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bookstantrash · 4 years ago

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A/N: Sup folks! I apologise for my complete lack of schedule for posting but, as I promised @perseusannabeth , here we have Part Three! Delivered on Saturday, the last day of my self imposed deadline lol

Our dear boy Cass is back, so grab some popcorn and enjoy the show!

In which she makes a friend, Part Three

Two months and two weeks.

Cassian had been away from Windhaven for seventy-five days.

Seventy fives days spent going to each of the fifty war camps, overseeing the trainings – specially the female’s — and trying to cease the fire that seemed to be leading to the first Illyrian civil war since the Night Court’s High Lord had taken control of the land.

He was tired. Both physically and mentally. His wings seemed to weight ten times more, and he couldn’t help but think of the female he had left alone in his secluded cabin.

He had not wanted to leave.

He had not had a choice.

He should have written to her.

Should have tried to ask her to go with him.

He remembered Feyre saying in passing how Nesta once wished to go and sail the world. But that was a long time ago. When she had been human. When she had not suffered the horrors of the war.

Cassian was not concerned about her safety. He had wards on his house, wards that made it impossible to anyone deemed dangerous or suspicious to get inside. Specially other males apart from him and his brothers. Although Cassian didn’t think that Nesta would try and take anyone to his house. He had made sure to scare the fuck out of every male in camp once Nesta and him had arrived at Windhaven. They knew to not get close to her.

Nesta going to their houses seemed as much unlikely. She had not left her room since they’d arrived. He doubted she’d do so after he had gone away.

No, Cassian was concerned about her health.

In the first month, Cassian had taken upon himself the task of helping Nesta go through her detoxification. Not that she had wanted his help at all.

It had not been pretty. It was not an easy process. Cassian knew it. That was why he had been so concerned when she’d locked herself in her room and went through the pain all alone.

He had stayed awake, listening to her empty her guts day and night, unable to comfort her. To hold her hair back from her face. He’d leave water and food outside her door, the best he’d offer given the situation.

She usually took all the water. She left most of the food.

In the last week of her detoxification, the worst phase, he stood in front of his closed door all through the week, awake. Just waiting for a sound that would have him throwing the door open and running to her room, her anger at him be dammed.

She didn’t call for him. Or for anyone. She stayed unusually quiet.

Cassian died a thousand deaths during that time. He had been so afraid he had dared to open his door and almost knocked on hers. But he heard her breathing.

She was sleeping so quietly that only Fae ears would have been able to hear her.

That night, he stayed outside her door. And when he heard her wake up on the next day, he quickly went to the kitchen.

Acted as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t prayed all night for her well being, his stomach filled with dread.

He left food for her and went to oversee the morning training.

The males were smart not to provoke him that day.

And so their relationship stayed that way, Cassian trying to give her space. Waiting for her to talk to him. Or scream at him. Even hit him.

She did no such thing. Stayed practically all day in her room. In good days, Cassian would see her sitting in the stone bench outside his house when he came back. Those days were rarer then he liked.

And then he left. For two months.

She did not leave his mind not even for a second of those seventy-five days.

Landing outside his house, Cassian took a deep breath, bracing himself for what awaited him.

He entered the house, silence being his only greeting. He was not surprised. He had left Ironcrest as the sun was raising, eager to return home, and Nesta was not one to wake up early.

Cassian had stayed at Ironcrest for longer than the other camps, given how that prick Kallon was raising distress among the Illyrians.

He hoped Kallon met his demise at the Blood Rite that year.

But something was amiss in his house. Cassian spotted a duffel bag beside the sofa, which had a pillow and a blanket neatly folded on it. And there was a new scent, one which was not Nesta’s. His heart started to beat faster, his mind running the possibilities. Had the wards became weaker somehow? Had someone gotten inside his home? Or was this some arrangement Nesta had made? Was she planning to leave?

Dumping his things in the hall, Cassian practically ran towards her room, and after knocking and receiving no answer whatsoever — not even a low curse — he opened the door to find the room empty. The bed was made, and Nesta’s scent was still there, which calmed him a little bit. But where the Mother was she?

Closing the door, he strained his ears to listen to something, anything that would tell him that she still was in the house. And then he heard it, a voice coming from outside, very faintly.

He went to the kitchen and opened a side door that connected to an outdoor patio behind his house, which he used for training when he wanted to let off some steam instead of sparring with the other Illyrians.

The scene which Cassian was now seeing made him believe he had fallen sleep and was dreaming, for Nesta and an Illyrian kid were outside, doing what appeared to be some sort of training.

There were four tree stumps positioned to form a big square, in which Nesta was standing inside while the young Illyrian stayed airborne.

“FOUR!” the kid shouted, and flew towards what Cassian guessed was the stump marked as number four, Nesta running towards the same stump. She had just come close to it when another number was shouted, both the kid and Nesta moving towards the new spot.

And Cassian realised, after the initial shock of seeing Nesta outside, of seeing her filled with energy, that the young Illyrian was training Nesta. The exercise in question was one of the first the small Illyrians learned once they started training, to both create a sense of direction and balance while flying and having to suddenly change positions, and to start building their stamina.

He could not believe that somehow Nesta had started training, that she was wearing the Illyrian leathers he left for her among her other clothes. He had done it out of hope that she’d warm up to the ideia of training, to help her manage her powers, to help her learn how to defend herself, so she never found herself in a situation similar to the one with Hybern or his twin spies, all that time ago in Velaris’ library.

The leathers were a little big on her, and she still looked like she should eat at least five full banquets, but something had changed in the time he had been away.

Cassian was afraid to move. Was afraid to even breath. He remained frozen, and kept staring and staring at the female in front of him. A female that two months ago was a shell of her previous self, but that now had a little spark of life back in her eyes. A reminder of the untameable fire she once held.

“Anak”

The word — Commander in Illyrian — caught Cassian’s attention, and he came back to reality to find Nesta looking at him, unmoving, whereas the kid was back on the ground, one fist across its chest, wings tucked and head bowed down.

A soldier, greeting the Commander. A soldier, waiting for orders.

“Küroch” Cassian said, and the young boy raised his head, taking a relaxed attitude, with his feet apart and hands behind his back.

“Kaelin, you should go” Nesta’s voice broke the awkward silence that had fallen among them, and Cassian eyed their interaction with interest.

“But—”

“No buts. You have training in an hour right? You may go”

Kaelin’s eyes darted to Cassian, and the boy hesitated a fraction before muttering a quick goodbye and launching to the skies.

Leaving Cassian and Nesta alone.

~•~

“So you’re back”

“Did you miss me sweetheart?” Cassian teased, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air.

Nesta had gone back inside as soon as Kaelin had left, not bothering to give Cassian a single glance. He had obviously followed her inside, and now eyed her from the kitchen door as she gulped down a glass of water.

“Did you feel so alone that you got yourself a roommate?” he said, pushing her, wanting to get some reaction.

But it seemed the wrong thing to say, for Nesta stiffened and became a pillar of ice and steel he had not seen since the war.

“If Kaelin goes, so do I” she said, fire burning in her eyes “Do not blame me for taking him in and not consulting you when I thought you’d left for good. Two months. For two months you didn’t—”

She stopped herself, and Cassian was reminded of another conversation like this.

“You didn’t come to—”

“The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello”

Another broken promise. Another failure to add to his ever growing pile of mistakes.

“No one is going anywhere” he quietly added, trying to bury those memories again “But I’d like to know the reason why he’s here”

“He’s an orphan. He’s a thirteen year old kid who has nothing and no one to take care of him. And who’s left to live in some piss poor tent in the mud while the weather is as cold as Death’s kiss.”

“I lived like that too” Cassian said, reminding those cold and harsh days before Rhysand’s mother took him in, before he knew what it felt like to sleep on a bed, to have a warm meal and hot bath.

“Does it make it right then?” Nesta snapped, and the way she seemed to care for Kaelin made him think that maybe he’d judged her wrong.

She had pleaded for both humans and children’s lives back at the High Lord’s reunion. Had passionately demanded for them to stop being selfish and save them.

How could he have ever thought that she’d let Feyre go hunting as a fourteen year old and say nothing? Do nothing but just twiddle her thumbs while her youngest sister risked her life? With each passing day, Cassian found himself being more and more drawn to the interesting persona that was Nesta Archeron.

“No. No it doesn’t” his voice softened, and he decided to try and be a little less of an asshole “He stays. For as long he wants”

Cassian thought he saw Nesta almost sigh in relief and got even more curious about their relationship.

“How—” he cleared his throat, hoping to find a neutral topic “You are training”

“I figured that if I was to stay here for Mother knows how long I’d better find something to kill time with” she snorted “It’s not like there’s a library here”

“I can— I can ask for books to be delivered here” he gave her what he hoped was a teasing smirk instead of a grimace “I’m sorry my small private collection was not enough stimulation”

Cassian was tripping over his words, he knew that. He thought he must sound pathetic, but he had gotten Nesta to talk, and if his two months away had taught him something it was that he was done keeping his distance.

Nesta only shrugged, in thanks or dismissal he didn’t know, and walked past him to leave the kitchen. Probably to take a bath and get rid of those leathers.

“Stay” he grabbed her fingers, softly, just to hold her back.

She turned her face to look at him, their proximity and the meaning of his words making Cassian drop her hand and place some space between them.

“Have breakfast with me” he quickly added “You should always eat after exercise to regain the lost energy, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

He waited for a heartbeat. Two.

“I mean, I don’t know about you but I’m starving. I left Ironcrest too early and didn’t eat and—“

Gods, he sounded like a green boy talking with a girl for their first time.

“I’ll keep you company” Nesta cut his blabbering short, and sat in the kitchen chair, the ever picture of the mighty queen she was.

Cassian almost jumped with joy. Almost. Because she said she’d keep him company, not that she’d eat with him. And she needed to, desperately so.

Washing his hands and typing his hair back, he went through his cabinets and gathered lots of different ingredients. Nesta stayed silent while he cooked, and when he placed the food on the table — also giving her a plate — she only raised an eyebrow in question.

“This is Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri” he said, gesturing to the dish in front of her “It’s a traditional Illyrian dish. Kind like the human for porridge, but better.”

He didn’t wait for Nesta to start eating, but secretly eyed her as he ate.

“It tastes better hot” he tentatively said, silently willing her to grab the spoon and eat.

He cheered internally when she did, and swore he heard a silent moan of pleasure when she swallowed it. Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri was a dish know for its high energy potencial, and consisted of milk, water, sugar and mbe'yu, a type of wheat that the Illyrians grew. It was a simple dish to make, and was the first Cassian had ever learned to cook. He had faint memories of his mother feeding him Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri, and had almost begged Rhysand’s mother to teach him how to make it, if only to get closer to his mother one way or another.

Cassian had also cooked eggs, bacon, made some toast and brewed coffee. He left it all on the table, and didn’t force Nesta to take it. He would have to take small steps to help her. He could only offer her the possibilities and pray she would take them.

But as he sipped his coffee — the hot drink warming his tired body — he thought that maybe the new occupant of the house would turn out to be a very precious ally.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030-blog @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list}

#sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm fanfic #sjm books #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #cassian x nesta

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infinitegalahad · 4 years ago

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WIFE

Summary: You and Dick, after years of indefinite separation and depression, have finally reunited. Dick can’t wait to start a family with you. You love Dick, but you soon realize that you cannot bear him a son, a daughter, or a child.

Word Count: 10.9k (i’m being generous)

Warnings: Infertility, period typical sexism, Loneliness, based off of a mitski song what did you expect, here comes the angst train *sad choo choo*

Notes: Female reader. and title (literally) taken from Wife By Mitski, which I rec listening too for the extra painful experience. So I’m back from the dead...ish. I wanna apologize for going AWOL for two-three months, guess Iw anted to focus on other works and I feel like x readers are not my strong suit. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna write them! I can’t promise anything, but I am planning some stories. Not as long or as painful as this is, of course!

I’m not gonna lie, I cried while writing this. Not only because it’s Mitski, but infertility is something that hit’s close to home for me and my family. Was this story just me projecting my generational trauma into this fic? Never! Anyways, hopefully I won’t go AWOL again, atleast not for that long. It’s really hard to find the motivation to write, but I’ll do it. For you guys ;)

Taglist: @easy-company-tradition

When Dick Winters had left for the war five years ago, he had made a promise to you the night before he was drafted. You were nineteen and naive, planned for college and he was twenty-seven, a post-graduate and Business Major. Your father was his professor and one of his best students. You would see Dick every Friday Night. As you would pick at the leftover peas on your plate, he would turn to look at your father to talk about something business-related. His eyes, you could never tell if they were a light shade of blue or green, would meet yours. It would be for a brief second. Those brief seconds would make you drop your fork and your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

You had a small crush on Dick Winter’s.

It took you a few weeks to catch onto his eye color. They were a beautiful mixture of blue and green, reflecting a mint color. The taper candles would always lighten his eyes up. The reason you finally found out this eye color was because each dinner, you’d catch Dick staring at you. You were naturally oblivious to it, keeping your head down as your father talked a business deal. But whenever he mentioned Dick’s name, you would look up, see Dick’s dilated mint pupils looking right into your eyes before he swiftly turned his head to your father, acting like he was listening to every little word he was saying.

Dick had become a family friend. Instead of dinners once a week, he would come by your house more frequently in the summer months. The summer you had met Dick, there was a three-month-long heatwave. From what you understood, Dick had been doing an internship with your father along with extra studies, extracurriculars, and even more. It sounded like a lot for a young man. He was over three times a week, always in your father’s studies or the porch, drinking lemonade as he and your father discussed business. You’d sit on top of the porch, lazily slumped in a chair in your floral dirndl, reading And Both Were Young as you watched Dick Winters, in shorts and a tight white shirt with his strawberry blonde hair a little messy. Every time he spoke, your heart would skip a beat.

“Two jobs?” You cried, skipping ahead of him in your flats that you had slipped on in a rush, the heels hanging out of the back. “And an internship? How do you do it all?”

Dick looked down at your tiner figure, his lips curving into a subtle smile at your question. Whenever he smiled, his cheeks would wrinkle. It was a small detail you caught into about Dick that you adored. “I don’t go to parties a lot. Not worth the time that I’ve got. I work these jobs so I can get through school and support my family.”

“That’s very admirable, Dick. Not a lot of guys my age would even consider that.” You remarked with a compliment. Dick walked beside you, hands behind your back with a straight back. His gaze lingered in you as he scanned your figure. Now that Dick was around more often, you always made sure to wear your best outfits. You wouldn’t have considered yourself very vain, but with Dick, something had changed. You started wearing the pretty pastel dresses your mother approved off, fine pearls, expensive cologne, and even the short rompers that your mother didn’t approve of. When wearing makeup, you felt like a woman more than a girl, which is what you wanted Dick to see you as.

“Thank you, y/n.” The strawberry blonde politely thanked with a curt nod. The two of you had a little routine now. While your mother would make dinner and your father would smoke a cigar in the back with the dogs, you’d take Dick into your backyard and down a little cobblestone trail to a hidden lake. You liked to go there to read to escape, and Dick needed a small break from working in the burning heat. So it was idle. “Do you have plans now that you’ve graduated?”

“Yes. I’m starting classes at Franklin and Marshall since they’ve allowed women. My mother prefers I stay home and learn how to be a lady instead of reading,” You explained with a sigh. The only woman in a class full for men. Times were changing, and nothing was going to stop you from working. “She cares more about her grandchildren then her daughter’s desires.”

“Well, it is your choice? Not your mother or father’s. As long as you were happy, then they should be happy for you. I think you’ll like it,” Dick kindly reassured, “You’re a very nice young lady, y/n. I’m sure you’ll do great things.”

The two of you arrived at the lake. The sun was setting over the sky as it shined on the lake. There was an orange and pink hue in the sky. Dick and you stood besides each other. The strawberry blonde shut his eyes and let out a long sigh, feeling a small breeze in the night. The air got colder in the nights, which felt like a refreshing treat after a long day of work and unbearable heat. The sun made his strawberry blonde hair and skin glow like he was some kind of god.

You admired Dick as he stood there, biting your lip and hands playing with the belt fabric on your skirt.

“Dick?” You managed to choke, your voice cracking.

He opened one eye and looked at you, worried. “Is everything okay, y/n?”

“Can you please kiss me?”

Dick looked bewildered. It took him a second to process the question. His expression was that of a high school student stumped on an equation in math class. He hadn’t been outside much, maybe the heat was getting to him. “I don’t think I heard that correctly.”

“Can you please kiss me?” You reiterated, biting your lip in vexation. “I haven’t met a man like you, Dick. None of the boys my mother is setting me up with are like. They aren’t as intelligent, hardworking, cordial. When I tell these boys I want to read and live my life, they put me down-call me insane and ill. But you don’t do those things. You just stand there and listen to me. I may not make sense since I am probably just some young immature girl who knows nothing about being a proper lady. You even give me kind words of advice. No other boy would do that. Only a man would do such a thing.” You vented, letting your words spill out like vomit.

Dick wasn’t reacting at all. At Least it wasn’t obvious. He turned his figure towards you, eyes glued as his lips puckered against each other’s. He seemed taken aback by your honesty since you were someone who was reserved, only speaking when necessary. That didn’t mean adding your opinion to one of your father’s at dinner. Dick wasn’t obvious to your “rebellious” nature. Your mother would always scold you for interrupting the men. Your father didn’t mind your info if, and so didn’t Dick. He was interested in your perspective, and would always ask for further intake since it was the gentlemen thing to do.

You looked at him and shook your head, turning to walk back. “Forget it,” You sighed as you walked past him, your shoulder brushing against his. Dick got a smell of your perfume, a lavender and vanilla, it was definitely expensive. He liked y/n’s armora, especially after a long day of being in a stuffy room full of whiskey and burning cigars. “You probably think I’m just a mad woman-“

Dick thought about his decision for a second. He had to think thinkly. When he made up his mind, he sped walk towards you. “Wait,” He called. He saw you turn around with your silky (y/h/c) (y/h/t) spring right behind you. He scrunched up a fist feeling a lump grow in his throat as he looked a few slow steps towards you.

“You’re not a mad woman. I think you’re wonderful to be around. I always enjoy our conversations and our midnight walks,” Dick commented. He was at a loss of words for the kiss. When you had asked, you sounded like you were begging, but hid it.

It took him a while to realize that the two’s of you had a fair amount in common. You both were soft spoken souls, friendly but quiet. You distanced yourself from large crowds and were usually confident in each other since you both had a trust. You know how eachother worked like nobody else did-a small, intimate detail that only the two of you would watch into.

“You’re also growing into a beautiful young woman each day. Being a lady doesn’t mean being all prim and proper, it means being mature, kind, and respectful to others. That’s what you are.” Dick was only a few steps away. You listened to every word he said, your hands restraining themselves from touching his chest. He could once again smell the cologne and see the moonlight shine on your eyes and hair-the gloss you wore sparkled as well.

“But I couldn’t kiss you. You’re father wouldn’t approve of it.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back. Your hands met his chest. You were so caught up in the heat of it that you didn’t realize that your hands rested on Dick’s Ivory collared shirt. Dick, however, didn’t protest at all.

You gently scrunched the fabric, “He’s not here. Just one. Before my mom tries to marry me off. Just one kiss and I won’t ask for anything else of you, Dick.”

Dick put his bigger hands onto yours as his thumb finessed the small part of your soft, [y/s/c] skin in between your index and thumb. “I…”

You gave him those eyes. They were begging. One kiss from a real man and you would be content.

Dick let out a defeated sigh, “...will. Just one. For you.”

So he did. In the moonlight, Dick Winters held you close and became your first kiss. Your lips were like a sweet treat. It felt miraculous after a long day of work. It was meant to be quick, but he was obsessed with your cushion lips and sweet lip gloss. His hands firmly rested on your lower back as his fingers scrunched with the material. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was yours, so he made sure to be gentle with you, even though he struggled. The whiff of your perfume, your shirt showing off your abdomen, the silliness of your hair. It was hard just for it to be one kiss.

Dick walked to you, your arm slung in the hole of his elbow. The two of you didn’t speak any words once you arrived back for dinner. It was a typical dinner. Your mother always made Salmon, rice, and peas on Saturdays, which occurred to be Dick’s favourite meal. Your mother raved about boys who could “tame” you, your father spoke of a new business deal in the news, you picked at the leftover peas, and Dick looked at your father with his weary king eyes, attempting to look interested in the conversation.

What kept him away in the dinner as your bare ankle, brushing against his trousers. It was a little bit distracting. Thank god he was a good pretender. It felt so wrong to be doing this, yet so right. You were unlike a lot of women Dick had met. You always caught his attention, watching you each day as you grow into a young, educated woman.

To tame your foot, Dick wrapped his ankle around yours, tenderly holding it down until the meal was over. After dinner was over, Dick wished your family a goodnight.. He gave your mother who adored him a kiss on the cheek, your father a firm handshake, and you apart on the shoulder. His fingers struggled on your bare shoulder for what seemed like forever, brushing against the edge of your neck.

And with that, Dick was gone into the night. You headed to bed and changed, not washing your lips. You had a smile on your face as you twisted and turned. It was a one time occurance, but it felt like your fantasy had come to life.

But before you knew it, it would all be over. Dick would be back on Tuesday, and the two of you would act like nothing had ever happened.

But what Dick and you didn’t know is that it wouldn't be the first time of hushed kisses, lingering fingers, and limbs grazing passionately against each other.

————

The US had entered the war overseas. Most of the boys in your class were putting a pause on their lives to go fight in Africa, The Pacific, or Europe. Anybody who was over the age of eighteen was required to draft, so town was a shit show of crying mothers, lanky boys who could possibly never come home, and military trucks. You wanted to apply to be a combat nurse, but you weren’t of the age requirement.

Dick was going to war.

Ever since the night at the lake, you and Dick kept a closted relationship. He still came over in the Summers. Some days you wouldn’t even see him. But the small moments you had together, whether that be watching the twinkling stars on your walk on the lake hand in hand or cuddled reading books on a rainy day in your isolated greenhouse porch, mattered so much. If you had a bad day, he'd sit there and listen. He wouldn’t judge or give any advice. You didn’t know if he understood your struggles, but it made you happy to know that someone would sit there and listen. For comfort, he would take the book out of your hands and bookmark it, slide off your dangling flats, and pull you into his chest.

Dick’s language of romance wasn’t grand or romantic. Although reticent, his tranquil actions were nothing but idyllic. It was the little things that counted, whether it was fresh perennial’s picked from the field or even a hug. Your relationship didn’t have to be based on gifts and what others thought of you. It was the little things that counted.

The night before he was drafted, Dick invited your family over to his farm. It was at the edge of town and down a long dirt road, leading to a little white house and large red barn. It was picturesque, a cornfield and trees for miles on end. There was no constant chatter, horns blaring, or pressure-it was just quiet.

When your parents and Dick’s parents were distracted in conversation, Dick requested to take a walk with you. As much as you enjoyed talking to the bubbly Anne, you needed a small escape. You followed Dick to the back of his tiny kitchen. Being the gentleman he was, he held the door open and let you walk ahead of him. The only noise that could be heard were the chirps of crickets and the wind gently blowing. You held a hand down on a dress your mother forced you to wear. It was a Jade summer frock, but Dick had complimented you. So it made the frock somewhat bearable.

The two of you walked in his backyard. You had no clue where he was leading you. You turned to Dick to ask. He didn’t respond with words. His fingers edged on your as you unruled your fingers, letting his hand sink into yours. His hands were worked, and you felt awful so you gently caressed the upper skin with your thumb.

“Where are we going?” You questioned as you looked left and right, clinging onto the shawl that hung from your shoulders.

Dick looked down at you. He had a subtle smile on his lips as he looked down at you. All of the anxiety he had felt about being drafted, work, and the war faded away when he looked at you. Dick didn’t need to kiss you to know that you loved him; he could tell from the gentle look of your stunning (y/e/c) eyes. He watched you look into the never ending field ahead of you, the wind blowing loose strands of your updo. You wore a little bit of makeup. It was always subtle. He knew you hated wearing makeup and did you want to do it to look “presentable”. Dick didn’t care what you looked like, whether it be in overalls or a dress, he was infatuated with you.

He should have known from day one that y/n, the mischievous daughter of his Economics professor, had been yearning for him. He attempted to get lost in the papers and speeches of your father in his regal office with the shades closed and the whiff of smoke, earth paper, and Whiskey. Even when he was trapped in the office, you were still on his mind with your elegant perfume and book in hand.

“Here.” He announced, overlooking the cornfield. The colossal, green plants waved in the wind, in front of a hazy smoky dull sunset. You didn’t respond and simply looked into the sunset, slowly watching the shining sun set into the ground. “The cornfields, they remind me of you.”

A smirk curved on your gloss lips as you squeezed his bigger, worked hand with your tinier one. “Is that so?”

“They're wild. No matter the season, they are always growing. They're not the easiest plant to manage, there...unruly.” Dick explained, still a gentle smile on his tringale face.

“Are you comparing me to a bunch of crops?” You teased as your head landed on his shoulder. “Not a lot of women find that very romantic.”

Dick leaned his head on top of yours as he, your thighs brushing against each other.

“I’m going to miss you a lot,” You broke the silence.

Dick didn’t move and had an eerie stoic expression. He tightened his grip on your hand before looking down to let out a soft sigh.

The sun didn’t shine anymore, the corn had stopped moving in the wind, and the stars didn’t sprinkle. You felt your stomach drop as goose bumps appeared on your exposed arms and legs. You froze and looked down at the grass, seeing your feet nestled right next to Dick’s.

The possibility that this could be the last time you saw Dick, held him, read with him, and kissed him haunted you. As a child, you had made it official that love was off the table. But when the giant gentle with red hair and mint eyes waltzed into your kitchen on that fateful night, your world had been turned upside down. Trying to be logical, you could live if Dick died. He was far too old to marry you, and most likely showed no interest. You could've been just a pretty face for him to silently hold before acting like you never shared tender moments in the moonlight. If he died, you would move on, marry someone your mother chose out for you, and start a mundane life of cooking, folding laundry, and having children.

But emotionally, if Dick didn’t come back to Lancaster, something would be missing from your life. Something important.

“I can’t promise anything. You know that, sweetheart.” Dick cautioned you, whispering into your hair. At Least he was being honest-better than sugar coating a sensitive subject. He tried to make you look at him, but you refused. You were being stubborn, pushing away the emotions and trying to think logically. But in all honesty, it was catching up to you know. Tears stung at your eyes as your mouth quivered.

“I know, you don’t have to tell me, ” You sniffled, “I’m not an idiot. I prefer it if you be straightforward with me.” Dick looked at you with his thin eyebrows knit together and narrowed eyes. After sharing such a kind moment, he most likely wouldn't wanna break news that would tear your heart to pieces.

You preferred if he’d just spit out the words and get it over with. Make it easier for both of you to handle.

He moved on his hands to your cheek to wipe the incoming tears, but you refused. You turned your head and swiped the tears with your shaky palm, red lipstick and mascara staining your skin.

You scoffed in frustration, “Just say you want me to break up with me. It’s for the better. I’ll go to school, you go to war. We act like nothing ever happened. For the greater good. It was fun while it lasted..But I...nevermind.” You looked down at the ground, refusing to look at Dick. One glance and the next thing you would know, tears would be streaming down your face as you ran into the night.

Dick turned and followed after you as your footsteps increased with a few mumbled sniffles. “That’s not what I wanted to say-”

A pained sob escaped your mouth as you walked forward, a red face with tears streaming down your cheek. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please, for the better of us. It’s better to use your mind over your heart and not worry about some young, naive girl who had a crush on her father’s best student!”

“Y/n...”

You continued to walk forward and ignore Dick’s pleas, but your stomping slowed down.

“Y/n...”

Dick was creeping up behind your. Your speed walking slowly turned into slow, sluggish steps. Tears streamed down your face as your hands slung at your sides. Dick was now right behind you, watching you as you sniffled. You slowly turned your head to look at him with mascara running down your face.

“Oh, Sweetheart..” Dick softly sighed. Your whole body turned around as you fell into his arms, letting out a loud sob. Small sniffles turned into wails as you cried into his chest, staining the ivory collared shirt. He stroked your hair as he ran reassuring circles on your back. He wanted you to get all of those pestering emotions out. After a few minutes of sobbing and Dick comfortingly holding you close, he broke the silence.

“That’s not why I brought you here,” Dick cooed into your hair as he traced mindless figures into your lower back.

You looked up with your big (e/y/c) orbs, letting out a little sniffle. He had a soft smile on his face as he wiped a stray hair from your face, slowly tucking it behind your hair. “Then...why did you bring me here..?”

“This cornfield holds a special place in my heart. I come here a lot. It’s peaceful, but lonely.” Dick explained as he grabbed your hand, holding your tiny one in his own. He looked down at you, “After working with your father, I’d come home and run here. I’d stop midway to look at the wind and the way it moved the corn. It was so relaxing, so that’s why I brought you here.”

“To not feel lonely?”

“Yes. I felt alone, until I met you.” He admired, “I was surrounded by people, but I still felt alone. But when I spent time with you, I didn’t feel alone at all. It was a highlight to see you, even if it was sitting across from each other at a table or seeing you, laying on the porch. I looked at you and I got happy.”

“Dick, I…” You were speechless. His words wanted your heart, but his message baffled you. “Appreciate your kindness, but what do you mean?”

The gentle strawberry blonde held your hand. He didn’t hold it tight, but used both his hands to hold them up. He slowly backed up and lowered himself on one knee. From the books you had read, you knew what this way. Initiatively, you would’ve said no and ran away. But Dick had courted you with his gentle hold, reassuring words, and sheer presence.

“I couldn’t keep it any longer. I know there’s a chance that this will be the last time you see me for a while or at all. I said I couldn’t promise anything, but I..can’t hide it. I love you, y/n. I don’t care if you want to start school and make your own money, I don’t care if you wear pants, I don’t care what you do. I care about your happiness. I want you to live a long and happy life. You’re the most beautiful and intelligent woman I have ever met. I understand you’re young, and you can turn this down if it’s too much. Dick announced as he pulled a velvet box from the back of his pants, he opened the box to reveal a golden Celtic band. You put a hand on your mouth in joyous disabelif. “I want to be with you, but only if you want to be with me. You’d never be alone...Will you marry me, y/n?”

“Dick, this is…” You chuckled in disbelief. One minute you were crying, now you were laughing. Dick in one hand held a beautiful ring, and the other hand your delicate hand. “Wonderful. But my parents...they…”

“I talked to your father. He said pick out a white dress you want.” Dick replied. “You’re mother cried. I thought she was upset, but she was beyond happy. She told me she knew you had an eye on me since I started coming over for dinner. They approved...but if you don’t want this, I understand. I just couldn’t hold it in, even if I don’t come ba-“

“Yes, Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Your words started low, but then turned to loud cheers. You squealed, nodding enthusiastically. “I will, Dick. I’ll marry you. I don’t care. If something does happen, I'll be happy knowing that I’m yours. Even if you don’t…” the three lettered words struggled to come out your mouth. It was such a rough word. Unable to bring yourself to say it, you chose to leave your pessimistic side for something more optimistic. “I won’t be alone, even if you’re in Europe, The Pacific, wherever. I’ll just know you’re here, in my heart and dreams.”

It turned out that this whole dinner was a setup by your family and the Winters. It just had to be Anne Winters that she found about your relationship with Winters. Being sixteen and sassy, she casually shrugged it off and stated that “Dick was a horrible liar”. It should have been obvious with Dick’s favourite meal, the fact that you were placed right next to time, Anne’s teasing, and your mother pestering for you to look presentable. It all made sense now.

But there was one ball in the air-the ceremony. Dick would be leaving for Toccoa the next day, the afternoon. Your parents wanted a big ceremony for the morning. The Winters didn’t care-they just wanted the two of you to be happy considering that Dick was going to be away for a long time or forever.

You and Dick had to come to an agreement. You announced at the end of dessert that you would wait to be married until Dick came back from the war.

Obviously, this caused a bit of uproar. But with Dick leaving tomorrow, they chose not to make a big deal of it. As long as you and Dick were happy, your families could be nothing but be happy for you. Even if it was a short amount of time.

After the storm that settled, you and Dick had left his house. You hopped in his truck and drove to the local chapel Dick had attended with his family every Sunday. In the middle of the night, the two of you eloped. He made sure to pull over and pick out a group of Perennials, all kinds of your favorites. You even stuffed some into your messy updo which had turned into a half updo.

After your quiet ceremony, the two of you drove back to your estate. There, the two of you spent your first, and poetically final, night together in your childhood bedroom; making love, cuddling, and cherishing every moment you shared with each other.

The variety of perennials’s Dick had picked out were placed into a blue and white ginger jar. It was meant to be a memory of Dick. He wouldn’t be there psychically, but spiritually, he would be right there.

Dick was surprised to learn that you weren’t a virgin. He was raised a Mennonite, waiting for marriage. You, being a curious young woman, had experimented. It was once, and an unpleasant experience. Before, you had felt indifferent about sex. It was something that women were meant to desire. You were told to be a virgin and wait for a man to take control of you. Hating those words, you chose to do the opposite. Nobody knew of your little secret, besides Dick-your husband.

Dick was nothing like the boy you had lost your virginity to. Unlike that boy, he was a man. Not because he was masculine and tough, but because he treated you like his equal. He never treated you any differently from your father. Dick had morals and integrity, he was compassionate, quiet but polite, open-minded, and used his brain and heart. That was what you defined a real man as.

Dick treated you like you were made of glass. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you. He didn’t care about his feelings, he only cared about yours. He wanted to make sure that you were enjoying yourself. You aided him in some areas, but the two of you were on a ride after a rocky start. Dick always asked how you were doing, if you wanted him to stop, go slower, or if you needed to break. He left sloppy kisses all over your body and had his hands wrapped around you like a young child with a bear. Dick didn’t let go of you once.

That night, the two of you held each other close as you chatted for hours on end. That was what you had looked forward to, not the sex. Sex was still a big piece in your marriage, but it wasn’t the most important. You looked forward to the long and mindless conversations the two of you had. Dick held you in his warm arms, toned and muscles from the workout’s he did year round. He would hold you close to his body as the two of you discussed life after the war.

It didn’t matter what the future held. If Dick was gone for one year, ten years, or forever. What mattered was the two of you had each other in your little moment of peace before all hell would break loose.

You and Dick had chatted the whole night away. The next thing you knew, you would go from the bedroom to the train station. It was a moment you dreaded, but it had to be done. Dick once again had a stoic expression. He kissed his mother, your mother, and sister, shook his father's and your father’s hand, and gave you a long sweet kiss on the lips. Dick struggled to pull away, but he knew it was for the best. Before climbing onto the train, he promised to write to you at every opportunity he got and tell you about Europe, the war, and anything he desired to tell you.

The next thing you knew, you were alone again.

When you arrived home, you kicked off your shoes and walked up the stairs. Your mother asked if you were okay, to which you silently nodded your head. Your father had noticed your unusual silence. He had offered to take you shopping, thinking that money would make you happy. All you did was politely decline and retreat to your bedroom.

Your room was stuck in time. The sheets were all over the floor and Dick’s tall figure that had been imprinted on the left side of your bed. The dress your mother forced you to wear laid on the floor, along with your flats and pearls.

The sun shined through the curtains as you crawled onto the side where Dick had laid. You closed your eyes and sunk into his pillow, holding onto the disappearing scent of your husband.

On Top of the books, you had been reading were the perennials; lavender, daylilies, and stonecrops. You looked up from the pillow, your nose buried into the pillow and a blanket loosely covering your legs.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel that so alone anymore.

———

One year turned into two, two turned into three, and three turned into four. You kept the calendar’s from over the years in your room, neatly stored under your bed. You found it funny how time flew by. You could remember the first day of walking in your classroom and the day you walked off the podium with your diploma. The pretty perennials that Dick had given you from what seemed like a decade ago had died. They were withered and derived of the bright colors they once had, hanging on the side of the blue and white ginger jar. The perennials reminded you of yourself. Once you had been a fiery young girl, and now you were an exhausted graduate student who was bound to become a widow.

Around the time you had found work at Lancaster, BBC announced that the war was over in Europe. That should have phased you and made you jump up with glee, but in all reality, it didn’t. The optimistic side you once had was long gone, turning into a pessimistic bitterness. The war was over in Europe, but not in The Pacific. Dick still wouldn’t be coming home, and you learned to accept that.

Sure, he had sent you letters in the beginning. Lots of them. He would talk about his adventures in training, his dreadful drill sergeant, his friend who was a “one of those city folk”, and so many more things. He expressed his boyish pride in being a patriot for his country. His little letters used to make your day. But as the leaves fell from the trees and the years passed, his letters would slow down. The last one you had received in January, written in December. It was short and sweet. The letter rested in your drawer. As the days passed on, a small part of you broke. You had been married for five years, yet you felt like you weren’t even married. No Dick kissing you, holding you in your arms, or comforting you in your darkest moments.

When the flowers had slowly withered, so did your hope.

But that all changed on a warm September day. Your mother had called you from your room, not specifying what was awaiting for you at the door. You grumbled and got up, taking off your glasses as you walked down the stairs, expecting to see another colleague trying to woo you.

You didn’t expect to see a tall man with a soft smile, strawberry hair, and a neat military uniform. Your husband-Dick Winters.

It was like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You dropped everything, running right into his arms. You buried your face in his chest as he pulled you in close, his worked hands resting on your lower back and hair. He smelt amazing, and his uniform was soft. You missed his tender touch and soft words. It had been forever since you had seen him. In that moment, nothing mattered. No words needed to be spoken. In all honesty, you never wanted or needed pity from others. You just wanted someone-Dick-to be close. You thought of yourself as a coward, but all you wanted to feel was alright.

“Sweetheart, I missed you. I’m so sorry,” He apologized, stroking your embrace. His voice was stoic, as usual. It really was Dick. He was home and in your arms, at last.

“Don’t. Just stay. Please.” You softly cooed into his chest. No, you couldn’t let go now.

Dick let out a soft chuckle and stayed in the embrace. War was a strange beast. It stripped families of their children and caused mass discussion. Dick thought he wouldn’t come home and see his wife who had married the night before he was drafted. As the years had gone by, Dick began to regret his choice. What if he had left you a widow?

But that was the past. It was gone-nothing to waste tears on. In your extended embrace, the future didn’t matter, it wasn’t worth stressing. Dick and you lived in the present moment and made it beautiful.

-----------

Nothing had changed after Dick had come home. Life was still the same, except you weren’t as alone. Dick was still his stoic self. He was a doting husband. You expected him to struggle when he returned to civilian life. He wasn't used to homemade dinners and a bed much-the flashes of exploding limbs and artillery flashing through his eyes. Both you and Dick were independent. It wasn’t a bad thing. You could spend hours reading as he did a puzzle in another. On some days, the two of you would do activities together. You’d lay your head in his lap as he’d did his puzzle. On other days, Dick would be needier. Originally, he wasn’t vocal about it. It took you a while to catch onto it. He held your hand more in public, pulled you closer as you slept, and whenever he was in a mood-he’d come right to you and just give you a look. You knew the look all too well-and knew how to cure it. Dick would wrap his arms as you snuggled into his chest and talk about anything your minds came to. Sometimes you’d talk, but other times the two of you would close yours and fall asleep. Dick wouldn’t have any nightmares if held you close for comfort.

Without you, Dick didn’t know what he would do. How he could return to the simplicity of life.

Somehow, he returned. And every day he made sure to thank you for making him feel like a human and not a machine-whether that be through a gentle peck, a cuddle, or even a literal “thank you”. He loved you more than anything in the world.

----------

Shortly after Dick returned, the two of you moved out to New Jersey. His “city-boy” friend (his name was Lewis Nixon, but Dick called him Lew) had offered him a job at his parent’s nutrition company. So off the two of you drove from Lancaster to the suburbs of Haddonfield. Haddonfield and Lancester were virtually the same; small country bumpkin towns isolated from the big cities.

You and Dick had bought your first house (which was given by Nixon was a “late honeymoon gift). It was a small colonial house in a tiny suburb, pristine white with red doors. The decorations in the house were limited, a few photos of your and his family with elegant furniture gifted from your parents. It was a little big for your liking. It was a nice gift, but in Nixon’s words, it was for the “incoming armada of redheads”.

Babies. Children. Of your kin.

Dick had mentioned having children. When he was still adjusting, he’d hold you close as he talked about his plans for the future. Buy a farm in Pennsylvania, build his own business, and start a family of his own. He had told you that anywhere you would go, he would go. Anything you wanted, he wanted. He was about thirty two and you were close to turning twenty-five. It was expected at your age to have young children, but with no husband around and a job, it was difficult to settle down. You would gulp and smile, looking down as you held his hand.

Dick didn’t want to pressure you. He knew that were siginactiatly younger. Times were changing, you had a job and life of your own. He never wanted to interfere with it. When you would get insecure about not being the “ideal wife”, he’d reassure you that you were his wife and didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want. Dick wasn’t a man who put fear into others to get what he wanted. He was a patient and gentle soul.

You had tried a few times here and there. As much as you tried to enjoy something that was pleasurable, it was painful. You hid it from Dick, but Dick wasn’t an idiot. Dick wanted you to enjoy it. You could his mint eyes, hungry yet soft, as he laid on top of you, both of your hands restricted as you did the deed.

You weren’t making any noises, looking to the side. Something was wrong, you knew it. But you couldn’t break it to Dick. How would he react?

Dick catched onto his. He pulled himself together and pulled out. You looked at him and gave him a stubble style as he scooted closer to you, his breath heavy and gelled hair a mess.

“Hey,” You smiled awkwardly, clenching at the sheets.

Dick looked at you, a smile curving as his lips as his hand caressed your cheek. “How is my wife doing?”

It was a private nickname. He called you it after the war, especially when he was feeling vulnerable. Sometimes it was “my little wife”, which could be sweet or driven by lust. The little nickname made your heart skip a beat. You were proud to be his.

“Good. I’m tired,” You yawned as you held his hand close, playing with his big fingers.

Dick looked at your face as he admired your natural beauty, a pearly smile, your hair loose on the pillow, and your figure covered by a thin sheet. His hand moved from your cheek, your nape, and eventually your stomach. He drew slow, soft circles around your tummy.

“My little wife with our baby,” Dick remarked, his fingers dancing across your bare skin. Any girl would’ve fallen head over heels if a man had said that. You should have been happy, you wanted a family.

But how could you tell him?

There was a long silence between the two of you. All you did was look into his mint orbs, stroking his hair out of his face.

“I hope he, or she, looks like you. So they get their mother’s beauty.” Dick looked down at your stomach and planted a kiss.

You gulped, thinking of a response. A pretty white lie. “And there’s dad’s redhead and kindness. If you’re a little guy, I’ll tell you that it’s hard to find a man like your day.”

“And it’s hard to find a woman like your mother. She’s a firecracker,” Dick jabbed as he playfully ruffled his hair.

“Dick…” Your words were low as you held back a sob. You plastered a smile, it hurt to lie. “We don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl. I don’t even know if I have a baby there…”

“Well…” Dick laid his head on your stomach, gently finessing the skin under your breast. “If It was a girl, what would her name be?”

You hated the feeling-naming a baby that wasn’t in your stomach. Dick believed that you were pregnant, or at least he believed you were. In response, you bit your lips-looking like you were deep in thought.

“Margaret,” You announced, “Molly for short. After my grandmother, in her memory.”

Dick tilted his head up and nodded, “For your grandma,” He planted another kiss and rested his head once again, “A boy?”

“Lewis? You like that fellow a lot.”

Dick shook his head, “No. I can’t look at him and our child the same way.”

You let out a chuckle before shaking your head. An image of a little baby flashed between your eyes. Mint eyes, dimples, and soft red hair. You wished it would occur.

“I can’t think of a name. You?”

Dick was silent for a minute as he laid on your stomach, your fingers entangled in his locks.

“Thomas. His name could be Thomas,” Dick proposed.

“Why is that?” You questioned.

Dick let out a sigh before crawling up to you, pulling you into his arms,“He was a C.O, to replace Sobel. I didn’t know him for long since his plane was hit. He’s listed as missing in action...but,” He froze on the words, unable to say it. You looked up at him Dick, who looked to the side with guilt tugging at his heart. You planted a kiss on his chin.

“He was twenty-two years old, just married. He sent a letter out to his wife to tell her that he was coming home. She still believes he’s out there, lost in some forest, finding his way home..” Dick looked down at you. Just like Meehan, he had been freshly married, sending out a letter. While Dick had kept his short and sweet (he didn’t want to promise anything), Meehan was too big for his britches. He didn’t show his fear, confidence in the face of adversity.

“Okay, Thomas it is. I like that name” You expressed.

Dick saw your face glow up, and so did his. He smiled, nodding along. “Thomas and Margaret,” He looked at your stomach once more, running his hand across your flat stomach. “I like that too.”

You nuzzled into his chest as he planted little kisses on the nape of your neck, holding you close for warmth. The two of you remained there, the only noise being your breathing.

Pulling your head back, Dick moved his hands down to your lower back to pull you up, closer to his face. “Y/n?”

“Yes, Dick?” You looked into his mint eyes, the candle in the room glittering in his orbs.

Dick held your cheek as he admired your face, “I love you, my little wife.”

You looked down before looking at your husband, moving slowly up to his face.

“And I love you two, my big husband.”

Maybe time stopped when Dick’s lips had met yours, but the flutter only intensified. Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees went numb. You could only focus on how soft Dick felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all of your senses.

It wasn’t clear if you had dreamed this all, but the raw emotion in the way Dick’s fingers curled against yours. Dick kept his eyes open, sneaking a guilt peak every time you took a breath for air, just to make sure you weren’t a product of his imagination.

You weren’t sure if nature rooted for this moment, but it distracted you from everything. You just laid there with Dick, draped each other's arms as you sloppily kissed. Dick pulled you in once again, gently placing his lips onto yours until your knees had once again gone numb, overpowered by his. His other hand rested on your stomach as he murmured Margaret and Thomas, talking about how excellent of a mother you would be to your babies.

By the time you became aware of this, you froze, letting Dick kiss your body. You looked at the ceiling, hands in his hair as he decorated your skin.

It was like a car had run into you, throwing you down to the side-a rude awakening. As much as you denied it, it was creeping up on you.

There was no Thomas. There was no Magaret. There was never going to be a Thomas or Margaret.

Your stomach was flat, nothing moved. There was no life in your stomach ever. No matter how many times you tried, wished, prayed, there was only one conclusion.

There would never be a son or a daughter in your stomach-ever.

From that point on, life was slow. You woke up, gave Dick a kiss goodbye, worked from home, cooked dinner, read with Dick, fell asleep at an ungodly hour, and repeated the mundae routine everyday. With Dick being a general manager, he would work late hours. At some points, the only time you would see him is late at night when he’d crawl into bed giving you a kiss or early in the morning. Still, in his weary and stressed state, he’d always kiss your stomach every night and morning.

With your irregular cycles, constant negative tests, and pelvic pain becoming more evident in your marriage, you decided it was best to see your Doctor. As much as you didn’t want to know the possibility of what could be wrong, at least you would have an idea of what it was and how to make it better.

It turned out you couldn’t make your problem better. The doctor had a sympathetic look in your eyes as he listed off possibilities. You just sat there and looked at your stomach; your cold hands pressing against your stomach.

You were infertile.

There was never a Margaret growing in your stomach, nor was there a Thomas. There was nothing in your stomach.

How the hell were you going to tell your doting husband this?

---------

It was another Friday night in September. The leaves fell from the trees, the radio softly played in the back, it was peaceful in your little white house. Dick still hadn’t come home yet. You attempted to act like everything was normal as you put on a nice dress, pearls, and a fake pearly smile. It was all fine.

Nothing was fine.

You stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the haunting abyss. This feeling of dread and tightness became background noise as if it were traffic on an unseen road. There were times where you could handle it, and times where you could not. This was a day where you couldn’t handle it. Each day passed, and the more you repressed it-it hurt. It hurt even more than it was supposed to.

You were faced with a dead-end, a terrifying one, with thoughts of temptation and contemplation. You felt even lost in your own home and marriage, feeling helpless and scared. This wasn’t supposed to happen. In the partial society you lived in, a woman’s identity revolved around the ability to convenience. As a girl, you laughed it off, saying you’d do what you’d please. But you were no longer a fiery girl, but a broken and bitter woman. Bitter at the world for forcing the idea that women were baby machines. You, as you typically did, pushed it away.

Stuffed it into a closet, but it was now pouring out. All the baggage that you had repressed was right in front of you. You never felt like you belonged in the parthricaral society you lived in with their white picket fences and predictable lifestyles. That didn’t mean you didn’t want a family of your own. You had a husband, a job, a house, everything seemed perfect. But one thing was missing-a baby.

The older you had gotten, the more it affected you. Going to those parties for Dick’s job and seeing all the wives with their babies and fumbling toddlers. You didn’t feel anything towards them at first, but they eventually grew on you. Dick’s first few days home contained long conversations about what your lives would be after the way. You would chat with him for hours about it to distract from the nightmares that flooded his mind, holding his hand.

“A nice little farm near Lancaster, one or two kids, my own business, and the most important thing...you ” Dick would say, his words full of love. “My wonderful little wife, Margaret, Thomas, and me, on our farm. We’ll have each other.”

The kettle boiled in the water, the loud noise screeching in the kitchen. You dropped the knife and heard it clack onto the ground. All you did was stand there with wide eyes and shaky legs, looking down at the ground as your nails dug into the counter.

You couldn’t bear him children-you tried and tried and tried but to no avail. If you were not Dick’s, then what were you?

---------

Dick had taken off his trench coat, sliding his shoes off as he neatly put them right next to yours. He let out a sigh as he loosened his tie. Work had been stressful once again. All he could think about was seeing you and his growing little babies. Of course, he never told anybody. But knowing the thought was between you and him made it special-something so personal and beautiful. He couldn’t wait to see your face and hold you close, talking for hours on end. Anything you said or did made him head over heels, just like it had done to you five years ago. You had been distant and not your usual self, and Dick was worried. He knew of the insecurities you had, feeling like you never had fit into a certain mold.

He had walked into the kitchen and instead of finding you, he found a dropped knife and kettle that was overflowing with boiling water. It looked like you had left in a hurry. He made sure to check all of the doors to see if you had left, in which you had no. In a calm manner, Dick cleaned up the kettle and put the knife back where it was. He wanted to help so you wouldn’t stress.

The pitter-patter of the shower coming from upstairs alerted Dick. He walked up the stairs and down the dark hallway, seeing the bathroom light creak from the bathroom. Creaking the door open, the all to familiar noise hit his ears. The bathroom was foggy as the shower ran. Looking down, Dick saw the water come to his feet, staining his wet socks. Your flats were spread on the ground along with your knit cardigan, soggy from the water. Inside of the shower was you, clothed with your makeup running, hugging your knees as you looked down.

Dick let out a soft sigh as he looked at you, his shoulder slouching down. It was paining him to see you in this state, “Oh honey..”

You didn’t move, only your eyes did. He walked towards you, into the shower. He wore a white suit and dress pants, which were now we're stuck to his skin. He put himself right next to you as the hot water warmed his cold skin. You adjusted yourself to lean on his wet shoulder. Dick said there as you leaned on him for comfort, listening to the white noise of the shower.

“I tried,” You mumbled as your fingers ran circles in his arm.

Dick looked down at you with his strawberry hair sticking to his forehead and drips of water rushing down his face. He frowned, tiping his head to the side.

“I tried and tried, time after time. I tried so hard and I…” You lamented, grasping onto Dick’s arm. It was hard to spit out the words. You had already said the first half of it, you needed to say more. “I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Do what?” Dick questioned, his fingers lifting your chin. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your mascara coming down along with it. His thumb wiped away the incoming hot tears. He was too kind to you. His mere presence reassured you. “Don’t cry, my little wife. Let me help you. Whatever it is, whatever you need, I-”

“I can’t have children. Not now, or ever.” The words came out your mouth. It felt like you were spitting fire. It felt strange like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. Even though it was gone, it still lingered. “I went to the doctor last week. I’m infertile, Dick.”

Dick just sat with a frown on his face. You couldn’t tell what was going through his head. His free arm had wrapped around your shoulder was slowly falling as he let go of your chin, making an “oh” noise.

You looked at him and let out a sob as your face fell into your hands. “I didn’t wanna tell you. I know you’ve wanted children, every man wants that for their wife. You want a son who looks like you, and a wife who can provide that for you. I can’t. I wanted it too, but I watched my dream break. I’m supposed to give you a baby like a normal wife should...” Through the sniffling and sobs, you refused to look at Dick. He seemed disappointed, but you could never tell what he was feeling. “If you want a wife who can give you a child, then, by all means, do so. I’m worthless.”

You could feel it. Your relationship was over. Maybe it was for the better. Dick could start his family, and you could work a job in Philadelphia. They did have an opening in Philadelphia. It was better to have nobody-so you couldn’t get hurt and hurt others around you.

“No,”

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you turned to Dick. You scooted back, not able to tell if he was upset at you. “No?”

“No. You’re not worthless, y/n.” Dick attested, “What would make you think such a thing?”

“We’ve always wanted a family down the line. You would kiss my stomach every night, talking to the...” You looked down at your flat stomach, your hand gently squeezing the skin. It broke your heart even more just feeling what Dick assumed was Margaret and Thomas. “Just didn’t want you to get mad at me. I know you're upset with me.”

“Don’t give me that malarkey,” He growled, crawled closer to you as he grabbed your cheeks with your foreheads nuzzling towards each other. You could feel the warmth on the top of your forehead, “I’m not upset. You didn’t have to hide this from me. I should’ve known, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

Dick tenderly grabbed your shoulders and leaned you back on the white subway wall. He was gentle as he wiped the sticky hair from your face for a clearer view. He had a soft smile as he caressed your cheek with you leaning into it.

“But if I can’t give you children, what good use am I?”

“The reason I married you wasn’t that I wanted a family. At that moment, in that cornfield, I wanted you to be my wife. If I didn’t tell you, I don’t know if I would’ve died content with my life,” Dick complimented with a kiss to your wet hand. “You're not just a pawn used for children-my little wife. Just because you can’t have children doesn’t mean I won’t leave you. I wouldn’t even consider the thought. It’d be hard to find someone like you, y/n. Nobody as hardworking, beautiful, and fiery”

A chuckle escaped your lips, “Like a cornfield?”

“Like a cornfield,” He assured. “I don’t care about children, the past, the future, anything. I married you because I was in love with the beautiful, growing woman five years ago, and I still am. All I care about is my little wife, y/n-you. I love you.”

You nuzzled into his shoulder, “I..love you too, Dick.”

Silent communication was your and Dick’s form of romance. You didn’t need big gestures and materialistic gifts to feel comforted, sometimes you just needed someone right next to you, or in your arms. The silence was nice and the warmth was needed. Dick’s warmth felt like a little touch of heaven, warm, together, cozy. You wished that you could extend the night just so you could stay in his comforting embrace, relived in his hold. In his hold, you believed that there is nothing to fear, that there is all sunshine and love. Dick was the cure you needed, a lone star in an otherwise empty sky, he was the morningstar that you prayed wouldn’t disappear.

“I’ll make us dinner,” Dick said as he got up. “I’ll even run you a bath. Does that sound good, my little wife?”

Your fingers held the tip of his hands. Your (y/c/e)‘s met with his mint ones that shined in the pristine light. He gently helped you up with a hand resting on your waist.

Resting a hand on his chin, you looked down and shook your head. “I want to make dinner with you. I feel clean.”

“Are you sure?” Dick questioned, pulling you closer to his body. “I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Well I’m not tired. I haven’t felt like we’ve talked lately. You’ve been gone and I’ve been distant.” You confessed. The brutally honest was needed now. You tipped your head to look at Dick. “I wouldn’t mind a helping hand.”

“Fine, if you insist,” He placed his hand on your upper back and swept you off your fear. You let out a little chuckle as you snaked an arm around his shoulder for stability, “You said you needed a helping hand.”

Once you and Dick changed out of your wet clothes and into your matching silk robes (gifted by Lew, the man even had your initials engraved into the pocket), the two of you headed down to the kitchen to cook. The radio played in the back and the kettle silently brewed as you sautéed the chicken and Dick set the small table in the tiny dining space.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?” You looked behind you as you washed your hands of the greasy oils and spices.

“Did you grow up with dogs?”

You nodded as you dried your hands, “Two-a Westie and Cairn terrier. Your point?”

Dick came over the counter as he leaned on it with a smirk. It wasn’t condescending, but it looked like an idea had popped in his head. You loved it when he smirked or smiled; the dimples on his cheeks would show.

“I know you get lonely when I’m not around. Lew knows a lot of good breeders in the area. How do two dogs sound?”

You were lonely. Loneliness was a feeling you knew all too well. It haunted you as a child and adult. Except when you were a child, you thought it would disappear. But in truth, it did not.

“Two dogs sound nice, Dick,” You confessed. The kettle began to make a shrieking noise. Walking over, you grabbed two cups and poured hot water into them. The water from clear to a darkish brown. You let the bags settle for a few minutes before taking the two cups over and handing one to your strawberry blonde husband.

“There breed? Are we sure Lew won’t try and steal them?”

“Well, Lew wouldn’t steal them. He and Grace already have enough animals to take care of,” Dick put his two big hands around the mug. “Two terriers, a boy, and girl. Just like the ones you grew up with.”

“Ok,” You smiled, raising your eyebrows. “And their names?”

Dick took a sip of his tea before smacking his thin lips. “I was thinking of Margaret and Thomas. Do you like that?”

You finally knew the answer to why Dick was asking about getting dogs. Not that you were in protest. Dogs were like children-just easier to take care of.

“Yeah, I like that a lot.”

Dick put a hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeezed. He smiled at you, and you smiled back.

Within the week, Lew had come over with the cutest puppies you had ever seen. He had also brought over all of the necessary supplies for two puppies, and even two sweaters with their names. One was a feisty and quiet Westie named Thomas and the other was a sweetheart with a sour side named Margaret. You and Dick loved them more than anything in the world. They were fed Filet Mignon from the table, slept in between you and Dick, and always for what they wanted. Even Dick gave into their puppy eyes whenever they got into trouble. The reason he wanted dogs in the first place was for his little wife; y/n-you. Not only did he want to make you feel a little less lonely in your little colonial house, but protected. Dick wasn’t always there to look out for you, even though he knew you could handle yourself just fine. Still, it was the thought that counted. Knowing that you would have two little balls of energy to keep you entertained made Dick content, and so did you.

Lewis Nixon was right all along. He never saw you and Dick having children. In his wise words, dogs were “far superior” than children. Dogs didn’t cry as much, they weren’t as needy, and they didn’t wake you up in the middle of the night. Mostly.

You would see the way the dogs would interact with Dick, and how Dick would interact with them. He’d treat them like children. From rocking Margaret in his arms to having long conversations with Thomas about why he shouldn’t bite you his mother while you peacefully sleep, it made your heart skip a beat, seeing Dick be so gentle with the two puppies.

Every night before you would head to bed, Dick would always remind you that his dream had finally come true; buying the little patch of land in Lancaster for the farm was within reach. He’d give you a kiss and pull you close as the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms.

You broke away from the terrifying cliff that you had looked down, heading towards your morning star, Dick, with hope that it wouldn’t disappear.

#dick winters x reader #richard winters x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #richard winters imagine #my writing #oh gosh this is painful #also listen to wife by mitski #y'know if u wanna even cry harder #all aborad the angst train #*sad choo choo*

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goddessofmischief · 4 years ago

Text

Blue Monday, Chapter Six - Loki x T.V.A.! Reader

Chapter Six: Blood and Blade

...Asgard, some years ago...

“Amora!” teenage Thor shouted, tossing her a sword. “Train with me!”

She grinned, picking the weapon up and obliging, while teenage Loki glowered on the sidelines. He hated seeing them together, because he could always hear the whispers that accompanied it, even if there weren’t any.

They’re perfect...

He loves her...

She’ll be queen, someday...

Trying to breathe around the lump in his throat, he reacted, too distracted by his own pettiness to have care for anything else. And when he reached out his hand, the sword Amora was presently using to pin Thor to the ground transformed into a serpent.

“Ow!” she shouted, stepping away from it. “What?” asked Thor. “What, what’s wrong?” She shook her head.

“Nothing, it just... it bit me.”

Thor kicked the snake away, and she laughed, slightly, waving her hand over the bite on her arm and using magic to remove the venom.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, putting his arm around her shoulders. It was a brotherly action, Loki conceded. He saw that now. There hadn’t been anything between them, at all.

“Yes,” she said, smiling, slightly, her face trembling. “Yes, I’m fine.” Thor still looked confused as to what had happened, and Loki prayed that Amora wouldn't connect the dots, either - but she gave him a withering glance as she passed by, and he knew that she had.

He set down his book, following her to the wooded area where they sometimes went for walks.

“Amora!”

She didn’t turn around. “Amora, I didn’t mean it-”

She stopped in her tracks, and he caught up to her.

“You’re... crying,” said Loki, sort-of awkwardly.

Amora raised her blue sleeve to her face, drying her eyes, and she swallowed.

“I’m not.” “I saw you, love. You can’t lie to me. Thor, maybe, that wouldn't be so difficult-” “Fine. I was crying. I... I just...” Amora raised her face to look at him, and he felt frozen, made guilty by her red eyes. “We used to be... we used to be friends. Why d’you hate me?”

“I... don’t.”

Amora scoffed. collapsing on a tree stump.

“Then why do you send snakes after me? Or transform my sword, when I’m trying to train? Or... even little things, like using magic to tug my hair during ceremonies. Or avoid me. It seems like you’re always avoiding me.”

“...Yeah.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why, are you?” Loki sat down, cross-legged, next to her.

“Do you really want me to?” Amora nodded.

“...Yeah.”

He swallowed.

“It’s only because I love you,” he managed, fighting around the lump in his throat. “That’s... that’s why.” He took note of her confused expression, looking away. He was about to stand up again and walk away, but she reached over, grabbing his hand.

“...Why?”

“Because, you’re...” he struggled to find the right words. “You’re really... really... beautiful.” Amora looked hurt, almost. Disappointed.

“And... that’s it? That’s all there is?”

He tried, desperately, to think of what Thor would say. He’d know what to do.

“Well... what else is there?” If she looked hurt before, she was devastated now. Her hands crossed over her chest, and she turned, as if she was about to walk away.

It was at that moment that it really sunk in. She didn’t care what Thor would do.

She wanted to know what he would do.

“No,” Loki said, reaching out to her. “Truthfully, no. I didn’t mean that.”

“Tell me the truth, then.”

He gulped.

“I care for you because... because you’re the only person I’ve ever met who makes me feel not-so-lonely. I’m happier, with you. Different. You make me different.” She reached over, then, and kissed him, softly. “Don’t be too different, okay?” “Never,” he promised. “Let’s just... swear to stay the same, forever?” “Oh, I swear.”

Just then, he woke up.

...Alone.

...

It had been three days since the last mission.

You felt broken.

Loki had noticed.

You were upset with yourself, mostly. Upset that you couldn’t let it go - but even more upset that you’d let yourself become attached. You’d only known the female Loki for moments.

Even still... you were sure that you had loved her. You knew that.

“Agent?”

It was Mobius, standing in your doorway.

You cleared your throat.

“...Yes?”

Please don’t be a new mission, you thought, your heart pounding. Please, please-

"I think it’d be best if you underwent some training. Trained Odinson, as well.” You nodded, feeling relieved. “Of course,” you agreed, standing up and following him down the hallway.

Loki waited for you.

Of course.

You knew he felt guilty about how things had gone. Not that he regretted killing Lady Loki - he didn’t seem to. But he regretted your part in it.

And he still had his doubts that you could even tolerate him now that he was responsible for death of the woman you had fallen in love with.

So he’d kept his distance, for now.

“I’m here to train you, right?”

“Yes,” Loki said, “...But not only. Mobius has been made aware of the last mission’s... fate. He believes you should be trained with a weapon you could defend yourself with. From other supernatural beings, from... me.” “Alternate versions of you, you mean?” “Hopefully, yes. But you never know. People who liked me have tried to kill me before.”

“I never said I liked you, Odinson,” you said, teasing for the first time in awhile.

“You never said you didn’t, either - now, we’re going to have to get you acquainted with a few different weapons, so you know your options. Try these.”

Loki passed you his daggers.

“Here, hold them like this-”

You shrank away.

“What?” he asked, sounding vaguely offended. “What, you don’t like them?” You shook your head, slowly.

“The... weight doesn’t feel right in my hands,” you offered, trying to come up with an excuse. What else could you say? The truth, that you didn’t want to wield the same weapon that had killed female Loki? Could you say that, without hurting your Loki?

He nodded, taking your words as the truth.

“Have you tried a staff?” “A... a couple times. I’m clumsy with it.”

Loki hesitated, almost imperceptibly.

“...Sword?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and something familiar, yet new echoed through you.

Sword. Yes.

You wanted a sword.

“...How did you know...?”

“Amora used a sword,” he admitted, bluntly. “Though you couldn’t exactly wield hers... it was a powerful thing, really, called Kursebreaker - the long blade of the damned.”

“Kursebreaker?” “Yes, well... we were a little obsessed with fairytales back then. The Kursed were a breed of Dark Elf - well, they were. All the dark elves are dead, now. Nothing to worry about there. But Odin had loved to scare us with the stories - my mother, not so much. She’s terrified of them.”

Even though you were upset with him, you loved hearing Loki talk, no matter what the subject.

But listening to him speak about Asgard was nothing short of magical.

“Then again, Kursebreaker is gone.”

“Gone?”

“She was set off with it. At her funeral. That’s a thing Asgardians do... we bury our dead by casting them off waterfalls. It’s peaceful, really - of course, I can hardly remember it. I was well and truly drunk.”

You hadn’t known for sure before that his Amora was dead - you’d thought perhaps she had disappeared, or cast him aside. Somehow, there was something even more terrifying about living up to the standard set by a dead woman.

“ I can’t ever imagine you being a drunk,” you said, trying to tease and lighten the mood. “...Even on Asgard.” “Well, I wasn't. But I had begun being so many things I hadn’t been before she left us, I figured... why not add another? And it was only for the week of her funeral, anyhow. My father - Odin... had never liked the idea of us, had expected her as a wife for Thor. He spent most of the time around her burial trying to convince me that I would have been better with someone else. He didn’t understand. I didn’t... want anyone else. I still don’t.”

Loki swallowed, and you knew you were hearing all of this as a form of apology for the mission.

“Anyhow,” he spoke, clearing his throat and withdrawing a thin sword from seemingly nowhere, “You’ll need this. I want you to fight me with it.” “Fight you?” “You’ve never fenced before, and I have to see your form. See how hopeless you are at it.”

“...Hey!” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s alright, no one starts out good. Well, I did.” “Maybe I will, too,” you countered, assuming what you thought was a good fencing position. “What is that? What in Hel are you doing?” You shrugged, waving the sword, carelessly.

“I’m preparing to fence? ...I think?” “No, no, no,” he muttered, walking toward you. “No, this just won’t do - stand like me.” “I’m trying, Loki!”

“Don’t be difficult, now - I’m not going through this again...”

“What, do all your students give you trouble?” “Amora did.”

...

She was talented.

Amora, in recent memory, had been nothing. Which is why their friendship had always made sense to him - he felt close to being nothing, too.

And, since she had been nothing, just an orphan girl that Odin had rescued from a village in Vanaheim and given a home in the palace, she was absolutely miserable at fighting. Miserable at it.

To others, this was acceptable. She wasn’t meant for much else than a symbol of Asgard’s great kindness, how they’d taken in some pathetic girl, a girl who if Odin wanted it, would someday be the people’s princess, and then their queen. She was a sad story. A convenience of war. Someone Thor mostly ignored, someone Sif hated. No matter how good a warrior Sif was, as long as Amora was Odin’s chosen, Sif could never have Thor. No matter how kind or noble, Sif could never beat out the sob story of the poor little orphan.

To Loki, she was simply his best friend. The only person who ever spoke to him, or laughed at his jokes, or stood beside him at ceremonies.

But she was tiny, and frail, and easy to be picked on. That was completely unacceptable to him. He himself had experience with being pushed around from an early age, so he’d trained. Every bone in his body was a weapon, especially his mind. He could be outmuscled, sure, but never outmaneuvered.

Amora, he knew, shared many of these same traits. She lacked a certain cruelness that he prized, but he saw her become occasionally savage. He’d appeal to that instinct, draw it out. “Again,” he said, tapping his own sword on the ground. “Again.”

"Loki,” Amora groaned, struggling to get up. “We’ve gone five rounds-” “And I intend to keep going until you win. Again.”

...

"Again!” Loki shouted at you, and you could swear a rib was broken. Around your fourth dueling loss, something seemed to have snapped inside of him. He’d become manic, unhinged. He’d pushed you to limits you didn’t even know you had. Training had begun slowly, but he’d gotten to the point of even throwing obstacles at you with magic. He seemed to have forgotten, in his fever, that you didn’t have magic to defend yourself with.

It had to stop.

He was going to kill you.

“I said,” he yelled, running at you, “Again!”

You ducked, a curl of your hair cut off by the blade. You supposed you should have considered yourself lucky it wasn’t a finger, or your arm entirely.

“Loki, stop-” He knocked the sword from your hands, kicking you to the ground. “Yield.”

“I yield! I yield, okay!”

“Again.”

“I can’t!” “Yes, you can! I intend to keep going until you win!”

You took up your sword again, readying yourself.

Again, he trapped you. You were struggling, trying to escape the chokehold he had you in.

“Yield,” he insisted, and you tried to breathe long enough to get the word out.

“I... y...”

“Yield!” He wouldn’t really kill you, you thought, blood rushing to your head.

Would he? Loki seemed to have forgotten that he was fighting you, a Midgardian. Maybe on Asgard, this was training for beginners.

“I yield,” you choked out, and he released you.

“Again, Amora!”

The words escaped his mouth before he could think them, and all at once, you saw his face fall. He collapsed to the ground.

“Loki?” you whispered, timidly, approaching him and wondering if this was an elaborate sneak attack. If it was, he had no need for one. You hadn’t won a match yet.

...Oh.

He was crying.

You knelt down to his level.

“Hey, Loki,” you said, clutching your injured rib with one hand and taking his hand with the other, “I’m really okay, it’s not so bad-”

He shook his head.

“What have I done,” he spoke, quietly, looking at your bruised figure.

“I’m okay.” “I could have killed you.”

“I kinda thought you would, for a minute,” you admitted. He didn’t respond.

“Promise me you’ll be looked over? By... do you have healers here?”

“Yeah, we do - but Loki, can't you heal people?” “No. Not me.”

Loki wrenched his hand from yours, and without another word, he turned his back to you, retreating to his rooms.

...

Taglist:

gorgeourrific-nerd @suwupremeleader @sserpente @tripleyeeet

#loki x reader #loki x reader angst #loki #loki disney+#loki imagine #blue monday #loki blue monday #blue monday by jules #jules writes #amora #loki x amora #amora the enchantress #loki and amora #thor

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yeochikin · 4 years ago

Text

sick days. | j. yunho

a/n: phew i finally did it! this is a sequel to this fic but this can also be read as its own too! i won’t lie, i had so much trouble writing this. the amount of times i typed then erased then typed over and over again was a huge struggle for me in the past week, so i understand if this fic seemed a little... blegh ;;;; writer’s block sucks but it’s alright, i enjoyed writing it anyway hehe hope you enjoyed this. do excuse any mistakes as this has not been proofread ✨💖

word count: 3k+

main focus: yunho x fem. reader

warning(s): none, i think!

“tell me i'm hot.”

“yeah, you're hot, yunho.”

“aye.”

“you have a fever.”

“aye?”

“say ‘aye’ one more time, and i’m gonna stab you with my paintbrush.”

“aye!”

your eye twitched at his answer, showing him the temperature you had taken for him. the boy in question, who was currently laid all tucked in bed with a wet cloth on his forehead, merely gave you a bright smile despite his face looking all flushed. sometimes, you wondered whether your roommate was literally a golden retriever in his past life who got reincarnated into a human, but still somehow having the energetic personality following his next life.

“little rose, you're gonna catch my fever too. i can take care of myself.” he protested, watching as you gathered the empty ceramic bowl that was previously filled with yunho's favourite soup, mentally thanking seonghwa in your head for the recipe he gave earlier, promptly placing it onto the wooden tray you left on his bedside drawer.

“pup, you know i have a stronger immune system between the two of us. i'll be fine.” you retorted, causing the sick boy to jut his lower lip out into a little sulky pout.

“you're lucky you're cute, pup.” you grumbled, moving the cloth away to feel at his forehead, the playful glare in your eyes melting into a soft gaze. you couldn’t stay mad at him, even if you tried. luckily, his skin wasn't burning as much as before, though the pinkness in his cheeks were still present.

everything seemed like a blur today. all he remembered was trying to get up from the bed but for some reason, yunho felt as if someone had dumped a huge pile of bricks on top of his body while someone kept hitting his head with a hammer. he was lucky that you came into his room to wake him up as soon as his best friend, mingi, called you up to ask where the peachy haired boy was since he couldn't reach him for some reason. that's when you know something was up.

of course, panic started to fill your entire being as soon as you saw how flushed his cheeks looked upon entering the room, along with him shivering underneath his blanket. you immediately went to his side as you phoned your other friends to tell them what was happening. it didn't take long for yunho to be dragged away from the bed by mingi, and jongho (mainly jongho) just so seonghwa could drive them to the doctor's, despite yunho mumbling that he's fine to which he was absolutely not fine at all.

you were thankful that it wasn't that serious, but nevertheless, yunho still received an earful of scolding from you for not taking care of himself more, as if seonghwa’s nagging wasn't enough.

so now here he is, laying still on the bed as his eyes blinked slowly before his lips lazily curled up into a grin towards you once he felt your palm resting against his forehead. the dazed look in his eyes was already a sign of the medicine he took earlier slowly kicking in. noticing how droopy his eyes were, you made sure the blankets were properly tucked on him.

“rest, pup. by the time you wake up, it will be when i wake you up for dinner so you can take your meds.” you hushed him, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

poor boy only grunted in response, finally giving up to force his eyes open, letting sleep take over him. you had decided to linger a little longer in the room, just until you were completely sure that the taller male was finally getting that much needed rest. sighing to yourself, your lithe fingers gingerly moved away some of the stray strands that managed to cover most of his eyes. your expression softens at the way his lips parted ever so slightly, chest heaving up and down in an even pace, adoring the way he looked so serene. with quick yet quiet movements so as to not wake the male up, you picked up the wooden tray, and crept up on your tiptoes towards the door.

you let your body drop onto the couch in your small living room, an arm over your forehead as your eyes stared up at the ceiling. the room was filled with silence that if someone were to drop a pin, it would have created a loud noise. the silence… it was almost a little too eerie for you. normally, it would have been filled with the sounds of you and yunho discussing your assignments as if one could give the other an inspiration to do so. it was when you turned your head to the coffee table that you saw something on the coffee table.

it was your sketchbook.

the object sitting idly on the table made you recall a particular conversation you had with yunho a couple of night’s ago.

“what are you up to, little rose?”

yunho’s voice effectively made you look up from your sketchbook, the page though seemingly empty, it was a tad crumpled from your many attempts of sketching, doodling, and the many amounts of erasing. the peachy haired boy made his way from the kitchen overlooking the living room to sit down right next to you with two mugs of what seems to be coffee in both hands, handing one of them to you.

sending him a defeated smile along with a low mumble of appreciation, carefully lifting the mug up to your lips to take a small sip of the drink. as if almost immediately, the bittersweet taste of the drink washed over your tastebuds, warmth being sent throughout your entire being. clearly, nothing can really beat coffee whenever you were in a stumped position.

“professor kim wanted us to draw something yesterday.” you finally answered, momentarily pausing to take another sip of the coffee, the boy next to you putting an arm on the couch behind your head while his other hand held onto his mug, listening to you intently.

“he mentioned that he wanted something that.. makes our chests swell with a warm feeling that you feel in your chest whenever you look at your own drawing?” you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows as you set your gaze onto the blank sketchpad that was laid idly on your lap, lips pursing in deep thought.

“well, surely you must have felt the feeling before, don’t you?” yunho asked, reaching out to place his mug on top of the coffee table in front of where the two of you were seated at.

“i..” you started but somehow, the words died off in your throat.

you wanted to answer ‘yes, of course i have!’.

you wanted to say, ‘everything makes me feel that way too!’

but..

..you had come to the realisation that you had never felt such a feeling in your life before. but, wasn’t that the same thing as happiness? if that was the case, then everything would’ve been ‘a warm feeling’ to you.

yunho, who seemed to notice you being in your usual thinking bubble again, merely smiled to himself. from the couple of years being your roommate, and dare he say, your best friend, he had picked up all of your habits, and actions. from the way you would rub your nose due to being flustered, or how you would pick at your lips whenever you felt nervous - to which, he tried to make you stop by giving you a small keychain with a stress ball attached to it, fortunately making you squeeze it instead of picking your lips again - yunho could read you like an open book most of the time.

though of course, he would have to admit, it is when you seem predictable would be the time where you would be sprouting up something so.. unpredictable. the memory of you pulling a sudden all nighter because of a sudden inspiration from watching a movie would always make you look so endearing in the male’s eyes. it was when your eyes meeting his own was what made yunho flinch ever so slightly in his seat out of surprise.

“tell me, pup. have you ever felt such a feeling before?” you asked, curiosity evident in your bright eyes.

your question was to be expected, making yunho’s features soften at you. folding his arms in front of his chest, his back leaned further into the couch as he hummed underneath his breath in thought. the happiness that managed to make him freeze in place, huh? it took him a moment, but eventually, he nodded his head.

“i have, little rose.” he responded.

“and what was it, if you don’t mind sharing.” you inquired, shifting in your place to sit criss-cross as you turned to face the male next to you.

yunho could only stare at your face, slightly caught off guard upon hearing your sudden interest. he couldn’t help but to release an amused laugh at the way you leaned in ever so slightly, reaching a hand out to playfully ruffle your hair.

“it may sound a little ridiculous. but it was when you threw that birthday party for me last year.” he mentioned, only to feel an amused chortle threatening to leave his lips upon seeing the confused look painted over your face, as if waiting for the peachy haired boy to explain what he meant.

“you baked a cake for me, no?” the corners of his lips quirked up as soon as realisation seemed to hit you. you did bake a cake for him. but really, it wasn’t that special so made him pick that certain day of all days? before you could even ask, however, yunho already beat you to it by giving out his own answer.

“no one has ever baked a cake for me before, it was either bought from our local bakery in town or none at all. but something about a homemade one.. you can feel the effort and so much love from someone who had taken their time in doing so.” yunho trailed off, eyes somehow shining with an unknown sparkle in them as soon as they landed on your own.

“and i have you to thank for, little rose.” he continued, fingers gingerly curling the stray strand of hair behind your ear.

you swear you could feel your heart increase its pace, feeling as if it was about to burst out of your chest. your cheeks felt warm due to the feeling of your blood rushing up to them, a hand quickly reaching up to rub your nose before tearing your gaze away from yunho’s warm one.

you didn’t need any more explanation. you had found your inspiration.

a fond smile curled itself over your tiers at the memory before deciding to stand up as you made your way to your room, grabbing the sketchbook with you along the way. you have a drawing to finish.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

a small creak from a door being opened resonated throughout the small hallway of the house, along with heavy footsteps, and the sound of a deep yawn mingled in the air. yunho rubbed his eyes as he made his way into the living room. his eyes were still heavy with traces of sleep lingered in them before looking over to the wall clock idly hanging on the wall, wanting to know how many hours had passed after he fell asleep earlier. judging by how dark it was outside, it was already night time, or maybe even midnight. with how long he slept, it was possible he slept the whole day away.

although slowly, yunho was thankful that the medicine seemed to make him recover considering how his head wasn’t throbbing painfully like before, though he still felt a little heavy but it wasn’t as bad as earlier. he could get up on his own, and that’s already enough for the tall male.

“y/n?” the peachy haired boy called out, wandering around the house in search for you.

it was when he reached the door to your room that he noticed the door was slightly ajar, along with a faint sound of what seemed like a song playing coming from the inside as well. his knuckles, gently knocked against the wooden surface before gently pushing the door a tad wider, just enough for yunho to peek in.

and there you were. all hunched over your desk with your head on top of your folded arms, seeming to have fallen asleep with whatever you were doing earlier. as much as yunho wanted you to let you have you rest after busying yourself by helping him earlier during the day, he didn’t want you to have a sore neck and back due to the position you were in. he knew how much you would complain about the pain in the two regions afterwards but then doing it again, it was a never ending cycle that yunho was amused to see from the years of living with you.

walking over to the desk with an intention of wanting to wake you up so you could properly lie down, the male noticed something right next to your head. it was your sketchbook. he walked up behind you, looking down at your sleeping figure. with how your pencil was loosely being held in between your dainty fingers along with a couple of crumpled up papers, mixed in with the other pencils in a variety of colours you had strewn all over the surface of your desk, yunho had made the conclusion that you were working on the assignment you had told him a couple of days ago.

he was glad to know that you were finally getting started on it, knowing how much you would procrastinate until things were a little too late for you to do. but with how you managed to finish everything right on time despite having such little time left, would never cease to amaze him every time.

with slow movements (clearly not wanting you to wake up all surprised and accidentally smack him in the face), yunho leaned over you to clear up your desk from all the clutter and coloured pencils around you, only then having a clear view of what you had drawn onto the sketchbook which caused his eyes to widen ever so slightly at the sight, pausing in his ministrations.

his gaze was set on two drawn figures in what seems to be a bedroom, standing side by side with their faces facing each other, joyful smiles painted over their features, each having a paintbrush in hand. it looked like the two of them were enjoying their time together. but what had caught yunho’s eyes was one of the figures having the similar shade of peach as his hair colour, mirroring yunho’s own hair colour. it was when he saw the familiar details on the walls of the drawing that the peachy haired male noticed what, or rather, who the two figures were in the sketchbook.

“yunho?” a soft voice called out, grogginess laced in their tone as they spoke up which made the tall male flinch ever so slightly in place as he tore his gaze away from the drawing down to you.

from his mind, he had already answered you calling out his name but in reality, he was staring down at your face. tilting your head up, eyes half-lidded from the sleepiness still apparent in your irises. it was when you looked down that you might have caught the gist of whatever has made him speechless. emitting a gasp out of realisation, your hands quickly covered the drawing, whining at him.

“y-you weren’t supposed to see that. i wasn’t d-”

“tell me, little rose. what do you see in me?” was his sudden question, effectively making your words die down in your throat. gulping thickly, your heartbeat was suddenly too loud in your ears. finally having the courage, your lips parted to answer the male’s question.

“i have found comfort in you.” you whispered, yunho’s eyes staring into your own nervous ones.

“i have found happiness whenever we spend time together.” you noted the way your faces were mere centimetres apart from each other.

“i have found the.. the warmth that made me feel at home.” his hands reached out for your hands, holding them in his much larger ones, feeling the pad of his thumbs caressing your knuckles.

“i have.. found myself falling for..” you murmured, yunho resting his forehead on top of your own, both of your eyes fluttering shut, and your noses touching against each other.

“i have found myself falling for you.”

you were scared to open your eyes. you were scared that if you did, everything would have taken a completely different turn. you were scared that you would ruin the friendship the both of you have built together. you were scared to see the disgusted look on yunho’s face after the little confession.

you were scared to lose yunho.

however, those thoughts were completely thrown out of the window upon hearing the words being uttered by the male looming above you.

“little rose, can i kiss you?”

the question kept repeating itself in your mind. you wanted to say yes, you wanted to throw your arms around his neck, you wanted to scream out in relief. yet, not even a whisper came out. not trusting your voice, and the choice of words, you merely gave him a nod. to yunho, that was already enough for him. without wasting any more time, the taller male leaned in to press his lips against your own. yunho wasn’t sure if his fever was coming back or it was due to his heart pumping so fast that blood rushed to both of his cheeks. he wasn’t sure, but his face was undeniably warm.

your smaller hand released one of the male’s bigger ones, reaching up to rest itself against his cheek while your lips moved against his own in sync. everything around you felt muted, the only thing you could hear was the beating of your heart like some type of drum. you never knew that a simple action could make you crave for more, but of course, the need for air was already screaming in the both of your minds that made you pull away from each other, albeit reluctantly.

yunho could faintly taste the sweetness that lingered over his lips as his eyes stared into yours in silence, his hand squeezing yours, before a gentle smile spread itself over his brims, you finding it contagious as you can’t help but to show him your own smile in return. deep down, he wanted to kiss you again, seemingly longing to feel them on his lips once again. so, he did just that. much to your surprise, of course you weren’t complaining.

you would be lying if you denied any more of his kisses.

once the both of you pulled away for the second time, one specific thing popped into your mind, eyes widening in realisation which caused yunho to tilt his head ever so slightly to the side in question.

“if you get me sick, i swear.”

“hey, you said you have a strong immune system!”

“jeong yunho!”

251 notes · View notes

sermacsteph · 4 years ago

Text

Aftermath

Estelle bit back a cry as the anchor crackled, rift green lightning arced up his arm, crept towards his neck. He barely registered falling to his knees, bent double, cradling his arm. There was only the fire in his veins, pulsating, nauseating - readying to explode once more at any given moment. A part of Estelle knew that this was it, that this may well be the end,

‘The mark will eventually kill you,’ Solas’s voice floated from somewhere above him. ‘Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you … at least for now.’

Estelle blinked up at him. The elf whom he’d seen as a friend, who he had trusted. The icy bite of betrayal still lingered, a contrast to the blazing agony that was his arm. Solas had betrayed that trust, had used him as no more than a pawn in a bigger game.

He heaved a shuddering breath. ‘If … if I live through this - I’m coming to stop you.’

‘I know,’ said Solas, something like regret passed over his face. ‘Take my hand.’

Estelle didn’t move. A part of him, still raw and hurting, wanted to refuse, even though it would mean his life. If Solas didn’t have the anchor … pain spasmed through his arm. He was running out of time. If he died here, now, there was nothing to stop Solas from just taking the anchor anyway. If he died here, the world would have no idea what Solas was planning - the chaos he was about to unleash.

To stop Solas he needed to live, needed to survive. For Thedas; for himself and Dorian, and the future they wanted together, he needed to live. With gritted teeth, Estelle reached for Solas’s hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Solas.

That pulsating pain flared, sending the world spinning. Estelle screwed his eyes shut, bit down on his tongue, trapping his cry inside him. He felt Solas’s grip slip from his and with it the pulsating vanished, faded, only to be replaced with a burning, blistering pain that ate at his arm. As if his arm, his hand was on fire; as if his very own magic had turned against him.

He forced his eyes open, his vision swimming. He glanced at his arm, it looked … Estelle swallowed. It looked as if his hand was melting beneath the armour. Bits of fade and rift-green tinged blood dripped between his trembling fingers, sizzling on the broken stones.

Solas was saying something, words that didn’t sound like words. Slowly, with far too much effort, Estelle tore his gaze away from his ruined arm in time to see the Eluvian flare as Solas vanished without so much as a backwards glance.

For a moment, the world had gone quiet as Estelle knelt alone amongst the ancient ruins and Qunari-turned-stone statues. Everything was spinning, his mind reeling with a hundred thoughts at once. Solas is Fen’Harel, was planning to tear down the veil which may well destroy the word and his arm…

Estelle blinked, trying to clear his head but it felt like wading through mud. He needed to move, he knew that much. He couldn’t stay here. Solas had taken the anchor but the blood loss would still kill him. The potions were all but spent and it was an effort to think, let alone attempting to form a spell. He needed to get back to the others.

His gaze snagged on the only other Eluvian. The one he had come through to find Solas. The one that would lead back to the others, to where Dorian was waiting. Its surface no longer dull as it had been when he’d come through it, it’s shimmering blue surface taunting him. It wasn’t far, he could make it. He had to.

With fumbling fingers, he gripped his staff, hauling himself to his feet. The sudden movement made the ancient ruins, the petrified statues sway violently; trembling legs threatening to send him toppling back down. He tightened his grip on his staff. Ghilan’nain guide my steps, I can do this. Just one foot in front of the other. A couple more steps. A few more, until he was stumbling, slow, methodically past the qunari. Beside him, his trembling arm hung limp, rift-green blood dripped steadily leaving behind a macabre trail on the broken stones.

The mirror was tantalisingly close now. Just down the steps, past the remaining petrified qunari. Creators, why did it seem so far? The world span and never stopped. Every step, every breath was an effort of will and somewhere deep inside, Estelle knew he was never going to make it.

Seconds, maybe minutes, seemed to flash by. He was half dragging himself now, his hand clutching the staff shaking so violently that he could barely keep his grip. When had it gotten so cold?

Without warning, his legs buckled beneath him, sending him tumbling forwards down the last few steps. Estelle howled. Pain spiralled through him as he curled into a ball at the bottom of the stairs, watering eyes screwed tight.

He lay there, cheek pressed against hard stone. The coolness of it, a relief against the fire burning inside. He watched the statues sway like branches in the wind. Creators, he felt so tired. The exhaustion from the past few hours, days, weeks, crashed into him. It would be so easy to give in. To give into that beckoning darkness and the relief it offered from the agony spiralling through him.

The part of him still coherent, screamed at him to move. Through hazy eyes, Estelle glimpsed the Eluvian just beyond the Qunari. Bright sunshine danced across its surface and the crumbling stones that surrounded it. He was so close - he’d only need a few more steps and he’d be there. Only a few more steps and he would be with Dorian again.

The thought of never seeing him again, or hearing that wit that hid such a caring heart, that had made Estelle fall so hard for the Tevinter mage - it hurt. Hurt more than the melting remains of his arm.

“Why didn’t you say something?’ Dorian had cried before they’d entered the Delvaraard mirror what seemed like a lifetime ago. ‘I could have … I don’t know, something!’

Estelle had cut him off then with a kiss. ‘Vhenan, whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together, for anything. I love you.’

‘I … I knew you would break my heart, you bloody bastard,’ Dorian had sobbed before burying his face in his shoulder.

A bitter sob tore through Estelle’s chest at the memory. This - it wasn’t fair. Two years they’d spent a part. Two years of letters and promises, and when they finally had the chance to be together again something had to happen to tear them apart. Angry tears slipped into his hair as he glared at the sky. Damn you, Solas! Damn you! He glared at the Eluvian - that shimmering surface called to him and his heart ached. He just wanted to see Dorian again, one last time, to tell him he was sorry.

He willed his legs to move, clawing his way forwards with his good arm. Pain blazed through him, and Estelle screamed. There was a dull clang of metal hitting stone. He stared at the fallen gauntlet, at the melting stump of his wrist in shock. Estelle froze, unable to tear his gaze away. He shook his head, desperate to make sense of what he was seeing. His hand… it was gone. How … how was that possible? Was he just simply hallucinating?

Estelle let his head fall back against the stone. Exhaustion stole the energy from his muscles. He leant against one of the statues, staring at his arm as whatever magic the anchor had left behind slowly disintegrated his arm. He knew he would never make the distance to the eluvian.

‘Mythal’enaste, la abelas, vhenan,’ He whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

***

Dorian wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, back pressed against the unforgiving surface of the eluvian. Every second, every minute that passed, felt like an eternity.

In the moments after Estelle had disappeared through that mirror, he had thrown every spell he could think of at its surface. There had to be something - some long lost knowledge stolen from the elves that could reawaken it. But his spells slid off its surface and the eluvian remained dormant.

He sat with his head bowed, desperate to keep his mind from jumping from one bad scenario to another. Estelle will be fine, he told himself. After all, he had survived thus far. Yet, Dorian still couldn’t forget that horrible moment when the anchor had exploded, throwing Estelle about with its force. The pain and exhaustion that had been in his face, and there had been nothing Dorian could do to help. Now, Estelle was trapped Maker knew where…

No. He couldn’t think like that. Solas had to help. Agent of Fen’Harel or not, surely Solas wouldn’t just let Estelle die? Hurry back, amatus, please.

The silence that had settled over the three of them was deafening. Varric sat nearby, crossbow in his lap, whilst the Seeker stood guard, shrewd eyes flicking between both eluvians. None of them spoke. What was there to even say? They could only wait. Wait and hope that the next person through the eluvian was Estelle.

There was a sudden faint chime from behind, the mirror finally springing to life. Dorian scrambled to his feet, staff instinctively in hand, a defence spell at the ready. But as they stared at the mirror, there was no sign of either Estelle or any Qunari.

They waited.

And waited.

Still there was no sign of Estelle. Dorian’s heart sank. Something was wrong, very wrong.

‘Where is he?’ Cassandra muttered.

Dorian didn’t answer. He had a hunch, one he desperately hoped was wrong. Without a word, he stepped towards the eluvian, its surface rippling at his touch. A part of him knew this might well be a trap, but he couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. Not when Estelle might need him. Taking a deep breath, Dorian stepped forwards.

Swirling blue light gave way to a broken courtyard. Crumbling ruins and stone statues towering over cracked flagstones. Only the statues weren’t elven as Dorian had first thought. They were qunari, the very same qunari they’d been pursuing. A chill crept through Dorian. The qunari were facing away, expressions of fear frozen on their faces. It had to be Solas, who else could it have been? And if this was what the elf had done to the Qunari, then Estelle....

He didn’t let himself finish that thought. Without waiting to see if Varric or Cassandra had followed, Dorian moved through the statues. Panic carried his steps, his mind racing, feet moving to the pounding of his heart. A flash of red hair, the rift-green glow caught his gaze, and there slouched against a statue was Estelle.

‘Amatus!’ Dorian breathed, tearing across the courtyard towards him.

He dropped to his knees, reaching a hand towards him. But Estelle barely seemed to notice that he was there, his bright green eyes glazed as he stared at his still glowing arm. But… Makers breath! Where Estelle’s hand should have been there was just tendrils of rift green at the end of a bloody disintegrating wrist. Dorian swallowed, his chest tightening.

‘Estelle?’

But he didn’t answer, Dorian wasn’t even sure he could hear him. At a loss what to do, he gently pulled Estelle towards him, holding him close.

He felt Estelle shift, his good arm clinging to him and Dorian could practically feel him trembling against him. ‘Do… Dorian?’

‘Shh, amatus,’ Dorian whispered, holding him tightly. He wished there was something - anything he could do. ‘It’s all right, I’m here, I’ve got you.’

‘Andraste’s ass,’ Varric muttered, as the dwarf and Cassandra finally caught up with them.

The Seeker’s face was white as she looked at them. Her eyes lingered on Estelle’s arm, the blood and bits of fade dripping from the trembling limb. Dorian knew she was thinking the exact same question - what exactly had happened? But it was a question that was going to have to wait.

‘We need to get you back to the palace, Inquisitor,’ said Cassandra, ‘can you stand?’

Estelle nodded. ‘I’ll … I’ll be fine,’ He said, even though it was quite clear he was as far from fine as it was possible to get.

Dorian wanted to argue with him, but he knew that determined look in Estelle’s eyes, knew that arguing with him would be a waste of time - something they didn’t exactly have on their side right now. So he hooked his arm around Estelle’s waist, helping him to his feet, letting him rest some of his weight against him; the anchorless arm draped around his shoulders.

Through eluvian after eluvian they staggered, going as quick as they dared. Time seemed to speed up and slow down all at the same time, almost as if it knew they needed to make haste. Dorian was all too aware of Estelle staggering beside him, his pained breaths, his arm slowly disintegrating beneath his grip.

‘Hold on, amatus,’ Dorian murmured, not even sure if Estelle was listening. ‘Just a little longer.’

How much further did they have to go? Dorian wasn’t sure. On their way through the ruins, they had been so focused on trying to get to Solas, on fighting the qunari, that Dorian hadn’t thought to count how many eluvians they went through. He was starting to regret that now.

It was a relief when crumbling elven ruins gave way to solid stone walls of the fort. The Delveraard looked somewhat less intimidating in the early morning light but no less dangerous. Two more eluvians stood between them and the safety of the palace.

The fort was eerily quiet. Even though they made sure to make as less noise as possible, their footsteps echoed through the deserted passages. They staggered through battle worn corridors and bloody stairs. Dorian felt Estelle stumble, feet slipping on slick stones and he tightened his grip.

‘Come on, just a little further.’

‘This … this wasn’t how I … I pictured this week … this week ending.’ Estelle muttered. His voice was so quiet and the pain in it - a lump formed in Dorian’s throat. ‘I’m … I’m sorry, vhenan.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Dorian, ‘we just have a penchant for attracting trouble, you and I.’

‘If … if I make it -’

Dorian cut him off. ‘Don’t … Don’t you dare say it like that.’

‘We’ll … we’ll have to find .... something to do … that isn’t fighting for … for our lives,’ Estelle finished.

‘I’m holding you to that,’ Dorian replied. ‘You are not dying on me yet, amatus.’

Estelle didn’t answer. Dorian glanced at him in alarm. His heart skipped several beats as Estelle sagged against him. No! Not now! Not when they were so close - the eluvian to the crossroads just over the bridge.

‘Amatus? Estelle?’ Dorian gently tapped his cheek, but Estelle didn’t respond. Eyes closed, limp. No! His skin was cold, icy against Dorian’s own. Makers breath, please, no! That familiar panic crept into Dorian’s heart. ‘No! Come on, amatus, stay with me!’

‘Shit,’ Varric muttered, ‘he's not going to make it.’

Dorian didn’t answer. He had to do something! Magic pooled in his hands, mind racing to form a spell to try and quell the bleeding. But there was so much of it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a flash of silver.

‘What are you doing?!’ Dorian snapped, as Cassandra knelt down beside them, a knife drawn.

The seeker merely fixed him with a look. ‘Easy, Tevinter.’

And without waiting for a reply, she leant forwards, placing the blade to Estelle’s lips. The metallic surface misted with his breath and somewhere inside him, Dorian felt the knot of tension loosen. Just a little.

‘His breath is strong,’ said Cassandra, ‘we still have time, but we must move fast.’

Without a thought, Dorian gently hoisted Estelle up into his arms. He moved as quickly as he dared without jostling him. He forgot his exhaustion, the ache in his muscles as they raced towards the eluvian ahead. He had never thought of Estelle as fragile. Reckless, perhaps, but there was a strength and determination to keep going when everything seemed hopeless. Estelle had a quick wit that hid his gentle heart, who stood his ground for his beliefs and tried to do his best with everyone and everything. But now … Dorian swallowed and prayed to the Maker that Cassandra was right.

‘Hold on, amatus, please just hold on.’

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

Text

Six Bodies In An Alley.

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: pretty graphic descriptions of gore, death, blood imagery

Context: the reader lives in Santa Carla, and has befriended the boys, but still has no idea what they are, so is in for a surprise when they go looking for their brother one night, only to find them in the middle of business they'd rather the reader didn't see.

A/N: I reckon I'll turn this into a two-part story, seeing as it is a bit inconclusive, and the boys don't play a massive part just yet, so I'd better get down to that😂💛

Masterlist

"Three hours late. How on earth is anyone ever three hours late to anything?" I mutter irritably to myself as I push through the crowd, aiming to get off the Boardwalk as quickly as possible, my confused yet annoyed mood giving me the confidence to actively shove people out of my way, choosing to ignore any protests as I move past them. Two or three of them try to grab my arm, but I don't give them the time of day, pulling myself from their grip without even turning to them, worry starting to creep into me as I glance back down at my watch, knowing how late it now is.

A couple of days ago, my younger brother got in contact, telling me that he'll be in Santa Carla for a few days, and would like to meet up, having taken a couple of weeks off from his job in New York, where he's been holed up for months. Naturally, I'd jumped at the opportunity, glad to finally be able to show him around the little coastal town, and to be able to introduce him to the friends I've made in my time living here, seeing as he has not seen me since we both left our hometown, back when our mother passed away. We arranged to meet up on the Boardwalk around seven, but he never turned up, leaving me to wait in the bustling area with no clue as to his whereabouts. The hours dragged on, three of them passing before I finally had enough of worrying, deciding to go looking for him as my curiosity spiked, which is where I find myself now, a frown etched onto my face as I push through the writhing bodies around me.

After a good ten minutes of wrestling with the crowd, I manage to reach a main road, where the pedestrian traffic is a lot thinner, allowing me to see the surroundings with more ease. Still unable to spot either him or his recognizable car, I start to walk towards the outskirts of the town, where it is likely he may have gotten lost, pulling my jacket tighter around me as the air becomes cooler, the lack of people around me making the cold breeze more noticeable. Biting my lip, I try to suppress the urge to turn back and get somewhere warmer, continuing on into the dimly lit back roads looping around the town, an odd feeling starting to grow in the back of my mind, an inbuilt instinct telling me something is wrong, and that I'm not safe. Ignoring it, I start to observe the few cars parked here and there, struggling to see in the strangely foggy light, aware that the streetlights don't illuminate everything around me, meaning there are a lot of blindspots surrounding me.

At first, I don't recognise any of the vehicles lingering by the side of the road, my hopes briefly flaring up as I see a similar car, only to realise it is the wrong model and is, in fact, not the gaudy crimson colour I thought it was, a realisation that draws a curse from me. It takes another twenty minutes of searching before I finally find the right one, my suspicions having been confirmed when I see the scarlet car parked on the curb, the engine idling in the now-freezing night air. Relieved, I go over to it, knocking on the window of the driver's side, waiting for him to roll it down, or get out of the car. When neither happens, I bend over to look into the interior, my brow furrowing when I find it empty, the keys still in the ignition despite the fact that the driver is clearly missing. Straightening, I look over the exterior of the car, noticing that the back left tyre is flat, my eyes wandering to the back windows, though there is nothing behind them when I check, expecting to see the familiar sight of my brother sleeping on the backseats.

Frowning, I step away from the car, trying to think where he may have gone, going over all the possible places he could've walked to in the area, though I don't know this particular area as well as I'd like, my knowledge of the surrounding streets slightly limited. Chewing my lip, I go back to the car and switch off the engine, taking the keys with me as I decide to check if there are any garages anywhere nearby, knowing my brother is unlikely to leave the car running unless he is going to return to it relatively quickly. Locking the vehicle, I start back up the road, cursing myself for not checking up on him sooner, worry still biting at the back of my mind as I try to focus on finding him again.

I don't go far, expecting him to have stayed in the area, stopping and turning back when I reach another badly lit junction, at which point I finally acknowledge something off about the last half an hour: the streets are deserted, not a living soul passing me as I traipse the dark pavements. At this realisation, the instinctual feeling from before returns, the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end as goosebumps appear on my skin, an irrational fear clouding my judgement as I turn and start walking hurriedly back the way I came, intending to reach the car again so that I can at least memorize it's whereabouts and collect it in the morning. My brother must've found his way into town or something, though it is odd that he left his prized car alone, with the engine still idling, something he's never really done. I try to reassure myself of this fact as my mind becomes ever more convinced that I'm not safe, my pace inadvertently picking up at the thought of something happening to me. It's only when I pass close to an alley that I slow, halting in my step as something catches my attention.

Taking a breath, I approach the alley, my instincts telling me to run and get away from here, still fully aware that I can't see every inch of the area around me, due to the bad coverage of the streetlights. Despite this, I still manage to make out the shape that caught my eye, instantly recognising it as human, though it isn't moving, not even to breathe, which is odd. As I move closer to the person, I become aware of the other people lying a little way away, one of them separate from the rest, a putrid stench floating up from them all, making my eyes water slightly at the strength of it. Wrinkling my nose, I crouch down beside the first person, intending to ask them where I am and if they've seen my brother pass them, only to let out a half scream when her head rolls forwards, a thick liquid rushing down her front as it does.

In the dim light, her eyes stare up at me, glassy and unseeing, her face mutilated and caked with dark blood, bone and muscle visible under the torn skin. Her hair hangs in filthy strands over her shoulders, though it moves out of the way to reveal a deep hole in her chest, as if her ribs caved in over her heart, puncturing her lungs and heart, which are just visible under the slick covering of blood, all the skin that would normally cover her torso torn into shreds and peeled away to reveal the musculature beneath. Flies are already gathering around the reeking corpse, a few rats even starting to crawl up her slashed arms, eager to get hold of this new meal, the whole sight making me want to throw up, bile starting to rise in my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth as I stand, tearing my gaze away from her.

A quick glance proves to me that the rest are all similarly mangled, their blood black in the dusky lighting, pools of the stuff gathering in the dips in the pavement around their corpses, the stench emanating from these vile puddles. Horror and fear, as well as panic, well up in me, my body starting to shake as I remain rigid, standing there for a good few minutes before I manage to collect my thoughts again, thinking through what could possibly have happened. Was it a freak animal attack? Are there rabid creatures waiting in the shadows to tear me apart, as they have done to these people?

As I think this through, one thought surfaces, a pang of deep fear striking me as I quickly go to each body, frantically checking their faces for a familiar one, gagging and wincing as I see the bloodied scraps that are left of their visages, their blood soon coating my hands and shirt from where I've handled their lifeless cadavers. In total, there are six bodies, and five of them are unfamiliar to me, so I approach the sixth with some hesitation, my steps slow and cautious, as if to delay the inevitable, though it isn't long until the face of the person comes into view, the unmistakable shape of his jaw and bone structure sending an icy bolt of horror through me.

It's my brother.

Gasping, I trace to his side and collapse to the floor, eyes finding the wounds littering his body, widening as they take in the gory mess that is the remains of his throat, as well as the mangled stump where his right arm used to be. A wave of nausea threatens to crash over me as I try to concentrate, unsure of whether this is really happening, my hands reaching out, gingerly, to trace a clean patch of his skin, a strangled sob leaving me at the feeling of his frigid skin beneath mine. Just in time, I turn to the side and allow the contents of my stomach to empty themselves onto the pavement, my stomach unable to hold itself together as I try not to break down completely; I continue to throw up for a good five minutes, a painful cramp setting in as I am reduced to dry-heaving.

I barely register the sounds of a group of people rounding the corner, their voices familiar to me as they joke with each other, laughter accompanying the cynical words of their leader. It's only when they stop a few metres away, voices fading into shocked silence, that I look up, terror filling me as I take in their appearance, identifying them immediately: Paul, Marko, Dwayne and David.

My eyes take their forms, horror and panic building up in me as I take in their bloodied appearances, discomposure filling me as I notice the concentration of the brackish fluid around their chins and mouth, before my eyes lift to their other features. Upon seeing them, I back away, confusion and fear evident on my face as I slowly get to my feet, continuing to edge away from them as they start to come closer - their features are distorted, their brows pulled into longer, grotesque caricatures of their usually handsome faces, blazing yellow eyes ringed with crimson following my every move, razor sharp fangs poking out from under their top lips as they go to speak, each pale tooth stained scarlet.

Without a second thought, I turn and run.

Adrenaline gives me speed, my pulse pounding in my ears as I race back onto the street I was on before, my breathing becoming harsh and ragged as I push myself into my fastest pace. Behind me, I hear a couple of deep chuckles, as well as a maniac laugh as footsteps start to follow me, a horribly familiar voice calling after me. I ignore it, focusing on staying ahead of my pursuers, doing my best to avoid the stones littering the pavement, my hand scrabbling in my pocket for the keys to my brother's car, thinking I could use it to get away, even if the tyre is flat. Finding them, I pull them out and continue sprinting down the road, a relieved gasp escaping me as I catch sight of the vehicle ahead, a new burst of energy exploding in me as I give one final push, reaching it swiftly.

Tremors wrack my hands as I attempt to get the key into the door, aware of the ever-approaching boys behind me, my breath held as I struggle to remain calm, adrenaline still pumping through me, a curse escaping me as I fight with the stuff turning mechanism. It finally opens, allowing me to climb into the car and slam the door behind me, quickly sticking the key into the ignition and turning it, only for the engine to stall. Going to try again, I growl in frustration as the same thing happens, the car refusing to let me put it into drive as I wrestle with the key. Panic starts to resurface within me, my actions becoming more and more frenzied, until I give up, punching the steering wheel in front of me in anger, wincing when my fist smarts afterwards.

A dent suddenly appears in the roof of the car, as if a heavy weight was dropped on it, a blood-curdling screeching noise following, as if someone was tearing through rusted metal, or trying to bend it out of shape. Looking out of the window, I notice a pair of hands digging into the weak spot just above the window, the metal coming away from the base as they continue to pull at it, opening me up to them, whatever they are. Petrified, I remain still for a couple of seconds, before jumping back into action, moving so that I'm forcing myself through the gap between the driver and passenger seats, crushing myself through the space into the backseats, collecting myself before I throw open the back door, stumbling briefly as I try to regain my balance, racing off towards the main road. I must look a sight - wearing a bloodied shirt and sporting similarly stained hands, tears streaking my cheeks, my breath coming out in rasping pants as I try to stay ahead of a group of who I assume to be killers. Hope fills me as I see a brighter light appear at the end of the road, clearly the beginning of the main road leading into Santa Carla, my pace remaining steady as I aim for it, careful not to get too excited, knowing I'm not quite in the clear yet.

A pair of arms suddenly appear around my waist, their owner easily lifting me off the ground and into the air, a scream of terror ripping itself from me as my attacker somehow floats upwards, holding me against a muscular chest, the smell of their black coat very familiar to me. Instantly, I start to writhe in his grip, kicking and wriggling as much as I can in his tight grasp.

"Calm down, (Y/n)! I'm not going to hurt you!" David commands, tightening his arms around me as I pay him no attention, trying to get out using any possible technique, "If you keep this up, I'll have to drop you, and we're a long way from the ground!"

At his words, I look down, freezing up as I see how far away we are from the pavement below, my eyes widening in fear, a pathetic whimper escaping me. I look up to see the other three sort of hovering around David and I, all of them looking serious for once, not just Dwayne, Marko chewing on his thumb as Paul struggles to stay still, somehow managing to fidget in mid air.

"What do you want? What are you?" I ask them, despair lacing my tone as I address them, knowing I'll probably end up like my brother, another corpse my supposed friends have left behind for others to find.

"We'll explain soon enough, but for now, we're going home. Hang on tight." The platinum blonde confirms, shifting me around so that I'm facing him, his icy blue eyes boring into mine as he repositions my arms around his neck, encouraging me to hold on tight. Gritting my teeth, I swallow and hold on, linking my legs around his waist as he starts to move, burying my face into his chest in pure fear, unsure of what will happen.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#marko(the lost boys)#santa carla #star(the lost boys)#slight trigger warning #slight tw #blood #Gore #mild gore #one-boring-person

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springtimebat · 4 years ago

Text

Dragon-Smoke

The monster was born on an October morning.

The mother lay on a makeshift bed, her legs in the air, her hands grasping the iron bars of the headboard. Three midwives, three fates cutting a golden thread, three phantoms, three pairs of pincers held her down and interfered with parts of her body she never let anyone touch. Not even the father. Her hair, once golden brown, had greyed. Her eyes were squeezed closed, her nose was snotty and her mouth yelled obscenities at the autumn air. She screamed at the looming circus tent, at the freaks, at the demon, at the father, at the husband and finally, at the cross. It lay there. Just...lay there. Golden, holier than thou, on the old steeple wall in the mother’s mind; it scoffed at her with an imaginary mouth and wicked eyes. She’d been a nurse years ago. She’d wanted to be a nun.

“Bless you,” The cross snarled from another place not so far away.

The father stood outside the tent, his golden curls waving about his head as the wind danced. At every other birth he’d been in the operating room when the time came. The first few times holding this wife’s legs down with the rest of them, leaving sticky, silky marks all the way up her calves when he had a passionate turn. The last few times he’d sat in the back, smoking a pipe and yelling encouraging words over his wife’s curses. It had been in the afternoon then; that was no time for a man to lose himself to the throes of passion. His eyes were just slivers as he looked up at the warm morning skies, their golden reds and their dark golds twisting among the stars and the waxing moon. A waxing moon. All the others had been delivered on a full moon. The father took a puff of his cigarette (he had just moved on from pipes, at a companion’s request when the smoke became too thick to stand) and gave a smile that would make the devil shiver. This would be a special one.

The father, all alone, began to think of past times. He began to remember what it had been like to be Billy Young, over a lifetime ago. He’d never done that before. The name seemed so stifling then. Once it had chained him down, placed a giant padlock on his chest, directly over his heart. He’d not been a man of power. A man of importance. He’d just been Billy; the third son of Harold Young. After that, the fourth child out of a future nine. He was one of nine. That’s how he was seen. By his father. By his mother. By his older brothers and sisters. Nothing special. Nothing extraordinary. But he’d shown them. They were all gone now. He’d outlived them. Once, there had been a family of twelve, ruling the carnival freaks. Now, only Billy Young remained. The freaks answered to him and only him.

Lucy Albarn floated past him, a dove in the guise of a penguin. He’d noticed her one day. One ordinary day with a not-so ordinary outcome. Billy Young had been marching with his freaks; a top hat sat on his head, a smirk spread across his face, a clown and a blind girl held onto his sides, begging for scraps of his glory to devour. Billy Young was a king. The father sighed wistfully as he recalled his top hat; his crown. He’d seen all sorts that day, as usual, but no one stood out. A cold eight in the morning had turned into a boiling four in the afternoon and wearing his jacket hadn’t been such a grand idea. He tried to find a place where he could calm down, compose himself, as the heat threatened to strip him away. That was when he saw Lucy Albarn, her eyes like saucepans, staring. At him. At him! Not Harold Junior, not Allister Young two years his senior: him. She saw him gazing at her, taking notice, and her mouth opened slightly in a little gasp. He shifted a little, his stance grew askew. His hand flew up and gave a wave. Lucy Albarn waved back. He saw her now in the cigarette smoke, waving and grinning slyly. It was funny; he was there for a short time, always moving, always changing, always followed by a circus, always shadowed by the tent. She had been there, in that town (he couldn’t remember the name), probably all her life, and she stood there, looking him in the eye (and oh, how big her eyes were), smirking at him. Grinning. It was a secret smile, the one Lucy Albarn had given him that day, in the horrible heat, just before her other penguin friends whisked her away from him for a short while. It was a friend’s smile, it was a lover’s smile, it was a wife’s smile. It was a smile that he’d tried to get her to show him ever since. It was the smile that made Billy Young realise he liked Lucy Albarn. It was that secret, devious, evil little smirk that made him realise he wanted to marry her.

The next few years were a giant blur, cut into ribbons by his addiction to cigars, rum and producing heirs. An incident in an alleyway may have happened, involving Billy Young, Lucy Albarn and three or four strongmen and a burlap sack. At least, Lucy Albarn had testified that it had happened. But, as everyone knew, she wasn’t quite… right anymore. She hadn’t been since the first baby, the clowns would occasionally mutter. Billy disagreed. He’d say she went wrong on their wedding day. He stood at the altar with the priest who’d kindly agreed to officiate (abruptly, suddenly, there was a flash of a gun cocking, a bat being drawn from the carnival folks mass of hands, claws and hooves), waiting proudly, patiently, as she walked down the aisle. Her hair was still a golden brown, hidden by his mother’s old veil, and she hunched over as she stumbled up to them, ashamed. And, as the priest began to recite his scripture, she looked up at Billy Young for the first time in weeks. She gazed at him, her owl eyes glazed over like glass. Then, she gave him a small smile. It was not the smirk he desired; no she’d never pull it again, not after the first one got her into so much trouble. It wasn’t really a smile, if he was being honest with himself. It was just a slight curve of the lips. It was a small cry of mercy. Billy Young realised, then and there, that this was Lucy Albarn’s final attempt to plead with him. After being taken from her home, being beaten by a group of strangers and being caged in a freak show for three never ending weeks, she was about to break. As she gazed at him with those glass eyes, she searched this man for any sign of Billy Young; the boy with the top hat, the boy with golden curls, the shade of the sun, the boy who noticed her in a crowd of thousands. The boy she had smirked at. He smirked instead, when she looked down and her shoulders slumped. Moments later, a priest declared that Lucy Albarn was now Lucy Young, her husband lifted her off the ground and strode towards his tent (their tent now) and to their bed.

His wife’s silence finally brought Billy back to earth and he turned back towards the same tent, now threadbare and drenched of colour. The three midwives pushed their way outside, their mangled hands holding bloody towels. They began to bicker amongst themselves, about pay, about personal rights, but they saw their master out of the corner of their eyes and put on their brave faces. They were all simpering and sweet smiles. It made him feel sick. Lucy would do the same thing once he made his way to her. That was the worst part.

Billy Young of Young’s Cabinet of Curiosities cleared his throat, “Everything in order?”

“Yes sir!” One midwife with a missing eye said.

“A normal birth sir!” one with a snout for a nose said.

“Here’s hoping it’s a healthy one sir!” the last with a stump instead of a leg said.

“One to live a long and happy life sir!” They all croaked together as a loansome chorus.

“Hmm cheers,” Billy grumbled, “How’s Lucy?”

“Fine. Fine. Could have another ten chillies, if you wish it sir.”

“Good,” Billy changed focus to the tent. Inside was silent. Unnaturally silent.

“I’d like to see my family. I won’t be at the big top for the rest of the day,” with that, Billy let his cigarette fall to the ground and crushed it under his rider’s boots, “Wilson is in charge ‘till I return. You three get back to work.”

The midwives raced away towards the shadowy hills, grumbling about promotions and the unfairness of it all. Billy watched them go, taking his time. He had all the time in the world. Lucy had all the time in the world. The baby had all the time in the world. Slowly, he lifted the flap of the tent up and stepped inside to greet his family.

How many was it now? Surely it had been about ten right? Ten babies. That meant it had been at least twelve years. Twelve years full of babies, travelling, Billy Young. In all of those years, Lucy had never given birth to a child that didn’t scream. Margot, Janie, Billy Junior, Kyle…. All the others that had gone before she could give them names. They’d all had a powerful set of lungs.

“They all took after their father,” Lucy thought grimly as she pulled herself up out of bed. They’d left the tent in disarray; towels had been thrown onto the floor, a shelf had been pushed on the way out, leaving her books in disarray and a stained mattress growing strange, green fur out of its sides had been put next to Lucy’s bed. The monster lay on that mattress, wrapped in the threadbare blanket his brothers and sisters had been nursed in. Still, something else was wrong.

“Something’s missing,” Lucy realised, scanning the room.

Then it hit her. She turned to the tent entrance. The cross that had taunted her was gone, stolen from the patchwork wall.

Lucy sighed,”Strange thing to take,” she thought to herself as she went to meet her new baby. Still, she shouldn't be surprised. She knew she was surrounded by strange folk.

The baby was small and thin, which made Lucy worry.

“I can’t have another one,” She whispered, picking the thing up, “I know I can’t.”

Then, the baby’s hand, bright pink and chubby, grabbed onto her wrist and the mother’s fear faded away. It was a boy, which would please the demon once he decided to make himself known. He had hair; all his siblings had been bald. Not only that but it was a dark, dark brown, wild and curly as his little head swivelled around looking for food. Lucy pulled her dress down and put him to her chest, being rewarded with a clumsy slurp a few moments later. As he ate, his eyes went up to her face, startling her. He wasn’t squinting. No, he was staring at her, as if he were fully aware of everything. His eyes were blue. Forget me not blue. Lucy smiled. All the others had green eyes,their father’s eyes. These were her eyes. They were the one pair of friendly eyes she’d seen in a long, long time. It sounded crazy, but this baby looked almost...sad. It seemed to understand everything within minutes of its birth. Lucy relaxed and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, listening to her son’s noises as if they were a lullaby.

“You’re gonna be ok, aren’t you?” she asked her baby quietly. The baby blinked in response.

The father strolled in from the morning light, his top hat on his head, his eyes tired and weary. Billy smiled proudly once he saw his wife feeding their newborn son on the bed.

“You’re gonna be ok right?” He asked, with a voice like honey. Lucy grunted, trying to focus on her son, who’d stopped eating and was now nuzzling his head against her breast. Quickly, she hauled him over her shoulder and patted him on the back. The baby burped quietly soon afterwards.

Billy chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed. Lucy tucked their son back into his blanket and pretended to look at the wall.

“Can I hold them?” Billy whispered. Lucy sighed. She hated when he begged her. He sounded so pathetic. She slowly handed the boy over to his father, taking extra care to support his head. Billy smiled at her then turned to his son.

“It’s a boy,” Lucy whispered, lying back on the pillows. Her back made a terrible cracking sound, making Billy turn to her.

“You just relax for a while. I’ll get the midwives to nurse him for you,” He stroked the baby, curling a few locks of his hair around his thin fingers. The boy gurgled and his father cooed in delight. Lucy furrowed her brow, suspicious.

“No, I want to do it. He’s mine.”

Billy shook his head, “You need to rest. You can’t even take care of yourself, much less a baby,” He stood up and walked the baby around the tent, bouncing him in his arms. The boy squealed, “You got a name in mind yet, honey?”

“No,” Lucy closed her eyes. She never thought of the names.

“Huh. Ok.” Billy stroked his son’s cheek, thinking. The baby began to gnaw at his nail.

“I like this one,” Billy chuckled. Lucy groaned, “How about Owen eh?”

“Sure that’s nice,” Lucy moaned. She just wanted to sleep. Billy bent down to sit next to his exhausted wife in bed.

“Look at that, you’re both out like lights,” He showed her Owen, who had begun to snore. Lucy rolled her eyes. Billy stroked her forehead with another hand, catching beads of sweat.

“You two get some rest for now okay? I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Sure.”

“Love you honey.”

“Yeah, I love you too.”

Billy handed Owen back to her and lay down on the bed, staring happily at the ceiling. Lucy glared at the sleeping baby in her arms; the son her husband seemed to adore almost immediately.

“I thought we had a deal,” she thought, “This is not how you stay okay.”

The newborn answered with a snore.

Lucy kissed her son’s forehead and fell asleep with him her aching arms.

#a devil's palm story #creative writing #my writing #horror #fantasy #parallel worlds #supernatural #paranormal #carnivals #the outcome of burnout #cryptidcore #cryptids #oddcore #weirdcore #linked to the devil and the seer #sequel post #linked to a poem i wrote a while ago #southern gothic #american gothic

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frenchmarshmalloww · 4 years ago

Text

For those who were sad over my last post, here is a bit more angst but it gets better, promise :)

The timeline is kind of hazy, a sort of post S2 in terms of timing of the relationship but without the actual events of S2. OK it doesn't make any sense, just read lol.

The rules of tricking

I stand there, lost in thoughts, admiring the man laying on the couch in front of me. His body still makes my heart beat faster, a work of art if I ever saw one. Oh, how I wish I could be immune to it by now. Life certainly would be easier for me if I had been able to just get it out of my system. To just fuck him out my head, of my heart.

“Justin”

He startles me out of my musings, eyes on me from his position on the couch, hands in the hair of the trick blowing him. Not wanting to be left out any longer, I come closer, bend over the armrest of the couch and run my hands over his chest, play with his nipples. Brian sighs contently, music to my ears. I look at the other man straddling his thighs. He’s pretty hot, perfectly fitting the rules I secretly follow when choosing them. Hot enough that Brian would want to fuck them, not hot enough that I would not want him to fuck them. It’s a tight rope but I manage.

I remember clear as day, the night we came up with this new deal.

For the umpteenth time, we were coming home from Babylon fighting. I had caught Brian in the backroom fucking some twink, or was I the one being fucked? It doesn’t really matter I guess. Once in the loft, neither of us wanted to back down until, and boy was I stunned when it happened, Brian took the first step.

“Look Justin, this is getting really old. We have to find a way to just handle this better. How about some rules?”

“Rules? Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know… No tricking in front of each other for starters, no tricks in our bed, and we have to be home by 2AM every night.”

Seemed to me like he knew very well what he meant by rules. Apparently, he’d been thinking about it for a while. Still reeling from our fight though, I didn’t want to be amicable. So, like a five-year-old I stumped my theoretical foot and said “How about no tricking at all?”. It was worth a shot, right?

The look he gave me told me all I needed to know, so I switched gears rapidly. If he wanted a negotiation, then I had to come up with a proposition of my own.

“How about the total opposite?”

“What, like more tricking? Justin, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, I meant opposite to your proposition. Here’s my counter offer. We trick together, I pick them, we get them here and then we share them. No one on one, no repeat.”

I should have taken a picture of his face at that moment. The perfect mix of surprise, awe and lust. Yes, I had him.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“OK.”

That was 4 months ago, and since then, we’ve shared guys about once a week. I guess I thought Brian would get tired of it at some point, that he would break the rules and I’d have to go back to watching him fucking anything that moves, but he seemed to enjoy it and we’ve never talked about it again.

Back in the moment, I glance at the pretty brunette blowing my … Brian. He’s very enthusiastic, too much if I say so and I need to reassert my control over the situation.

“Don’t you dare make him come” I snap.

Brian scoffs below me and says “Not a chance, babe”. Cocky bastard. I would have believed him too if it wasn’t for the way his voice broke on that last word, betraying how turned on he already was. Stupid trick.

I bend lower to catch his mouth with mine. The angle is all weird, being upside down, but somehow it makes the kiss better, filthier, sexier. I deepen it, pressing more of my weight onto him, until I feel his hand pushing urgently at my shoulder. I break the kiss and look at him questioningly. That’s the moment I realize he’s having trouble catching his breath. I must have been crushing his airways and he has to take big gulps of air now. I’m about to apologize when I notice how dark his eyes have gotten, how harder his dick is in the other’s mouth.

Smirking, I say to him “You liked it”. He plays dumb, of course. “What?”

“Don’t lie to me Brian” He never has, I don’t want him to start now.

“OK, yeah” then in a breath “Please”.

“Please, what?” I know I’m enjoying this way too much, but damn, it’s not often that I get that kind of dominance over Brian fucking Kinney.

“Please do it again” he reluctantly asks. Not ever having been able to deny him, I comply and for the next minutes, it feels like it’s just the two of us again.

Later, after we relocated ourselves on the bed, I find myself watching Brian prepping the other guy to get fucked. He’s got two fingers inside of him, and the pretty boy is already writhing under him. He’s still clear headed enough to stroke my cock so there’s still that. Once he’s ready, Brian pulls him up on his hands and knees, puts on a condom and enters him in one swift motion. The trick moans loudly and although I hate it, the sound makes me harder. Having Brian Kinney fuck you is a religious experience, it’s hard to focus on anything else. I’m this close to patting him on the cheek and say I understand how he feels. I let Brian get into a rhythm before I slide myself under them and shove the trick’s dick in my mouth. I’m not giving my best, it’s been a while since I did, but apparently Brian is putting in enough efforts for the both of us because the pretty boy is losing his mind, crying out loudly.

Few instants later, I feel Brian’s eyes on me. I know what he wants, same as always. He wants me to look at him when he comes. As if that would make what we’re doing more normal. I usually comply. Anything to pretend that it’s just the two of us. But tonight, I can’t. If he looks into my eyes, he’ll see. He’ll see all the things I’m not saying, all the things I don’t want him to know. That I cannot stand it anymore. That all I feel at this moment is disgust and sadness. So, I close my eyes to avoid his and I suck harder. I want this to be over already. I don’t have to wait long. A few deep thrusts in his ass and the trick is coming down my throat, taking Brian with him few seconds later. I swallow it all, out of habit at this point, and as soon as I feel his cock start to soften in my mouth I get up and leave. They are both catching their breath as I make my way to the bathroom. Glancing down I realize I am not even hard anymore.

I take a quick shower, trying to make it last long enough for the intruder to be gone when I get out of the bathroom. I perfected my timing so well over time that as I step out of the shower, I hear the door open and close. I dry up quickly, tying a towel around my waist and I get out of the bathroom. Halfway to the bed I walk around Brian, standing there only wearing his jeans, top button undone. I don’t stop, eager to put this all night behind me. He won’t let me though. He catches my wrist and pulls me into him.

“Hey, don’t.” The softness of his voice just about breaks me. I have to push through though, if I want to keep him, I need to play by the rules, he’s made that much clear.

“Don’t what?” I try. I know I am not fooling him, but I’ve been trapped in this role so long I don’t even know how to be anything else now.

He sighs deeply then lets me go and looks at me. I am not sure I know how to read his eyes. Is that pity? Suddenly panic is rising inside me. I went too far, I let him see and now he’s going to get rid of me. It happened before, when I started caring too much. It’s always the same with us. He tells me not to expect anything and I don’t for a while, and then I start to want more, and he pulls away, saying he won’t give me what I want, what I need. I leave, certain I will be better off without him, yet every time I come back, surer than ever that what he has to give is enough if it means I get to be with him. And again, and again. Except this time, he seems to be the one wanting me gone and the thought of not being able to come back to him makes my eyes burn.

“You’re unhappy.” He states. And I know where this is going, so I lie through my teeth. “No, I’m not. Look I’m sorry I wasn’t really into it tonight; this guy wasn’t really doing it for me I guess. I need better standards.” I try to joke, but it falls flat.

“Justin, we have to stop this.”

No, no, no, no, please don’t.

“Don’t worry Bri, next time will be extra hot, I swear. Might go for a blond next time. You’d like that right?” I try flirting. I never go for blonds. The only blond that gets to be fucked by Brian should be me.

“Justin, stop! There won’t be a next time.”

That’s when my heart breaks. I feel it in my chest, it’s being torn apart and shred to pieces. Then suddenly, as if something jumped started my system, I have to move, to run. I cannot be here anymore. I cannot look at him, still in the fucking afterglow of coming in this guy’s ass and see anything else than the pain of losing him, for good I suspect this time. I walk to the couch and start putting my clothes back on. When I’m dressed I grab a bag and go to the closet, I take whatever I come across, some might not even be mine, but all I think about is how I need to get out of here and fast.

A few minutes later, I’m making my way to the door when Brian stops me with a strong grip.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting out of here before you kick me out.”

He looks at me puzzled. Then something clicks in his mind and he smiles. The bastard is smiling at me when all I want is to be alone, so I can break down in peace.

“Justin, I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was we need to stop with the tricks.”

“OK… “ I am really confused at this point and it’s messing with my dramatic exit so I just stand there waiting for him to elaborate.

“Shit, I’m so bad at this. Let me try again.” He’s visibly struggling with whatever he’s trying to say, and despite the overall pain I feel deep inside my bones, it’s my turn to smile. I mean, how often do you get to see Brian Kinney struggling to express himself?

“Justin, I want new rules.” He finally says with a resolve that scares me a little. OK, fair enough.

“Yeah sure, do you want to go back to fucking them on your own?” Please anything as long as I can stay.

“No.” Fuck.

“OK then…” I keep trying to delay what I feel is inevitable. He cuts me off right there.

“Would you please just shut up and let me say this?!”

“Yeah, ok, sorry.” Go ahead, break my heart, I’m all ears.

He takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing himself for the worst and then looks at me and says:

“I want the new rule to be that we only fuck each other. No tricks, no backroom, no cruising, no nothing. You and me in our bed, or well anywhere really, from now on.”

I’m having a stroke. It has to be it, right? I can’t feel my legs, my heart is racing, there’s a white noise in my ears. I want to say something but my brain’s not working, my mouth either. I’m just gapping at him like a fish out of his water bowl. A minute has passed, maybe twenty for all I know, and I manage to find my voice again.

“Do you mean that?” I hate how small I sound, but I have to make sure. I can’t let myself hope.

“Yes, I do.”

“But you need it.” I feel stupid for fighting him on this, but that’s what he’s been saying for the last two years. Monogamy is shit. I don’t believe in love, I believe in fucking. Those are his words. What kind of game is he playing now?

“I need you more.”

I realize I’m crying now. 4 words. Not the 3 I desperately want to hear but this is certainly close enough. He needs me. More than he needs to fuck random guys in a backroom. More than he needs to be the king of Babylon, of Liberty Avenue.

I jump into his arms, sobbing in his neck, peppering him with kisses. I’m so happy I could sing, dance, whatever. He wraps his arms around me instantly, holding me tight. I feel his smile against my hair and it makes me cry harder.

“Hey come on, don’t cry. You know I don’t know what to do with crying people.”

I ignore his attempt at lightening the mood and kiss him deeply, letting myself feel it all. After a few minutes, we break apart, both breathless and hard.

Brian, pulls away slightly and looks at me like he can see into my soul.

“Justin, you know I …” He trails off.

His eyes are pleading with me not to push it, not to force the words out of him. I see the fear, but also his desire to make me believe, that in his own fucked-up way, Brian Kinney does love me.

“Yeah, I know. Me too.”

Relief floods his features, he must have been really torn up over this. I’m an asshole for enjoying it but I feel like I deserve it somehow.

“So now that it’s settled, could you stop being such a drama queen and put that stuff back?” He points at the bag on the floor.

This time, I let him joke the seriousness away and throw the bag in the vague direction of the closet.

“I’ll put it back later. First, I need you inside me, seems I’m the only one who did not get off tonight.”

I take his hand and lead him to our bed. From behind me, I hear him murmur, not sure I’m even supposed to.

“Whatever you need Sunshine, whatever you need”. And for once, I know he means it the way I want him to.

#qaf #qaf us #brian kinney #justin taylor #britin

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niksixx · 5 years ago

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Birthday for the Books

Requested: By our anonymous birthday girl!

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Description: “Hi, I remember it was today that you said you would start taking requests yeah? If I’m right can you do axl x birthday girl!reader imagine? (Sry this is super self indulgent cuz it’s my birthday next week lol)”

A/N: If you enjoyed this fic, leave a comment!

*GIF is not mine, credit to the owner*

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

Ah, birthdays. Some people hated them, others enjoyed them. But you? Your birthday was the best part of every year. Celebrating only one day was never enough for you though, which is why you resorted to having a birthday week. Excessive? Probably. But there was nothing you loved more than being celebrated by your family, friends, and most of all, your boyfriend.

Sometimes you thought your boyfriend Axl loved your birthday more than you did. He was always excited, planning various activities for you to enjoy throughout the week. Material objects didn’t do it for you. The gifts that meant the most were the ones directly from the heart, and Axl always delivered.

Like he did every year, Axl treated you to a lavish dinner for the first night of your birthday week. It was one of the only occasions he would get dressed up, and you looked forward to seeing him in a suit more than the dinner itself. Although dinner was always expensive, you’d let Axl spoil you for the night, only because he promised the rest of your presents barely cost a thing.

Axl’s creative side always made an appearance during your birthday week. Handmade bracelets, paintings, and love letters were only some of the heartfelt gifts you received over the last few birthdays.

You expected the same types of presents this year, but Axl had truly stumped you. It was the last day of your birthday week and the anticipation over Axl’s last present was killing you. All morning, he’d been locked away in your bedroom putting the finishing touches on your gift, so you passed the time by lying around in your pajamas (because Axl refused to let you in your room for even a second) and watching old Guns N’ Roses music videos on YouTube, smiling whenever Axl was on the screen.

You were halfway through the Paradise City music video when the door to your bedroom creaked open. Axl stepped out into the small living room, lips curling into a smile as he realized you’d been watching him.

“Baby giiiiiirl,” he drawled out, laughing as your eyes widened at the sound of his voice.

“Is it ready?!” You eagerly shut down your laptop, sprinting into Axl’s outstretched arms. “I hate waiting.”

“I think it’ll be worth it,” Axl answered, brushing the hair from your cheeks. “I hope it’s worth it.”

“Axl, you’re a Godsend when it comes to gift giving,” you assured him, lightly patting his cheeks. “You could pick me a flower from the side of the road because it reminded you of me and I’d probably start crying.”

“Well if a simple flower is enough to make you cry, then I’m curious to see what this gift will do.” With a breath, Axl grabbed your hand and placed his free hand on the door. “Are you ready?”

Chuckling as you nodded, Axl gently pushed open the bedroom door, and immediately your eyes fell on a perfectly wrapped gift box that sat in the middle of your bed.

“Oh, God, I’m so excited,” you squealed delightedly. You and Axl sat on the edge of the bed as he presented the box to you, your fingers delicately running over the bright red bow. He gave you the go ahead, and you happily unwrapped the box, cheeks warming at the sight of what appeared to be a handmade photo album.

“When we started dating three years ago, what’s the first thing I noticed about you?” Axl asked, eyes bright as you examined the album.

“I always had a camera,” you replied. “I was always taking pictures.”

“Uh huh,” Axl smiled proudly. As you opened the album, you realized that some of the pages had already been filled. “And I’ve always wanted to get you an album, a keepsake, for all the pictures you take. But this album in particular, I wanted to start for you, because it’s dedicated to us and some of our favorite moments.”

Flipping through the pages, you recognized some of your favorite pictures you and Axl had taken together: Your first kiss, first concert together, first vacation, and first date. You had so many firsts with Axl, and seeing as he carefully documented them in a scrapbook just showed how much he truly did treasure you. Even though some of the pictures were over three years old, as you and Axl had known each other before you made things official, the memories were still fresh in your head. And from now on, anytime you wanted to be pulled back to the past, all you had to do was open the album.

Setting the book aside, you threw yourself into Axl’s arms, sinking into his loving embrace. He’d managed to give you another spectacular birthday with an unforgettable gift. “You have no idea how much this means to me,” Axl had gotten you a multitude of incredible presents over the years, but the personalized photo album blew everything out of the water. “Thank you, baby. Thank you so so much.”

Standing from the bed, Axl held you in his arms as you clutched the album to your chest, a few happy tears sliding down your cheeks. Axl kissed the top of your head, a proud smile on his lips. “You’re welcome. I’m so glad you like it, but you didn’t even see my favorite picture of us.”

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you gave Axl a confused look. “I didn’t? What page is it on?”

“Fifteen,” Axl said, shifting his feet.

Opening the album once more, you flipped the pages until you found page fifteen. It was titled Engagement. “Axl, baby, there’s nothing here.” As you looked up from the book, you immediately broke out into a sob, muffling your cries with the palm of your hand. There in front of you, on one knee, was Axl Rose, holding out a small box with what appeared to be the world’s brightest engagement ring perched right in the center.

“God dammit, Axl, I told you nothing expensive,” you laughed through the tears.

“Baby, I’ve had this picked out for months,” Axl informed, his own eyes glossing over. “You’re my everything. Even if sometimes you don’t like it, I plan on spending the rest of my life spoiling you the way you deserve. I want to travel the world and create more memories with you. Maybe we’ll have a few kids or some dogs, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Marry me, Y/N, and let the rest fall into place.”

Without hesitation, you shook your head yes, just as a flash lit up your room. You were too distracted by Axl sliding the ring onto your finger to ponder about the random burst of light. He scooped you up into his arms, dusting kisses all over your face before planting a long sensual kiss on your lips.

“I’m going to love you forever,” you whispered, already picturing your life as Mrs. Axl Rose. And then it hit you. “Wait, what was that flash?”

Smirking, Axl nodded his head toward the bureau, where a camera was propped up, facing you. Rushing to the bureau, you picked up the camera and turned it over, and there on the screen was a timed photo of the moment you said yes to Axl’s proposal.

“Now you have another picture to add to the album,” Axl whispered, hands circling your waist as you both stared at the photo. You couldn’t even complain that you were still in your pajamas because the smile on your face and the love in Axl’s eyes were the only two things that mattered.

#axl rose #axl rose guns n roses #guns n roses #gnr #axl rose x reader #axl rose imagine #axl rose head cannon

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

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The Sound of Silence

Summary: Clementine goes to check on Louis, knowing he's been struggling ever since losing his tongue to the Delta.

Word Count: 2440

Read on AO3:

Clementine wandered the halls of the admin building alone. She and Aasim had finished up a meeting a few minutes ago regarding future plans with the supplies they had stolen from the Delta. Things had finally settled down enough that they were able to look towards the future rather than simply focusing on survival and recuperation. The raid on the Delta had been as successful as could reasonably be hoped, but they had still suffered heavy losses. Clementine’s leg ached beneath her as she made her way down the stairs slowly and cautiously, one step at a time. There was still a lot of healing to be done.

Speaking of which… Clementine turned her head to her left, listening for any sounds from the piano room. It was silent. She wondered where Louis was. Ever since they’d brought him home, he hadn’t been quite the same. Losing his tongue had silenced him in more than just a physical sense. He helped around the school where he could, but he didn’t reach out to the others like he used to. They’d scrounged up a pencil and notepad for Louis, but he tended to only write short, practical messages.

The day Clementine had made it outside for the first time since her amputation Louis had brightened up for a little while. He’d even written Clementine a little note covered in hearts asking if she’d be his girlfriend. That moment had made Clementine’s heart swell with joy. But as the weeks passed, Louis’ enthusiasm had dimmed once more. There was a somberness that came with the passage of time. It solidified the reality that this was their lives now, that his tongue was gone forever. Clementine could get a prosthetic and relearn how to walk, but Louis would never speak again.

Clementine considered going out the front doors of the admin building and looking for her boyfriend in the front yard. But even though the music room was silent, she had a feeling she should start her search there. The music room had always been a refuge for Louis; perhaps he was finding some solace there now. Turning her crutches down the hallway, Clementine clumped over to the doors, glancing through the slight opening between them.

She had been right. Louis was in there, sitting at the piano. But he wasn’t playing. In fact, he didn’t seem to be doing much of anything. He was just sitting there, blankly staring at the keys. Was he alright? Clementine didn’t want to intrude. But she also felt as though leaving him alone wouldn’t be the right call. Hesitantly, she pushed open one of the doors, her crutches clunking against the wood softly.

Louis turned to look for the source of the sound, his eyes widening when he saw Clementine. He hurriedly rose to his feet, walking over to help support her.

“Thanks, Lou,” Clementine nodded toward the piano. “Let’s sit on the bench together,”

Louis nodded, guiding Clementine toward the bench and keeping a hand on her arm until she was safely seated on the side closest to the doors. Then he circled the bench to sit on the other side.

Sitting there with him reminded Clementine of the night they’d sat together and she’d confessed her feelings for Louis, feelings he had reciprocated. It was the same night the Delta had attacked, the same night she’d failed to protect him. So much had happened in that night. The events felt far apart in Clementine’s mind even though they’d happened within minutes of each other. That confession had been some of the last words she’d ever heard Louis speak, the last she ever would hear clearly.

Shit, she’d come in here in hopes of making Louis happier and instead she was just contributing to the melancholy mood. She looked to the piano, trying to force some cheer into her voice. “Have you been working on your music?”

Louis shook his head.

“Why not?”

He simply shrugged, looking away from her.

Clementine frowned. Reaching out, she gently intertwined her fingers with his. “Louis, you can tell me anything. Where’s your notepad?”

Louis didn’t even bother to respond.

Clementine’s eyes scanned the room in search of it. It didn’t take long to locate. The notepad lay abandoned on the floor, several pieces of crumpled paper surrounding it. They seemed to have been torn from the notepad and tossed aside. Perhaps they were drafts of something Louis couldn’t quite figure out how to say. Her curiosity overtaking her, Clementine leaned over to scoop one off the floor. She began to uncrumple it.

Louis looked at her with large eyes, causing Clementine to pause.

“Should I not read it?”

Louis looked lost for a moment as if considering his answer. It wasn’t as though he could give a complex answer though, simply a yes or no. After a moment he reluctantly nodded. Still feeling torn, Clementine decided to give it a look. The very first words struck pain into her heart.

Dear Clementine, I think we should break up. I should probably find a better way to lead up to that conclusion, but I figured it was best to just cut to the chase. The boy you said you had feelings for isn’t me anymore. Whatever made you like me, whether it was my jokes or something else that escapes me, isn’t a part of me anymore. I’m useless now. Simply a burden. And with things as hard as they are on you now with your missing leg, I know you don’t need any more of those. That night before everything fell apart, I told you thanks for listening. Now I don’t have anything worth listening to. So I figured it was best

The letter cut off there, unfinished. Clementine’s eyes shot up, searching Louis’ for answers. He wasn’t willing to look up though, his gaze remaining firmly planted upon the ground. “Louis...” Clementine heard her voice crack with emotion, “Why?”

Louis shook his head, his hand reaching out to tap the letter she’d just read.

“No, I don’t accept that. This letter is bullshit, just a bunch of lies you’ve told yourself since you’ve spent so much time alone with these thoughts. Louis…” Clementine’s hand tightened round her boyfriend’s, her voice desperate. “What I told you that night, everything I said, is still true. My feelings haven’t changed, not one bit,”

Tears were trickling down Louis’ face. A low gurgling sound came from his throat, the only sound he could make anymore. Clementine reached to brush the tears away only for Louis to jerk backwards away from her touch.

Clementine scooted forward, refusing to give up. “Louis, I-” Her words were cut short as she gasped in pain, her stump burning from being pressed against the bench. Clementine’s back involuntarily convulsed, sending her teetering off balance. She feared she’d fall over when all of a sudden, an arm came round her waist, pulling her upright. The piano clanged as Louis’ elbow brushed the keys in his rush to catch her. Clementine looked up to see him studying her face with concern. “Lou…”

Louis drew back, withdrawing his arm quickly. His face was hidden behind his dreadlocks as his chest rose and fell, clearly struggling with his own inner turmoil.

Clementine felt her own eyes burning. “I did this to you. It’s my fault for not saving you that night,” Louis’ head shot up and he quickly shook his head, but the message didn’t touch Clementine. This was something that had been festering within her too long to keep contained. “The night you were taken I had the chance to save you. I saw you fighting Dorian while Violet was being dragged away. I-I thought I’d have the chance to save both of you. Violet was nearer to the cage, so I took that shot first, but by the time I notched the next arrow…” Clementine’s lip quivered, her throat burning as she tried to hold back tears. “It was already too late. Lilly threw a molotov in front of the gates and suddenly there were flaming walkers everywhere. By the time we cleared them out, you were gone,”

She looked up at Louis, her eyes wet with tears. “If I’d known what Lilly would do to you, if I had any idea, I wouldn’t have stopped there. I’d have run through that fire and out into the woods. I’d have followed on foot and not given up until I’d found the trail. I…” Clementine’s voice wavered, her shoulders shaking as she succumbed to her tears. It was useless. She’d fought as hard as she could. Everything she was describing wouldn’t have done any good. She couldn’t have found Louis that way. Through a moment’s decision his fate had been sealed. And if she’d chosen otherwise, if she’d saved him first, would the same thing that had been done to him happen to Violet? If they found Violet in the cells like that, she’d never forgive herself. Both outcomes were unbearable and unforgivable.

Clementine could feel Louis’ hand gently rubbing her shoulder. The gurgling sound was coming from his throat again as well. Now they were both crying, both lost in their pain and self-condemnation. Her eyes blurred by tears, Clementine reached out for Louis, pulling him close. Her breath came in short gasps as she buried her face in his shoulder, her body wracked by grief. She couldn’t lose him. After all that they’d been through, all the hurdles they’d overcome to find each other, she couldn’t let this be their swan song. But how could Louis even forgive her now that she’d told him what she’d done.

Louis’ hands were on her back. His own face was hidden against her neck, made damp with his tears. He was shaking, his body trembling within Clementine’s arms. He didn’t pull back and Clementine didn’t loosen her grip on him. They stayed there in that moment, both afraid to pull back, scared that if they let go then things would truly be over.

It couldn’t last forever though. Slowly Clementine pulled back, her hands slipping up to cup Louis’ face as she gazed into his eyes. “Louis… whatever you choose, I’ll respect that. I don’t want you thinking that we can’t be together because you’re a burden because I don’t see that at all. We both lost parts of ourselves to the Delta, but that doesn’t mean we can’t heal. We’ll learn to grow past all that. But if you can’t forgive me for what I let happen…” Clementine’s voice wavered but she pushed through, “Then I can live with that. It’s your choice,”

Louis’ hands had come up to cover Clementine’s. Looking deeply into her amber eyes, he shook his head fiercely before pressing a kiss to one of her wrists then the other.

Clementine let out a shaky breath. “What does that mean? That you forgive me?”

Louis took one of her hands and guided it to his throat. He pointed at her and shook his head. What was he saying? That she wasn’t to blame?

Clementine opened her mouth to protest. “Louis, I-” But before she could get any further Louis had pulled her to himself once more, his arms wrapping round her protectively. Clementine’s eyes stung with fresh tears. Hesitantly she reached out, her own arms coming round to circle his waist. Their last embrace had been one of desperation. This one felt softer, more intentional. Clementine felt Louis’ head come to rest atop her own. They sat there in silence, everything perfectly still. Finally Clementine softly cleared her throat. “I take it we’re not breaking up then?”

Louis nodded, his chin lightly brushing the hair on top of her head. He placed a gentle kiss upon it before settling down once more.

Clementine closed her eyes, letting the tension in her body truly start to dissipate. “I’m glad. I can take a lot of things, but losing you… I never want that. I know this isn’t easy for either of us, being this broken. But having each other makes it better, not worse. I need you, Louis. Each and every day,”

Louis pulled back for a moment, just far enough to look at Clementine. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the corners of his lips up into a smile.

“That’s my Louis,” Clementine reached up to brush away a stray tear that glistened upon his cheek. “But if you’re ever sad, that’s ok too. I want to hear about it all, in whatever way you want to share it,”

A distant look came into Louis’ eyes. Rising to his feet, he stepped away from the bench. At first Clementine was afraid he might leave the room, but instead he walked over to his notepad. Kneeling down, Louis picked up the crumpled pieces of paper that surrounded it one by one. Once all were gathered he walked back to the bench, taking the one that Clementine had read which lay crumpled and wet beside her. He then made his way over to the fireplace, setting the entire pile deep within it, tucked amongst the logs. There was no fire burning now, but the symbolism wasn’t lost on Clementine. Returning to the bench, Louis sat once more beside her.

Clementine smiled, the pain in her heart replaced by a warmer, purer ache. She truly loved this boy. “Thank you,” She glanced over at the piano. “Would you like to focus on something happier now? Maybe play me that song you wrote?”

A myriad of emotions danced within Louis’ eyes. Clementine hoped it hadn’t been wrong to ask this of him. But the piano was his voice, in a deep, intrinsic sense. She wanted to hear it, to let him speak through its melody. Louis’ hands rose after a few seconds, coming to rest delicately upon the keys. And then he began to play, the same song he had played for Clementine that night the room had seemed full of magic and light.

Slowly, Clementine laid her head down, bringing it to rest against Louis’ shoulder. Her eyes closed as she let the music overtake her senses, hearing Louis’ voice in every note he played. The world outside the walls of the music room was still harsh and cruel. It hadn’t become any easier in the time they’d spoken and that wouldn’t change. But here with Louis she felt safe. Not because there was no pain, but because he was with her in it, just like she was with him. And together, Clementine believed they’d be able to make it through whatever the world might throw at them.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg louis #clouis #fanfic #mute louis

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kuzocho · 5 years ago

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Scarred. | Kaminari Denki x Reader

I’m not even sure what this is, lol. But my boy Kami needs more love. So here’s some h/c with him.

tw: scars (not from self-harm)

Kaminari moaned when your hips rolled against his and it took all his will power not to go any further than this heavy make-out session. Your hands pulled harder at his hair from the sound he made and with half-lidded eyes, you breathed his name. Feeling his blood rushing through his veins at that, his grip on your waist got stronger. He couldn’t help but crane his neck to kiss you once more. Your fingers left his hair and wandered down, cupping his face for a second before they found hold on his shoulders as your hips moved again.

A sight left both of your lips, yours leaving to trail down kisses along his jawline while he closed his eyes. The feeling of your kisses on his neck send shivers down his spine and the way your fingers touched him was intoxicating. They roamed his shoulders, taking in the warm skin of his arms before they explored his lean muscles on his chest. He quietly moaned again when you draw a slow circle over his crotch and your digits left patters on his stomach and with his name falling from your lips again before they sucked at his neck, it felt so good that he almost missed how your fingers played with the hem of his shirt, leisurely finding their way under it. His eyes flew open and you nearly fell from his lap when he pushed himself up to grab your wrists.

“Stop”, he said, his voice was pressed and full of panic.

Leaning back on your heels you asked, “Are you okay?” Your hands moved away from his shirt and he let go of them. Instead, he intertwined one of them with yours and gave it a gently squeeze.

“Yes, baby, it’s all good. I’m just not in the mood, y’know?” The lie left his lips in an instant, given that it was not the first time he had told you that.

“’kay…” You didn’t buy his answer. Hell, how could you after you felt his arousal just mere moments ago.

But as much as Kaminari wanted to tell you, he couldn’t do it yet. He knew that with the direction you two were going, he had to at one point, but because of his own selfishness, he wanted to delay that as far as possible. When he had literally run into you in that cute little ramen shop close to his work a few weeks ago, he had been immediately smitten by you. Fortunately, you had been interested as well, giving him your number and he had taken you out for some coffee the next day. On your second date a couple of days after, he had kissed you.

Ever since then, he had met you regularly, either eating dinner somewhere, cooking together at your place or playing video games at his, but always ending up with locked lips and roaming hands. And every time he had to end it. Along the way of all this, Kaminari had developed feelings for you which only made it harder for him. He was certain that you would react like all the other women and after the last few weeks, he wasn’t ready for you to leave yet. So he was being a dick, telling you lies why he stopped you when your hands found their way under his shirt, because he wanted to have more moments with you, even though the guilt made his stomach turn.

The feeling was even worse today, seeing you chewing your bottom lip and knitting your eyebrows together.

You turned your head to the side. “You know, you can tell me if you don’t find me attractive enough.”

“W-What? No, that’s not it!”

“I won’t throw a tantrum or be mad at you, just tell me.” Your voice was quiet.

He squeezed your hand. “Hey, cupcake, look at me”, he gently demanded. When you did, he added, “I swear, this has nothing to do with you and everything with me.”

His heart fluttered a bit as you chuckled. “That’s such a cliché, Kami.”

“It’s true though. I wasn’t lying when I said you took my breath away the first time you smiled at me, sweet cheeks.” Kaminari tried to give you one of his cheeky smirks, but it felt weak and shaky.

“But you’re lying every time I try to initiate something.”

It was his turn to look away. “I know.”

“Why?”, you asked as you kept looking at him. There wasn’t any anger in your voice.

Pressure formed in his chest, making his heartbeat faster as he realized that this was the moment he had tried to run away from. Of course he despised lying to you. But leaving you with the feeling his behaviour was your fault? He’d rather got beaten up by Bakugou. Despite thinking about it a lot beforehand, he didn’t know what to say and the first thing was, “You’re not gonna like me anymore after you’ve seen it.”

He sounded like a whiny teenage-boy, making the pressure worse. He felt like he was choking on the air.

You leaned closer to kiss his cheek and oh god, this would be the last time you would do this, he knew it. “Kami, I’m sure that’s not possible. It is about your body, isn’t it? I know that everyone has some parts that they don’t like about themselves, but from what I’ve could feel and see so far, there is nothing wrong with yours. Nobody is fla-”

The bubble in his chest exploded like a balloon being picked by a needle and he blurted out, “I’m scarred!” Warmth crept up his cheeks and the need to hide was almost unbearable. That was definitely not the way he had wanted to tell you.

You quirked and eyebrow up. “You are a hero, of course you would have some scars.”

He licked his lips, his eyes searching the room for something they could focus on. “It’s worse than that.”

Placing another kiss on his cheek, you mumbled, “Sunshine, why don’t you just show me and then we can argue how bad it is?”

His gaze wandered back to you and your relaxed complexion. Maybe it won’t be so bad this time, a tiny voice in his head said and suddenly he nodded. Sensing that nothing would come out if he tried to speak, he waved his hand to gesture that you should get off him. Letting go of his other fingers, you sat next to him on the couch. Kaminari took a last glance at your face before he turned away, his back facing you. Taking a deep breath in a weak attempt to calm himself, he resisted the urge to just run, grabbing his shirt with trembling hands at his neck and pulling it off. Once he was out of it, he let his head hung low.

Your shocked gasp filled the room for a second and Kaminari closed his eyes. He memorised the picture that you saw a long time ago.

Dozens over dozens over dozens of scars littered his whole back. They were small, each only less than an inch long, but there were so many that it didn’t mattered anyway. Some of them were straight, some cracked ironically like a lightning bolt and the white colour and shiny surface only added to that even more. It was the worst around his spine. They gathered along it, covering almost every part of skin of it before they spread out. In two years or so, his sides, shoulders and neck would be coated with them as well. And after that, his front and his arms would be next, maybe even his legs. At least they didn’t hurt or made his skin tight.

“How?”

“Every time I short-circuit myself.”

It had started to happen at the training camp during their first summer break. While he had changed in front of his friends, Sero had spotted them. On that day, Kaminari hadn’t bothered, thinking that they might be scars from his childhood since they weren’t that many. It only had occurred to him that they could be quirk related when Kirishima had pointed out more of them the next day. When they had been back at school after the incident, he had overused his quirk on purpose, confirming his theory. There had been nothing Recovery Girl could have done to remove or undo them and he also hadn’t minded, assuming that he would solve the problem of going into his yay-mode quite fast.

But he had forgotten that he had been at UA, so they had pushed and pushed and pushed him, always going plus ultra. The self-awareness had kicked in when all of the boys had started to send hidden glances at his back and as the cherry on top of it all, Bakugou had stopped calling him stupid and dunce face.

Now, a few years later, they didn’t increased as frequently as back then, since he actually managed to raise the limits of his quirk ridiculously high. The damage had been done anyway, especially on his confidence, masking his insecurities by being even more awkwardly flirtatious. When there hadn’t been that many, he could still explore intimacy with girls, but even that had changed after the scars had covered all of his lower back, making him feel the need to either warn them beforehand or not anticipating anything at all. He bad become used to the different reactions, so much that he could foreshadow them based on the personality most of the time and slowly finding peace in never finding a significant other.

But then you came, knocking him straight out of his Pikachu socks and he wanted nothing more for you than to stay. And now he was sitting in front of you. He felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with clothes. It was as if you could look right through him, like his soul with all his insecurities he developed over the years laid directly in front of you, ready to get stumped on again. At any moment now, you would get up and tell him that you couldn’t to this and that it’s dis-

“Can I touch them?”

“What?” His head whipped around and he saw your face out of the corners of his eyes. Your hand was already hovering in the air, mere inches away from his skin. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint your emotions; there was sadness, maybe a hint of anger – but he felt that it wasn’t towards him – and something softer, calmer, something he had seen before in your eyes when you looked at him. Your question threw him off guard, obviously. No one ever wanted to touch them willingly, but before he could think about it further, he nodded and turned his head back, missing the reassuring smile you gave him.

His heart was beating a mile per minute and a shiver ran through him as your fingertips tenderly touched a scar on his right shoulder blade. It wasn’t bad per se, but a completely new feeling. He experienced sensory overload as the pads of your fingers followed the thin lines. The silence buzzed violently in his ears and the clock was ticking so loudly, leaving him suddenly wishing he had put some music on before you came over and your breath fanned his neck, making him feeling hot there while the rest of his body was cold from his anxiety.

And then you kissed one of them and his heart missed a beat at the feeling. It was gently and warm and loving. His vision blurred.

“That”, you started lowly, pressing your lips on another scarred patch between the words, “doesn’t change a damn thing.” Your arms came around his waist, pulling him closer. Embracing him with all his flaws and he barely could hold a sniffle in. “And you know why?” Another kiss, this time closer to his neck. “Because you’re still beautiful.”

He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, forcing the tears back with a mess of white dazzling dots behind his eyelids, pleading, “Please, stop.”

But you would have none of that. “And that has nothing to do with your looks. I fell for you, because you’re funny and smart and adventurous and so unbelievable lovable.”

There were more kisses and it got too much. The last word ripped a sob through him. One of your hands were on his chest, pushing him down with you while the other was waving through his hair as he let himself fall. The tears were streaming freely now and Kaminari couldn’t tell if it was because the anxiety had deflated the second you had hugged him or because your words had awoken an emotion deep within him. Either way, he didn’t hold back, couldn’t bring himself to do so anymore and you didn’t seem to mind as you cooed at him.

God, how long had he been longing to hear these words? Not the ‘you can still be a hero, bro’, the ‘it just means you’re pretty strong’, the ‘don’t worry, with your face and chest you’re still sexy’, but the simple confirmation that he was enough. That he wasn’t his scars. That he was more than that.

At some point, you turned him around and pulled him even closer and he pressed his face into your neck, babbling incoherent words about all the pitiful looks with the reassuring pads on his shoulder afterwards and the countless rejections he had gotten over the years, because yes, he was nice, but that’s not what they were looking for.

Eventually, the sobs stop wrecking through his body, turning into sniffles and after a while they were gone too. Your hand drew small circles on his back and just the sheer thought of such a tender affection on something he despised for so long had him almost bawling his eyes out again.

He closed his eyes, whispering, “You meant that?”

“All of it”, you answered, giving him a kiss on top of his head.

Thinking what to say next to express his feelings, he sat up. His back was turned to you again, this time however, he felt comfortable. It was still weird, of course, but he had nothing to hide anymore. You’ve seen everything, you’ve seen him – and you were still here.

“I’ll go and get you some water”, you said quietly and stood up. You were right, he really needed that. The headache grew with every passing second and he probably looked like shit with blood-shot eyes and reddened cheeks and god knows whatnot, but he grabbed your wrist, looking up to you. Your gaze and smile were warm and there wasn’t any need to ask, but, “So you’re going to stay?”

You leaned down to him again, faces mere inches from each other. “Yes, Denki, I’m staying. Takes more than that to scare me away.”

He ignored the wet patch on your shirt – you could wear one of his shirts soon, he definitely wouldn’t mind - and the fact that he absolutely needed to wash his wash as he cupped your face to press his lips onto yours. He hummed into it, smiling. He really liked the sound of you saying his name.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #kaminari denki x Reader #Kaminari denki #he needs more love #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years ago

Text

Belonging || Ariana & Kaden

TIMING: After this (x) PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Kaden goes to visit Celeste’s tree and stumbles upon a distraught Ariana. Some heart to hearts ensue. CONTENT: Mentions of domestic and emotional abuse

Kaden knew he should stay home, stay in bed, let his body recover. As far as he was concerned, it could recover on his way through the woods. He hadn’t meant to return so soon, but he always found himself gravitated to his home away from home. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say he spent more time in the forest than in his apartment. Even if his non waking hours were considered. The longer he lay in his bed, the more his mind ran. Ran through his conversation with Morgan. With Deirdre. With Regan. What happened with Ariana. Alain. He couldn’t sit still and let them drown him. There was only one person he wanted to see right now, one person he wanted to sit with in silence and find some solace. Just one. But he was afraid seeing Regan would hurt more than help. She couldn’t completely offer what he needed, not right now. Or maybe she could but he didn’t feel like risking it. He had to be stronger right now, be the support, the anchor for her if he could. Not to mention, any discussion or questions she had would just confuse him more. And she was bound to have questions about his latest injuries, about his hunting, about what he wanted.

No, Kaden needed silence. And comfort. That was one thing Celeste could still offer. It wasn’t as good as the guidance or patience she’d been able to give him in life, but it would have to do. So he’d walk through the woods, picking his way to a familiar tree. The sounds of the woods silenced his mind, it hushed the closer he got to her spot. In its stead, he heard something that sounded like crying. A step more and he felt it. The chill. He sighed and tried to hold back his heart from crumbling. He had two options. Turn around, let her have her solitude, or go to who he was sure was Ariana. He didn’t know if he could handle her grief along with his confusion, directionlessness right now. What would Celeste want him to do? He inhaled and walked to the tree. “Hey, Ari?” he said softly from a few feet away. “Are you-- do you want to be alone?”

Everything in her still felt like it was spinning around. As if she couldn’t possibly grasp onto some sense of direction that would make all of this easier. If she had been so wrong about where she stood with Deirdre, what else could she have been wrong about? Was all of this for not? Trying to someone who could exist in two worlds the way Celeste? Ariana wondered if maybe it had been easier for her since for so long, it was just the two of them, but somehow her and Ulfric had managed, too. She had to be the fault here. She felt like a puzzle piece in the wrong box trying to wedge herself into places she didn’t fit. Like the little space carved for her in Deirdre’s home had never been right in the first place. It did nothing to lessen the still fresh sting of how quickly she’d been thrown out. She’d been too lost in her feelings to even hear anyone approaching. It was careless, really, but when a voice registered in her mind, at least she knew she was safe. Or would he turn her away just as quickly if he knew what she did to Sammy? No, she couldn’t let her mind go there right now. She sniffled and wiped away the tears on her jacket sleeve. “Kaden, hey,” she said weakly as she turned to look up to him, “I don’t-- Honestly, no, not really.”

She motioned for him to join her and glanced back up at the tree. She’d sat here so many times before that she could practically remember every divot and line in the tree’s stump. It was funny to Ariana that they always seemed to meet this way, though the grin she made didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she joked as she absentmindedly took a fallen leaf in her hand. It crunched under the pressure of her palms and something about it relaxed her if only a little bit. She turned back to Kaden and asked, “What brings you out here?”

Kaden nodded and silently took a seat next to her, close enough the could nearly brush shoulders. Normally he kept his distance, a space between. It felt silly now. After everything else, what happened the other night. There was no use pretending he didn’t give a shit, no use avoiding this. Whatever kinship this was. It was odd, the sensations spiking along his spine that normally sent him into alert, meant danger was near, in this place it felt like a strange sort of comfort. A constant reminder that he wasn’t alone, that his grief was shared. A reminder of his conflict and turmoil, too. But ultimately when sitting next to Ari like this, it felt like Celeste. Her work or doing or something like that, he couldn't put it into words. Maybe it was because he knew this was how she felt all the time when around her sister, some small piece of solidarity he could find with his fallen friend.

“We really do.” The smile Kaden tried to force onto his face didn’t quite seem to make it there. How many times had they ran into each other in the woods by this tree? Hell, he’d lost count. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same.” He exhaled and leaned farther back into the tree he was propped against. “Just needed some, I don’t know, something.” Well that was a shitty explanation. He tried again. “After what happened. And a few weeks ago. And last month. I just, I wanted--” Fuck, was the lump in his throat alreayd making an appearance. “Celeste would have understood. Wanted to talk to her. At her. I don’t know.” It just felt like the right place to be. And hell, he’d expected silence. So forming words around his thoughts wasn’t something he’d prepared for himself. “But that’s my bullshit. It doesn’t matter. And you’re not allowed to argue with me on that one. Why were you out here before I got here? What’s wrong?”

They’d done this plenty of times before, often wordlessly, and it had become a comfort in its own right. A small reminder that she wasn’t the only one who wanted to keep Celeste alive in some way. Ariana noted he sat closer to her than usual though she wouldn’t mention it aloud. Their bond remained mostly unspoken and it seemed like it wasn’t something Kaden could deny anymore. Not when he’d been so distraught thinking he’d hurt her or when he’d gone through such extreme measures to make sure he saved people and kept her safe at the same time. The fact he wasn’t keeping his normal distance was enough for her to shake away the thought that everything with him was just as fragile as it had been with Deirdre. He knew the best and worst of what she’d done. Maybe not all the small details in between, but she felt comforted knowing whatever it was they shared wasn’t quite that delicate.

“I get that. It’s nice to think she’s listening,” Ariana said as she leaned back on her palms and relished slightly in the feeling of dirt between her fingers. She listened as he spoke though it wasn’t something she could quite piece together. Given his answer was more of a nonanswer and just an indication that he had been struggling with things, too. “She would have understood,” she said simply, “She always did.” It’s where she felt like she was falling short. She wanted to understand how Deirdre could condone what Lydia had done. She wanted to understand what she had done that was so wrong. There was still that unwavering hollow feeling in her chest knowing she couldn’t return. She breathed out a sigh and responded, “You’re lucky I don’t have much in the way of arguing energy today. Plus, I kind of owe you one.” She leaned forward again and brought her hands to her lap, bringing a leaf to fidget with along. Another sigh was breathed out as she explained, “I was kind of… I don’t know, rejected by someone I considered family. Just felt shitty and wanted to be with her. It’s-- Do you ever feel like you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing? She always seemed to know what to do.”

“Bet she would have had some great advice, too,” Kaden said. The words stung in their own way. Kaden wished he’d met her sooner, could have gleaned a little more from her, maybe then he’d have a few more answers than questions. It was funny, though, the more time he spent with the werewolf, the more he saw of the hunter in her. He wasn’t sure if he just didn’t let himself see it before but it was clearer every time they did this just how much Ariana had taken on of Celeste. Little things, mannerisms, phrases. Mostly the kindness. That one he’d known for a while.

“You don’t owe me shit, alright.” His voice was small but the guilt that ate at him from just a month ago had only just started to dull. Sure, it wasn’t Ari then but that didn’t matter. Some part of him felt like he’d be atoning for that potential mistake for far longer than just one month of his life. A foreign thought, but the idea that he could have ended her life as easily as he had, it sent a shiver down his spine. She didn’t owe him shit. Kaden draped his forearms against his knees, folded his hands top of one another as he kept his eyes on the tree in front of them. That was until she explained her situation. His gaze drifted to her. She was hardly a big person to begin with, but her presence usually was. Right then? She seemed small. Smaller than she even was in reality. “Kid the only thing I’ve been sure of recently is that I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.” Another sigh escaped him. “I didn’t know her as long, but I’m sure Celeste questioned shit all the time, too. You don’t grow up like us and end up, well, you know. I bet she had a million questions and doubts about her choices.” He gave her shoulder a small nudge with his elbow, eyes turning back to the tree in front of him. “But she knew she was picking what was best for you every time. Even I know that. And I don’t know shit. Probably helped ease the doubt.” Not that he really knew. But he could guess. “You got lucky. Having her.” Kaden wasn’t sure that was comforting or not given what she’d just told him minutes ago. “Whoever rejected you, fuck them.” There was more he wanted to say, thought about saying, but he couldn’t make the words leave his lips. Not yet.

“She would,” Ariana agreed. How many times had she rolled her eyes at Celeste’s advice? Far too many. It was almost humorous now that she’d do just about anything for it. To be given some sense of direction that felt right. Maybe Deirdre’s piercing scream and throwing her out wouldn’t have stung as much if she still had that same safe haven to return to. There was nothing she could do that would have made Celeste turn her away. She still couldn’t help but feel a sense of righteousness here. How could she be tossed aside for someone who literally had a torture bunker in their home? Having Kaden there grounded her in a different way. He was just as appalled as she was by the whole situation. By what Lydia did to those people. By what she did to her. Even now, in the wake of what happened, he was nudging her shoulder without hesitation and she couldn’t recall such an easy gesture between them before. He showed up for her in more ways than she could have expected and maybe that was enough. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t owe you shit. Doesn’t change the fact I’d want to be here if you needed me anyway.”

It was obvious to her that he was still struggling with something that maybe she’d never be able to understand, but all she could do now was be here with him. Ariana wouldn’t push him, not today. Not when she already felt exhausted during a time of month she usually felt energized and rejuvenated. Even how much more comfortable he seemed with her as of late and how he saved her the other night, she had to believe he was going through some sort of internal struggle that only Celeste could understand. She stared ahead at the tree, right now they could both use her wisdom. “That’s a whole ass mood. Which is probably obvious given the mess I made with the leanan-sidhe. Which, I’ll be honest, still has me shaken up.” She picked apart at the leaf in her hands, creating little confetti like pieces around the ground in front of her. “I know you’re right. She had to make a lot of difficult choices. She just somehow made a way of making them look easy. Like she just naturally knew the way. Even when we had to pack our bags on a whim in the middle of the night and hit the road because her parents got a lead on us, it always seemed like she knew exactly what she was doing. Exactly where we were going. Maybe being together was part of that.”

Her mind lingered wistfully on late night car rides. How Celeste would always give her cash and she’d load up on drinks and snacks for them. She remembered how much Celeste loved oatmeal creme pies and vanilla iced coffee no matter the weather. She remembered the way she could barely see the road ahead over the dashboard and what she could see seemed so dark, yet she always remained calm. Ariana knew she had to be scared, too. There was no way she couldn’t have been. They had been on the run after all. She’d been younger than Ariana was at the time, but somehow managed to put on a brave face for her sake. It was something she’d never stop being grateful for and still wished she told her that more. “I did. I should have told her that more.” She sighed and grabbed another leaf, eyes still locked ahead on her tree. The idea of completely writing off Deirdre with a simple “fuck her” wasn’t something that came easily. She’d been so kind before and now she just didn’t understand how what she’d done had been so wrong. How Deirdre could possibly stand behind someone who kept humans in her basement to abuse, torture, and eat. There was no way that was the only way and she had to think Deirdre knew that. Still, the words fae’s property rang in her mind. She shuddered slightly and said, “I wish it was that easy. To say fuck them and move on like none of it ever mattered-- But it did matter. You can’t just stop caring about someone at the drop of a hat.”

“Well, then. Noted,” Kaden said. Even if he was sure he was the one with a debt to pay in this situation. Still. “But you should erase that word from your vocabulary, alright?” His tone was light, joking. Even if it didn’t feel like a joke just yet. Not this soon. It was funny, he’d wanted to be alone out here for a while but he was more and more glad that he wasn’t. Just hearing another heartbeat, it was comforting. Something about the steady rhythm along with the sound of the wind picking through the branches it just felt better. Maybe it didn’t answer any of his questions, but it was better. Maybe that was all he could ask for.

“I mean, it’s been two whole days since--” Kaden didn’t need to spell it out. “And this, this is a big fucking situation. You weren’t ready for what you walked into. It’s not your fault. I wouldn’t have done much better.” In fact, if she hadn’t reminded him what they were up against, he was two steps from barging down Lydia’s door and taking care of this himself. And it would have fared about as well as her attempt at that, surely. He took the finger nail on his thumb, dug it into the side of his wrist. They had to fix this. Not today. But he had to try to right the wrongs there. He didn’t know how yet but soon.

“I think her motivation had something to do with why it looked easy. If I had to guess.” Making decisions to protect someone else? It was always easier. Always. If Blanche was in trouble, for example? His choices were easy. Do whatever it took to help her. Kaden had no doubt that Celeste felt the same. When put up against a wall, there was no time for second guessing. You lept and hoped it was the right choice. Maybe it was something the two of them had taken from hunting, come to think of it. Not that he could ask. “And you didn’t have to tell her. With how close you were? She knew.” He sighed right along with her. He damn well understood what she was saying and he was confronted with his tendency to push away anyone who even so much as implied rejecting him before they had a chance. “I know. I really fucking know.” It was half of why keeping people at arm’s length was easier. It hurt less in the long run. For so many reasons. But hell, he definitely understood. It was part of why he was in that fucking clearing at all. “I’m sorry. I can’t make them understand what they gave up. But they… I mean it’s their loss, Ari. I know it feels like yours but in the end…” His words trailed off again and he found himself scuffin his boot back and forth in the dirt. “It’s their loss if they rejected you.”

“Oh, right,” Ariana said somewhat sheepishly. Watching her words hadn’t felt necessary around Kaden. He was safe. The other night had only proved it. “Thankfully, I have a feeling that even if you could use those words against me, you wouldn’t.” Unless there was some magic way to make her stay out of trouble. As it stood, trouble was all but unavoidable in White Crest even if one didn’t have a knack for it. She’d need to be smarter about her words though. They had put both of them in danger and they were hardly out of the clear just yet. The thought of putting him or anyone else she loved in danger again made her feel a small rush of panic that she quickly quieted. Right now, right here-- this was a safe place. The smell of dying plants and Kaden’s hair products reminded her of that. There was much left to figure out, but right now, they could share this moment with Celeste in a sense.

“It is,” Ariana breathed as she looked down at her hands momentarily. They felt the need to keep busy somehow as if that could stop the anger and heartache that made itself at home inside her body and mind. “I wasn’t, but you told me that forever ago. I can’t help but think that if I let Athena take care of this from the start that Sammy would still be alive. I know there’s no changing it now. I do. And I know at the end of the day, it’s Lydia’s fault. I just feel… honestly, kind of fucking stupid. I wanted so badly for there to be a way to save him that didn’t involve killing anyone. I just don’t think that exists. Lydia isn’t bad because of what she is, but what she chooses to do with all while feeling no remorse is just--” She took in a huff of air to steady herself again. She knew her voice was shaking and she cared little to hide it. There was no need to. Not from Kaden. “I don’t think I can be the one to kill her, but I want to help. I want to get those people out of there. Whoever they are, there’s no way they deserve what she’s putting them through.”

There was no denying that Kaden made sense. Ariana knew that feeling all too well. It came into play when that karkinoid had found her and Blanche on the beach. When that weird vampire thing paralyzed Kaden before. When she’d seen Alcher lunge at Adam. There hadn’t been a doubt in her mind then that she needed to act and there wasn’t any doubt about those moments now. If Sammy had made it out of Lydia’s alive, she was sure she would have felt the same. And hadn’t she been able to fake confidence then? “You’re right,” she said simply, finally dragging her eyes away from the tree and back to him, “You kind of had that energy the other night. Don’t get me wrong, I was still panicked as fuck, but you being there-- I knew it’d be okay somehow.” She didn’t note that it wouldn’t have been okay if Rio hadn’t shown up. Kaden may have been okay with sacrificing himself, but the thought of losing him devastated her, she couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if she was the one to kill him. She nodded slowly, tossing around some leaves instead of picking them apart, “I hope she did. I think I’ll wish I could say it even just one more time.” She’d prefer a hundred. Even a thousand, but that wasn’t how the world worked. “It does suck. I guess things are just like that sometimes.” His next words surprised her and left her eyes misty. He’d never been mean to her-- harsh when he was trying to keep her from diving into something way out of her depth, maybe, but never mean. This had been a certain level of caring he didn’t typically show. He’d shown understanding while she grieved, but even if it wasn’t direct, he was expressing just how much he cared. That he wouldn’t want to give her up, that he couldn’t just toss her to the side so easily. “Thanks,” she said through tears though these ones were more heartfelt than heartbreak, “That means a lot and I appreciate you saying it.”

“You’re right.” Kaden cracked a small smile. “One of the only word bindings Regan and I have? That we can’t promise each other anything. So you’re right. I think your choices say more about you than not. Wouldn’t want to take that away.” He tried to ignore the weight he felt fall down onto his chest just thinking about Regan. Things were better. Marginally. Maybe. Putain, he still couldn’t think about her much without feeling like a failure in so many ways. And she was friends with Lydia, wasn’t she? So much for pushing that weight aside, it decided to settle in.

“Maybe. But if she’s made it this long, there’s no way any single warden is taking her down.” Especially not one that was still a kid. Not without a lot of collateral damage. Kaden understood the anger she felt, though, the desperation to help. He felt it, too. “I get it. Wanting to fight this. Fight her. After what you told me,” he shook his head, “I would have done the same. Maybe stupider.” It was probably why he cared about her so fucking much. Even if she was a werewolf, the very thing he was meant to rid the world of, her desire to keep people safe from harm, he recognized it. And he knew she meant it wholeheartedly. He looked over at her as she spoke and it struck him that the werewolf sitting next to him might be a better person than he was. It caught him so off guard he almost forgot to respond. “Then we’ll make sure they get out alive. Every one of them is worth more than five of her anyway. We’ll get them out. As much as I hate this word now, promise.” He had no fucking clue how. But they’d fix this. Another for his list.

His brow furrowed a bit at her comment. Huh. She had a point. Kaden hadn’t considered it much. Not really. He barely thought out there, just acted and reacted. He had a million questions, plenty of doubts, but his goal was clear. Almost as clear as it used to be nearly a year ago when he hunted. The singularity was simple. It just wasn’t what he was trained to do. Not even slightly. It struck a chord of guilt through him. But looking at Ari quelled any doubt that he made the right decision. “I-- if I hurt you, Morgan told me she’d bite me.” Putain, he wasn’t sure why he told her that. But he did have a point. “Not that she-- It’s not because of that. That’s not why I--” Fuck, this sounded bad. He had to try again. Deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is. If I had hurt you or, fuck, worse, I--” He felt his words catch in his throat. “I-- I’d have asked her to. I think. Or just-- I don’t know. I wasn’t going to hurt you out there. I couldn’t. Not after… I wouldn’t let that happen.” He looked down at his shoes again, tried digging a new divot with his heel. “So yeah. I-- you’re safe with me. As much as you can be. I… I mean, we’re both lucky Rio showed up. And came prepared.” More prepared than he was for the situation. He had to give the kid credit. “You don’t have to thank me. Really. I try not to say shit I don’t mean either so,” he said, trailing off his sentence with a shrug.

Ariana knew she had been right. There was no way Kaden would ever use anything against her to hurt her. How they’d gotten to this point was still a bit of a mystery, but she wouldn’t change a thing. “I like that, that you both want each other to have a choice in things. Free will is important.” The sentiment was only more cemented after what happened at the start of the full moon. Her free will had been ripped from her in such a nearly devastating fashion. It was a reminder to be better. Be smarter.

“I wouldn’t let Athena go in alone. I won’t let her go in alone,” Ariana said firmly. As sure of herself as Athena was, the thought of her being hurt or worse made her sick with worry. Losing Athena wasn’t an option though she didn’t want to ponder the why of that too deeply in this moment. Instead, she focused on what Kaden said next and laughed a bit. “I guess we’re more fight than brains, huh?” It was something they shared, a willingness to jump in the deep end if it meant keeping others safe. She imagined some of what they shared made it easier for him to see past everything he’d been taught and see her for she was. Some part of her knew he was all the better for it. Not just because he knew Celeste, but because he knew her. He made her want to be better, too. In light of Deirdre throwing her out for choosing to save a human at the risk of a fae, it was a nice reminder that everything she tried to be and embrace wasn’t for not. That there was a middle ground to be found. It’d take more than her to build it, that better world, but it was all one brick at a time. As much as she wanted there to be a better way, someone like Lydia wasn’t going to change her ways. The only thing that would follow her was harm and if she had a way to save the innocent people she kept locked in her basement, she had to act. “Just don’t make that promise to an actual fae. We’re going to save them. It’s not going to be easy, but we will.”

The way he stumbled over his words as he spoke left her with a somewhat amused smile on her face to replace the happier tears that had been there just moments before. Ariana placed a hand on his shoulder, knowing it’d be more welcome now than it would have been in the past. “Chill, Kaden. I know you didn’t save my ass out there because Morgan said she’d bite you if you hurt me. I know the not hurting me was because you didn’t want to hurt me. That choice was yours and well, it means a lot to me. I know I’m safe with you… or as safe as anyone can be in this town. But hey, anyone that wants to fuck with us has to fight a hunter and a werewolf so.” Even from beyond, Celeste was helping in a way. It wasn’t the same. Nothing ever could be. But she brought them together and she admittedly felt much better than she had when she first arrived here. “I know we both tried to make him leave, but I’m glad he didn’t. He’s really coming into his own. I think moving out of his parents’ house has done a lot of good for him. He’s learning to be a hunter in his own way and decide what it means for him. Plus, that punch was awesome. He saved us both.” Kaden more literally, but Ariana would have been crushed if Kaden died, especially at her hand. She shook her head as he shrugged off her thanks. “I know you don’t. I just-- I feel better than I did before I got here. I’m glad you showed up.” That he kept showing up. For her. For others. It was a nice reminder that for all she lost, she still had so much to live and fight for.

Her hand on his shoulder felt like a shot of electricity in a way, sending his hunter senses on alert. Kaden exhaled, relaxed, let it be something different. Just like Regan’s freezing skin shifted from something alarming to comforting, he’d have to find a way to let this settle in, too. Redefine what it meant from her. He hoped he hadn’t jumped. He didn’t mean to. In fact, it brought a relieved smile to his face, that she understood. Leave it to the teenager to cut through the crap and get right down to it. “Thanks. Guess you’re right. Didn’t expect that to be a team up any time soon.” Of course, she was used to it, surely. Had to be strange, growing up and bridging that gap. For both her and Celeste. He found himself again wishing he could ask his friend the thousands of questions running through his head. His head tilted as he caught some of her sister’s words. He’s learning to be a hunter in his own way and decide what it means for him. An odd feeling swelled up in him. Hard to name. Pride, maybe? Shit, he didn’t know. If it was that, not that he earned that feeling really, for which of the two of them, Rio or Ari, he didn’t know either. All he knew was that sounded so much like Celeste. So much like what she’d told him. He sniffed back the tears pricking at the sides of his eyes as he felt how much she was still alive right then. “Yeah I guess so. I can’t believe you think that punch was awesome. Considering,” he said, nudging her again, a smile creeping back onto his face. For how much he’d wanted to be alone with his thoughts before coming here, he was surprised at how much nicer this was. With a werewolf of all people. “I’m glad I showed up, too.”

#wickedswriting #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #belonging #// i will accept no complaints because this ended up being properly soft?

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stevesnailbat · 5 years ago

Text

the fine line | steve harrington x hopper!oc

part two: don’t want to fight you

SERIES MASTERLIST

summary: Jess tries to recover from the breakup in any way that she can, but Steve keeps making his way back into her life unintentionally.

warnings: mentions of cheating/sex, mentions of violence, underage drinking, angst and more angst (there will be a happy ending i PROMISE!)

word count: 3.1K

There wasn’t much that anyone could do to help Jess, she really just wanted to be alone. It wasn’t really possible to be alone for long in the Hopper household, considering the telekinetic sister and nosy dad that she shared a cabin with. She tried to stay in her room as much as she could on most days, avoiding questions from her dad and El about anything that happened. Both of them had hunches about what had happened, but neither knew for sure. It was bound to come up eventually, though.

“Jess, you need to eat dinner with us tonight. You better be out here in five minutes or you’re grounded.” Hop threatened, banging on Jess’ bedroom door one evening.

She nearly panicked when she realized that she’d finally be forced to face reality and tell them what happened. It had been two nights that she’d skipped dinner, telling them that she wasn’t feeling good both days. She knew she couldn’t get away with it for a third night in a row. The last thing she wanted was her dad to go into protective mode, but it seemed likely. The smell of pizza filled the air as she trudged out of her bedroom, both El and Hop stopping in their tracks to look at her as she did.

“Jesus, Jess. You look like you haven’t slept in days.” her dad remarked, making her laugh bitterly.

“Thanks, Dad.” she sneered, rolling her eyes as she reached for a paper plate. “Just what I like to hear when I feel like shit.”

She stared at the whole pizza in front of her as she went to reach for a slice, losing any appetite that she had seconds before. There was nothing she wanted more than to run away from everything, not talk to anyone until she decided she was ready to. Still, she grabbed a slice of the pizza to appease her dad, but knew she wouldn’t eat it.

“Is there a reason you’ve been hiding in your room for two days, or are is this just some stupid teenage angst shit?” he asked as she sat down at the table.

She let out a sigh as she glared up at him, noticing the concern laced within his hard-ass look. Jess was always honest with him and El, she knew better than to make up any bullshit around them. This was different, though. It wasn’t just some stupid fight that her and Steve would get over in a day or two, it was serious this time. She didn’t notice that she had started to tear up at the question until El reached for her hand, squeezing it in a comforting way.

It had been a rough couple of days, and it showed in her eyes. Hop could see that she was hurting, which was a rarity, since she was just as stubborn as him when it came to feelings.

“I broke up with Steve.” she stated bluntly, staring blankly at the pizza in front of her.

Both El and Hop stopped eating and nearly dropped their food when she spoke, utter disbelief filling the room. They had taken Steve in as part of the family long ago, everyone was convinced that they were getting married. Hop liked him—to say the least. But in this moment, he had to stay impartial to the boy he’d grown to like, since he’d caused Jess so much pain.

“Why?” El said to break the silence, watching as Jess picked at the cheese on her pizza.

“That’s—That isn’t important.” Jess stammered, shaking her head while avoiding eye contact with either of them.

“Yes, yes it is important. What’d he do?” Hop asked, anger rising in his chest as protective dad mode began to take over.

“I don’t want to talk about—“

“Jessica.” he snapped; he was never good at comfort so he always resorted to anger almost immediately.

“He cheated on me, okay?” she said defeatedly, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she looked up at him. “Are you happy now?”

“I’m gonna fucking kick his ass.” he seethed, anger rising in his chest. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“I don’t know, Dad. But he made me believe that whoever he thought he was, was in love with me, and we see where that got me.” she sighed, pushing the plate away from her as she stood from the table with a sudden nauseous feeling in her gut. “I’m gonna go back to my room, I wasn’t hungry in the first place.”

Jess didn’t give him any time to say anything before the door to her room slammed shut, making him let out a groan of frustration. He knew better than to go into her room or force her to talk about it anymore, so he let it be. El looked at him and frowned with a sigh, knowing how much he hated seeing Jess like this.

Hop’s emotions brewed inside as he tried to decide what to do about the situation. He knew he couldn’t just beat the shit out of Steve, but he needed to talk to him at least. As if on cue, their phone rang. He walked towards it, halfway expecting a weary-voiced and apologetic Steve to be on the other end.

“Hey, Hop—There’s been some complaints about some kid at the quarry that’s possibly drunk and—“ Officer Calahan’s voice came through the phone, but Hopper cut him off.

“I’ll take care of it.” he mumbled, slamming the phone back onto the receiver.

As much as he hated calls like this, he was using it as an excuse to make stop at the Harrington house on his way home. He rushed out as quick as he could, yelling a goodbye to the girls before leaving.

To his surprise, the exact person he wanted to talk to was at the quarry, and in fact, was the drunk kid. Hop would recognize Steve’s BMW anywhere, since it had been in his driveway an uncountable amount of times. Steve was perched on the hood of his car with rocks in his hand, throwing them towards the quarry in between sips of some alcohol that he’d stolen from his dad’s liquor cabinet. Hop parked and got out, slamming the door loud enough for him to hear.

Steve whipped around and fear rushed through his body, eyes going wide at the fuming man coming in his direction. He climbed down from the hood of his car, sobering up quickly and while sitting the bottle on the ground, trying to gain some composure as he watched Hopper approach him.

“H—Hey, Chief!” Steve stammered, trying to act cool as he felt like panicking.

“Don’t start, Harrington. I oughta kick your ass into next week, don’t you think?” Hopper threatened angrily, walking towards him quickly as he staggered backwards.

He grabbed for the collar of Steve’s shirt and Steve threw his hands up in a defeated manner. There was something about the look on Steve’s face that made Hop stop himself, there was a pain in his eyes that he hadn’t seen before. He still held onto his shirt, but didn’t dare to actually hurt him.

“You’re a real class act, aren’t you? You thought you’d get away with it, just thought nobody would find out—“

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear! It just fucking happened, okay?” Steve rambled, trying to slink away from his grasp.

“How does something like that just happen? You just let it slip?” Hopper implored, anger rising in him as he gripped the shirt tighter.

“I—I didn’t do anything like that with the girl. I didn’t do anything but kiss her.” he explained, trying to sound calmer to ease himself and Hop. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“You didn’t mean for what to happen?” Hopper questioned, patience seeming to run thin.

“Any of this! That girl, she looked just like Jess to drunk me and she—she was acting like her and telling me she loved me.” he said softly, stumping down against the hood of the car. “I don’t know, I just know that I fucked up.”

“Yeah, just a little.” Hop scoffed sarcastically, finally letting go of Steve’s shirt with a small shove. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” Steve sighed, putting his head in his hands for a moment. “I don’t even remember most of the night, honestly.”

“Harrington, you know I like you, for the most part. But I can’t say that I’m very fond of you in this moment. You really fucked with her, and I can’t just let that slide.” Hop remarked and Steve nodded in agreement, although he didn’t know exactly what he meant.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve sighed. “I don’t want to cause anything else. I know she needs her space and I know she’s hurting. I won’t bother you guys or anything, I’ll try to stay away.”

“I can’t force you to stay away forever, because you take those damn kids everywhere.” Hopper said with a bitter laugh. “But all I ask is for you to not—don’t try to come into her life and break her heart again, okay?”

“I can do that.” he agreed, chewing on his lip as his mind raced. “How is she?”

The only thing that had been on Steve’s mind for the past two days was Jess and what she was doing. He hadn’t seen her around town or heard anything about her, so he was worried. Of course, the guilt of their situation was eating at him. He had come to the quarry to get his mind off of it with some alcohol, but it only made him think of her, think of the nights they spent in that very spot, even more than he already had.

“She’s been better.” Hopper sighed, picking up the half-empty bottle of vodka off the ground. “I can’t let you drive, so I‘m taking you home. You can walk to get your car in the morning.”

There was a monotony in Hopper’s voice that broke Steve a little more than it should’ve, he knew that he didn’t see him as part of the family anymore. He was just some stupid boy that fucked over his daughter, and that was it. It was what Hop wanted him to see, but deep down, he still cared for the kid. He couldn’t let him know he was concerned for both of them in the situation, for Jess’ sake.

The next few weeks were hell, for Steve and Jess. They were both struggling, it was hard to be alone for the first time in months. There was some kind of pull in their hearts, telling them to go back to each other. Steve knew he couldn’t call her, but he had caught himself dialing her number a few times; he’d get to the last digit before he’d stop himself and slam it down out of frustration. Jess hadn’t done much better, honestly. She craved his love and had even driven towards the Family Video a few times after school, out of habit and longing.

Their first interaction after the breakup was completely by accident, honestly. Jess has to pick up El from the Wheeler house and Steve literally ran into her on her way down to their basement. She turned the corner to walk downstairs to get El and ran into someone’s chest instead. An all-too-familiar cologne hit her nose and her breath hitched in her throat as she pushed away, eyes meeting with the doe eyes she knew so well. Steve couldn’t believe it either, honestly. He had dreamed of their first interaction, but didn’t plan on it being so damn awkward. As much as he wanted to tell her the truth in the moment, he couldn’t.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you coming up the stairs.” she said softly, standing out of his way to let him up.

“It’s alright.” he chuckled nervously, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “How—How are you?”

Horrible, was what she wanted to admit. She wanted to tell him she was missing him more than anything, that she wanted to stay in his arms in that moment. But, she couldn’t. She couldn’t let him into her life again that easily. So, she put on the mask once again, hiding behind a fake smile to disguise the pain she was in.

“I’m—I’m doing good.” she said meekly, chewing on her lip.

Before Steve could say anything, El was bounding up the stairs. Jess nearly sighed in relief, glad to have an excuse to escape the uncomfortable situation. As much as she wanted to tell him the truth in the moment, she couldn’t.

Soon enough, they were going their separate ways again. They both wondered when the next time they’d see each other would be, but knew it’d be the same situation once again.

Their second interaction was nothing short of unexpected, but filled with hope. Steve’s friends convinced him to go to some party, but he didn’t seem very into it. He still went with hesitancy, memories of the last party he went to flooding his mind as he poured his first drink.

He was only at the start of that first drink when he saw Jess from across the room. She wore a smile on her face as she tipped back her red solo cup, listening to some jock talk to her about something useless. Steve could tell she was uninterested, though. The mask she wore so well was on again, but he could see right through it. The guy was inching closer to her as she stood against the wall, a devious grin on his face.

Anger grew in the pit of Steve’s stomach as he watched the situation unfold, seeing the smile fading from her lips quickly. The guy had obviously said something that disgusted her and she was profusely shaking her head, but he was relentless. The jock reached up to cup her cheek, but she stumbled away from his touch; the alcohol was making her reaction time slower than necessary in the situation.

The grip that the boy had on Jess’s wrist after she tried to walk away was enough for Steve to feel the need to step in. He pushed through the crowded room and over to the two of them, just in time. The jock had pulled her in by the back of her neck a little too roughly to smash his lips against hers. Jess was trying to push him away, but was struggling. Steve pushed the boy off of Jess, standing between them while holding onto her arm to keep her standing.

“Woah, man! What’s your deal?” the boy questioned, puffing his chest out to seem cocky.

“I don’t think she wanted you to do that, man.” Steve said bitterly, sticking his hand out for the boy to keep his distance. “It seemed like she was walking away when you were trying to kiss her.”

“What’s it to you? Is she your girl or somethin’?” the boy implored and Steve’s heart sunk for a moment.

“Well—not really. But I know that she’s nowhere near being your girl. So back the fuck off.” Steve sneered, turning his back to the boy to face Jess.

She was standing behind him with wide, glazed eyes when he turned around. He gave her a sympathetic, yet pained smile as she furrowed her brow at him.

“You alright?” he asked, leaning down to look at her neck to check for any bruises.

“Yeah, just a little too drunk, I guess.” she slurred softly, shaking her head as she came back to reality. “I didn’t even realize what he was doing.”

“That guy’s a dick.” Steve remarked, she nodded in agreement as she leaned against the nearest wall, feeling a bit sick.

“Are you drunk?” she asked abruptly.

“No, I only had like one sip—“

“Will you drive me home?” Jess says, feeling the words slip off her tongue a little too easily.

“I mean—of course. You wanna go now?” he stammered and she nodded quickly.

They went straight to his car, minimal conversation between them as they did. Steve was still trying to keep his distance, trying not to let himself get in too deep again. But shit, he knew he already was.

The car ride was silent for the most part, so the sound of a faint sniffle caught Steve’s attention quickly. He glanced over to the passenger seat to see her staring out the window, the moonlight dancing across her skin highlighting the streaks of tears down her cheeks.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, even though he knew the answer to his own question.

“Why do you keep doing this?” she whimpered drunkenly, glaring over at him.

“Doing what?” he questioned, tightening his grip on the steering wheel as his heart raced.

“You keep coming back into my life, just as I’m starting to get over it.” she said softly, shaking her head. “Something keeps bringing us together and I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“I’m sorry, Jess, I was just trying to help.” he admitted while pulling up to her house. “I don’t want to fight, or start anything anymore. I just—I just want to make things better.”

“I know.” she sighed, feeling the alcohol momentarily wearing off as sadness tore into her chest; she didn’t want to leave the car. “I know you mean well. This just sucks.”

“What does?” he asked, cocking his head slightly to get a better look at her.

“Loving you while trying to make myself fall out of love.” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t make myself do it.”

She leaned over the console, locking eyes with him for a moment. In the seconds that they stared at each other, she realized just how drunk she still was. She wanted to kiss him so badly, to just take it all back. But, she couldn’t fully let him back in that easily.

Her lips pressed against his cheek gingerly and before he could process the action, she was gone and stumbling up the porch of the cabin. Steve let out a sigh of frustration as he leaned his head on his headrest, unable to let go of the fleeting moment that they had just shared. He felt hopeful, though. Like there was something between them again and like he could finally put those pieces back together.

Jess made her way inside without too much noise, making it to her room without waking anyone as well. She plopped down on her bed, mind racing with thoughts of what the hell was happening as her body spun. She felt overwhelmed, but merely by the love she still felt for the boy who broke her heart. Another interaction with Steve was inevitable, but she felt the urge to initiate it now.

The only thing she knew for sure in the moment was that if she were to work things out, they’d be doing so on that extremely fine line between trust and doubt.

tags: @sourapplebaby @harringtown @queenofthehairharrington @charmed-asylum @hystericalmedicine @a-magey @daddystevee @sledgy14 @m-blasterrr @madiebrock @pocsimcc @karasong @heart-eye-harrington @lemonypink

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