy's life to go unattended, to bleed out or fester. The kid had already lost so much, almost every parent figure he had ever had. And she knew what that kind of loss could do to precocious boys with too big hearts, had seen it first hand with Tony.

"Mrs. Stark I'm so- I'm so sorry"

"Shhh" She said soothingly, "It's not your fault. You're going to be ok, I promise. We'll figure it out" Pepper sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Pete! Six!"

Peter broke the hug just in time to see a little dark haired meteor jump into your arms. He watched, stunned, as Morgan clung to you. He knew once upon a time she had been an outgoing, confident child but ever since her father's death she had grown timid. She didn't open up easily to strangers, Peter being a rare exception, and even that had been solely because of the stories Tony used to tell her about her 'super big brother' adventures. She had developed a sort of hero worship for Peter that only rivaled the one she felt for her father. For her to be so friendly towards you had to mean you had spent a considerable amount of time together, and Peter remembered the tales you used to tell in class about the adorable little girl you babysat sometimes.

"You did it! You found him!"

You smiled at her.

"Told you I would, Morgs. And I always keep my word" He watched you squeeze her again in your arms, he could tell you cared about the kid, probably even missed her while you and him were in Europe. But the sweet reunion was short lived, as soon another voice, more stern, resonated through the garden.

"In our line of work, I'm not sure that can be considered a good thing"

You gasped in mock trepidation, making Morgan giggle and Peter smile despite himself.

"Uh-oh! We've been caught!" You passed the still laughing kid to Peter and stood straighter, trying to sober up. Peter could see the corners of your mouth twitch as you greeted, "Director"

He gave you a nod,

"Agent. Parker, Mrs. Stark. Good, now that everybody's here, we can get a move on"

Without waiting for a reply, Nicholas Fury started walking again, leaving everyone to scramble to follow.

"I know this seems like the end of the world, Mr. Parker, and I'll admit the situation isn't ideal," the intimidating man punched a code into a hidden panel and another elevator opened. "but our main priority right now is your safety. We'll treat this like any other blown cover, following the same protocols we follow when any of our agent's identity is compromised: Immediate extraction and relocation of the agent into a safe house, with an armed escort for protection, of course" He explained as everybody climbed in.

"You're sending me away with a bodyguard?" Peter sounded less than pleased and you couldn't help the pang of sympathy. You didn't like to be pulled off the field either.

"I understand how that could be uncomfortable for you," it didn't sound like he particularly cared, though, "so perhaps it would be less unpleasant with an element you're already familiar with. Agent 16 here is going to be your companion"

"What does that means, Six?" Morgan turned to you, still perched onto Peter's torso, like a baby koala.

"It means I'm going to babysit your brother instead of you, for a while…" You threw the brunet boy a wink and his protests about not needing babysitting died on his lips. It didn't sound so bad, actually. Being cooped up with you in some secret location for an indeterminate amount of time.

"How long would we be gone?"

"As long as it takes for the director and me to fix this" Pepper spoke with the authority only her seemed to possess, the one that could reing in crazy geniuses dash heroes and master spies alike. Fury could only nod in compliance.

"What about May?"

"She's with Happy, already on her way to the lake house"

Peter still looked unsure, but Pepper smiled, eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint surprisingly similar to the one her husband used to have.

"Don't worry, Peter. You'll love the safe house. I know Tony and I did…"

…

Leaving Morgan at the launch bay had been the hardest part. Her tears soaking Peter's t-shirt as Pepper tried to pry the fabric out of her little hands, were enough to break his heart. She didn't want to let her big brother go, probably terrified he wouldn't come back, just like her father. Far too perceptive for a six year old kid, she understood Peter was in trouble, in danger, and she was scared.

Peter was scared too.

How could he not? He might be naive but he wasn't stupid, he knew that no matter the outcome of whatever plan Mrs. Stark and Fury came out with, his life as he knew it was over.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry" Your earnest voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts, "For lying to you, for what Beck did, for everything."

Peter stared at your profile, something he seemed to be doing a lot that day. Who was he trying to kid, he did a lot of that everyday. It actually seemed to be the only normal thing that remained, the one thing that seemed to stay constant as the world shifted and changed around him. He should be mad at you, he knew that. He should feel betrayed, hurt, and he did, a little but it was hard to stay angry at you. Even when you were partnered at school and you failed to do your part in the projects, he used to have trouble not forgiving you the second you flashed those doe eyes at him.

He sighed,

"It's not your fault, any of it. About the lying, you were only doing your job" It wasn't your fault that he had been dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that didn't even exist. "And as for Quentin… that definitely wasn't your fault"

"My job was to protect you. If I had done it right, none of this would have happened" there was a slight catch in your voice "I should have realized he was a fraud, I should have told Nick as soon as I started having doubts about the guy, I should have stopped him before he stole E.D.I.T.H; I should have-" You turned away, pretending to get engrossed in the navigation controls of the Quinjet.

"I should have found that video and stopped it from reaching the news" You finished, voice finally under control, but still not meeting Peter's eyes.

"I was the one that literally handed E.D.I.T.H to him" You felt his hand cover yours over a lever, and looked at him in surprise. He found your eyes, a soft look in his that made your insides fill with butterflies, "He tricked me too. Do you blame me for that?"

"What? No, of course not!"

Your indignation on his behalf warmed his chest.

"Then why blame yourself for the same thing?"

He had a point. Luckily, you were saved from having to answer him by a blip in your instruments.

"Looks like we're here" You commented instead, initiating landing maneuvers.

"Where is here, exactly?" He peered out of the windscreen, into the darkness of the night, trying to get a look. And who knew, with his super senses maybe he could.

"Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. An island, apparently, a very isolated one..."

"So you've never been here before either?"

"No, this isn't one of S.H.I.E.L.D's safe houses. This one is Mrs. Stark's"

"Oh" Peter smiled for the first time since leaving NYC, "It must be really cool then"

"Yeah, I imagine it is" You smiled back

The house was not how you imagined Tony Stark's safe house would be like. For starters, the wooden construction wasn't even a house, a bungalow would have been a more appropriate title. The one-room little shack stood semi hidden by palm trees on the beach, and you knew the island was probably beautiful, but you couldn't see much in the moonless night.

Inside there wasn't much to see either, just a queen sized bed, a cupboard with a chest of drawers and a recliner by one of the windows. Ever the gentleman, Peter had offered to take the recliner, but you had rolled your eyes and pointed out the bed was big enough for the both of you.

"I don't know why we're so surprised" Peter's voice reached you through the bathroom door, where he was changing into his pjs, "I mean, we've seen the Lake House and, sure, it's very luxurious for a cabin but that's what it is: a cabin"

"Maybe" You replied, flopping on the bed. At least it was comfy "but they have FRIDAY over there. Here we barely even have electricity"

Peter stopped in his tracks as soon as he walked into the room, and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on your exposed legs, your tiny cotton sleeping shorts not covering much at all.

"It's just, I can't possibly believe Tony Stark didn't installed any defense system on his safe house. I mean, you knew the man better than I did, but doesn't it strike you as a little… odd?"

"Huh? Ye-yeah, I mean, I…" You could see his cheeks turn red. God, he was adorable.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming to bed?"

He choked on his own spit, and you had to suppress a giggle. Maybe, just maybe, he truly did forgive you for lying to him. Maybe you still had a chance.

…

Peter couldn't sleep. He could feel the heat coming off your skin through the small distance separating your bodies, your perfume invading his nostrils with every breath. Being so close to you in the dark was torture and yet he couldn't bring himself to get up and go to the chair on the other side of the room. He was pinned to the bed, mesmerized by your sleeping profile, enthralled by the way your chest rose and fell with every deep, steady breath. Irrevocably and inescapably drawn to you like a moth to a flame, too scared to move, too afraid to disturb your dream.

Because it appeared to be a very good dream. He could see the blush spreading from your face to your neck, all the way down to where the neckline of your tank top obscured his view. He could hear your breathing starting to quicken, feel the temperature of your skin rise. He could smell you, sweet and enticing. Beckoning.

Your lips parted, letting out the most captivating little sigh in the history of mankind, and his eyes zeroed in the movement, his tongue darting out to wet his own.

Peter felt his blood rushing south and was disgusted by himself, he felt like a creep. What kind of psycho got off of watching a girl sleep? Yet he couldn't bring his eyes to avert their gaze.

He needed to get out of there, give you some semblance of privacy, as your hips started to twitch minutely, seeking a friction they wouldn't find. You let out a soft whine and he screwed his eyes shut. 'Come on Parker, get a grip on yourself' he thought, trying to gather enough strength to pry himself from the bed, to pry himself from your side. He was about to, he truly was, when it happened.

You rolled over, half trapping him under your body. And it wouldn't have been hard for him to escape if he wanted to. But he really really didn't want to. The voice inside his head telling him it was wrong was growing weaker and weaker with every pretty noise leaving your mouth. Your hot breath was searing against the skin of his chest and he both cursed and blessed the instant he decided to forego wearing a t-shirt to bed in the sultry island heat.

"Peter" You murmured in your sleep and his heart stopped. You were dreaming about him. You were panting and burning up for him, and he knew it didn't necessarily mean anything and dreams were not real life, but your legs fell open, one knee on either side of one of his, and he could actually feel your warm wetness through the thin fabric of your sleeping shorts and his threadbare plaid pajama pants and fuck!

Whatever last trace of logic might remained in his brain flew out the window as you started rubbing yourself on his thigh, finally finding the friction you so desperately needed. His hand went to your waist to stop you, but it ended up aiding you instead, sliding to your lower back, pressing down and releasing rhythmically, rocking you against his leg harder.

He glared at the traitorous appendage, but how could he reproach it it's betrayal, when you were moaning so sweetly? He wanted to commit those sounds to his memory, to tattoo them on his brain to play over every night when he'd found himself alone on his cold bed, one hand around his length and the other over his mouth to stop himself from yelling your name at the ceiling, as he had so many times before.

You breathed out his name again, and his free hand went to his pelvis, of its own volition. He palmed himself over his pants, but that's as far as he would let himself go. He refused to be the guy who jerked himself off next to an unconscious girl.

A new wave of moisture left your core, soaking his skin through the fabrics.

"Fuck!" He cursed softly, head hitting the tall headboard as he threw it back.

"Peter?"

He froze. No. Oh god, please no...

To be continued...

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader fanfic #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #tom.holland x reader fanfic #tom holland imagine

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light Ch. 17

Scully meets the Mufon women, who clue her into their shared fate; Mulder accompanies Scully to the OB-GYN after her car breaks down; A mysterious voicemail appears on Scully's machine.

---------------------

The murder of Mulder’s father--and attempted murders of the agents themselves--went the way of many X-Files, becoming another everlasting thorn in their sides. Skinner wasn’t happy with them, but he pitied them, so it was a two-week paper pusher assignment and then they were back at it. Lightning strikes, allusions to immortality from a mortal man, too many prisons and too much death; the calendar advanced, time marched on, and they saw it all but it couldn’t touch them. Wouldn’t, more like. Emotionally stunted, that’s what they are. Holding onto too much pain to process any.

And then comes Mulder’s $29.95 tape and its path to Allentown; a Japanese diplomat, a dead man, and a list of Mufon members wait in its wake. All of which lead Scully to Betsy Hagopian’s doorstep.

These women--whom she has never seen before, nor could not pick from any crowd--know her. They swear. She is one of them, they say, as if that’s supposed to snap everything into perspective. As if the semblance of belonging somewhere will make her spill her guts. But no; she wants to be nothing but herself, and sometimes not even that.

Then there are dozens of cars outside and women surround her, speaking of a place she didn’t know she knew until they said it. A blank slate flashes in her mind; an echo from some past life. She doesn’t believe in reincarnation, so how can that be?

Then the women--these strange women--speak of men & mysterious tests, and a drill sears Scully’s brain, and she’s coming apart, and is this annihilation or healing?

These images--she can hardly call them memories--expand until she’s living inside them. She is doubled, the victim and the spectator. She sees herself on a medical table, a tube spiraling from her belly button. It’s nonsensical, there’s no procedure of the sort. And then, before her unblinking eyes, her stomach grows. Inflated like a balloon. Her warped form...it looks pregnant, and her old fear comes back as a bitter taste in her mouth. Surely this is something seen in a dream, impossible to be reflected in any reality.

The rattle of metal pulls her back to the present. Every woman standing before her holds a capsule containing a microchip, barely perceptible to the eye. Marked...they have been marked. She has too, they say. They have all the scar, and it’s already been established that she is one of them.

Scully’s swept up by the crowd and taken to Betsy Hagopian at Allentown Medical Center. She’s unsure at this point whether she’s investigating the murder case or some vastly larger conspiracy. Or if those are even distinguishable.

She watches as the nurse slides Betsy into the MRI machine, wonders how Betsy feels about them being there as she disappears from view. Scully once thought of making oncology her specialty, back when she was bright-eyed and believed she could save the world. That path would have been paved with pain, sure, but there would be victory, and above all, hope. Her current job fails to put her in such close contact with miracles.

We’re all dying because of what they do to us, Penny Northern says. And how ironic it is, Scully thinks. She and Mulder want the truth--the proof--of some atrocity greater than themselves, and they may have it...once she’s packed into a coffin. How’s that saying go? Be careful what you wish for…

------------------------

The scar at the base of her neck had never stood out to Scully. She can’t see it, and her hair covers it anyway. She had felt it in the shower once, shortly after her return, but she wrote it off as a bug bite. No one had ever commented on it until Penny Northern and the Mufon women; not Missy, not Mulder, not her mother…

Missy had noticed it during one of their face-mask nights in the weeks after the return, but she chose not to say anything, figuring it wasn’t worth adding to her sister’s worry. If she had seen it again recently--known that it hadn’t gone away--she would have said something.

Mulder...well, he never noticed it, and holy shit, he would have given anything for a situation where he could have. Scully never wears her hair up, he’ll blame it on that though it's fruitless. Really, it’s on him. He has a mental map of the places he’s touched her--and the places he won’t. Her neck is on neither one. He hasn’t gotten there yet.

Margaret Scully never saw it, and frankly, she would have thought it was something inappropriate to mention and wished her daughter had worn a turtleneck that day. What else can be said about that?

Thus, as autumn breaks over Washington, the agents crowd into a Bureau lab with Pendrell (or Agent Nerd, as Mulder prefers to call him) to address the intruder put into Scully’s body. Scully’s calm, cool, and collected, but Mulder winces as Pendrell’s tweezers pierce her skin. He’s never had the guts (nor the patience) for the medical profession.

“Yep, I’ve got something,” Pendrell remarks, dropping it into a petri dish. Mulder inches closer to get a good look at the object, and sure enough, it’s a microchip. He’s met with the urge to pocket it and run so that his partner would never have to see it.

Instead, Pendrell presents the dish to Scully. “It looks like a computer chip to me,” he tells her. “Something manufactured.”

Scully squeezes the object between her thumb and forefinger. She looks to Mulder. “This must be what made the metal detector go off in Santa Fe.”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I remember.” The handsy men at airport security still make his blood boil.

As Scully’s eyes meet Pendrell’s, he feels like he’s staring directly into a spotlight. And he’s not used to having the spotlight on him. “So it’s man-made, you believe?” she asks, as in need of an answer from him as she ever will be.

He blushes. “Well, I don’t know of manufacturing plants on any other planet, but it does look pretty technologically advanced.” He takes the dish over to a microscope and peers through. “I can’t say I’ve seen something of this complexity before.”

Pendrell moves aside so Scully can take a look. She’s not accustomed to using this sort of magnification for anything other than microbes, but the intricacy of the wiring speaks for itself. Loops upon loops upon loops of electric current, all contained in a space smaller than a pea.

She looks up. “It’s like it was storing something…” The idea of her thoughts being catalogued by some malevolent stranger is too terrifying to voice. Both men’s mind’s land on it without any prompting.

Mulder lays a hand on the small of her back and steers her away from the microscope. “We’ll get this all taken care of, okay?” he murmurs. “Pendrell will pinpoint the manufacturer, then we can track them down and help Betsy Hagopian and all those women.” He intentionally leaves out mention of Scully herself. She hates being helpless, he won’t frame her as such.

“Okay,” she squeaks out, and Mulder feels her shiver beneath her buttoned blazer.

Having received his command from Agent Mulder, Pendrell watches him usher Agent Scully out of the lab with complete control over the situation. It’s as if Agent Mulder knows what he’s doing, comforting Agent Scully with such composure. And right in front of Pendrell, too! Pendrell kicks himself for...well, being himself.

-------------------------

At ten to four, Scully grabs her purse and unclips her key ring as quietly as possible. Mulder’s in the midst of typing up a report about the Japanese diplomat who sold him the $29.95 tape, and she’d hate to ruin his flow. How alarmed Skinner would be if a Fox Mulder field report didn’t read like a Whitman poem! He’d probably assume the bounty hunter got to his agent.

She straightens her blazer and swings the purse over her shoulder. No need for a coat yet, her usual work attire combats the mid-October chill just fine. As she edges toward the door, the guilt of leaving Mulder without a goodbye stops her in her tracks. He knows about her appointment--knows she has to leave early--but still...it feels wrong to walk out without a word.

Hand against the doorframe, Scully tosses her hair over her shoulder. Her partner types at his desk with the ferocity of a teenage boy playing a video game. He even looks like one, with those wiry glasses. She can’t help but smile...these are the ordinary moments she will miss one day.

Setting her lips in a line, she pipes up--”I’ve gotta go, Mulder. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s instantly snapped from his trance. “Whoa whoa whoa.” He lays his glasses beside the computer, rubs the red mark on his nose. “Let me walk you down.”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully assures, one kitten heel out the door. “I can navigate the parking garage on my own.”

Mulder pops up from his chair, rounds his desk. “Well, the parking garage, yeah. But haven’t you heard that the Hoover Building is unaccustomed to beautiful women roaming its halls? Who knows what might happen if I send you up there by yourself.”

Scully gives him the unamused smirk he’s fishing for, tries to ignore the way his sleeves cuff over his elbow. “I only have to go through the lobby. I think I can hold any admirers off for those twenty steps.”

“You’re right, I should have faith in you.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “At least let me escort you to the elevator.”

“If you must.” Scully turns sideways.

He slides past her, winking as he does. It’s infuriating, really, how smooth he can be when he wants to.

Scully follows him down the hallway, wondering if she’s finally grown into the giddy teenager her mother feared she would be. He hits the up button for her, then clasps his hands together--the only time he’s ever been the epitome of patience.

“I hate to pull you away from your next masterpiece for Skinner,” Scully teases, trying to break his gentlemanly bit.

“Oh, an artist knows no timetable,” he responds, barely taking his eyes off the elevator door. He taps his foot...they always joke that the FBI takes an elevator tax out of their paychecks for making it go all the way to the basement.

Scully looks at the floor. A moment ago, she felt like the object of Mulder’s affections. Now, she’s shut out again.

At the sound of the doors gliding open, she steps in. No need to wait for passengers to disembark; nobody comes down here. She hits the first floor button, offers Mulder a weak smile. “See you--”

He sticks his hand out as the doors begin to close and ducks into the space, taking his place beside her. She should have known...his goofy grin confirms that he’s been planning this all along. They begin their brief ascent to the next floor.

“You know, I’m having deja vu, but I’m gonna say this anyway,” Scully starts. “You’re crazy, Mulder.”

“And I’m sure I’ve said this before Scully, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again--thank you,” he replies.

Scully rolls her eyes, but god, this is much more fun than being alone. The elevator banks on the landing, and she looks to her partner as the doors open onto the lobby. “Did you lose your faith in me, or did you never have it in the first place?” she asks, taking extra long strides to keep up with him as they make their way toward the parking garage.

“What, about the whole holding off your admirers thing?”

Scully nods.

“I figured back-up wouldn’t hurt.” He slips his hands in his pockets, giving himself an air of pretension. As Scully watches him, she gets the notion that it’s all carefully calculated. It makes her feel both powerful and annoyed. She is the damsel, and he is framing himself as prince charming, though she is not in distress.

They make it to the parking garage and take another elevator up to Scully’s level. “Skinner’s gonna want that report before you leave tonight, you know,” Scully tells him, surprised that he has followed this far.

“I’ll burn the midnight oil if I have to,” he replies casually. And she can’t argue with that, cause she knows he will.

While he looks for her car, she takes a long glance at his face. He spies her sedan, and they set off in that direction.

“You don’t have to baby me,” she reminds him, almost apologetic. “I made it through med school and Quantico. If anyone is capable of--”

“It’s not about whether you’re capable, Scully. You are. But you should never have had to go through all that in the first place. It’s not fair, what you’ve dealt with.”

“Life’s not--”

“--fair. Yeah, I know, that’s why I don’t believe in God,” Mulder deadpans.

Scully gives him the infamous look. He shrugs. “It’s the truth!”

They make it to her car, and Scully lays a hand on the driver’s door. “Alright, Mulder. It looks like we’ve both learned something about each other. Very productive conversation.”

“Good thing I came all the way down here, huh.” He flashes a smile that would disarm a scorpion. Scully feels it in her core. She tightens her grip on the door, pulling it open.

“Bye, Mulder,” she prods, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He salutes her. “Bye-bye.”

He stays at the front of her parking spot as she cranks--or rather, tries to crank--her car. The engine gurgles at her in protest. One twist, two twists, three twists, nothing. She pulls the key out of the ignition and opens the door.

“It won’t start...battery’s dead, I think.”

Mulder leans against her door. “Let me try.”

Scully shuffles herself into the passenger’s seat and he settles in, finding himself squished against the steering wheel with her seat settings. He laughs and jams the key into place. The engine won’t give under his hand either.

He rests his elbow on the console and stares at his partner. Her eyes darken. “I don’t have jumper cables, do you?”

“I’m not a jumper cable man, no,” he mutters.

Scully knocks her head against the back of her seat, covers her face with her hands. “My appointment’s at 4:30. I got the latest one of the day…”

“Okay, okay, no problem.” Mulder taps her shoulder. “I’ll take you.”

She uncovers her face. “But what about the report…?”

“You really think Skinner’s gonna be surprised by another late report?”

She bites her lip. “Fine, fine. It’s off 6th Street, I’ll tell you how to get there.”

“And we can pick up jumper cables on the way back,” Mulder adds.

“Perfect.”

They hop out of the car and head for Mulder’s. Scully watches him out of the corner of her eye--he’s striding along, completely unbothered by this inconvenience. She is struck with the notion that he is a better person than her in some crucial ways.

“Do you have your keys?” she pipes up, always bringing reality into the picture.

He taps his pocket. “Right here.”

“You’re saving my ass, Mulder--thank you.”

“I was the ass hero of Oxford. I’m glad to be of service.”

Scully shakes her head, her smile eclipsing a laugh. “Please don’t ever tell me the story behind that, ” she giggles.

“Your loss.”

And as she looks over at him in the dingy parking garage, she knows that this is exactly where she’s meant to be.

------------------------------

He wasn’t planning to go in with her--he expected that she’d make a fuss about it if he asked, and it wasn’t his business anyway. He’s surprised, then, when he pulls into a spot at the clinic and she raises an eyebrow when he doesn't turn the engine off.

“Are you coming?” she asks, one leg sticking out of the car.

“Y-you want me to go with you?” he stutters.

Scully shrinks back. “Were you planning on going back to the office? I’m not sure how long the appointment will take, but I hate to make you drive all over the place.”

“No, I was just gonna chill in here. I thought you wouldn’t want me…”

“Oh.” Scully’s out of the car now, her purse swung over her shoulder. “Well, it’s just an ultrasound, so you can come if you want. I bet you’ve never been to an OB-GYN before…”

Mulder shakes his head. “Never had the pleasure. You know I’m all for new experiences, though.”

“Come on, then.” She slams the door closed and starts walking toward the building, playing hard to get in her own little way.

Mulder cuts the engine, locks up the car, and jogs after her. Not a usual occurrence, but he likes the role-reversal.

“So is there anything I should know,” he pants as he catches up with her, “before I walk in? Is there some kind of universal girl code that governs these places?”

“The only naked women you’re about to see are in anatomical diagrams, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Oh, so it’s not a communal kinda thing?”

“Jesus, Mulder. That’s a male fantasy if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Hey, men have urinals and locker rooms, it’s only fair that women have some arena for comparison too,” he attests.

Continuing the role-reversal, Scully holds the door for him. “Clearly, we have different priorities,” she says as he strides through. He chuckles at her as he enters, feeling no insecurity about standing out. He’s not the lone man in the waiting room, but he is the only one without a visibly pregnant wife.

He looks around while Scully checks in. The room, he feels, is misleadingly similar to any other doctor’s office. Daytime housewife fodder on TV, issues of magazines that are barely from this decade, and posters preaching about the flu shot...some unsuspecting man might walk in here because he stubbed his toe and walk out with images in his brain that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.

He takes a seat at the far edge of the room, Scully joining him a moment later with a clipboard.

He points at the entry to the back--“I feel like they should have a sign on that door that says ‘beware: health class flashbacks ahead. And not the good ones.’”

“If you’re a woman, it’s no flashback,” she tells him, focused on filling out the forms. “It’s just what you deal with everyday.”

“Okay, but imagine men had to go to a place like this, and you had to go back there.”

She looks up. “Mulder, you know I do autopsies on dead bodies, right?” Then, with a smirk--”Besides, I’ve never known you to be squeamish about naked women.”

“Right, but this is like...I’m used to looking at the completed painting, and now I’m seeing the paint-by-number. Not so pretty.”

“Maybe you should go sit in the car…” Scully says with a hint of a tease.

“I digress.” He glances absentmindedly at what she’s writing, then looks away.

Scully notices and meets his eye. “You know what I’m here for, right?”

Without intending to, he read it off her paper. “Follicle ultrasound?”

“Yes, but do you know why? ”

Mulder holds his mouth open like he’ll catch an answer that way. “Uh…” he starts, classic caught-off guard college student.

Scully jots the last marks on her forms. “To check my egg reserve and see if anything’s changed since the last time. To see if there’s any possibility of me having a biological child, essentially.”

“Huh,” Mulder hums dumbly. Way to make an asshole of himself, cracking jokes at a time like this. He wishes it were socially acceptable to walk around with tape over your mouth.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I didn’t realize the situation was so dire.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

It’s funny she says that, because at that exact moment Mulder is thinking about how it is his fault, and where’s the nearest bridge? He realizes then, too, that maybe she wants him there so she’s not alone for whatever the results say, and boy, this is more than he bargained for when he offered to drive her.

He turns to her, his glance far shyer than usual. “So this is the follow-up to your first ultrasound?”

Scully nods. “It’s been almost a year.”

“But you…” he tries to arrange the words in as courteous a manner as possible. “Are you still premenopausal?”

Scully crosses one leg over the other. She’s pleasantly surprised that he cares about this. “No, I’m on birth control to regulate my cycles. But that doesn’t matter if I don’t have enough eggs left for potential fertilization. Fertility and menstruation are not necessarily linked.”

“But there’s an upside to that, right? Aren’t there health risks with early menopause?”

“Yep.”

Mulder’s not sure whether she’s answering his first question or his second one. He lets it be, and good thing, because a nurse calls Scully’s name moments later. He follows her into the back like an eager to please puppy, playing it cool until the nurse pipes up.

“Mr. & Mrs. Scully, how are you?”

“Not married ,” Scully clarifies, amused.

“Oh,” the nurse takes a stray glance at her clipboard. “I’m sorry.” She gestures toward Mulder. “You are…?”

“Fox Mulder. I’m her partner.”

“Oh, okay. I see. Gender-neutral language, very inclusive.”

“He’s my FBI partner,” Scully grumbles, giving Mulder a punch in the bicep for his purposeful vagueness. “I work at the Bureau.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” The nurse waves them into an exam room then closes the door behind herself. As she reads over Scully’s chart, Mulder’s presence makes less and less sense to her, and she addresses her patient with pitched confusion in her voice.

“So you are here for a follow-up antral follicle count...?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The nurse reads from the chart. “Your first one was roughly eleven months ago and indicated low fertility. Five follicles were counted.”

Scully nods.

“But since then, you’ve started hormonal birth control and now have stable menstrual cycles, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” The nurse makes note of this, then looks to Scully. “If you could come with me for a moment, we’re gonna get your weight, and then Dr. Zapolsky will be right in for the ultrasound.”

Alone in the strange room, Mulder’s met with fascination, not fear. He’s never seen an exam chair with stirrups in real life, and it makes him chuckle, reminiscent of birth scenes in slapstick comedies. On the counter is a 3D model of the uterus, which is pretty cool if he’s being honest. Remove the labels and it’s a modern art piece...and he means that with all due respect. His reproductive system would not make a nice decoration, that’s for sure.

He’s reading a poster about each trimester of pregnancy when Scully and the nurse come back in. Did you know that babies can be frightened by loud noises while they’re still in the womb? he wants to ask, but Scully knows everything, so she probably already knows that.

Scully settles into the exam chair as best she can. She locks eyes with Mulder, and he winks at her--again. It puts a genuine smile on her face, which has never happened in this room. The nurse exits quietly, but they are still there, and so is the smile.

They don’t speak at first. Silence is good when it’s comfortable, they have learned, and it’s always comfortable for them. Until Mulder begins to worry that Scully’s head might be spinning with dark thoughts, and he can’t have that. He thumbs toward the poster. “Did you know that loud noises can frighten babies through the womb?”

Scully’s gaze falls upon him, warm and light. “I’ve always thought that was just an old wife’s tale. I never saw it demonstrated during my obstetrics rotation.”

“Well, it’s on the poster. It’s gotta be true,” he wisecracks.

The door opens, and the majestic Dr. Zapolsky saunters in.

“Let’s ask Dr. Zapolsky,” Scully suggests.

“What’s that?” The doctor rolls the ultrasound machine to the center of the room.

“We were wondering if it’s true that babies in the womb can spook at loud noises,” Scully explains.

“It’s on the poster,” Mulder adds.

“Oh! Yes! But not until around 28 weeks.” Dr. Zapolsky sits down on her stool. “You never saw that during your rotations?”

Scully shakes her head.

“It presents as a kick, and as long as the exposure to the noise is not continuous, it’s harmless.”

“Good to know...I guess,” Scully finishes, wondering why Mulder fixated on that of all things.

Dr. Zapolsky scoots toward her patient. “How are you doing, Dana?”

Scully musters a smile. “I’m okay. Much better than I was last year at this time.”

“And who is your guest…?” she asks, swerving toward Mulder.

“Mulder, my partner at the Bureau. My car went dead, so he had to drive me.”

“Ah! Hello Mulder.”

Mulder nods. “Nice to meet you.”

“I see you’ve gained some weight since your last visit,” Dr. Zapolsky tells Scully. “That’s a good thing--fueling your body allows it to put energy toward ovarian function.”

Scully tries to accept this as a compliment, though she’s been conditioned not to view it as one.

The doctor continues. “And you’re doing well on your birth control? Any problems with it?”

“Nope, everything’s working out.”

“Wonderful.” Zapolsky clasps her hands together. “Looks like we’re all set for the ultrasound. Go ahead and lie back.”

Scully does so.

“I’ll need you to pull your waistband and underwear down. Let me get you a sheet for cover.” She slides over to the cabinets and pulls out a disposable blue blanket, which she drapes over Scully’s bent knees.

Mulder turns his head away as Scully shimmies off her skirt of choice--black, pencil, from the clearance rack at J. Crew, per usual. Not that he’d be able to see anything since she already has cover, but he’s not risking any disrespect. Scully’s not paying attention to him, and it’s a testament to the trust they have developed.

Dr. Zapolsky grabs the ultrasound wand and takes it under the sheet, using the image on the monitor to guide it into place. “Everything feel alright?” she asks Scully, who nods.

The three occupants focus intently on the screen; two of them have a clear sense of what they’re looking for, and one has no idea. A few circles appear on the monitor, narrowly standing out from the background.

“There they are, right?” Scully inquires with tension in her voice.

Dr. Zapolsky nods. “Those are your follicles. What do you notice?”

Scully’s eyes search the screen. “There’s not many.”

“I’m afraid not. Six. One more than last time, but not the improvement you would need.” Dr. Zapolsky frowns. “Two low antral follicle counts qualifies you for a diagnosis of primary ovarian insufficiency. There’s no clear treatment plan, it simply functions as a label for your condition.”

Scully sits with this numbness as her doctor removes the ultrasound wand and cleans up. She wants to look at Mulder, read his face, but he’s over her shoulder and she can’t bend that way just yet. She takes a breath and pulls her skirt back on.

“So there’s no hope, then?” Her voice shakes. “Of carrying a child with one of my own eggs?”

The doctor finishes washing her hands and turns back toward her patient. “There’s a five to ten percent conception rate for women with POI. If you’re dead-set on it, IVF using an egg donor is your best option. Personally, I don’t recommend it at those odds. It’s very expensive and can take quite a physical toll.” She pats her patient’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Dana.”

With tears threatening to break her composure, Scully cranes her neck toward Mulder. He’s her escape hatch, but he’s not doing much better. His hands are squeezed into fists, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry, Scully,” he murmurs. “You don’t deserve this.”

And even if he’s right it doesn’t make any difference, because this is what she’s gotten, and this is what she must deal with. Gravity’s full brunt bears down on her body and spirit, and she wonders once again if God intends her for heaven or for hell.

-------------------------

The sun is sinking below the horizon by the time Scully sets her keys on her front table. If she wasn’t exhausted before, she is after buying jumper cables and using Mulder’s car to start hers. She hears clanging pots and pans and can only hope it’s her sister home from the lunch shift.

Forcing her tired body into the kitchen, Scully finds Melissa at the stove. The smell of marinara sauce wafts through the air.

Missy looks away from the boiling pasta she’s stirring. “Hello jellybean!” Neither one of them knows where the new nickname came from, but neither one is against it either.

“Hey Missy,” Scully says as she plops into a dining chair. She slides off her heels and stretches her toes.

“How was your day?”

“Alright,” Scully sighs. “Paperwork and then my ultrasound appointment, but my battery died so Mulder had to take me.”

“Oh my goodness!” Missy turns the heat down on the stove and strides over to her sister. “I forgot that was today...how was it?”

Scully looks up through her lashes. “Not good, Missy.”

“No?” Missy slides into the adjacent chair. “Were your counts still low?”

Scully nods, picks a piece of lint off her skirt. “Too low. Doc says I have primary ovarian insufficiency. Basically, it’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to have a child with my own egg.”

“God…” Missy sandwiches one of her sister’s hands between both of hers. “I’m so sorry. That’s not what you wanted to hear, I know.”

Across the way, the boiling water sings a siren song, and Missy reluctantly makes her way back toward it. “You’ll have to accept my condolences in the form of food cause I’m too far into this to stop now.”

“Oh, I will.” She’d be having a salad or...well, probably nothing, if Missy wasn’t here. Scully leans back, examines the ceiling, then rubs her eyes. “Did you know that babies can spook at loud noises through the womb? At 28 weeks, at least.”

“No, I didn’t,” Missy answers with gusto, happy to distract her sister.

“Mulder read it on some poster, and I didn’t think it was true, but it turns out it is,” Scully rambles.

“Mulder read it...?” Missy echoes. “He went in with you?”

“Uh-huh.” Scully’s immune to the usual implications of her sister’s curiosity. She’s had too much of a day to argue that Mulder isn’t as integral a part of her life as he is. “It was nice...I was happy not to be alone.”

“I’m sure,” Missy says, pouring the ravioli into a colander. “Mulder’s a good guy.”

“Mm-hm.” Scully chews the inside of her cheek. She can’t discern whether she’s failing to repress a feeling or experiencing one anew, but it’s in that ballpark.

Having put the pasta in a serving bowl, Missy spoons sauce over it like she’s auditioning for a cooking show. “There was an interesting voicemail on the machine when I got in,” she begins.

“Yeah? A telemarketer? Scammer?”

“I don’t think so. It’s odd, but it sounds quite urgent.”

Missy hits a button on the answering machine. A gruff voice fills the room. “Hello, this is Agent Feniston from the California Bureau of Investigation looking for a Ms. Scully. I am contacting you on behalf of the California Department of Social Services foster care system. Please get back to me as soon as possible at 619-555-1334. Thank you.”

It does sound legitimate, Scully can’t argue with that. She raises an eyebrow at her sister. “You were in California for a while, weren’t you?”

Missy pops a ravioli into her mouth, wipes some wandering sauce off her lip. “The Bay area, mostly,” she says between bites. “The 619 area code is--”

“San Diego. I remember, that’s what our number started with when we lived by the shipyard.”

Missy nods. “I know I’m considered the free spirit in this family, but no child of mine is running wild in California. Let’s clear that up right now,” she chuckles.

“I mean, we don’t have any details,” Scully says. “They probably just need you to testify whether some friend of yours is stable enough to resume custody of their child.”

“Does that sound like something that would warrant a call from the Bureau of Investigation? ” Missy challenges, scooping a hefty portion of pasta into a bowl and handing it to her sister.

Scully takes it and grabs a fork. “If they couldn’t find any other way to contact you.”

Missy stops, looks at her sister with a pointed glare.

“What?” Scully shrugs.

“Darling,” Missy continues, “no one I knew in California has this number, nor any way to determine that I’m living with you.”

Scully lifts the fork to her mouth, freezing before it makes it there. “You think the call is for me?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” she says, taking a seat across from her sister.

Scully scoffs. “I haven’t been to California in ages. There was a case in Marin County, but it’s been two years now.”

“That’s funny,” Missy muses. “I was living there then.”

“Can we stay on topic, please?” Scully tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not fond of having a random call from the California foster system on my answering machine.”

“Then call Agent Feniston back, and it won’t be random anymore.” Missy gets up, glances at the clock, and grabs the phone off its receiver. “It’s only 3:30 in Californiaaaaa,” she sing-songs, dangling it in front of her sister.

Scully pouts, but lets the weight of the phone rest in her hand. “Can you play the voicemail again? I need the number…”

Feniston addresses them for a second time, and Scully taps the keypad in concert with his directions: 619-555-1334.

#hello i am very excited for what's to come <3 #anyone who has stuck with this is now my best friend #thank you and MWAH #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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cherryplasmids · 4 years ago

Text

☆ the lives you’ve left behind ☆

pairing: donny donowitz x reader

fandom: inglourious basterds—post-movie sequence

anon request: hi girl! i love your writing and i was wondering if you still write for donny donowitz? if you do i was wondering if you could do an angsty one? that's all i ask, you could take that and run with it however :)

notes: the reader has a kid — aldo is referred to the reader’s child as ‘uncle’ but that doesn’t mean they are actually related. also, aldo is married to a girl name jenny

— the child is a boy named Alex for filler purposes

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"That's your daddy," You whisper, pulling the tiny bundle of joy closer to your chest.

The infant, swaddled in a pale yellow blanket decorated with small brown bears, yawns but does not take notice of your words. Instead, Alex twists, stretches his arms out and settles back onto your chest. Without a care in the world, he just relaxes in the warmth that you've given him. An inkling of envy flashes through you—you would do anything to be that carefree again. But the war ruined everything, including your unbridled youthful attitude.

"Handsome, isn't he?" You question as if the little one will respond. You'd be more scared than anything if he does. You wave the 4x6 photo forward to entice your baby to look. "The most handsome man I've ever seen. Everyone thinks so too, even your uncle Aldo but he won't admit to that.

"But don't worry, baby. You'll be just as handsome and charming as your old man was."

As if he understands, the boy babbles happily, spit freely spilling over his lips and onto his cheeks. Grabbing a Kleenex from the bedside table, you wipe his face. It doesn't deter him. He continues to express his enjoyment through spit bubbles and random giggling. Your heart swells at the sight—his happiness contagious enough to erase your woes for the night.

When the sun rises, you'll tell Aldo all about the affection your newborn has been showing. He'll run down the street to coddle his nephew.

You don't continue until your baby boy calms down enough to the point where spit no longer seeps out of his mouth. By then, sleepiness is taking hold of him. He gives out a deep yawn. One of his tiny hands grips your right thumb while the other curls into a fist and rubs his eyes. A smile quirks at your lips. You take that as a sign to turn in.

“I’ll tell you about your daddy’s love for baseball tomorrow okay? I’ll even show you his prized baseball cards. but you can’t tell him or he’ll have my head.”

He’s knocked out by the time you lay him down. You pray he’ll sleep through the night, allowing you to earn to some much-needed shut-eye he’s deprived you of for months. After tucking him in, you tuck the photo of Donny under his pillow. You press a gentle kiss on his forehead, whisper a few sweet words to him, and then glide out of the room, leaving the door ajar in case he wails for your attention. You make do with this system until Jenny, Aldo's wife, takes you shopping for a baby monitor. She knows a lot more about baby care than you do.

Sleepiness is taking you hostage too with a yawn escaping your lips every 1-2 minutes but you had housework to complete before the morning arrives. Mostly just clearing out boxes of gifts the Donowitz family had sent from Boston. Some of them were open, others weren’t. Gifts like a microwave or other kitchenware were left in their respective box. You’ll deal with those on a later date.

There’s one box, though, that remains sealed. You inspect the plain cardboard container and see a word written across one side in neat cursive. But it isn’t the penmanship that has you gasping and dropping the box in shock.

No, it’s the word 'Donny' labeled across the surface that does.

It takes a moment or two for you to shake off the shock and another to get down to the ground. Sitting cross-legged, you stare at the box as if something will pop out and yell “surprise”—a harmful prank that will send you wailing for something you no longer had.

The knife seamlessly glides across the tape and you wonder when you reached for a knife in the first place. Your body is moving on its own accord without a thought concerning your mental wellbeing. While your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage, your hands steadily tear open the cardboard overlaps.

Taking a deep breath, you open the flaps and find a single sheet of paper covering the rest of the objects. It reads “for my darling daughter, with much love.” It’s signed “Mama Donowitz”.

Underneath the letter reveals a boatload of miscellaneous items from Donny's youth that he's shown to you with pride. His prized Lefty Grove signed baseball, favorite Wrigley's chewing gum, and his worn and torn favorite baseball glove stood out the most. Little things like that made you grin to the point where your cheeks reached your eyes. Anecdotes of Donny's childhood run through your mind—his voice echoing pure excitement. You take your time admiring each item, trying to permanently engrave them into your memory just like you had with his stories.

Then you find Donny's baby socks, embroidered with his name in red string. All resolve you bottled up for months disappeared instantly. You completely crumble.

You press the little socks to your chest as tears freely stream down your face and onto your neck, coating the bare skin with liquid. A wail bubbles up within you, crawling up your throat at a steady pace. But when you open your mouth to scream, nothing comes out. It dies in your throat. The only effort you can commit to is to rock back in forth, allowing sobs to shake your body. If someone saw you, they might have thought you were convulsing. They might have even called the ambulance.

The sobs don’t stop until hours later. By the time your heart calms down from its burning thrum, exhaustion envelops you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Aldo kicks some dirt on the side of the road while lighting up a Chesterfield. It doesn't take long for him to reach your house since it's down the road. He checks his wristwatch before knocking on the front door. He has about 45 minutes to meet Jenny at the factory. He'll spend 15 minutes here for coffee before leaving. You always made better coffee than his wife.

After some knocking and no response, Aldo takes it upon himself to check through the windows. Most of them are covered by curtains but the window facing the breakfast table isn't. He peers through, searching for you and his nephew wrapped in your arms.

Instead, he finds you on the floor with no baby in sight.

Aldo runs to the back door and searches for the hidden key. Besides the backdoor, he digs under the false rock where he remembered he put. It’s gone. The Chesterfield falls into the hole. He crushes it out and fixes the dirt on top. As an act of impulse, he stands up, goes to the backdoor, and punches out the small window panels on the door. The glass breaks easily and shards pierce his hand just as smoothly. Just glancing at it, he can tell his flesh is free from any lingering shards. A clean slice on his wrist bleeds moderately.

He reaches on the opposite side of the door and tugs at the locks. Not a second later, the door slams open, and you shoot up in an upright position.

Immediately, a fury of questions spews out of Aldo's lips, blending together and becoming unintelligible to your groggy brain.

"Is it morning already? I swear I took a five-minute na—" You see Aldo's bleeding hand and gasp, reaching out to inspect his wound. Your current position on the floor completely escaping you for a moment. Aldo lets you worry for right now.

You drag him up to the sink and run his hand over the open water. "Will I be alright, doc?" His odd accent leaves a few letters out. It reminds you of someone you try not to think about. "Ain't seen such a wound since the war."

Briefly glancing at him, he throws a wink and you gratefully smile. "You're the bane of my existence." You take his hand out of the water to wrap it in a big Band-Aid. It has crude miniature drawings of Mickey Mouse that make Aldo question them. "Just in case either your kids or mine get hurt, they'll immediately cheer up at seeing Mickey. Band-Aid should really invest in designing their product. Who knows how much money they could make?"

Aldo agrees as you finish. "You'll see another day, lieutenant"

He crookedly grins at you and thanks you for your service. You offer him some coffee which he enthusiastically agrees too. He checks his watch as he sits down at the breakfast table. Jenny will have his head if he's late. But he doesn't worry too much about that. She'll understand once he explains what happened.

"Mind tellin’ me why I caught a heart attack on this fine Thursday mornin’? Findin’ you sprawled out like freshly ran over roadkill?"

"Disgusting, Aldo." You say while passing him his mug of coffee. You turn around to fix yourself a toasted bagel with cream cheese. "I guess I was so tired last night that I fell asleep sorting out the gifts." You lazily wave your hand at the unsorted boxes on the floor.

Aldo walks over to the opened box in the middle of the kitchen and grabs the socks you dropped hours ago. He looks them over and notices a letter embroidered on the top. 'D' in red thread.

"Those are Donny's." You confirm. Aldo meets your glazed gaze.

Aldo sucks in a quick breath. It finally clicks in his head. Jenny will understand.

“Darlin—" You look up at him with such a depressed expression that immediately shuts him up. All he does is gather you in his arms and rests his chin on your head.

He hears you mumble something about how small Donny's feet were before you silently cry into his chest.

After a few seconds, Aldo's cheeks become wet with his own tears as he mourns over not only his friend but the lives he left behind.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 1,661 published: august 21, 2020 edited: n/a

#donny #donny x reader #Donny Donowitz #sgt donny donowitz #donny donowitz fanfiction #donny donowitz x reader #donny donowitz imagine #inglorious basterds #inglourious basterds x reader #inglourious basterds imagine #inglourious basterds fanfiction #x reader #imagines #eli roth #my writing #fanfiction #anon requests

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one-leaf-grimoire · 3 years ago

Text

the knight who pierced the king's heart

knight au ➼ chapter 13

warnings ➼ none

synopsis ➼ julius and lisa meet augustus, then try to have a fun night at the ball

ao3 link ➼ here

masterlist ➼ here

Despite the fact that the whole point of this ball and all the preparations were leading up to meeting King Augustus, Lisa couldn’t help but feel her stomach drop at the news. Julius had not told her much about the second King, but if he was anything like Julius, he couldn’t be too bad, right?

Right?

“Don’t worry, just let me do the talking and we’ll be fine,” Julius assured her, picking up on her heightened anxiety. He gave her a comforting smile and squeezed her hand. “Then we can eat and dance, alright?”

Lisa nodded, returning his smile nervously. “...alright.” She squeezed back.

“Julius! There you are- oh, this must be Lady Payne!”

The two came to a stop in front of a long, elaborately decorated table at the front of the room. Sitting in a chair, with two maidens on either side of him and stuffing his face with food was a short man with a moustache and goatee. The heavy, embroidered cape around his shoulders and the diamond-studded crown on his head, much less tasteful than the similar garments Julius wore, signified that this was, indeed, the King. His beady eyes landed on Lisa, and Julius saw them widen in surprise, before narrowing.

Lisa gulped, plastering on a smile before letting go of Julius’s arm. Just like they practiced, she bowed her head and bent her knees in a perfect curtsy. “It’s nice to meet you, your Majesty. I’ve heard much about you.”

“Have you?” Augustus let out a chuckle, rising to his feet with some difficulty. “Well, I’ve heard plenty about you as well, and not just from Julius. Apparently his family has known yours for generations, it’s about time you join your houses.”

Julius exchanged a glance with Lisa, giving her a nod. The plan is working, my cousins managed to convince him that House Payne is, indeed, a noble house!

“Yes, of course!” Lisa smiled brightly. “I don’t get into the center of the kingdom often, but Julius was kind enough to visit us.”

“Ah, so that’s where he’s always disappearing off to. I can’t say I blame him.”

Julius gulped nervously as Augustus reached Lisa and, without warning, grabbed her hand. Lisa stiffened up, managing to keep smiling as Augustus leaned down, not breaking eye contact.

“You are a lovely woman, Lady Payne. Julius really is a lucky man.”

The king closed his eyes, his lips pressing against the back of Lisa’s hand. Then, he let go and straightened up before looking at Julius. “Well, go have fun, you two.”

“Yes, thank you, your Majest-”

Lisa didn’t get to finish her reply, as Julius grabbed her hand, nodding goodbye to Augustus before dragging her away out of his sight.

“He wasn’t so bad-” Lisa whispered, grabbing Julius’s arm again as they walked towards the buffet. “Pretty nice, actually.”

“I don’t know about that.” Julius frowned, obviously a bit ticked off. “He was eyeing you like a piece of meat the entire time… and that kiss-” he shook his head. “It didn’t sit well with me.”

Lisa blinked slowly, feeling a pit open up in her stomach. She hadn’t seen Julius this angry since they met. “Oh… I-I’m sorry…”

Julius looked down at her, his eyes widening as the rest of his face softened. “Oh! Oh, no, it’s not your fault. Darling, you did everything right.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead, dispelling whatever worries she had. “We convinced him beautifully. You just look so good, anyone would want to gobble you up.” His eyes twinkled as he pulled back. “Including me~”

“O-Oh-” Lisa blushed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t flirt with me right now, I might faint.”

“Let’s go eat, then.”

The two of them made quick work of their dinner. Lisa was starving, and the food was unlike anything she had ever tasted before. All stops were out, no expense spared. Julius had to take her fork away before she started choking on a large mouthful, but couldn’t help laughing to himself at how ravenous she was. She doesn’t care about being ladylike when it comes to food, I guess! He thought to himself, sitting back in his chair as Lisa continued to eat. His hand laid casually upon her shoulder, his thumb etching lazy circles into it. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a group of people whispering at them. Julius glanced over, catching their eyes. He gave a happy smile, to which they bowed and scurried off somewhere else. Everyone is gossiping, but no one seems upset…

He turned back to look at Lisa, who was wiping her mouth off daintily with her napkin. His smile grew, and he felt his face heat up pleasantly.

Even if it’s just for one night, I’m so glad we don’t have to hide in the shadows.

One day… I want the whole world to know about us.

Lisa once again surprised him once they took the dance floor for the first time. She seemed very composed yet focused on her movements, and the two waltzed within the crowd in perfect harmony. “I didn’t know you knew how to dance,” Julius observed quietly, holding her hand and waist like a proper gentleman.

“My dad taught me, when I was little,” she replied, her eyes glancing around the room nervously every so often. “And my mother paid for lessons when I was older. She thought it would make me seem more desirable.”

“Well, she was right.” Julius shot her a little wink, earning a light blush in return. That’s the first time she’s ever mentioned her parents, he thought to himself. She has a whole family… a family that I’ll have to meet, sooner or later. Julius suddenly became aware of how hot this room was becoming, with the crowds of people inside and no open windows. “Hey, want to see something cool?”

“Yeah, of course!” Lisa cocked an eyebrow curiously as they ceased the dance, Julius dragging her away by her hand. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!” Julius replied, grinning to himself. The two left the room, and he pulled her up a spiral staircase that seemed to have no end. “It’s always so quiet up here, you’d think it was abandoned. But I go here often… to clear my head, and whatnot.”

Lisa didn’t say anything this time, just nodded and continued to follow.

Just as it seemed like they would be climbing forever, the stairs finally leveled out, and the two emerged into a tiny room. However, this particular room was open to the air, a soft night breeze blowing through. Lisa’s eyes widened when she realized just how far they had climbed. “This… this is a tower!”

“Not just any tower; the tallest tower in this castle!” Julius said excitedly, glad to be in one of his favorite places once again. He let go of Lisa’s hand, quickly striding to the wall and looking out over the world. “You can practically see the whole kingdom from here! Look-” He turned to see Lisa still standing at the entrance, frozen. “Lisa?”

She blinked, before swallowing thickly. “Sorry… I-I- just- don’t like being up this high.”

“Oh… oh!” Julius quickly stepped back towards her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you-”

“No! It’s fine!” Lisa suddenly grabbed his hand again, turning back towards the edge. Her hand was shaking a bit, but the look in her eyes was already set. “I’ll be fine if you hold my hand.”

“...gladly.” Julius smiled to himself, gently guiding her to the wall once again. Lisa sucked in a breath as she looked over the edge, turning and grabbing onto Julius. His heart jolted pleasantly in his chest; feeling her body pressed up against his now was just as enthralling as it was the first time. He watched silently as Lisa’s eyes darted over the landscape, and slowly but surely, she relaxed. “What do you think?”

“...it’s amazing.” Lisa’s expression softened, a smile grazing her lips. “I see why this is your favorite place. Thank you for showing me.”

“You’re welcome. I want to share everything with you, you know.” Lisa looked up at his words, and he smiled back down at her. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulders. “You’re just as special to me as this place is. And-” his eyes twinkled a bit. “-I hope you can feel comfortable sharing things with me, too! You’ve seen a glimpse of my world tonight, but I would love to see more of yours as well! I’ll need to meet your father soon, anyway, to get his approval for seeing you~”

At the mention of her father, Lisa’s expression changed, just a little, but Julius still caught it. His voice trailed off. “I’m sorry… did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head, turning away from him for the first time. “No, nothing wrong… I…” she sucked in a breath. “You had no way of knowing, but my father… he’s been dead for a while.”

Julius wasn’t sure what to say at first. Lisa stared out at the landscape, but her eyes were looking at something far, far away. “...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be! I- I was pretty young. I hardly remember it, really, even though-”

Her hand started to shake again. Lisa squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

“I was there… apparently.” Her eyes opened again, the emotion within them dulled. “Only 7 years old at the time. Bandits raided our town in the night, and they kidnapped me. My father caught up to them before it was too late, and they fought. I have no memory of it but-” Her voice wavered. “When the search party found us, my father was dead, and I was alive, unharmed. He died protecting me… because of me, he died.”

She fell silent for a moment after that, and Julius could tell that those words were weighing down on her more than she let on. Gently, he squeezed her shoulder. “...I can’t imagine how that must have felt. I’m so sorry.”

Lisa just nodded a little, before inhaling sharply. She turned back to him, and to Julius’s surprise, smiled brightly.

“I told you, don’t be sorry! Because of that, I promised myself that no one would ever get hurt protecting me again! I became a knight so I could protect myself!” Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “And I was the one who protected you this time! At least partially… so I think I’m succeeding!”

Julius couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at her enthusiasm. “I agree… you know, Lisa…”

Lisa opened her eyes again, in time for both of Julius’s hands to come up and cup her face. Her eyes widened at the tender gesture, and her body froze up for a moment.

...she looks so beautiful in the moonlight.

“You really are amazing.”

Lisa blushed, trying to look away out of embarrassment. “Come on, Julius, how many times are you going to say that?”

“As many times as I want! It’s true.” Julius made her look at him again, thumbs sweeping across her jaw for a moment. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met… and more than that… I…” the words caught in his throat for a moment, unexpected emotion bubbling up in his chest. Silently, Julius leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. His eyes fluttered closed.

“The only place I feel at home… the only place where I feel like I belong is with you.”

Lisa stared at his closed eyes silently. Julius’s voice was lower now, almost a whisper. She could feel his breath against her lips with every word.

“My whole life, I’ve been searching for my purpose, and failed to find it. Until I met you… You fill me with such shock and amazement every day. You’re smart, resourceful… but more than that- we were meant to meet each other. Maybe because of fate, maybe because we were lovers in a past life… whatever it is, you give me life. Life isn’t about success and battles and power. It’s about finding you. Finding you and loving you with everything I have.”

His words hung silently in the night air. Even though they were surrounded by a huge city, no noise could climb this high.

After a few moments of no response, Julius opened his eyes, his heart pounding. Did I say too much? Oh god, I hope I don’t scare her off-”

Tears were running down both of Lisa’s cheeks as she stared up at him. Julius’s heart clenched, but a moment later, her mouth opened, a smile forming on her lips.

“Julius… you love me?”

She said it as if it were an unbelievable statement, her voice soft and unsure. Julius nodded quickly, feeling her arms wrap around his waist again. “I love you, Lisa, more than anything in this world.”

She sniffed once, exhaling with a soft laugh. The tension between them dissipated, replaced by a wondrous, cathartic feeling.

“I love you too, Julius. More than anything.”

Julius wrapped his arms around her as they kissed in the moonlight, his heart soaring high above the tower. Everything he had ever wanted was right here, in his arms.

“JULIUS! Where the HELL have you been?!”

Julius and Lisa were immediately met by a very angry Marx outside the ballroom when they descended the stairs. Julius blinked, glancing down at Lisa, whose face was still flushed from their make out session in the tower. He cleared his throat before looking back at Marx. “We- uh- I wanted to show her the tower! Did you miss me that much?”

“I absolutely did not miss you!” Marx barked. “You can’t just disappear like that! I thought you had been kidnapped again- and even so, it’s not good for you to wander around without guards! Who knows who’s following you!”

Julius groaned and rolled his eyes. “No one was following us!”

“And anyway, I’ll save him again if something does happen!” Lisa added proudly, coaxing a giggle from Julius.

“Whatever. Well, I’m glad you’re both back.” Marx rolled his eyes. “Come on, the party will be over soon.”

“Actually-” Lisa’s hand slipped out of Julius’s arm, causing both him and Marx to look back at her. “I’m feeling a bit tired, I might retire early.”

“Are you sure?” Julius’s brow furrowed with worry. “You’re feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, just tired!” She smiled brightly.

“In that case, I’ll send someone to escort you up and get you ready for bed,” Marx decided. “Julius, you go on ahead to finish up the party.”

“Alright.” Julius stepped towards Lisa one last time as Marx hurried away to find servants. “I hope you enjoyed tonight.”

“I did! How could I not?” Lisa grinned. “I got to be a princess for a day.”

“Well, you better get used to it~” Julius chuckled, leaning down and pressing a kiss into her lips. Lisa hummed happily against it before stepping back.

“Goodnight, Julius.”

“Goodnight. Oh-” Julius almost turned away before thinking of something. “My room is close to yours… Come visit me if you have a nightmare or something~” He winked.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Without another word, she turned to meet the two servants sent by Marx, and Julius walked back into the bright ballroom, which was somehow a little less bright without Lisa.

#tkwptkh #knight au #knight x king #medieval au #julius novachrono #julius novachrono x oc #bc oc #oc: lisa

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