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rpd-rookie · 3 years ago

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The One Who Runs Away, The One Who Runs Back (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Author’s note: This is a sequel to “A PAST WITH HER, A FUTURE WITH YOU” and the end of my three-parts fan fiction "I TRUSTED YOU WITH MY HEART" I decided to write after so many of you asked for it. Sorry it took so long but I was navigating from one fandom to another. (BTW, if there are any Devil May Cry fans up here, you can read my DMC fan fictions here) PS: Even if I said it before, I have no hate whatsoever towards Ada or Aeon.

Tagged: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Post-Break up, Sexual Content

Part 1 / Part 2

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Do you remember? We started this story by quoting some sitcom character that was clueless about love. Well, here’s a suggestion. Why not ending it by quoting someone who knew a little more on such matter.

William Shakespeare - you know that English dude expert on tragic ‘drink this poison, stab yourself’ kind of love - apparently once said ‘Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck’. I say ‘apparently’ cause, even though I have a master in English lit, this quote is from the internet, and also … who knows what the guy truly said?

But it’s the quote that’s important. Not the author. The quote it’s important because it sums up perfectly how this story is gonna end. However, before starting, let me tell you this quote is going to be the only Shakespeare-worthy sentence in this final chapter. You’ve been warned.

Love runs away from those chasing her. Well, this part was definitely written for someone like Ada Wong. Owner of countless gold medals and possibly a world record at this point, that woman is basically the Usain Bolt of the ‘Running from Leon S. Kennedy’ competition. Unchallenged winner since the creation of this sultry version of cat and mouse game, it’s better not to think about the number of times she successfully ran away from her favourite agent. But this year, this formidable titleholder in a gorgeous red dress will have to face her Nemesis in the championship. You. Though the comparison to the hideous bio-organic killing machine might not be very complimentary to you but you get the idea. This year you enter the Kennedy Olympics. And this year you run like Sonic the Hedgehog and you win the damn competition (screw you Usain Bold!). And you do this with your head high and without an ounce of regret. Ignore all the texts and flowers Leon might send on your track Mario Kart style. His gifts are not as slippery as banana peels and they can easily be dodged, I promise. Well, most of the time, when you’re not lying on your bed in the middle of the night crying and sobbing while reading his messages or playing his voice in your voicemail again and again until you’re nothing more but a giant mess with puffy red eyes drowning in a puddle of your own tears. Screw those messages too! And screw his broken yet terribly sexy voice as well!

Being a man of word, Leon kept his promise. And for months you kept on running peacefully, marathoning away from this past relationship that had destroyed you like no other before while tranquilly fixing your broken heart on the way. That run was a good cardio.

But sometimes, cardio is not enough, and even just the small sight of an overpriced whisky bottle or the smell of Leon’s perfume on some guy’s clothes is enough to reopen your wounds. And when it happens, you always do the same thing, you break the damn bottle - and run cause damn! it’s expensive! - or you tell the guy his perfume smells like cheap cologne and that he should definitely change it, which is an improvement on your past destructive behaviour, since there was a time shortly after the break up when you would have simply dragged the guy to your place to let him fuck you senseless while imagining he was Leon. All that just for the illusion to feel him again and for the sake to kick him out the next morning, screaming like a hysterical psycho.

So imagine, for a small second, the wave of intense feelings surging out of your healing heart when, in the middle of a cafe, you hear some dude sitting behind you ordering Leon’s favourite whisky while wearing the same bloody perfume. “It’s got to be relentless persecution at that point!” You sigh, already annoyed, closing your book more violently than intended. Hope you’re ready, stranger! Because you’re not in the mood to deal with this right now. You turn around with a fake smile that reflects perfectly your irritation, ready to give him hell, your sharpest riposte already burning your tongue. After all, he deserves it and you can’t help it. But when you meet familiar – and freaking gorgeous - baby blue eyes you freeze and stare, suddenly confused and lost and refusing to believe that in spite of the intense running, love just jumped at your neck after all and it was sitting there, taking the shape of Leon S(tupid) Kennedy.

You should have stood up and left, run for your life, run for your heart. And yet, you didn’t. You stayed there staring at him looking at you, allowing all your memories, the good ones and the bad ones, all your buried feelings to come back from the dead, embracing them as if you had missed them, which, let’s be honest, you probably had. You tried to scream to yourself “Come on, Y/N! Shake a leg!” but it seemed that what you brain understood was something like “Cum on him! Open your legs!” as a couple of blurry hours later, you were on Leon’s bed, legs wide open, screaming his name and begging him not to stop his amazing thrusts.

Six months, you ran for six months … Well, looks like the run ends here and now. After a minute-long deep stare, an afternoon of amazing sex and two hours long of something blurry in between.

“I missed you.” And there you were! The moment all couples that broke up have after one of them (in this case Leon with the infamous ‘I missed you line’) starts to believe they miraculously rekindled their love. The fatal post-coital cuddling session that you don’t know how to react to, as you think of all the possibilities before you. Possibility Number 1) You tell Leon you missed him too and cuddle, enjoying that embrace you secretly yearned for months. But that includes forgetting what he has done or pretending that nothing happened. Possibility Number 2) You push him away, get dressed, leave again and act as if this afternoon never happened. But if Leon doesn’t remind you of it, the ache between your legs will, that’s for sure! Possibility Number 3) You jump him again until you sore even more and hope that you’ll be able to leave afterwards. Frankly, all possibilities suck because, in all cases, it seems like you lose. Since, with Possibility Number 1) you lose the run forever, with Possibility Number 2) you lose him again and with Possibility Number 3) well it’s result 1 or 2 + your body aching like crazy for days. I suck at math but no need to be Einstein to know the result of this calculation looks unpleasant. So what do you choose?

You see a triangular dice rolling in your head, showing a never-ending succession of 1, 2 and 3 that doesn’t make any sense and that confuse you even more than you already are. 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 3, 2 ! Oh for fuck’s sake!

You grimace, angry and pissed at Leon and probably even more at yourself, and finally leaves his bed and his strong warm arms, feeling the tears furiously forming in your eyes. “I can’t” You can’t look at him in the eyes. You don’t want to see his confusion, don’t want to see his pain as he witnesses all his hopes shatter to pieces. “ What do you mean?” You can hear the sheets crease behind you, alerting you of Leon’s agitation, so you hurry and pick up all your clothes scattered in his room. You must leave, now. 2! 2 it is! “This! All This! This afternoon never happened.” You tell him, putting on your clothes with sudden clumsy and trembling hands, not caring if your bra is correctly hooked or if you put your shirt on back to front. Your heart. You have to think of your poor heart first. “Hey, hey, hey.” You feel Leon’s hand softly grabbing your arms and you let go of whatever you were holding right now. His voice is sweet and trying to be comforting. Don’t look at him Y/N! Don’t look at him! “Look at me.” You do. Damn it! And you see his gorgeous blue eyes staring at you, studying your flustered face and the tears slowly drowning your (colour) look. You missed those eyes. You missed them so.damn.much ! As much as you missed his hands cupping your face and his thumbs wiping up your tears. God! How many tears those thumbs have missed recently. “It’s alright.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But there is this voice screaming in your head and very clearly this time. A voice shouting, forcing you to remember that night, that awful nightmarish night, the one when you felt your heart break and your dreams turn to ashes. All that because of him and his obsession for her.

“No, it’s not alright, Leon.” You shake your head and miraculously manage to take a small step back. You never thought you could. But you had to. You can’t stay close to him. You can’t let him touch you, feel you. Not if you want to run away. And you have to run away. Like her! Like Ada. Ada! “I told you. For as long as you have feelings for Ada, I can’t … we can’t…” “Please don’t talk about her.” He begs and rubs his hand over his face. Is he trying to chase her away from his mind? Is she still in here? Please, let her not be in here. “But she’s the reason we’re in this situation now. She’s the reason why we’re in this mess.” You insist only for the sake to see his reaction when you mention Ada, to see if she’s still under his skin, somewhere. “Ada is not the reason. I am!” Leon corrects you, a finger directed at his heavy chest as he is putting the full blame on himself for the first time since that night. “I am the one who went after Ada when I shouldn’t have! I am the reason why we broke up! I am the reason why we are so miserable!” “But I was fine!” You shouted back in an attempt to show him he was wrong refusing to listen to that part of you who knew he was completely right. You were miserable without him. “I was doing fine until you came back and fucked everything up! I was healing goddamnit!” You felt new tears rolling along your red cheeks and quickly wipe them off with the back of your hand that felt so callous and rough in comparison to Leon’s gentle touch. “You can’t just jump back into my life like this and expect me to forget!”

Leon nods, agreeing with you in a certain way. But the truth is, he doesn’t want you to forget. He doesn’t expect you to erase his mistake. He just wants you to forgive him … No, he just wants you to come back to him. Period. And that’s got to be what you want to. It has to! “So why did you have sex with me, huh?” He finally asks even though he already knows your answer. “Tell me!” You’re not the kind of person who has meaningless sex, not the kind of person who worships one’s body with divine kisses and devoted caresses if they mean nothing. “Why did you have sex with me?” And yet the answer he wishes to hear doesn’t come out. “For fuck’s sake Y/N! Answer me! Why?” He shouts making you shiver and cry even more. “Because I LOVE YOU!” You finally scream. And it hurts. It hurts but it feels good too. Like a weight lifted off your chest. “Because I missed you too! Because those months without you have been terrible! Because I don’t know how to handle even just the thought of you or the sound of your voice in my voicemail. Because each time I see something that makes me think of you, I’m a mess and I do things that normal me would never do! You fucked me up, Leon! You fucked me up but I love you! And I hate to love you!” You grunt in pain and relief, enraged but happy that you finally let everything out. And Leon listens in silence, frozen by your powerful honest confession. But he doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t know what to say. Part of him is overjoyed, ecstatic that you still love him but there is another part that just feels terrible, sorry for the pain your love for him caused you even in his absence. “But you see—“ You continue “That’s the problem in our relationship, Leon! I love you in ways that are so intense, that go beyond sanity. And you love me by half.” You see him crumple, his horrified face looking suddenly very pale as if he had just heard some dreadful news. Is that really how you feel? Is that how you see his love for you? Is that what he has made you believe? “Goodbye Leon.”

With the full intention to leave Leon’s place for good and never come back, you grab you bag on your way out of the bedroom while carelessly shoving your underwear inside of it since you forgot to put them on in the midst of panic and precipitation. Get out of here, Y/N! Now! A reasonable voice encourages you. Listen to me! But this not what Leon wants.

“I never loved you by half.” He declares and you abruptly stop, asking God if he’s some kind of sadist that loves seeing you in pain from the comfort of his divine sofa somewhere in heaven. “Never.” But it’s not God and his sadism that makes you turn around. It’s you, and your masochist love for that blue-eyed man before you. “I don’t believe you” Your voice almost doesn’t leave your throat as you try not to sob. “But it’s the truth.” He says with a calm soothing voice as he slowly approaches you. “I never imagined my future with Ada. I never wished to grow old with her or build a home with her.” You want to tell Leon to stop talking, to stay where he is but your body doesn’t seem to respond. And when you feel him grabbing your hands in his and the comforting warmth that goes with that simple touch, you know that leaving is now an almost impossible task. “Yes. I admit it. My feelings for her were real.” Even when his honesty hurts you, you don’t know how to leave anymore. “But they were nothing in comparison to what I feel for you.” You try to let go, pulling your hands away from his loving grip but he holds you back. And you’re not strong enough. Or maybe, you just don’t want to be strong. Everything is so confusing. Everything is tearing you apart. “But they’re still here, aren’t they?” You question, hoping his answer might give you a clue, might give you the strength to make the correct decision. Do you leave? Or do you stay? “And they’ll keep coming back each she goes back into your life. You can’t let go of her.” “You’re maybe right.” His words hurt you more than you thought they would. They hurt like hell because you realise there are not the ones you wanted to hear. You wanted to hear him say that he would let go of Ada, for good, for you. You wanted to hear that because deep down … YOU WANTED TO FUCKING STAY! “But can you let go of your past?” He continues and you shake your head refusing to hear any other word coming out of Leon’s mouth. “Don’t!” You beg, weary. “No! Listen to me this time. Ada is my past, Y/N. She’s my past. And you … you’re my future. You’re my life, damn it!” He doesn’t cry but you don’t need his tears to sense how emotional and how honest he is. And suddenly, you just want to listen to him. “And I was a fool not to see it sooner. When you left me, I felt a void I had never felt in my entire life. I felt like a part of me was missing. And then, the bombing in Washington happened, and it was like I had nothing left. I needed you. I wanted you. You. Not Ada.” “Leon” You whisper and he cups your face again, blue eyes staring deep into yours, allowing you to see everything in him, his strong love for you and all the weaknesses he hated to admit. “It was you in my mind. Only you. And it will always be you. Because I love you. Now. Today. And I will always love you.”

You cry even more, uncertain if those tears are tears of sorrow, tears of joy or a mix of both. God, how can your emotions be such a mess right now? How can you be wishing to shout at him with all the anger you’ve accumulated and, at the same time, willing to kiss him with all love you’ve got?

“If you got to believe something. Believe that. And if that’s not enough and you think you can be happy with someone else. Then go. I won’t hold you back.” You frown. He is fucking lying. You’re sure of it. “You can’t stop running after me and you know it.” He smiles and scoffs, sensing that hint of sudden defiance in your tone he enjoys a lot. “True. I can’t sop running after you. But I’ll do my best not to catch you if that’s what you want. But you got to tell me. Is that what you truly want?” You don’t reply. Truth is, you’re not sure what to say not because you’re not sure that’s what you want but because you’re not sure you can trust him if you let him in again. “No.” You whisper. “No, that’s not what I want. I want you. All of you.” You can see Leon struggle to contain his growing joy as it starts to glimmer brighter and brighter in his irises. He doesn’t want to cry victory just yet. He is cautious and rightfully so. “But can I?” “Want me?” He smiles. “ Have you completely?” You correct, searching for a promise in his eyes, one you hope, you wish he would not break this time. “Trust me with your heart again and find out.”

This better not hurt this time…

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #i trusted you with my heart #resident evil fanfic #fanfic

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highsviolets · 3 years ago

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INTERVIEW NO. 1: RACHEL @djarinsbeskar

hello hello! i am so happy to announce that rachel — aka the immense talent that is @djarinsbeskar — has agreed to be my first interviewee for this new series! thank you to rach and to each one of you for all of your support. to read more about the project, click here, and to submit an author, click here.

| why rachel? |

Rachel captured my imagination from the first time we interacted as mutuals-in-law. She’s bursting with energy and vivaciousness, with a current of kindness just underneath everything she does. Her work is no exception. Oftentimes gritty, raw, and exposing (in … ahem…more ways than one), Rachel challenges her readers to dig deeper into both the story and themselves. Her smut brings a particular fire as it’s laced with need, desire, and mutual trust that leads us deeper into the characters’ identities and how physical affection can mimic other forms of intimacy. She’s a tour de force in this fandom and an absolute joy.

| known for |

Engaging with and encouraging other authors, cultivating inspo posts, attention to world building & character development

| my favorites |

Stitches

Boxer!Din

Full Masterlist • Ko-Fi

| q & a |

When did you start writing? What was that project, and what was it like? Has that feeling or process ever changed over time? Why?

I can’t remember a time I wasn’t writing. I was an avid reader, as I think most writers are—and I remember, after picking up Lord of the Rings—that I could live so many lives, experience so many things, all from the pages of a book. I could make sense of the world through words and ink and paper. And it offered me a level of peace and clarity I wanted to share with others. So, I started writing.

My first project I remember to this day, was a short story about a dog. I had been so heartbroken when I learned that dogs were colourblind. I must have been about seven or eight at the time, and I was fixated on this idea that dogs couldn’t see the vibrant hues that made the world beautiful. It was something I wanted to change—and with all the righteous anger of a child not getting their own way, I sulked over the fact that I couldn’t. Until I wrote it down.

“How do dogs see colour?”

And much like my writing today, I answered myself.

“Dogs don’t need to see colour. Dogs smell colour.��

And so, I wrote a story, about a puppy being brought on different walks by its owner. And with every new street it walked down—colour bloomed with scent. Colours more beautiful and vibrant than we could ever hope to see with our eyes. And it gave me solace and helped me work through an emotion that – granted was immature and inconsequential – had affected me. To this day, I still smile seeing dogs sniffing at everything they pass on their walks. Smelling colour. It gave me the key to my favourite thing in life. I don’t think my process has changed much since then. Much of what I write is based on a skeleton plan, but I leave room for characters to speak and feel as they need to. I like to know the starting point and destination of a chapter—but how they get there, that still falls to instinct. I think I’ve found a happy medium of strict planning and winging it that suits me now—and hopefully it will continue to improve over time!

When did you start posting your writing, and on what platform? What gave you the push to do that?

I mean, fanfiction has always been part of my life. I think anyone who was growing up in the late 2000’s and early 2010’s found their way to fanfiction.net at some time or other. The wild west compared to what we have now! My first post was for the Lord of the Rings fandom on fanfiction.net. It was an anthology of the story told through the eyes of the steeds. Bill the Pony, Shadowfax—it was all very innocent. That was probably in 2010 when I was fifteen. I had been wanting to share writing for a long time but was worried about how it would be received. I didn’t really have a gauge on my level or my creativity and – one of the many flaws of someone with crippling perfectionism – I only ever wanted to provide perfection. That was a major inhibitor when I was younger. By wanting it to be perfect, I never posted anything. Until that stupidly cute LOTR fic. It was freeing to write something that no one but me had any interest in, because if I was writing for myself then there was no one to disappoint, right? And that was all it took. I had some pauses over the years between college and life and such, but I’ve never lost that mindset when it comes to posting.

What your favorite work of yours that you have ever written? Why is it your favorite? What is more important to you when considering your own stories for your own enjoyment — characters? fandom? spice? emotional development? the work you’ve put into it? Is that different than what you enjoy reading most in other people’s fics?

I don’t think it’ll come as much of a surprise when I say Stitches. While not original, I mean—it follows the plot of the Mandalorian quite diligently, it is the piece of work I really hold very close to my heart. Din Djarin as a character is what got me back into writing after what must have been five years? He inspired something. His manner, his personality—he resonated with me as a person in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. And gave me back a creative outlet I had been missing.

It’s funny to say out loud—but I wanted to give him something? I spent so long thinking about his character that half my brain felt like it belonged to him—how he reacted and responded to things etc. and of course, like every dreamy Pisces—I wanted to give him love and happiness. So, Stitches came along. Personally, when writing—it’s a combination of characters, emotional development and spice (I can’t help myself) and when we can follow that development. With Stitches, it’s definitely the spice that is the conduit for development—but I adore showing how the physical can help people who struggle to communicate emotions too complex for words.

I don’t usually read for Din, as most people know—but I do enjoy reading the type of work that Stitches is. Human, damaged—but still with an undercurrent of hope that makes me think of children’s books.

You said, “much like writing today, I answered myself.” Could you talk about that in relation to Stitches?

So, I’m endlessly curious, it has to be said. Especially about why people are the way they are. Why people do A instead of B. Why X person’s immediate thought went to this place instead of that place. And I’m rarely satisfied with superficial explanations. One of the most exciting parts of writing and fanfiction especially, is making sense of that why. There can be countless explanations, some that are content with what is seen on the surface and some that go deep and some that go even deeper still.

Stitches is almost a – very long winded and much too long – answer to the questions I was so intrigued by about Din Djarin, about the Mandalorian and about the Star Wars universe as a whole. I often wondered what happened to people after the Rebellion, the normal people who fought—the people in the background. What did they do next? Did some of them suffer from PTSD? What was the galaxy like right after the Empire fell? That first season of the Mandalorian answered some of those questions, but I wanted to know more. So, I created a reader insert who was a combat medic—and through her, I let myself answer the questions of what happened next.

Regarding Din as a character, I wanted to know what a bounty hunter with a code of honour would do in certain situations—what made him tick, what made hm vulnerable. I wanted to explore the discovery of his identity. Din Djarin didn’t exist after he was taken from Aq Vetina. He became a cog in a very efficient machine of Mandalorians—and it was safe there. I wanted to see what – or who – might encourage him to step into his own. Grogu was that person in a familial sense, but what about romantically? What about individually? There’s so much to explore with this man! So many facets of personality and nuances of character that make him so gorgeous to write and think about.

Talk to me about the Din Djarin Athletic Universe. How does Din as all of these forms of athlete play off who you see him as in canon?

The Athletic Universe! How I adore my athletes. Despite being in a modern setting, I have kept the core of Din’s character in each of them (at least I hope I have!). I like to divide Din’s character into three phases when it comes to canon because he’s not as immovable as people seem to think he is. We discussed this before, how I see Din as a water element—adaptable, but strong enough that he can be as steadfast as rock. But I digress, the first phase is the character we see in the first episode. Basically, before Grogu. There’s an aggressive brutality to Din when we see him bounty hunting. He works on autopilot and isn’t swayed by sob stories or promises. He has the covert but is ultimately separate. Those soft feelings he comes to recognise when he has Grogu are dormant – not non-existent – but they haven’t been nurtured or encouraged. This is the point I extracted Boxer!Din’s personality and story from.

Cyclist!Din on the other hand—is already a father, a biological father to Grogu. And his personality, I took from that moment in the finale of Season two where I believe Din’s transformative arc of character solidified. He was always a father to Grogu, but I do believe that moment where he removes his helmet is the moment, he accepts that role fully in his heart and mind. And that is why I don’t believe for a second, that removing his helmet was him breaking his Creed. In fact, I believe it was the purest act he could do in devotion to his Creed—to his foundling, to his son. The Cyclist!AU is very much the character I see canon Din having should Grogu have stayed with him. This single dad who isn’t quite sure how he got to where he is now—but does anything and everything for his child without thought. It’s a natural instinct for him, and I like exploring those possibilities with Cyclist!Din.

You also said, “he has the covert but is ultimately separate.” What does it take for him — and you — to get to that point of being ‘not separate?’

I mentioned this above, but one of the biggest interests I have in Din as a character is his identity. He’s a Mandalorian, he’s a bounty hunter, he’s the child’s guardian but those are all what he is, not who. I think Din is separate while being part of the covert because he doesn’t know. I don’t think anyone can really be part of something if they don’t know who they are or, they struggle with their identity. It’s curious to me—how you can deceive even yourself to mimic the standard set for the many. In the boxer verse, he identifies himself in relation to his boxing—and every part of his outward personality exhibits those qualities. But when he’s given a softer touch—an outlet of affection, and comfort—we see the softer side of him surface. It’s very much the same with Stitches Din. Identity is like anything, emotions—relationships, bodies. It needs nurturing to thrive, an open door—a safe space. At least, that’s what goes through my mind when I think of him.

Who is your favorite character to read?

Frankie because there are so many ways his character can be interpreted and there are some stellar versions of him that I think of at least once a day. Javi because he reminds me of kintsugi-- golden recovery, broken pottery where the cracks are highlighted with gold. I also adore reading for Boba Fett, Paz Viszla and the clones!

Is there anything else you want your readers to know about you, your writing, or your creative process?

Hmm... only that I am quite literally a gremlin clown who is always here to chat Din, Star Wars, literature, book recs and anything else under the sun! I like to hear people's stories, their opinions etc. it helps me see things from alternative points of view and can truly help the writing process! Other than that, I think I can only thank readers for putting up with my ridiculously long chapters and rambling introspection. Thank you for indulging me always! ❤️

#pedro pascal #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #djarinsbeskar #chat with cris #author interview series #tuserdaniela #userastrid #usernobie #userhai #pedrostories

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ejlovespie · 4 years ago

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I know You

(Part 2 of 2)

Fandom: Supernatural - Author: EJ (@ejlovespie)

Summary: The reader was attacked and stabbed by a shapeshifter disguised as the man she loves. Will she be able to face her trauma and finally tell him how she feels? Read Part 1.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1726

Warnings: Graphic Violence/Near Death/Fear/Angst/Insecurity/Suicidal thoughts and descriptions/Eventual Fluff

***Part 1 has GRAPHIC details of being stabbed and assaulted. Do NOT read if violence and descriptions of assault (sexual comments and being thrown onto a bed) are a trigger for you. Part 2 has suicidal thoughts and descriptions. Please do NOT read if suicide is a trigger for you. ***

Reader’s Request: Can you pleaaase write a dean x reader angst+fluff+near death one shot where they have feelings for each other but they're too insecure to say anything about it, and then one day the reader is in a motel room alone waiting for dean and Sam to come back from somewhere, and suddenly shapeshifter dean comes in and stabs her multiple times and leaves her bleeding on the floor until real Dean and Sam come back.

A/N: Thank you for the request Anon!! This one was tough to write but I really hope you enjoy it. I am SO SORRY it took so long. Any feedback is greatly appreciated and any mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading! :)

You were used to Dean Winchester being a constant in your dreams. That was what happened when you were in love with someone. You used to eagerly await sleep and the gift your mind would give you at night. Dreaming of Dean had been the only form of intimacy you were allowed...Until now. You still dreamt of him but your dreams had turned into nightmares. Images of being thrown on the bed, those dark, hate filled eyes staring into you, a knife plugging into your body. Every night you woke up screaming in terror. Sam would run to your room and turn on the lights before hugging and comforting you but his kindness had made you feel worse. The truth was you hated yourself. Dean was gone because of you, apart from his brother because of you.

It had been two months since the attack. You spent four weeks in the hospital before being discharged and given a hundred pamphlets on trauma. Dean had come by a few times but stopped trying when you would see him and immediately have a major panic attack. Eventually, he left and never came back. Sam had told you he was hunting the shifter and giving you space to heal and that had made you feel worse. Knowing you pushed him away made your chest ache. You LOVED Dean Winchester and your heart broke knowing he had found you and rushed you to the hospital. He had saved your life and stayed by your side every day and you repaid him by losing your shit whenever he walked in the room. Logically you knew what happened wasn’t Dean’s fault. You KNEW He didn’t do anything wrong but your reaction to seeing him was always the same. You didn’t see the man you loved when you looked into his eyes, only the nightmare you had lived through.

You and Sam had been staying at Bobby’s for the last month and every time you glanced at the single framed photo of the boys on the desk you broke out into a sweat. Eventually, the photo had disappeared and you hated the relief you had felt. There were days you were so miserable and you hated yourself so much that you wondered why you had survived the attack in the first place. You would have been better off dead. At first you tried to read through the information from the hospital’s psychiatrist but you ended up throwing all the pamphlets away. You had taken her advice and tried going out and for a walk but anxiety had forced you back inside, tears streaming down your face. Sam would try to talk to you, had even tried getting you out of the house to hit the library with him but you couldn’t do it. Every day, the grief you felt grew until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Waking up from yet another night terror, you grabbed the knife you had been hiding in your bedside table. Pulling it out, you stared at the blade for a long time while silent tears ran down your face. You clutched the knife in your hands and let yourself feel all of the pain, all of the grief and self-hatred you had been carrying. It washed over you until numbness took its place. You couldn’t live like this. You thought about Sam and Bobby and all of the people you had helped over the years. Would they forgive you? You thought about Dean, the man you loved; the man you missed more than anything and fought against the fear you now associated with him. Suddenly, a memory flooded your thoughts.

You were driving down a long country road in the Impala. Dean was driving and blaring one of his tapes, singing along to it like he didn’t have a care in the world. You were surrounded by green fields and you smiled at the cows and horses grazing lazily. Your hair whipped around your face and you smiled when you breathed in deeply. You smelled the grass and wet pavement outside but even more strongly you could smell Dean’s cologne and the familiar leather and gasoline smell of the car. It was your favorite smell in the world. You looked at Dean when he turned the music down. With his familiar grin he asked, “What are you smiling about?”

You looked at him then, into his gorgeous green eyes, and you studied his face. His full lips and perfect smile, straight nose, and strong jaw. He was so handsome and his focused gaze made you blush. That was the moment you realized you had fallen in love with the older Winchester. It washed over you, a feeling of pure happiness and comfort. Dean was smiling at you and he poked you in the side before asking, “C’mon Y/N. What are you so happy about?”

Turning away from him, you swatted his hand away playfully. “Keep your eyes on the road Winchester. I don’t feel like dying today.”

Chuckling, Dean complied, placing his hand back on the wheel and looking back at the open road. He continued, “You look happy is all..you’re smiling bigger than I have seen before. So, what’s up?”

I love you, you thought to yourself. Instead of answering him you asked a question of your own. “Why are you so happy? I know you and you aren’t this happy unless you’re eating pie.” Laughing again, Dean shrugged before turning the music up and singing along loudly with the song. You laughed too and started to sing along with him, content and happy living in the moment.

The memory faded. Looking down at the knife in your arms, you threw it on the ground and forced yourself to settle your breathing. ‘I know you.’ You said it out loud to yourself and forced yourself to think about your Dean. His smile. His laugh. His eyes. ‘I know you.’ Him singing along to the music in his car. ‘I know you.’ Him hugging you to him whenever one of you was sad. ‘I know you.’ Him fixing up his beloved car at Bobby’s. ‘I know you.’ The two of you drinking together and his goofy grin as he teased you about the faces you made. ‘I know you.’ His fierce love and protectiveness for his family. ‘I know you.’ All of the memories had your eyes welling up again and you quickly got up and slid out the front door so you didn’t wake Sam or Bobby. Running down the drive, you collapsed in the garage and began to sob. When your tears finally began to run out you gasped out the truth you had never said out loud before.

“I am so fucking sorry Dean..I love you so fucking much and I..I miss you..I..I can’t do this without you because my life isn’t worth living without you in it. You’re my best friend and loving you has made me stronger. It has made me feel truly alive and I..I am so sorry...I know you. I fucking know you and I know that thing wasn’t you! Please come back.”

You jumped at a sound behind you and whipped your head around to see Dean. He stood a few yards away with unshed tears in his eyes. Relief filled you when you realized you didn’t feel panic rising up inside you. For the first time in two months you were only seeing your Dean. A smile spread across your face before falling. “..You heard what I said, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. You could tell by the look on his face he had. Dean slowly walked toward you, pausing a few feet away and crouching down. “I love you too, Y/N. I..I didn’t know it until I almost lost you but I do. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me..You made me feel again and if you had died, you would have taken a piece of me with you.”

Gasping, you flung yourself to him and let Dean wrap his arms around you. You buried your face in his chest and clung to him, inhaling his cologne. You felt his hands on your back, rubbing small, calming circles. With a watery smile, you reached up and fingered the pendant on his necklace. It brought you instant comfort and you repeated your new mantra silently in your head. ‘I know you.’ This was your Dean. You would always know the difference. You both stayed like that for a long time, embracing each other. Neither of you even noticed when Sam walked up, looking for Y/N, and then backing away as to not ruin the moment. Eventually, you pulled apart and just looked at each other. Tentatively, Dean placed a hand on your cheek, pausing to study your face for approval. You nodded and he rubbed his thumb over your skin.

His eyes were so soft and he was looking at you with so much love and tenderness it made you self conscious for the first time in months. Glancing away in embarrassment you wished you were wearing something other than a baggy, stained shirt and sweatpants. You knew how you looked and were all too conscious of the fact that you were an absolute mess. Thinking about your puffy red eyes and matted hair had you cringing. How could this gorgeous man love you in the same way you loved him. You were so far out of his league. Dean’s fingers gently lifted your chin to look up at him before brushing some hair out of your face. “Please don’t hide from me, beautiful. I have missed you so much. I know it's going to take some time but I want you to know I found the son of a bitch. He’s dead..And I promise I will NEVER let anyone touch you again. I will keep you safe. I hope that helps..”

Not sure what to say you just nodded and hugged him again. You would analyze that information and how you felt about it later. For now, you were going to let yourself be held by the man you loved, a man who apparently loved you back, and be grateful for the fact that you were alive and finally together.

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#dean winchester #dean #Sam Winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean angst #dean fluff #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural angst #supernatural fluff #spn #spn fanfiction #spn angst #spn fluff

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zodiyack · 4 years ago

Text

Opposites Attract (1,000+ Follower Special!!)

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Female!Pierce/Petrova!Reader

Warnings: Possibly swearing?, fluff, indications of smut??, death/mentions of death, slight angst/violence, I think that’s all

Words: 1,667

Summary: The younger sister of Katherine was the true owner of Damon’s heart, Katherine only being his worry in 1864 due to the sister’s bond, the bond that fueled Katherine to force Y/n to join her when she escaped Mystic Falls and left Damon to think they were both in the tomb.

Note: I have no idea what to say honestly... I’ve been gone due to troubles with my computer yet you guys stuck around and that’s what matters to me. Though I may have a bit of a hard time with words, I hope you guys know that you all mean so much to me 💕💕

And if you’d like me to make a part two, which I’m already planning on doing- I just really liked the ending, or make this a series, feel free to let me know!

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it

Masterlist | The Vampire Diaries Masterlist

Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI.

1864

Her back hit the wall, lips molded with his as their tongues clashed in a hungry passion. Her fingers played with his hair and pulled his face and body closer to hers. With his hands trapping her against the wall, she felt content.

“Turn me.”

“I can’t, Da-”

“Don’t. I understand, Katherine and all that...but promise me that one day, you’ll escape her grasp and run away with me.” She forced herself to look into Damon’s eyes, her undead heart breaking at the sorrow that drowned in his blue orbs. “Please?”

“I can’t make any promises...” she paused involuntarily, her heightened hearing catching a sudden ruckus from Stefan’s room and stealing her attention. Damon frowned, adjusting his grip on her waist to pull her back to reality. “I...I just can’t right now. However,” the smile returned to his lips, “one day, I will find you. And if you still want to...you may take me up on that promise, Salvatore.”

He was ready to answer when his door burst open and he and Y/n pulled away in a panic. His father stared down Y/n with a great furry in his body. She didn’t say a word, simply kissing Damon softly and nodding to Mr. Salvatore.

“Father- please-”

“No. She’s a monster, Damon! Her sister is a monster! They are monsters! Don’t you see that? She’ll kill you if you give her the chance. The same goes for Stefan and the other Pierce girl. If they’re even girls.” He mumbled the last bit of his sentence, too caught up in the belief that they were pure evil to consider any other possibility.

“She’s not a mons-”

“Yes. She is. Now, enough! I’m already ashamed of your siding with the demons, there is no need to make it worse, boy!” Mr. Salvatore grunted and put a muzzle-like-mask over Y/n’s head and called out to the rest of the hunters, watching as she was dragged away with a grimace upon his face.

Whilst Damon was traumatized, angry at his father and the world for their cruel decisions for his life, he attempted at keeping a neutral, unphased expression. “What will happen to her?”

“The same thing that will happen to the other monsters; she’ll burn.”

Present Day

Damon continued pacing throughout the house, ignoring Stefan’s pleas for him to stop. He thought about what Emily had told him, and what he needed to do. He had everything he needed, what was stopping him from going to the tomb? A gut feeling? Life? Was he just a big chicken?

He took a breather, telling himself to think about the reason he was in this mess. It was for a girl. The love of his life, to be specific. Y/n Pierce. The lovely lady who had come to stay with the Salvatore brothers after her and her sister’s parents had burnt with their home.

They felt pity for the girls, taking them in and, from then on, starting their odd journey through the supernatural world. Y/n was the first to reveal her secret; pulling away from a kiss with Damon due to her loss of control over her vampire features.

Though normally he’d be afraid, Damon had gripped her chin and forced her to look at him, awe and interest shining on his face. It was that night that he confessed his love for her, promising to take her away one day.

He chuckled at the memory, wiping his thumb across his lips. Damon remembered the taste of her lips like it was yesterday. The delicate softness paired with the lustful desire of their kisses was perfection. The kisses they had shared held something no one else could give him.

Despite occasionally hooking up with a girl or two, he was still on the search for his long lost lover. Deep down, he knew the sex was just for a distraction; even if he didn’t want to think of it as such, he knew that he was constantly comparing them to Y/n. Sometimes verbally, sometimes mentally, either way- the comments were always about the woman his heart belonged really to.

“Damon. Why are you really here?”

To find Y/n and stay true to my promise. “Just to be with you, little brother! Is it wrong that I want some bonding time with my little bro?”

“For you? Yes.” Stefan made it a point to avoid and ignore Damon as much as possible, especially with a girlfriend to protect from his ‘evil’ also-vampire brother. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. Why are you really here?”

Damon sighed. “You already know that Stefan.”

Now that Damon was closer than ever to opening the tomb, he was more than ready to reveal his true intentions. Stefan believed Damon was after Katherine, pleading him to leave as soon as they got out of the tomb. But in reality, Damon could care less about that vampire. He just wanted Y/n, but with the sisters being closer than anything he’d ever seen, he had no choice but to rescue Katherine as well.

If he was lucky, Katherine would allow Y/n to stray from her and stay with Damon, but he had a feeling that would never happen. Not with how possessive Katherine was. How she insisted that blood, as well as herself, went first.

1864

“We need to go back to them!” Y/n tried to run to her lover’s body. Her heart was racing. She’d come back to find that her beloved had been shot dead, his brother the same. Before Y/n could reach the man, Katherine gripped her waist and held her back, stronger than her younger sister due to being older in human and vampire years.

Y/n was the one Petrova to have escaped Klaus in his act of revenge. To be fair, it wasn’t his fault that he missed her. She was out picking berries, going about her life normally, before returning to a bloodied home with the bodies of the people she loved strewn about messily.

She remembered falling to her knees and cursing at whatever entity seemed to be there. Whether it was God or some other being, she demanded, through sobs, to know what she had done to deserve it.

Then, as if her prayer-like-yells of agony had been answered, Katerina showed up at the doorway. Her reaction was similar to Y/n’s; first, processing what she was seeing, then, feeling the fear freeze her in place, and finally, screaming and trying to shake her family awake, hoping as much as she could that it was all a dream.

Y/n walked from her hiding spot slowly, still shaking from her discovery but much more calmed with the presence of her older sister. “Who would do such a thing?”

She swore she could never forget the rage, paired with terror, in her sister’s eyes. “Klaus. Klaus Mikaelson did this.”

That very day, she turned her sister. She explained that they would live long enough to either kill Klaus and get revenge, or plea for his forgiveness and live their lives once more.

Snapping out of her memory fueled trance, Y/n broke free of her sister’s arms and dropped to the ground beside Damon. She pulled his head onto her lap and brushed his dark curls from his face. She chuckled to herself when she noticed her tears dropping onto his face.

“Goodbye, my love.” Y/n pressed a kiss to his forehead, then one on the tip of his nose. Finally, one on his lips, staying a little longer than the others as she savored the intimacy in their final goodbye. “If I only I had told you yes...”

She left her sister to say her goodbye to Stefan, wiping her tears away as she felt what was left of her heart crumble into bits.

Once, she had a family. And then she had her sister. Then she had her sister and an owner to her heart, the feeling of humanity returning to her undead body, feeling alive for the first time since her transition.

Now? She was back to having only her sister.

Damon felt the same way.

When he had woken, taking time to recover from the shock of being alive. Emily had told him how Katherine compelled Stefan to drink her blood, and he already knew that he drank Y/n’s blood willingly.

“There’s no point in living.” Damon pleaded with his brother after he tried to get him to feed, “They’re dead.”

Present Day

He ran into the tomb, desperate to find the sister of the vampire doppelganger. Damon sighed, ‘speaking of doppelgangers’, Elena had followed him, ignoring Sheila and Bonnie’s warnings.

“What’s that sound?”

“They can smell you.” He made his way through the tomb, eyes traveling from one decayed vampire to the other, cursing to himself each time they weren’t Y/n. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t give up. At some point, he’d gotten separated from Elena, but he didn’t care- never faltering in his search.

After spending more time looking for the vampire with negative results, Stefan had rushed in. He seemed anxious, desperate, ready to plead. And that he was. “Damon. We have to go.”

“She’s not here...” He felt like he was having a panic attack, which was more than likely. Damon threw the blood bag he had brought for her against the wall, “She’s- she’s not here, Stefan!”

“Who? Katherine? Look, I’m sorry that she’s not here, but we need to go!”

“No! Not Katherine! Y/n! She’s- she’s gone...she’s gone Stef.” Stefan furrowed his brows, feeling sympathy for his brother for a split second, then realizing how much time they were wasting.

“I’m sorry... Okay Damon? Maybe she didn’t die-”

“Don’t get my hopes up, alright?”

“Alright, I’m sorry. Really, I am. But- we need to go, like, right now.” He grabbed his brother and sped him out, gaining a boost with his vampire speed. The entire time he thought his brother was after the bad sister, but he was after the good one.

Opposites really do attract.

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seyaryminamoto · 4 years ago

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my school works are piled up this past few weeks (graduating tingz) and i just started reading the deadlock novel it feels like i'm reading a sokkla fic every time Mcashe has a scene because they just give off the vibes skskskskksksks. BTW, what's your top5 fav scenes from the novel? PS: I'm smiling like an idiot while reading the novel ughh i hate myself

I KNOW, RIIIIIGHT?! *-* and don't hate yourself, my anon friend, I spent the whole novel smiling and laughing and losing my goddamn mind because I was having the time of my life xD enjoy this beautiful content as best you can!

I mean, frankly, Reunion already had all the Sokkla vibes I could've wanted/needed to ship these two like FedEx and I always knew I wasn't getting off this ride anytime soon. But gosh, this book... it gave me everything I wanted and MORE! Their dynamics are soooo similar to Sokkla team-up dynamics, two power couples kicking ass and taking names... oh, I just love it so much. I probably will end up reading the book a third time soon x'D

As for my favorite scenes, damn, this is tricky xD

KEYCHAIN! HE MADE HER KEYCHAIN!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! God, it's just amazing how the book explains the "vintage" look for Ashe's hoverbike the way it does, and that they literally built it together *screams!!!*, but then he gives her that keychain for her birthday present, and the implications!! THE IMPLICATIONS!!! He gave her a keychain she's held onto for TWENTY YEARS?!?!?! Ships in the OW fandom have sailed far and wide with less than breadcrumbs: we literally have been granted a boon from the GODS with all this extra context for the little things in Reunion xD

Ashe going to hell and back to save her kidnapped BFF-for-whom-she-totally-doesn't-have-feelings-yeah-yeah-sure-Jan. I love the fact that McCree is, in a way, Ashe's damsel in distress and not the other way around xD Of course, it's what you'd expect from an Ashe-centric story, but it's still an amazing sequence, all around. Gotta highlight how she loves the way he smiles like a madman when they have that shootout at the end, and how he worries so much over Ashe's injury when he took an even worse one than she did (the Sokkla vibes in that particular situation were SO STRONG! I SWEAR!).

"Jesse McCree, are you trying to make me say you're handsome?" "Am I?" ... do I need to say more. That FLIRTING. These two were on fire already and they'd only known each other for like... weeks, at this point? x'D He has no sense of moderation, he's soooo into her and doesn't hide it at all. Ashe is so busy trying to plot all the crime and Jesse's practically like a shojo heroine, "oh I can feel it, this is how my love story begins!", basically xD

Finally I pick a not-McAshe scene... to bring up the one where Ashe picks up the Viper on her last moment in Lead Rose Manor. That moment was just... POWERFUL. The feeling of epicness in that scene just overwhelmed me when I was reading it xD

The ending of the book :'D the fully formed Deadlock Gang ready for business, down to the explanation for the Est. 1976 in the logo... *sobs* the fact that so much about the character design choices in these two characters is a shoutout to the past they share is just... *gross sobbing* oh, I just love it to pieces, I'm not even sorry.

Ashe's bike race to save B.O.B. x'D that whole situation was bonkers but I looooved how fierce she was about protecting her one and only buddy while growing up (AND THAT JESSE BLUSHED WHEN SHE TAUNTED HIM WAS JUST THE CHERRY ON TOP!). I appreciated learning more about the Omnic War and its consequences, how Ashe reflects on having escaped it practically untouched in virtue of her money and societal privilege while her new friends all faced many hardships to survive. But I can't help but also love that, however uneasy others could have been about the Best Omnic Butler, Ashe was so fiercely loyal to B.O.B. that she nearly broke Julian's nose herself over his ridiculousness x'D That's HER big omnic buddy and she's not about to lose him to anyone, not her shitty parents, not a bet in a race, NOTHING! (and it's so cute that B.O.B. is just as loyal to her, too *sobs*)

Ashe grabbing McCree's arm to explain things to him on their first heist and him being all "you gonna leave that there?" and only then does she realize her hand's still on him x'D what a McCree line, and he was absolutely enjoying the attention, he doesn't even pretend otherwise.

Everything poetic McCree says or does... meanwhile Ashe's like "um yeah I don't care about poetry I want money", right until his poet soul totally smashes her square in the heart with the KEYCHAIN!!! But damn, I swear I thought McCree would hold back a lot more, and yet there he was, saying things like Calamity was brilliant and mysterious... you could practically hear B.O.B., Julian and Frankie going "I can see what's happening..." in the background xD

The conversation about what they wanted to do once they were loaded with all the cash they could possibly want. That one was a real number on my heartstrings. It ties up to what I said earlier with Ashe finally being in touch with people who are completely removed from the ridiculous social circles of her parents and her school, people who really lost a lot in the war. But where Julian and Frankie seem to look at the past a lot, I loved that Jesse is basically just thinking about the future. The fact that he says he wants to chill out in a farm and that this is what he wants in life... many, MANY, shippy wheels have turned in my head since I read that <.< maaaany...

WHEN JESSE NEARLY FALLS AND ASHE CATCHES HIM!!! UNDERRRATED AS HECK!!! The fact that he's taunting her about fear of heights, then he nearly plummets to his death because ironies are beautiful xD and Ashe pulls him back to safety only to say that she's not afraid of heights but afraid of ~FALLING~??? I mean, okay, sure, maybe I'm reading too much into that line... or maybe I'm not <.< either way, the truth is I just love how absolutely broad of interpretation that scene and that DIALOGUE are :> ehehehe.

Oh, their first encounter. The fact that it's so cute and fun, and that it's this low in the list tells you how GOOD this book was x'D "You've got an awful lot of grit for a rich girl," first words he spoke to the love of his life xD then how they talked and laughed together about the crazy stories he shared (she was crying of laughter for the first time in her life! precious girl!), and then how she sat in the car thinking about the strange feeling she was left with after meeting him... they seriously had a meetcute in prison, how can a ship get any better? xD

WHEN HE COMES BACK TO HER WHEN THEIR FIRST HEIST GOES WRONG!!! That Ashe expects him to just leave after she falls off their getaway vehicle, but Jesse saves her and goes "pfft that's just not my style", basically... *sobs* without realizing it she ends up picking up that particular philosophy of his, saving her friends no matter the cost...! Honestly, though, the fact that every time something like this happens it hits Ashe like a truck racing downhill with no brakes because she's NEVER been cared about by anyone but B.O.B. and she's completely new to friendships and bonding with people... and in the mean time, Jesse immediately is "ride or die" with her because that's how he rolls... beautiful relationship dynamics between characters who influence each other for the better are just beautiful :')

A silly one here: Jesse enjoying the good life in Lead Rose. That description of him looking like a marshmallow in the CHAISE LOUNGEEEEE!!! (the one he references in their in-game interactions *CRYING SO MANY TEARS*), was just too cute to bear x'D Ashe just jumping back into work mode... while he was just thrilled to be a marshmallow in a towel xD

... So, um, I went overboard because I love this book a little too much for my own good :> what can I say? When things I love are good, I go wild xD There's probably more scenes I loved, but these... thirteen? XD are the ones that came to mind.

I think one of my favorite things now is reexamining Reunion with all this extra context in mind. The first time I watched that cinematic I, of course, fell in love with these two outlaws because how could I not? But while subsequent rewatches revealed a lot of things I didn't pay enough attention to the first time around, the book has done even more than I could imagine possible for a short that was already as shippy as could be xD

Ooookay so, shippy ramblings about Reunion, coming up! (simply because I have to put these down SOMEWHERE XD and your ask was a good idea for that, anon!)

First off, Jesse very much staged the whole rodeo in Reunion. He sent the tip to Ashe, he wanted Echo's crate specifically. He thought they could work together, basically, despite knowing it was entirely possible that those hopes wouldn't pay off. This train, according to the wikia, was a government train, so Jesse is very much telling Ashe to give a finger to the government for all he cares, all he wants is one (1) crate.

Ergo, Jesse, for all his "nice guy bountyhunter" deal, doesn't disapprove of Deadlock's actions. If anything, he counts on them to be exactly what he needs in order to get what he wants. He practically trusts Ashe to pull off the train heist disaster perfectly and only steps up when it's time to collect Echo.

Then the wacky shoot-out happens, it's veeeery charged (the UST is so thick, I swear...), and Jesse wins. He ties up Ashe, floats her off on the payload with the rest of the gang, and he sets Echo free. He's helping her out very nicely and everything, but the context in question is... he received the recall notification thingy XD Winston called him back to Overwatch, and Jesse...

... Jesse doesn't want to go back.

Jesse says "they want me", and the displeased tone of his voice, paired with the look on his face when he says that line, speak for themselves.

That, in my humble opinion, isn't the sequence of expressions you'd expect from someone who intends to return to the group where he thrived, had the time of his life and found his true calling. To me, he actually looks irritated about the recall (the sequence of expressions during that line is much better when you watch the full thing x'D), as though he REALLY doesn't want to return. He's not against Overwatch, I'm not quite saying that, otherwise he wouldn't have set Echo free and told her to go back at all... but this isn't remorse. It's not "Oh, I'm not good enough for Overwatch anymore". Nope... this is "My time with them is over and I don't plan on going back unless I have no choice", as far as I can tell.

If OW2 does bring him back into the fold and he's a perfectly chill and happy guy about it, I'll seriously be surprised. I mean, he could have set Echo free and, once his business is over, returned to Overwatch with her, he could have been in the Paris cinematic if he'd done that...

But he's not there.

Which outright says he didn't do that :> oops.

Basically, I think Jesse's reaction in Retribution (where he's markedly the most morally correct one of the bunch, and he's the former outlaw :'D) tells you his displeasure with Overwatch ran very, very deep. And someone can very easily say he felt the same way about Deadlock and that's why he left them for Overwatch... but that's conjecture. His displeasure with Blackwatch (and, in consequence, Overwatch), however, is FACT. And the previous conjecture falls flat pretty quickly considering he's perfectly fine with Ashe's train heist, even sets it up himself, from what the story suggests, so... how ~appalled~ was he over her choices and actions? Not appalled at all, if you ask me, and after you read Deadlock Rebels, you actually understand why: Jesse trusts Ashe.

From the first moment she enters the same prison block he's in, he's drawn to her. He wants to impress her, he absolutely enjoys her company and making her laugh (just as much as she enjoyed laughing at his wacky stories), and he's plain thrilled that she comes back for him when she does. Ashe manages the gang with inexperience but she's always willing to improve, and you see Jesse sticking with her through thick and thin, supporting her at the best and worst times alike, always putting his faith on her and constantly watching out for her (he protected and shielded her from attacks with his own body sooooo many times *sobs*). Ashe starts out intending to keep most profits for herself, and Jesse doesn't care much at first... but then she starts to share profit equally between their team. She works on her own bike herself, her own ride, and she plans and solves problems as best she can, to a point of even going overboard with planning too much. She's wild, reckless and takes insane risks... and this guy loves every second of it. The matter of morality regarding the actions of a criminal gang is, of course, something to think about... but as far as the book goes, Ashe mainly targets her own family, their specific brand of bullshit, and in the process she ends up helping lots of people and even saving lives that might not have been saved otherwise. I'm not going to put my hand on the fire here and say Deadlock never ever did anything absolutely wrong to people who didn't deserve it... but for a criminal gang? They're honestly the most wholesome one the OW team could have come up with, if you ask me.

So where you see Jesse is very much antagonistic with Reaper/Reyes, where he loses his temper with the guy's choices, he doesn't ever do that with Ashe. Overwatch ARE supposed to be the good guys... so how weird that Jesse McCree, reformed outlaw, ends up so disappointed with these guys when he was actually thrilled with Ashe's managing of their gang, as far as we saw. So much so that, when it came down to it, Jesse McCree, 20 years later, still counts on Ashe to give him a hand (without her full awareness) with a little operation to help out an old friend of his. Also worth pointing out: he doesn't want to fight at all, while Ashe, of course, does. Deadlock for life, is what Jesse said... and he's not Deadlock anymore, hasn't been for who knows how long. Worse yet... his tattooed arm is gone. It's like all his ties to Deadlock have been severed.

And even so, he came to Ashe and hoped she wouldn't want a shootout with him. Even when he knows she might be beyond unforgiving because of the betrayal (he has seen directly how outraged she was about a certain someone betraying her in the book...), Jesse goes back anyway and hopes it won't come to this.

THE IMPLICATIONS, MAN!!!

Carrying on: Echo is surprised that Jesse shows no intentions of going back to Overwatch. She asks him what he's going to do... and what does Jesse say?

He puts his cowboy hat back on (the symbolism in this short, I swear...), and when she asks him what he's going to do, he tells her "I've got some business to attend to."

THE MUSIC PICKS UP.

AND THEN HE CLIMBS ON THE BIKE HE BUILT WITH ASHE.

YOU GET A DELIBERATE CLOSE-UP TO THE KEYCHAIN.

THEN THE CAMERA PANS UP TO FOCUS ON THE PICTURE, TORN AND TAPED BACK TOGETHER, THAT ASHE CARRIES ON THIS BIKE, A BIKE WHICH, LET'S BE REAL, IS BASICALLY A MCASHE BABY CHOPPER/HOVERBIKE HYBRID, AND AS SHE PUTS IT LATER, IS...

HER

BIKE!!!

When Jesse says he has business to attend to, he could pick up any bike he wants (since it'd stand to reason that the other guys Ashe came in with would have bikes of their own). He could escape on horseback for all we know xD so there are lots of options... but no. He takes HERS. Right after saying he has "business to attend to".

Look, I could be wrong. I could be dead wrong. I can absolutely be digging around and going INSANE because nothing I ship EVER gets this much content.

But we literally get a guy saying he has "business" to take care of, and the cinematic focuses exclusively on elements that, even BEFORE Deadlock Rebels, all point towards Ashe?! You could easily say that taking her bike is just the final nail on the coffin, his last trolling idea to mess with his one true love... but that picture is right there. That picture, with them in their youth. The picture, btw, was bigger than just them: B.O.B.'s hand is there. The top of the picture is uneven, suggesting Ashe probably tore it to shreds in a fit of rage... and then specifically put together THEIR PART. And then she taped that to her bike's dashboard. Meaning, she carries the goddamn memory of Jesse with her EVERYWHERE SHE GOES. And she does it WILLINGLY.

Which, in turn, answers why Jesse expects MAYBE Ashe wouldn't go full-on hostile when they meet: this trolling cowboy knows exactly what he means to Ashe. He's not surprised when he sees that picture on the bike. He doesn't toss it away, which he could have, if he were saying "we are history now, forget it gurl" (and let's be honest, what a dick move that would have been @_@), he doesn't flinch after noticing and then goes "yeah, no, I'm picking another bike".

NOPE. The familiarity with which they talk, the way he hopes she'll just let him walk away, the fact that she DIDN'T change the keychain and bike in all those years and he's not even SURPRISED...

Jesse knows how much she loves him, point-blank. He's completely aware of it... and he's very much okay with it.

So much so... that I'm something of a 90% sure that the business he intends to deal with is ASHE HERSELF.

And no, I don't mean he's going to go on another shootout with her... I mean, evidently, that Jesse wants to come home. That he's tried the life of Overwatch, and he's decided to leave it behind. He's turned bountyhunter now, vigilante, pretty much... but he comes back to Ashe all the same. He's come back for the first time in who knows how long (going by Ashe's expressions and sarcasm with the "you promised you'd write" line, it miiiiiiight be they haven't seen each other since he got recruited into Blackwatch), and he expected a peaceful encounter, no less.

A good question to ask here is... what did Jesse hope would happen, if the encounter HAD been peaceful? He would've released Echo, sent her away to her business, and stayed behind anyway because he had business to deal with. Which business? :'D why... the business that would've been standing right in front of him.

There's no other, logical reason why this cinematic would put Ashe and McCree's picture into focus right when McCree says what he does to Echo. There's no other reasonable choice why McCree would turn his back on Overwatch quite so firmly. We know he had two important ties in his life: Overwatch and Deadlock. And Overwatch stole him away from Deadlock for a VERY long time. Well over half the time Deadlock has been in operations, as far as I can tell. He picked Overwatch over Deadlock once before... and now, it seems he's picking Deadlock over Overwatch instead :')

The follow-up short, Roadtrip, doesn't do anything to change my mind. The trolling jerk, Jesse McCree, hovers past Ashe's payload, where she's just... complaining, as she hovers xD going by what I know of the game and that map, the payload may just be en route to the gang's hideout, so that, I'd say, could explain why she hasn't climbed off it or escaped in any way (which she reasonably would have, if Jesse was trying to, I don't know, send her and her people to the authorities).

My point here is, however, that Jesse is headed the same way the payload is. If his destination is the same one, he'll beat it there for sure. Maybe, yes, he'll go away and drive well past the hideout... but maybe that's exactly where he intended to go.

Maybe, in the end, Reunion is about a man who's finally coming home :D

In addition, goes without saying, Ashe's rant about how everyone falls to pieces over Jesse showing his "stupid mug" (uh-huh, stupid, ANGELIC mug, we know what you really think, girl xD) ends with her saying she should have "put a bullet in him the minute he showed up".

Which begs the question of why didn't she.

Then, of course, she says she hates McCree when he drives past her while listening to some really ridiculous honky-tonky-sounding music x'D I cannot even help but imagine him deliberately picking that radio station or whatever it was just to annoy Ashe when he drove beside her, and so that she can get extra pissed when she retrieves her beloved bike, turns on the music and it's just more honky-tonky stuff x'D but anyway, the thing is she shouts after him, tells him that's her bike and says she hates him. B.O.B. wordlessly speaks for us McAshe shippers by giving Ashe the most "sure, Jan" side-eye in the history of side-eyes, and Ashe notices and is outraged enough to knock B.O.B.'s little hat right off his head again.

Again... this is renowned outlaw Elizabeth Caledonia "Calamity" Ashe, sitting on a payload, groaning about the guy she once very much had feelings for (and that doesn't even begin to cut it, if you ask me x'D) and for whom she tooooootally doesn't anymore, that picture on her bike doesn't MEAN that, OBVIOUSLYYYY!!, and so, she sits up, complains and doesn't do much of anything to get out of her current situation, right? :>

So, summing up my current understanding of EVERYTHING, thanks to Deadlock Rebels and my obsessive rewatches of Reunion + Roadtrip:

Jesse deliberately sought out Ashe so she would indirectly, unknowingly, help him set Echo free from the government's clutches.

Jesse hoped for a peaceful encounter despite knowing he might not get one.

Jesse has no intentions of returning to Overwatch but was willing to perform one final act of service for them by releasing Echo so she'd go give Winston and co. a hand.

Jesse is NOT surprised to see that Ashe: 1. Didn't change bikes at some point in the twenty years since they built it. 2. Didn't swap the ignition key for a button, the way she says she thought to do it in the novel until he gives her the keychain. 3. KEPT THE POETIC AF KEYCHAIN, despite resenting Jesse for his betrayal. 4. KEEPS A PICTURE OF THEM IN THEIR YOUNGER YEARS PASTED ON HER BIKE'S DASHBOARD.

Jesse claims he has business to deal with: he doesn't clarify said business verbally, but every shot after he says those words focuses on elements related to Ashe... and then, along with the novel's context, it's elements related to their BOND. Everything in that shot, EVERYTHING, is connected to the two of them. Elements that weren't shown before or during their shootout, and that are only introduced in that final moment when McCree is off to deal with his "business".

Ashe doesn't climb off the payload or stops it (which, going by how McCree simply pressed a button, and Ashe isn't immobilized in the least, she easily could have done it too if she had wanted to). Suggesting that, wherever the payload is heading, it isn't anywhere dangerous for Ashe and her crew, ergo, she is 100% sure McCree isn't trying to screw her over by turning her in to the authorities or so (or, at worst, she's completely confident that, even if he is going to do this, she'll be able to get out of it easily).

Jesse drives in the same direction the payload is headed. Another hint that suggests he might intend to head to the Deadlock hideout and that, whatever business he has left to deal with, it involves them.

If his intent ISN'T to go to the hideout... Jesse is still guaranteeing that Ashe will come after him by stealing her bike, the 18th birthday gift he gave her, and the picture she keeps of them. That he takes that very bike practically serves as painting a target on his back for her to hunt down, and he KNOWS IT.

In short: Jesse will have plenty of business with the Deadlock Gang in his future, and going by how pleased he seems to be when riding the bike, he's perfectly happy to handle that business on his terms, whenever he wants to handle it.

Extra tidbit: there's nothing in Deadlock Rebels about Jesse's smoking habit, something he definitely did pick up at some point while in the gang because, hahaha, he IS smoking in the picture Ashe keeps of him :> Which makes me wonder why, of all pictures Ashe chooses to keep on her bike's dashboard, she picks one where he's smoking.

Then, it makes me wonder about the fact that Jesse deliberately starts smoking when he's standing right in front of her (and then he winks at her!). He tosses that cigar after things get kind of dangerous for him because B.O.B. does something, and then... then he goes back to smoking.

RIGHT WHEN HE'S CLIMBING ON THE BIKE.

Like... seriously...

*unintelligible fangirl screaming*

I could be looking too deeply into this. I know I could be. Maybe Blizzard just wants me to go CRAZY with little symbolism and hints charged with SO MUCH MEANING that maybe don't have as much meaning as I thought it did...

... But man, I've sailed into the depths of the shippiest oceans for many ships that have gotten actual breadcrumbs from canon. I've gone wild over ships that have zero opportunity to become a thing in canon continuity. I've written a nearly 3M words story based on a ship that is just UNEXPLORED AMAZING POTENTIAL and ngl, I love exploring it myself, so I don't even begrudge canon that much for not giving it to me anymore.

But the fact is, no ship in OW, as far as I've seen, has remotely as much content, hints and strong ties as McAshe does -- at least, no ships between heroes. We had a cinematic that was CHARGED with significance, with little gestures, with even the smallest facial expressions that carried soooo much more meaning than whole episodes or even seasons in TV shows. And then? We got a novel. A full novel depicting their origins and exploring their dynamics, how tight their friendship was, and how some strong feelings were certainly brewing there, even if neither one was ready to act on them yet (as far as we saw...).

Finally... I'll say I did start working on a Sokkla Western AU ages ago because the idea I had for one was pretty amusing. Then Reunion dropped, and I said "Why would I need to finish that story anymore when the Sokkla Western AU is RIGHT HERE?!"

And that's it, I will stop rambling now because this got insanely long x'D but thank you very very much for giving me this chance to go WILD on everything I can see, within all those canon hints, with these two *-*

#anon #mcashe #the fact that canon is treating me right for once #is blowing my mind and always will #look I can end up crying in a heap when OW2 drops and we find out that nothing I thought of was real #it's entirely possible #... but we already got so much #SOOOOO MUCH #that I can't even say I'd be mad x'D #I am one happy camper on this ship #and I love them to pieces #I wish I had the time/chance to make all the art I've been inspired to about them *cries ten rivers*#one day... one day

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dorminchu · 3 years ago

Text

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 02

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine Swann & OC(s), Madeleine Swann & Mr White, Madeleine & Lyutsifer Safin Warnings: Aftermath of violence, PTSD, implicit sexual content, moderate language. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— Episode II: GRATITUDE —

Behind closed eyes it was impossible to tell if the Jeep was approaching or departing the source of violence. Slowly, Madeleine let her hands fall into her lap. They were travelling up the main road. In front of her, the driver whom she did not recognise. In the passenger seat, going by the voice and distinct gloves, Safin.

As they pulled onto the main road the vehicle merged into a convoy. In the opposite lane, several more unmarked cars headed back the way they’d come. Her mind made the connection her emotions wouldn’t.

“Don’t look," said Miller quietly, "it won’t do you any good.” Madeleine attempted to shrink deeper into herself but could not. Even now, thinking of her own survival. Who could say how many of the Psychosocial Unit or the remaining MSF were still alive? What of the doctors? What of their patients? And what had become of the FSP?

It could have been her brain matter spattered over the vehicle. Each time she undertook a mission she accepted the inevitability of violence and prolonged emotional duress. Easier to coldly recontextualize the events in the aftermath, never so intimately.

Madeleine tried to focus on something else. Just the hum of the engine and her own breathing. A few indistinguishable words exchanged between Safin and the driver. Morris's hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

Pulling into the lot at Conakry International Airport, the Jeep came to a stop. Ushered out of the vehicle, asphalt beneath her feet, cleaner air in her lungs. After a standard security check Madeleine was directed towards a side room away from the main terminal. The Project Coordinator came over and put an arm around her and offered her a place to sit and some bottled water.

Miller was called away to confer with the surviving team members. Madeleine surveyed the room. The door that she’d came in through was currently flanked by Kerberos. With the exception of the Medical Coordinator the other mission heads had survived. There were only about thirty of the fifty members of the operation present. She didn’t recognise anyone from the Psychosocial Unit.

Unfamiliar hand on her shoulder causing her to flinch. Looking up into the face of a hospital aide, male. Probably Arnaud's age. Fresh latex gloves. Arms recently scoured. “Dr Swann, right? You were with the Psychosocial Unit.” Voice slightly muffled by respirator mask.

Madeleine gave a curt nod. The aide studied her face. Attention drawn to her hands caked with dry blood, throttling the plastic bottle. She let go. Jaw tight.

"Okay.” Brief, pitying look before his attention diverted. Madeleine unclenched her jaw, kept her head down.

“The situation has changed,” announced the Project Coordinator. “A few days ago, following the initial attack on the hospital, we received intelligence that Donka Hospital would be targeted directly. Thanks to the combined efforts of Kerberos and our Logistics Unit, the majority of our patients and remaining MSF were moved to a safer location over the last several nights and have not been harmed. The motive behind the attack on the hospital and MSF staff this morning has not been determined. But due to misinformation spread about the nature of this virus, and the circumstances surrounding the previous incident at Donka Hospital, many civilians are ready to place blame upon the MSF for complicity in tampering with the vaccine.

“Now, the details are still murky. I can assure you, there is no causation on part of the MSF. And it is fortunate that we've minimised the casualties of the patients as well as our own. But we cannot continue operations without a proper Medical Unit. All non-essential members of the mission will be discharged.”

After the briefing, the Project Coordinator took Madeleine aside. “What is the duration of your assignment as psychologist consultant, Dr Swann?”

“Three months. I started in May.” Her voice was dry, brittle.

“Well, they’ll have to find another consultant.”

“How soon will you be able to find a replacement for the position?”

His face became stony. “You are the sole survivor of the unit. It may as well not exist in its current state. There's no sense in forcing you to remain on-site.”

Two Kerberos escorted her outside while Safin exchanged a few words with the Project Coordinator. Catching up, he said nothing to her as they walked across the lot and into the car. When the driver pulled out of the lot she was given the following information: Her flight home departed later in the evening. In the meantime she'd have a room to herself at Hotel Palm Camayenne. Her luggage had been accounted for. “You'll be collected from the room an hour in advance; the party will ask for White's daughter. Don't open the door to anyone else.” He looked over at her in the mirror. “Is that clear?”

“Of course.”

⁂

In the tastefully lit lobby of the Hotel Palm Camayenne, the attendant behind the desk sized Madeleine up and informed her she'd been marked down for a Prestige Suite. Madeleine, still reeling from the chaotic morning but wise enough to roll with the situation, asked if her things had been collected.

The attendant's eyes went quickly to the Kerberos in the background. She gave Madeleine the room number and gestured brusquely towards the young-faced bellhop waiting beside the elevator. “He's got all of your things from the other hotel. Enjoy your stay.”

The bellhop wasn't for conversation. He stole a couple pointed glances at Madeleine as if she were wearing something ostentatious. The elevator door opened, and he asked curtly if she would like him to help her into the room with the bags. When Madeleine accepted, he wheeled the trolley ahead, unlocking the door and unloading her valise, quickly muttered: “Have a nice day,” and left without looking back.

On her own, Madeleine was taken aback by the scale of the room. Closer to a small suite; complete with living room, an elegant dining room and desk. Classic furniture. A view of the Atlantic Ocean through panorama windows. Carpet at her feet. Air conditioning. After two solid months of living in a small, stuffy room at the Grand Hotel de L’independence this was much closer to home.

All of her clothes and additional items were in order. Afraid to touch anything or sit down for fear of sullying it. With that settled she wandered into the bathroom; Carrara marble. A shower and bathtub. French cosmetics by Chopard. Artificial floral scent permeated her nostrils. She finally got a look at herself in the mirror and imagined the look on Arnaud's face if she showed up at the gate in her current condition. Smirked.

The staff here probably didn't see many dishevelled, bloodied socialites. No wonder she'd garnered such a reception. She laughed. Caught her eyes in the mirror. She wasn't laughing anymore. Difficult to breathe. It was the perfume.

Her throat tightened. Dry-heaving. Collapsing over the toilet. Exhuming whatever was left inside of her stomach. A convulsion worked through her body. Her voice warped, mutating. Not a sob but a guttural sound clawing its way up from her lungs. Animal distress, unable to escape. Head clutched in her hands. Shaking, shaking.

Breathe.

Clutching the porcelain.

Just breathe.

You’re going home in a few hours. This will just be another bad dream.

She turned on the fan to air out the room, had a shower, redressed. The operation in Conakry would just become another failure written off as a fluke. In a matter of hours the tragedy would breach headlines in the interest of garnering military attention and drop within a week, after the government stepped in. In a month she’d reacclimatise to her career too substantial to be dead-end, Arnaud and her sham of a social life, until the cycle repeated itself.

She had a few hours left until her flight. There were a couple restaurants on the ground floor, and Safin's instructions didn't preclude her from leaving the room. Might as well see if she could keep a meal down.

⁂

Later that night, confined to the plane's cabin with no tangible distractions, unable to sleep. Her arrangements at the hotel provoked an extreme reaction and it wasn't only a result of recent trauma; the quality of the room itself, the collection of her possessions without incident, and even the window of time before her collection and escort to the airport, were all characteristic of her father's tacit interference.

From the time she was ten until seventeen he would send her off to Ermatige International School for the lion's share of the year. Abroad, Madeleine felt for the first time a sense of emptiness her young heart understood yet failed to quantify. She had never been close to her father but in his absence, something was lost that could not be remade.

The first day she was shown her room, her roommate introduced herself as Alice and shook her hand. Alice had a firm grip for an eleven year-old. “It’s nice to meet you, Madeleine. Can I call you Maddie?”

The nickname brought to mind her father’s voice, but there was no dissuading certain people from habit. “I don’t care.”

“Okay.” Alice let her go. “So, the counsellor’s going to have us all meet up in the courtyard in ten minutes for a basic tour. I could walk down with you.”

“I know how to get there by myself. It’s just down the stairs. The instructor provided a map.”

“Oh… well, if you have any questions about where to go or what to do, don’t think twice about asking me.”

“I won’t.” Madeleine made a point of straightening out her bedsheets, then noticed Alice was in the doorway waiting up for her. “Thanks.”

For the next several months falling into the façade of the aloof, privileged girl who led an unassuming life at Maisons-Laffitte. Classes were stimulating enough to take her mind off her own problems. Extracurricular activities; horseback riding, hikes in the summer, touring the town in winter. Enjoying the sights and sounds as like a tourist.

The instructors found her obedient and diligent in her studies but expressed concern about what they referred to as antisocial tendencies. Her classmates speculated about her in English and then talked to her cordially in French.

Even in the mess hall, she couldn’t catch a break. “Hey!” Madeleine tensed. Expecting another round of condescension masquerading as kindness—but it was just Alice and her own circle of friends. “Come on, sit with us!” Alice's friends were all a year older. Charitable enough, giving Madeleine the obvious questions—where are you from, what classes are you most interested in, et cetera. Madeleine endured their kindness without complaint.

At night, there were no more diversions. Dreams experienced in abstract. The old home in Altaussee. The front door unlocked. Lake frozen over. She could run, but never fast enough.

Ice beneath her feet giving way. Turning from the water at her back made no difference. Submerged. Gloved hands reached for her, an iron grip that pulled her toward the water’s surface.

Madeleine screamed, taking in water. Clawing at bare hands, softer arms. A girl’s voice, calling her name.

Opening her eyes. Alice’s young face tight with horror. Her eyes wet.

A few minutes later Madeleine was sitting in the nurse’s office, who attempted to pry more than a monosyllabic answer out of her for twenty minutes before leaving to talk with someone higher-up, and Madeleine sat there, deliberating. Act too stubborn and they'd label her psychotic. Too hysterical and they’d kick her out. So when the nurse returned Madeleine grudgingly confessed the truth. She’d been having bad dreams ever since her maman was gone, and that her father didn't know how else to deal with it beyond sending her here.

The nurse's demeanour shifted. She asked Madeleine a few more questions about the situation. Madeleine gave rote, easy answers. In the end, the nurse concluded that there was nothing technically wrong but she'd have to be isolated from her roommate if this behaviour persisted. She gave Madeleine some names and a pamphlet about grief counselling and advised her to look it over in the morning. Madeleine thanked her.

It was Alice who waited outside and walked her back to their room, finally breaking the silence: “Are you okay?” Madeleine averted her face to the window, squaring her shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?” Madeleine walked over to her bed, sat down, looking at the pamphlets without processing the printed words. “Enough of that—you need to try and sleep.”

“I can't.” Madeleine pulled the sheets tighter around herself.

“Okay. May I sit with you?” Madeleine shrugged. Alice's weight flumped down on the mattress. Their shoulders touched. Listening to the other girl's even breathing, Madeleine gradually relaxed in the same way. “My mother died earlier this year. My father sent me here.”

“Oh.” Alice turned her face towards her. “Uh—I'm sorry about your mother. Was she nice?”

Madeleine began to shiver again. Alice's arm came around her and Madeleine shut her eyes, turning loosely into the gesture without reciprocation.

For the rest of the year Alice kept Madeleine stabilised while Madeleine kept her at arm’s length. The closest thing to a best friend she’d ever had.

When Madeleine came home on holiday, her father was suddenly a different man. Never once would his disposition thaw into true warmth, but all of a sudden he wanted to know; how were the other students, did she enjoy her classes, and did she have any particular school in mind if she wished to continue studying abroad after graduation?

Who was this stranger? Since when had he ever offered to get to know her on a personal level? That had been mother's concern. Ten year-old Madeleine wanted to laugh. She’d wanted to dig down into her tiny adolescent heart and find the right string of words to destroy him for such an affront. As if he could simply earn her respect and affection through negotiation. Instead, she just shrugged her shoulders and said: “It's not bad so far. I liked my instructors. I promised this one girl I’d write to her over holidays.”

“It’s my understanding that you had a rough start?” Madeleine froze. Her father’s eyes cold. “If you had told me as such, I could have set aside a psychologist for you to speak with.”

“It wasn’t my first choice. I just told the psychologist that my mother had died, and I was upset about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“She told me it wasn’t my fault. People process their grief in different ways.” She shrugged. “These things happen.”

Raising her eyes to meet her father’s. His expression softened a fraction but not for her sake. The best way to destroy a man like this was to let him go on thinking he was forgiven. No sense looking a gift horse in the mouth. She'd take his money and whatever else he saw fit to bestow with a rudimentary thank you. And she would work as hard as possible to step out of his shadow and have something to call her own.

The next year Alice transferred to a different academy, so they kept in contact through epistolary means. At fifteen, Madeleine stopped responding to her letters.

⁂

Arnaud picked her up from Air France airport. Diligent enough not to greet her with an interrogation, only a hello and an unexpected one-armed embrace. Normally Madeleine would have tried to squirm out of it, but all she could think about was how alive he was in her arms—even the smell of him. She hadn't gotten a lick of sleep on the flight. Without thinking she let him take her arm as they walked out of the terminal into the sunshine.

On their walk to the car, driving away, Arnaud was quiet. Something which Madeleine had always appreciated about him before but only recalled the horrible stillness in the drive to the airport. Her hands wandered towards the radio dial and turned it up sharply. Arnaud turned the volume down low at the next stop, glancing over at her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Couldn’t he just ask if she were okay? “There’s not much to say. I did my job to the best of my ability. There were drastic complications and the mission was ultimately a failure. Now I am back here. Does that cover it?”

He frowned. “No one is blaming you for anything.”

Madeleine sat back and waited for the pressure to ease up in her head. Disconnected from the familiar sights and smells of ordinary civilian life after two and a half months living in Conakry. When she stepped out of the car her gait was unsteady. If she even sat down a little longer, let her guard down, she’d nod off. Going up the stairs, Arnaud helped her with the luggage and asked if she needed anything else. Madeleine shook her head. Flopped down on the bed like a corpse, into dreamless sleep.

⁂

Opening her eyes, expecting the cracked peeling paint of the hotel room. The lack of humidity gave her pause. A gentle floral scent persisted, alien to the room. Arnaud must've left the window open.

Turning into the warm body at her shoulder, cradling her. After so many days of running herself ragged the promise of empty stillness and domesticity brought no comfort. She laid very still without closing her eyes. The ochre light cast onto the room might be dusk or daybreak. Her vision clouded over. An involuntary reaction incited by recent trauma. Trembling.

Arnaud made a soft noise into her cheek. The hand at her shoulder shifted. Madeleine froze. Unable to verbalise what she needed, pressing herself closer. Arnaud, running a hand over her back, said something gentle, indistinct.

Madeleine couldn't settle down. She was more alive in this moment than she had been in a long time. She turned into his chest. Threw her leg over his waist. His expression changed. She took his face in her hands, kissing him bluntly.

His breath released slow against her mouth. Slowly coming alive. Hands moving over her body like she'd break if he went any faster. Madeleine allowed him this courtesy. For the first time in months they couldn't get much closer.

Another round of dreamless sleep. She woke up in a start, unsure what time it was, before realising she didn't have to go into work anyway. Arnaud was still there. He kissed her temple and told her it was only evening. Asked if she'd like to order-in.

A pit heavy in her stomach, then an urge to cry. Trapped in a period of convalescence, what could she say to this man? “That's fine.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Your secretary called earlier in the afternoon.”

“Oh, yes. I'll get back to her soon.”

Arnaud smiled. “I think you could use a break from taking calls, don't you?”

Madeleine shook her head. A smile worked onto her mouth as if by reflex.

⁂

The next few days were relatively uneventful. Arnaud took time off work to keep her company. Madeleine accepted his presence in his life without comment. Once she’d rested and he was reassured she’d be okay by herself, she had full dominion.

When she could not busy herself in paperwork or other constructive activities, she would become despondent and start picking apart the heads of anyone who tried to dissuade her into optimism. Arnaud was a convenient enough target, but he was just as keen to make himself scarce.

Before she'd left for Conakry, they lacked the investment to like or dislike each other with any real commitment. Now he was a little kinder. Her recent brush with death had softened her up enough to let him talk her into going along to the L’Orriù di Beauvau, trying to assign significance to the sights and sounds surrounding her, in the voice of the waitress and the smell of coffee. She did not look around for inconspicuous men and women who might be sitting in the side-lines, observing.

Sleep was almost impossible now without Arnaud. Three months ago, the idea of relying on him, or anyone else to that degree, would have been disconcerting. Physical intimacy a decent enough substitute, only as a last resort. She’d misled him in that regard.

⁂

A discreet, anonymous enrolment into Oxford and the Sorbonne were her father’s last gifts to her before he cut off all official contact. During her time at the Sorbonne as well as Oxford, Madeleine relinquished any prospect of a social life to work as hard as possible. Only her college roommate was a constant in her life, so Madeleine made sure to keep their relationship cordial but never too intimate.

Her roommate and assorted friends were more socially conscious and made a habit of dragging Madeleine along to various functions as their designated driver. Efforts to invite her on group dates proved fruitless. Madeleine kept her answers non-incriminating and dull, quietly vetting what was offered. Well-groomed socialites jockeying for compatible mates. An ill-fitting distraction from the emotional void kept close to her chest. So the other women assumed she was too good for any of it, and the men were uncomfortable being scrutinised. Madeleine was the only one who found it amusing.

Other colleagues would come to her for advice in an educational context. Graduation was a quick, unemotional affair. Madeleine had no extended family to invite. Just her short-term friends, to be thanked politely, genuinely, and then discarded. The ceremony itself was lovely. Safe and boring.

In the middle of the commencement speech an individual figure in the stands caught her attention. An older man, perhaps in his early fifties, hidden partially behind sunglasses and a smart dress-hat. With a nauseating thrill she recognized his smile, the angles in his face a little more pronounced with age. If she seemed to balk, it was on account of the crowd and her nerves and nothing else. For the rest of the ceremony she wanted nothing more than to escape her own body.

Taking feeble comfort in the idea that he would not converse with her directly; but his presence was enough of an affront. Why give him further opportunity to wound her pride by acknowledging him outright?

⁂

Days in Paris bled into each other without further incident. Even after convalescing a sense of displacement remained. Whenever out and about, Madeleine couldn’t help casing the streets. Just in case. It couldn’t hurt. Arnaud didn’t even seem to notice at first.

Then he wanted to bring his friends. “They want to see you, too.”

It was easier to remain cold when the tangible fragility of her existence was as distant as her father. Now, trapped in a lovely room with people she did not trust in the same tenuous sense as Arnaud. What gave them the right to emphasise?

It would be so easy to dismantle any of them and their residential issues. Laughable that she should bother to relate to them after the problems she had been listening to for weeks on end.

Her eyes skirted around the room. Unable to enjoy herself. Arnaud took her hand; Madeleine realised she was trembling. The woman sitting across from her asked if she was all right. They’d all heard about Conakry. Polite enough to have restraint but their eyes betrayed them, itching to know more. Madeleine had nothing to say. Pretty soon Arnaud and his friends were scrambling for conversation topics and trying not to pay her behaviour any mind.

When they got home he accused her of making a scene. She assured him, patiently, that she was not trying to ruin anything. Just on-guard after weeks of living in what amounted to a warzone. Arnaud chewed on that. Apologised, he was trying to understand her situation, and all they could do was be patient with each other.

But he was frostier. That night, sleep was fitful. Waking from an intangible nightmare, she was ten—twenty-six, in Paris. Smell of fresh linen, coffee. The apartment was small and spare. Morning again. No one beside her.

“Madeleine?”

She sat up. Arnaud was dressed for work. He’d never looked his age before. Then again, their relationship had never offered so much duress.

“When are you going to see someone?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’m worried about you.”

“I can’t.”

A sharp exhale. “Why can’t you?”

“I have my reasons.”

“I don’t know how you can go on living like this. You won’t even try to fix yourself.”

“What could you possibly understand about my life?” she spat. “You’ve never given a thought about—” jaw tight, she averted her eyes “—it isn’t as simple as coming back and pretending to be okay. I would never ask you to understand what I am going through. But if you want me to stay with you, I’m not discussing this again.”

“Do you hear yourself?” he hissed. “You’re acting like a child. All you have to do is take the first step to fix this.”

Madeleine straightened up. “If that’s how you feel, then I won’t bother you anymore.” He laughed, incredulous. “We’re both financially secure. You were convenient enough three years ago to get my father off of my case, but we have our own lives to consider. This arrangement was always going to be temporary.

Arnaud didn't laugh or raise his voice. He just went quiet. An awful, ringing kind of silence she’d never had to deal with from him. Then said, “All right. I've got work to do anyway. We’ll discuss this later.”

Leaving without another word. He’d never done that before. Arnaud couldn’t cut through the cruel veneer of indifference that her father's upbringing had instilled in her, and she wouldn’t force him to deal with her emotional baggage.

Madeleine did a quick self-assessment. The woman in the mirror looked like hell. She dressed for the day, made an effort to appear photogenic, phoned the secretary and informed her she would arrive at her office in half-an-hour, no further discussion.

On the way to work she was thinking of the weather, hoping it rained now rather than when she got off her shift so she wouldn’t have to come home in a downpour. By the time she got to the office, the conversation with Arnaud was just another bad dream.

Of course, everyone in the clinic wanted to know how she was after a week of radio silence. Madeleine acknowledged their concerns. It had been a mess abroad, and she was grateful to be back home. The awkward silence didn’t console her. She locked eyes with her secretary and coolly asked who would be seeing her today.

Fifteen minutes into her first session with a client, she received a call. Probably Arnaud. She ignored it without checking. A minute later the phone rang again. Madeleine glanced over at the number. Secretary. She picked up. “Yes?”

Men from the Brigade criminelle here to see her. They would not take no for answer.

With a contrite apology and a much colder vice in her stomach Madeleine escorted the client out while two men came to substitute. The first, Officer Blois, a middle-aged man with red hair and a mole on the side of his chin, introduced himself accordingly. “I’ll get right to the point. Arnaud is dead. He was found this morning outside of the apartment. Presumably he must have jumped but there are a few details that we’d like to run by you.”

Madeleine said: “That’s all right.” Her eyes drifted to the other man and her blood froze. She’d recognise him anywhere. As if he was brought into existence out of recollection and into reality. Safin wouldn’t look directly at her.

“He was found this morning?” Madeleine reiterated, forcing herself to focus on the situation at-hand. Officer Blois misinterpreted the nature of her unease.

“That’s right. Was he involved directly in your activities with MSF?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Did he have any prior knowledge of your activities?”

“Only to the extent that I volunteered, nothing specific. We have—we had, our separate interests.”

“Do you have reason to suspect he would have any suicidal idealisation, thoughts of self-harm?”

“No.”

Was it possible he’d come back and decided enough was enough? Or walked into the apartment to find someone else waiting for him?

“Is there anyone in his life that would wish him or yourself ill?”

“No one, he had—colleagues, but we didn’t talk much.”

“I’ll take it from here,” said Safin coolly.

Officer Blois looked from Madeleine’s dubious expression to Safin’s unreadable one, frowned. “Are you sure there’s nothing—?”

“Officer Blois—” another woman opened the door, also in uniform “—we’ve got some new information, do you have a minute?”

Officer Blois’s eyes rested on Safin for a second before he left the two of them alone. Safin did not take a seat but walked over to stand in front of her desk.

“To ensure the safety of each client,” he began without invitation, “I have to follow through. In a case like yours I’m liable to investigate.”

“I’ve done nothing to warrant this.”

“You have been avoiding my eyes ever since Officer Blois brought up the topic of suicide, do you realise?” Madeleine forced herself to look at him. “When was the last time you spoke to your father?”

“Not for a long time. I stopped contact with him—"

“—has he contacted you at all this year?”

“We’re living separate lives.”

“Then, I’ll inform you. I am here because Mr. White has requested an audience with you. There is a safehouse set aside for you in Sion. Your HR manager has already been informed you’ll be taking two weeks off at short-notice. Once you step outside this building, you’ll be collected by my team and taken to the train station.”

Madeleine shot him a foul look that went unreciprocated. “And you expect me to just go along with you?”

“Your family’s reputation precedes you. You are no safer here in France than you were in Conakry. I doubt Arnaud was the first person you’ve had to sacrifice for the sake of security. But, if you will not come along quietly there are several alternatives.”

“Such as?”

He looked her over. “You would fit easily into a suitcase.”

Madeleine waited for him to elaborate. He looked at her. She broke the silence with a polite scoff. “You'd waste more time smuggling me out of the building. There are cameras everywhere.”

A flash in the dark eyes betrayed his initial veneer of detachment. Madeleine had her pride but she wasn’t about to test him. She stood up stiffly. A subtle, unpleasant smile that brought his scarification into relief. “Come along.”

That the situation would escalate to this level of severity was no surprise. A life spent not in paranoia but with an aggrieved awareness. Not stringent enough to start keeping a gun under her pillow; she’d have a hard-enough time explaining that to Arnaud. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

She was guided out the door by two men who did not speak to her and steered discreetly into the black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter waiting quietly by the curb.

It was a twenty minute drive to Paris-Gare de Lyon. On the way it dawned on her that Safin was probably kidding about the suitcase. An empty threat to provoke her nerves, watch her squirm. The alternative was something she’d rather not consider. Not that she cared what a thug like him thought to begin with.

They provided her first-class tickets for Swiss Federal Railway and the appropriate gate number. Several suspiciously uneventful minutes later she was at the station, boarding the train, taking her seat closest to the aisle while the two men took up seats by the door and adjacent to her row respectively. Safin took the seat directly adjacent her without a word.

The train shifted into motion. Madeleine, jarred from thought, made up her mind. “You are protecting me under my father’s authority?”

“That’s correct.”

Madeleine huffed. “I should have guessed. You're another one of SPECTRE's thugs?”

Safin blinked slowly but his indifferent expression didn't change. “Counterintelligence.” Now he was scrutinising her more closely. Well, what had she expected? Even if he was one of theirs he would never admit it. “I'm sure you have a few questions about the situation. They'll have to wait until we're in a more secure location.”

“I didn’t ask for this life.” Safin simply held her gaze. “Moving around every couple years. Watching everyone around me wither and die or settle down while I live in the shadow of my father and the men he answers to.”

“But you accepted his money to get ahead.”

“What’s your point?” Madeleine snapped.

Safin said nothing. All right, now he was trying to be funny. He didn’t seem like the kind of man one called to lighten a mood. Madeleine wouldn’t be able to tolerate half-an-hour of this, let alone five. The look Safin was giving her would indicate that sentiment was mutual.

“I don’t want your pity,” she said, tearing her eyes towards the window.

“If we’re going to have a conversation, I would prefer your undivided attention.”

“You want to talk.”

“I’ve never had to point a gun at your head to get you to comply.”

Madeleine almost smiled. It was the first time anyone had been so straightforward with her. “Well, there’s no need to start now.”

#no time to die #multichapter #lyutsifer safin #madeleine swann #mr white #fanfiction #fanfic #crime drama #slow build

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mars-janka · 4 years ago

Text

Bluebirds

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Ship: Revalink (Revali x Link)

Word count: 4684

A/N: This piece is a work for the Revalink Valentine’s Exchange 2021 @revalinkexchange! Happy Valentine’s Day to my dear giftee @spacesephora! Thank you for providing the prompt and inspiring me; I do wish you enjoy reading my take on it!

Read on AO3

Vah Medoh was lonely.

Before the Calamity, Revali never really understood how the mechanical beast thrown under his wing worked. He was told countless times that it held a soul, but then again, he questioned himself when he was alone almost as many times as he’s heard of it, how could a stone machine be ever capable of having one? And yet despite those doubts it was one of the few things he kept to himself and never dared to speak up about it; it wasn’t like he possessed any more knowledge about ancient Sheikah technology than Purah, Robbie or even princess Zelda.

With those thoughts repressed deep inside him, Revali continued to listen to more of the scientist’s advice and theories and utilizing them later when within the divine beast. He had never once felt a presence surrounding him, making him doubt all the efforts he made to “connect” with Medoh, but nevertheless never stopped trying. It was surprising when he heard of Daruk having problems with taming Rudania. It made Revali almost paranoid, now looking over his shoulder at the slightest sound and faint feeling of something sneaking up his spine. Yet despite that, a part of him still seemed to be wary of the idea of Medoh being alive.

It changed when his own life came to a tragic end.

He no longer had any doubts. He no longer had any body, he turned into merely a presence, one that he once didn’t believe to be real. As the consciousness left his mortal, limp body, Revali felt his soul intertwine with another one, one that could only be Medoh. They became one and the same, a wicked, infested part of her threatening to infuse his mind.

He despised it; he spent his first months silent, lost in thought not bothering to speak to Medoh despite her malicious cries. Their roles switched, now he was a beast that needed taming. He isolated himself, wallowing over his lost life, cursing Hylia and pitying Hyrule’s fate all in the one of many corners of the divine beast. After a few years, his mindset changed, however. Revali realized that his soul was bound to Medoh’s forever, whether pure or cruel, and there was nothing he could do about it; he could not escape, he could not defeat her nor could he take his own life as he was already dead.

With a heavy heart he submitted to his fate and day by day, night by night the pain started to lessen.

He let himself let out everything; his fears, burdens, memories, passions. Even if Medoh was swallowed by a dark force, he still felt as if an old part of her was still there, understanding him and his emotions, something he hadn’t been graced by in a very long time. At times, he wondered if that was meant to be from the beginning; two lonely souls finding each other. Revali smiled feeling her presence, he felt content with that.

That was until Link came back from the dead.

The sheer sight of him made Revali feel a strange sensation inside of him. Watching him was strange. He had not changed, not one bit, his youthful features apparent with movements mirroring those which Revali remembered from a century ago. Despite that something felt off. He brushed it off, too interested (and too excited) in observing Link’s struggles with overcoming the difficulties he was faced with to care.

What he couldn’t ignore however was the feeling that loomed over him after he and Link had parted. The loneliness that Revali hid deep inside himself was threatening to tear trough again, its power strengthened. Medoh’s company wasn’t enough, he realized with pain. He became quieter than he was in the beginning, not daring to let his thoughts slip. Hiding from Medoh wasn’t as difficult as it used to be with his newly acquired body (he was still but a mere spirit, yet it was still much more than he could’ve ever imagined). What was, though, was hurting her.

It felt terrible yet he couldn’t make himself open up to her, straying away as far as he could. He remained distant and cold ignoring her cries, longing to see the world once again, if only for a second.

Revali was absorbed in his thoughts, looking out at Rito Village through the humongous round windows when it happened. Out of the blue, he felt some divine being wrap him in their hands and suddenly he found himself in a place, beside somebody that he expected the least to see.

It was raining terribly, and Link looked almost as shocked as he did, clinging tightly to his cloth paraglider as Revali’s spirit circled around him, wings spreading in a graceful manner, summoning an updraft that lifted them both up in only a matter of seconds. It was as if the same force as before was controlling all his movements. Revali was overwhelmed by what was happening around him, by what was happening to him. He could feel everything; the wind grazing his feathers, the rain coating them, the almost suffocating air that he breathed, the lingering smell of the ocean. It all seemed too good to be true. And for the first time in a hundred years, he felt alive, no matter how ironic that was, considering he was still very much everything but that.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Link’s, raw emotions shining through them (as though the knight could feel). He wasn’t sure if it was the force that made it impossible or if there really was something truly captivating, mesmerizing about them. He couldn’t give it another thought, however, as he felt that same bizarre, divine hands take him into their care. Panicking, he opened his beak to shout. Before any words had a change to form, his vision became blurry and in a blink of an eye he was once again reunited with the cold, indifferent interior of his divine beast.

“No!” he cried as the words found a way to escape, his wing instinctively reaching forward to grab what was left of this beautiful dream he had, only to be met with hard glass preventing him from falling down, in a moment where he wanted to fall the most, feel the wind graze his feathers once more. “No…” he said again with head pressing painfully against the window as he gradually slid down to his knees. His gaze locked at the very sight he was looking at before, his home, Rito Village. Revali felt a lump form in his throat, choking a sob. “Please,” he said, pleading to whoever who listened, voice shaking. “Please, let me out of here.”

His wish couldn’t be fulfilled, not if he was not called for by this divine force.

Which wasn’t something he expected to happen as weeks flew by. What did, however, happen was that he was left completely alone as Medoh wouldn’t be bothered by his behavior anymore. Revali couldn’t hear her cries and thoughts; she shut him off just like he wanted and yet he still found himself missing them. He would never admit that of course, whatever was left of his pride making him bottle it up inside, quietly hoping that one day the silence would break.

And finally, that day came. It was unexpected and sudden and… peculiar. The presence that Revali felt, and assumed to be Medoh, was very much unlike anything he remembered. Something about it was off, as if it couldn’t possibly be her but then again perhaps, she has changed and in doing so did the feeling of her presence as it had been a while since she has too isolated herself. Revali though was too distracted by the sheer joy that he felt in this very moment, calling Medoh’s name in his thoughts, hoping that she’d hear him and rushing through the insides of the divine beast searching for the place where he’d sense her the most.

“I’m sorry,” the thoughts echoed in his mind, as he couldn’t bear to speak, knowing that Medoh preferred them to hearing his voice. “I’m sorry I was so selfish, Medoh please forgive me.” They were running almost as fast as he was. “Give me a sign that you’re there!”

Revali was slowly but surely getting tired of participating in this cat and mouse styled game. Just as he was about to call out her name with his voice, he had felt her presence right next to him. Abruptly, he turned his head to face her and it wasn’t Medoh, oh no. For the third time in the past few months, he saw none other than Link.

He wasn’t sure whether to feel surprised, disappointed, annoyed or relieved even. He simply sighed and let his shoulders slouch back. “What are you doing here, knight?” he asked, voice harsh. “Don’t you have a world to save?” Revali was staring right into Link’s eyes intensely, nearly burning holes in them. For a short while, everything else disappeared, the world was shut out. It was only him and Link, looking, trying to solve the hidden meanings behind their mannerisms, expressions, eyes. Revali didn’t mind the sensation that it gave him, he longed for anything that helped him get his mind off his terrible afterlife.

Suddenly the wind howled, breaking the tense silence surrounding them. The sound reminded Revali of Medoh. He grunted and looked away a bit embarrassed. “A hundred years and you still hadn’t got back your tongue,” he said regaining his stance.

He was ready to dismiss the whole situation and go back to Medoh to try and search for comfort, but much to his surprise, he heard a voice, making his plan temporarily impossible. “I-,” It came out as a rasp. Revali’s eyes widened as he realized that this voice belongs to Link. “I thought that you could use some company.”

“You what?” he choked, not believing what he just heard. The feathers on his body ruffled uncontrollably, standing up from every side. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the raspy, probably from unuse, serious tone, because of the message that the words passed, or perhaps the combination of both. The fact that he was trying his hardest to hide it, getting annoyed in the process wasn’t of any help. “What made you think so?”

For an unknown reason, some part of him expected Link to shrug and laugh in his face, saying that it was but a mere joke and yet none of that happened. He stood there, seemingly tall and proud of what he said. This time it was Revali that felt the gaze staring right into the inside of his soul. He on the other hand couldn’t bring himself to look at the knight’s face. “I know you’re lonely,” Link said, his voice now softer.

Revali let out a short awkward laugh. “I don’t know what-,” he tried to argue but was quickly (and efficiently) cut off.

“Don’t try to deny that,” his serious tone came back and Revali couldn’t help but to look at him. His gaze was as stern as his posture, both hands by his sides, curled up in fists. “I’ve seen it in your eyes, it’s written all over your face,” he started with passion, confident with his words spread only the truth. “The first time we met, when I… I don’t even know saw your… spirit?” he stumbled, probably too many thoughts flooding his little head yet still remained as passionate. “A-And now, too,” he added quickly. “You can’t hide it.”

Revali stood before him, stunned. His beak was opened slightly before it formed into a frown. “Unbelievable,” he scoffed, and more feathers ruffled on his back. “You,” he angrily pointed one finger at Link. “Have a lot of nerve coming here,” he was gesticulating wildly. “To my home, out of the blue, completely uninvited and tell me about my personal problems whilst not having resolved your own!” he huffed and took a deep breath. “Completely ridiculous.”

Link took every word that he spit at him with patience. He had closed his eyes and didn’t bother to respond. This angered Revali more, but he had no more energy to waste. “Oh, so now you won’t answer?” he waited a little while longer before realizing that it’s in vain. He turned on his foot, ready to hide in the shadows of Vah Medoh. “Classic.”

“I need your company!”

Revali stopped walking. This sentence alone sparked his interest enough to stay and listen to what Link had to say. The Hylian seemed to get the cue. “I-I am lonely too,” his voice was much quieter than only seconds ago; it was obvious that he hadn’t planned to bring this subject up and yet he still kept going. “You don’t owe me anything but,” Link sighed deeply, preparing for whatever he was about to say. “You’re the only one who understands what it’s like to truly be alone, what it’s like to be the one left behind.”

Revali could feel Link looking at him expectantly. “You’re wrong,” he heard Link take a breath. “Not that I expected anything else, but…” he turned to face him and yet didn’t look at his face, focusing on everything but him. “I am not lonely,” he stated, putting the most pressure on the third word. “And I do owe you something. My soul. And for that I-,” Revali’s eyes caught Link’s and only now he noticed the brilliant blush on his cheeks that he’s not seen before. It distracted him but he quickly shook out of it and he chose to ignore it, grunting and glancing away. “I suppose I can give the company that you crave so much.”

And ever since then, he had kept his word, as every time Link visited him, he’d embrace him with open arms. Revali had become reliant on his visits, firstly only craving any form on intimacy since Medoh was no longer an option. At times he’d even compare the divine beast to a desert since it was so desolate, empty and vacant only until Link showed up, momentarily replacing the feeling of being alone with joy upon meeting another person. Link was Revali’s escape, nothing more.

“I plan to battle with Ganon in a short time.”

Or so he had thought a while ago.

Somehow that sentence that was whispered to him made him fear more than ever. A cold shiver ran down Revali’s spine as his fingers curled up in Link’s hair stopped their movements. He felt the blonde shift on his lap, later a hand touching his face. “Is something wrong?” Link had asked, his voice concerned and soft.

Revali didn’t look at him. His heart screamed yes and yet he said “No, everything’s fine.” To assure Link, or himself really, he continued stroking his hair. He felt his heart leap, sink, do cartwheels and everything in between. He was far from being okay. He swallowed audibly. “Just… try your best to dodge his attacks.”

Link laughed and turned to face him as Revali with a smirk on his face playfully ruffled his hair. “All this time,” he said dramatically. “And you’re still doubting my abilities?”

“Never hurts to be simply remind.”

They parted soon after. They didn’t say goodbye, never did. It seemed all too serious, and all too sad. A simple wave would cut it as Link each time left Medoh in the beautiful colors of dawn. Watching him was serene, calming even despite his heart aching, begging him not to leave and the knowledge that he was about to fight the worst of nightmares, one that was a brink away from consuming the world. As Link disappeared completely from Revali’s line of sight, he took a deep breath and murmured, “I really hope you get back.” With that, he turned to hide in Medoh.

The next thing he remembered was that, for the first time in a hundred years, he woke up. His body was terribly aching, muscles sore as if all he had been doing those years were murderous exercises. He opened his eyes with a groan; though he quickly closed them when the light of the morning sun started to burn them. He couldn’t as much stand up, he couldn’t move his wings nor his legs; it was as if he was pinned to the ground, groaning from pain. It was Link who had found him, a couple days after. The knight panicked but immediately went back to the village to get help. The Rito were more than confused when they saw Revali, but they agreed to help, not knowing that the very man that they’re nursing back to health is their beloved Champion from a century prior.

The recovery was taking months and Revali slowly but surely was getting better. “I remember being alive differently than this,” he said later followed by a cough. Link smiled and leaned back in his chair looking out at the sunset. He was trying his best to visit Revali at all times, but it was not always the easiest now with princess Zelda needing his help with rebuilding the ruined kingdom.

“I’m pretty sure that the others feel the same way you do,” Link said lightheartedly to which Revali scoffed. He wasn’t the only one who was resurrected. Mipha, Urbosa and Daruk have been all reported to be very much alive as well. He had yet to see them though, but with his (and others) current, bleak state it was simply impossible. “When you’re all be looking…” Link trailed off into thought, trying to find the perfect word as Revali was glancing at him, awaiting. “…a bit better!” he finished enthusiastically. “I will invite you to visit my house in Hateno Village.”

“Now, that’s an idea,” Revali said, both intrigued and prejudiced. He thought out loud. “I wonder if the six of us will fit.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage.” And when the time came, though not without struggle, they really did. Beds, hammocks, sleeping bags and everything in between were now littering the entirety of the house’s first floor. There were also some baggage laying around, since when the guest where to put things, Link simply shrugged with a smile saying, “Throw it wherever.” From the décor Revali thought that it was clear that the knight never really got to spend much time just to sit and think, and if he did it certainly wasn’t the place.

“Sorry for the emptiness,” said shyly princess Zelda even though nobody seemed to mind (how could they when they spent the past century living in a mechanical beast?). “I’ve been trying to get more furniture but it’s hard these days.” She has been temporarily living with Link ever since the defeat of Ganon, so she must’ve felt at least partially responsible for the guests too, Revali figured.

Being in one room with so many people felt… to say the least strange. Everyone, though trying not to show, has changed in some way but that was certainly to be expected. What stayed the same however was their unique, unbreakable bond. It was clear that each and every one of them was grateful for the way the things turned out.

Silence lingered between the six, until Link decided to speak up, scratching the back of his head. “So…” he started, now getting everyone’s attention. “Does anyone fancy a quick spiced meat and mushroom skewer?” No one (with the exception of Daruk who was granted a prime rock roast) could turn down such an offer. The Champions and Zelda were very much aware of Link’s magnificent cooking skills that could turn a simple dish like this to a culinary masterpiece as when they were all recovering, he never failed to spoil them with their favorite foods.

“You’re too good to us, Link,” said Urbosa as she finished another one of the skewers. Everyone either laughed or nodded in approval. It was slowly getting darker and they sat peacefully, warmed by a fire right in front of Link’s house. The atmosphere got more relaxed with enthusiastic conversations and jokes replaced by a comfortable silence, sometimes interrupted by a yawn. The Champions started leaving the fire one by one, muttering a ‘goodnight’ in order to go to sleep.

Revali answered lazily every single one of the goodnight’s whilst being completely invested in watching the fire burn. He was very much sure that he was the only one left until he felt a warm body quickly sit right next to him. Not expecting that he was startled very much to which Link laughed. “You want to put a man who came back from the dead back to his place?”

“Not in a million years,” Link replied a sly smile playing on his lips. Revali sighed and moved a to the side slightly, giving him space to settle. He then fidgeted for quite a bit before finding the perfect spot. Revali couldn’t be bothered anymore however as he still stared into the calming flames. Link decided to join him. “Don’t you want to sleep?” he asked, nuzzling faintly into his feathers.

“Not really, no,” it took a second for him to respond. He wrapped his wing around the smaller frame of Link, something that made the knight very happy.

Link hummed happily, putting his head on Revali’s chest. “May I make a suggestion?” As an answer, Revali put his beak at the top of his head. Link stuttered at first, clearly nervous with what he was about to say. “I was-,” he took a deep breath and stopped for a moment as if to formulate the words. “There’s this, um, place that I-I’d like to show you.”

Revali quirked his brows. “Well, go on, I’m listening.”

“The thing is,” Link shifted away from him and started gesticulating. “It’s not that far away, really, but it’s far enough that we’d have to fly there and-,” he couldn’t go on as he got caught off.

“Wait, wait,” Revali took Link’s hands into his and the blonde looked at him curiously. “Did you say… fly?” Link, stunned, only nodded in response. Revali could see that he was trying his best to figure out what was wrong with flying, as to visit him in Hateno, the Champion flew straight from Rito Village. “You’re aware that the Rito have terribly bad eyesight in the dark, right?” Link’s eyes widened and Revali couldn’t help but smile at his cluelessness. “Oh my, who would’ve thought that the mighty knight needed some school time.”

Link blushed and turned away, but soon his laugh joined Revali’s. He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “In that case, we can just go some other-”

“No!” Revali burst out suddenly. Realizing this, he grunted and thought of a way to explain this. “I mean- um, a little bit of adrenaline is always much appreciated in life, especially after only getting it back, right?”

Link looked at him, puzzled and skeptical. “…Right,” with the newly acquired knowledge, he wasn’t quite sure that the situation he was putting himself in was exactly safe but decided not to argue against it. “It’s only fair to fulfill a dying man’s last wish,” he said playfully to which Revali smacked his head from the back.

“I wonder who the dying man could be…” Before Link could reply with a snarkier remark, Revali got up and motioned for him to get on his back. “Come on, knight, I have a million things do to.” With that Link quickly complied and in no time Revali summoned his famous gale as they set off with the hero shouting Revali the directions and being his overall guide for the next hour or so.

It must’ve been truly tiring since the first thing Link did when they landed on the soft sandy shore of Lurelin Village was lie down, burying his face in the sand. Revali, being much less unacquainted with its texture, took time to adapt and stretch his wings after the flight. One of the first things that he noticed was that “It’s hot.”

Link lifted his face up from the sand, half of it staying on his skin. “It’s great now,” he said as he tried to get rid of the sticky sand. “It’s much worse during the day, trust me on this one.”

Revali however didn’t manage to catch the last words that Link spoken, as he had noticed something much more interesting than his voice or the temperature. His breath caught in his chest as he spoke. “It’s beautiful,” he said, completely absorbed in thought. Link, not understanding what he was on about turned his head to face him. The expression on his face was unlike whatever he’s seen before, gaze stern and focused on what was before him and Link couldn’t help but follow his gaze. The calming sound of the waves crashing against each other filled his ears as he stood up and moved to stand next to Revali.

“It really is,” admitted Link, his fingers reaching to brush against Revali’s. Despite being completely mesmerized by the sheer sight of the ocean, he reciprocated the touch. “It actually reminds me of you…”

“How come?” Revali’s eyes never left the water, whilst Link’s trailed to look at his face.

He swallowed audibly. “W-Well,” he started and Revali turned his head to face him to which in response Link panicked, shying away. “It’s really n-not that far away from where I first used your gale,” he could feel his eyes watching him intently. “The color helps too,” he quickly added and Revali chuckled.

A comfortable silence fell between the two, their hands still touching as they both went back to watching the ocean unfold before their very eyes. Revali had never felt this calm before, not even Medoh could bring him such peace, though their souls were once one and the same. But Link and Medoh were not the same. What he felt for him was different, strong and… real. And he’s come to accept it. His mind was a hurricane filled with various thoughts in that moment and yet the sudden sound of Link’s voice didn’t fail to stop them. “It’s actually my favorite place to be,” he said squeezing his hand. “I stumbled here after seeing you to process it and… it has become a habit of mine.” Revali could tell he was speaking from the bottom of his heart, and suddenly his own started to ache. “It’s become a place I visit just to… think and feel less… alone.”

Revali felt as if he was frozen even though he could tell that Link was expecting some sort of response. And yet he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. It was only when he felt his grip loosening and breathing quicken that he managed to as much hold his hand tighter. He could feel Link first tense, then relax; perhaps it was enough for him. But certainly not for Revali.

He turned to face him and cupped his face. “Link I-,” Revali started but his wide, blue eyes, looking at him as if he was the most important thing in this world, made him lower his gaze for a moment. He swallowed audibly and looked at him again, this time truly confident.

“I love you.”

The words hanged in the air and for a brink of a moment Revali’s whole life flashed before his eyes as he regretted saying those words, knowing that it would never be possible for someone like Link to love him. He panicked and wanted to run away but before he could as much as turn, Link’s voice echoed in his mind.

“I love you too,” he admitted with tears in his eyes and suddenly Revali noticed his own water. Link couldn’t take it anymore as he buried his face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Revali instinctively wrapped his wings around him, pulling him closer and letting his own tears fall.

It really was beautiful; two lonely people finding happiness in each other as the sun rose behind them.

Another A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you have the best of days!

#revalink #revali #link #botw #breath of the wild #fanfiction #botw fanfiction #revalink fanfiction #writing #revalink valentine's day exchange #revalink exchange #revali x link

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terresdebrumestories · 3 years ago

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FANDOM: The Old Guard (2020) SERIES: - RATING: General audiences WORDCOUNT: 4 776 words PAIRING(S): None CHARACTER(S): Nile Freeman (POV), Yusuf Al Kaysani, Andromache the Scythian, Niccolo di Genova (mentioned), Sébastien Le Livre (mentioned). GENRE: Mutual care, Nile Freeman character introspection. TRIGGER WARNING(S): None that I can think of :) SUMMARY: Nile misses her mother but doesn't know how to talk about it or with who. fortunately, Bâtard the emotional support tortoise is here to help. NOTE(S): This was originally written for Nile Week 2020 but never put online because of reasons, so now here it is, longer and better written than it was :D Hugest thanks to @avaniesque for the most excellent beta work :D [ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3.]

Nile gasps when something soft bumps against her foot, hurriedly wiping at her cheeks as she turns towards the door. It looks empty at first, the cobwebs they didn’t bother dealing with earlier in the day gently swaying in the air. There’s some shuffling along the dusty floor, a light click of nails on stone, and then a small oblong head appears near the bottom. This is swiftly followed by short scaly legs and a black and brown shell wrapped in a crocheted lab coat. Nile tenses, unprepared for any sort of human company at the moment, but relaxes when it becomes apparent Booker has not elected to follow his pet around.

Said pet has now fully entered the living-room and is beelining for a strawberry resting against her right pinky toe. It looks good enough to eat, as does the rest of what Booker feeds it, which Nile still doesn’t really understand but who is she to tell Booker how to care for his pet? Bâtard, of course, is unconcerned by her surprise and eventually gets to chomping on the strawberry.

Nile’s eyes are dry by now, the tight press of sadness around her heart still present but past its peak, at least for now. It still takes her a couple of seconds to realize the small square of bright white on the side of Bâtard’s outfit is a piece of paper. She picks it up to find a few words from a hand that hasn’t yet lost the impeccable penmanship of its first life. Apparently it’s hard to let go of habits people beat into you with a stick. The note reads : “He’ll keep your secret as long as you keep paying. First one on me.” It makes Nile smile.

(Andy, Nicky and Joe are all just as capable of impeccable calligraphy, but when free not to pay attention to it they tend to revert to script letters. Booker is the only one who insists on torturing them all with permanent cursive written with fountain pens on special paper.)

She doesn’t know Booker all that well, yet. Seven years ago, he was the quiet grumpy member of the group who didn’t seem to care much whether Nile stayed or left. Then he was the one who made a pretty compelling case against Nile seeing her family again—revealing himself to have some unresolved issues in the process—and then he was the one whose issues exploded all over the rest of the group. Now he’s mostly the one who was brought back way too soon, who knows it, and tries to make himself as scarce as possible because of it.

Mostly, it means that while Nile is the one who’s exchanged the most words with him so far, it’s also pretty much been limited to the topic of...well. His tortoise. All in all, much less informative about the man compared to just watching him settle said tortoise up in every safehouse they use, no matter how temporary. (Nile would help, but she’s not entirely sure how the others would take it. It seems prudent not to.) Or looking at the cozies the tortoise parades around on a regular basis...or, as the case may be, discovering he’s taken the time to bedeck his precious reptile in a new outfit for the sole purpose of leaving it (uncharacteristically) unsupervised in Nile’s company just so she has someone to talk to.

“You’re not who I want to talk to either,” she says, because she’s under no illusion that her solitude today has been accidental. “I mean, I know they’re trying I just—”

Nile sighs, wiping at her face in a vain attempt to clear her head, but the gesture only brings fresh moisture to her eyes as she tries to swallow down her frustration. It feels almost silly, in the grand scheme of things, to be this upset over this, but, well... Hearts do what they want, and there’s nothing Nile can do about that, so eventually she looks down at Bâtard’s scaly little head and tells the tortoise:

“It’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow. She’s turning sixty-five and I—”

Nile claps a hand on her mouth to stifle the sob wrenching itself out of her, but it feels piercing and loud in the quiet evening air nonetheless. She breathes around it for a bit, unwilling to attract company just yet, and reaches down to rub Bâtard’s head with her forefinger.

“I want to be with her,” she eventually confesses to the tortoise. “I want to be there and hug her, I—I miss my mom.”

Nile knows she can call. They’ve got burner phones, Copley’s skills to keep them hidden, and an uneasy truce with Quynh ensuring the biggest threat they’ve faced so far isn’t much of one for now. Three years ago she wouldn’t even have had that: her mother and brother both convinced she was dead and buried somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan. She believes with all of her heart that her mother and brother would never blame her for living when they can’t.

Her mother is starting the second half of her sixties, and she’s not there to see it. Her mother, who’s growing older and greying a little at the temples. Her mother, who deserves better than never knowing when they’ll see each other again, with little-to-no news in between visits. Her mother, who was there for her in every way she could and every way that counted, and for whom Nile wants to be there but can’t. Her mother, who will not be there forever.

(Sometimes, the thought hits Nile out of nowhere, and it takes an impossible effort not to drop everything right then and there to jump in the first flight to Chicago.)

“It’s just—” Nile pauses, trying to pick her words so she can really make Bâtard understand, as impossible as that is, and continues : “They’re great. All of them. They’re—even Booker’s not so bad. I mean, I’m kind of stuck in the middle of the family feud so that’s not the best feeling, but... They’ve gone above and beyond to help me feel welcome, they’ve taught me so many amazing things…. They’re just...not my mom.”

Bâtard, done with his strawberry, lifts his head to look at her, and Nile swears he even leans into her scratching, just a little. It’s a pleasant surprise and she finds herself smiling, not very bright but present nonetheless. It soothes something in her, too, not to be alone right now even though she’s not ready for human company. Both her mother and Jordan have allergies so they’ve never had pets before, and Nile never really longed for one either. Right now, though, she thinks she understands a little better what endears them to people.

“I’m...scared,” she admits, keeping her voice quiet like it’s going to make a difference. “I know I’m going to lose her one day, that’s inevitable, but I don’t want to find out about it months later because my brother couldn’t reach me...I don’t want to find out about his death from nephews and nieces who’ll barely know who I am, if they know I exist at all.” Nile sighs again, sobs crowding in her throat and tightening her voice as she admits: “I wish I hadn’t listened to Booker.”

That last admission is what breaks the dam, and all of a sudden Nile is sobbing again, and she couldn’t stop if she wanted to. There’s misery here, and anger too, maybe even more than there was at the beginning. It was...easier, in a way, to pretend to be dead. She had to mourn, of course, and that tore at her and still does sometimes, but it was a clean cut. It was simple.

Now her mother knows she’s alive and her brother knows and it’s a relief for all of them, but it also means Nile has to be the one consciously deciding not to call home until she’s in a safe enough place to do so, not to text until she can do it from a sufficiently untraceable phone. The temptation there is a hundred times harder to resist because it would be so easy not to.

“If it makes you feel better,” Joe’s voice says from the threshold, “I think we can all sympathize with that sentiment.”

He’s being quiet and careful—it’s the middle of the night after all—but Nile is still startled, and she pretends to glare at him until he tilts his head in quiet enquiry. In response she sighs, wipes at her wet cheeks again, and waves him over. He smiles, something almost like relief in it, and steps lightly into the living room.

“Mind the doctor,” Nile tells him, gesturing at the remains of the strawberry, as he lowers himself on the ground next to her.

“The doct—you mean Bâtard?”

“Yeah he’s—”

In that instant, Nile realizes she has no idea where Bâtard went. He was chilling by her feet, seemingly content to go to sleep soon, and now he’s nowhere to be seen. The realization is enough to send Nile’s heart racing, horrified at the thought of being the one under whose watch Bâtard meets an unfortunate end.

Sure, it isn’t her pet and she and Booker aren’t really close—not like she’s becoming with the others, at any rate—but 1) Bâtard doesn’t deserve to die and 2) it doesn’t take a genius to realize his demise would be absolutely disastrous for Booker’s mental health, and no one wants to see the consequences that could have on the rest of them. Joe must have gone through a similar realization, because as soon as Nile falls quiet he tenses and gets back up into a crouch.

“Please tell me we didn’t lose the tortoise,” he whispers, like he thinks Booker might be listening in on them.

“We didn’t lose the tortoise,” Nile replies because it’s barely been five minutes and Bâtard cannot possibly have gone far in that time frame.

“Good,” Joe says while Nile rummages through her pocket for her phone and turns the flashlight on, “because I don’t think any of us are prepared to deal with the fallout of—”

“We did not lose the tortoise,” Nile interrupts, her tone firm enough to pretend she’s not actually nervous about this. “Can you turn the light on? I’m getting nowhere with this.”

Joe does, and Nile spots Bâtard almost instantly, ambling in his unhurried stroll towards the fridge like he knows where the treats come from...maybe he does, Nile really doesn’t know enough about tortoises to tell. Either way, it’s a relief seeing him there, and she turns to let Joe know she’s found their target.

“Oh thank God,” Joe sighs, sagging with it. “I really don’t want to find out what Booker would be like if we lose him.”

“You know,” Nile remarks as she follows Bâtard’s mosey to the fridge, “I’ve been thinking maybe it’s time the lot of you had a talk about this.”

Joe winces, and Nile can sympathize with that if she’s really honest. She doesn’t feel the same about what happened, but then she doesn’t have a shared history with Booker the way the others do; it’s easier for her to let go faster. Still, Booker’s been back for nearly three months now, and Nile is getting tired of feeling like she needs to be walking on eggshells between the two parts of the group. Joe sighs.

“Which ‘this,’ do you think?”

“All of them,” Nile retorts, careful to keep her voice gentle. She’s not trying to force anyone into anything, after all. “Just...it’s been months, and you’re still avoiding each other. You all need to talk.”

Joe sighs again, running a hand over the nape of his neck. He looks like he might be ready to talk with someone, but the very thought of it makes Nile want to recoil. Another day, maybe. When she’s got more energy, and more space in her head for other people’s problems.

Not right now.

“Remember you’re on my strawberry,” Nile says, smiling to turn it half into a joke, “if you need a consultation you pay your own fee.”

“Alright,” Joe chuckles, good natured even in the middle of the night. “That’s fair.”

He sobers up soon after, growing quiet and serious to ask: “Is it working for you? Or would you like to tell me what’s going on? I’ll even listen for free, if you’re short on strawberries.”

Nile snorts. The truth is, she does feel better for having told him what was going on, even if her ‘consultation’ was accidentally cut short. She’s not sure how much of this she wants to share with the team just yet. There’s never an easy way to tell people who want to help you that they can’t because they’re simply...not who you want at that moment.

“Actually, I’m good right now,” she tells Joe. “Take you up on it another time?”

Joe visibly hesitates, something a little worried in his frown, so Nile gives a fond smile and leans up to squish him in a hug as much as she can manage.

“Thank you,” she tells him, relaxing when he returns the embrace just as tight and actually lifts her up against him. “I’m good, I promise. It’s not─you can probably guess most of it, honestly. I just...I feel kind of awkward about it, I guess.”

“Because we’re too close?” Joe guesses, and Nile nods.

“Sometimes it’s just easier to talk to someone uninvolved.”

“Well,” Joe says, something too wet in his throat to be only about Nile, “I’m glad you have that then. Just...just know I mean it.”

“I know,” Nile promises, chest warming from the care and the obvious concern. “Now go to sleep, old man.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Nile gives Joe a playful shove, snorting when he pretends to stumble, and watches him go with the stretch of a smile sinking into her cheeks. Slowly, the air around her grows still again, the vague sounds of a forest at night and a door creaking barely even noticeable.

How much sleeping is actually taking place on the other side of the safehouse, Nile doesn’t know. She learned very quickly that no one on this team is capable of normal sleep patterns. It’s quiet all the same, and after a few seconds of standing in place, she goes to the fridge, retrieves a peach quarter from Bâtard’s snack box and she plops the offering in front of him, turns the light off, and sits back down next to the tortoise.

“Alright,” she tells him, “maybe I wasn’t completely fair with your dad. I mean...he was wrong, but it’s not like he was trying to be cruel. And he did have a bit of a point.”

She still can’t quite stand the thought of losing her family. It’s unavoidable, she knows. One day, maybe, she’ll make her peace with it, but for now...no. She doesn’t want to think about that any more than she already has tonight.

“I know there’s a purpose,” Nile tells Bâtard. “I’ve seen it. I’ve witnessed it. And we’re getting better at it! I know I’m doing more good here than I used to as a soldier...but sometimes I wish there wasn't a purpose and I could just go home.”

Bâtard, either oblivious to or unconcerned by Nile’s predicament, keeps munching on his piece of peach, and Nile can’t help but smile down at him, reaching to rub at his head once more.

“You really are a good listener,” she tells him. “You’re still not my mom though. She’s the one I want to talk to.”

Bâtard looks up then, and straight at Nile with something that could almost pass for a purposefully flat expression...and, really, he’s not wrong. It’s nearing three am here which makes for...maybe ten or eleven in the evening in Chicago? And sure, Mom’s not so young anymore and could probably use the sleep...but today is her birthday, and Nile’s always tried to phone her on the day before, and she has a burner phone with her so, really, what’s stopping her?

Maybe the possibility of displeasing Andy, a bit. But, Nile thinks as she dials, they’re leaving tomorrow aren’t they? If she’s going to do it, at least she’s picking the least inconvenient time for it.

“N─yes?” Mom’s sleepy voice mumbles into the phone, better at the incognito game than she was when it all started two years ago. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Nile says, and smiles at her mother’s joyful, wordless exclamation. “Am I waking you up?”

“Nevermind that,” mom chides, “nevermind that! How are you? Where─well no, you can’t tell me where you are, but how are you?”

“Better now,” Nile says in a sigh, warmth and bittersweetness spreading in her chest as she leans back against the wall, finger still tracing circles on Bâtard’s head. “I mean. I miss you, but at least I get to hear you now.”

“Oh, I miss you too baby,” Mom says, tears audible in her voice, “but I’m so glad you called! Don’t tell your brother, but it’s definitely my favorite present this year!”

Nile smiles again, a little wobblier than she’d like, maybe, but not forced. This isn’t ideal and she wants more, but it’s better than not calling the way she’d planned to do. At her feet, in the dim silvery light of the moon, Bâtard looks just a little smug.

“Not a word,” Nile promises, knowing her mother is going to share the news herself anyway. “How was your day?”

“Oh it was nice! You know how I told Marjory down the street I felt ready to celebrate a little more this year now I got used to you being dead and all, so she treated me to lunch at that new Italian on the corner─you tell your Nuncio he was right, by the way, osso bucco is delicious. And then we went for a stroll in the park, and I was a little worried, because I’m still supposed to be grieving, but you’re alive and I wasn’t sure I’d look suitably emotional when we passed your favorite spots, but I do miss you so it really wasn’t that hard and all in all it was nice and Marjory’s none the wiser so I’m calling it a success.”

“I’m sorry,” Nile says, unsurprised when Mom tuts at her in response. “I know, I know. I still wish you didn’t have to lie to her.”

“Nile, baby, if Marjory knew, she’d understand. Now you stop worrying about her and tell me what your day was like.”

“It was alright,” Nile says, rolling her neck as the tension slowly seeps out of it, the breaths coming slower and easier now that she’s actually doing what she’s wanted to do all day. “I missed you. Jaamal taught me how to draw a dog, though, and then Antaram kicked my butt in training again.”

“Just you wait a few years,” Mom says with a chuckle, “then you can take advantage of her age.”

Nile snorts, even though she seriously doubts Andy will let an aging body get in the way of remaining the best fighter of the group. She might look past forty─although she doesn’t remember how long she’d lived before she died the first time─but she’s also been fighting since before horses were domesticated (or near enough), and all that expertise doesn’t just go away.

It’s still an amusing thought, though, so Nile chuckles along with her mother for a bit before continuing.

“It’s not that bad. I’m learning a lot.”

“Of course, of course! I’m just saying.”

“Of course,” Nile repeats, still smiling. “Anyway, that’s about it. Nuncio made us tagine, Jaamal made fun of him because apparently he cooks like a christian─I’m pretty sure that’s an inside joke. And then I was feeling a little down so Blàsi lent me Bâtard, and now I’m here.”

“Is Bâtard Franklin’s name?” Mom suggests when she hears Nile hiss at her slip up.

“Yes, but I don’t think he deserves it,” Nile says, grateful for her mother’s help. “I think we’re bonding. Either that or he just wants me for my fruit.” Mom chuckles. “He’s wearing a doctor’s outfit right now, by the way. I think it’s one of the homemade ones.”

It looks lumpier than the ones Bâtard wore at the beginning, at any rate, but in a way that makes it even cuter. Not that she needs the cozies to find Bâtard cute anymore. It’s entirely possible the tortoise doesn’t care one whit about her─she really doesn’t know a lot about them─but it’s clear that this little late night conversation was enough for Nile to bond with him.

“Oh, well, send me a picture if you can,” Mom says with the tone of a connoisseur readying to look at a newbie’s attempt, “see if I can give Blàsi some pointers.”

“I’ll try my best, but you know I can’t make promises,” Nile says, sadness creeping up again. “Places to see, things to do...you know how it is.”

“Speaking of,” Mom asks, “what time is it where you are? I mean─you can telle me that, right?”

“I can,” Nile says, smiling at her mother’s effort. “It’s uh...almost one AM.”

Nile yawns, unbidden, and then sighs.

“I think I need to go.”

“Yes you do,” Mom chides, teasing and firm all at once. “You’re not going to accomplish anything if you’re dead on your feet─off to bed, Nile.”

“I don’t want to,” Nile protests, not trying very hard to keep the pout out of her voice. “It’s your birthday.”

“It’s okay,” Mom says, and the tone of her voice is like a hug Nile wants to linger in forever. “I understand. I’m just glad you called.”

“I’m glad too,” Nile says, wiping at a stray tear on her cheek. “Happy birthday, mom.”

“I love you, baby,” Mom says, and Nile grins through a fresh wave of tears.

“Forever and ever?”

“Of course forever,” Mom promises with something like an amused eye roll in her tone. “Now go to sleep.”

“Yes mom. Bye.”

“Bye bye, love you.”

“Love you too,” Nile says, and then she reluctantly disconnects the call.

She’s still feeling blue, it’s true, but it’s a different sort of ache now, the sort that’s softened enough to be a fond remembrance of someone you love rather than a knife to the heart. It isn’t something Nile has figured out how to value yet, but it could be, someday, maybe. With a watery sigh and a smile, Nile bends to pick Bâtard up─he’s fallen asleep, it seems, all snuggled up in his shell and entirely unresponsive in the time it takes for her to scribble a quick thanks at the bottom of Booker’s note and bring Bâtard back to his terrarium in the old parlor.

“M’ci,” Booker mutters from the seat to her left, and Nile almost has a heart attack.

When she turns to scold Booker for it, however, he’s already back to sleep─or feigning sleep, she’s not entirely sure─his back to the door to the bedroom and turned towards the only unboarded window, which they’ve been using as an entry and exit point. Nile sighs, shaking her head, and goes to the room she shares with the others, only to jump again when she lies down on her mattress and finds herself face to face with Andy’s eyes shining in the moonlight.

“I fear the day my sleep patterns start matching yours,” Nile whispers to Andy, and sighs when all that garners her is a sharp smile. “How are you not dead on your feet?”

“I’m old enough to transcend the need for sleep.”

Nile punches her in the shoulder.

“Feeling any better?”

“Yes, actually,” Nile says, trying to shift into a comfortable position. “I talked to my mother...it’s always too short but. It’s good.”

“Good,” Andy says. There’s a pause, and then she adds, “Nile, I’m sorry.”

Nile blinks at the darkness. It’s been seven years, and while she knows full well Andy is perfectly capable of recognizing her shortcomings, it’s the first time Nile hears her actually apologize for anything. She’s got a right to be a little startled, she thinks.

“I was with Book on this,” Andy explains when the silence between them has stretched a little while longer. “Not seeing your family again, I mean. I didn’t think it could turn out well, either...sure didn’t do him any good. Or Lykon, for that matter.”

“To be fair,” Nile admits after a beat, “I get it. I’m probably just very lucky. And I...I’ll lose them anyway. Sooner or later. I don’t─I’m glad I still have them for a bit, even if it hurts but...sometimes, I think at least the clean break was...easier.”

Andy stays quiet at that, eyes still looking at Nile in the darkness. Nile resists the urge to squirm under those eyes, but she’s not surprised when the urge to elaborate becomes too strong:

“It’s just...before my mom saw us, I didn’t have to wonder how this was affecting everyone. No contact, stay out of Chicago for another fifty years, maybe a little more, and that was it. It hurt, but at least the path was clear. Now I keep wanting to call her not knowing if I should. I have to use fake names to tell her about the most important people in my life, who she’ll never meet─I’m making her lie to her best friend!”

On the other side of the room, Nicky snorts in his sleep, and Nile smiles through her anguish as it morphs into a soft snore.

“They’ve been friends since elementary school, you know,” Nile tells Andy when she’s sure Nicky isn’t waking up. “They tell each other everything, and now my mom has to lie to her because of me. I don’t know how she can bear it.”

She pauses, breathing through the sudden tightness in her throat, and concludes:

“I don’t know how long she’ll bear it.”

Andy hums.

“I don’t have any advice for you Nile,” she says eventually. “I don’t really remember how that went for me, it’s been too long. But...even now, sometimes I─it’s hard, living without your family. Even at my age.”

“I...I didn’t know you felt like that,” Nile admits. “I thought you’d grown past that.”

“I don’t think we’re meant to,” Andy says. “I can’t remember what my parents looked like, or what it was like to be a child...but I do know what it’s like to want someone else to take care of your shit for a while.”

Nile grins, surprised into a light laughter that’s almost a giggle. Sometimes it’s easy to forget Andy is as human as any of them, even if she’s the oldest person on Earth. Discovering moments of relatability is always a delight and a relief all at once.

“I know we’re not your mom or your family,” Andy says after a while, the smile fading from her voice as she grows more serious, “and we’re not trying to be. But you’re─I won’t get angry if we’re not enough. You don’t have to...to hide it from me. You don’t have to stay alone and just...assume. There’s been too much of that lately.”

Nile can’t see Andy’s face in the darkness, not when her eyes aren’t angled to catch the moonlight, but it’s not hard to guess where she’s looking. In the doorway, Nile can see the outline of Booker’s seat, one hand dangling over the armrest─bottle free for the second night in a row, though there’s still an empty glass nearby on the floor.

“What I mean,” Andy says, startling Nile again, “is that you don’t have to be ashamed if we’re not what you want or need. The fact that you value your family isn’t a weakness, or a flaw. Just because we’ve─just because most of us grew out of it doesn’t mean you’re wrong for still needing more time, especially when it’s so recent. This...I didn’t tell him that, and I should have, so now I’m telling you. Not to protect us, but because it’s true.”

“Thanks, Andy,” Nile says.

“Sure. Now go to sleep,” Andy orders fondly.

Nile snorts, gives Andy a light punch in the shoulder, and turns over to go to sleep.

#The Old Guard #Nile Freeman #TOG Fic #NileFreemanWeek2020 #Fanfiction #Bâtard the tortoise #s: Bâtard verse

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sasa-writes-fandom-things · 4 years ago

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Home alone - Part 2

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Shouta Aizawaxf!reader

Summary: After a steamy love making session you look forward to round 2 but quickly you realise that something changed.

Words: 2.2k+

Warnings: SMUT, explicit sexual content, fluff, established relationship

A/N: I never did a part 2 or anything but here we are. Thank you for sticking around! Hope you enjoy this. It made me so uwu and soft and Taylor Swifts new album helped so much.

Click here for part 1 > You could read this as a stand-alone if you wished tho.

The TV still flickered and bathed the lonely living room in cold white light. Faint light danced across the empty hallway indicating movements in the bathroom. The small room was filled with steam and the air felt pleasantly humid. The wetness stuck to you like a second skin, making you feel all sticky. But that wasn't the only reason you felt that way. Your tits were currently pressed against the fogged shower glass, leaving a nice and sexy print on the door. Shouta had told you to get cleaned up but the minute you stepped inside the shower you knew that he would follow you; ready for round 2. His stamina was something you were grateful for. Sex with him was satisfying to the very end. It happened every so often that your love game stretched out to the early hours of the morning.

One hand was wrapped around your neck holding you in place, as if you had any desire to move. His other hand gripped your hip to gave him more leverage. "Will you behave this time?," he murmured into your ear. You nodded your head and faced him; looking into his lust blown eyes. "I will be a good little slut." He squeezed your hip and started his haltered movements again. "We will see," he said sounding almost bored. Somehow his movements felt mechanic and you tried your best to blend it out, to focus on the delicious way his cock stretched your aching cunt. But after a while of monotone fucking you placed a hand on his lower belly, stopping him. "Is everything alright?," Concern was written over your face when you turned around, already missing the feeling of his dick inside you. Shouta avoided your questioning look as best as possible but given the narrow space it was a lost cause. He clicked his tongue in frustration and looked at you with a pained expression. "It's nothing," he tried to dismiss your concerns, already trying to turn you around again. You pressed your body into his and cupped his cheeks. "I am not blind or that needy, that I wouldn't notice the change," you reminded him playfully but your eyes stayed serious. A dry laugh escaped his lips and he reached behind you to open the shower door. He knew the mood was soured and that you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

While reaching for a towel to dry yourself off, you turned to your boyfriend once again. "Will you tell me what robbed me from a mind blowing orgasm?" Shouta stopped in his tracks and sighed heavily. You could feel his resistance crumble but he stayed silent. It made your heart clench. After all those years he still didn't trust you completely. "It's not that I don't trust you," he mumbled as if reading your mind. He walked past you in all his naked glory. "It's just... that I can't let you in."

You followed him into your shared bedroom where you caught him sitting - now dressed in a sweatpant - on the bed, face in both hands. You put on some clothes yourself and joined him. With caution you pried his hands off and the look in his eyes made your heart sink deep into your stomach. You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away angrily. Now was not the time to get emotional. Shouta looked at you and you could see that he was deeply worried. "They are kids for crying out loud and I am their teacher. It is my duty to protect them. Not the other way around," he choked out lowley. He wasn't used to laying his heart open, all those years it was only him and that was okay. But now there was someone else beside him. You placed your hands around his broader body, your arms not reaching around fully but you hugged him tightly nevertheless. All those apathetic looks and the annoyed comments he made about his pupils couldn't fool you. Deep down he cared so much for them that it nearly broke him into pieces everytime one of them got hurt. But right now in the dark bedroom Shouta didn't feel like falling apart and with a baffled look he realized that it was because of you. Your warm embrace kept him together, made him whole again. Overcome with a rush of emotion he grabbed you and pressed you tightly against himself, littering your face with kisses in the motion.

After the initial shock over this outburst of affection you couldn't help but giggle. You stopped him littering kisses everywhere he could reach and just looked at him. Slowly you traced the scar under his right eye, scooping closer to give it a quick peck. Then you continued to trace his nose with your index finger and after that you gave his nose a quick peck. With an honest smile Shouta let you do your little trace and kiss thing. By this time you two were lying almost completely on the bed, wrapped up in each other's embrace. He caught your hand and placed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. And after a long and meaningful look in which he tried to lay every emotion he felt for you, he leaned in to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

There was no rush to the kisses you two shared. Lips were connecting and parting without haste. It was a tender moment, shared between two hearts realising that they were one. Hands were exploring without urgency. Words were whispered heavy with meaning and thick with love. Bodies were pressing against each other with care and attention.

"I love you so much," Shouta confessed without shame or reluctance. You carded your fingers through his loose locks and smiled up at him. "I love you too," you responded lovingly, kissing him for the umpteenth time. He deepened the kiss, letting his tongue dart out and licking over your bottom lip. With a sigh you let him in, his wet muscle found yours in an instant. The air started to feel hot around you and you had to break the kiss for those hot air. "You and your wicked tongue will be the death of me," you chuckled lightly. "I am told that I have a sharp one," he grinned back at you. Your eyes scanned his face but the looming thoughts seemed to be gone for now. All you could see in his beautiful eyes were love. The sincerity took your breath away, it was not often that your beloved let his emotions be so visible - so out in the open.

Again Shouta connected your lips with his, engaging your tongue in a heated battle. Although it was far from sweet and innocent it felt different. As if something changed, his kisses were demanding but giving at the same time. His hands roamed your body, groped your tender flesh but they also held you and caressed you with awe that you couldn't help but wonder what had happened to your boyfriend. "You know I am not one for sharing my feelings and I am not comfortable expressing them with words either," Shouta looked at you during two deep and mind-numbing kisses. "So please let me show you tonight what I realized. Let my body tell you how I truly feel." His honest gaze and confession brought tears to your eyes and all you could do was nod with a strangled sob.

The air was charged with desire and love, it was an addicting mixture. Your lips found his for another kiss and you felt drunk and high of all the emotions he showed you. You never thought that you would cry during sex, not in that way. But every touch and movement hold a new meaning, it was as if you two had just met. It felt new and exciting but yet so intimate and familiar. Shouta peppered your skin with soft kisses, nipping at your weak spots or letting his wicked tongue glide over your perked nipples. You were so overwhelmed that all you could do was lay there and let this man worship you. Another strangled sob tried to escape your throat but a tender touch on one of your weak spots turned it into a gasped moan. You could see a smile lingering on his lips and in his eyes when your boyfriend looked back up at you.

“Just like that, Shouta,” Your thighs squeezed even tighter around his hips. Holding him in place, you didn’t want him to move just now. All you wanted, was savouring the moment of him on top of you, his bare chest pressed to yours and his cock fully sheathed in your cunt. “You feel so good around me,” Shouta moaned out and buried his head in the crook of your neck. You nudged his cheek with your nose, whispering into his ear with a playful smile. “Likewise.” A muffled sound which sounded oddly like a laugh made its way to your ear and hearing the man you loved laugh made your chest swell with pride and more love - if that was even possible. “I need to move, kitten,” his voice rasped over your ear sending a shiver down your spine. You bucked your hips up in a sudden motion, making him groan out loud. “What was that about behaving?” You only shot him a cheeky look before kissing him again. He spread your legs wide, placing his hands on your beautiful thighs, holding you in place. Whenever he bottomed out fully, he made sure to capture your gaze. Those demanding and calculated eyes kept you pinned to the bed. His gaze burned you, seared over your heated skin and pierced right into your heart. You inhaled sharply unable to look away. The intensity only fueling your desire and pushing you close to the edge. “I - want - you - to - remember that - I - will - always - love - you,” he emphasized his words with long, deep snaps from his hips, making his head of his cock kiss your cervix every time. Your fingers travelled down your body, reaching for his hands on your thighs. Interlacing your fingers with his, you freed your thighs from his grip. Now you were able to meet his harsh thrusts with your hips in response to his words.

Just one more kiss, just one more push and you would tumble over the edge into pure bliss. Shouta was close too, you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. You couldn’t help but dig your nails into his shoulder, earning a guttural groan. Your name fell from his lips like a mantra, his movements becoming quicker. He was pounding into you with erratic thrusts now, dragging over your g-spot so deliciously. Every time his cock was hitting you so deep you could feel the coil tightening inside your belly, ready to snap any minute. You tried to match his pace and move your hips in rhythm with his harsh thrusts, but it was no use. He altered his pace every time you tried to coming up to meet him. It wasn’t fair, every roll, snap and thrust made you crazy. Tears pricked your eyes and you didn’t bother to wipe them away. His eyes were closed and his face showed signs that he was holding back his own release. A gentle smile curled your lips and you brought your fingers to his neck, pulling him to your face. You licked over his ear, knowing that it was one of his weak spots. “Cum for me, Shouta,” you purred next to his ear. This was all he needed, with a deep growl he emptied his balls deep inside of you. His body went tense, he tried his utmost not to crash on top of your body. His arms were placed on either side of your head, holding him up while he was coming down from his high. You enjoyed the feeling of his cum painting your walls. Seeing him come undone by just a few words from you, shot a new and thrilling shiver right to your core. You mewled under him and rolled your hips in dire need of release. Your soft whimpered “Please.”, didn’t went by unnoticed. Shouta chuckled at your neediness. “Always my needy little kitten.” His skilled hand found your pulsing clit and with a few flicks suddenly your vision were blurry, white lights were dancing in front of your eyes and static filled your ears. Your whole body went rigid and now it seemed that all strength had left you. Heavily panting you needed a few seconds to recover from that intense orgams.

You could feel the bed dip and something wet was placed between your legs. Through your weary mind you registered that Shouta had cleaned you with a washcloth. Warmth were spreading through your body and the strength was returning to your limbs. The second time the bed dipped, your boyfriend layed next to you. His hair was tied into a loose bun and he was caressing your cheek. “Thank you,” he ushered lowley. You looked at him questioningly for a few seconds but then you understood. A smile reached your lips. You grabbed his chin and dragged his lips to yours. “Always and as many times as you need,” you whispered before sealing his lips with yours.

__________

Tagging: @enjifuckersupreme @yukiimanic @vaseshipghost @callmekda @karebear5118 @devilslittlebabygirl @bakatenshii

#sasa writes #bnha scenario #bnha smut #bnha fanfiction #mha scenario #mha smut #mha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta x reader #home alone #home alone part 2 #hawtn'horny

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missfangirll · 4 years ago

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Ad astra per aspera

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Fandom: Guardian Relationship: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan Tags: Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-it Words: 2223 Summary: Ye Zun has a whole lot of revelations.

Read on AO3

- - -

“Why did he do it?” Ye Zun almost screamed, but the person opposite him didn’t reply. He had been raging for a while now and didn't expect a reaction, so he just inhaled and continued. “He left me, he fucking went away, and then he stuffed me in this fucking pillar and left me again!” He was panting now, his voice getting hoarse. “And then he made himself into a fucking bomb and tried to kill… I don't even know, himself, me, both of us? What have I done to deserve being left by him my whole life, huh?” When no response followed, he let himself fall back into the couch, covering his face with his arm.

“Are you done?”

He groaned at the other’s casual tone, ready to shoot back a quip, when he heard him say softly, “He didn’t leave you when you were kids, you know?”

Abruptly, Ye Zun sat up, staring at the other. “What would you know about that?,” he snapped. Da Qing sighed. “He told me once… We had been friends for a while already, and that day, on a mission we lost two soldiers. Twins. “He inhaled shakily. ”He told me then that he had lost his little brother, too, and how that had happened.” He paused to look at Ye Zun, a soft look in his eyes. “You might remember it differently, but that day, the Rebel Chief found you two and used his powers on you after trying to kill your brother.” Ye Zun’s breathing came to a halt. The cat continued, “He threw Shen Wei off the cliff and thinking him dead, tried to kill you too, at least that’s what your brother saw from below, but you didn't cower before the Chief and maybe he liked that defiant spirit, I have no idea, but it probably saved your life. He took you away, while your brother tried for years to find you, but never could.” Da Qing looked at him again. “He never forgot you, Ye Zun. He never stopped loving you, and he never stopped looking for you.”

Ye Zun couldn't breathe. He felt as if his chest was held in an iron fist, his eyes burning with the unshed tears of a lifetime of sorrow and grief. In a daze, he sank back into the sofa, staring unseeing at the opposite wall. Dimly, he felt Da Qing put a hand on his shoulder, but he was too stunned to even shake it off.

He didn't leave.

He tried to find me.

And then, a voice in his mind added, He hasn't left this time, either.

After a while, he found his voice again. “How,” he began hoarsely, clearing his dry throat. “How do you know all that? When…” He trailed off, and the other snorted softly. “You want to know how old I am?” He smirked slightly. “You’re older than me, I think, but not much. I still have some memory issues, but most of it has returned, so I’m pretty sure you should remember me, too.” Ye Zun stared at him, uncomprehending. The cat chuckled again. “We met before, dimwit, when you tried to kill us and get the hallows.” Ye Zun bristled, and before he could stop himself, blurted out, “Apparently I didn't try hard enough.” With wide eyes he stared at the other for a second, until they both snorted, then started laughing. Wheezing, Ye Zun hid his face in his hands to quell the bubbling mirth, and after they both had calmed down a bit, let his arms sink again, leaning back into the sofa. Looking at the other, he had the feeling of truly seeing him for the first time. He had of course looked over the Yashou when they first met, but then his thoughts had been full of violence and he only had seen strengths and potential weaknesses. Now, he looked more closely, taking in the other’s features. He had thought the cat looked very young, but this close it was apparent that he was older than he let on, even without the revelation from before. But he had kept a boyish aura full of mischief, his eyes sparkling bright in the sunlight, a few remaining tears in his lashes. Then, he raked a hand through his already dishevelled hair and suddenly, Ye Zun had to swallow hard and avert his gaze. He didn’t even know why, but had the sudden feeling that the other shouldn’t see the look in his eyes.

Da Qing smiled at him. “Are you hungry? We could grab some take-out on the way back to the hospital,” he offered. “There is a place not far down the street that has really good noodles.”

Ye Zun nodded, his throat dry. “Noodles sound good”, he agreed.

They had been bickering the whole way to the food stall, falling into an easy routine together, and Ye Zun discovered their edges and thorns somehow fit together, like gears. Da Qing never once had commented on his sometimes blatant lack of experience with modern things, he had just laughed and stated that he was used to his brother’s ignorance regarding everything that came with a plug, explaining things to him without even having been asked to. They ate together, enjoying the last warmth of the evening sun and Ye Zun suddenly realised how much he had missed this. He felt more at ease than he had in… decades? Centuries? Millenia? Probably the latter, he mused, since his life hadn’t been very pleasant after… Angrily, he pushed that thought aside, trying to focus on the present instead. Closing his eyes, he savoured the warmth on his face, the taste of food, the sounds of the busy road, and somehow, he felt his mind quiet down, for the first time in a long while.

His good mood lasted exactly two steps into Shen Wei’s hospital room, until someone said with audible annoyance, “Oh, it’s you.” Swallowing down the anger that started to rise, he gave the other a stiff smile that bordered on a snarl, then turned to his brother.

Ever since he had come back with the SID, Zhao Yunlan had been wary of him, as if he expected him any minute to drop the act and start throwing dark energy. The fact that he couldn’t had been hard to swallow for all of them, even if for vastly different reasons. He knew his brother felt horrible that he had caused his… current condition, but Zhao Yunlan apparently had more complicated feelings. Ye Zun didn’t understand half of it, but Da Qing had told him that the two SID members he presumably had killed when he infiltrated the SID had somehow returned, unscathed and, according to the cat, even without hard feelings about the whole ordeal. So, the main reason for Zhao Yunlan’s animosity had dissipated, and in addition to the fact that he was now totally, utterly powerless, this had led to Zhao Yunlan treating him like a younger cousin who had broken his favourite toy. It wasn’t the blazing hatred he was used to, more like a constant needling whenever he got the chance, and Ye Zun found it very annoying and very exhausting.

Thus he didn’t protest as the other stood up, kissed Shen Wei insistently as if to prove a point and then strolled out of the room to meet with Da Qing. Shen Wei sighed, looking exasperated, then turned his gaze towards his brother and smiled. Ye Zun smiled back, feeling himself calm down.

Since his brother had woken up, there had been brief moments of utter happiness, a bubble of contentment where nothing else existed but his brother’s smile and a warm hand holding his. Nothing but his whispered didi that Ye Zun had been sure never to hear again, which, when he heard it again for the first time, forced him to press his eyes shut, else he’d throw himself over Shen Wei’s chest and sob uncontrollably.

Even his brother’s lover and the cat left them alone for these moments, and he just floated in the feeling of having his brother close. If he opened his eyes, every single one of his problems would still be there, but right now they could go screw themselves. (Zhao Yunlan could, too, screw himself that is, but the cat could stay if he wanted, Ye Zun decided. He was annoying at times, but had listened to his outbursts and not flinched away, which was more than anyone had done for him in a while.)

Exhaling softly, Shen Wei raised his free hand from the bed and pushed a stray strand of hair behind Ye Zun’s ear, the gesture making him feel being eight again, when all he had in the world was his big brother. He smiled at him. “How are you feeling?”

Shen Wei smiled back. “Alright, I think.” Seeing his brother take a breath to protest, he chuckled softly. “I mean it, didi. I feel fine, better than I have for a while, to be honest. I hadn't expected to--” he broke off, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, then continued in a neutral tone, “anyway, I have no serious injuries and my dark energy is almost back to its normal level, so it shouldn’t--” he interrupted himself again, this time looking apologetic. Ye Zun knew instantly what he was thinking and waved it off, trying to look unbothered. “It’s good that your powers are back,” he said, proud his voice didn't waver. Still, Shen Wei gave him a complicated look. “Didi,” he said gently, “I am sorry. I didn't know that this would… That it would take your…. I thought it would…” He trailed off, biting his bottom lip. Ye Zun couldn't remember ever seeing his brother this unsure of himself, but in this moment also couldn't think about it.

You didn't think it would take my powers. You expected it to kill us both, or at least yourself. We both got a second chance and you don't know what to do with it either.

Very careful not to show his thoughts on his face, he shook his head and gave the other a stiff smile. “Don’t think about it anymore, it’s in the past. We should focus on the future.” Immediately, Shen Wei’s face lit up. Da Qing had told Ye Zun that the human-- Zhao Yunlan , he corrected himself, had gone and bought a house before everything went to hell in Dixing, and now there was talk of him and Shen Wei moving there. It was close to the university and even closer to the SID, had a garden and all that other domestic nonsense people in love cared about. Ye Zun inwardly hated that house and everything it stood for with a passion, but it made Shen Wei happy to talk about it, and so he swallowed his feelings and smiled with all his teeth.

Predictably, Shen Wei began to ramble about the move, listing things he’d need to pack, things that he needed to get from his office, and a myriad of other details Ye Zun wasn't interested in in the slightest, but he smiled and nodded regardless, letting his mind wander. Only when he heard his brother pause, he turned his attention back to him, finding himself confronted with the other’s scrutinizing stare. Apparently he had been asked a question. “Umm,” he responded creatively, not quite sure how to mask the fact that he hadn't been listening, when his brother continued, “I know that you’re not accustomed to living with other people, but I think it might be good for you.” Ye Zun stared at him. He had missed a very vital part of that conversation, it seemed, and now his brain spun uncontrollably what exactly his brother could have meant. Did he want him to move to campus, to live in a dorm with his students, so he would be able to have him under his control again? Ye Zun shuddered. No. That wasn't very different from the pillar, and just thinking about this thing made him nauseous. He began to shake his head, but before he could voice his protest, Shen Wei added, “I know Da Qing can be irritating at times, but I have lived with him as well and he really is a good roommate. Just make sure you have enough fish snacks,” he said with a smile, but Ye Zun was too stunned to react. “Da… Qing?,” he wheezed finally. Shen Wei raised an eyebrow. “Did you listen to anything I said earlier?,” he asked, sounding mildly exasperated, but his brother just stared. With a sigh, Shen Wei explained, “I was saying that, when we move to the house, Zhao Yunlan's apartment will be empty. I don't know if Da Qing is going to move with us or if he wants to stay, but either way you can have the apartment. It’s not that large and the furniture is…,” he tactfully cleared his throat, “but I think you would like it. It’s close to a mall and Da Qing said there are a lot of bars around, not that I would know person--” Shen Wei huffed a startled laugh when Ye Zun threw himself bodily over his brother’s torso, both arms around his neck, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” he muffled into the t-shirt the other was wearing, trying desperately not to cry. Shen Wei laughed silently and patted his back. “You should thank Zhao Yunlan, it was his idea.” Ye Zun groaned petulantly.

Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter

#镇魂 guardian #guardian #zhen hun #zhao yunlan #shen wei #weilan #da qing #ye zun #dazun #my writing #ad astra per aspera

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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 4 years ago

Text

Sounds of Someday - CH 2

Title: Sounds of Someday

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: E (eventually)

Tags: canon typical violence, character death, kind of cuz you know, nothing really dies in Supernatural, smut, fluff, bit of angst

Summary: Sam was dead, Cas was lost forever, and Dean's entire world had been turned upside down in less than an instant. He was alone, again, a typical Winchester ending, but god damn if that was how he was going to leave it. He was going to get Sam back, he was going to get Cas back, and he was going to fix everything that had fallen apart, and now he was going to do it all with twin babies and the king of hell back on his side. Season sixteen… here we go.

MASTERLIST

AO3

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

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Chapter two

Jody Mills tapped the wooden spoon in her hand on the side of the pot, splattering her famous spaghetti sauce all over the white of her stove top. The doorbell rang again, followed by a persistent knocking as she scowled into the pot of sauce, angrily dropping the spoon into the empty sauce can beside her. She swiped her half full wine glass off the counter as the knocking and ringing continued, and she stormed towards the door wondering who would have the gaul to be so arrogant on a Sunday afternoon.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, keep your pants on, yeesh!" She called out, grumbling to herself about the arrogance of some people as she finally made it to the door. She quickly swung it open, ready to give the person on the other side a huge piece of her mind, but instead she only managed a stunned, "Dean?!"

"Jody," he breathed.

"Dean Winchester! Where the hell have you been?!" Though it wasn't exactly the warm welcome Dean had been hoping for, he was still happy to have this nonetheless. "I haven't heard from you in ages, and now you just randomly show up on my doorstep, unannounced, on a Sunday afternoon? And those…" She looked down to the two car seats, one in each of his hands and pointed to them, "Are… are those babies? You have babies?!"

He just nodded and looked to her with his still red rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks. When she was finally able to take him fully in, getting past the initial shock of seeing him after so long with no word as to why, she realized there must be more to this then at first glance and quickly ushered him inside. "Let's get you all inside, I do believe I'm entitled to a very lengthy and detailed explanation of what the hell's going on here."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You were dead?"

Jody looked up at Dean from where she was sitting on the couch across from him, playing with the babies in the car seats where they sat on her coffee table. He just looked back at her with a solemn expression and nodded.

"Yeah, or at least I thought I was. Turns out I was just in some sort of Chuck induced fever dream for four years."

"And Sam?"

It wasn't missed on Jody the way Dean's entire being died with the question, the already dimming light completely fading from his eyes. She already had her answer.

"He's dead, he's back at Bobby’s right now," he confirmed with a nod, "and Cas is… he's gone too, the Empty took him."

"When the hell did that happen?!"

Dean just shook his head, thinking back. He wasn't sure if he should tell her, hell he wasn't even sure if he was ready to say it out loud himself. But he figured who better to bear it all to then Jody, a woman who had basically been his mom for years now.

So he nodded to himself, trying in a way to convince himself it was okay, then scrubbed a hand down his face as he looked up to her, "It, uh… it happened right after he allowed himself to be truly happy."

She gave him a questioning look and asked, "And that was how?"

"He…" He waited a beat, took a deep breath, then continued, "He told me he loved me."

Jody's eyebrows shot nearly straight into her forehead, and her bottom lip shrugged out almost in that typical Winchester way. "Well, okay, yeah, that makes sense."

"That… that makes sense?" He scrunched his face at her, "The hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"Exactly what it sounds like," she chuckled lightly, "you two were always so oblivious. Everyone knew that you were both in deep for each other, the only two who didn't know it was you. At least one of you finally said something."

"Yeah," he scrubbed his face again and sighed into his hands, "and as soon as he did, the Empty took him away. He never should have made that deal with the Empty. He let himself be happy, told me he loved me, and then to save me he let the Empty take him away from me for it. I didn't have a chance to say anything before he was gone. I just… I just stood there like an idiot."

"But you're gunna save him right?" She asked, then turned a wide smile on one of the babies as they cooed at her.

"What?”

“Oh don't you play me for a fool, Dean Winchester,” she eyed him from the side, “I know you, and I know that even if it takes everything you’ve got, you will find a way to bring back both your brother and Cas. You'll have your chance to talk to Cas about this, I'm sure of it.”

“But that's just the thing Jody, I can't do that anymore,” he gestured to the two little ones in front of him, “I have these two now, kids, I can't go running around all reckless like I used to. I have to make sure I’m there for these two, I have to be a good dad.”

“Seems you're off to a good start at least, thinking like that,” she smiled at him softly, “but I'm sure together we can find a way around this. We'll find a way to bring them back without having to go the familiar route of the typical Winchester sacrifice.”

He just nodded, thankful but not really knowing exactly how to put in words just how much that all meant to him.

“And if you decided that you wanted to keep hunting after we got them both back, then we'll find a way around that too, I know it’s important to you.”

She reached over and placed her hand on Dean's knee, giving it a little shake. He managed to give her the smallest hint of a smile, which she returned, then looked back to the two small bundles still cooing on her coffee table.

“I still can't believe that these two precious little munchkins are God and the Darkness. Two very horrible people we once tried to kill,” she looked up from the babies, “how… how do you feel about that, I mean, the last time I saw you, you were pissed at Chuck and now you're raising him.”

“It's… an interesting development,” he stood from the chair across from Jody and moved to sit beside her, looking at both the babies. Chuck was still awake, wide eyed and looking at everything, and Amara was sound asleep in the car seat beside him. He smiled a little, lifting his hand to run his finger down Chuck's little cheek, “I know who they were, but they aren't that anymore, they're just babies now, human. No power, no memories, just little Chuck and Amara Winchester. A once God turned human and his now equally human twin sister.”

“Wait, Winchester? I was wondering what you would be doing for last names.”

“I don't really have much of a choice.” He reached into the side pocket of Chuck's seat, pulling out the envelope he had found earlier and handed it to Jody.

She gave him a curious look then turned to open it, dumping the contents into her lap. She rifled through, looking at every piece, eyes widening as she went deeper.

“Did Chuck do this?!”

Dean nodded, “Just before he blew us back to reality.”

“Birth certificates,” she lifted each piece as she said it, “he made both of them Winchesters, officially. Guess he thought of everything.”

“Not everything,” Dean grumbled, “he zapped the three of us back here with no supplies for the babies, no formula, no diapers, no cribs, no place to live, and it's going to be hard to find a place by myself that's going to take an ex-hunter single dad with two kids and a dog.”

“You're not going back to the Bunker?”

“No,” he answered a bit too fast, then sighed, “no, not right now at least. I… I just can't right now after losing Sam and Cas.”

She nodded, understanding how he felt. “Well you know, i've got some extra rooms in the house since the girls left. Claire’s never here aside from a quick visit to check in for the sake of my sanity between hunts, Patience is off to college so she'll be back in the summer but that's it, and Alex is still working at the hospital in town but she's now all moved in with her boyfriend. That gives you a room for yourself, a room for the twins, and then we still have a spare room for when the girls come to visit.”

“Are you… you want me to move in here?”

“Why not?” She shrugged.

“Jody, I can't just move in with no notice like this, I don't wanna impose on you.”

“Dean, honey, you are not imposing,” she placed a hand on his knee and gave it a light squeeze, “I am happy to help. So you, the babies, and your dog are all going to be living here starting now until further notice. And as for the rest, the supplies for the babies, I can also help you with that. I don't have anything left over from when my son was little, but it's nothing a quick trip to the store can't fix.”

“Jody I can't, “ he shook his head, “I can't ask that much of you, and I've still got so much to deal with, and Sam… I’ve still got to bury Sam,” he whispered the last part, voice cracking, choking back a sob as he tried to hide it behind his hand.

“Dean, please,” she leaned forward on the couch and looked into his eyes, “I want you here, and this isn't something you should have to go through alone.

“I… I don't know what to say.”

“Don't say anything,” she smiled at him, “once we take care of Sam we’ll head to the store, grab what we need for the babies, then you can grab what you need from the Bunker and get settled in here.”

He just nodded, staring at the floor unable to actually look at jody right now, “Thanks, Jody, this really means a lot.”

“We’ll get through this, Dean, okay, one step at a time.” He just nodded again as Jody gave him one last squeeze then stood and said, “Let's get to the store so these babies have food, then we'll head over to Bobby’s… and take care of Sam.”

She left him to sit on the couch for a few minutes, to think over everything and have a little time to process, time she was sure he hadn't allowed himself to have yet, and started gathering her things to wait for him outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean pulled up to the all too familiar junk yard that was home for him once upon a time. Home for him and his little brother all those years ago when John was too busy hunting to be a father, too riled up in his revenge and anger to be a dad, too misguided and self centered to be a parent. But all for the better, Dean thought as he drove through the maze of piled up cars, because they found something better.

In those old worn down walls they found a man more worthy of being their father then John ever was. A man who actually cared for them not just as children, but even later in life when they showed up lost and alone on his doorstep. Even on his dying breath he loved them like the sons he considered them to be. In those old worn down walls they felt true love.

He pulled the impala to a stop outside the burned down and broken remains of Bobby's old place. He remembered how he felt the day he drove in to find the place up in flames, after the Leviathans had destroyed it, killed Bobby, ruined their lives. Dean thought they had taken everything away from them. But he realized soon after, when they buried Bobby there, that as soon as he stepped foot on the soil outside that burnt up mess, it was still home.

There may not have been much of a house left, and Bobby was gone for good, but the feeling that Dean always felt when he was there never left. It was something the Leviathans or anything else could ever take away from him. The memories, the love, that feeling of home. And in the end, Dean couldn't think of a better place to bury his brother. Sammy would want to be home.

He got out of the car, breathing in the sweet Sioux Falls air he loved so much, and walked to the back doors to start getting the babies car seats out of the back as Jody drove up and parked beside him. He got both seats out of the impala and placed them on the ground, watching as Jody pulled the new double stroller they just bought out of the back of her van, and pushed it over to Dean.

He lifted Chuck first, holding his seat over the front of the stroller, testing and turning it a few times before he asked, "How…?"

Jody just laughed and reached for the car seat, "Here, it goes facing you, and just clips in like this "

At the simple little snap Dean eyed the stroller warily and reached out to give the car seat handle a little test jiggle, "Is this safe? It doesn't seem safe at all, I mean that was too easy!"

"It's perfectly safe, Dean, you insisted we got the most top of the line everything for the babies, and according to the clerk at the store, and the seven articles you read on the way there, that's exactly what we got. And the articles said it was tested and proven the best stroller in America right?" She laughed as he just nodded sheepishly. "Don't worry so much, Dean, you're gunna be a fine daddy. Now you try clipping Amara into the bottom part of the stroller."

It took him a few tries, but eventually he had both babies clipped in and he was pushing the stroller towards the back of the house. The pire he had already set up before going to Jody was still there, Sam wrapped in a white sheet in the center. He stopped for a moment, not really able to move or breathe as he just stared at Sam. This wasn't what he wanted, this was never what he wanted, he had what he wanted and it turned out to be a stupid fake reality. Everything was falling apart at the seams.

Jody lifted her hand and squeezed his shoulder, urging him forwards. He nodded and walked closer to Sam with Jody by his side, and after making sure the babies were at a very safe distance from the pire, he pulled his lighter out of his pocket. He shifted it from hand to hand for a moment, staring at the dirt, trying to find the right words to say.

"Well, Sammy," he choked out, trying to hold back tears, "I'm sorry. I tried, I really tried, but I couldn't help you. But mark my words, I will find a way to bring you back. I promise you."

He waited another moment before he nodded to himself, then tossed the lighter and took a step back to stand with Jody. They watched as the pire lite up, standing side by side, and there was no stopping the tears now while he watched his brother burn.

"This isn't permanent, you know," she said from beside Dean, "it's only temporary. We will find a way to make this right again. We always have."

He took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jody shifted over and wrapped an arm around him, "When you're ready, we’ll head to the bunker and get what you need. Then we'll get back home, get the cribs set up in their room, and get you and the babies settled."

"Yeah," he cleared his throat and turned to look at Jody, "let's get the babies home."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean stood in the entryway to the Bunker, his legs unable to move. This was the last place they were all together. The last place that he, Cas, and Sam were all together. It was also the place where he lost Cas. Where he confessed his love to Dean, where he stood stock still and did nothing, said nothing as Cas was taken from his life again. It's where he spiralled after that, falling to his rage and anger, feeling the loss of Cas again though this time it weighed differently. He knew Cas loved him, had loved him all those years together when he'd been too afraid to say anything. Losing Cas always ripped his heart out, but knowing how Cas felt, that his hidden feelings for the angel were reciprocated, knowing that they had lost so many years when they could have been together, it made the pain infinitely worse. And he felt that pain renewed as he stood just before the threshold to the place that held his worst nightmares inside. And what was worse was that now he stood here alone. No brother… no Cas, just himself and the bad memories.

"You ready?"

He turned to Jody who was now standing beside him, holding both car seats. He jolted out of his flashing memories of losing Cas just beyond this door, took one of the seats from her, sighed and said, "As ready as I can be. Let's just get this over with."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean wanted to spend as little time in the Bunker as possible. The bad memories as of late outweighed the good and all he wanted was to get in and get out. So after putting the sleeping babies in the lounge, he rattled off a list of things for Jody to find, and the two split up to cover more ground faster. And with the promise from Jody that if ever they needed something else from the Bunker, she would come get it so that Dean never had to come back after this. She could tell it was really hurting him to even be in here for this short of a time.

After about an hour the two met back up in the map room, shoving their findings into the few duffels Dean grabbed from his old room, when a pounding at the door had them both frozen and silent. Eyes wide, Dean looked to Jody for an answer who just shook her head, as lost as he was.

The pounding came again and this time Dean's heart felt a little jolt of hope and he perked up slightly. Afterall, it had happened before so why not now? "Cas?!"

"Oi! Someone open up will ya!"

He sighed, but why would he be so lucky.

He and Jody both exchanged unimpressed glances as Dean headed up the stairs to open the door, though just enough to stick his head out.

"What do you want, Crowley?! I am not in the mood!"

"Easy, Squirrel, easy," he held both hands up, "not here to bother you, just came to find out why in the bloody hell the world suddenly jolted back to life after four years. Figured if anyone had anything to do with it, it would be one of you lot. Gunna let me in?"

Dean just rolled his eyes and backed away to let him in. "You could have just snapped your way in like you usually do."

"Didn't want to be rude now, Squirrel.". He strolled in, hands in his pockets and looked around. He eyed Jody at the bottom of the stairs and raised a brow. "Where’s Moose?"

"Dead."

"Ah," he nodded, seemingly unfazed, "and your devilishly handsome boyfriend?"

Dean shook a little at the mention of Cas, but answered through gritted teeth, "He's in the Empty, for good this time."

It didn't pass Crowley that he never even bothered to deny the boyfriend comment but he went on anyway as they headed down the stairs together. "You seem fairly untroubled by the fact that I am indeed alive. Last we saw each other I "killed myself"," he turned to use air quotes at Dean who rolled his eyes again, "back when we were fighting my old compadre in the Endverse world."

"Yeah well, after the last four or so years that I've had, nothing really phases me anymore."

"Assuming this has something to do with the world being frozen. Glad you're back by the way. The world was boring while Chucky had it frozen. No deals to be made, no fun to be had."

"Where were you all that time, huh?" He turned Crowley back to look at him, "How did you not die, what did you do?"

"Ah well, that. I had a contingency plan in place in case one of you clots should be my end."

"Of course you did, what was this brilliant plan?"

"Pulled myself a Voldemort." He smiled smugly at Dean who just furrowed his brows.

"You… what?!"

"I put a small piece of myself in some sorry sap down in New Mexico before Lucifer pulled his second tantrum of the decade, and after I killed myself I was able to use that piece of myself to be resurrected. As for where I've been, it takes time to recover from such a trauma you know, so surf, sun, and sandals."

"I, you… did you just make a Harry Potter reference?" He was still stuck on the first part of the conversation.

And though Dean was confused, Crowley looked almost impressed, "Didn't take you for a Potterhead, Squirrel."

"Of course I've watched Harry Potter," he scoffed, "Hermione kicks ass! She'll be a good role model for the kids when they watch it with me when they're older.”

"Kids..? Yours? You have kids," he turned, looking around the room for little rugrats tearing the place apart, then back to Dean, " Did I miss something?!"

"You have no idea-" Crying came from the room behind them and Dean just closed his eyes and let out a full body sigh, "Damn it, I was hoping they'd stay asleep till we got home."

He left for a moment then came back in the room bouncing a tiny baby in one arm, and carrying another car seat in his other hand.

When Dean walked up to Crowley he had to laugh a bit despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He was sure he had never seen such a look of genuine confusion on his face as he darted his eyes back and forth between the babies. "Is that…?"

Dean just nodded, "Chuck and Amara."

Crowley walked over to Dean, still a little shook that he was looking at two creatures he used to fear once upon a time. When he was close enough he bent down slightly, looking into Chuck’s car seat, "Capitol G, look at you now," then up to Amara in his arms, "and the Darkness. And now you're their… father?"

"Apparently," he placed Chuck’s seat down by his feet and took the outstretched bottle from Jody as she came back from the kitchen, "they didn't give me much choice. Just fixed reality, put me back on Earth, sent Sam to Heaven, and just poofed themselves into human babies with paperwork saying they’re Winchesters."

"And how do we feel about that?" Crowley asked, "You're now father to the creature who made your life a living hell for years, who tried more than once to kill you, and attempted to destroy the Earth. Doesn't it bother you to now be caring for the little hellraiser?"

Dean shrugged. Sure, he'd thought about all that, thought about how angry Chuck had made him, the things he did near the end, and Amara was no saint in her own way. But when Dean looked down at Amara in his arms, and Chuck still sleeping soundly in the car seat at his feet, he found himself smiling as he answered Crowley's question, "It doesn't bother me. It may have bothered me for a split second when everything was being thrown in my face all at once with Sam's death, my reality, the babies. But then I realized that even though this is Chuck and Amara, God and the Darkness, in a way it's not. They have no memories of what they did before they started their lives over as humans, they're just babies, humans now. And I'm going to make sure they're loved and cared for, always, as every baby should be."

"My," Crowley raised a brow as he stared at Dean, a little mixed between impressed and speechless, "that's very noble of you. I myself don't think I’d be able to do the same."

"You couldn't even raise your own son, Crowley. What was his name… Gavin? That kid was a mess because of you," Dean rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't expect you to suddenly grow a heart."

"Glad we're on the same page then," he smirked, then walked a little closer to Dean, looking him up and down once. Dean eyed him cautiously, watching his movements, then he looked back at Dean after one last look over, "although, Dean Winchester with babies, very… dilf of you, Dean."

Dean scoffed, "In your dreams, Crowley."

He just smirked over at Dean, and said in a smooth, deep voice, just barely above a whisper, "Every night," with a wink.

Dean gaped at him, mouth opening and closing a few times, but no words came out.

Crowley then knelt down, same devilish smirk on his face as before, and looked into Chuck's car seat. "Well, now little ones, how about Uncle Crowley helps Daddy get back your other Daddy and Uncle Moose?"

"Okay, first of all, Uncle Crowley?" He just shrugged up at Dean as he continued, "And second, why do you wanna help all of a sudden? What's the catch?"

"No catch, no tricks, no deals. I just want to help that's all." Dean didn't even say anything, just stared him down until he rolled his eyes and tossed his head back, "Alright, fine. I'll admit, you're not my favourite people on Earth, but it's painfully boring up here without the Winchesters around to stir up trouble. And I figure I scratch your back…"

"Cut the crap, Crowley, what do you want?"

"I'm not asking for much here, but when I… died," he drawled, "of course all of hell assumed my throne was up for grabs and gave it to my mother of all people, and when the time comes, you could help me get it back. Besides, I think you could benefit from having friends in low places, don't you?"

Dean sighed and shook his head. He knew himself that Crowley had gotten them out of a jam more than once, and it was always helpful to have the King of Hell on their side in tough times. But he’d be the last person to ever admit that out loud. Especially in front of Crowley.

"If you can get Cas back, and Sam, I'll help you get whatever you want."

"Jolly good show. So we've got a deal then?" He stuck his hand out to Dean waiting for him to take it, but Dean just glared at him, so he pulled it back and laughed, "Joking, of course."

"Right," Dean huffed, then turned to sit in a chair while he continued feeding Amara, "where do we start?"

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

A/N: So there’s chapter two of my fix it fic, let me know what you guys think! And if anyone wants to be tagged for future posts or destiel fics, let me know <3

Tags: @thebridgekid @frostingsfics @frostedej @clairewinchester14 @kitsunecastiel

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not-from-the-absence-of-violence · 4 years ago

Text

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.

The first time Travis runs into Gable after he loses Margaret; Its winter and he can't bear to be alone.

a/n: this is the fastest i have managed to write fic for a fandom and I fully blame it on the amount of feelings I have for these idiots. Also the discord. I wrote this in a haze at 1 am and i made myself cry. so enjoy <3

Thanks to @drowninginstarlights for proof reading (and check out their stuff its brilliant)

Travis hadn’t fallen asleep in someone's arms since Margaret, but the previous evening he had ran into Gable for the first time since the river had taken her. Travis wasn’t even sure how long any of it had been; had he seen Gable a decade ago? Two? Had he lost Margaret a year ago? Or just last week?

Gable had very obviously been able to tell he was in a bad way, which meant he must have truly looked terrible, if Gable of all people had noticed.

They had done their typical song and dance. They bickered in a bar, Gable said they have a room he can stay in if he wants, he said he would rather throw himself into the sea, he goes to Gable’s room anyway and they know well enough not to comment on it.

They hadn’t talked much back at the room, just drinking and begrudgingly enjoying each other's company. Occasionally Gable would open their mouth as if to speak and then they’d just pass Travis the bottle again.

By the time night was about to fall Travis had wordlessly left the room. Gable had again almost started to speak but by the time they had managed “Travis…” he was already out the door, somewhere where he could suffer alone.

It was when he was slipping into an unused room in the inn he had realised it was winter and cursed under his breath.

He disliked the bunny the most out of all of them, the fear of being hunted, having nothing to defend himself. It was when he most felt the pull to run back into the forest, back to her and her “protection”.

After several agonizing minutes he was a bunny, and not strong enough to fight the pull of the forest. Not tonight. Not alone.

He scratched rather pathetically at the door to Gable’s room and entered.

Gable liked the rabbit form, something like a smile spread on their face as he hopped into the room.

“Don’t you dare pick me up,” Travis said viciously. Even if what he meant was please do.

Gable might have known, or they might have just wanted to annoy him, because they did, in fact, pick him up anyway, marvelling as always over the softness of his fur and laughing at his not very convincing exasperated look on a bunny’s face.

They were a little drunker than normal, and one thing led to another and Gable had fallen fast asleep, with Travis still in their arms.

Travis had argued with himself that Gable was strong, and he couldn’t possibly escape this, and so he might as well resign himself to his fate and get some sleep. Somewhere he knew he could very easily wriggle out.

He’d fallen asleep in the span of minutes.

Now, however, he’s awake with the first rays of sunlight and his bones begging to snap.

He panics, not knowing what to do, as he’s still held tightly in Gable’s grasp. It isn’t long before his hind legs snap properly though and he isn’t able to contain a small yelp of pain.

Gable seems to be awake immediately and Travis isn’t sure what he was expecting really, but it certainly isn’t for Gable to pull away gently so as to not hurt him further, and to start blabbering soothing words.

The transformations always seem to hurt more after that period of time he had spent in the forest and no one had ever tried to soothe it, no one aside from Margaret. But even she had been at a loss of what to do, she couldn’t bear the pain of him having to go through it every day.

It was everything too much all at once, Gable’s gentle “I got you, Travis, it will be over soon.” The memory of the look of misery Margaret had whenever the sun rose and sank, the agonizing pain shooting through his body like someone had stabbed him everywhere at once.

The pain receded after what felt like an age and then he lay there, panting, eyes tearing up and whimpering miserably.

Gable doesn’t say anything, just very tentatively gathers him up in their arms, slow enough that Travis could pull away and run if he wanted to.

Everything in Travis does want to pull away, to run out, to shout at Gable because it felt like they were dangerously close to the edge of something. Some as of yet unbroken rule. But he was too tired, too tired to deny himself anything. So instead he let it happen, after all, it would just be for a bit, just until he could get his breath back under control, just until he could shake off the feeling of profound agony about him.

He half-hoped Gable would make fun of him, or get mad. That would sort him out, he knew how to bite back, he had memorized his lines by now. It would hurt, but at least it would be familiar, at least it would be his, theirs.

Instead Gable shifts incredibly delicately and then ever so softly places a kiss on the top of his forehead.

That’s what does it, it’s the last straw and Travis chokes out a sob.

He clings to Gable, his hands shaking as he grabs onto the back of their shirt, he burrows his face into their chest and cries, unable to contain it any longer.

Gable doesn’t say anything, just holds him, just tenderly brushes his hair out of his face. He can’t do anything but weep, as every single bit of emotion he had been avoiding overwhelms him all at once.

He is not sure how much time passes, but eventually the emotion is burned out of him and the only thing that’s left is his unsteady breaths.

One of Gable's hands is in his hair, the other is on his cheek, cradling it and carefully wiping away the remnants of tears. The vulnerability of it all makes his chest ache yet he can’t bear to pull away.

Travis looks up to see them. They lock eyes and Gable doesn't bother with anything as inane as are you alright or do you want to talk about it?

They do look desperate, though, their eyes full of questions and millions of unspoken things.

Travis doesn’t know what to do about it either, so he simply pushes himself up and kisses them. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, but it is the first time it feels like he’s being peeled open, it feels raw. The genuineness is new, the tears in both of their eyes are new.

Gable’s hands automatically cradle Travis’ face and he leans into the touch, deepening the kiss.

They both exhale shakily into each other's mouths, pulling away like everything is made out of glass.

Both are still holding each other, Gable turns their face a little to press a kiss into his palm. Travis can't help himself, just because of that, he kisses them again.

They look at each other for quite a while after, in the still half dark room, in the bed that is actually too small for two people.

Gable looks like they are going to say something a few times, whatever they find in Travis’ gaze stops them everytime.

Eventually, wordlessly, they both settle for cuddling without looking at each other. If it is possible to embrace someone without acknowledging their existence, that’s what they try to do.

It’s been a long life for both of them, and it doesn’t take long for them to both fall asleep again.

The second time Travis wakes up Gable is still asleep, on their back, with only one hand slung over Travis.

Gable looks peaceful like this, their hair sprawled everywhere, their scars faintly visible through the fabric of their shirt. They’re even snoring a bit.

Travis knows then that he should not have let himself indulge. It hurts to see Gable like this, probably more than seeing Gable upset.

He knows he can't stay there, so he carefully frees himself, stands up and turns to leave. He feels about twelve different emotions swell up at once as he hears Gable’s still asleep mumbling.

“Travis?”

In a last moment of weakness, he turns around, stooping down next to the bed and pressing a kiss into their hair. That seems to content them and they let out a breath and go back to their peaceful slumber.

He knows he can’t do this again because of the way the pain in his chest as he closes the door is almost unbearable.

He walks away aimlessly. Days later he will find himself a rabbit, yet again being chased by some kind of bird at the edge of a forest surrounded by a river. And he will hear the echoing laughter of the Forest Queen. No doubt she’ll save him eventually, but there is no reason she can’t enjoy the show first.

#skyjacks #gable skyjacks #travis matagot #trable #campaign podcast #campaign skyjacks #ao3 link in the rb #skyjacks fic #my writing

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prolestariwrites · 4 years ago

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Open For Me [5]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/Reader Tags: Explicit sexual content, First time, First love, Violence, Death, Implied dubcon, Implied drug-induced sex Rating: M Part: 5 of 5

Summary: Vergil's life has been difficult as far back as he can remember, until he meets a young woman who saves his life. Can she save it again when he learns the truth of who he is, and bring him back from a dark and dangerous fate? A five-part story of pre- and post-canon Vergil.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and to my friends @wordborne and @solynacea for their feedback. Please enjoy the final part.

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Be gentle with me, for my heart hides so many wounds that never bleed. —Alexandra Vasiliu

There is a man who sits on the bench in the park across the street from your house. That in itself is not terribly strange: the homeless often find refuge in the public space. And he certainly seems homeless, draped in dark clothes that are little more than rags, his posture drawn in as if to hide.

You wouldn't have noticed him at all if it wasn't for the feeling he gives you when you walk by. Something familiar, maybe his shoulders, maybe his hands. It isn't unease, but the opposite: a driving curiosity to find out who is underneath the fabric. You don't see anyone anymore, not really, not since Vergil had left. He had been the only person you ever trusted, and that had been a mistake.

So you don't dare to ask or to offer. You watch him from your window, as he sits day after day. No one even seems to see him there, not even a cop as he strolls by. You start to wonder if he's just a figment of your imagination, until you hear his voice.

You are at your door, keys in hand, checking the mailbox when you hear one word: "No."

Coldness douses your spine and you drop the envelopes on the ground. You are afraid to turn around, not of him, never of him, but afraid he's not really there. It has been so long since you heard that voice, more than two decades, but at once you are a girl of nineteen desperately in love with someone who does nothing but lie. Tears blur your vision as your mind pleads with your body to turn around and look. Just look.

Slowly your head turns. Someone had offered him a bottle of water, and rebuffed they are now moving on. The figure settles back into itself, and your hands are trembling as you stare, waiting for more. But he does not speak again.

A minute slips by, then another. Does he see you? Why is he here, on that bench, that fucking bench outside of your house? You had left the apartment as soon as you were able, moving into this house in the city, the top half of a duplex you bought when the owner died. How did he know, how did he find you? Did he find you, or is this the biggest cosmic joke of the universe? Because you never forgot him, never moved on, prayed for days and nights he would come back until the pain of losing him turned you into stone.

Your feet are moving and you are halfway across the street before you notice. A car blares its horn at you, jolting you back to reality, and you dart to the sidewalk. The figure hasn't moved, not even when you were nearly hit. It can't be him, he would have moved, he would have saved you.

You approach slowly until you are standing in front of him. You realize your purse is gone, dropped somewhere, but your keys are still in your hand, like a weapon. Your eyes dart to the side and you note there is no sword. You can still remember the diamond pattern of the hilt, could draw it in your sleep.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you feel your lip shaking. "Vergil?" you whisper.

There is no answer, not even a movement indicating he had heard you. You swallow painfully, still waiting. "Vergil, is that you?" you ask again, a bit louder this time.

Slowly he stands. You step back, shaking now, his height so familiar that you let out a soft sob. "Vergil?"

"Do you know where it is?"

Blinking rapidly, you shake your head. "What?"

"Do you know where it is?"

His voice is different. Maybe this isn't Vergil? It's harder, rougher, like broken glass.

What has happened to him? "Vergil, come with me. Let me… I live right over there." You reach out and tug on his sleeve. "Vergil, please? Let me help you."

You pull harder and grab his hand. With a gasp you feel it is cold: cold as ice, his skin like stone, and when you look down you must swallow against the sight of gray skin that is cracked and broken. You remember so vividly that night in the kitchen when his face and arms had healed from an attack; in the years following, you had turned this over again and again, realizing he had never once been sick or hurt, no cuts or colds, no flu, no headaches. Demon prince, he had said to you, and some part of you had started to believe it, impossible as it is.

He snatches the hand away and turns. He moves quickly down the street, so quickly that it doesn't register for a moment. "Vergil! Wait!" You take off after him, tears blurring your vision as you try to keep track of the dark fabric. At the next intersection, the light turns green, and he disappears.

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You almost ignore the knock on your front door, frowning at the clock. Nothing good ever came after 9:00, that's what your mother always used to say. But when it comes again, firm and insistent, you put your book aside and pull the blanket around your shoulders, cautiously opening the door with the chain still on.

At first you don't recognize him. You frown and take in the tall build, the angles on the handsome face, the dark coat. But when he shifts and you see the glint of his blue eyes and the silver color of his slicked-back hair—silver, not white or blond, he had scolded once—you let go a gasp. "Vergil?"

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. Your fingers fly over the locks until you can swing the door open wide, your mouth open as you stare. It's him for sure, just older now, a bit more… tired? You remember the cold, gray stranger from years ago, but this person is more like the boy you loved in your youth. Something wells in your throat, still filled with disbelief. How long has it been? How many years?

"It's been a while," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice makes you shiver.

"A while," you echo.

"You remembered."

Shaking your head, you say, "Of course I remember you."

"Can I come in?"

You blink, nodding, and step aside. Vergil's eyes sweep through the room as you replace the locks, and you realize how little has changed since he last stepped foot inside your home. A new ottoman, a couple of throw pillows, but other than that it is the same. The only thing that has changed, in fact, is you.

Wiping your hands nervously on your jeans, you ask, "When did you…?"

You don't even know what you are asking, but Vergil still answers. "Two days ago. I had some business to take care of, with my brother."

Your hands clench at your sides, the ease in his voice making the hair on your neck stand on end. "Business with your brother?" you hiss. "You've been gone for years! You left me! And that was you on the bench, wasn't it? That was you, after all that time, you came and sat outside of my house just to go again! Why? Why are you doing this?"

It actually looks like that got through. Vergil blanches, just slightly, and without asking he sits on the couch. His back is straight and he unbuttons his coat, the air of formality only stoking your anger. You've seen him hurt, and sick, and nearly half dead, you've heard him moan and cry and laugh with tears in his eyes. And he wants to sit on your couch as if he's a visitor from the local church making a social call?

"Vergil," you snap, moving in front of him with arms folded. "Tell me the truth."

"The truth." It's his turn to echo you, and to your surprise he reaches up and takes your hand. The little bit of affection catches you off guard, and all you can do is watch his thumb stroke the back of your hand, and remember. Vergil, sitting up late at night, reading books yellow with age as you dozed next to him. Listening to him talk about the places you would visit together, trying to picture him as you could never see yourself. Running his hands through your hair as he talked of his plans, the spark in his eye so lovely that it helped you ignore the lies on the surface that left you so unsettled at times.

You try to tug your hand away gently, but he holds firm. "I owe you an explanation," he says.

The laugh that huffs out of your throat is quick and humorless. "You owe me more than that."

Vergil glances up, and you see there is something different. A part of him you haven't seen since you were barely adults, something that is warm, something you stopped associating with him. "You're right," he answers.

The confession, as small as it is, catches you by surprise. "Since when are you so self-aware?" you say before you can stop yourself.

But he only shakes his head. "This feels strange," Vergil murmurs. You frown as he continues to stroke the skin of your hand, but his expression is thoughtful. "I'm feeling things that… well, I'm feeling, anyway. And I needed to come and see you, that much was certain."

It is sweet to say, even though you don't trust him, not yet. "Where did you go?" you ask.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he replies, glancing away.

"Try me."

Clearing his throat, he asks, "Did you see on the news the story about Red Grave City?"

"Yes," you frown. "What about it?"

Vergil nods, easing back on the couch, and you sit next to him. He talks for a while, the most you've heard from him since you were young, and he goes on about legacies and power and all kinds of fantasy, leaving you enthralled without understanding why. He tells you about the sword he had lost, that belonged to his father—Yamato, you remember the name clearly, another detail he had shared you never really understood. There is hesitation on the next part, something he hides as he glosses over years spent "away", but the pain in his voice keeps you from asking more. He tells you about leaving his human self behind, of becoming a monster, only to be patched back together by his brother. Demon prince, that's what he had called himself, but could any of this be possible? He tells you of heading off to fight off Hell in order to save his son.

"Your son?" you interrupt.

Vergil nods. "It was unexpected."

That… stings. More than you're willing to admit, even to yourself. If he has a son, then that means… You shake your head, not ready to think about that. "You were right. I don't believe any of this."

He seems hurt by that, which catches you off guard. "I don't blame you," replies Vergil, although the cool timbre of his voice contradicts the very uncomfortable look on his face. "But I'm done with all that now. I tried to become something I'm not, and it didn't work. So now I'm going to try to just be…"

"Yourself?"

Vergil chuckles and meets your gaze. "I was going to say human. But I suppose myself is apt."

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile, and against your better judgment, your heart softens. "I don't understand," you murmur. You reach up and stroke your fingertip against the side of his brow: something he always liked, and as always Vergil sinks just a bit, pressing against your touch.

"I know you don't." He hesitates, and you wonder: is he searching for the right words, or is he convincing himself they are true?

"What do you want?" you murmur.

He swallows, his eyes down. "Another chance? I keep asking for one from everyone." Finally his gaze lifts, and there is a warm sensation inside of you that swells because there is sincerity there.

"I'm older now," you say.

Vergil laughs. "So am I."

"I'm different," you clarify. "You broke my heart. You hurt me."

"I know."

Why is this so easy? It shouldn't be, not after so long, but he looks like the same boy who needed a place to stay on a cold night and felt so warm in your bed. "That was you on the bench, wasn't it?" you murmur.

He looks into your eyes and nods. "I don't know why. I came back and was dying. I needed to find someone, and I followed my instincts. I thought I was finding Yamato, but I found you."

You close your eyes and shake your head. "That night when you healed," you whisper, afraid of hurting him.

"I never wanted you to know," he says.

"Why?"

"It was too dangerous. Things wanted me dead."

The tone in his voice sends a shiver through you. But there is no lie in his eyes, not this time. "And now?"

"It's over, I suppose? I don't know. But… that part is over." Vergil swallows uncomfortably. "There is too much to say, I don't know how to explain it all."

"It's okay," you sigh. "We have time."

On instinct you reach up and press your palm to his face. The last time you did this, you were still barely children, and he had flinched away from your touch. But now he presses against your palm, sinking towards you, and Vergil wraps his arms around you to hold you closely. You press your cheek to his, feeling him tremble. He feels so strong and yet so vulnerable at the same time, and as you card your hand through his hair you wonder just what really happened to him.

You whisper his name and he turns to press his mouth on yours. It is unexpected, but when has Vergil ever not surprised you? Your lashes are wet as you kiss him back, the sensation so familiar it almost hurts. Your heart aches remembering the last kiss, the last touch, the last time you were together. It feels like a lifetime ago; it probably was.

He pulls you closer so you are practically draped over his lap. His hands slide up the back of your shirt, warm and firm and smooth. The last image you have of him as that figure on the street is fading like a dream as you press against his body. The kiss turns more passionate as one hand slips into your hair, and Vergil sighs as you open your lips to slide your tongue along his. The taste of him awakens the part of you that had gone cold and quiet when he left, and you cover his body with yours, needing to be close.

His heart is beating wildly when you push your hands under his shirt and your palm finds his chest. Vergil helps you remove his shirt, and then he pulls off yours. The look on his face is nothing but reverence, but you blush a bit, suddenly self-conscious. "I haven't…"

He looks up at you and nods. "About Nero… it's hard to explain, but I will. Just know I've never been unfaithful to you."

Your brows draw down slightly, wondering what that means. But he pulls you into another kiss, his hands roaming you now, and you decide to leave that until he can explain.

It takes no time for him to remove your bra, and then he turns to lay you back gently. Vergil was never a rough lover, but he could be hard, so the soft care makes this moment feel strange. His mouth presses to your neck, and he whispers how beautiful you are as they travel downward. Your own heart is fluttering by the time he kisses your breast, your eyes sliding closed when his lips tug on your nipple.

Again, he is not demanding, instead soft as he sucks on your flesh. He teases you with his teeth as your body melts with pleasure, his fingers caressing you tenderly. "Do you want to stop?" he asks, his voice strained as he presses his forehead to your chest.

"No, no, of course not," you laugh.

He kneels up and takes hold of the waistband of your leggings. "I love you," he says as he pulls the fabric down. "I never stopped."

You lift your hips and his hands travel back up your bare legs. "I didn't either," you reply.

It goes on like this, slow and quiet, his demanding touch now so tender, his searing kisses a sweet gentleness. He lights your core on fire with his touch, until you are moaning and reaching for him, gasping for more. "Please Vergil… I need you…"

"Open for me." Your eyes close and a tear rolls down your cheek as your thighs spread and he presses inside your body. It's been a long time since the last time you were together, and it's uncomfortable at first; but he uses just as much care now, his shallow thrusts making your back arch from the cushion.

You slide your hands on his chest, fingers searching his skin for any signs of the cracked and gray skin. But he is perfect and whole and solid, and once his hips are flush with yours you look up at him, eyes wide and searching.

He stares down at you almost in awe as he starts to move. You press your hand to his cheek again and he winces, and you see the pleasure and pain in his face. Your palm grows wet as he kisses your skin, and before long he is thrusting with a deep, steady pace that has you both moaning. You twist underneath him as the pleasure mounts, the anticipation building until it snaps inside and your body begins to pulse. Vergil groans, long and loud, and as your muscles tighten around him he spills inside of you. His seed is hot and thick as it fills you up, making you cry out as wave after wave of bliss has you holding to him tightly.

Vergil sinks against you, laying with his head on your chest, another thing from years ago that you remember well. How is it two decades pass and yet it feels like no time at all? You stroke his hair as he grows soft inside you, his hands clenching and releasing against your back as your breathing slows.

"I won't let you go again," he says.

"Okay," you reply. Vergil raises his head and you kiss his lips. "We can start over."

"I have so much to explain," he sighs.

You stroke his cheek. "No more secrets. I am ready to hear it all."

He nods and leans in for another kiss. As he moves over you, you remember the red pendant and how it had pressed against your chest your first night together. That Vergil had been just as strong, and just in need of help. But this time, you are stronger too.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc vergil #vergil sparda #vergil x reader #fan fiction #open for me #myfic

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